Author's Notes:
I'm taking a bit of a risk with this one. Typically my characters explain themselves or each other enough to minimize reader confusion. In this case, however, Nick can only partially explain himself, partly because he doesn't fully understand what's happened to himself, but mostly because I think it's better for the reader to feel what happens than to have me crudely explain it. If that doesn't work... well, then, I really should have remembered to get a beta reader for this story. Assuming I could have found someone to beta read a Shining Force CD fanfic, of course.
Once again, this story is NOT alternate universe. As always, both praise and constructive criticism are appreciated, so post those reviews.
The milieu and characters of this fanfic are property of Sega. This story is set roughly a month before the opening sequence of Shining Force Gaiden I / Shining Force CD Book 1, and 3-5 months before the bulk of the game's events.
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Not Important
plot and script - Martin III
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They were a small, ragged group, comprised of little more than disorganized militia troops gathered from every region of the nation, and a few loyal guards who had survived the massacre Woldol had visited upon Castle Cypress. Hardly a force worthy of the true king of Cypress.
Still, for the time being they were all he had, and Prince Nicholas was determined to make their numbers quickly grow. He didn't like the task, of course. It was degrading to even have to work with a common military unit, never mind act as their recruiter. Still, I will do what I have to. As father always said, one must never be too proud to utilize an advantage. Father...
He briefly clutched a hand to his heart. I cannot lose myself now. After I have reclaimed my throne, I shall have all the time in the world to weep over losing almost everyone I've ever loved. Not now. I shall lose the prize I seek if I spend my time grasping at that which I have already lost forever. For now I must focus on my ragtag army.
The site for their meeting was less than dignified, as well. Only a secluded field, for any public meeting house that would admit them was subject to random searches by Woldol's... thugs. The wind blew its chill through his cloak, one further indignity to his regal personage.
The prince stood tall, his posture firm. Whatever happened, he would continue to carry his identity with pride.
"Men and women of Cypress," he began, surveying the troops scattered before him without any sort of proper order or decorum. "You should all be aware by now of what our situation is. The usurper Edmond has launched a reign of terror over our beloved nation. Having defiled the throne, having defiled our religion, having defiled the principles which are the spirit of Cypress, he now defiles the basic rights of the citizens. My people have become afraid to even whisper my name, with the threat of torture and execution hanging over their heads. Woldol's men have been stamping out the fires of freedom and justice that I have been building these past months. This cruel subjugation cannot be allowed to continue. I will not allow it to continue.
"Yet this tyranny is destroying the very means which I need to fight it. It has become near impossible to keep the hideouts of my forces secret. They are too quickly found and destroyed. My only recourse is to build an army too large for them to wipe out... an army composed of every man, woman, and child who can lift a weapon. They stand helpless against the cruelties of the usurper Edmond and his enforcer, Woldol. I shall command them to be helpless no more. I shall give them the strength they need to stand up against their oppressors. And I shall lead them, even as I have led you these past months, in a war to defend all that they cherish, all that they hold sacred, all that gives their lives meaning. I shall..."
Several of his troops let out yawns, including the lieutenant in charge, and Nicholas faltered at this blatant disrespect. They did not even attempt to hide their boredom.
His fists clenched. Another indignity. Perhaps they are not used to having a full speech delivered to them once a day, but can they not be grateful for the chance to hear the eloquent words of their rightful king? Half a year ago I would have had such insolence punished with a public whipping. Now I have no choice but to endure it, for these men are all I have. He swallowed back his anger, and forced himself to continue.
"I shall give them new pride in themselves and beloved Cypress. This is why I sent Gyan to scout towns in this region. I have received a coded message from him saying that the village of Vanyard was recently visited by Woldol, and has a goodly number of people fit for battle. Vanyard lies about a mile west of here. I will meet Gyan there and recruit as many as I can for my cause. In the meantime, the lot of you shall venture into Elynura. The tools of Edmond's tyranny have not struck there yet, so it may be hard to obtain many recruits, but by the same token, it should be easy to arouse general anger against the usurpers, since the people will not be afraid to speak their minds. Ensure that if Woldol or any of Edmond's pawns visit there, they will be greeted with a less than friendly welcome." He paused. "Are there any questions?"
The lieutenant frowned. "Two, actually, Your Highness. First, you have not said how many men you wish to accompany you to Vanyard."
"It is a walk of but a mile, so none."
"None? But..." One of the lieutenant's hooves pawed nervously at the ground. "Please reconsider, Your Highness. Until now, you have almost always been accompanied by at least the Royal Protector. Without him, you will need at least three men for any sort of journey. We cannot afford to lose you."
"There will be no threats on my... little walk. Protection is superfluous." He smiled. "Be at ease, lieutenant. I value my life greatly and would not foolishly put it at risk. Now, your other question?"
"Yes, Your Highness. If we... arouse anger, I think you said, in Elynura... won't that simply result in more lives lost if Woldol's men should visit there?"
The prince looked past the lieutenant. "The rest of you are dismissed for now. The lieutenant's question calls for a detailed explanation of strategy, which would only confuse you all."
After taking the lieutenant aside, and looking to ensure that there were no overly curious men snooping about, he said, "Yes, in all likelihood, if a town is in a discontented, rebellious state, Woldol will have more people to kill for suspicion of supporting me, and greater reason to make an example of that town. It only stands to reason. But tyranny is a two-edged sword. Crack the whip too rarely, and the slaves will be unafraid of speaking against their captor. Crack it too hard, and the slaves will feel they have nothing to lose by attacking him."
The lieutenant worked his mouth ponderously. "You're saying... we should goad Woldol into cracking the whip too hard on this town?"
"Yes," the prince answered, with an inward sigh at how slow-witted his lieutenant was. "If Woldol should come to call there at all. If he does not, certainly it does no harm to have another town ready to support my war effort."
"Your Highness, I..." The lieutenant stiffened up, as though preparing to meet an enemy's charge. "...You can't do that; you can't maneuver your own people to be killed."
He probably expected him to lose his cool temper at this presumption, but Nicholas knew from his father's example that it was better to disappoint him. "I can do anything that is for the good of Cypress," he returned, without even a flutter in his manner. "Indeed, it is my duty to do so. Sometimes the good of Cypress requires sacrificing a few individual people."
"Yes, Your Highness, but the chances of this... massacre changing the outcome of the war are minuscule. In all probability we shall win without having needed it, or lose in spite of it. That is not for the good of Cypress."
Nicholas had not expected him to actually argue back, and he had to struggle to hold in his reaction. "Determining what is for the good of Cypress is my responsibility, lieutenant. Yours is solely carrying it out."
"But... those people..." the lieutenant rambled, obviously having run out of coherent rebuttals.
"Yes, it would be a loss for anything to happen to them. But step back, consider it in the larger scheme of things. You will see that they are not so important." None of you are important. But I will not say so. Like you, father, I am wise enough to see where to keep silent. "You understand my orders, lieutenant?"
"...Yes, sir."
"Good. Give my regards to the troops; I shall be on my way now."
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Nick made his way to the inn on the edge of Vanyard. Upon showing himself at the front desk, he was directed to a small room at the end of the upstairs hall. The Royal Protector was relaxing on the bed with a book, wearing only a loincloth and a shirt large enough to fit loosely over his massive frame. He looked a bit odd without either armor or formal attire.
"Your Highness," he said, putting down his book. "It's good to see you again."
"Likewise, Gyan," he returned. They shared a brief hug. "Shouldn't you be practicing, though?"
"I got in an hour of meditation before you came. Want something to eat? I have -"
Nick shook his head. "Get yourself dressed and let's get started."
"As thou dost wish, my little prince."
As well as being his bodyguard and personal advisor, Gyan was his friend. Nick doubted he would let such flippancy pass otherwise. But then, he sometimes suspected that Gyan's remarks were more than crude flippancy, somehow less offensive.
"The lieutenant argued with me before I left," he said, as Gyan began pulling on his armor.
"Concerning your cavalier attitude towards your individual subjects, I'll bet."
Nick's eyes blinked wider in interest. "Don't take this the wrong way, Gyan, but that's exceptionally astute of you."
"Not really," he grunted. "You've been following your father's example ever since he died. In the current state of things, a lot of your people are going to dispute that."
A bemused smile crossed his face. "Are you suggesting that my father's way of doing things is objectionable to people - that it doesn't work?"
"It works when you're managing people's property, marriages, professions... not when you're managing their lifelines. People put up with your father's manipulations because he was the undisputed king and because, ultimately, they were better off." Gyan sighed. "You're the king by right, Nick, but not in practice. People don't have to jump for you the way they did for King Gadrios... and when it's their lives you're asking them to sacrifice, they won't."
Nick still couldn't stop smiling. Mere commoners valuing their lives over the good of their king - now that is truly absurd. What greater value have their lives than the service they give to their king? How can a piece of stone find any greater worth than serving the builder's design?
"Gyan, don't you think I understand the subtleties of ruling a tad better than you?"
"Sure," he answered, carefully strapping on his shoulder plates. "But this isn't a subtlety; this is obvious. People don't like being used as cannon fodder. Anyone can see that. The only reason you can't is because you've fixated on imitating your father."
"You could scarcely find a better person to imitate."
"I think you're imitating him the wrong way. Your father didn't sincerely care about people, but he understood them. You only understand your father."
"There! Finally you've hit on the heart of it, Gyan," Nick exclaimed, drawing a bewildered look from his friend. "I'm not as good a ruler as my father. That's why the lieutenant won't respect me; he knows he could have served under a better man."
"Nick, I wasn't saying -"
He cut him off with a gesture. "No, I'm not offended; it's the truth. And truly, I'm not bothered that people find me a disappointment. What bothers me is that they don't recognize that with father gone, I'm by far the best king Cypress could possibly have. All they think of when they look at me is 'less than Gadrios'."
"Nick, you're inexperienced. A few people are bound to say that about you at first." Gyan pulled on his gauntlets, flexed his fingers inside them. "Look, I didn't mean to start an argument. You want the truth, all those people don't matter to me, either. All I want is for you to win this thing. I'm worried this attitude could make you lose." He shrugged. "But maybe you're right. Even at your worst, you're so much better a ruler than Edmond that the comparison is a joke. And the people of Cypress know that."
"Thank you," the prince sighed. He always enjoyed talking with Gyan, but at the moment he wasn't in the mood to listen to his conjectures. It baffled him that after all these years, it still hadn't sunk into Gyan's head that his understanding of rulership was crude at best. "Now, how do I look?"
"Regal and inspiring, as always."
"Good. Then let us make for the town square."
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Walking through Vanyard was perhaps the greatest indignity yet. Prince Nicholas had been told of the terror Woldol and his pawns visited upon the villages of Cypress, but nothing compared to seeing the aftermath firsthand. Centaurs with broken legs, begging in the streets. Children missing ears and fingers. An execution device outlawed since before his father's reign, on public display and splashed with the dried blood of multiple victims. Kyantols with shaved fur just beginning to grow back. And on nearly every face, a perceptible air of mourning.
He did not like associating with commoners under any circumstances, much less when they were in a state of such wretchedness. It was not that he despised such people. On the contrary, he sympathized with them for the incommodious conditions of life they had to face, and intended to serve them well as their king. They were his people, after all. But he loathed dealing with them face-to-face. From the day he was born, he had been accustomed to much finer company: people with wit, tact, and an overall strong talent with the art of conversation. People whose good diligence and decisions helped make the kingdom thrive. Individuals who were important in the grand scheme of things.
Nonetheless, the current situation requires me to appeal to them. I must embrace the task, ignore my personal misgivings. Only then -
A young man leaning against a small dwelling caught his eye. Tall, strapping, sculpted from lean muscle, and with a certain look of frustrated anger. He would be an ideal recruit for the army. True, he was only an individual, but if he personally convinced this young man, it could be a spark to ignite the enthusiasm of all the town's people for the cause.
Nicholas brought Gyan to a halt with a gesture. "One moment."
Nearly all the people of the village were casting looks of acute interest his way; his garment was modest in light of his regal stature, but enough to mark him as a likely nobleman, and Nick had no doubt that his bearing and stride were quite distinctive. Yet the young man showed only a mild increase in interest at seeing him approach.
The prince stopped a mere breath away from his face, looked him in the eye. "You look quite able. Why are you not serving in the army to liberate Cypress?"
The young man took a minute to answer, gaping at Nicholas as if to determine why he would ask such a thing. "...I can't leave my mother, sir. With my brother and sisters gone, I'm all she has."
"Gone? Killed by Woldol, you mean." The young man lowered his eyes in a way that was plainly an affirmative. "Then should you not be seeking to avenge their deaths?"
"My father tried that. They killed him, too. ...I'm not afraid of Woldol, sir, but my mother couldn't stand to lose me that way, too. If it were just my risk, I wouldn't mind, but I can't risk my mother suffering like that, sir."
Nicholas wanted to say something more, but he was caught for a moment by the young man's eyes. For some reason, his reflection shone very clear in that pair of marbles.
He shook his head. "I... see. Thank you for your time, good sir."
A strange prickling still running through him, he returned to Gyan. Looking into his face, the beastman frowned. "Is something wrong, Your Highness?"
The question startled Nick. "I... I don't believe so." He deliberately closed his mouth as they walked on, and the movement made him realize that he had a lump in his throat. Gyan's concerned look persisted.
What's going on? I feel strange, unsteady... have I contracted some malady? No. Then what? "I don't know," he said aloud, re-answering Gyan's earlier question. "It's as if... as if there's something wrong, and I just picked up a hint of it, but I can't pin down what it is. Like hearing a deadly enemy talking in another room, and not being able to remember where you recognize the voice from."
"Well, whatever it is, it hit you as soon as you talked to that guy back there. What did he say to you?"
"That he has to stay with his mother. Woldol already killed his father, his sisters..." His father, his sister... "...and his brothers."
"Why the pause?"
"What pause?"
Gyan did not answer, did not even finish probing for what was troubling him, perhaps having suddenly lost interest. They walked on for a minute in silence. The town square came within sight. A high stage sat near the center, a place for orations and ceremonies.
Gyan leaned close and whispered, "Are you going to be alright up there, Nick?"
His instinctive answer was "yes", but he took a moment to consider. "Well, it feels like whatever came over me has passed. There's no sense worrying over whatever caused it right now; I know that." He looked up at Gyan. "I am ready."
They ascended the stage. That in itself was enough to catch the curiosity of a number of onlookers, but Prince Nicholas wanted more than that. He wanted the whole of the village to be watching him and hearing his words.
"People of Vanyard!" he announced in a loud voice, one he hoped would ring in their hearts. "I am Nicholas, son of Gadrios the first. I am your rightful king, and the one who will free you from the usurper's rule."
Those simple words were enough to draw the attention of a few dozens who had paid him no heed before, drawing them near to the stage, and to make those who were already listening stare at him with wonder. He had worried that his claimed identity might seem dubious to these people, none of whom would have actually seen him before, but the sight of a few of them falling down on one knee before him was reassurance enough that the truth in his words was perceptible to them. Most of the people remained standing, but probably in most cases that was due to either fear of defying Edmond, or petrified awe at their rightful king appearing before them.
Sensing the impact of the moment, the need for the people beneath him to take it in, he allowed a pause for effect. One less than awestruck onlooker, however, took advantage of the pause. "We know who you are!" a voice hollered. "You're the one who brought this down on us!"
He turned in the direction of the voice. A man with ragged clothes and (though he was plainly not very old) an ill-kept beard scrambled onto the stage and lunged towards him, fingers curled so as to grasp around a throat. "If you hadn't rattled your spears in King Edmond's face, Woldol would never have come here! All just so you could take your birthright before it's due, you spoiled cur!"
He met the bedraggled man's charge with his left fist, striking him hard across the jaw. To his disappointment, this one blow was enough to lay the man out flat. He reached down, seized the man by the front of his shirt, and pulled him upright.
"You coward! You attack me because you are afraid to attack Woldol, because you know a just and merciful man such as myself would punish you with nothing worse than a swift and painless execution! Cowardice such as yours is why people such as Woldol ever have their way!" He threw the man away from him. "You are not worthy to have your rightful king waste his words on you. You have cowed before your tormentor and blamed your defender."
Several cheers rang out at the rebuke the prince had delivered. Pride burned in his heart; these were true Cypressians, people who believe in fighting against any who would threaten their lives, their dignity, their honor, no matter how powerful the foe in question.
Warmed by an inner smile, he turned, now, to face his main audience. "You need not do the same. I offer you a path to freedom, justice, and the safety of your children. Believe me, I understand how Woldol has terrorized you. I -"
He stopped, suddenly unable to continue. He was now truly looking over his audience; not just perusing their reactions, but actually looking into their eyes to try to read what words they would want to hear. A few people were looking back at him with rekindled pride and unqualified hope - the ones who had cheered him, no doubt. But in most of them any hope was wary, and any pride was almost drowned out by an incurable sorrow. When he looked into the eyes of those people...
...it happened again. His reflection, shining back at him. Not just in one pair of eyes this time, but in dozens, perhaps hundreds...
A little girl standing with her mother looked up at him, her eyes saying, They killed my father; a black emptiness has eaten into my heart and will let nothing fill it...
A young centaur with a face reddened by either the cold or recent tears looked up at him, his eyes saying, They killed my sister; my childhood happiness does not live in fond memories but lies beneath her tombstone...
A child, scarcely more than a toddler, sat in his father's arms, his eyes saying, They killed my mother; I can laugh no more...
All around him, he saw it in their expressions, in the tear stains on their faces, and recognized their sorrow. They took my family; I can no longer feel love, said one voice. They attacked me in my home, made it a place of terror, said another. I watched as one I love was tortured, but could do nothing to save her, said a third.
His throat was clenched so tight that he couldn't speak, could scarcely even breathe. How could this be? Could these people truly feel sorrow to the depths that he did? Did such simple peasants have the capacity to experience feelings as many-faceted and sublime as one raised in fine principles and complex ethics could?
Of course they do, damn it! They're people, like me. How could I have never seen, never understood... their intellects are dwarfed by mine, but our souls are made of the same fabric...
Even so... this is impossible. My heart breathed its last when I turned and left my sister to die. My world ended when I was told that my father was dead. Even my mother, gone, and my uncle betrayed me, betrayed us. There can't be several dozen hearts out there feeling those same agonies. There simply cannot be that many shattered worlds, that much raw heartache. It's impossible.
And yet, there it was before him. He could not deny what he saw.
"I..." What had he been saying? He was trying to say something to these people. Something to give them hope, to make them fight to give him back his throne. That was simple enough; the minds of commoners were easily swayed. He'd seen his father turn larger crowds than this from one side of an argument to the opposite with nothing more than speech. He could do the same.
"I know that..." He stopped again. Yes, he had the words and sheer presence to convince them to fight and die for him. But he couldn't do it. Every word he'd planned to say was true, but at the same time, it was all a lie, because it implied they would find an end to their pain this way. Perhaps some would, but Nick knew he could not. Even if he slew Woldol, Edmond, and Dantom, even if he reclaimed his throne and drove every enemy from Cypress, the pain of losing his family would not end. Weaken and fade, yes, but it would not end. And he could not believe that more than a few of the people below were different from him in that regard.
He swallowed, his eyes aching to release tears, but he forbade them. A king in tears brings only confusion and shame to his people, and if he could do nothing else for them, he would spare his subjects the sight of him crying.
At last he spoke. "I am sorry for the pain you all have suffered. And I know - though I will continue to fight against the ones who did this to you - that nothing I can ever do will take that pain away."
He walked off the stage and hurried away, Gyan at his side; the people seemed too bewildered by this strange end to his speech to follow him. He knew that he'd failed them with his words, failed to show them the hope that truly was there, the hope that this tyranny would end and that their children would smile without tears. But he couldn't face them any longer.
Gyan followed him in silence as he went back to the inn, back to the room where Gyan had been staying. There, with the door closed and latched behind them, he could at last release his tears.
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"I knew this would happen," Gyan said, after Nick had calmed down. "You didn't give yourself a chance to mourn for your family. When you hold stuff in that way -"
"I'm not holding anything in," Nick returned, his voice emotionless. He was serenely enthroned in his chair, as though surveying petitioners. "There will be time to mourn when I have won back my throne. My... emotional breakdown, back there, had nothing to do with my sorrow."
"Then what happened?" Gyan demanded.
"...I cannot explain it. Suffice to say that I saw something. Something which made it impossible for me to ask for those people to sacrifice any more."
Gyan considered that for a moment. "What are you saying? That we have to give up our recruiting efforts?"
"No. I'm saying that before I continue with recruiting, I need to renew my emotional fortitude and find a different way... a more honest way... to ask people to fight for my cause. Make no mistake, I understand how vital active recruitment is to the war effort." He paused. "And somehow, I understand the importance of the war effort more than ever. However, I'm also beginning to think we should pursue additional options to fueling our cause."
"Such as?"
"That discussion can come later. We need to leave before the townspeople come to question me, and get back to the troops so we can plan our next move."
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As soon as he spotted Prince Nicholas and Gyan walking through the camp, Lieutenant Arall galloped forward to greet them. Giving a salute, he said, "Your Highness, we didn't expect you back so soon. Have you brought the recruits here?"
His king did not answer, paid him no heed other than to acknowledge his salute with a nod. To Arall's surprise and extreme discomfort, he instead walked up to a group of soldiers seated on the grass, resting.
"Well, men," the prince said, and a painful uneasiness took hold of Arall's heart at the sound of his voice. "Were you successful in turning Elynura against Edmond?"
Each of the soldiers frowned at the question, and one of them was bold enough to say, "I thought you called that mission off, Your Highness."
Arall groaned in utter dismay.
Prince Nicholas smiled knowingly as he walked back to the lieutenant. "So, you disobeyed my orders. Just as I suspected. It wasn't hard to guess that you'd lie to your men about it as well, to keep them from sharing your culpability in this insubordination."
He let out a bitter sigh. "You were only testing me, then, Your Highness?"
"No. At the time, I thought you would do as I asked. While in Vanyard, however, I gained a bit of understanding of how you think." He smiled wistfully. "Understanding of people... one of the things my father had, and I have had to learn. I haven't learned it completely yet, but I'm one step closer to my father."
"So... I am to be stripped of my rank then, Your Highness?"
The prince looked him in the eye, and Arall trembled. "That would be the proper punishment, wouldn't it? That and a public whipping, of course. However, as it happens, I've decided that you were right to disobey me. In fact, I am quite relieved that you did."
Lieutenant Arall stared. He didn't understand this at all. Had Prince Nicholas decided that his method wasn't strategically sound? But that was impossible. Arall disagreed with the method to the point where he would rather be condemned as a traitor than go through with it, but even he had to admit it would be an effective way of stirring outrage against Woldol and Edmond. Could His Majesty actually have changed his mind, decided that the people in that little town were important after all?
"Of course, you did disobey a direct order," the prince went on. "That must be punished. If I made an exception for you because you did the right thing, others would disobey me for ignoble reasons. Insubordination cannot be tolerated." Arall quietly nodded in agreement. "An hour in the stocks, tomorrow morning."
"We don't have stocks here, Your Highness."
"Four cloth straps nailed to a wooden board will do." He looked around. "Evening is closing in, lieutenant, so I would suggest that you begin preparing dinner."
"Yes, Your Highness. Shall the new recruits -"
"There are no new recruits, and do not inquire as to why. We shall find more troops for our army elsewhere. Is that all, Lieutenant Arall?"
"Y...yes, Your Highness."
The rightful king of Cypress turned away from him to sit beneath a tree, by himself aside from the Royal Protector, but much closer to the men than he usually sat. Arall looked at him, awed that he had the honor to serve directly under his king, a king who was strong and courageous enough to fight for his kingdom with nothing but a small band of freedom fighters. Awed that he had let him off with such a light punishment for his insubordination. And, to a small extent, awed by something else.
"I did not think," he murmured to himself, "...that His Royal Highness even knew my name..."
END