My Father's Sword
Wandering Cat

Hello. 'Nother multi-chapter from me, so soon.

Okay, this fic's plot:
There really is none; the chapters will be unrelated, revolving around sword-users from Rekka no Ken and Sacred Stones. Maybe a Fuuin in I'm up to it. I don't know how many chapters there will be. I'll either go until I feel like stopping, or until I run out of sword users. Most likely, I will just stop unless someone gave me an unanswered request. Also, the chapters will not be extremely long.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fire Emblem.

THIS CHAPTER'S STAR: Marisa, first person POV. PS--being in first person, ever sentence comes from her mind. No, she isn't out of character; people who don't talk much often have more thoughts.
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I owe everything to father. He was my guardian, my master, and my only friend.

I never knew my mother. I was never told anything about her, save for that I look just like her. That isn't much. I look nothing like my father. Saying that I look like 'her' (as people refer to my mother as) is a given.

It was my father who taught me to walk and talk. My father who tucked me into bed as a child, my father who kissed my scrapes when I still thought that was effective medicine. It is odd, though, because my father is like me. Aloof. People often called us "icecubes in the desert", because Jehannans are generally friendly, being so poor and humble. But when we were alone, just the two of us, he would talk to me in the softest voice and stroke my hair, and no matter how tough it was for us, everything was okay.

That's how things were until I was seven. Warm and happy.

Nobody saw the bandits, nor did anybody expect them. All the men, and some women, rose to combat them, but to no avail. My father was with them. He returned after only a few minutes, or maybe an hour, I didn't know anything save for that I was tired. He said nothing about the battle, just snatched me and whatever else he could carry, breaking down one of the weak walls in our home and bounding out. It was very early. Sleep gave me a blanket of ignorance, so I knew nothing of the battle, and I couldn't fathom what my father was doing, grabbing all our food, some clothes, and me, wrecking our home, and running away. It wasn't until we were on a small buff outside the village that I blinked the last of sleep from my eyes and saw what I would later wish I hadn't.

Our village was burning nearly to the ground. Bodies lay here and there, corpses of the men and women I had known. Children lay near their parents' bodies, girls that tried and failed to doll me up, boys my father threatened to beat if they ever laid a hand on me. My friends. The fire reached our house, and I could see through the hole in one wall how it ate everything we have. I looked to my father, at his grave face. Though at the time I was too young to truly understand, I felt what he felt and gained knowledge that he knew. We were the only survivors. He had abandoned his comrades to save me. We would have to survive in the desert.
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I'd never been so scared as I was those first few days. Father had sat me down and looked me straight in the eye. His still had the wolf-like gentleness, but the core was hard.

"Marisa," he'd said. "I'm sorry. This is going to be tough for us, and you might not like it, but we have no choice"

I had no idea what he was talking about. He drew a long cloth-wrapped package from the pile of supplies he brought with us. I watched in awe as he threw the canvas aside, revealing two long swords and a leather bag. One was longer than the other, heavy-looking, and with an odd crook-like point at the end. A Shamshir, he told me, a "lion's tail". The other was a plain double-sided iron sword. He picked up the bag and dumped it out, a dozen daggers and a few vials hit the sand. I looked up at him questioningly. Why would my father have these weapons?

"There's not a parent in a Jehannan village who doesn't have something like this. Mercenary things. I'm so sorry, but we have nowhere else to turn. I am going to turn you into a mercenary."

I could do nothing but stare at him. Like all Jehannan girls, I was bound to always be a tomboy, and I was fine with it. But becoming a sell-sword? I knew that in rough times, there was always mercenary work, and it wasn't uncommon for boys to take it up, but almost no girls did it. Most of them lived with their closest friends, helping one another to survive. Many married while very young in order to help support themselves and their families. It wasn't until I was grown that I realized that even a mercenary's deadly life is no better than throwing yours away.

He was making me do this to protect me. I couldn't see it then, but I can now as if he had said those exact words to me.

The next years were hard. I was always medium size, but frail. My first lessons would have torn my hands raw if my father had not given me gloves. He put blunt daggers around me as I slept to keep my on my right side (so my dominant left arm is always up). I ran miles in the blazing heat, slipping and tumbling in the loose sand. I learned the proper way to hold a sword, the tactics of battle, and every weakness the body could ever have. Day after day, year after year, we trained in the desert, hunting rough birds and whatever else was there, staying at the same oasis for weeks on end. I began feeling powerful after a while, and the power grew. I used to be frail, I remember. I still look it, though I can feel the strength. It wasn't long until I could heft the Shamshir, though it was too long and I too short for me to draw it right.

For seven years, we trained hard together. During that time, I learned things I never knew about him. He used to be the number one swordfighter in Jehanna, the Steel Wolf, until a man named Carlyle beat him. He'd made a vow to never fight again if someone beat him, so he never did. Then he met my mother and she had me, and he had new cause to never draw a blade again. He told my that he didn't want me to grow up with a father that stinks like metal. He wanted me to grow happy, using the money he saved as a sell-sword to support us, and he could stay home often and spend time with me. For nearly the entire time we spent preparing me for mercenary life, I had neglected seeing him as I once did. The man who was like a wolf, guarding me and guiding me, ready to tear apart anything that stood between me and happiness. I gained new respect for him that refused to stop growing.

Father took me to the mercenary guild a few times during my training, little more than one run-down building and a score of large tents around it, with the troops camps laying in the surrounding land. I was nearly fifteen when I joined the guild. Only fifteen. Still young and small, a foot shorter and probably half the weight of many of the men there. The recruiter would have turned me away immediately had father not been with me. Father insisted that he let me take the entrance tests, a half-mile obstacle course of sorts and a sparring match. I tore over tall wooden fences, darted without a problem through a deathtrap-like contraption, and tore down a dozen innocent straw dummies. In just under two minutes, barely sweating. Father had always stressed speed over strength. With a blunt practice sword, I easily bested an arrogant man who was among the ones twice my size. I hit him especially hard after he made a crack at my being a woman. The recruiter was dumbstruck; had my training not hardened me, I would be smug as a cat. I gave him my name, and he gave me a new one at the suggestion of father. The Crimson Flash. That's what I would go by, so troops wouldn't be turned away by a female's name. We waited in camp for only several days before I was hired.

"I heard there was a woman who could kill a man before he could draw his sword, and would beat him to the dust if he belittled her!" said my new chief, a friendly green-haired man. "I'm shocked I didn't have to fight anyone for you, after you smacked Jared down. He's one of mine, by the way, and sorry for what he said, he's a moron... Speaking of which, I'm Gerik, the Desert Tiger."

Father and I listened carefully as Gerik related the details of my contract. He told me that it was a great deal. He offered father a deal, as well. "I sure as heck would like another one of these!" Gerik said, pointing to me, and I barely avoided the urge to smack him. Father said no, he'd rather go and stay at a village we had passed on the way here. When I signed the contract, I wrote both of my names.

Gerik's Mercenaries got a job soon after I joined, and we were to head out to a neighboring country to stop a bandit group. That was my first time out of Jehanna. I remember biting back tears when I said goodbye to father. I never cried no matter how tough the training was. One of the things father taught me was being able to let go. As a mercenary, it is likely that one's companions may die around them. But it wasn't death. It is harder to say goodbye and come back to a person than it is to say goodbye and never see them again. I gave up my fight and cried into father's chest, and for the first time in years, I remembered what it was like before the bandit raid that destroyed my village.

I felt as if the gods had forsaken me two years later when I received a letter from a friend my father had made. He was dead. Disease had taken him, the only person I ever truly cared for. I thought back to the days a decade before, and the day I cried only a few years ago. I wished for them again. I wished I could cry, and it came true when the Chief came by and offered a broad shoulder and a promise to never mention what fell on it. He persuaded me to avenge father's untimely death by fighting my battles not in the name of our employer, but in the name of the man who was everything to me.

I decided that I would honor him. To this day, I proudly bear my father's sword.
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WC: Me and my ending issues...

Notes:
1. wolf-like gentleness: wolves are very gentle creatures, though they only show it to their kind, and many people fear them without reason.
1. Shamshir Lion's tail? I read the weapon descriptions in Sould Calubur II and it said a Shamshir is a Persian sword, and it means 'lion's tail'. Interestingly enough, it also says a Wo Dao is a Japanese sword, and it used the ancient Chinese name for Japan (Wo, I guess). Soul Calubur II is neat.

IMPORTANT NOTE:
Okay, y'all. I already know who the second chapter is gonna be about. You will NEVER guess who it is. After that, though, I'll take requests. If I don't get any, I'll just move on at my own free will for my own personal amusement, as well as for the people who read and don't review.