Disclaimer: I have the game copy of Fire Emblem which all characters, plot, etc., belongs to Nintendo. I own the plot of this story and the tactician's name. There are stories written already that helped, like The Fourth Tale that helped inspire my idea so credit is given to them. Elements of the game will be mixed with my own ideas. I give credit to those writers for helping me figure out my ideas, especially with the paring of Tactician and Lyn.

A/N: I believe in the game that Lyn tells the tactician her family died before the first battle. So I have the conversation before the first battle, if not I'm just moving it to have the story flow better. If this is still not good enough, please tell me where I can improve.


The Ilian Tactician

Prologue: Girl from the Plains

Mark Aildor, Ilia's first and only tactician stood next to his horse Star, his green eyes gazed over the plains of Sacae, on the Ilia-Sacae border. He was planning on traveling around Elibe to practice his skills as a tactician. Within the six years since he'd graduated school as a tactician, his knowledge of Elibe, each country, and region had grown. Six of the heroes of The Scouring had founded a country or region, as an Ilian, he grew up hearing stories about the knight Barigan, and during his studies in Etruria's tactical school, heard stories of St. Elimine founder of the nation, and the most followers of the church named after her.

He continued gazing at the plains his mind reflecting on the memories of his childhood, and the past six years. His childhood in Ilia was wonderful but tough because of the nation's barren and icy climate. His parents believed in having an education, so at nine years old he decided to become a tactician. His experience in school help him to understand tactics better, including on how to keep an army well-supplied in both food and arms, and on other basic skills that everybody needed to survive a battle.

Part of his school included learning about all the nations of Elibe. The nation called Sacae, a sea of grassland was founded by the hero Hanon. Bern, a militarist country, was founded by Hartmut, and was the only country where the Wyvern riders still existed. Lycia was founded by Sir Roland, and numerous territories make up Lycia, each ruled by a Marquess, and all on a council called the Lycian League. Ostia, the capital of Lycia, was located in the northwest. The Western Isles were founded by the hero, Durabans the Berserker, and a colony of Etruria which had trouble with bandits and pirates. In the southwest corner of Elibe on a peninsula was the Nabata desert.

He completed his education at eighteen and decided to leave home so he could support his family and Ilia by earning gold. The day he left home was the clearest of them all. He stood in front of his family, his mother crying as she handed him a necklace with a Pegasus charm on the end. His father who was choked up with emotion shook his hand, and wished him a safe journey, then preceded to hand him a pouch with a small amount of gold and gems inside. He tried to refuse it, but his father disagreed stating that he would need it. His grandfather then hugged him goodbye and wished him good luck, and following their grandfather's example, all his sisters hugged him goodbye. Promising to write them when he could, Mark set off into the unknown.

Mark was dressed in a white shirt and pants with black boots, a black belt was tied around his waist, and a green cloak gently billowed to one side from a gentle breeze. His skin was slightly tanned from the sunlight, for Ilian's had fair skin, his light brown hair was short enough to keep from looking like a bandit but long enough to keep warm.

After he'd stop for the night he had opened the pouch his father had given him. The pouch held 20,000 in gold and three white gems worth 30,000 in gold, totaling 50,000 in gold. Mark smiled softly knowing that his father was right that he would need it. Since his homeland was a frozen snowy wasteland unable to grow anything, the only source of income was the mercenary work done by the Knights of Ilia, and he now hoped his tactical work would be included. There were a few Ilian merchants that bartered for supplies, but mostly non-weapon supplies and gems.

Before he had reached the border he had visited with a fellow Ilian merchant who was returning home and showed Mark the books that he had acquired during his trip. A few books on military history interested him but soon lost interest when he saw the history was covered from a historian's view and not the actual leaders or soldiers. He departed from the merchant after purchasing a few books that were related to tactics or other knowledge which he knew such as cooking.

Mark turned back to Star, who was entirely black except for a white star on his forehead which had been a gift from his mother. A paper sticking up from his travel pack caught his attention and he smiled softly as he tucked in back into the pack. The paper was a drawing of him and his twin sister, and they looked nothing alike. His father, younger brother, grandfather and he all had light brown hair. While his mother, sisters, and grandmother, who died shortly before he finished school, had light blue hair. He mounted Star and crossed into Sacae, still trying to decide where to go.

Three days later he fainted from lack of sleep as he tried to flee the bandits that had pursued him, stealing his horse after he fell off throwing the saddlebags untouched on the ground next to him.

"Are you awake," asked a kind voice.

Mark's eyes drifted open, taking a deep breath as he awoke. He turned towards the voice noticing a beautiful young woman, 19 years of age. The first thing Mark noticed was her clear and deep blue eyes. She had long green hair to her mid-back. She wore a blue-green tunic-skirt with long slits on the skirt portion allowing her easy mobility, and brown boots. On her hands she wore fingerless black gloves that ended at her wrists.

"I found you unconscious on the plains," the woman continued holding a cup filled with water, "My name is Lyn, of the Lorca tribe."

She walked over, as she knelt beside him helping him drink the water. Mark drank deeply when he realized how thirsty he was feeling, after he finished with Lyn's help he managed to sit up. Lyn sat across from him taking in his appearance, Mark still dressed in his traveling clothes.

"What's your name?" Lyn asked.

Mark cleared his throat, "Mark Aildor, thank you for helping me. Still what happened? The last thing I remember is traveling thorough Sacae on my horse and fleeing from bandits."

"You fell unconscious. I didn't mean to pry but I looked through your travel pack and saddle bags. I didn't remove anything, but you were out of food supplies, and your water canteen is empty." Lyn replied pointing to the slightly empty pack, canteen, and saddlebags, next to him. .

Mark nodded, "You're fine you were just seeing why I fell unconscious."

Silently Mark wished he hadn't underestimated the distance it would take to cross Sacae. He was grateful that Lyn had found him when she did, otherwise he might have been robbed again and killed by bandits.

Lyn turned looking outside, "Do you own a black horse with a white star of the forehead?"

"Yes, yes I do. Do you know where Star is?" asked Mark panicked.

"He's fine," said Lyn, turning back, hearing Jack's worry, "He's right outside, he appeared after I found you."

Mark looked out the tent noticing the day was nearing afternoon. Outside he saw Star grazing on the grass near the tent, near another horse belonging to Lyn. He sighed relieved that bandits hadn't captured him. Puzzled he looked outside again there were no other tents around for everything was quiet. Mark's studies about the nomadic culture mentioned the only nomads that traveled alone were either banished from their tribe, mercenaries or travel alone for personal reasons.

"Lyn, where is the rest of your tribe?" Mark asked quietly.

Lyn's face fell from its cheerful outlook, and her eyes closed filling with tears, she spoke softly, "My people…the Lorca…they don't exist anymore…I am the last of my tribe," tears began to run down Lyn's face, "My father was our chieftain, bandits attacked us six months ago. They came in the night after poisoning our water supply, and they slaughtered nearly everyone."

Mark watched Lyn's sadness grow within her voice, "They killed the young, the elderly, even the infants. My father placed me on a horse despite the pain from the poison. He told me to flee, that was the last time I saw him alive. When dawn rose the next day only a dozen of us where alive, including me and both my parents' dead, as the chieftain's daughter I felt it within my heart to lead my people, but I was young and my people old fashion. They wouldn't follow a woman…no one would follow me. They scattered across Sacae, I don't know where they are now, leaving only me," more tears fell.

Mark sat silently, he held her grief in respect knowing he hadn't been through the same circumstances but as a witness, "I'm sorry for your lost. I'm sorry I brought it up."

Lyn opened her eyes, "It's not your fault, you didn't know. I must be strong for the memory of my parents, and for my people. I must be strong for them. No more tears."

A moment of silence filled the air till Lyn spoke, "So Mark Aildor, your name sounds strange, where are you from?"

"Ilia, but I'm on a journey right now." Mark replied agreeing that his name was strange

He reached for the necklace, finding it still there. As he felt the Pegasus charm on the end he thought, "Mother I miss you so much."

As they both fell quiet, he reached for his travel pack opening it, aware that Lyn was watching silently. Searching the bag as Lyn watched with curiosity, he was relieved once he found, the few jars of healing Exlirs, and all his possessions he currently owned. After closing the pack, his eyes meet Lyn's watchful gaze, he figured he was about a half-inch taller than her. He wasn't too surprised if he was slightly taller or shorter than anyone.

The awkward silence, but was quickly broken by sounds on the other side of the cluster of tree's hiding Lyn's tent from view. It sounded like two forces fighting with shouts and indecipherable words mixed in. Both Lyn and Mark jumped up running out of the tent and into the cluster of trees. In front of them were three bandits out of six left alive which just finished fighting each other, one of them was saying something about 'Not going any further' and the words were lost when the biggest of the three rushed forward and swung the axe into the bandit's chest. The bandit fell with a groan and the biggest started walking north as the smallest one began searching the dead for gold or for sellable items.

Lyn spoke, speaking what was on Mark's mind, "Bandits, they must have come down from Bern's Mountains. They're probably going to raid the local villages. I can't let happen to my people happen to others. Not while I have the power to help prevent it. If there are only those two left I think I can handle them. Wait in the tent for me Mark, you'll be safe there."

Mark shook his head, "I'm not going to stay there. You saved my life. I owe you, and I can help."

Lyn sighed, "Alright, but I don't see how you can help if you can't fight."

"I can fight," Jack paused, "I'm best at battlefield strategy. My training is in that field."

Lyn spoke surprised, "You're a Tactician by trade? An odd profession, but it does suit you. Very well we'll go together."

Slowly they exited the trees and walked towards the bandit unnoticed. In the distance the bandit northward turned back around realizing his companion wasn't following started mumbling, while turning around, about how the day and the raid wasn't going as expected.

"Ok, this should be far enough." Lyn said stopping a few feet away from the bandit. Both stood quietly watching the bandit searching the dead bandit for any gold without much success. The bandit turned, grinned, and moved towards them covering the ground quickly.

"Oh no the bandit spotted us! He's headed this way!" Lyn cried unsheathing her sword. Mark watched at the approaching bandit noting he carried an axe and the huge muscles required to swing the axe. Mark realized that the bandit would rely more on strength than skill. The bandit had unkempt hair and unwashed clothing, and had a money pouch tied to his belt.

He turned to Lyn whispering, "Lyn, since the bandit uses an axe we have the advantage by using a sword. Now because of his huge muscles he'll rely on his strength than skill, so he'll swing quickly. You're skill in probably higher so you'll have the advantage in the fight."

Lyn nodded, "Right, stay close to me. I'll protect you."

"Thank you."

Lyn nodded at Mar's answer, they both turned to watch the approaching bandit draw closer to them. The bandit raised his axe the blade glinting of the sun, the muscles tightened ready to release their strength, the bandit shouting, "Where you came from doesn't matter, all that matters is that I'm going to earn some gold."

"Now Lyn, when he strikes dodge the attack, and then strike while he's unprepared," shouted Mark.

The bandit swung missing Lyn as she moved, dodging the attack. She jumped into the attack cutting the bandit on the chest twice. Lyn stood next to Mark, standing defensively watching the bandit breath heavily.

"GA!" The bandit said groaning, "That hurt!" With one last groan the bandit fell over and laid still.

Mark turned to Lyn, "Very good Lyn, you are a capable fighter."

Lyn smiled, "Thank you Mark, your advice did help out." As she finished speaking the ground started shaking. Both turned as the leader stopped in front of them, his axe out. The leader was very upset upon seeing his companion fall. He glared at both of them, shaking in rage that two people were part of his already failing plans.

"You killed my companion," he yelled, "You're skills may have defeated him, but I'm Batta the Beast and nobody has beaten me."

Batta's appearance was like his companion, huge muscles, unkempt hair, and dirty clothing. His blonde hair tied back by a headband, a scar next to his left eye. Jack figured the bandit probably received it in a fight, and noted that Batta's axe looked worn and in needing repair.

Mark laughed, "I wonder how long it took him to come up with that title, why he wants us to remember his I have no idea." Lyn slightly giggled, causing Batta to sputter. Mark barely nodded to Lyn and she crouched down in a defensive stand Mark waited to see if Batta's anger would cause him to attack. Batta responded by raising his axe, his gaze refilling with anger, he glared at them, Lyn's sword still stained with blood.

"Do you really think you two could defeat me," asked Batta. He lifted his head back roaring with laugher. When he stopped laughing, and rushed towards them. Both Lyn and Mark dodged out of the way, causing Batta to only strike at air. He turned and saw Mark lightly chuckling, Batta's faced twisted into anger at being humiliated.

"You'll pay for that! No one makes Batta a fool!"

Batta roared and rushed towards Mark who stood there waiting, with his axe raised Batta swung towards Mark, who dodged the attack. Batta bellowed in anger upon being wounded, and swung connecting with Mark's arm who stumbled back, his teeth clenched, his left hand clutching the wound. Mark quickly realized Batta was stronger than the previous bandits. He retreated, shouting, for Lyn to attack, as he bandaged the wound.

Lyn darted in slashing her sword into Batta's muscular back as he charged forward, missing Mark as he dodged the attack. Batta roared in pain as Lyn's sword sliced into his back. He swung towards Lyn who ducked and rolled away. Mark darted quickly that Batta didn't have time to react and fell to one knee from the Mark's kick on the back of his left leg. Lyn reappeared in front of Batta stabbing her sword his chest. Lyn stepped back to where Mark stood watching Batta.

Batta looked up, his breathing ragged and coarse, "What…How did….you…?" He fell forward unconscious and with one final breath died.

Lyn and Mark stood there for a moment, as the tactician looked around the field the daylight was fading and there wasn't much time to bury the dead. Lyn began to clean off her sword as Mark stretched his sore muscles. The fighting and the wound had taxed his strength, as had dodging Batta.

"Good job Mark," Lyn said turning towards him, smiling, but the smile faded seeing Mark's wound, "Mark, you're hurt!"

"I'm alright Lyn. I'm not going to die."

Lyn quickly reached into her pack taking out a vulnerary handing it to Mark. He protested a first but gave up to Lyn's arguments. Unstopping the lid he drank the contents, the wound healing, Lyn insisting to wash the dried blood off. As Lyn washed the blood off, Mark gazed over the field, with sadness, noticed by Lyn.

"Thank you Lyn," Mark said kindly as Lyn finished, "I appreciate your help."

"You're welcome Mark," replied Lyn, "I…I guess we're friends, can we be friends Mark?"

"Of course Lyn, friends help each other, as a friend you wanted to make sure I was healing ok."

"Thank you Mark, I'm glad we're friends."

"I'm glad we're friends also Lyn."

"Well, the wound has healed correctly, but you may want to take it easy for a few days."

"I'll take it easy Lyn, don't worry," replied Mark, "I am tired, but I really don't want to let any wild animals be drawn here because of the smell of blood."

Lyn spoke, a trace of tiredness in her voice, "While I think bandits have no honor, I agree that you do have a valid point. I don't want any more danger here either. "

Mark shook his head fighting the urge to sleep, "Guess we should try and bury them. We don't have much time."

Lyn yawned, nodding in agreement, "We need a shovel then, and I don't have one."

After talking to the inhabitants of the Ger, who had a shovel, Mark started digging a grave, taking turns with Lyn. Once the grave was done Mark pulled himself out of the grave, and started placing the bandits in the grave. Lyn started helping him, when the pit was recovered they placed wooden spikes to keep the wild animals out. Night had fallen as they finished, after returning the shovel Mark started walking back to the tent with Lyn. When they reached the tent Lyn gathered some blankets, telling Mark he was a guest and she would let him have the tent, and went outside it being a nice night.

Mark awoke the next day, his back and arm sore from the fight. Rising out of the bedroll he stretched his sore muscles, noting the smell of a campfire. Exiting the tent he walked over to the campfire sitting down near Lyn who was cooking breakfast.

"Good morning Mark, Sleep well?" asked Lyn, "The fight yesterday seemed to have tired you out."

"Good morning Lyn, I did sleep well."

"Would you like some breakfast?"

"Yes please."

Lyn place some eggs, fruit and a few strips of meat on a wooden plate. She handed it to Mark with a cup asking, "What do you prefer to drink? I've some tea ready." She motion to a small pot by the fire.

Mark shook his head, "No thanks, do you have any milk?"

"Yes," Lyn replied pouring him some milk in the cup, "Sorry I am running low on milk. I was planning on traveling to Bulgar but taking care of you took up most of the time.

"Your fine Lyn," Mark said thanking Lyn, "I'm sure you'll have enough time to purchase more, but you have more than enough." They ate quietly while both horses grazed near them.

"So, how's your arm doing?" Lyn asked breaking the silence.

"Fine, a bit sore, but I'll know it means it's healing."

"Mark, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure Lyn," replied Mark.

"Where do you plan on traveling next?" Lyn asked.

"Honestly I don't know, I've planned on traveling throughout Elibe," replied Mark, "I'm still not sure which direction to go now."

They finished breakfast in silence with Mark lost in his thoughts remembering his lessons during school. His teachers had taught him the value of a tactician, and a leader's reliance on a tactician. Still there were a few who still didn't believe in following a tactician, relying on their own leaders and personal knowledge.

"Say Mark, there's something I'd like to talk to you about, is that ok?" Lyn asked as they sat in the sun light.

"Sure Lyn, what's on your mind?" Mark replied, curious to what Lyn was going to say.

"You have some experience in the ways of war, and you're an odd fighter, I could tell from watching you fight yesterday. Would you allow me to travel with you?" Lyn asked, startling Mark by her request, she continued, "You are an excellent tactician but the roads are dangerous, and you would need protection."

Mark reflected on the fight yesterday. Lyn was right, he was an excellent tactician but he wasn't a warrior, and he knew his chance of survival would increase traveling with Lyn, who was a skilled fighter. Plus it would be nice to have someone to talk while traveling. Still fear crept in him and he hesitated in replying to Lyn's request.

Lyn seeing Mark hesitate spoke again, "I know you may have doubts, but I know now I won't become stronger just sitting here. I can't ask my parents' for permission," tears formed in Lyn's eyes, "Please take me with you? I must become stronger, so that I may avenge my father's death!"

Mark sat quiet seeing the fire in Lyn's eyes the warrior's spirit he'd seen often, "Mark, tell me you'll train me that you'll let me travel with you!" Lyn watched Mark, her eyes filled with hope that he would say yes.

"Ok Lyn, you can travel with me." Mark said after finding his voice.

Lyn thanked him for allowing her to travel with him stating Mark would be her master strategist, and she would be his peerless warrior. Mark smiled as Lyn left to check on her horse, the idea of helping Lyn become stronger and traveling together would give him experience in learning more on Sacaen culture and their fighting techniques, and he like the idea. Plus he wanted to help her with defeating the bandits that destroyed her tribe. Lyn returned approaching Mark quiet and nervous.

"Is everything alright Lyn?" Mark asked noticing her worried expression.

"Mark I have another question," Lyn asked, "Is that alright?"

"Sure Lyn, what is your question?"

"Yesterday after the fight, I noticed you were looking around the field, and you looked sad. Can you tell me why?"

Mark sighed, "My family taught me that death of anyone is a sad thing, even if they choose to become bandits. Life and death are two things that shouldn't be taken lightly. Yet my profession as a tactician, which I chose to support my home, causes death."

"I think I understand Mark, you support your people with your skills, and want to hold to your parent's teaching to respect life," Lyn replied, "Yet, you are sad when you realize what your profession does the opposite. You have morals, but how do you stay sane?"

"Lyn, I remind myself the bandits would continue their raiding and murder of the innocent, which I protect as a tactician," Mark paused, "Now, if any more questions come up, please ask. Now, all we need to do is travel south to Bulgar for supplies before we head out."


A/N I would like to apologize that it has taken so long to revise this chapter. I hope the revisions have improved the chapter.