fic: The Legacy of Loss
Feb. 14th, 2022 01:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: The Legacy of Loss
Fandom: FE4
Character/Pairing: Midir/Edain
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,410
Summary: Midir rights a wrong, and protects his lady at any costs.
Even during the flames of Belhalla.
Author's note:
Or, why Edain survived Belhalla.
I headcanon this as the canon reason why Edain lived, though I don't like it.
A wall of Velthomer fire mages surrounded them. Sigurd's army looked in horror as the ambush was realized.
Midir's arms held her close. A sob escaped her throat. He held her tighter.
Her knees buckled. She couldn't stand tall and accept her death. Fear won out in this moment. She'd faced her capture by Verdane with grace. But that was before she had children, and a husband. Before the aching realization that her children would grow up as orphans, alone in a horrible world.
It was the thought of never being able to see her Midir, her little Lana and Lester again. How they would cry that made her falter in this moment.
But before she could push herself up and take this as a lady would, he moved to kneel by her side. Midir pulled her close to his chest.
Magic rose around them, as pages fluttered for their execution.
"I love you. I always have. Thank you, Lady Edain. It was an honor to serve you. Being your husband has made me happier than I thought possible."
The most somber words of love she had ever heard. A goodbye, surely.
His voice was lost in the sound of fire magic rising up. Flames rained from the sky.
He kissed her. His body shielded hers. She hadn't realized until that moment his plan. His strong arms held her to him. He shuddered in pain. But he did not cry out, not even once through the unimaginable pain of seared flesh as they were burnt as traitors.
The world was darkened in flame and smoke. A wasteland beneath them, over theme.
And this was their mass grave. All of them to ash in the end.
*
The scent of burnt flesh and death was something which would never leave her memory. Burns on her body ached. He hadn't been able to protect every part of her, though he'd certainly tried.
"My love...Midir...."
She tried to shake him. She felt cracked, blackened flesh beneath her fingers. Panic rose in her throat.
"I-I'll heal you. P-Please. M-Midir? My love?"
She lifted up her staff with shaking hands. Even in the glow of the light, he was still.
It was too late. Not even she could heal the wounds he had sustained.
There were so many bodies around them. She heard a groan. Tangled blond hair spread out. Was that Lachesis?
She crawled out from underneath the bodies and began to numbly heal who she could.
Their were ashes where Sigurd had once stood. There was nothing left to bury.
And for so many more knights of Sigurd, not even her heal staff could bring them back. Their bodies were burned so much, they were unrecognizable. There was nothing but charred and blackened flesh, so destroyed they barely looked as if they had ever been human. She could not tell knight from mage, or tell whom among their former soldiers and friends lived.
She wouldn't have recognized her husband, or what was left of him, had he not kept close.
Nausea rose in her throat, but she forced herself to be strong. For Lester, for Lana, for those who still lived, and most of all her dear Midir who had given everything to protect her.
She didn't get a chance to even bury him. Not even that mercy, or peace.
Lachesis and a few other survivors of the rain of fire fled in the night, before the soldiers came back to deal with the corpses.
Her beloved husband was left for the vultures and wolves to devour. Any bones and flesh not burnt to black would be torn apart and eaten.
So many other friends and comrades, all left to rot in the Belhalla sun.
She took each step numbly. Even her sister, Brigid, couldn't be found.
In the space of a day, she'd lost everything. She'd never be able to return to Yngvi. Her sister, finally found, had gone again. Perhaps she was nothing but ash as well, just like their commander Sigurd. And her dear, sweet Midir. Who had dedicated his entire life to keeping her safe, had in his last breath, defended her once again.
*
She pushed on, and made sure to remember the few happy moments.
Her Lester and Lana would never know their father. His kindness, his strength, and unwavering loyalty.
But, she kept him alive in what she could remember. And even that was a small sliver of the man she had loved. There was so much she couldn't bear to share, let alone with her children.
How it felt to brush his long hair, his quiet shyness and awe of her which never fully went away, even after marriage. How excited he was to be a father and their future together. How deeply he adored her, with an almost spiritual reverence.
For a moment, it'd seemed like they had a chance. She'd truly believed they could change the tides of fate.
She had been wrong.
*
Living could be a kind of cruelty. When she learned the fate of Tailtiu, she wept. A quick razing at Belhalla would've been preferable to the slow descent into hell that poor woman suffered.
And her life was full of prayer and somber quiet at Tiranogg.
She raised their children alone, with only help from fellow nuns at the monastery.
Lana and Lester grew. Lester took after his father's skill with the bow, Lana took after Edain herself.
She had raised up the children she could find of the others that had perished int hat day. Though from that fiery moment, she had never known the true scope of joy.
She kept off the battlefield now. She'd heal every traveler that came by. But the scent of death followed her, and stayed in her nightmares. Even the thought of crossing the fields to a fight left her trembling with the memories of that last goodbye.
The strong, spirited woman she'd been had been burned away. Now she was somber, her golden blond hair turning silvery.
Some wounds even staves couldn't heal.
*
She would live to see the Liberation Army succeed, and to see her dear Lana marry Seliph, and go to Grannvale. While Lester traveled the land.
The children she raised avenged their parents. They lived and loved, and found happy lives.
Her sister returned one day, with a new name and far more battle scars. A miracle in itself.
But many others did not. Lachesis left to search for her son and never returned. Erinys had died from an illness, and never lived to see her husband's return. Albeit with a very different personality.
Tailtiu had been long buried with the criminals and traitors, near the Friegean gallows.
Edain never remarried. She knew that Midir would have wished her to find another. But, none other ever compared to the knight she had loved from afar for many years.
They only had a few years of happiness, but she treasured the moments Midir had been hers.
She stayed in the monastery, and prayed that peace would continue, that the gods would be merciful, and most of all, that Loptous would never return.
*
In the gardens of the Tiranogg monastery, she etched a stone with his name. It was the closest she could make for a grave.
She had nothing but memories. His bones had been taken away by wolves and vultures. Not even a portrait, a lock of hair. Everything had burnt with him.
Even as she memorized everything of him, as age took her, her memories began to be fuzzy. One day, she would forget the exact gentleness of his touch, his soft voice, and how he held his bow.
As the years came, she would go over the past, to recall what she could for as long as possible.
She would sit at this spot, and speak to him. Could he hear her, up in the heavens? She hoped for that mercy, at least.
"I love you. I always have," she said.
"My dear, even now. I always will."
Could he hear her, up in the heavens? She hoped for that mercy, at least.
Fandom: FE4
Character/Pairing: Midir/Edain
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,410
Summary: Midir rights a wrong, and protects his lady at any costs.
Even during the flames of Belhalla.
Author's note:
Or, why Edain survived Belhalla.
I headcanon this as the canon reason why Edain lived, though I don't like it.
A wall of Velthomer fire mages surrounded them. Sigurd's army looked in horror as the ambush was realized.
Midir's arms held her close. A sob escaped her throat. He held her tighter.
Her knees buckled. She couldn't stand tall and accept her death. Fear won out in this moment. She'd faced her capture by Verdane with grace. But that was before she had children, and a husband. Before the aching realization that her children would grow up as orphans, alone in a horrible world.
It was the thought of never being able to see her Midir, her little Lana and Lester again. How they would cry that made her falter in this moment.
But before she could push herself up and take this as a lady would, he moved to kneel by her side. Midir pulled her close to his chest.
Magic rose around them, as pages fluttered for their execution.
"I love you. I always have. Thank you, Lady Edain. It was an honor to serve you. Being your husband has made me happier than I thought possible."
The most somber words of love she had ever heard. A goodbye, surely.
His voice was lost in the sound of fire magic rising up. Flames rained from the sky.
He kissed her. His body shielded hers. She hadn't realized until that moment his plan. His strong arms held her to him. He shuddered in pain. But he did not cry out, not even once through the unimaginable pain of seared flesh as they were burnt as traitors.
The world was darkened in flame and smoke. A wasteland beneath them, over theme.
And this was their mass grave. All of them to ash in the end.
*
The scent of burnt flesh and death was something which would never leave her memory. Burns on her body ached. He hadn't been able to protect every part of her, though he'd certainly tried.
"My love...Midir...."
She tried to shake him. She felt cracked, blackened flesh beneath her fingers. Panic rose in her throat.
"I-I'll heal you. P-Please. M-Midir? My love?"
She lifted up her staff with shaking hands. Even in the glow of the light, he was still.
It was too late. Not even she could heal the wounds he had sustained.
There were so many bodies around them. She heard a groan. Tangled blond hair spread out. Was that Lachesis?
She crawled out from underneath the bodies and began to numbly heal who she could.
Their were ashes where Sigurd had once stood. There was nothing left to bury.
And for so many more knights of Sigurd, not even her heal staff could bring them back. Their bodies were burned so much, they were unrecognizable. There was nothing but charred and blackened flesh, so destroyed they barely looked as if they had ever been human. She could not tell knight from mage, or tell whom among their former soldiers and friends lived.
She wouldn't have recognized her husband, or what was left of him, had he not kept close.
Nausea rose in her throat, but she forced herself to be strong. For Lester, for Lana, for those who still lived, and most of all her dear Midir who had given everything to protect her.
She didn't get a chance to even bury him. Not even that mercy, or peace.
Lachesis and a few other survivors of the rain of fire fled in the night, before the soldiers came back to deal with the corpses.
Her beloved husband was left for the vultures and wolves to devour. Any bones and flesh not burnt to black would be torn apart and eaten.
So many other friends and comrades, all left to rot in the Belhalla sun.
She took each step numbly. Even her sister, Brigid, couldn't be found.
In the space of a day, she'd lost everything. She'd never be able to return to Yngvi. Her sister, finally found, had gone again. Perhaps she was nothing but ash as well, just like their commander Sigurd. And her dear, sweet Midir. Who had dedicated his entire life to keeping her safe, had in his last breath, defended her once again.
*
She pushed on, and made sure to remember the few happy moments.
Her Lester and Lana would never know their father. His kindness, his strength, and unwavering loyalty.
But, she kept him alive in what she could remember. And even that was a small sliver of the man she had loved. There was so much she couldn't bear to share, let alone with her children.
How it felt to brush his long hair, his quiet shyness and awe of her which never fully went away, even after marriage. How excited he was to be a father and their future together. How deeply he adored her, with an almost spiritual reverence.
For a moment, it'd seemed like they had a chance. She'd truly believed they could change the tides of fate.
She had been wrong.
*
Living could be a kind of cruelty. When she learned the fate of Tailtiu, she wept. A quick razing at Belhalla would've been preferable to the slow descent into hell that poor woman suffered.
And her life was full of prayer and somber quiet at Tiranogg.
She raised their children alone, with only help from fellow nuns at the monastery.
Lana and Lester grew. Lester took after his father's skill with the bow, Lana took after Edain herself.
She had raised up the children she could find of the others that had perished int hat day. Though from that fiery moment, she had never known the true scope of joy.
She kept off the battlefield now. She'd heal every traveler that came by. But the scent of death followed her, and stayed in her nightmares. Even the thought of crossing the fields to a fight left her trembling with the memories of that last goodbye.
The strong, spirited woman she'd been had been burned away. Now she was somber, her golden blond hair turning silvery.
Some wounds even staves couldn't heal.
*
She would live to see the Liberation Army succeed, and to see her dear Lana marry Seliph, and go to Grannvale. While Lester traveled the land.
The children she raised avenged their parents. They lived and loved, and found happy lives.
Her sister returned one day, with a new name and far more battle scars. A miracle in itself.
But many others did not. Lachesis left to search for her son and never returned. Erinys had died from an illness, and never lived to see her husband's return. Albeit with a very different personality.
Tailtiu had been long buried with the criminals and traitors, near the Friegean gallows.
Edain never remarried. She knew that Midir would have wished her to find another. But, none other ever compared to the knight she had loved from afar for many years.
They only had a few years of happiness, but she treasured the moments Midir had been hers.
She stayed in the monastery, and prayed that peace would continue, that the gods would be merciful, and most of all, that Loptous would never return.
*
In the gardens of the Tiranogg monastery, she etched a stone with his name. It was the closest she could make for a grave.
She had nothing but memories. His bones had been taken away by wolves and vultures. Not even a portrait, a lock of hair. Everything had burnt with him.
Even as she memorized everything of him, as age took her, her memories began to be fuzzy. One day, she would forget the exact gentleness of his touch, his soft voice, and how he held his bow.
As the years came, she would go over the past, to recall what she could for as long as possible.
She would sit at this spot, and speak to him. Could he hear her, up in the heavens? She hoped for that mercy, at least.
"I love you. I always have," she said.
"My dear, even now. I always will."
Could he hear her, up in the heavens? She hoped for that mercy, at least.
