On this day, May 19th 2011, this work comes to life. Ready yourselves for the journey you shall undertake. The gears of war move, the lords ready their knights, and the crows circle for the feast.

Prepare yourselves, ladies and gentlemen, for the City of Angels.

Permanent Disclaimer: I do not own, nor shall I ever own, Fire Emblem or any of the characters associated with it.

Coming of the Storm

April 13th, 999 A.S.

Lycian Fields, Lycian League, Elibe

"Too slow!" The iron spear jabbed forwards before it was deflected downwards. Edward stumbled forward with the motion, before putting his weight behind the movement. The butt of the lance shot to the left before it jabbed backwards, the oak staff connecting with the elder knight. The veteran paladin grunted as the end rammed into his breastplate before he backpedalled, pointing his own lance towards the younger knight. "You're improving on your reaction time. Good."

"When you learn from the best, you become the best." Edward smirked before readying himself once more, pointing the dulled tip towards his father. "Whenever you want."

The Caelin knight feinted forward before swiping low with the poled weapon, where it harshly knocked into Ed's grieve. The younger knight grunted against the pain before pressing forward, using the butt of his spear to swipe the other lance to his right; spinning the weapon under his right forearm, he grasped the lance at half-staff and swung to the right, the tip of the edge scraping audibly against the veteran's breastplate. The older man's eyes narrowed as he used his left arm to push the weapon away from him before using his right heel to trip his son.

Edward clattered to the ground in a rush before he grunted. The green armored knight plunged downward with his lance, his hands spread evenly over the shaft. Thinking quickly, Edward dropped his own lance before grasping the thrusting weapon with a gauntleted fist; he hand curled around the wood right behind the spearhead, yanking it down into the ground. Despite its blunt tip, the spear sunk into the damp ground with a soft squish. The paladin's eyes widened as he tried to yank his weapon from the soggy earth; as soon as he pulled his spear free, Edward's own weapon was at his torso, ready to plunge into his underbelly.

"I concede. You got me." Sain reached down with his right hand to help his son to his feet, who gratefully pulled himself up. "You've improved quite a bit Ed. I think working with some of the senior knights have helped your defense."

"I cannot hold a candle to how you were in your youth," Ed wiped his hands on his beige trousers, ridding his exposed fingers of the mud and dirt that he had accumulated from his short duel. "I can always climb higher."

"And now you're sounding like Kent!" Sain laughed as he walked over to where he had discarded his sword, attaching the scabbard to his belt. Fixing the positioning of his tassels, he smirked over at the pouting Edward. "It's good that you are so focused on your training. Don't forget to build a relationship with your comrades as well."

"Of course not." Edward watched as one of the larger men in the squad walked over to where the two had been training, a slight wetness noticeable on his brow. "Ah, Sir Stephen, well met."

"Well met, Edward." The bull of a man nodded to the younger knight before saluting the Green Lance, who nodded and smiled in return. "Commanduh Sain, I was wonderin' if ye would do the honor o' trainin' wit' me?"

"Ah, Stephen, I would, but I am no longer the best duelist in our camp anymore." Sain grinned as he nodded to his son, who sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "Edward is."

"Finally bested ye, did 'e?" Stephen roared in laughter at Sain's nod, a wide grin appearing behind his thick black beard. Edward shrugged at them as a slight red tinge took to his cheeks and ears. "Very well then. Edward, would ye train wit' me?"

"Of course. It would be an honor, Sir Stephen."

The young man started for the dulled iron spears before Stephen shook his head, gesturing to his horse, which grazed a short ways away. "No practice weapons, eh? Let us use our real lances."

Beckoning his horse over with a shrill whistle, Stephen reached over his saddle to pull out a large lance. He hefted his weapon of choice to his side, the heavy spear's tip glinting deadly in the moonlight. Walking over to his own horse, Edward unhooked the lance from the small hinge on the side of the saddle before twirling the lance in his hands. The lance's blade shone a deep red, looking as if it were stained with the blood of victims; although young, Edward's hands were tuned to the dance of the spear as they created a symphony of metal and flesh. Blessed with natural talent and a wonderful teacher, the green armored knight was a fearsome opponent, even at a young age.

Edward leveled the killer lance towards Stephen, who held his spear in a discipline unfamiliar to the knight. "At your ready."

The larger knight stepped forward before bringing his lance down in a vertical cut; Edward barely sidestepped the blow before another blow followed, this time horizontal. Ed held his lance straight and steady against the large spear, his shaft vertical and his hands spread evenly apart. Oak met oak with a loud bang as Edward's arms went numb from the contact. Spinning his lance, however, Edward swept aside Stephen's armor piercing spear before stabbing at his jaw.

The bearded man snapped his head back, grinning as the unusual spear thrust harmlessly over his face. Bringing his arm up, he snapped his left hand out and knocked the lance away, setting Edward off balance. Bringing his spear across once more, Stephen stepped forward with the blow, carrying himself with the momentum. The younger knight twisted his hips and shoulders, allowing the blade to miss his chest narrowly; Edward spun his lance in his right hand, narrowing his eyes as he focused on his opponent's movements.

Stephen reversed the motion before swiping at Edward's legs, who stepped over the attack. The younger knight brought his spear downward towards Stephen, who raised his lance horizontally to block the blow. The bearded man kicked upwards with his boot towards Edward's chest; the younger man spun to his left while swinging his spear with him. Stephen stepped his right foot back as he used the butt of the lance to swing the killer lance away from him, letting his own spear move to the left. Stephen let the motion continue before twisting his spear downwards, the momentum letting him speed the movement up. Rotating his shoulder, the heavy spear then moved upwards and into the air before it came down onto Edward's head. However, the crafty teenager used the top of his own lance to slow the momentum of the blow as the large point dug into the earth.

Edward's lance shot out from underneath the stuck spear as he swung at Stephen's left arm. The man wrenched his arm back, shoulders twisting with the motion, his right hand leaving the shaft of his spear for a slight moment. Edward quickly cut his motion as he used the head on his lance to flip the larger weapon out of the ground and away from Stephen. The crimson lance spun in a half-moon above Edward's head, who thrust the deadly weapon at Stephen's chest.

Stephen looked down in shock at the tip at his chest, his eyes wide. His heavy spear clattered to the ground a few feet in front of him, falling from its small toss in the air. The bearded man then chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Incredible."

Sain stepped forward and clapped his son on the back, a wide grin on his face. "See? I told you. It's like fighting one of the Eight Legends! There's no way you can get past his defense!"

"Maybes we should jus' stick ye on the fields in front o' Araphen and have Zephiel challenge ye." Stephen grinned at Edward's obvious embarrassment, taking advantage of the opportunity to poke fun of the teen.

"Please, you're embarrassing me," Edward smiled at Stephen, who laughed once more. A small group of knights, many of them recently knighted, began to make their way over to the pseudo-training ground, many of them chattering excitedly amongst themselves. "And it looks like many of the new pages are here."

Stephen glanced off the side with a frown as Sain simply looked towards the younger knights. The bearded man shook his head slowly as one of the knights pushed another over. "If only some o' them were as good as Thomas and yerself! Then I'd feel quite a bit bettuh about our chances!"

"Thomas claims there are some who show promise," Edward raised a hand in greeting, inviting a few of the knights over. At the head of the small group was a man with teal hair, garbed in a crimson suit of armor.

"Commander Sain! Sir Stephen! Edward!" Thomas chuckled in greeting as he met Edward's hand, shaking it briefly. A hand over his breastplate and a slight bow was given to the two senior knights. "Well met!"

"Ah, Thomas, good to see you." Sain nodded and grinned to the son of Kent, glad to see that he would be assisting them. Whenever he looked at his son and Thomas together, Sain couldn't help but be remembered of his time with Kent in Caelin. "I trust that you've been keeping up on your sword arm?" Much like the Crimson Shield and the Green Lance, their sons differed in technique and preference. Edward could match the lance arm of any knight whilst Thomas' skill with a blade was phenomenal.

"Of course, Commander Sain." Thomas nodded as he patted the steel sword at his side, nodding at the Green Lance, who nodded back.

"So, Commanduh," Stephen turned towards Sain, who looked at him with a blank look. Stephen's brown armor contrasted Sain's green as the man walked a bit closer to him. "How far do ye estimate Castle Araphen is?"

"I would say a three days' ride, Stephen." Sain walked over to where his pale white horse sat, grazing in the field. He grabbed the stallion's reins before leading it to where the small group was, petting its neck. "I believe I am going to consult with the mercenary captain. I recommend that you all get some rest."

"O' course, Commanduh." Stephen nodded and rapped his knuckles to his chest before turning to the two younger knights, a grin on his face. "So, ye two, we be passin' an' entering into what could be a large war. We'll be the first line of defense. What's yer thoughts on this?"

"I only wish that more of the marquises were like Steward Kent." Edward sat upon a tree stump that sat a few paces away, watching as the two other knights followed him. "My father stated that besides Lord Eliwood and Steward Kent, all of the Lycian Lords have sent only token forces."

"Pah," Stephen clenched a fist, "all o' these 'ere Lycian Lords are nothin' but lily-livered, turkey-belchin', horse-humpin' morons who only wan' to fill their pockets!" Stephen looked forward and pointed a finger at the two junior knights, frowning. "I tell ye two this: if ye ever have to save a knight or a noble, save a knight. The knight will protect ye…the noble will stab ye." Stephen stood and ambled off to the main part of camp, grumbling under his breath as he did so.

"You know," Thomas made sure the older knight was out of hearing range, "I think he fell a bit far from his rocker sometimes."

Edward chuckled slightly before shaking his head, "he may be a little rough on the edges, but he's a good man. Have a hard time understanding his accent at times, though."

"That's what you'll get when you have people from the Western Isles." Thomas shrugged before elbowing Edward with a grin, "hey, look there…"

"Look at what?"

"That." Thomas looked over at Edward and grinned; the slightly older knight sighed as he followed Thomas' finger. A short distance away, practicing with the rest of her mercenary troop, a female mercenary thrust her thin blade forward. Garbed in clothes that revealed a little too much skin for Edward's taste, the mercenary was a beauty.

"…you're like Father in his youth…" Edward frowned before shaking his head. Thomas simply shrugged and continued to stare until Edward stepped on his foot.

"The hell was that for?"

"Father is returning with a man. Pay attention."

The Green Lance was conversing with a red haired man, smiling more than a few times. The man was clearly a mercenary from his attire; various metal plates covered his torso and arms, protecting some of the most vulnerable parts of his body. The man wore an old and ragged purple jacket, frayed along the edges; the fabric was so worn that Edward believed it would rip easier than a fire tome! It obviously meant something to the man – even peasant clothes were in better condition than the jacket.

"Father," Edward nodded at his commander and the mercenary, "back so soon?"

"I wanted to introduce you to an old friend!" Sain grinned and gestured to the man, who looked on stoically, though with a hint of a smile. "Edward, Thomas, this is Raven. He and I fought together long ago."

"Well met, Sir Raven." Edward held out his hand, with a nod; Raven grasped his forearm with a simple nod of his head to both of the junior knights.

"This is your son, Sain?" Raven gestured to Edward as Sain nodded. "He's so much unlike you that it's…disturbing."

"His mother was just like him." Sain grinned before nudging Raven with his left arm. The redhead looked at the knight with a wry look on his face before sighing. "I hope you still have your sword arm."

"Hmph. You would think I would let my skills diminish?" Raven seemingly scowled, though by the way he laughed, Sain seemed to be unaffected by it. "Besides," Raven pointed to the various scars and nicks on his face, "I didn't get these by sleeping all my life."

"You have a point there, old friend." Sain smiled more calmly before turning to his son, patting him on the shoulder, "Edward, you're in charge of the first watch. Stephen shall be the second."

"Very well."

"Raven," Sain turned towards the elite mercenary, "make yourself at home in the camp. I know you said you were returning to Araphen from a job, so…"

"I shall." Raven nodded as his right hand gripped the blade at his side. Edward raised an eyebrow at the sword, frowning as he did so. The blade was a hand-and-a-half while possessing a dull blue hue; Edward recognized the description of the sword, but couldn't place where. "Thank you."

"Of course." Sain turned towards the two junior knights before knocking a fist against his breastplate. "See you two tomorrow."

"Good night Commander."

April 14th, 999 A.S.

The sun drifted into the large bedchamber, illuminating the corners of the room. Against the rays of light, dust moved lazily throughout the air, picked up by the occasional movement of a visitor to the sick man. The marquis coughed harshly once or twice before falling back to the pillows, groaning softly. A soft knock at the door caused the fiery haired ruler to look up wearily, clearing his throat as he did so. "Enter."

An aged knight, a veteran of many battles, entered, bowing as he did so. His blonde hair was white at his temples as a deep furrow ran across his brow; he moved stiffly across the room, his leg dragging ever so slightly against the soft carpet. Nonetheless, Harken of Pherae did not show any sign of discomfort as he approached his lord of twenty years. "Lord Eliwood…how are you feeling this morning?"

"Rather lousy and tired, I shall admit." Despite his illness, Eliwood awoke each morning like he had since the end of the Campaign of Fire; as he advanced in age, it was harder for him to stay as late, yet he always managed to wake up at dawn. "How about you, my old friend?"

"Please, milord, worry about yourself not me." The look Eliwood gave Harken, however, forced him into submission; Eliwood may have been one of the most benevolent leaders in Pheraen history, yet he was capable of getting what he wanted! "Sore, as ever."

It was true, of course. While age seemed to have not touched some of the vassals of Pherae, Isadora in particular, Father Time seemed to have vengeance on Harken. His hair was peppered with gray and white while various lines crossed his face. Married to Isadora after the Campaign of Fire, Harken's old injuries seemed to catch up with him. His joints suffered from the stress of battle, his bones weakening with time. However, with every stab of pain, Harken refused to leave his post as a senior knight, believing that his pain was a small price compared to his failure of Elbert.

"I am sorry to hear about that. Maybe I shall have Lowen create a grand meal to fill our bellies so we do not focus on our maladies?" Eliwood gave a wry grin to Harken, who smiled softly in return.

"I believe…" Harken watched as a sparrow settled on the sill outside of the window, chirping happily in the morning sun. "That would be excellent Lord. Do you feel as if you could join us this evening?"

"We shall see, Harken." Eliwood looked out wistfully to the sparrow, who fed a few chicks in its nest; a few weeks back, the sparrow had created a nest on the sill, much to Eliwood amusement. Declining a servant's offer to rid the window of the birds, Eliwood watched the mother feed her chicks daily. "Have you seen Lilina today? She's typically here at the rising of the sun."

"I believe she was by Master Roy's room, my lord."

Eliwood chuckled softly before a small cough wracked his body. He groaned softly before eyeing Harken with kind, yet wise, eyes. "It's like watching Florina with Hector all over again, isn't it?"

Harken blinked. "I…do not understand Lord Eliwood."

Eliwood gestured to the door, likely indicating his son's room which was a small walk away. "Remember how Florina was with Hector, during – and after – our journey?" Eliwood always seemed to speak fondly of those times, especially recently. Harken suspected it was due to the illness.

"I remember how Lady Florina would consistently be near Lord Hector, yet never with him." Harken allowed a small smile to grace his face, remembering how the meek knight would follow the Ostian lord around. "It could be…rather humorous at times, I shall admit."

"Lilina seems to be taking after her mother in that regard…" Eliwood smiled before looking to the canvassed portrait in the corner. Harken followed Eliwood's eyes with an understanding look; it was no secret that as Roy got older and studied in Ostia, Eliwood increasingly wished for his wife. "And Roy seems to be following Hector's example!"

Harken grinned as a small knock followed at the door. Turning, he watched as Eliwood gestured for him to open it; at the now-open frame, a teen stood, blue locks flowing over her shoulders. A red hair band threaded through her hair, comparable in color to her clothes; as always, Lilina wore a cheerful expression on her face, one that belied her perceptiveness. "Lady Lilina." Harken grinned as she nodded at him. "It's good to see you. Lord Eliwood," Harken turned and bowed to his lord, who bid him off with a hand wave.

"Ah…Lilina. You're uncharacteristically late today." Eliwood smiled as she shut the door behind her.

The heir of Ostia cringed as she pulled a glass vial into view, sheepishly smiling to her father's greatest friend. "I'm sorry Uncle Eliwood. I was immersed in a book and lost track of time."

"Oh?" Eliwood grimaced as Lilina handed him the vial. Steeling himself to swallow the vile tasting medicine, he tipped the small glass in the air before swallowing the contents. Making a face, he handed the vial back to Lilina. "Ugh. It's almost like doctors create medicine just to torture your tongue!"

"Uncle Eliwood," the red haired lord looked up, "I was wondering…i-if you could tell me something."

"Of course child." Eliwood smiled that kind smile of his, gesturing to a chair that sat near the bed. "Sit. Now, what is it that you wanted to ask?"

Lilina fidgeted with the hem of her shirt for a moment before a reassuring look from her father's greatest friend calmed her to speak. "Do you know what my mother was like?"

Eliwood blinked, surprised and unawares. "Where did this come from?"

"W-Well…I remember Roy talking of his mother – your wife – once and…I've never known mine. I've never asked Father, because he always seems so sad when I speak of her. So I was wondering if you knew her…"

To her surprise, Eliwood smiled as he patted her hand. "I knew your mother well, Lilina. She travelled with your father and I on a campaign some years prior. She was…" Eliwood chuckled softly before a short cough followed. Lilina couldn't help but smile at Eliwood's mood change. "She was surprisingly very meek. I'm sure your father told you how she was a knight, yes?"

"Yes." Lilina nodded, smiling as Eliwood's hand tightened over hers. "He said she rode a pegasus through the skies."

"That she did." Eliwood graoned softly as he adjusted himself on the large bed, propping himself up against the pillows. "The first time your father met your mother, she had fallen out of the sky." At Lilina's horrified look, he smiled. "An arrow, I believe, spooked her and caused her to fall. Your father, being the absolute bear of a man that he still is, caught her safely…and her pegasus."

Lilina giggled for a moment as the sparrow outside the window chirped rather loudly. "I remember him saying something about catching a falling horse…I've never believed him, but now that you're saying it Uncle Eliwood…"

"Oh," Eliwood sat up, a boyish youthfulness returning to his body as he recalled fond memories, "it was rather humorous, I won't lie! After this, your mother consistently wished to thank your father, but she was so afraid of him – Hector was always intimidating and rash at times – that she would just follow him around!" Eliwood grinned and laughed loudly, remembering old faces and friends that had since passed on or disappeared from his life. "It was enjoyable to see the two of them together; your mother always quiet and respectful, your father loud and rambunctious. I will say though, Lilina," Eliwood looked over to the girl, who wore a smile on her face, "your mother was one of the greatest and most gentle souls I've ever known."

"She died when I was three, so I don't remember anything about her…" Lilina looked down in sadness before smiling and looking at Eliwood. "But if she made so many people happy, than I'm sure she was a great woman."

Eliwood looked outside to the sparrow, who was flying away to search for more food. The chirping of the chicks could be heard as they begged for more food and for their mother's warmth. The Lord of Pherae frowned then, nodding slowly. "Yes…she was."

"I gotta say," Stephen grinned over to Thomas and Edward, who rode beside him, "tha' I cannot wait to get to Araphen! Fine ale, beautiful women, an' some o' the best fabrics 'round!"

"I don't know about fabrics or ale," Thomas chuckled as Edward glared, "but I would like me a nice lady to keep me company!"

"You're terrible." Edward shook his head and couldn't help but laugh at the two men; Stephen had always been known as a fierce warrior but his code of chivalry was far from the norm!

"You're just jealous."

Edward shook his head once more before raising a hand in greeting as Raven walked alongside the horses. "Sir Raven! Well met."

"Well met Edward. And I'm not a knight; there's no need to call me 'sir'."

"Master Raven?"

"Just Raven is fine," a slight ghost of a smile appeared on his face as he looked straight ahead.

"Very well then." Edward adjusted himself on his horse, patting the animal on the neck as he did so, "where are you returning to, Raven?"

"A small orphanage outside of Araphen." At Edward's questioning look, he shrugged a single shoulder. "An old friend of mine, and your father's, lives there."

"How far is this orphanage from Araphen?"

"A short day's ride." Raven smiled slightly before his hard eyes looked up to Edward briefly. "If we double our speed, we could reach it in a few candlemarks."

"Then," Sain looked back from the front, speaking softly so as to not make the rest of the Caelin knights aware of their conversation. "Perhaps you should take a horse, Raven."

"There's no need. I'll simply reach the orphanage tomorrow morning."

"Nonsense." Sain turned his shoulders in the saddle, looking over his right shoulder. "I'm sure one of our knights would be fine in walking. Besides…I haven't sent a messenger to Lord Hector."

"Surely, you don't mean to send me?" Raven looked incredulously at Sain, who grinned quickly before fixing his face at the scowl that followed.

"No. I was going to send a few knights to accompany you to the orphanage; they could then go to Araphen and tell Lord Hector of our approach." At Raven's hesitance, Sain yelled out to the back of the ranks. "Whomever dismounts their horse and hands their reins to me first gets rations and a half tonight!"

The Knight Commander of Caelin was met with the reins of a younger knight, who was only a few years older than Edward. Ed chuckled as he saw his father declare, in a rather loud voice, that the knight would receive extra rations that evening. Sain led the sorrel horse to Raven, who shrugged then mounted it. "Thank you."

"Of course." Sain turned to Edward, eyeing the lance that hung at his saddle, "Edward, take a man with you and escort Raven to the orphanage. You are to report to Lord Hector as soon as possible. Tell him that Caelin is arriving with two score of cavalry and three score archers."

"Yes, sir." Edward nodded before turning to his companion, steering his black horse to Raven, "Thomas, wou-."

"Absolutely." Thomas moved forward as Raven started to ride ahead of the company. Edward moved his own horse, named Shadowless, beside the elite mercenary, never speaking.

The ride was long, quiet, and scenic. Words were not spared as they travelled, savoring the woods and plains around them; Raven had chosen a straightforward yet difficult ride that traversed over many hills and slopes, causing certain the trek to be rather bumpy and rough. However, when they drew upon a rustic red-roofed orphanage, Edward felt as if the ride had been worth it.

During the times of late, where battles were waged and wars proclaimed, bandits and soldiers pillaged and looted villages and homes, taking all valuables within. With many of the men conscripted to fight in professional armies, while others served as mercenaries, these vulgar and unscrupulous men seized the opportunities presented. With the exception of Bern, and perhaps Etruria, bandit raids and attacks became all too common throughout the countryside and even in some relatively urban areas. While some raids were of lesser value – a few crops burned and some treasure plundered – others left entire communities on their knees, or in some cases, buried and razed. On those occasions, lives are lost, homes are burned, and children are sold or left behind to live on their own.

However, salvation came for those children unfortunate enough to lose their parents. The Elimine Church, a staple of Elibean society, worked without end to bring peace to their faithful. Their devotion to this cause was exemplified by the numerous amount of orphanages and shelters being built across Ilia, Lycia, and Etruria. Inside those orphanages, wayward children were taught basic literacy skills, work ethic, and a faith in God; however, for all their talk of devotion to the poor, certain orphanages received much more in the way of funds than others did.

The small orphanage on the outskirts of Araphen was one of those unlucky ones. Although situated by one of the richest cities in Elibe, the greedy policies of Marquis Araphen and relative obscurity doomed the orphanage to poverty. Despite the weather-worn wood and tired fencing, the orphanage flourished with happiness and contentment. As the two Caelin knights and the mercenary rode into sight of the orphanage, a dozen or so children came into sight, under the scrutiny of a few older children.

At the sight of the three mounted warriors, a few of the children watched as they nervously approached their home. At the sight of the crimson-haired mercenary, however, they relaxed as some of the children rushed towards Raven. The elite swordsman smiled narrowly and patted a few on the head before dismounting, tying his horse to a fencepost.

"Mister Raven," the mercenary and two knights watched as a green haired teen approached the veteran, "are you looking for Father Lucius?"

Raven nodded before smiling softly, "yes, Lugh. Can you tell me where he is?"

The teen nodded before gesturing to the back, past the small crowd of children. Edward noted that he carried a book in his hands; a mage's novice robe was tied around his neck, giving the knight an impression that the teen practiced magic of some sort. The boy was one of the oldest orphans visible, standing at least a head taller than the rest. "I believe he is in the garden. I'll fetch him for you."

Raven turned towards the two knights, "Lucius will likely wish to meet you both, due to who your fathers are. Besides, Araphen's gates will close by dark; you won't be able to get into the city."

"Hrm." Edward sighed before dismounting Shadowless, who nickered as its master tied it to a tree. Thomas dismounted as well, tying his horse to the same tree; the two horses were similar to their masters in respect to one another. "This is true. I did not expect that the ride would take so long."

"Look at it this way," Raven watched as his old friend walked towards the three, "you are a day ahead of your father. Even more if you leave in the morning at the pace we set today."

"Lord Raymond. It is good to see you unharmed and safe." Lucius smiled a serene smile as he approached the three warriors. Raven's face did not change at the use of his real name - he had long grown accustomed to the man's use of it.

Much like Sain, Lucius' appearance did not change greatly. Years drew lines near the corners of his eyes and lips, yet the gentle aura around the monk never changed. Although offered many times to move throughout the ranks of the church, the simple man refused to advance. Instead, he preferred the humble orphanage outside of Araphen, choosing to do God's work by protecting his flock and raising them to be pious men and women. Many opined that the monk would be honored for his work at some point, as the man was considered to be one of the most humble bishops to have walked Elibe.

"Lucius," Raven nodded, a hint of a smile falling on his lips. He patted a small bag on his hip, releasing it from his belt as he gave it to Lucius. "I brought these, just as you were wishing for."

Lucius nearly opened the bag before noticing the two junior knights for the first time. An inquisitive, yet kind, look drew on his face as he smiled at the two knights. "Oh, forgive me. I did not notice you – how rude of me. I am Father Lucius. And you are…?"

"I am Edward, knight of Caelin." He rapped his fist to his chest in greeting.

"Thomas, a knight of Caelin as well, Your Excellence," Thomas did likewise, a soft smile on his face. The younger knight was more pious than his brother-in-arms, the church holding a special place in his heart.

"They're the sons of Sain and Kent, respectively."

Lucius' eyebrows went up at that as his smile widened. Like many of the former army, Lucius had only kept in touch with those he was closest with. Raven and Priscilla were the only two he corresponded with frequently, though Raven was the only one he talked to personally – the only way he could contact Countess Caerleon was by letter. If only Araphen were not so far from Etruria! "Well, if they are the sons of my old friends, then they are my friends as well!" Lucius smiled before opening the bag that Raven had given him, "ah. Lord Raymond, these herbs are…very uncommon."

"Of course. If memory serves, they improve the quality of the soil." Raven picked a blade of grass from the ground and started to curl it around his fingers. "It should improve your garden."

"This is most appreciated, Lord Raymond." Lucius smiled as a young girl cautiously walked up to him and offered the monk a necklace made of flowers. The monk gratefully took the necklace and placed it around his neck, granting the girl a kind smile. "Our garden is our life – if it fails, then we shall not eat."

"Do you have salt, Father?"

Lucius looked to Edward before nodding slowly. "Yes. It is one of the few things that we do have."

Tapping his companion's breast, Edward smiled softly, "if you would desire, Thomas and I could hunt you down some game. If we bag something, you could salt it down to keep it."

"I do have some throwing javelins," Thomas nodded towards his horse, "it wouldn't be long."

"That would be…excellent, Sir Edward." Lucius smiled quickly before frowning, glancing towards the woods with a forlorn look. "Ah, but I do not want to risk a Bern soldier attacking you in the woods. That forest is particularly dark at night. I've lost a few of my children there before – it took many candlemarks to find them."

"Do not worry, Father," Thomas patted the sword at his waist, "we weren't made knights of Caelin for nothing. Should any Bern men move this far by Araphen, they're foolish anyways. And if that's the case..." the young man let his voice drift off, not needing to finish.

Lucius contemplated this before nodding slowly; if it had been any other men, he would have declined! However, after fighting alongside such knights as Kent and Sain, any offspring they bore would be more than proficient to protect themselves. "Very well then, child. God bless thee and bless your hunt."

The two did not leave immediately, however; after talking with Thomas for a moment, the knights decided to discard some of their less necessary armor. Leaving their torso s protecting only by their breastplate, the two knights set off into the woods. Splitting away from one another, the two agreed to return shortly after sundown. As he waited by a tree, lance in hand, Edward felt at peace. Controlling his breathing as much as he could, the knight was still until a large rabbit made its way by him. Taking a deep breath, he let loose with the projectile, smiling slightly as he watched it connect. Although he felt guilty for killing such a beautiful creature, he realized that the need to eat won over his humanitarian side. He took comfort in the fact that the animal did not suffer much - the javelin had likely went through its spine, rendering unable to feel any pain.

As Edward held the rabbit in front of him, he watched as the sun disappeared behind the landscape. Although he had hoped to bag game larger than a measly rabbit, he would take what he could get; he likely could have gotten deer had he more time, but time was of the essence. Judging by Father Lucius' demeanor, the man would likely be immensely grateful for anything he brought back!

'Though,' the young man thought as he set off towards the orphanage, 'I hope Thomas got more than this. I'm hungry tonight.'

Guinevere sighed as she watched the wax from the candle drip off onto the brass dish. The flame danced lazily as the shadows cast from it played on the wall, whipping back and forth as the small fire moved. Despite the size of her personal chamber, this was the only light allowed; the Princess of Bern had ordered her servant, Ellen to wait by the door silently, in order to ward off any nosy knights or vassals.

Though the Elimine Church flourished across Elibe, it played a secondary role in the militaristic nation of Bern. Those who joined the priesthood were often third or fourth son of a family; typically, the first inherited the land and mansion while the second often enlisted in the Bern army. The church also attracted those men who were inadequate for the demands of the military; however, Ellen was one of the few who readily participated in the church by choice, rather than need.

Perhaps due to her introspective and respectful nature, Ellen was the preferred companion of Guinevere. The two young women found a mutual respect for one another due to common interests; the women could often be found spending their time in the royal libraries, fostering their want for knowledge and literature. This close bond was a large reason why Guinevere had trusted Ellen – and not her bodyguard Miledy – to her peace plans.

"My Lady," Ellen looked over from where she was standing to her charge, "when shall it burn out?"

Guinevere shrugged a shoulder before eyeing the candle with a kind but intelligent eye. "I'd say in a few more moments." The princess was silent for a minute before she turned in her chair to Ellen, who looked up. "Master Orer kept trying to keep me occupied throughout the day."

This piqued the cleric's interest immensely, causing her to frown. She chose her words carefully, taking caution in the chance they were being overheard. "Oh? What do you think he wanted, My Lady?"

"I believe he wanted to keep me busy. I think he wanted to make sure I didn't do anything." Guinevere stood and walked to her drawer, pulling out a small brown bag. "I didn't mind. Master Orer is interesting, at any rate."

Surprisingly, this was true. Orer had served as the royal advisor to Zephiel for over seventeen years; introduced to the then-prince as a teacher, the man had lectured on politics, tactics, and strategy, cultivating Zephiel's talents for many years. Upon his ascension to the throne, Zephiel appointed Orer as his prime minister and royal advisor, giving him near unlimited power, under only Zephiel himself. While the king was away from Bern campaigning, Orer controlled all domestic policies – which wasn't a large change, due to many of Zephiel's decisions being influenced by Orer.

The wise and old minister had taught the greatest of Bern's figures. Dragon General Brunya, Princess Guinevere, and King Zephiel had been lectured by the man, fostering a camaraderie and trust between the few who were lucky enough to be taught by Orer. Despite this, however, most of Orer's efforts were to bringing Zephiel's talents to fruition; upon Zephiel's ascension, the prime minister had urged the king to stay silent and still until the right time. All of Elibe had believed the new king to be just and chivalrous; when Orer unleashed the beast of Bern upon the world, it caught the rest of the world by surprise, leaving them vulnerable to attack.

Despite his prowess of mind, the man never won the princess over to his visions of Bern glory by might. Guinevere had always preferred battle of the tongues to battle of the blades, and it was this reason that the princess had a slight falling out from the rest of the Bern hierarchy – it was no secret that the biggest internal critic of Bern's current actions was the presumed heir. It was likely only Zephiel's love for his sister, or former love, and popularity that kept her alive day to day. However, not even popularity could keep Guinevere alive if her plans were discovered: what she was doing was textbook treason, through and through.

It was this reason that Guinevere had only Ellen by her side. As the slow night dragged on, their nerves slowly started to fray; their plan was wearing down on them, despite their belief in it. It wasn't until Ellen stuck her head out and confirmed the absence of life in the grand halls that Guinevere let out a relieved sigh. Slipping the brown pouch into her brassiere, she gracefully crossed her bedchambers, grasping Ellen's hand as she did so.

"Milady," Ellen was ushered along by her charge swiftly, "I managed to secure the loyalty of woodcutter in the mountains." Her voice was hushed as they moved down the hallway, their footsteps muffled against the lush rugs and carpets present. At Guinevere's warning look, the cleric quieted herself until they were exited of Bern city. As soon as they were within the large forests outside of Bern, Ellen turned to her lady. "This woodcutter is an experienced veteran, it seems. He has promised us safe passage to the Lycian border once we rendezvous with him."

"Very good Ellen." Guinevere smiled as the two women moved silently through the forest, their hearts and minds much lighter now that one of the most difficult tasks was over.

Unbeknownst to the Bern women, however, a pair of gray eyes watched them leave. They watched as the women exited the might Castle Bern, unblinking against the stale air of his work chamber. He stared at the two until they vanished out of sight in the vast city of Bern; at this, he turned on his heel and sat in a large oaken chair, pondering the events that had transpired.

April 16th, 999 A.S.

Somewhere Within Bern

I daresay that I feel guilty. Yes, I know, it's hard to believe that a strategist – of all people – will be guilty. However, despite ordering the deaths of scores of men, I feel more guilty for breaking a promise than being responsible for those many deaths. I think my time in exile has made me slightly soft – I think I shall blame Legault for this.

I must say that despite the peacefulness that is presented here, the lack of connection to the rest of Elibe has wracked my nerves more than a bit. I have been receiving information more than a week after it has occurred, and, due to my profession, this has left me quite irritated. I believe Legault sensed my irritation for he has started to use his many contacts to get detailed information faster so I would not feel so out of the loop. I suppose I shall commend him for his efforts.

This last bit of information is the most troubling to me, I believe. After finding out that Bern had attacked Sacae, I half-expected the plains nation to fall quickly. Even less so once I found out that Murdock had attacked Ilia. But news that my beloved Lycia, though not the land of my birth, is under attack has me worried ill. I feel slightly better knowing that Hector is leading the defense, but that was countered by word of Eliwood's sickness. To think that Lycia would be conquered…the last time I have felt this helpless was when I learned that Lyndis had passed due to sickness. Unlike last time though, I have no wish to stand at another vigil…Lyn's pyre stands alive in my mind and I do not wish for another.

Mark looked up from his worn journal to find that Legault was peering over his shoulder. Casting an annoyed look at the man, Mark shoved the book into the small desk he occupied, causing Legault to chuckle. "Do I stand there and watch you engage with Heath?"

Legault looked around for a moment before nodding slowly. "Well, if you count that one time…"

"You two were on top of my bed! That hardly counts!" Mark shook his head before pulling the moss green cloak closer to him. Despite the late spring, the southwestern mountains of Bern always possessed a certain chill to them, due to their proximity to the sea. "But you reading over my shoulder while I'm writing is like me sitting and watching you engage intimately."

"I don't have a problem with that. Heath might, but…" Legault grinned as Mark made a face; although the two men had been close friends for thirteen years, there were certain things you didn't do to the master tactician.

"I'll pass Legault, thanks." Mark shifted in his seat to look at the former assassin.

The sight that awaited him was one of age and difficulty. Despite their recent years being rather peaceful, time had been unforgiving to the Black Fang assassin. Time and swords had left their mark on his body, rendering him unable to fight due to old injuries and weakening joints. Despite this, Legault retained his youthful personality, doing all things he used to – just slightly slower and at a more relaxed pace.

"Suit yourself." Legault sat in the chair that accompanied Mark's, spreading out comfortably as he did so. Unlike Legault and Heath's residence, Mark's was one of simplicity and emptiness, sacrificing luxury for functionality.

Despite Mark's love of learning, there were only five books within his home: three personal journals, a detailed history of the Campaign of Fire, and Mark's manuscripts on war. Mark considered the last, in particular, to be his greatest and most prized work; it was a large manuscript of military tactics, comprised of everything Mark knew: stratagems, sortie formations, and siege tactics. The part Legault found most interesting, however, was the section on the different castles of Elibe; within the section, Mark went through great detail on how to capture or defend each and every major castle on the Elibe continent.

The rest of Mark's home was decorated with an assortment of items. Maps lined the walls, overlapping in many cases; detailed grid lines were drawn along with possible moves that could be made. The map Mark had used in the Campaign of Fire was framed above his desk, serving as a constant reminder of where he had come from.

The only source of entertainment, aside from the maps and his books, were Mark's chess sets. In the village, it was common knowledge that Mark loved the game of wits; everyday, Mark would play against a different opponent, relishing the chance to face a new rival. Despite his relative fame as a chess master, however, Mark remained in the shadows – only Heath and Legault knew of Mark's true identity and the tactician preferred it that way.

"Where is Heath anyways?" Mark's voice shook Legault out of his slightly reverie. The strategist had moved from his desk to his small bed, sitting cross legged on the mattress. "I haven't seen him all day."

"I believe he is securing rations."

"Rations?" Mark raised an eyebrow at this. "Why would he need rations?" The former tactician had lived with the two outlaws for over thirteen years and never had they not informed him of something – for Heath to leave without informing Mark was something new.

"He doesn't," Legault flipped his whitening hair over his shoulder, "but you do."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb Mark." Legault sniffed as he cracked his back, gasping slightly as he did so: even Mark could clearly hear individual vertebrae pop. "You, Heath, and I all know that you're going to Lycia. You're not going to let something like this happen to Lycia."

Mark held a finger up in the air, his other hand running through his brown hair. "I let it happen to Ilia and Sacae, did I not?"

"No." Legault shook his head to Mark's surprise. "There was no possible way you could have led them to victory. Sacae was too fragmented and too weak while Ilia was too far away. However, Lycia is strong enough that she can win; you know this and Heath and I both know you're going to go there."

Mark was silent for a few moments before looking towards the former Black Fang member. Although many saw Legault as a happy-go-lucky slacker, Mark had come to know the man as someone with great insight and a good understanding of the world. "Damn. I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am." Legault grinned before he leaned forward, a frown setting on his face. "Honestly, Mark, you need to go. As much as I dislike war, you need to lead Lycia. From what I've been told, well over seventy-five score men are marching on Araphen…Hector is a great and mighty warrior and leader, but even this may be too much."

"Seventy-five score…? I wasn't aware that Bern was capable of fielding so many people after their conquests…" Mark sighed before nodding, resignation coming over his features. As much as he detested death, the man knew that death accompanied his trade – something he had begrudgingly accepted in his first assignment after the Campaign of Fire.

"Well, now you are aware." Legault absent-mindedly twirled a strand of hair around his finger. "Heath should be returning soon. When he does, he'll take you to Pherae…Mark, you know you must do this."

Mark looked down at his hands. His hands had led to the death of hundreds, if not thousands; despite that, he knew he would be leading a righteous cause. Mark forced himself not to chuckle. How ironic was it that a butcher would be leading champions? "Yes, Legault," Mark nodded slowly, "I know I must. And so…I guess I shall go to Pherae."

'Hector, my friend…it seems as if I shall hold my promise. Wait just a little longer.'

Note. Be aware that this chapter is a rewrite in an attempt to make Edward seem a little less experienced than he is, as well as to include Thomas more.