Author Note: So yeah, i wrote a dialogue heavy monologue driven fic, and IMO dialogues one of my weakest points as a writer. Tell me how it was with the review button at the end, and hopefully it doesn't suck too much.
Disclaimer: Fire Emblem belongs to Intelligent Systems and Nintendo, not I
The man strode in to the throne room with his head high, despite having his hands being bound by chains. While the prisoner's body ached from its wounds, the man reflected that due to his cooperation he had not been treated as severely as most prisoners of a hostile regime would have been.
Hundreds of eyes surveyed the man as he was marched up the gauntlet of people towards the throne at the end of the royal hall. He was appeared to be in his late thirties though the man's original sandy brown hair was going grey, a sign of the stressful life he had lived so far, as were the various lines and creases in the lightly tanned face. His grey shaded eyes were sharp, fixed upon the man seated on the great throne, the prisoner's face was impassive as his entourage of guards stopped, bowing to their lord.
The blond king folds his hands together and leaned slightly from his throne, the man was massive even seated, likely only dwarfed by the older man in heavy purple armour who guarded the stairs which ascended to the royal seat. "So Mark, we met at least. I hear you are willing to aid my campaign, in exchange for being able to address the full court of Bern."
For indeed the captured man was Mark, the tactician who had guided the lady Lyndis to victory in the Caelin rebellion, and was instrumental in the defeat of the dark sorcererNergal and the Black Fang near twenty years ago. Both Bern and Ertruria had been searching for him and his superb mind in order to employ his tactics and strategy against the other, yet he had remained hidden from their efforts, until now. After the death of a close friend, Mark had spent the last several years in the mountains separating Bern and Sacae, fulfilling a promise he had made a long time ago. The village where he had been planning his next strike against the mountain bandits had been found by a Bernese scouting force, and despite his talents at gathering people and inspiring trust, the strategist had been sold out, and so here he was, offering his service to King Zephiel, for a price.
The tactician nodded. "That's right, Your Highness. I will aid you and your forces, in exchange I simply wish to tell a story." The King frowned, clearly not expecting that answer, and not trusting what the other man was saying. Smart man, Zephiel. Mark though to himself, fighting to keep a smirk of his face. He succeeded, and the monarch nodded at him to continue. Taking a quick deep breath, he started his tale.
"There once was a young prince. The boy was skilled both with his mind, and with a blade, and was adored by his people. Yet, the young royal was not truly happy, for while he loved his mother, the Queen very much, as well as his younger half-sister and all his people, for all his gifts there was one thing he desired above all else, the love and acceptance of his father." Here Mark, paused in his monologue to regains his air. As he did so he observed that Zephiel's brow was furrowed and his lips were starting to turn down, the king's eyes glinted as they focused on the storyteller.
"The boy's father, the King, lived away from his his wife and son, in the castle where he ruled with his mistress and daughter. The King was uneasy of the gifts his sons pssess, for he had none of them himself, not talent with book nor blade, or the love of the subjects he looked after, who viewed him as a tyrant." The tactician continued.
"As the prince approached his coming of age ceremony, the King grew paranoid tha the boy preparing a coup against him. So he ordered an intrinsic part of the ceremony stolen, much as he had ordered the death of a young fox kit the prince had given to the king's beloved bastard daughter."
Mark thought he could hear Zephiel angrily grinding his teeth with rage, even from down the steps, as he seemingly learned of what his father had done for the first time, at least in regards to his sister's present. Speaking of the princess mark finally turned his eyes towards the young woman who had gasped the loudest at the fate of the poor young fox. The blonde princess was seated near her older brother, and she swivelled her head between the King and tactician her eyes wide and starting to water as she started to put the story together.
Shrugging the older man went on with his tale, not leaving them any room to recover. " the relic was recovered in time by some interested forces. So the king contacted the league of assassins he had hired to steal the relic, to finish the job and the prince. One of the leaders of this group agreed, sending her daughter for her initiation and one of her top assassins to ensure the job was done."
A look of sheer rage crossed the King's face, remembering his father and his deeds, narrowing his eyes at mark, wondering how the tactician had learned all this. He let out a lot growl, too low for the vast majority of the court to hear. Mark's eyes widened as he sensed a power similar to one he had last felt two decades ago. Unseen by virtually everyone in the room a dark figure was behind Zephiel, as the rage appeared to slowly leave him. So that's your objective Zephiel. Interesting. Mark thought to himself.
"The night before his ceremony the Prince prayed, as he did most nights. He prayed for hist parents, his sister, himself and even his father's mistress to all live as one happy family. He promised to met his fathers expectations for him. Unlike every other night, he had done so, the prince's prayer was heard this night; though not by God or St. Elimine." Here Mark met Zephiel's gaze calmly.
"The young prince's plea touched the assassin's heart, she too desired the parental love of an aloof figure, her mother. She managed to convince her companion to spare the boy and with some outside aid protected him through the night." Once again Mark shrugged and he cleared his throat, as his voice was rasping up from speak far more than he was used to.
"That's all the story I know, though I understand that the Prince later got vengeance on his father." For the second time since he had begun his recollection of the events, Mark surveyed the room. While Zephiel once again warred with anger and shock, and tried to keep his composure his sister had no such control. Tears rolled down her face, hearing about her beloved old brother's pain had moved her deeply, as she now understood had had happened to that boy. Guinevere glanced between Mark, her brother and a woman dressed in the garb of St. Elimine''s followers a thoughtful look upon her emotion wrought face. His story had seeming reached others is the court, most notably,other than the princess, a red headed woman dressed the medium armour of Bern's famed Wyvern riders, who stoop to the side near the princess. A real smile spread across mark's face, the first one he had had in years. The pieces are in motion now. Your move.
Then the famed tactician began to laugh, the laugh of a man who had seen more horror, joy, and tragedy in his laugh than most, the laughter of a man who was letting go of everything he had held inside himself for years. The sound caused some of the assembled courtiers and soldiers to shiver. Mark closed his eyes as tears began to role out. Hector...Eliwood... Lyndis. I've done all I could. I'm sorry. Then he knew only blackness.