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shinonTitle: Martyrs
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn
Characters: Micaiah, Pelleas. Also,Micaiah/Pelleas/Daein Micaiah>Pelleas. THAT'S RIGHT I MADE IT ONE-SIDED FROM ENTIRELY THE WRONG DIRECTION WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT.
Word count: ~2000
Warnings: This one is FAIRLY UNHAPPY! I wrote the worst parts of it back this winter when I was in a kind of terrible place so it. Uh. May or may not be rife with suicidal ideation? On the other hand, it could just be totally melodramatic and absurd and have too many of my own particular ~*issues*~ in it. Idk.
Also, some uh... departures from canon w.r.t. Micaiah's characterization. Because I could.
Notes: I SEEM TO HAVE FILLED MY "WARNINGS" SECTION WITH NOTES SO LET'S JUST GET ON WITH IT
It was easy to be angry in Daein. It was easy to be bitter and it was easy to hate. In Daein you were forever trodden upon. Two kings past, there had been a plague and no one had offered aid; the past king had thrown away countless Daein lives on this or that whim, for entertainment or for power, even before the war. Of the war, there was little to say that couldn't be said by the defeated soldiers begging in the slums, or by the Begnion forces' stern injunctions against being too kind to them. Everyone was starving and bitter. They were kind to each other in ways that had humbled and amazed her until she realized that, too, was a striking back against the world. Their charity was defiance and their mercy a tactic in another war.
They loved Daein and their countrymen. But it often seemed like they hated everything else more. Maybe it took Begnion's occupying armies to push them hard enough to stick together. As dear to her as the Dawn Brigade had become, Micaiah knew she would never have met them otherwise, and they would never have presented a united front without anyone to unite against. The people would never have loved them if they hadn't been hard-pressed and hopeless to begin with.
But whatever it took to uncover the good in people, it was there, and she could only hope it would remain in brighter days. The Dawn Brigade would work to remove Begnion's foot from Daein's neck, and with luck the people would remember the decency and dignity they had discovered. With luck, Daein would be free to be better than it had ever been before. No plague, no Mad King, no bloodthirsty occupying forces.
Sometimes she was certain she was the only person who thought beyond protecting their own and spilling Begnion blood in retribution. But she had to believe the rest would come with time.
Micaiah could never be as disappointed with Pelleas as the others were. He never spoke of killing or revenge or war, only peace and freedom and setting right all that had gone wrong. He understood so little of how to conduct a campaign or how to reclaim a throne, and seemed so little inclined to give orders. "I'm sure Izuka knows best," he'd say, or if he did make a decision he'd shoot questioning glances at Micaiah all the while, as though he could not proceed without her benediction.
He was soft, they said, and callow, they said, and had the natural charisma of a snail, and he read so much he'd completely lost track of the real world.
But he believed. He believed in fairness and mercy and the goodness of people and schooling for the children and food for the poor. He believed in restoring Daein's reputation in the wake of the Mad King and rejoining the other countries of Tellius on equal footing - and maybe he even meant all the other nations, not just the beorc ones; he'd been entirely amenable to replacing "sub-human" in his vocabulary with "laguz," and forbidden Izuka from experimenting on them even if he couldn't bring himself to send the man away.
Sothe was one of the prince's harshest critics from the beginning, and seemed offended when Micaiah tried to explain to him. "You think the rest of us don't believe in anything?"
"I know you do," she said, and he apologized for snapping almost immediately. They were all under pressure, but she was taking the worst of it, and he wouldn't do anything to strain her further. She understood his reasoning and she treasured the ferocity of his concern, but she knew he would never appreciate why it was worth it to keep enduring. He believed, yes: he believed in her. All other causes were negotiable.
Leonardo believed in Edward and Edward believed in his own invincibility and Nolan believed in making sure everyone in this little family got through the war all right, and whatever came afterward. These were all fine things. But she couldn't look at it that way. She couldn't look at the army as though it were made of individuals, because then that was what every other army must be, as well.
So it was simpler to make things more complicated. She believed in Daein: these mountains, this desert, this swamp, this crowded marketplace, the songs people sang when there was nothing to sing about. She believed that all this should continue, and Begnion didn't, and that was why they fought. She loved Daein, and they hated it, and that was why they couldn't agree.
Pelleas was the same. He bore no malice for anyone. If there had been a peaceful way to resolve this, he would have taken it - or tried to take it, if Izuka or Lady Almedha would permit him, and if he wasn't overpowered by the citizens' calls for blood. There wasn't, so he left the conduction of the rebellion to the people he thought most qualified, and dreamed of afterward. He understood so little of the war, and that was why he understood everything. You couldn't look at a war and remember what it was for. So he didn't look, and he shouldn't have to. She had practice filtering out the thoughts of others - he didn't. He was best kept safe and shielded, so that he could believe for all of them.
She would be that shield.
It was in the instant she saw how willing he was to die that she knew she couldn't let him.
She didn't hear a word he said from the moment she entered the room. She could feel his resolve, his acceptance, his desire for her to understand. His ... guilt?
No. No. What did he have to be guilty about? That was her burden. She had taken that from him. She had gone to war for him. She had decimated the Begnion army, grounded the Holy Guard, and crippled the Crimean Royal Knights. She had given those orders, and almost lost Sothe in giving them, so that Pelleas would be safe. No. So that Daein would be safe. The two seemed bound up together sometimes, and she forgot -
Her hands were bloody so his could stay clean. That was how it was supposed to be. So that when the war was over, he could have all the peace and freedom and righting of wrongs. He must remain unsullied so he could make the Daein they dreamed of, once the war was over and the blood contract was abolished. He was the only one who still could.
Unless she had already failed.
"Micaiah," he was saying, "it's your caring soul that I admire. That's why I want it to be you." And there was so much sincerity in him. How could any person be so earnest?
So foolish, she thought, traitorously. So naive.
He believed she still cared. She wasn't sure even she could still think the same. How long had it taken her to react after the Hawk King had taken Sothe? How long had she entertained the notion of sacrificing him for Daein? Not very long, but - for a time. She still didn't know which was right. She still didn't know which decision would have made her more monstrous.
Pelleas's faith washed over her and felt like mockery.
"This is my duty as king," he said.
No. It wasn't. It was fine and noble and brave of him to say that, but bleeding was her duty. And in saving him, she'd never have to choose between one life and her entire country again.
She threw herself on the knife, but her sacrifice was rejected.
Days later, he found her. It wasn't a confrontation. He didn't corner her. He didn't try in any way to prevent her escape. But of course he wouldn't. He simply approached her, at a time when any sane person would have been sleeping, and asked "Why?"
His voice splintered to fragments in the dark. He looked haunted - or maybe he was the one haunting her. She couldn't imagine how to answer that question, because she couldn't imagine how it could be a question.
They were silent. In the daylight Pelleas might have backed down, mumbling some incomprehensible apology-excuse and staring at his shoes. But this time he didn't flinch. He deserved an answer. One he could accept, one that would let him sleep again, so she could absorb the blows meant for him and carry on. But she had nothing to tell him. She had stopped the blade because in that moment he had seemed more important than any blood pact. He had been faith and trust and innocence, and if the only way to break Begnion's hold was to destroy the fragile light he represented, it wasn't worth it.
But he would never accept that. And these were not the thoughts of a general of Daein's army. So she said nothing.
"I was afraid of that," he said at last, barely above a whisper. "It's so much harder to decide, the second time..."
Cold seized in her heart and lungs.
"I do appreciate the extra time you've given me, Micaiah. You may never know how much. So I... I won't ask you to stand by and watch this time. I'm sorry I've caused you so much pain." Head bowed, he turned to go. To wake Tauroneo, and ask to be murdered. Again.
"No!" she burst out. He froze, but didn't turn. "I won't let you."
"I'm so sorry," he said dully. "I should never have - this is what's best for everyone. I don't want to argue." He was directing his speech at the ceiling, not at her. She didn't have to acknowledge it. She had to silence him before he could permanently silence himself. She grabbed his shoulder - and he was so thin, and he yielded so easily, swinging around to face her. But his eyes skittered sideways away from her gaze. He didn't want to seem too eager to live. She'd felt this from him before. He'd thanked her when she'd fallen on the knife, and then pulled back in horror and shame, desperate to unsay it. He shouldn't want to live. He should be happy to right his mistakes by whatever means it took. He should be happy to die for a free Daein, and if he failed in that, all the more reason to die, because surely he could not be king -
"If you die, we haven't won. Do you understand? You're a part of the Daein we tried to save. The Daein we're still trying to save."
"No," he whispered.
"Yes," she said, sounding half-mad and not caring. "It was all for you. It's because of you that I -" Words failed her. Not for the first time, she wished her mind could open both ways, that she could show him what she knew and somehow force him to understand. "You can't fail. You can't give up."
"I see," he said, his eyes dimming. "You must be terribly disappointed. I regret that I ever - you must feel I misled you -"
As if she could be misled. As if the things she'd sensed in his soul could be feigned. She took his face into her hands and made him look at her. He didn't resist. "Your Majesty. Understand this. I won't let anything happen to you. I won't let you do anything to yourself. I will not allow it."
"Micaiah, I -"
"And don't change. You aren't allowed to change. Don't ever lose faith. Remember who you were when we met, and... be him again."
It wasn't possible. There was a crease in his forehead, carved by worry, that would never go away. There was a despair that traced through him like veins -
All might be lost. But it didn't matter if she thought that. He was not allowed to agree. She would go away from him, so he wouldn't have to see what price his good intentions exacted. Then, in time, all might be as it had been.
She let go and walked away from him.
"Is it true you've seen another way?" he called after her, desperate. "Can we end the contract without...?"
She kept walking.
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn
Characters: Micaiah, Pelleas. Also,
Word count: ~2000
Warnings: This one is FAIRLY UNHAPPY! I wrote the worst parts of it back this winter when I was in a kind of terrible place so it. Uh. May or may not be rife with suicidal ideation? On the other hand, it could just be totally melodramatic and absurd and have too many of my own particular ~*issues*~ in it. Idk.
Also, some uh... departures from canon w.r.t. Micaiah's characterization. Because I could.
Notes: I SEEM TO HAVE FILLED MY "WARNINGS" SECTION WITH NOTES SO LET'S JUST GET ON WITH IT
It was easy to be angry in Daein. It was easy to be bitter and it was easy to hate. In Daein you were forever trodden upon. Two kings past, there had been a plague and no one had offered aid; the past king had thrown away countless Daein lives on this or that whim, for entertainment or for power, even before the war. Of the war, there was little to say that couldn't be said by the defeated soldiers begging in the slums, or by the Begnion forces' stern injunctions against being too kind to them. Everyone was starving and bitter. They were kind to each other in ways that had humbled and amazed her until she realized that, too, was a striking back against the world. Their charity was defiance and their mercy a tactic in another war.
They loved Daein and their countrymen. But it often seemed like they hated everything else more. Maybe it took Begnion's occupying armies to push them hard enough to stick together. As dear to her as the Dawn Brigade had become, Micaiah knew she would never have met them otherwise, and they would never have presented a united front without anyone to unite against. The people would never have loved them if they hadn't been hard-pressed and hopeless to begin with.
But whatever it took to uncover the good in people, it was there, and she could only hope it would remain in brighter days. The Dawn Brigade would work to remove Begnion's foot from Daein's neck, and with luck the people would remember the decency and dignity they had discovered. With luck, Daein would be free to be better than it had ever been before. No plague, no Mad King, no bloodthirsty occupying forces.
Sometimes she was certain she was the only person who thought beyond protecting their own and spilling Begnion blood in retribution. But she had to believe the rest would come with time.
Micaiah could never be as disappointed with Pelleas as the others were. He never spoke of killing or revenge or war, only peace and freedom and setting right all that had gone wrong. He understood so little of how to conduct a campaign or how to reclaim a throne, and seemed so little inclined to give orders. "I'm sure Izuka knows best," he'd say, or if he did make a decision he'd shoot questioning glances at Micaiah all the while, as though he could not proceed without her benediction.
He was soft, they said, and callow, they said, and had the natural charisma of a snail, and he read so much he'd completely lost track of the real world.
But he believed. He believed in fairness and mercy and the goodness of people and schooling for the children and food for the poor. He believed in restoring Daein's reputation in the wake of the Mad King and rejoining the other countries of Tellius on equal footing - and maybe he even meant all the other nations, not just the beorc ones; he'd been entirely amenable to replacing "sub-human" in his vocabulary with "laguz," and forbidden Izuka from experimenting on them even if he couldn't bring himself to send the man away.
Sothe was one of the prince's harshest critics from the beginning, and seemed offended when Micaiah tried to explain to him. "You think the rest of us don't believe in anything?"
"I know you do," she said, and he apologized for snapping almost immediately. They were all under pressure, but she was taking the worst of it, and he wouldn't do anything to strain her further. She understood his reasoning and she treasured the ferocity of his concern, but she knew he would never appreciate why it was worth it to keep enduring. He believed, yes: he believed in her. All other causes were negotiable.
Leonardo believed in Edward and Edward believed in his own invincibility and Nolan believed in making sure everyone in this little family got through the war all right, and whatever came afterward. These were all fine things. But she couldn't look at it that way. She couldn't look at the army as though it were made of individuals, because then that was what every other army must be, as well.
So it was simpler to make things more complicated. She believed in Daein: these mountains, this desert, this swamp, this crowded marketplace, the songs people sang when there was nothing to sing about. She believed that all this should continue, and Begnion didn't, and that was why they fought. She loved Daein, and they hated it, and that was why they couldn't agree.
Pelleas was the same. He bore no malice for anyone. If there had been a peaceful way to resolve this, he would have taken it - or tried to take it, if Izuka or Lady Almedha would permit him, and if he wasn't overpowered by the citizens' calls for blood. There wasn't, so he left the conduction of the rebellion to the people he thought most qualified, and dreamed of afterward. He understood so little of the war, and that was why he understood everything. You couldn't look at a war and remember what it was for. So he didn't look, and he shouldn't have to. She had practice filtering out the thoughts of others - he didn't. He was best kept safe and shielded, so that he could believe for all of them.
She would be that shield.
It was in the instant she saw how willing he was to die that she knew she couldn't let him.
She didn't hear a word he said from the moment she entered the room. She could feel his resolve, his acceptance, his desire for her to understand. His ... guilt?
No. No. What did he have to be guilty about? That was her burden. She had taken that from him. She had gone to war for him. She had decimated the Begnion army, grounded the Holy Guard, and crippled the Crimean Royal Knights. She had given those orders, and almost lost Sothe in giving them, so that Pelleas would be safe. No. So that Daein would be safe. The two seemed bound up together sometimes, and she forgot -
Her hands were bloody so his could stay clean. That was how it was supposed to be. So that when the war was over, he could have all the peace and freedom and righting of wrongs. He must remain unsullied so he could make the Daein they dreamed of, once the war was over and the blood contract was abolished. He was the only one who still could.
Unless she had already failed.
"Micaiah," he was saying, "it's your caring soul that I admire. That's why I want it to be you." And there was so much sincerity in him. How could any person be so earnest?
So foolish, she thought, traitorously. So naive.
He believed she still cared. She wasn't sure even she could still think the same. How long had it taken her to react after the Hawk King had taken Sothe? How long had she entertained the notion of sacrificing him for Daein? Not very long, but - for a time. She still didn't know which was right. She still didn't know which decision would have made her more monstrous.
Pelleas's faith washed over her and felt like mockery.
"This is my duty as king," he said.
No. It wasn't. It was fine and noble and brave of him to say that, but bleeding was her duty. And in saving him, she'd never have to choose between one life and her entire country again.
She threw herself on the knife, but her sacrifice was rejected.
Days later, he found her. It wasn't a confrontation. He didn't corner her. He didn't try in any way to prevent her escape. But of course he wouldn't. He simply approached her, at a time when any sane person would have been sleeping, and asked "Why?"
His voice splintered to fragments in the dark. He looked haunted - or maybe he was the one haunting her. She couldn't imagine how to answer that question, because she couldn't imagine how it could be a question.
They were silent. In the daylight Pelleas might have backed down, mumbling some incomprehensible apology-excuse and staring at his shoes. But this time he didn't flinch. He deserved an answer. One he could accept, one that would let him sleep again, so she could absorb the blows meant for him and carry on. But she had nothing to tell him. She had stopped the blade because in that moment he had seemed more important than any blood pact. He had been faith and trust and innocence, and if the only way to break Begnion's hold was to destroy the fragile light he represented, it wasn't worth it.
But he would never accept that. And these were not the thoughts of a general of Daein's army. So she said nothing.
"I was afraid of that," he said at last, barely above a whisper. "It's so much harder to decide, the second time..."
Cold seized in her heart and lungs.
"I do appreciate the extra time you've given me, Micaiah. You may never know how much. So I... I won't ask you to stand by and watch this time. I'm sorry I've caused you so much pain." Head bowed, he turned to go. To wake Tauroneo, and ask to be murdered. Again.
"No!" she burst out. He froze, but didn't turn. "I won't let you."
"I'm so sorry," he said dully. "I should never have - this is what's best for everyone. I don't want to argue." He was directing his speech at the ceiling, not at her. She didn't have to acknowledge it. She had to silence him before he could permanently silence himself. She grabbed his shoulder - and he was so thin, and he yielded so easily, swinging around to face her. But his eyes skittered sideways away from her gaze. He didn't want to seem too eager to live. She'd felt this from him before. He'd thanked her when she'd fallen on the knife, and then pulled back in horror and shame, desperate to unsay it. He shouldn't want to live. He should be happy to right his mistakes by whatever means it took. He should be happy to die for a free Daein, and if he failed in that, all the more reason to die, because surely he could not be king -
"If you die, we haven't won. Do you understand? You're a part of the Daein we tried to save. The Daein we're still trying to save."
"No," he whispered.
"Yes," she said, sounding half-mad and not caring. "It was all for you. It's because of you that I -" Words failed her. Not for the first time, she wished her mind could open both ways, that she could show him what she knew and somehow force him to understand. "You can't fail. You can't give up."
"I see," he said, his eyes dimming. "You must be terribly disappointed. I regret that I ever - you must feel I misled you -"
As if she could be misled. As if the things she'd sensed in his soul could be feigned. She took his face into her hands and made him look at her. He didn't resist. "Your Majesty. Understand this. I won't let anything happen to you. I won't let you do anything to yourself. I will not allow it."
"Micaiah, I -"
"And don't change. You aren't allowed to change. Don't ever lose faith. Remember who you were when we met, and... be him again."
It wasn't possible. There was a crease in his forehead, carved by worry, that would never go away. There was a despair that traced through him like veins -
All might be lost. But it didn't matter if she thought that. He was not allowed to agree. She would go away from him, so he wouldn't have to see what price his good intentions exacted. Then, in time, all might be as it had been.
She let go and walked away from him.
"Is it true you've seen another way?" he called after her, desperate. "Can we end the contract without...?"
She kept walking.
