Author's note: Greetings. DarkEclipse45 here. You've found your way to to "A Collision of Fates", a fanfic for my favorite Fire Emblem pairing, Heath and Priscilla! Heath, the prideful deserter from Bern and Priscilla, the kind and serene troubador from Etruria. Both are two of my favorite characters, so I figured I would write a story for them. The only other stories I've seen for them took place after they met, so I thought to write one that was a little more in depth. While the story is listed as a "HeathxPriscilla" fanfic, it's more of a Heath fanfic than anything. It will mainly revolve around Heath and his experiences with Eliwood's army but will also include Priscilla as well and her impact on Heath's life. It's not exclusively romance, nor is it just an action/adventure-type retelling of of Rekka No Ken. I've never written romance before, so I'm doing my best. Anyways, enjoy the story!
A Collision of Fates
Prologue: Deserter
Deserter.
That word. It haunted him every waking moment of every day, hounding his every step and refusing to go away. No matter how hard he tried, he could not escape it, could not run away from it. That word was always there, stuck in his head and the forefront of all his thoughts. Mocking him, taunting him, it pursued him relentlessly, a dark shadow that would could not be dispelled by any form of light.
Get out of there! the man screamed inwardly.
Already he had succumbed to madness once and he was dangerously close to falling into its dark shroud once again. His feelings now were just as strong as they had been before and the man had hoped that with the passage of time his sense of guilt would subside. But even his best efforts to do so had failed and while the situation should have been improving, it was only getting worse. Time had failed to ease its passing. The man tried everything he could think of to cure himself of the pain, yet nothing seemed to work. He had nowhere else to go and he was slowly falling into despair.
Deserter. You left them to die.
Why couldn't he force the words out of his mind?
I...No! There was nothing more I could have done! They told me to leave...
Still, the thoughts persisted.
Stop lying to yourself. Have you no shame? What happened to your honor as a knight? There was always more that you could have done, that you should have done. You could have turned back...
That was lie. He couldn't have done anything else to save them.
Deserter.
Why should this bother him so much? After all, it was only word. But words had a way of getting inside your head, your heart and even your very soul if you weren't careful to block them out. Once they had progressed that far, however, it was nigh impossible to shake loose of the shackles they placed on you. Most often it wasn't the word that affected someone the most, it was the person or event associated with it. In the man's case, the latter more than the former, though both plagued him just as well. What choice did he have at the time, anyway? He had simply been following orders and his own pride had allowed him nothing less.
The wyvern rider known as Heath lay slumped against the trunk of a large oak tree, its rough bark digging into his back. His lance rested across his lap, his fingers toying idly with it. His armor lay a few yards to his left, its dark blue surface glinting in the light of the full moon. He sat at the edge of a forest clearing on the side of the mountain, secluded and shut away in his own thoughts. Opening and closing his eyes periodically, Heath let the feel of the cool night air surround him and give him a sense of tranquility. He had always preferred the dark, finding little or no comfort at all in being out in the sun for long periods of time. Only the light of the moon and stars could aid in healing the wounds no one could see, the ones that afflicted him the most. Hyperion slept on the other side of the clearing, his great chest rising and falling with each deep breath he took.
It had been almost two weeks since the two had fled Bern and began their lives as fugitives from the only place they had called home. Even after that time, Heath had not yet discounted the possibly that he was still being hunted. He was branded a traitor and a murderer and the Wyvern Knights did not tolerate treason. He lived in constant fear of being discovered and if he was, he would undoubtedly be sentenced to death if he wasn't killed on sight. Neither of those would happen, Heath knew, for he had no honor left to his name and would rather die with a lance in his hand and Hyperion at his side.
Yet, in the end, it would all be for naught. Every single one of his companions were likely dead by now. Isaac, Lachius, Belminadeā¦even his commander. All of the them had been killed by an absurd farce that exceeded any before it. How was it that he had escaped Death while the others had been ensnared by its icy grip? They had told him to go despite his own insistence to stay and fight. Knowing that if he had stayed any longer he would certainly be killed, he had turned tail and ran. Heath was living proof that the Wyvern Knights of Bern were not what they once were. There was no doubt that many in the ranks of Bern's military would work together to silence him.
It shouldn't matter to him, in any case. It was no secret that King Desmond persecuted anyone who did not garner his favor, even nobles who had provided him much help in the past. Often there was no solid evidence or reason for these actions but since Desmond was the ruler of a powerful and militant nation like Bern, he needed neither justification or consultation to carry out his desires. To do this, he enlisted his own knights to do whatever was required. Heath was a soldier through and through but only weeks before his desertion the recent acts of his King and subordinates had begun to make him question his duty as a knight. Heath had rashly voiced his own opinions to his commander and she had harshly reminded him that knights had no place to disagree with those in the upper class system. His commander seemed to embrace the fact that she would never be anything other than a knight and her duty was solely to lead the soldiers she commanded. A knight, politics and government corruption notwithstanding, was to serve his liege and lord to the very gates of the abyss.
But none of that mattered anymore. Bern was behind him and his fellow knights were all dead. Heath no longer had any place to call his home and no friends to rely on. Well, that wasn't exactly true. He had Hyperion and as long as he had his wyvern he needed nothing else. And his lance, of course. As long as he had those two, he had no need for anything else. He was solitary, he had no need for friends anymore. The only friends he had ever had were dead. Sure, he had found work once again and while some of those in the company treated him fairly, he did not consider them as friends.
Perhaps it was because he feared of what they would think if they found out who he was. Heath had stripped the Bern crest off of his armor in attempt to hide his identity, but already his current employer suspected who and what he was. Hyperion gave away that Heath was a wyvern rider of Bern and while he could argue he was a knight on reconnaissance work, it seemed unlikely that anyone would believe him. If Heath's employer found out who he was, he would report him to Bern to make extra money. Unless, of course, he found Heath useful enough in a fight to keep him around. Having a wyvern rider in your ranks was quite a boon, was it not? The thought made him feel a bit more secure about his situation, but anxious nonetheless.
His eyes fell and found the lance in his rough, battle-scarred hands. The lance was the pride and joy of any knight, no matter his nationality or rank. The knights of Bern were the most fabled in all of Elibe, the ones other knights from lands such as Lycia and Etruria found to be the most methodical. Bern was the only country in all of Elibe where wyverns still flew and this set Bern apart from all of the other countries. It was because of this, perhaps, that the training to become a knight of Bern was more rigorous and painstaking than any other. The lance he held was the same lance he had received on the day he had become a knight. The lance had seen him through every skirmish and hopeless battle he had faced as a knight, thus aptly named Salvatore. However, the lance seemed to have lost the purpose for which it was named. A knight's lance no longer, it had been reduced to a deserter's lance and a deserter had no honor in life, no reason for existence. He had abandoned his king, his country and his friends so that he could save himself. His own selfishness disgusted him. Redemption was something he could not see himself finding anytime soon.
A rustle in the brush behind him brought Heath to his feet immediately, brandishing his lance in both hands. He couldn't help himself. He jumped at the slightest sound nowadays. His constant fear of being found allowed for nothing less. Hyperion noticed as well and raised his head before sitting back on his haunches. A wide yawn revealed the rows of razor sharp teeth and whoever was approaching was still a ways off. Hyperion did not seem to be concerned that whoever it was posed any threat.
It's probably Sealen coming to check on me again, Heath thought to himself, balancing his lance loosely in both hands. He sighed. That man didn't seem to get it. No matter how many times Heath turned him away, Sealen insisted on getting to know the wyvern rider better. That was the dangerous part for Heath, as he had was afraid of what would happen if his secret was revealed. The man had survived a previous skirmish between Laus and Ostia and was as battle hardened as they came. Heath waited for a few more moments and sure enough the other man hobbled into the clearing. Sealen leaned heavily on an oaken staff held in his right hand, body bent, taking the pressure off of his left leg. Upon seeing Heath, he eyed the the wyvern rider curiously.
"Always ready to fight, eh Heath?" he rasped, moving closer. "But I suppose I should expect as much from one of Bern's wyvern riders." He tried to stand up straight but his grip on the staff slipped and he crumpled down on his leg. Sealen winced.
"Damn leg..." he muttered.
Heath hesitated. "How...how is your leg, Sealen?"
"What kind of stupid question is that?" Sealen retorted, struggling to his feet again. "How do you think it's doing, you imbecile? Look at how I'm forced to move around! Damn fighter nearly took it off in that last battle! Lucky I had been paying attention or I may have lost it right then and there."
"My...my apologies," Heath responded. Sealen glared at him. Heath paused before saying, "Is there something you need from me, Sealen? You must have something in mind, particularly considering you trekked all the way up here on you injured leg."
"Yeah, the commander wants you back at camp immediately," Sealen replied. "He wants to go over our plans one more time before we deploy tomorrow morning. You'd best not keep him waiting, knowing how temperamental he gets."
Heath paused. Huh. That's odd. No questions? No "How are you?" or "What are you up to now?". Strictly business, huh? Sealen was an imposing man and used to getting his way, except when it came to Heath. He seemed dissatisfied with Heath's story and tried to loosen his tongue about it when the commander couldn't. Perhaps Sealen had realized that it was a wasted effort and there was nothing to be gained by pressing the matter. Not likely though. He suspected Heath had some secret he was hiding, with good reason of course.
You are a deserter. Nothing more.
That may be true but at least I still have my pride.
"Hey!" Sealen snapped his fingers and waved his hand in front of Heath's unresponsive face. "You paying attention, kid?"
"Yeah, whatever," Heath replied disinterestedly. He turned his back and began loading his armor onto Hyperion's back. He really didn't feel like talking right now, especically not to Sealen. "I'll be back at camp in a few moments."
Sealen snorted. "Well make it quick. After all, I had to hike up here for damn near an hour to find you."
Heath didn't make the other man wait for a reply. Mounting Hyperion in one fluid motion, he took the reins in his left hand and balanced Salvatore in his right. Urging the wyvern upward, Hyperion kicked off the ground with his powerful legs and ascended into the sky. Within moments, Sealen and the clearing on the side of the mountain were behind them. The exhilarating feeling of weightlessness overcame him and the night breeze rushed up against his face. Though he felt more at peace here, that same word was still the prominent thought in his mind.
Deserter.
Is there any hope of redemption for me?
...Reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated.
