Marigolds, For Sorrow (Final Fantasy II, Minwu/Maria, PG-13)
Title: Marigolds, For Sorrow
Author/Artist: ceylmallyn
Rating: PG-13 for the blood, injury and violence references, I guess.
Warnings: A bit of blood and injury-- if that doesn't squick you in itself, it probably won't bother you. Also hurt/comfort, exactly what it says on the tin.
Prompt: "Final Fantasy II, Minwu/Maria: rescue, hurt/comfort - 'Why did you save me?'"
Word count: 5,850 (ACK so much longer than I anticipated. But nobody writes fic about this game, so I wanted to write a lot.)
Summary: She had resigned herself to this fate as the consequence of her folly; she never expected he would come in search of her.
A/N: A few days late, aagghh-- I'm so sorry. When I actually started writing it, it turned out to be longer than I'd expected. Still, this game gets no love at all, and someone must do something about this. (Not sure who requested this, but it was an interesting challenge/pairing to write, thanks!)
Also, this fic is based on the original FFII, not renamed-IV-- that's common knowledge now, I think, but I still occasionally run into people confused that the numbers of the remakes aren't the ones they grew up with, so yeah. Takes place between the party's first "mission" to Fynn and the first fetch quest where Minwu accompanies you. And the title is kind of random, although sorrow is one of the traditional meanings for marigolds.
Maria stumbled between the dark shapes of trees, clutching a hand to the wound in her side. Every inch of her body seemed to be in pain; her mouth was painfully dry, but the effort required to uncork the flask of water at her side and bring it to her lips now seemed insurmountable.
She grasped weakly at the trunk of a bare sapling tree to keep herself standing. Breathing deeply, she glanced about her surroundings, finding no trace of any familiar landmark and nothing to mark a path. The terrain was flat and featureless, broken here and there by small hills and gullies; but there was nothing by which she could hope to guess where she was headed. In the rapidly falling darkness, it was swiftly becoming impossible to tell by sight alone which shapes were brushes or rocks and which were shadows.
The spring of Fynn's northern climate still brought a sharp chill to nights. Maria tried to draw her thin shirt more tightly around her, ruing herself for lacking the foresight to bring a shawl or coat. Not that it would matter, she thought with a resigned and distant fear, if she were to die here.
Gazing across the darkening sky, she found it was becoming harder and harder to keep her vision focused. Dismally, she realized that once the sun sunk below the horizon, she would lose the only means of navigation she had possessed in these dense, tangled woods. Trying to forge ahead in the darkness, if it did not send her stumbling over the edge of a ditch or into the icy water of a stream, could easily turn her around in blind confusion and send her limping back up to Fynn-- back into the hands of the Palamecian soldiers and the strange and unnatural beings they commanded.
She had hoped to be in Gatrea by nightfall, but pain and confusion had scattered her sense of direction, and sent her shambling far off course; some of the trees of these unknown woods were alien to her.
She was ignorant of the wilderness, having spent her entire life in the city; she knew nothing of how to build a fire, nor of how to gather food, what was edible and what was poison, nor what there might be to fear in this darkness besides cold and starvation. She could hardly begin to guess now at the location of the road which had taken her to Fynn from Gatrea the first time-- she knew only that she was lost, and her strength was so diminished that any hope of going further was in vain.
Letting go of the tree she had used to steady herself, Maria half-sunk, half-fell to the cold ground at the roots of a nearby tree, leaning against its trunk to keep herself upright, and winced at the jolt of pain it sent through her aching body and the wound in her side. Languidly, she reached up and touched, with blood-sticky fingers, the necklace around her throat-- a ring of Leon's, hanging from a slender chain.
She recalled, with a dim sorrow, how it had come to be hers, back when the four of them had lost their home for the first time. At the first rumour that the Palamecian army had broken through the line outside the city, her family, like so many others, had swiftly made plans to escape; possessions were limited to what could be carried or worn, and all jewelry in the house had come along with them, to be pawned for money lest they find themselves penniless. Only her parents had not made it out of the city, and Leon-- Leon...
The blue stone set into the ring felt as cold as the ground now. "Firion, Guy, I'm sorry," she whispered into the eerie silence of the woods.
She had brought this fate upon herself, Maria knew-- brought it on herself by her rashness and selfishness, her foolish wishful thinking. She had agreed with Firion when he declared his certainty that Leon was alive out there somewhere. And she would have done well to leave it as a blind hope-- many stronger than herself, she well knew, had tried to cross the enemy line in search of lost friends and family, and perished in the attempt.
After the three of them had infiltrated the outskirts of Fynn and found no sign or rumour of Leon, she had been tormented by nightmares of her brother captive at the hands of imperial forces-- alone, frightened, pleading for mercy. And so she hoped blindly that by going back there, she might manage to uncover some new clue, some trace to point her in his current direction. It had required slipping out of Altair by night, after Hilda's firm assurances that it was safest for them to stay here for now, and Firion and Guy's attempts to persuade her that a second visit would do no good.
On the road, she'd met up with a group of aspiring thieves seeking to loot from the abandoned shops of Fynn. For the sake of safety in numbers, she had entertained their crass but often amusing company. Without exception, they all appeared scruffy, ill-kempt and untrained-- she no less than them, after a few days on the road alone-- and had hoped it would serve as protection against the imperial soldiers. When she'd gone there with Firion and Guy, the soldiers had paid them little mind, dismissing them as weak beneath concern. So long as they said nothing, they received no trouble in return, only glares and crass comments and the occasional stone flung at them.
This time, however, a few soldiers had been roaming about the city walls, restless with the casual cruelty borne of war and conquest. Whether it had been by order or merely sadistic whim, they had gone after the band of suspicious civilians loitering about the outskirts, with inhuman strength and swords that clove metal helms in two. Those who tried to fight had been the first to fall, and in the confusion of the struggle, Maria never saw whose blade had caught her in the side. She knew only that, by great fortune, the wound had not been so severe that she was unable to flee, and she had staggered off with the soldiers taunting at her, calling out that this particular swarm of insects would trouble Palamecia no more.
The solemn, eerie cry of an owl echoed from somewhere in the branches above. Maria started in fear, forcing herself to calm down, as she realized belatedly that it had been nothing but a common owl. The forests around Fynn were stalked now by strange, unnatural things that the empire had brought in its wake-- things that bore passing resemblance to common creatures, but each one twisted in some way that made them more horrific than fantastic beasts: vines with faces and sharp teeth, wasps with stingers like daggers.
There were those who said that they were not of the earth at all, but things that the emperor had summoned out of hell. Whether they were earthly or infernal, they had fallen easily enough to simple weapons when she, Firion and Guy had gone back to Fynn the first time. She had no wish, however, to face a swarm of them alone-- in her current condition, she held little hope that she would survive.
Well, she thought grimly, perhaps it was vain of her to expect to survive this, even if no monsters came to finish the job. Even if her wound were to stop bleeding, how far could she walk in her weakened state? Starvation, or cold, or both, would do her in first.
The trees above her had only begun to come into leaf; some still bore nothing but unsprouted buds, and between the sharp angles of the overlapping branches, Maria could see the evening sky, with a few stars already shining in the gathering twilight. The details of the trees and underbrush around her had faded into gradations of darkness, and she tried not to glance at her surroundings, fearful of what her mind might imagine into the indistinct shadows. Every slight sound, even the faint sighing of the wind in the trees, caused her to look around in fearful startlement now.
Still, she knew too well that her reflexes would be in vain if anything did come upon her. She might be able to grab at the dagger in her belt, but not to wield it with enough strength to land a killing blow. The small bow fastened at her back was useless now, for there was no way she could gather the strength to fit it with an arrow, draw the string and aim.
She found herself torn between a desire to lose consciousness-- as her eyelids drew downwards and began to feel unbearably heavy-- and a desire to fight to stay awake. Her thoughts, mired in a groggy miasma of pain and exhaustion, flickered with visions of Firion and Guy at the rebellion's hideout-- Guy mourning openly, paying as little heed as a boy to emotional restraint; Firion trying to remain stoic; but both begging to go out to scout for her, to bring a few soldiers along. She saw the princess of Fynn, with a weariness beyond her years, telling them that nothing could be done, that resources could not be expended on a hunt for one untrained soldier, who would not obey her order to stay at the base.
The images turned into dreamlike visions, until Maria thought she could half-hear the words being spoken aloud, and then turned dark: Leon in shadows, Leon in the darkness of some great labyrinthine stone structure, calling her name in his mind: Maria, Maria. Leon not alone in that sinister darkness, but kneeling before a man in gold, fair as the sun and terrible as burning.
The last scene filled her with terror she could not explain, and she struggled out of the visions like a drowning woman fighting her way to the water's surface. She gasped for breath, and felt cold, harsh air fill her lungs; she forced her eyes open and saw the forest, bathed in a pale wash of moonlight.
For a few moments, her mind reeled with confusion, remembering that night had been new-fallen and the moon nowhere in sight when she closed her eyes. She must have fallen asleep, or lost consciousness, and not realized it. The moon now drifted overhead in the starry sky, waning towards crescent; the dim, wan light it gave off might have been barely enough to navigate by, but even a small shifting of her body now sent pain shooting from the wound in her side.
She let her eyes close again, praying for the others to forgive her foolishness and to go on without her; to let their anger at her death drive them and inspire them to take up arms against the empire. Her hand fumbled weakly towards her neck, trying to touch the necklace with Leon's ring one last time. Fingertips brushed cold metal lightly-- her hands felt as cold as the ring now-- and then she lowered her hand limply to the ground, too weary to move again.
This time, unconsciousness seemed to be slow in coming. On the verge of awareness, she thought she heard someone calling her name, and it occurred to her that perhaps she was dead after all, or close to it-- that someone was calling to her from the afterlife now, calling her to join them.
But the pain in her side was persistent, nagging at her even through her dulled awareness, and the ground cold and damp beneath her. She blinked her eyes open, and vaguely discerned, through blurred vision, a faint white light like a will-o'-the-wisp moving through the trees.
A traveler, she wondered, with a lantern? Maria tried to call out, but her throat was too dry to permit more than a harsh whisper. She could not tell where exactly it was, for it seemed to waver and flicker strangely, seeming to be in one place and then another.
Still, the light was strangely beautiful, and she watched it shimmer between the trees, drifting back and forth like a leaf on the wind. She thought again of the voice that had called her name earlier, and wondered if this was some heavenly being, come to take her soul to the afterlife.
The pale, illuminated figure halted, and then drew closer to her, its motions graceful and fluid, as though it were not walking at all but gliding upon air. For a moment, she imagined that it might be Leon, or one of their parents, calling her to join them in death.
Then a chill washed over her, and she felt herself beginning to shiver; the figure was radiant with light, but what drew her gaze towards it now was some terrible compulsion, rather than fascination. Its face was obscured, hidden like the rest of its body in a shroud of torn cloth, but Maria still sensed its interest.
If it had once been human, all that was human in it had vanished long ago. This was some long-perished being which had not remained at rest in death, which stalked the living without thought or mercy. She had heard stories of such things wandering out of the ruined lands south of Fynn, but had never imagined she would find herself unlucky enough to encounter one.
And then she heard a voice calling her name again, and a spell seemed to break-- the strange, glowing haze dissipated from her vision, and the unnatural silence was filled again with the sound of the wind rushing through the trees. The voice called out again-- human, living, from someplace very near.
She glanced around weakly, confused. The phantom figure reached out for her again, its eyes burning like coals, before a white flame erupted from the ground around its feet, enwreathing it in magic. For an instant it flailed silently before being consumed by the power burning around it, and dissipated into nothingness, leaving a few pale sparks lingering on the air.
"Maria! Are you all right?" Something about the voice nagged familiar in her mind, but she could not place the man who stepped out of the trees and stood before her in a white robe and headdress, holding a staff with an illuminated globe at the end and carrying a cloth pack.
He stepped closer, and the shadows fell away from his face, whereupon recognition suddenly sparked in her. "Don't be afraid-- it's me, Minwu."
For an instant she wanted to pass out with relief and exhaustion, but had no chance even to fall over; Minwu was bent over her, holding her head up, bringing a canteen of water to her lips and pouring a gentle stream of it into her mouth. She could not recall water having ever tasted so good; she had heard of travelers who perished by thirst, but until now she had never known the agony or the delirium that came with it.
When she was finished, he set the canteen down at her side, and she took his offered hand weakly. "What... what was that?"
"A remnant. A lost soul." Minwu drove the staff into the ground, the golden light from the orb illuminating the grove. "Long ago, an army came out of Palamecia to try to conquer the northern lands, but were beaten back by the ancestors of the people of Fynn. Still, their magic blighted the lands between here and Mysidia, and many souls who fell in that battle still wander there today, unable to distinguish living from dead or friend from foe." He went silent, gazing down at her. "But enough about the dead-- that one has gone where it belongs, and shall not return. What of you?"
"I was..." Wordlessly, she moved her hand to indicate the wound in her side. The dismal light afforded by the waning moon seemed pale and unpleasant compared to the brilliance of a full moon; but the orb embedded in Minwu's staff glowed brightly with a clear gold light, by which she could see as well as by lamplight. She found herself shocked at how much blood there was, though much of it was dark and dried.
"You were injured? Well that I found you, then." He frowned, bending down to examine the wound. Carefully his fingers probed at it; she winced, but tried to remain stoic. "You've lost a fair amount of blood..."
Maria's voice was still raspy from dehydration when she spoke, and she tasted blood on her cracked lips. "Do you... think I'm going to die?"
"All who live must someday die." Minwu's voice was steady as he rummaged through his bag. "However, you must not die yet. I can heal it." He dropped a bundle of dark fabric onto the ground. "But you ought to warm up a bit first."
She closed her eyes and leaned back, feeling a strange melancholy at the revelation. She ought to have been glad to hear she would live, she knew, but she had spent those lonely hours in the darkness preparing for death, anticipating it-- it felt strange, like waking from a too-vivid nightmare, to think that her resolve in the face of it was for naught.
Something soft was drawn gently around her shoulders, as light as silk and warm as fur, and she opened her eyes to see Minwu draping the cloth from his bag, which glittered curiously in the lamplight, across her body.
"Rest in that for a while-- it should warm you quickly enough-- and then I'll have a closer look at that wound." Maria nodded silently, too tired for further words.
Minwu knelt in front of her again, lifting her chin slightly to examine her face, her ashen cheeks and bloodied lips; tilted her head gently to one side and then another, combing back her dirty hair. Satisfied as to some aspect of her condition, he went back to rummaging through his bag, sorting through packets of herbs and medicines before unwrapping a larger glass vial from a bundle of cloth.
"Drink as much of this as you can. It should help a good deal." He pulled the stopper from the vial, filled to the brim with a pale pinkish liquid, and held a hand under her chin to steady her as he brought it to her lips. It tasted faintly like a sweet liquor, but was soothing to her lips and throat; cool as spring water when she swallowed it, but quickly turned warm in her stomach.
"How did you get that injury?" Minwu asked, sitting back and settling himself on the ground.
"I was... with a group of people. Heading to Fynn. We were caught by soldiers outside the city walls, and..." Maria pronounced the words hesitantly, surprised to find her voice restored by Minwu's potion. "Most of them didn't survive. Someone caught me in the side with their blade, and..." She shivered at the gruesome memory, drawing herself up tightly under the blanket. Pain and weakness had dulled the potency of her memories, put a peaceful fog over them; but now, with the edge taken off of both, the vivid images came back in force. She reached for the chain hanging about her neck, fidgeting with the ring compulsively.
Minwu looked as though he were about to ask something else, but thought better of it; instead, he handed her the half-empty vial. "Here, finish this. I'll get some water to wash your wound; it seems to be an ordinary injury. I felt no magical taint from it."
She leaned back against the tree, huddling further into the blanket and taking small sips from the vial. The fog and pain and disorientation were abating with each sip, and she almost felt as though she might be able to stand now, were it not for her injury.
Her mind was a confused whirl of questions, and she felt strangely guilty for reasons she could not place. When Minwu came back with a water-skin filled at some nearby spring or creek, she asked, hesitantly, "Why- why did you come after me? How did you find me?"
"I thought you might try to sneak away on your own, even after Hilda told you not to leave the town." There was a strange tone in his voice, almost abashed-- had he defied orders to track her down? "Your companions suspected it too, and so I slipped a charm into your bag to use as a magical trace."
"Why did you risk your life?" Maria reached her hand up to comb hair away from her face, and found it sticky with matted blood and dirt. She found herself suddenly embarassed as the thought of how she must look now, in front of Minwu, still so collected and dignified and well-groomed despite his long hunt for her. "Your life is worth so much more to the rebellion than mine."
Minwu's eyes, which had been holding her gaze gently, flickered away for a moment. "I saw that the destiny of you and your friends was joined with my own."
"W-what did you see in our futures?" She felt fear rising in her as she spoke the words. She had never been certain she believed in prophecies, though she had only seen the carnival games of tawdry fortunetellers and their predictions by way of proof. It was said by some that the true gift of prophecy came still to a few in the southern kingdoms, but before Minwu, she had known none who claimed it as their own.
"The future is often dark. If one can imagine trying to see through a dark fog..." A moth, drawn by the lamplight, fluttered down and settled on Minwu's shoulder; he fell still, as if trying not to alarm it by any sudden movement. "Perhaps we shall not all survive the current conflict. In any case, however, I saw it was not proper that you should cross to the side of death now."
Maria fell silent again, unsure of what to say. There was a weight to his words that she felt unworthy to question; still, she could not help but feel that his efforts would have been better spent in helping someone else. She remembered, still too clearly, the dying prince they had met in a hidden room under a sleazy pub in Fynn-- the bittersweet, resigned gaze of a man who had left too much undone; whose acceptance of death was, if graceful, still given with the greatest reluctance.
By contract, what void would she have left behind? Only two people (perhaps three, perhaps) would mourn her; she was heir to no throne, useful to the rebellion for nothing but errands and message-carrying. She wondered, and not for the first time, if it was more merciful to die than to live in this ravaged world. Was it futile to imagine they could ever fight back the empire?
Minwu glanced over her again, taking her hand in his and testing her pulse briefly. She found herself noticing that his fingertips were soft, lacking the calluses and roughness that a fighter's would possess. "You should be warm enough now. If you would, please lie down so I can have a closer look at the wound."
"A-all right." Maria shrugged back the blanket, wincing slightly at the cold air blowing against her skin, though she was no longer shivering. Minwu bent over her, easing her gently into a supine position with the blankets spread beneath her. She lay on the rough ground, watching the stars and the sinking moon drifting through the trees overhead.
At the first touch of his fingers on her stomach, she blushed in spite of herself. There was nothing to his action but a healer's concern, she knew, reminding herself firmly to not be foolish; surely she could trust him to do nothing inappropriate.
The fingers moved to her wounded side again, where dried blood had stuck the fabric of her shirt to her skin, and then withdrew. "Would you move your arm away from your side? I need to clean this-- I'd sooner not heal while your clothing is still stuck to the wound."
Maria nodded, being in no position to argue, and watched with distant interest as he began pouring water from the water-skin over the cloth. Though it was cool, it was far less frigid than she'd expected it to be; the sensation was soothing on her unbroken skin.
She held the damp cloth in place against her side, lying very still, letting Minwu pour water over it again and again, breaking only periodically to fetch fresh water.
At last he set down the water-skin, and reached for the hem of her shirt. Her embarassed reaction was swift; she drew up her arm on her uninjured side, trying clumsily to cover herself with her hand.
"I need to see the wound, Maria. I am a healer," he said softly, his gaze steady. "Please trust me. As a white mage, I am bound by my honour."
The wet shirt, now cleaned of the dried blood which had held it in place, pulled away from her skin easily. Minwu bent over her with hands outstretched, his expression fixed in a concentration that made her think of prayer or meditation, until a heatless white flame flickered out of his fingertips, shimmering with tongues of iridescence. The magic, when it touched her, was faintly cold, and tickled at her skin lightly. She felt a brief urge to squirm, or scratch at the healing wound, but managed to suppress it.
She felt the heat of his hands again, his fingers moving slowly across her side as the healing magic cleansed the wound and knit lacerated skin together. Fleetingly, she found herself amazed by his power, and pondered again on what he could have seen in his shadowy vision of the future-- whatever joined her destiny with his, whatever was so gravely important that he had traveled to seek her out in the depths of this forest.
Finally finished, Minwu withdrew his hands and leaned back, resting on his heels. Maria moved to sit up; he moved swiftly to support her, easing her gently into a seated position. "Be careful. The wound is mostly healed, but you still need time for your body to finish the repair on its own."
She leaned back against the trunk of a tree, letting Minwu drape the blanket over her once again. Dimly she realized, watching the stars glitter through the dark bones of the trees above, that she had lost all conception of what time it was-- was it midnight, was it before dawn? She thought wistfully of warm beds and warm food, but it was a curious, distant wistfulness that lacked the impatient longing she'd felt during other times when she was separated from the comforts of home. It wouldn't be so bad, she thought, to stay here for the night with Minwu, or even to stay for days afterwards.
Gingerly, she touched the place in her side where the wound had been. Some pain still lingered, and there would probably be a scar when healing was complete, but the blood was gone, save what she had smeared across her hands, clothing and hair in her clumsy, panicked flight.
When she looked up, she found Minwu gazing down at her with concerned interest. In the lamplight, his face was as impassively dignified as it had appeared on their first meeting, but his dark eyes were gentle. Still, there were deep lines of worry and exhaustion evident beneath those eyes now, and his white headdress and robe were smudged with dirt.
"Do you want to go back to Altair? You shouldn't stay away any longer than you must. Hilda needs you..." Her hand was at her throat again, fiddling with Leon's ring and the chain it hung on.
"No. You need rest." His reply was firm. "We ought to sleep here, and leave in the morning.
Maria nodded silently, sipping at the canteen of water he'd handed her earlier. She glanced up at the sky again, and saw the moon disappearing into a tangle of dark branches on the horizon. It occurred to her that she hadn't thought to be afraid since he had arrived. The shadows at the utmost edges of the magical lamplight seemed every so often to shift in a suspicious way, and once she thought she'd seen the light glinting off a distant pair of eyes, but nothing had approached them, and Minwu said nothing about it. Whatever lurked in the trees around them now was either harmless, or feared too much the light and the potent presence of white magic here. There seemed to be a strange and wild and stark beauty in the land now; she found herself imagining what it would look like by morning light, but the night was calm and soothing and placid all the same.
"There was one thing I wanted to ask..." Minwu's gaze flickered away for a moment.
"What?" She twisted the chain between her fingers.
"Did you find any sign of your brother?"
She felt her throat tightening, and could say nothing; she only shook her head. Vaguely she remembered her dark visions of Leon when she was on the edge of consciousness, when she thought she'd heard him calling out to her in his thoughts. All of those seemed distant as any dream now, and she considered again the possibility that her visions of his survival might be mere fantasies. She was too spent to cry, too exhausted-- but she was crying anyway, softly, wiping away the small tears that slipped between her closed eyelids.
"Maria..." Minwu was in front of her suddenly, looking older than she'd ever seen him. "I'm sorry." For a moment his arms were around her, and her face was buried in his robe, which smelt of the strange incenses and herbs that lingered on the air in magicians' workshops.
She tried to will her sorrow to pass. If Leon was alive, there was nothing she could do to ensure his continued survival; if he was not, she told herself firmly, it was as Minwu had said-- death was the fate of all who lived, though it came to some sooner than to others. Surely, it would be best to accept that she could change nothing.
Minwu wiped a few of the tears from her face with a fold of his robe, and then slowly drew back. "You ought to try to sleep," he said after a time. "I can prepare you a mild sleeping draught, if you would like it."
She leaned back and burrowed in her blanket, grateful that he hadn't tried to draw out a deeper confession of her feelings; she was more comfortable holding her sorrow quietly to herself, for now. "No, I... I think I'll be fine."
He nodded and turned aside, working on rearranging the contents of his bag. A bit sheepishly, Maria crawled underneath the blanket and clumsily removed her half-wet shirt-- if she didn't do it herself, she knew, he would no doubt chastise her for sleeping in wet clothing, in her condition. That done, she wrapped the blanket tightly around herself, feeling the heat of her own body surrounding her.
Carefully, she arranged herself on the ground, making sure to lie on her uninjured side. Once she had settled herself, cozy in the blanket, she was surprised to see Minwu unfastening his white cape, spreading it out on the ground beside her as his own blanket.
"Are you going to sleep next to me?" She felt herself beginning to blush again.
"I won't, if you don't want me to. But you're still colder than you should be..." He touched the side of her cheek lightly, testing its warmth.
"All right." She pronounced the words in a whisper, an admission of her absolute trust.
When he was settled and resting next to her, she shifted slightly, curling into the warmth of his body and trying not to be embarassed. If Minwu noticed her embarassment, thankfully, he said nothing; he lay quite still at her side, gazing placidly into the heavens. Maria found herself wondering again at his calm serenity, his ability to be untroubled by whatever dark glimpses of the future he had seen, and to accept his own role in them.
Trying to find a comfortable position on the hard ground, she felt Leon's ring sliding across her bare skin. It was tucked securely beneath the blanket now, and warmed by the heat of her body. She reached up and touched it again, running her finger over the smooth blue stone.
"Maria." Minwu's voice, coming unexpectedly as she was beginning to relax enough to sleep, startled her.
"What is it?"
"Never doubt that the powerless can become great, and shift the fortunes of the world. Even one who seems insignificant may harbour great capacity for strength."
Maria shut her eyes, feeling herself fall deeper into confusion. In the sprawling darkness of the forest, she felt absurdly tiny and powerless. Trying to imagine what she might do to change the world's fortunes seemed ridiculous.
"Remember, you're still young, and your skills are untested by combat. You may find yourself capable of a great deal more than you imagined." He paused a moment, and then went on, "To endure with such strength after losing your family, your home-- you and your companions bear it better than some who have lived harsher lives."
"Can you tell me what you saw in the future?" she asked, pleading despite her exhaustion.
"I cannot say with confidence yet what it is I think I see," he said, after hesitating a few moments. "Much of what lies ahead will be determined by our choices. The only things I can ever be certain of are those few things which cannot be avoided."
"Will you tell me someday, when you can see it more clearly?"
Minwu seemed to weigh the thought in his mind for a few minutes, and then replied, "In time, you must know-- you and all of your companions." A strange silence came over him, and he added, "But remember this-- the hopes you regard as foolish now may be great strength in the end. Those with the simplest and most innocent dreams are, perhaps, strong because of their hopes, and not in spite of them." His hand stroked over her filthy hair lightly. "In the end, perhaps you may not find it so strange that I valued your life enough to save it."
Uncertain of what to say, and drawn in deeper by the lure of sleep, she relaxed again, letting all confusion, fear and pain be swallowed up by the comforts of rest.
At long last her thoughts grew still, and relaxing into the safety of his presence, she slept, her hand clasped tight around the ring.
(Finally finished! Unbeta'ed, so there might be some dumb mistakes in this-- sorry if you run across any. ~_~ I also kept getting stuck trying to decide how much healing magic could and couldn't do, and finally decided it would make me look less silly if I just minimized the explanations. And this was sorta inspired by those asdfghjdkf things you run into if you go too far south in the beginning, if you're not checking your map or listening to people's hints about where everything is. XD)
Author/Artist: ceylmallyn
Rating: PG-13 for the blood, injury and violence references, I guess.
Warnings: A bit of blood and injury-- if that doesn't squick you in itself, it probably won't bother you. Also hurt/comfort, exactly what it says on the tin.
Prompt: "Final Fantasy II, Minwu/Maria: rescue, hurt/comfort - 'Why did you save me?'"
Word count: 5,850 (ACK so much longer than I anticipated. But nobody writes fic about this game, so I wanted to write a lot.)
Summary: She had resigned herself to this fate as the consequence of her folly; she never expected he would come in search of her.
A/N: A few days late, aagghh-- I'm so sorry. When I actually started writing it, it turned out to be longer than I'd expected. Still, this game gets no love at all, and someone must do something about this. (Not sure who requested this, but it was an interesting challenge/pairing to write, thanks!)
Also, this fic is based on the original FFII, not renamed-IV-- that's common knowledge now, I think, but I still occasionally run into people confused that the numbers of the remakes aren't the ones they grew up with, so yeah. Takes place between the party's first "mission" to Fynn and the first fetch quest where Minwu accompanies you. And the title is kind of random, although sorrow is one of the traditional meanings for marigolds.
Maria stumbled between the dark shapes of trees, clutching a hand to the wound in her side. Every inch of her body seemed to be in pain; her mouth was painfully dry, but the effort required to uncork the flask of water at her side and bring it to her lips now seemed insurmountable.
She grasped weakly at the trunk of a bare sapling tree to keep herself standing. Breathing deeply, she glanced about her surroundings, finding no trace of any familiar landmark and nothing to mark a path. The terrain was flat and featureless, broken here and there by small hills and gullies; but there was nothing by which she could hope to guess where she was headed. In the rapidly falling darkness, it was swiftly becoming impossible to tell by sight alone which shapes were brushes or rocks and which were shadows.
The spring of Fynn's northern climate still brought a sharp chill to nights. Maria tried to draw her thin shirt more tightly around her, ruing herself for lacking the foresight to bring a shawl or coat. Not that it would matter, she thought with a resigned and distant fear, if she were to die here.
Gazing across the darkening sky, she found it was becoming harder and harder to keep her vision focused. Dismally, she realized that once the sun sunk below the horizon, she would lose the only means of navigation she had possessed in these dense, tangled woods. Trying to forge ahead in the darkness, if it did not send her stumbling over the edge of a ditch or into the icy water of a stream, could easily turn her around in blind confusion and send her limping back up to Fynn-- back into the hands of the Palamecian soldiers and the strange and unnatural beings they commanded.
She had hoped to be in Gatrea by nightfall, but pain and confusion had scattered her sense of direction, and sent her shambling far off course; some of the trees of these unknown woods were alien to her.
She was ignorant of the wilderness, having spent her entire life in the city; she knew nothing of how to build a fire, nor of how to gather food, what was edible and what was poison, nor what there might be to fear in this darkness besides cold and starvation. She could hardly begin to guess now at the location of the road which had taken her to Fynn from Gatrea the first time-- she knew only that she was lost, and her strength was so diminished that any hope of going further was in vain.
Letting go of the tree she had used to steady herself, Maria half-sunk, half-fell to the cold ground at the roots of a nearby tree, leaning against its trunk to keep herself upright, and winced at the jolt of pain it sent through her aching body and the wound in her side. Languidly, she reached up and touched, with blood-sticky fingers, the necklace around her throat-- a ring of Leon's, hanging from a slender chain.
She recalled, with a dim sorrow, how it had come to be hers, back when the four of them had lost their home for the first time. At the first rumour that the Palamecian army had broken through the line outside the city, her family, like so many others, had swiftly made plans to escape; possessions were limited to what could be carried or worn, and all jewelry in the house had come along with them, to be pawned for money lest they find themselves penniless. Only her parents had not made it out of the city, and Leon-- Leon...
The blue stone set into the ring felt as cold as the ground now. "Firion, Guy, I'm sorry," she whispered into the eerie silence of the woods.
She had brought this fate upon herself, Maria knew-- brought it on herself by her rashness and selfishness, her foolish wishful thinking. She had agreed with Firion when he declared his certainty that Leon was alive out there somewhere. And she would have done well to leave it as a blind hope-- many stronger than herself, she well knew, had tried to cross the enemy line in search of lost friends and family, and perished in the attempt.
After the three of them had infiltrated the outskirts of Fynn and found no sign or rumour of Leon, she had been tormented by nightmares of her brother captive at the hands of imperial forces-- alone, frightened, pleading for mercy. And so she hoped blindly that by going back there, she might manage to uncover some new clue, some trace to point her in his current direction. It had required slipping out of Altair by night, after Hilda's firm assurances that it was safest for them to stay here for now, and Firion and Guy's attempts to persuade her that a second visit would do no good.
On the road, she'd met up with a group of aspiring thieves seeking to loot from the abandoned shops of Fynn. For the sake of safety in numbers, she had entertained their crass but often amusing company. Without exception, they all appeared scruffy, ill-kempt and untrained-- she no less than them, after a few days on the road alone-- and had hoped it would serve as protection against the imperial soldiers. When she'd gone there with Firion and Guy, the soldiers had paid them little mind, dismissing them as weak beneath concern. So long as they said nothing, they received no trouble in return, only glares and crass comments and the occasional stone flung at them.
This time, however, a few soldiers had been roaming about the city walls, restless with the casual cruelty borne of war and conquest. Whether it had been by order or merely sadistic whim, they had gone after the band of suspicious civilians loitering about the outskirts, with inhuman strength and swords that clove metal helms in two. Those who tried to fight had been the first to fall, and in the confusion of the struggle, Maria never saw whose blade had caught her in the side. She knew only that, by great fortune, the wound had not been so severe that she was unable to flee, and she had staggered off with the soldiers taunting at her, calling out that this particular swarm of insects would trouble Palamecia no more.
The solemn, eerie cry of an owl echoed from somewhere in the branches above. Maria started in fear, forcing herself to calm down, as she realized belatedly that it had been nothing but a common owl. The forests around Fynn were stalked now by strange, unnatural things that the empire had brought in its wake-- things that bore passing resemblance to common creatures, but each one twisted in some way that made them more horrific than fantastic beasts: vines with faces and sharp teeth, wasps with stingers like daggers.
There were those who said that they were not of the earth at all, but things that the emperor had summoned out of hell. Whether they were earthly or infernal, they had fallen easily enough to simple weapons when she, Firion and Guy had gone back to Fynn the first time. She had no wish, however, to face a swarm of them alone-- in her current condition, she held little hope that she would survive.
Well, she thought grimly, perhaps it was vain of her to expect to survive this, even if no monsters came to finish the job. Even if her wound were to stop bleeding, how far could she walk in her weakened state? Starvation, or cold, or both, would do her in first.
The trees above her had only begun to come into leaf; some still bore nothing but unsprouted buds, and between the sharp angles of the overlapping branches, Maria could see the evening sky, with a few stars already shining in the gathering twilight. The details of the trees and underbrush around her had faded into gradations of darkness, and she tried not to glance at her surroundings, fearful of what her mind might imagine into the indistinct shadows. Every slight sound, even the faint sighing of the wind in the trees, caused her to look around in fearful startlement now.
Still, she knew too well that her reflexes would be in vain if anything did come upon her. She might be able to grab at the dagger in her belt, but not to wield it with enough strength to land a killing blow. The small bow fastened at her back was useless now, for there was no way she could gather the strength to fit it with an arrow, draw the string and aim.
She found herself torn between a desire to lose consciousness-- as her eyelids drew downwards and began to feel unbearably heavy-- and a desire to fight to stay awake. Her thoughts, mired in a groggy miasma of pain and exhaustion, flickered with visions of Firion and Guy at the rebellion's hideout-- Guy mourning openly, paying as little heed as a boy to emotional restraint; Firion trying to remain stoic; but both begging to go out to scout for her, to bring a few soldiers along. She saw the princess of Fynn, with a weariness beyond her years, telling them that nothing could be done, that resources could not be expended on a hunt for one untrained soldier, who would not obey her order to stay at the base.
The images turned into dreamlike visions, until Maria thought she could half-hear the words being spoken aloud, and then turned dark: Leon in shadows, Leon in the darkness of some great labyrinthine stone structure, calling her name in his mind: Maria, Maria. Leon not alone in that sinister darkness, but kneeling before a man in gold, fair as the sun and terrible as burning.
The last scene filled her with terror she could not explain, and she struggled out of the visions like a drowning woman fighting her way to the water's surface. She gasped for breath, and felt cold, harsh air fill her lungs; she forced her eyes open and saw the forest, bathed in a pale wash of moonlight.
For a few moments, her mind reeled with confusion, remembering that night had been new-fallen and the moon nowhere in sight when she closed her eyes. She must have fallen asleep, or lost consciousness, and not realized it. The moon now drifted overhead in the starry sky, waning towards crescent; the dim, wan light it gave off might have been barely enough to navigate by, but even a small shifting of her body now sent pain shooting from the wound in her side.
She let her eyes close again, praying for the others to forgive her foolishness and to go on without her; to let their anger at her death drive them and inspire them to take up arms against the empire. Her hand fumbled weakly towards her neck, trying to touch the necklace with Leon's ring one last time. Fingertips brushed cold metal lightly-- her hands felt as cold as the ring now-- and then she lowered her hand limply to the ground, too weary to move again.
This time, unconsciousness seemed to be slow in coming. On the verge of awareness, she thought she heard someone calling her name, and it occurred to her that perhaps she was dead after all, or close to it-- that someone was calling to her from the afterlife now, calling her to join them.
But the pain in her side was persistent, nagging at her even through her dulled awareness, and the ground cold and damp beneath her. She blinked her eyes open, and vaguely discerned, through blurred vision, a faint white light like a will-o'-the-wisp moving through the trees.
A traveler, she wondered, with a lantern? Maria tried to call out, but her throat was too dry to permit more than a harsh whisper. She could not tell where exactly it was, for it seemed to waver and flicker strangely, seeming to be in one place and then another.
Still, the light was strangely beautiful, and she watched it shimmer between the trees, drifting back and forth like a leaf on the wind. She thought again of the voice that had called her name earlier, and wondered if this was some heavenly being, come to take her soul to the afterlife.
The pale, illuminated figure halted, and then drew closer to her, its motions graceful and fluid, as though it were not walking at all but gliding upon air. For a moment, she imagined that it might be Leon, or one of their parents, calling her to join them in death.
Then a chill washed over her, and she felt herself beginning to shiver; the figure was radiant with light, but what drew her gaze towards it now was some terrible compulsion, rather than fascination. Its face was obscured, hidden like the rest of its body in a shroud of torn cloth, but Maria still sensed its interest.
If it had once been human, all that was human in it had vanished long ago. This was some long-perished being which had not remained at rest in death, which stalked the living without thought or mercy. She had heard stories of such things wandering out of the ruined lands south of Fynn, but had never imagined she would find herself unlucky enough to encounter one.
And then she heard a voice calling her name again, and a spell seemed to break-- the strange, glowing haze dissipated from her vision, and the unnatural silence was filled again with the sound of the wind rushing through the trees. The voice called out again-- human, living, from someplace very near.
She glanced around weakly, confused. The phantom figure reached out for her again, its eyes burning like coals, before a white flame erupted from the ground around its feet, enwreathing it in magic. For an instant it flailed silently before being consumed by the power burning around it, and dissipated into nothingness, leaving a few pale sparks lingering on the air.
"Maria! Are you all right?" Something about the voice nagged familiar in her mind, but she could not place the man who stepped out of the trees and stood before her in a white robe and headdress, holding a staff with an illuminated globe at the end and carrying a cloth pack.
He stepped closer, and the shadows fell away from his face, whereupon recognition suddenly sparked in her. "Don't be afraid-- it's me, Minwu."
For an instant she wanted to pass out with relief and exhaustion, but had no chance even to fall over; Minwu was bent over her, holding her head up, bringing a canteen of water to her lips and pouring a gentle stream of it into her mouth. She could not recall water having ever tasted so good; she had heard of travelers who perished by thirst, but until now she had never known the agony or the delirium that came with it.
When she was finished, he set the canteen down at her side, and she took his offered hand weakly. "What... what was that?"
"A remnant. A lost soul." Minwu drove the staff into the ground, the golden light from the orb illuminating the grove. "Long ago, an army came out of Palamecia to try to conquer the northern lands, but were beaten back by the ancestors of the people of Fynn. Still, their magic blighted the lands between here and Mysidia, and many souls who fell in that battle still wander there today, unable to distinguish living from dead or friend from foe." He went silent, gazing down at her. "But enough about the dead-- that one has gone where it belongs, and shall not return. What of you?"
"I was..." Wordlessly, she moved her hand to indicate the wound in her side. The dismal light afforded by the waning moon seemed pale and unpleasant compared to the brilliance of a full moon; but the orb embedded in Minwu's staff glowed brightly with a clear gold light, by which she could see as well as by lamplight. She found herself shocked at how much blood there was, though much of it was dark and dried.
"You were injured? Well that I found you, then." He frowned, bending down to examine the wound. Carefully his fingers probed at it; she winced, but tried to remain stoic. "You've lost a fair amount of blood..."
Maria's voice was still raspy from dehydration when she spoke, and she tasted blood on her cracked lips. "Do you... think I'm going to die?"
"All who live must someday die." Minwu's voice was steady as he rummaged through his bag. "However, you must not die yet. I can heal it." He dropped a bundle of dark fabric onto the ground. "But you ought to warm up a bit first."
She closed her eyes and leaned back, feeling a strange melancholy at the revelation. She ought to have been glad to hear she would live, she knew, but she had spent those lonely hours in the darkness preparing for death, anticipating it-- it felt strange, like waking from a too-vivid nightmare, to think that her resolve in the face of it was for naught.
Something soft was drawn gently around her shoulders, as light as silk and warm as fur, and she opened her eyes to see Minwu draping the cloth from his bag, which glittered curiously in the lamplight, across her body.
"Rest in that for a while-- it should warm you quickly enough-- and then I'll have a closer look at that wound." Maria nodded silently, too tired for further words.
Minwu knelt in front of her again, lifting her chin slightly to examine her face, her ashen cheeks and bloodied lips; tilted her head gently to one side and then another, combing back her dirty hair. Satisfied as to some aspect of her condition, he went back to rummaging through his bag, sorting through packets of herbs and medicines before unwrapping a larger glass vial from a bundle of cloth.
"Drink as much of this as you can. It should help a good deal." He pulled the stopper from the vial, filled to the brim with a pale pinkish liquid, and held a hand under her chin to steady her as he brought it to her lips. It tasted faintly like a sweet liquor, but was soothing to her lips and throat; cool as spring water when she swallowed it, but quickly turned warm in her stomach.
"How did you get that injury?" Minwu asked, sitting back and settling himself on the ground.
"I was... with a group of people. Heading to Fynn. We were caught by soldiers outside the city walls, and..." Maria pronounced the words hesitantly, surprised to find her voice restored by Minwu's potion. "Most of them didn't survive. Someone caught me in the side with their blade, and..." She shivered at the gruesome memory, drawing herself up tightly under the blanket. Pain and weakness had dulled the potency of her memories, put a peaceful fog over them; but now, with the edge taken off of both, the vivid images came back in force. She reached for the chain hanging about her neck, fidgeting with the ring compulsively.
Minwu looked as though he were about to ask something else, but thought better of it; instead, he handed her the half-empty vial. "Here, finish this. I'll get some water to wash your wound; it seems to be an ordinary injury. I felt no magical taint from it."
She leaned back against the tree, huddling further into the blanket and taking small sips from the vial. The fog and pain and disorientation were abating with each sip, and she almost felt as though she might be able to stand now, were it not for her injury.
Her mind was a confused whirl of questions, and she felt strangely guilty for reasons she could not place. When Minwu came back with a water-skin filled at some nearby spring or creek, she asked, hesitantly, "Why- why did you come after me? How did you find me?"
"I thought you might try to sneak away on your own, even after Hilda told you not to leave the town." There was a strange tone in his voice, almost abashed-- had he defied orders to track her down? "Your companions suspected it too, and so I slipped a charm into your bag to use as a magical trace."
"Why did you risk your life?" Maria reached her hand up to comb hair away from her face, and found it sticky with matted blood and dirt. She found herself suddenly embarassed as the thought of how she must look now, in front of Minwu, still so collected and dignified and well-groomed despite his long hunt for her. "Your life is worth so much more to the rebellion than mine."
Minwu's eyes, which had been holding her gaze gently, flickered away for a moment. "I saw that the destiny of you and your friends was joined with my own."
"W-what did you see in our futures?" She felt fear rising in her as she spoke the words. She had never been certain she believed in prophecies, though she had only seen the carnival games of tawdry fortunetellers and their predictions by way of proof. It was said by some that the true gift of prophecy came still to a few in the southern kingdoms, but before Minwu, she had known none who claimed it as their own.
"The future is often dark. If one can imagine trying to see through a dark fog..." A moth, drawn by the lamplight, fluttered down and settled on Minwu's shoulder; he fell still, as if trying not to alarm it by any sudden movement. "Perhaps we shall not all survive the current conflict. In any case, however, I saw it was not proper that you should cross to the side of death now."
Maria fell silent again, unsure of what to say. There was a weight to his words that she felt unworthy to question; still, she could not help but feel that his efforts would have been better spent in helping someone else. She remembered, still too clearly, the dying prince they had met in a hidden room under a sleazy pub in Fynn-- the bittersweet, resigned gaze of a man who had left too much undone; whose acceptance of death was, if graceful, still given with the greatest reluctance.
By contract, what void would she have left behind? Only two people (perhaps three, perhaps) would mourn her; she was heir to no throne, useful to the rebellion for nothing but errands and message-carrying. She wondered, and not for the first time, if it was more merciful to die than to live in this ravaged world. Was it futile to imagine they could ever fight back the empire?
Minwu glanced over her again, taking her hand in his and testing her pulse briefly. She found herself noticing that his fingertips were soft, lacking the calluses and roughness that a fighter's would possess. "You should be warm enough now. If you would, please lie down so I can have a closer look at the wound."
"A-all right." Maria shrugged back the blanket, wincing slightly at the cold air blowing against her skin, though she was no longer shivering. Minwu bent over her, easing her gently into a supine position with the blankets spread beneath her. She lay on the rough ground, watching the stars and the sinking moon drifting through the trees overhead.
At the first touch of his fingers on her stomach, she blushed in spite of herself. There was nothing to his action but a healer's concern, she knew, reminding herself firmly to not be foolish; surely she could trust him to do nothing inappropriate.
The fingers moved to her wounded side again, where dried blood had stuck the fabric of her shirt to her skin, and then withdrew. "Would you move your arm away from your side? I need to clean this-- I'd sooner not heal while your clothing is still stuck to the wound."
Maria nodded, being in no position to argue, and watched with distant interest as he began pouring water from the water-skin over the cloth. Though it was cool, it was far less frigid than she'd expected it to be; the sensation was soothing on her unbroken skin.
She held the damp cloth in place against her side, lying very still, letting Minwu pour water over it again and again, breaking only periodically to fetch fresh water.
At last he set down the water-skin, and reached for the hem of her shirt. Her embarassed reaction was swift; she drew up her arm on her uninjured side, trying clumsily to cover herself with her hand.
"I need to see the wound, Maria. I am a healer," he said softly, his gaze steady. "Please trust me. As a white mage, I am bound by my honour."
The wet shirt, now cleaned of the dried blood which had held it in place, pulled away from her skin easily. Minwu bent over her with hands outstretched, his expression fixed in a concentration that made her think of prayer or meditation, until a heatless white flame flickered out of his fingertips, shimmering with tongues of iridescence. The magic, when it touched her, was faintly cold, and tickled at her skin lightly. She felt a brief urge to squirm, or scratch at the healing wound, but managed to suppress it.
She felt the heat of his hands again, his fingers moving slowly across her side as the healing magic cleansed the wound and knit lacerated skin together. Fleetingly, she found herself amazed by his power, and pondered again on what he could have seen in his shadowy vision of the future-- whatever joined her destiny with his, whatever was so gravely important that he had traveled to seek her out in the depths of this forest.
Finally finished, Minwu withdrew his hands and leaned back, resting on his heels. Maria moved to sit up; he moved swiftly to support her, easing her gently into a seated position. "Be careful. The wound is mostly healed, but you still need time for your body to finish the repair on its own."
She leaned back against the trunk of a tree, letting Minwu drape the blanket over her once again. Dimly she realized, watching the stars glitter through the dark bones of the trees above, that she had lost all conception of what time it was-- was it midnight, was it before dawn? She thought wistfully of warm beds and warm food, but it was a curious, distant wistfulness that lacked the impatient longing she'd felt during other times when she was separated from the comforts of home. It wouldn't be so bad, she thought, to stay here for the night with Minwu, or even to stay for days afterwards.
Gingerly, she touched the place in her side where the wound had been. Some pain still lingered, and there would probably be a scar when healing was complete, but the blood was gone, save what she had smeared across her hands, clothing and hair in her clumsy, panicked flight.
When she looked up, she found Minwu gazing down at her with concerned interest. In the lamplight, his face was as impassively dignified as it had appeared on their first meeting, but his dark eyes were gentle. Still, there were deep lines of worry and exhaustion evident beneath those eyes now, and his white headdress and robe were smudged with dirt.
"Do you want to go back to Altair? You shouldn't stay away any longer than you must. Hilda needs you..." Her hand was at her throat again, fiddling with Leon's ring and the chain it hung on.
"No. You need rest." His reply was firm. "We ought to sleep here, and leave in the morning.
Maria nodded silently, sipping at the canteen of water he'd handed her earlier. She glanced up at the sky again, and saw the moon disappearing into a tangle of dark branches on the horizon. It occurred to her that she hadn't thought to be afraid since he had arrived. The shadows at the utmost edges of the magical lamplight seemed every so often to shift in a suspicious way, and once she thought she'd seen the light glinting off a distant pair of eyes, but nothing had approached them, and Minwu said nothing about it. Whatever lurked in the trees around them now was either harmless, or feared too much the light and the potent presence of white magic here. There seemed to be a strange and wild and stark beauty in the land now; she found herself imagining what it would look like by morning light, but the night was calm and soothing and placid all the same.
"There was one thing I wanted to ask..." Minwu's gaze flickered away for a moment.
"What?" She twisted the chain between her fingers.
"Did you find any sign of your brother?"
She felt her throat tightening, and could say nothing; she only shook her head. Vaguely she remembered her dark visions of Leon when she was on the edge of consciousness, when she thought she'd heard him calling out to her in his thoughts. All of those seemed distant as any dream now, and she considered again the possibility that her visions of his survival might be mere fantasies. She was too spent to cry, too exhausted-- but she was crying anyway, softly, wiping away the small tears that slipped between her closed eyelids.
"Maria..." Minwu was in front of her suddenly, looking older than she'd ever seen him. "I'm sorry." For a moment his arms were around her, and her face was buried in his robe, which smelt of the strange incenses and herbs that lingered on the air in magicians' workshops.
She tried to will her sorrow to pass. If Leon was alive, there was nothing she could do to ensure his continued survival; if he was not, she told herself firmly, it was as Minwu had said-- death was the fate of all who lived, though it came to some sooner than to others. Surely, it would be best to accept that she could change nothing.
Minwu wiped a few of the tears from her face with a fold of his robe, and then slowly drew back. "You ought to try to sleep," he said after a time. "I can prepare you a mild sleeping draught, if you would like it."
She leaned back and burrowed in her blanket, grateful that he hadn't tried to draw out a deeper confession of her feelings; she was more comfortable holding her sorrow quietly to herself, for now. "No, I... I think I'll be fine."
He nodded and turned aside, working on rearranging the contents of his bag. A bit sheepishly, Maria crawled underneath the blanket and clumsily removed her half-wet shirt-- if she didn't do it herself, she knew, he would no doubt chastise her for sleeping in wet clothing, in her condition. That done, she wrapped the blanket tightly around herself, feeling the heat of her own body surrounding her.
Carefully, she arranged herself on the ground, making sure to lie on her uninjured side. Once she had settled herself, cozy in the blanket, she was surprised to see Minwu unfastening his white cape, spreading it out on the ground beside her as his own blanket.
"Are you going to sleep next to me?" She felt herself beginning to blush again.
"I won't, if you don't want me to. But you're still colder than you should be..." He touched the side of her cheek lightly, testing its warmth.
"All right." She pronounced the words in a whisper, an admission of her absolute trust.
When he was settled and resting next to her, she shifted slightly, curling into the warmth of his body and trying not to be embarassed. If Minwu noticed her embarassment, thankfully, he said nothing; he lay quite still at her side, gazing placidly into the heavens. Maria found herself wondering again at his calm serenity, his ability to be untroubled by whatever dark glimpses of the future he had seen, and to accept his own role in them.
Trying to find a comfortable position on the hard ground, she felt Leon's ring sliding across her bare skin. It was tucked securely beneath the blanket now, and warmed by the heat of her body. She reached up and touched it again, running her finger over the smooth blue stone.
"Maria." Minwu's voice, coming unexpectedly as she was beginning to relax enough to sleep, startled her.
"What is it?"
"Never doubt that the powerless can become great, and shift the fortunes of the world. Even one who seems insignificant may harbour great capacity for strength."
Maria shut her eyes, feeling herself fall deeper into confusion. In the sprawling darkness of the forest, she felt absurdly tiny and powerless. Trying to imagine what she might do to change the world's fortunes seemed ridiculous.
"Remember, you're still young, and your skills are untested by combat. You may find yourself capable of a great deal more than you imagined." He paused a moment, and then went on, "To endure with such strength after losing your family, your home-- you and your companions bear it better than some who have lived harsher lives."
"Can you tell me what you saw in the future?" she asked, pleading despite her exhaustion.
"I cannot say with confidence yet what it is I think I see," he said, after hesitating a few moments. "Much of what lies ahead will be determined by our choices. The only things I can ever be certain of are those few things which cannot be avoided."
"Will you tell me someday, when you can see it more clearly?"
Minwu seemed to weigh the thought in his mind for a few minutes, and then replied, "In time, you must know-- you and all of your companions." A strange silence came over him, and he added, "But remember this-- the hopes you regard as foolish now may be great strength in the end. Those with the simplest and most innocent dreams are, perhaps, strong because of their hopes, and not in spite of them." His hand stroked over her filthy hair lightly. "In the end, perhaps you may not find it so strange that I valued your life enough to save it."
Uncertain of what to say, and drawn in deeper by the lure of sleep, she relaxed again, letting all confusion, fear and pain be swallowed up by the comforts of rest.
At long last her thoughts grew still, and relaxing into the safety of his presence, she slept, her hand clasped tight around the ring.
(Finally finished! Unbeta'ed, so there might be some dumb mistakes in this-- sorry if you run across any. ~_~ I also kept getting stuck trying to decide how much healing magic could and couldn't do, and finally decided it would make me look less silly if I just minimized the explanations. And this was sorta inspired by those asdfghjdkf things you run into if you go too far south in the beginning, if you're not checking your map or listening to people's hints about where everything is. XD)