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Protecting a Sword	By : The13thStranger Category: +A through F > Fire Emblem (all) > Fire Emblem (all) Views: 4478 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I swear I own nothing of Fire Emblem, and make no money at all with it.

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She awoke again, in precisely the same manner as she had the other day. She got up out of the bedroll, and made a mental note to tell Ewan to watch he didn’t put himself in the path of arrows again.

She had only just quieted her soul again when the cleric she had been looking for walked into the tent.

“Was that you who saved me?” Marisa asked, taking note of the white robes she wore. She nodded, avoiding her eyes.

“I… I am Natasha.”

“Marisa. Why are we still bonded?” The cleric’s head drooped a little more. She said nothing.

“…Is it because you don’t know how to break it?” Marisa supplied, looking around the tent in search of her sword.

“Why…” Natasha started, trailing off as if she was having trouble thinking her way through whatever question she was trying to ask. Marisa turned to listen, raising an eyebrow at her hesitating.

“Why do you… not… love me?” Marisa’s soul bubbled and boiled at the question, but she strengthened her hold on it. The whole situation was starting to irritate her beyond belief, and she snapped harsher then she meant to;

“Why would I?” Natasha, goddess dammit, began to cry. Marisa concluded that she didn’t know what to do about it, and that the cleric wasn’t in a state to answer any questions she had. Fine.

Marisa located her sword and left.

--

“Chief.” Marisa greeted, seeing the large man. He was born in Grado, she recalled. He might know what the hell was going on.

“Ah, Marisa. Good to see you safe. How’s the army been treating you?”

“I have a problem.” His smile fell.

“Oh?”

“I’ve been bonded. One of the clerics is a sentinel.” He seemed surprised. Probably wasn’t expecting that.

“…Well what’s the problem then?”

“She won’t break the bond.” Gerik opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it. He sighed.

“Come on. I need to sit down and hear this.”

--

“…And you just left her like that?”

“She wouldn’t answer any questions. I left to find somebody who would.”

“… you… do you know anything about the way sentinels bond to guides?”

“It involves souls. Mine’s been acting up. I want it to stop.”

“…I’d think you’d be a little more sympathetic since you should be able to feel her emotions at least a little.”

“I don’t let my soul feel.”

“…What the hell Marisa. Seriously.”

“Couldn’t tell you. Can I break it?”

“…You could. You’d leave her pretty cold if you did though.”

“I don’t care. Tell me how.”

“...From what I understand, It’d take some pretty strong interference. You’d need to find a shaman, or druid, or somebody good at the black arts. They could probably rip that bond apart if you let them.” Gerik looked pretty uneasy talking about the whole thing.

“…Those are uncommon.”

“Yeah. So you’re probably stuck like this for a while. Hey, seriously, are you sure you want this?”

“I don’t need it. It upsets my soul. Why should I keep it?”

“Well… this is kinda like… well marriage is the only way I can really describe it with words. She made the bond, patched you up, and by the sounds of it, she was ready to devote herself to you. I don’t know what she’s like, and by the sounds of it, neither do you, but you could at least talk to her. She killed for you for the goddess’ sake.”

“I kill for people all the time. So do you.”

“She’s with the freaking clergy, it’s different for them. Marisa, I’m no sentinel or guide, but everyone I’ve ever talked to has described the bond as something amazing. Do you really want to turn aside somebody who’ll have your back no matter what?”

“I have you.”

“It’s different Marisa.”

“How?”

“I… she’s… your souls are bonded! How can that compare to anything?”

“It’s overrated.”

“You’re somehow locking up your soul’s feelings, so of course it feels overrated! Why won’t you acknowledge that this might be a good thing?”

“Why should I be comfortable having a connection as deep as this with a stranger?”

“She wouldn’t be a stranger if you would just talk to her!”

“Is that an order?” She knew he almost said yes. That way he set his chin before he sent out his mercs was something she had grown used to seeing. He had stopped himself though, grinding his teeth as he calmed down. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders falling and his face relaxing.

“This isn’t something I could ever force on you Marisa.” He said. He got up and left, leaving her sitting alone in the mess hall. Her soul was growing restless again…

--

“You!” Marisa turned to see a knight approaching her. The green armor was familiar, but she couldn’t remember much else.

“What is it?” She asked as he caught up to her.

“What did you do to Sister Natasha?” Oh. This was the last thing she needed.

“Nothing.”

“She went to check on you one day, and I found her afterward looking like her family had been slaughtered. What did you do to Sister Natasha?” The boy was young. Perhaps only a year or two younger then her. But she recognised that look on his face. A look her chief had worn when one man had tried to hire her for a quick thrill.

This knight was protective and pissed.

“That’s all you have?”

“Sister Natasha told me what you are. If it wasn’t you, then she wouldn’t have had to come find me.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered either way. I want no part of whatever she did to me.” His hand found the hilt of his sword, but he didn’t have the chance to draw it.

“Franz!” A man with red hair was quickly walking towards them, and at the sound of his voice, the knight fell into attention. Marisa wasn’t a knight though, and instead turned to leave. Thankfully, she wasn’t stopped.

“Ambush!” Somebody shouted. A bell started ringing loudly, and people rushed to wherever the disturbance was. Marisa listened carefully and heard monsters.

Good. She had some stress to work off.

--

She found herself alone at some point in the battle. Evidently, everybody else in her group decided that she was quite capable of dealing with those hell hounds on her own.

The fact that they were right didn’t make it any less annoying.

She flicked whatever they had instead of blood off her blade, and turned to find the next threat. The flapping of leathery wings steadily getting louder pointed towards gargoyles. And her without a bow or magic. Lovely.

She ducked and weaved, having no way to counter foes that could fly. Her sword was too short to reach them. If she jumped for one, she would leave herself open to the others.

She jerked her head aside, and one of their spears flew by her ear. Perfect. She turned her back to it, luring the bare handed gargoyle to retrieve the weapon.

Her sword whipped around and beheaded the beast when she heard it’s hands close on the wood shaft, and leapt to the side to avoid another toss.

The following toss however, slashed the Achilles tendon of her left leg.

She banished her pain and managed to disembowel another before she fell to the ground. No matter how she dealt with her pain though, it didn’t change the fact that her leg no longer worked, and she was suddenly a sitting duck. One of the remaining gargoyles swooped down, and advanced as she pushed herself backwards as quickly as she could manage.

Her back hit the wall of an abandoned fort, and the gargoyle nailed her to it.

With a foot on her sword and a lance in her guts, the gargoyle used it’s free hand to yank her head back, and moved to tear out her throat with it’s teeth.

She heard Natasha roar in outrage, and the gargoyle in front of her screeched in agony as the holy light burned it.

Was this a coincidence? Was she now following her around like a lost puppy, waiting until she was in trouble to save the day?

She noticed, now that she thought about it, that these predicaments were becoming much more common ever since the healer forced her way into her life. Marisa wasn’t a superstitious sort, but this soul bonding nonsense was starting to feel like it was cursed with bad luck.

The remaining gargoyle didn’t make it far before Natasha smote it as well.

She turned to Marisa just in time to see her ripping the lance out of her stomach.

“Are you alright?” She asked, looking over her injuries with something approaching panic. Marisa’s eyebrow raised as she noticed the sudden change in the Natasha’s demeanor. Then she remembered that she was bleeding out her stomach and needed medical attention post haste.

“No. Help me get inside.” She nodded and tried to help Marisa to her feet. In the end, it was a very awkward shuffle as Natasha was taller then Marisa was. She had to hunch over slightly to get her arms around Marisa’s middle, and that left Marisa having to hold the staff as they moved inside the fort.

Marisa grit her teeth, just about fed up with the way her soul was fighting her control the way it was. And at the rate she was losing blood, she might fall unconscious again and lose control entirely. Remembering just what had happened the last time she had done so, she struggled to remain awake.

Natasha laid her back into a bed and undressed her to better access her wounds. And Marisa was trying to avoid looking at the healer because she had a sneaking suspicion that the bond was forcing her to see Natasha as extremely beautiful.

She supposed this was the reason her father taught her to quiet it. It was the biggest distraction she had ever dealt with in her life..

“…How did you close your soul?” Marisa took slow breaths, calming her mind, struggling not to enjoy the sound of her voice.

“…my father told me that I was something that the Grads would want. He taught me how to hide.”

“…is it normally this hard?”

“How can you tell?”

“I can feel you. It’s… spilling over.” Goddess damn it all.

“The blood loss is probably getting to me. I’ll be better by tomorrow.”

“…It is a terrible thing…” Natasha said without looking up.

“It’s what I was raised on.”

“No child should ever grow up caging their own soul.”

“Well I did.” Marisa said in a tone she hoped said ‘leave it alone’. This was not a conversation she wanted to have with Natasha. Marisa didn’t even want Natasha around, mostly because she did more then anything, but she was the only healer on hand.

She didn’t like feeling. Being compelled to act against her mind.

Before now, she didn’t know there was a way to force somebody to feel against their will, but she decided that she hated it. And she had to remind herself she hated it every time she was reminded the cleric was there.

“…I can’t heal your leg.”

“You healed me after the Baal almost ripped me in half. You reattached my arm. You can heal my leg.”

“The bond made me resonate with you. My magic became more effective. But with you stifling the bond the way you are…”

She could let go. She had to. She had to let go, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to walk properly ever again. It was a handicap she couldn’t afford, and all she had to do to get her leg back in perfect condition was to just let go for a few minutes-

“There are healers more skilled then you.”

“Cases like these can not be treated with heal staves alone.”

“I can buy elixer.”

“It would take more then that.”

“Chief would get it for me.”

“… chief…?” Natasha asked, testing the word on her tongue, not quite knowing for sure what it meant.

“Gerik. My employer.” My friend, she didn’t say.

“A mercenary leader? He could not afford a miracle.” No no no no no

“…Would it be so bad?” Natasha asked, looking her in the eyes for the first time since the whole bond mess started.

No. It wouldn’t. If the trickle of feeling she was getting from her bound soul was any indication, then immersing herself in it with Natasha would be the most incredible thing she could imagine. Her soul begged her, pleaded her, circled it’s cage like a restless lion watching the door, waiting to escape.

“Yes.” She answered instead, hoping against hope that it would be enough. It wasn’t. Natasha’s hand cupped the side of her face, and she tried so hard to not crave the touch and just as hard to move her head away from it, but she remained still, eyes wide and panicked, trapped.

The cleric had her captive with no effort at all and she did not want this.

“Were you hurt?”

“No.” She hadn’t been hurt by anyone. Her father had told her that she would be irreparably vulnerable if she didn’t keep her soul quiet and walled off, and she had done so. And at this moment, fighting against forces and emotions she never understood and never thought she would, her father was right.

“I will not. I could not.” Natasha stated. She was a cleric. Straight laced and pure as snow. She may never had truly considered violence the way most others did until those times she had come to Marisa’s rescue. If Marisa had to trust anybody off a blank slate, she could do a lot wors-

No!

“N-no…” It wasn’t a refusal, so much as a plea. Marisa had never begged anyone in her life, but she wanted Natasha to stop prodding and pushing more then anything. Natasha’s hand pressed down on her chest ever so lightly, trying to calm the warrior’s erratic breathing. Marisa was now painfully aware that she was on the bed with her, over her, straddling her, closing in-

“You know I would not.” Marisa’s soul sang agreement, and she knew it was the truth, but she would not be forced to believe this.

“Stop. Stop, please.”

“You are harmed. And it is within my capacity to heal you.” nononononononono

“Please let me heal you.” The moment Natasha’s lips reached hers, it was too much to contain. It burst. It exploded. Her soul ripped from whatever feeble control she held, swelled in her chest, and rushed throughout her body like a river, filling her to the brim. It burned.

She felt safe and protected and complete and wanted to give Natasha everything she had and was and it burned so good.

Her arms acted on their own, encircling the cleric and pulling her body as close as she could, wanting more.

And she cried and screamed and wailed, lost and falling and scared of this beautiful creature who had shattered her entire world so easily.

It branded her, changed her forever as she surrendered. She fell asleep, still sobbing, entwined with a very happy and satisfied Natasha.

She never wanted to be alone again.
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Protecting a Sword