Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem, or any of it's associated trademarks, characters, fantasy worlds, etc... The stories I write are intended to augment the main narrative with more substantial character interactions, and to create new narratives that fit within the scope of the main narrative. I do so for no profit, and I want nothing more than the opportunity to hone my writing skills, as I play around with the characters, lore, and backstory from my favorite games.
Within the walls of a large fort on the Crimean end of the great Riven bridge, a woman with dark green hair paced anxiously outside a stable. The sun shined off her deep black armor and it's golden embroidery as she paced, back and forth, in front of the old stables.
The woman's armored boots came to a stop, and she stood tensely in front of the stalls lined with her army's cavalry horses, rage tugging insistently at the edges of her lips. Her dark hair and blood red cape waved in the light breeze as she rested her head in her hand, she growled under her breath.
Her carefully planned ambushes shrugged off like nothing, and to make matters worse, her defensive positions on the bridge were already largely overrun. She'd heard the things her courier's had said in their breathy mumblings afore they'd addressed her; heaps of dead men lay among broken basilica and catapults.
It didn't take a military genius to realize what that meant, and from the start she'd known that the best they'd manage would be to hold them back. In the end, they'd accomplished no more than slowing them down. Bad news was all she'd heard for the last blasted hour, bad news, delivered through the grating whimperings of craven boys.
A soldier wandered into her peripheral vision, and her eyes snapped to him like a hungry viper. "You! Get over here!"
Not pausing to think, the young man ran over to her, saluted, and stood at attention. "Ya-yes, G-general Petrine?!"
Petrine gave him a hard look. "Something wrong, soldier?"
"Na-n-no, madam. Nothing, I swear!" He stammered.
Her expression abandoned all pretense of calm and patience, leaving her raw desperation and rage unmasked for all to see. "Arrrah, dog's breath! Will nothing go my way?!"
She glared at the soldier. "What are you still here for! I have no use for a coward like you...!"
Petrine sent the jagged tip of her spear speeding toward the young man's chest. His eyes went wide, and he raised his spear up out of pure survival instinct. Her flame spear shrieked briefly, spewing a few sparks as it's rugged blade bounced over the metal shaft of his steel spear.
For a brief moment she recoiled in surprise, and then, her expression warped into something sinister. Petrine released her spear, tore his from his grasp, and threw it away. He stepped back fearfully, and she stepped forward.
Closing in, she grasped his arm, and dug the armored tips of her fingers into his throat. The soldier's air taken, he looked at her like a scared animal, as he struggled futilely against the vice-like prongs that stabbed into his neck, obstructing his airway. Fear glazed his poltroon eyes as she leered at him, her lip curled slightly in a sadistic grin.
"Raising you rweapon against a commanding officer is treason." She spat.
He could only tap her arm, desperate for air. Petrine sighed and threw him to the ground. The young man scrambled upright and keeled in front of her. "I'm sorry! P-please d-don't kill me."
"Shut up, you fool!" She yelled.
Petrine cocked back her steel boot and kicked him in the chest. As her foot struck him, she heard a crack, and he hit the ground. The young man gasped in pain on the ground and put a hand on the dent in his chest plate.
"Oh, for…! It's a broken rib at worst! Get up!" She yelled.
"Go gather some of your coward friends for a prisoner escort! You can do that much, can't you?!" Petrine commanded.
The young man coughed blood. "Ya-you don't mean… G-general Ena… d-do you?"
"Get moving! Quickly, before I decide to roast you and find someone else to do it!" She yelled.
The soldier ran as quickly as his perforated lung would permit, leaving his commander standing there with a bitter look on her face.
…
The opposing army had begun its assault on the bridge's last standing line of defense, after the last of the basilica and catapults were taken to the ground, it would be an open battle on the plains.
A man with a thick mane of light green hair stepped forward nonchalantly, his sleek sword loose in his hand. His leather robe resisting the wind as he walked among sword, shield, spear, and bloodied screaming soldier, out on the field of battle. His step held a smoothness, a sureness, and his bearing carried with him a cold indifference.
To an untrained eye, he must have seemed a less intimidating foe, for out of the chaos a Daein swordsman came running, sword held high.
"Hah!" The swordsman shouted as he brought his sword down.
The slash was clumsy in comparison to the masterful deflection of his adversary, and his thick blade was effortlessly cast aside by his opponent's keenly bladed sword. The thin blade glided lightly through the Daein's chest seconds after.
Coughing blood, even as it flowed freely from the side of his chest, the Daein soldier crumpled to the ground, coughing and gasping for air. "Urgh! Ha-how did you…?"
"You're Deain, aren't you? Don't you recognize strength?" The green haired swordsman asked, almost to himself as he walked past the dying man.
The mercenaries washed over the last embankment, leaving naught but broken catapults, basilica and corpses strewn across the foot worn edge of the bridge. The sword master stepped past the threshold, his eyes decidedly planted on the fort where he assumed Petrine was holed up.
The treatment of laguz and branded in Daein had always been particularly awful, and he'd heard that she was branded, like him. If that was the case, Daein was no place for her. He had no idea how she managed to become a Rider of Daein, but he was certain that her position alone was keeping her safe.
"Stefan! Stefan! The-they got us!" Stefan turned to look at the man. He was tempted to ignore the man outright and continue on his way.
"...What happened?" He asked finally.
"We-we pursued some Daein soldiers into the woods, and we were ambushed!" The soldier shouted, clutching his shoulder. The shaft of an arrow sticking out from between his fingers.
"…Are the others dead?" Stefan asked.
"I don't know, but if we don't hurry, they will be!" The soldier said, frantically.
Stefan paused for a moment, looking at the man's injury. "…Let's go then, lead the way."
The man ran forward, leading Stefan into the woodlands, they weren't far in when Stefan heard the whiz of an arrow, and reflexively moved to the side. The soldier in front of him fell to the ground with a bloody hole in his neck. The arrow had gone straight through.
The swordmaster looked down at the soldier who'd led him here. He was lying on the ground gasping and wide eyed, his hand quavering at the hole in his neck. Stefan took a step forward and put his sword through the man's right eye.
A Daein soldier stepped forward. "That was cold blooded, you must have seen a lot of death. So, you their captain?"
"Why would you care?" Stefan asked. looking over at the Daein fighter.
"Your head is worth more. Why else? The least we can do now is get a few more kills, so we can show our worth after we get the hell out of here. You ready to die?" The Daein axeman asked.
Stefan gave him wry smile. "Are you?"
"Well aren't you a cheeky one. Let's take him out, an remember, his is a head we'll have to take with us, so don't mess it up too bad! Hahaha." The man laughed, readying his axe.
Eyes were centered on the archer, Stefan charged forward making no attempt to circumvent the two swordsmen who stood in his way. He evaded an arrow steps, before the first blade descended upon him, the other's tip was held out to greet his face.
He threw his left arm under the cross-guard of the descending sword, and tore it from his opponents hands. The sword aimed at his face missed by inches, and as he continued past, his sword claimed a couple fingers.
The archer saw Stefan emerge, crushing leaves and sticks underfoot as he ran forward, sword ready to taste blood. The Daein tried desperately to notch another arrow, fumbling, he dropped it and looked up, soon enough to face his death, wide eyed he raised his bow, his final defense, it wasn't enough.
Stefan's sword sliced through the Daein's bow and continued on, gliding through the soft flesh of the Daein archer's unprotected neck. The archer's head bounced off his shoulder as his body crumpled to the ground. Stefan turned wordlessly to face the two swordsmen, blood streaking down the length of his blade.
The Daein swordsmen he'd disarmed prior, looked at him fearfully, hiding back behind his blade, the other just stood there, clasping his hand in disbelief. As Stefan stepped toward them, the Daein holding a sword, grit his teeth and ran at him, sword raised.
"You bitch!" He yelled.
He was received with a quick upward slash that relieved him of one his arms. Stefan leveled his blade, and decapitated the man, stepping toward he the remaining swordsman afterward. The Daein eyed the swordmaster fearfully, slowly backing away from his imposing figure as he held his good hand clasped over his other hand's three stumps.
Stefan saw the tip of a spear come at him from his peripheral vision, he reflexively moved out of the javelin's way and it stuck into the ground to his right, triggering the Daein spearman's mad charge.
"Die! You Crimean bastard!" He yelled.
The Daein lunged into melee with a stab at Stefan's dominate leg. The swordmaster knocked the spearhead aside, and stepping forward, he sank the tip of his blade into the man's right shoulder. Stefan withdrew his sword as he threw the man to the ground with a solid kick to the chest plate. Stefan heard heavy footfall to his left and turned to meet it.
"Die! Damn you!" The axeman yelled.
The swordmaster cut at his descending hand, and half of four of his fingers fell to the ground, as his axe flew over the swordsman's shoulder. The Daein clutched his hand in horror.
Stefan turned his attention back to the spearman, to find him with a hunting knife, that he brandished awkwardly in his left hand. He charged forward yelling, and Stefan beheaded him. The killing blow was delivered with such ease, it seemed more like an execution than the end of a fight. Stefan turned back to their axe wielding ringleader.
"Wh-who the hell are you…?" The axeman asked, fumbling with his words.
"I'm Stefan, and I live in the desert, or I did, till I decided to try my luck with a little mercenary work." Stefan looked at the Daein indifferently. "Funny, how that worked out for you."
The axeman turned to flee, but he wasn't fast enough. He was only halfway into a step when the tip of Stefan's sword pierced his chest. He lost his footing and hit the ground, coughing blood.
"Oh? I missed? Sorry about that." Stefan said.
"No, I don't want to die… not yet, not now, let me go. Please…!" The man begged trying to crawl away.
Stefan walked next to the man. He tapped his sword on the man's shoulder. "Do you really think I'll let you crawl away out of some misguided sense of pity? I am not so young, or so easily swayed by emotion."
"You may choose only how painful you wish your end to be." The swordmaster stepped on the man's leg pinning him to the ground. The soldier desperately clawed the dirt with his quavering hands, grinding even his four stumps into the dirty ground in a desperate attempt at escape.
"I see, so you wish to suffer. Or rather, to struggle against an inevitable fate... I can respect that. However, I must also see to it that you fail to survive." Stefan severed the tendons in the man's legs and swung his sword, casting off some of the blood that covered its blade.
"Grrah!" The man coughed up some blood. "Cu-curse ya! Ga-goddess damned wretch!
"Enjoy your words while they last, Daein warrior." Stefan stated as he walked back to the battlefield. The axeman slung every profanity he could think of as he his sputtered his blood out on the ground.
…
Petrine steadied her horse after ripping the tip of her spear out of another mercenary monkey's chest. She kicked her horse into a gallop and retreated from the front lines to get a better grasp of the situation overall.
Her cavalry, the members of her elite guard in particular, were formidable. They'd proven themselves to her time and again, they weren't letting her down this time, either. They'd managed to hold their ground around the fort, even take some ground back, and her remaining rank and file troops, had been succeeding at holding their ground farther to the south.
Sitting atop her horse, Petrine stared down the mercenary army of the bastard princess of Crimea. If she had the might of the main army, she could easily crush the curs. As things stood, she was already considered to be the general who'd lost their country. That, and with her being branded, the nobles were sure to make numerous attempts on her life... if she managed to survive this.
"General Petrine, riders to the southwest!" Her lieutenant shouted as he rode up to her. "Your orders!"
She looked over her shoulder in response. "Take fifty men and go distract the sellswords. I'm going to teach those Crimean remnants their place!"
Petrine broke from formation and rode in the opposite direction. "All troops to me! We meet the Crimeans at our rear! Show no quarter and kill the mangy dogs!"
Her men fell in line behind her, as she led her force of one hundred and fifty men against the fifty some odd Crimean paladins that had emerged in the south.
Their Crimean foes faltered before Petrine's charge. She was one Daein's best, fighting against mere remnants of Crimea's formal military. Her personal guard, her hand chosen strike force of fifty men; drove straight into the enemies' formation, decimating it, While the remaining hundred, circled round from the sides, raining arrows down upon what remained behind them.
Petrine retreated her personal guard from the chaos and went to check on the situation at the fort. She found five men desperately trying to hold back an assault on the gates to the fort. Her lieutenant did not appear to be among them.
"Should we retreat?" One of the members of her guard asked.
"Dog's breath! No, we don't have that option any longer! Charge!" She yelled, leveling her spear, she kicked her horse into a gallop.
When her forces struck the thin wing of the mercenary army from behind they were met with much more resistance, by the time she'd burst through to the other side she'd lost ten of her best and their numbers were dwindling. She was just barely managing to hold the gates. Though in truth, she knew it was over. There were only two people she knew of that could salvage this hopeless situation.
At the moment, however, she desperately needed her remaining forces to finish with the Crimean remnants. She was surrounded, and the situation was quickly getting worse. Her men were worn out, and their numbers were not holding.
Petrine knew her time was limited when she saw the enemy general approaching. The bastard's very own little mercenary lord.
…
Stefan was relieved to see that he was in time. That Petrine had not yet slain, he ran hard and managed to cut Ike off. The swordmaster stood in front of Ike holding his arm out to block the commander, as he caught his breath.
"Stefan?" Ike looked at him, confused.
"Please... let me deal with her, Ike." Stefan said.
"Why? What is your connection to her?" He asked, brandishing his sword.
"I have none, as I had none with you." Stefan said. "Grant me this chance. If either she is not who I think she is, or if I fail, she will no doubt end up dead, but if I succeed in my aim, I swear that she'll not bother you again."
"Very well…" Ike said, lowering his sword he let the swordmaster pass. "I trust you to keep your word."
The swordmaster nodded, and began his slow march forward, the troops parted before him as he advanced. As he reached the end of their troops, the final curtain of men stepped aside to reveal the person he'd been looking to see. Stefan stepped forward until Petrine was in clear view.
"Who are you?" She asked. "Is your general too craven to fight me himself?!"
"I can feel it from here, the laguz might call it a stench, but not me. You share in my fate, and like me carry tainted blood." Stefan said, as he uncovered the brand on his hand and showed it to her.
"So what? Have you come to join me? Join Deain?" She glared at him.
"I would not join Deain, Nor do I care about this war, much less its outcome." He told her.
"Then you are a fool! A pitiful fool, who has chosen to die for nothing!" She yelled, leveling her spear at him.
Stefan raised his hand. "Put that thing down. We can leave this bloody mess of a battlefield behind us, an-"
"Shut up! Stop wasting your breath, you insolent fool! If you want to see this lance removed from my hand… you'll have to pry it from my cold, dead, fingers!" The paladin shouted, cutting him off.
He drew his sword. "I was really hoping that it wouldn't turn out this way... but fine. I see that it cannot be helped. Know that I am determined to drag you off this battlefield, and that you'll be coming with me, very much alive."
"Tch! I'll never allow it! And you, it's high time I put you in an early grave!" The Daein woman shouted, as she nudged her horse into a gallop.
Instead of waiting to intercept her, Stefan broke into a sprint. He dodged the tip of her spear and severed one her horse's front legs. Petrine was thrown from her horse and hit the ground cursing incomprehensibly.
In front of her, her horse kicked wildly with its stump and three remaining legs. Stefan let his sword fall back to his side, and stood there, aloof, but ready. As he watched her move around on the ground.
"Dog's breath!" She growled, as she staggered upright, dirt fell from her crimson cape and from the embroidered black fabric that hung from her shiny black chest plate.
The dethroned paladin shot him a glare. "You bastard! I'll have your head for that!"
She charged angrily, and leaped at him at her first available opportunity. Her spear came at him, sparks flew as he batted the tip away, and took a step back. As soon as he did, her spear was reaching for his chest. She was one of the most aggressive warriors he'd ever fought, and she was very skilled.
His every endeavor was caught on steel as the two collided, their weapons dancing in a sparking flurry of thrusts and slashes. Neither of them gave an inch that they didn't take back. Until they broke apart, staring at each other, as they caught their breath.
"I admit it, you're good… maybe even better than me, but you're nothing compared to Ashnard! He'd tear you apart!" She yelled.
"Then I'm glad he's not here!" Stefan shouted, as he charged back into the fray, seizing the imitative.
Stefan took a couple more spark spewing slashes at her, and finally, she made a mistake. He grinned as he stepped forward pressing his sword to her spear. Sparks flew as he ran down its length and when he reached her he dropped his sword, driving his fist into her stomach with all the strength he could muster. She doubled over and his knee welcomed her to the realm of dreams.
Petrine fell to the ground and lay there sprawled out at his feet, her long dark green hair disheveled and covering her face. He picked up her flame spear and his sword, which he sheathed before letting out a sigh of relief, as he ran his hand through his light green mane. In response to their general's defeat, her remaining men threw down their weapons.
"So, why didn't you want to kill her? Do you think she should be interrogated?" Ike asked, as he approached the swordmaster.
"We both fight for very different things, Ike… and this, this is where we part ways, I am going to return to the Grann Desert." Stefan stated.
"Is she going with you?" Ike asked.
"Yes, and if you truly wish to repay me for my aid... you will let us leave. I have not asked for much until now." Stefan said.
"You're asking for a lot now..." Ike said.
A paladin wearing Crimean colors rode up. "Yes, she could have valuable information. You may leave, but she is staying with us."
Stefan reached for the hilt of his sword. "No, she isn't. I won't allow one of my own to become a prisoner in your war."
"What? What are you talking about? You'd sympathize with a war criminal? Or… are you a turn coat?" The paladin looked him over darkly..
"Enough, stand down!" Ike yelled at the Crimean paladin.
"Ike, you are the commander of the Crimean army. Please, allow me to leave." Stefan said, trying to keep his tone even. He could feel the situation deteriorating.
Ike held his hand to the side, in front of the paladin. "You can go Stefan. I owe you for helping me refine the skills I learned from my father. I trust you to keep your word."
Soren appeared from behind Ike, the sage always seemed to be lurking about. "Are you certain Ike? She is one of Daein's Riders. She could have very valuable information."
Stefan couldn't help but feel betrayed at the branded tactician's words, but he kept silent, he wouldn't do anything to jeopardize his goal.
"No Soren, they are free to go." Ike turned to the Crimean soldier. "You better listen and listen well, any man or woman caught trying to recapture General Petrine will be severely punished. Am I clear?"
The paladin clenched his teeth. "Crystal, Sir."
"Good, spread the word, and return to your posts. Stefan, would you like me to prepare a horse for you? I want you to put some distance between yourself and my men." Ike said.
"I would appreciate that." Stefan said, gratefully.
…
Ike had kindly outfitted him with a horse, and he'd spent the last few hours working his way through the forested Crimea through the pass that led into a craggy little mountain range that would open up to a prairie that would lead him to the edge of the Serenes Forest.
He felt Petrine's weight where she was tied to his back, she still wasn't moving around. He was concerned, afraid that he may have kneed her in head too hard. It's not normal for a person to be knocked unconscious for hours like this. He grabbed her arm and pressed his fingers to her the underside of her wrist.
"Still has a pulse, at least she's not dead." He muttered.
"Whoa! Ah!" Stefan yelled, as his balance went to hell.
The ropes binding him and Petrine had somehow gone loose. The horse freaked out at the sudden change and Stefan was unseated, he fell off the horse back first and Petrine twisted off the horse after him, at the behest of the still attached ropes.
He hit the ground and then, immediately after, Petrine hit him. He felt something rounded strike his throat, he reacted without thinking threw her and her armored breast away from his throat, coughing and gasping for air. His right side slightly pulled up by the ropes and Petrine's weight.
The swordsman coughed a few more times. "Ha, haha... well I think that's enough riding for the first day."
The swordsman laid there for some time, before trying to untangle them both. As he unraveled the rope, freeing himself from Petrine he discovered the problem. It seemed, that the old rope had just up and snapped.
He sat up and sighed. "Well, everything's gotta break at some point..."
Stefan looked down at Petrine, he removed her from the rope. Then rope in hand he turned his attention to the horse that was off eating grass. He walked over to it, tied it to a nearby tree and dug through the equipment. He detached the pads and blankets.
He threw his on the ground, and headed over to where Petrine was, he put out her pad, and he took off her, black chest plate, gauntlets and boots, and he laid her down on the pad. He grabbed her blanket and wrapped her up well.
…
The dark silhouette of a well built man appeared, his obfuscated face sporting a smile that could only be called sadistic. His black dragon mount was curled up around the throne where he sat, in the dark room.
"Now then, Petrine. My dear Petrine... You have made one blunder after another. How will you prove your worth to me...? If you wish to remain in my service, you must show me results, unless of course you wish to become food for Rajaion?" He said.
She had come to know him well. The man loved war, more than love loves itself. He was ruthless, and unfathomably skilled in the art of killing.
"Y-Your Majesty! I swear I will redouble my efforts! I… I won't let you down again!" She begged.
"You can be a general or you can be dinner. I don't really care which... but do try to show a little initiative, won't you?" The mad king joked.
"Yes... your majesty…" The woman whispered in her sleep.
She tried to walk away, but she couldn't move her legs and her scenery didn't change. Ashnard's expression however, did, it slowly changed from one of amusement to one of discontentment and irritation. "Ah… but you see my dear Petrine, You have failed me far too many times and I no longer have any use for you. Rajaion your dinner is served. Eat to your heart's content, and don't worry about going to waste Petrine. I'll give whatever remains to the other feral ones."
"…No, please your majesty… I… I'll do anything! G-give me another chance, please!" Petrine shouted in her sleep.
"Eat her already Rajaion, if I have to endure anymore of this spineless weakling's sniveling I fear I may actually go insane." He spat.
"No, please! I don't want to die!" She yelled.
Stefan leaned over the panicking woman whispering into her ear. "It's alright… you're safe, Ashnard can't hurt you now."
She screamed, and bolted upright. They knocked heads, Stefan lost his balance and fell on top of her. The first thing Petrine saw and felt when she regained her senses, was the man sprawled out on top her.
"Ahh! Get the hell off me, you worthless lout!" She yelled, trying to throw him off, only to find her arms stuck under the blanket wrapped around her.
Stefan picked himself up and rubbed his head. "That must have been quite the nightmare. Mumbling, screaming and I've never seen someone bolt upright like that… certainly caught me off-guard."
"You!" She looked around trying to get her bearings. "Where are we? Where's the Crimean Army?"
"Not here, be at ease. You are safe." He said, as he stepped over to the crackling fire.
She wasted no time in escaping the grasp of blanket wrapped about her. When her right hand broke free of the blanket, it landed on what felt like a spear shaft. She grasped it, and brought it to herself.
"My... flame spear…" She muttered, throwing the blanket aside she stood up, she was unsteady on her feet and her head was killing her.
"If you're planning on running off, you really should take that blanket with you." He said, eying her as she walked off.
"I'll stay… for now." She said, as she continued to walk into the trees.
"I'm glad to hear that." He said.
Petrine ignored him and kept walking, she felt nauseous, her stomach turned as she walked. "Ugh, this... is not going to be fun." She mumbled.
Biting it back, Petrine walked on, she wanted to be a good ways from camp. She'd be damned if she was going to smell it later. Twigs broke between jagged rocks and her under-shoes. Her stomach protesting more with every step.
Able to go no farther, she dropped to her knees making sure the ground in front was slanted, she tried not to fight it, and after a couple of dry attempts, she emptied her guts on the ground. Her eyes watered, her throat ached, and her mouth was full of vile taste of her lunch's return trip. Sitting back, Petrine paused to actually think about her situation.
It had been an unexpected turn of events, to be sure. She'd never thought that the man's offer would have been legitimate. In fact, she'd been certain that he was trying to trick her into surrendering.
Petrine spat out a bit of what remained in her mouth, and stood up. She wasn't going to get a feel for the man, if she sat out here keeping her puke company. The Daein paladin wandered back into camp, still not feeling great, but she was alive. She had that to be thankful for, at least.
The man smiled at her when he saw her. "You're back, would you like something to eat?"
"Ha, what a cruel joke." She laughed.
"Pardon?" The man said.
"Nothing." She said, walking over to him.
He offered her a bowl. "Here, eat up."
If nothing else, she'd use it to wash out the vile aftertaste of vomit that still lingered in her mouth. She took the bowl and readied a spoonful of the soup that she brought it to her lips. She blew on it, before putting a spoonful of it in her mouth.
As soon as she removed the spoon she gagged, and spat it out. "What the hell is this crap? It tastes terrible, and the meat is half-cooked."
"Eh… oh, sorry… I've gotten so used to my bad cooking, I hardly notice." Stefan said, nonchalantly shrugging off her judgments.
She sighed, and tossed the bowl, it struck the ground, spilling it's contents out over the dirt. "What's your name?"
"Oh yeah, that's right. I never introduced myself. My name is Stefan." He said, simply. "And I'm branded, like you. If you're done eating, get some sleep, I'll take watch tonight."