[004] "A Sole Desire"
Title: A Sole Desire
Game: FE8
Word Count: 895
Pairings/Characters: Natasha
Warnings: What could be considered graphic images of burns, taken from the descriptions of the hibakusha immediately after the fall of the atomic bomb. (And of course, some shoddy hot-off-the-press writing to meet the deadline) Also, this is post-game, so read for spoilers at your own risk.
ETA: The edited version is now on FF.n
---
Natasha understands what it means to temper a blade, the pounding of the blade fresh out of the forge, and the subsequent submersion in water. She wonders if Grado itself is one large blade; the gaping earth had come first - the mining of minerals, the overturning, the torture, the screams, and oh gods the bodies - , and then the earth rose with volcanoes. The only thing left to go through is a flood. Or perhaps the flood is the wave of people staggering to where the temples once stood, not knowing if they were there to plead for help, or to die.
She returns to Grado after the war, not caring or knowing if she will die in the great opening of earth that Knoll told her of. All she knows is urgency; there is a little time for victory, and not even enough time to visit her family - she has not heard from them, and oh gods, she can only believe they have not died, if not from the force of nature, than from the bandits that make their way further and further towards the sea.
By the time she crosses the length of Grado and returns to her temple in the south, it is already gone. The earth had shaken a few days after she crossed the border; she was thrown to the ground, and afraid to die. She screamed. She did not cry though, even when the shaking returned, stronger and stronger as she pressed on.
There were floods of people, most of them unharmed, taking whatever they could. They told her to flee too, the temples were gone, and if you went south, there was nothing but calamity and misfortune and death. She went though, forcing herself against the hot press of their bodies.
There was no homecoming for her; only a foundation stone, collapsed walls, and the clergy frantically trying to organize itself. There clerics were unprepared and not enough supplies; a result, perhaps, of Grado not experiencing heavy casualties on their side of the war. She doesn’t even know what they will do when winter comes in half a year. Whoever survived of the temple is put to serving the people. Even the youngest of the initiates are running with scraps of clothing for makeshift bandages and dirty water to drink, because there’s nothing else.
The people come, holding themselves, their children, their last belongings like it’s all they have left. And perhaps it is, but there is never a right way to take the dead baby from the mother who doesn’t yet - and perhaps never will - understand their child is dead. The burns, though, oh by the Stones, those are enough to make her question her faith. The clothes are seared onto skin, and as the people come naked, she can tell what they wore when the fires came. Even worse, the heat comes, and then their lack of supplies is obvious. There aren’t enough staves, not enough tomes to heal, and eventually they take to just praying - may you be guided to safety. The open wounds - clear to the bone - might heal, but the skin only hides the maggots growing there. They wriggle beneath the skin, and then they must be cut out. It’s hard to tell who has the maggots though, most of the wounds are swollen and shiny, oozing yellow liquid.
There is no word from the outside world, and she wonders if they don’t care about this hell. Surprisingly, Knoll is the first to come, just as promised. Although he does not believe, he has enough knowledge in healing without faith to help them. Cormag appears next, flying supplies in with his wyvern; he also flies news. The Kings and Queens they fought with have not forgotten them in their hour of need; however, the bandits preying on their borders are a formidable force for countries still in need of their own soldiers to restore their countries. Grado had been the source of their downfall, and she sees why they would not be eager to risk all those lives. Amelia and Ewan come next; they’ve been circling the borders, trying to clear a path for the supply train on its way.
It doesn’t matter, though, they’ll be drowned in bodies by the time help comes. The bodies are rotting, the smell inescapable, bringing sickness with them. What will come of all this Natasha doesn’t know.
It’s the day when the first family comes, sorting through the dead to identify their kin, that she first cries. The tears cover her hands when someone - Knoll, still in dark robes, now tattered and ripped apart for bandaging - puts their hand on her shoulder and asks, “Where is your faith, Sister Natasha?”
She remembers, then, that the world must have light; that’s why she fled Grado in the first place, and if a small band of soldiers could defeat a Demon King, perhaps a fraction of that could save a kingdom. Her anger and despair come together in vicious unity; she no longer needs a stave to heal, then.
Natasha understands what it means to temper a blade, and now she knows what it means to temper a kingdom; it is to temper its people; mine their anger, burn their sorrow, and drown them in death until there is nothing left except the sole desire to transform.
Game: FE8
Word Count: 895
Pairings/Characters: Natasha
Warnings: What could be considered graphic images of burns, taken from the descriptions of the hibakusha immediately after the fall of the atomic bomb. (And of course, some shoddy hot-off-the-press writing to meet the deadline) Also, this is post-game, so read for spoilers at your own risk.
ETA: The edited version is now on FF.n
---
Natasha understands what it means to temper a blade, the pounding of the blade fresh out of the forge, and the subsequent submersion in water. She wonders if Grado itself is one large blade; the gaping earth had come first - the mining of minerals, the overturning, the torture, the screams, and oh gods the bodies - , and then the earth rose with volcanoes. The only thing left to go through is a flood. Or perhaps the flood is the wave of people staggering to where the temples once stood, not knowing if they were there to plead for help, or to die.
She returns to Grado after the war, not caring or knowing if she will die in the great opening of earth that Knoll told her of. All she knows is urgency; there is a little time for victory, and not even enough time to visit her family - she has not heard from them, and oh gods, she can only believe they have not died, if not from the force of nature, than from the bandits that make their way further and further towards the sea.
By the time she crosses the length of Grado and returns to her temple in the south, it is already gone. The earth had shaken a few days after she crossed the border; she was thrown to the ground, and afraid to die. She screamed. She did not cry though, even when the shaking returned, stronger and stronger as she pressed on.
There were floods of people, most of them unharmed, taking whatever they could. They told her to flee too, the temples were gone, and if you went south, there was nothing but calamity and misfortune and death. She went though, forcing herself against the hot press of their bodies.
There was no homecoming for her; only a foundation stone, collapsed walls, and the clergy frantically trying to organize itself. There clerics were unprepared and not enough supplies; a result, perhaps, of Grado not experiencing heavy casualties on their side of the war. She doesn’t even know what they will do when winter comes in half a year. Whoever survived of the temple is put to serving the people. Even the youngest of the initiates are running with scraps of clothing for makeshift bandages and dirty water to drink, because there’s nothing else.
The people come, holding themselves, their children, their last belongings like it’s all they have left. And perhaps it is, but there is never a right way to take the dead baby from the mother who doesn’t yet - and perhaps never will - understand their child is dead. The burns, though, oh by the Stones, those are enough to make her question her faith. The clothes are seared onto skin, and as the people come naked, she can tell what they wore when the fires came. Even worse, the heat comes, and then their lack of supplies is obvious. There aren’t enough staves, not enough tomes to heal, and eventually they take to just praying - may you be guided to safety. The open wounds - clear to the bone - might heal, but the skin only hides the maggots growing there. They wriggle beneath the skin, and then they must be cut out. It’s hard to tell who has the maggots though, most of the wounds are swollen and shiny, oozing yellow liquid.
There is no word from the outside world, and she wonders if they don’t care about this hell. Surprisingly, Knoll is the first to come, just as promised. Although he does not believe, he has enough knowledge in healing without faith to help them. Cormag appears next, flying supplies in with his wyvern; he also flies news. The Kings and Queens they fought with have not forgotten them in their hour of need; however, the bandits preying on their borders are a formidable force for countries still in need of their own soldiers to restore their countries. Grado had been the source of their downfall, and she sees why they would not be eager to risk all those lives. Amelia and Ewan come next; they’ve been circling the borders, trying to clear a path for the supply train on its way.
It doesn’t matter, though, they’ll be drowned in bodies by the time help comes. The bodies are rotting, the smell inescapable, bringing sickness with them. What will come of all this Natasha doesn’t know.
It’s the day when the first family comes, sorting through the dead to identify their kin, that she first cries. The tears cover her hands when someone - Knoll, still in dark robes, now tattered and ripped apart for bandaging - puts their hand on her shoulder and asks, “Where is your faith, Sister Natasha?”
She remembers, then, that the world must have light; that’s why she fled Grado in the first place, and if a small band of soldiers could defeat a Demon King, perhaps a fraction of that could save a kingdom. Her anger and despair come together in vicious unity; she no longer needs a stave to heal, then.
Natasha understands what it means to temper a blade, and now she knows what it means to temper a kingdom; it is to temper its people; mine their anger, burn their sorrow, and drown them in death until there is nothing left except the sole desire to transform.