Did you ever have one of those stories that just came to you, and if you didn't write it down it would disappear? Yeah. This one almost wrote itself. I hope I'm not stepping on Elchi's toes, but..... whatever, I'll stop before Mal says "Yeah. He's my hero."

I might add another chapter about the brothers meeting Greil and Titania, if I figure out how to keep it from being incredibly depressing.

(I don't own Fire Emblem, blah blah blah disclaimer.)

He was so exhausted it was difficult to see straight, and would have been more than happy to retire to bed, dusty and victorious. But, like all the other knights, when the post rider strode in the door and announced, "Post!", Oscar leapt from his bunk to join the mob.

As the man called out the names on the letters, Oscar saw someone approaching him out of the corner of his eye. It was another knight, a swordsman by the name of Erk. Blearily, Oscar wondered if he'd missed his name, and waited for the blue-haired young man to hand him a letter. But the knight just grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "That was a great race today, Oscar!"

Instantly he felt more alert, and drew back his shoulders proudly. "Thanks. Was it close? All I know is that I pulled ahead at the last minute."

"No, no," said Erk, shaking his head. "Three lengths! You won solid." Then he laughed. "Well, congratulations! From what I hear, Prince Renning and General Geoffrey saw the last half of it. They were coming down to inspect troops, but decided it would be better to watch the competition."

"Really?" asked Oscar. His mouth suddenly felt dry. "Did they... do you know if they said anything?"

Erk shrugged, one eye back on the post rider. "I didn't hear so, but I'll bet they were impressed. It was a good race." He sighed, and his grin turned rueful. "I suppose I should go console poor Kieran. He'll be inconsolable."

"Okay," Oscar agreed, though privately he'd felt that if looks could kill, he would've been dead for quite awhile. He wasn't terribly familiar with Kieran, and it had come as somewhat of a surprise when the red-haired knight had challenged him to a race. He'd been very polite about losing, of course, shaking hands and congratulating Oscar afterwards... but Oscar had gotten the distinct feeling that it had been for everyone else's benefit, and that all night that Kieran's eyes had been fixed on him, glaring.

"Lieutenant, Twelfth Regiment, Oscar!" called out the post rider suddenly, and he turned his head to see a ragged letter waving above the other soldiers' heads.

"Over here!" he answered, and it was passed back to him. He retreated to his bunk and opened the letter.

"Tomorrow morning we'll do the inspection," Renning said, but with a smile. "There's really no hurry: it's just protocol. I'm sure they're all well-prepared. Particularly judging from today's performance."

"Yes," Geoffrey answered, allowing himself a small smile. What an adventure that had been. Tradition allowed the young recruits to challenge one another, so long as the fights were conducted honorably, but the intense race they'd seen today had been almost motivational.

Apparently the crown prince agreed. "Honestly, this is a wonderful young group of men and women. I'm so glad to see that they show motivation through friendly competition." Renning yawned, then hastily covered it with one hand. "My apologies. I should be retiring now - you should do the same. Spread the word among the troops, though, that inspection is tomorrow just after lunch, and that the final round of training should begin sometime next week."

"Yes, sir," said Geoffrey, bowing ever so slightly. Renning smiled, then retreated from the room. Geoffrey knew that the crown prince preferred to keep an informal relationship with his troops, but it was very difficult to repress the urge to bow profoundly in front of royalty. And Geoffrey was still somewhat new at actually working with those who held the reins of power - sometimes he hardly counted Elincia amongst the Crimean royalty, so laid-back was her relationship with his sister.

Just as he sat down to the desk to write himself a note, there was a soft knock on the door. He looked up, and saw the chambermaid. "Yes, Anna?"

"One of the recruits to see you, General," was all she said.

Geoffrey frowned. "It's a bit late. Whoever he or she is, they should be in their quarters sleeping."

"I know, sir, I apologize," Anna said, bobbing in a curtsy. "But he said it's an urgent matter, and that it wouldn't take much time."

"All right, then. Thank you," said Geoffrey, mystified.

She retreated; immediately one of the young knights entered. "Lieutenant, what is it?" asked Geoffrey, feeling annoyed. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but this was technically against protocol.

The young man took a deep breath, and stated, "Sir, I wish to resign my commission."

It took a moment for Geoffrey to realize what the young man had just said; he was further struck dumb as he recognized the green-clad lance knight who had won the race today. Finally, he found his voice. "Lieutenant... Oscar? What's this nonsense?"

The young man didn't answer at first; finally he repeated, but with less conviction, "Sir... I wish to resign my commission."

Geoffrey stood, and moved around the desk to study the young man's face. Its expression was tight, and if Geoffrey wasn't reading it wrong, it was also tear-stained. Hastily cleaned-up, of course, for speaking with the commander, but something was amiss. "Lieutenant. In the course of my service to the House of Crimea, only one knight has ever resigned. Can you give me a reason as to why you would give up the most lucrative position a man of your age could hope to gain?"

The young lieutenant hesitated. Geoffrey could clearly see the letter clutched in his left hand; its corners were trembling. "It is for personal reasons, General, that I must leave the army."

"What personal reasons?" Geoffrey asked, very gently. "Lieutenant, I saw the race today. You're clearly very talented, as well as committed. What news have you had that's caused this change of mind?"

Evidently it was beyond words, since after a moment the young man merely held out the letter. Geoffrey held out a hand for it, watching the lieutenant's face as he took it. The young man just stared at the floor, face tight, expression hopeless. Geoffrey sighed and looked down at the paper.

Dear Brother, it read, I don't know what to do. Father was hurt in a fight with bandits, Mother left two nights ago and hasn't come back. By the time you get this Father might already have died, the town healer says he doesn't have long. One of the old ladies from town is caring for Rolf, but I don't know what's going to happen if Father dies and Mother doesn't come back. Can you come home? Love your brother, Boyd.

Geoffrey studied the letter for another moment, then looked up. "How old are your brothers?"

The young lieutenant's brows contracted, and his lips were white when he answered. "Boyd is almost fifteen. Rolf is six."

"And your mother left them with a dying father and no one else to care for them?" Geoffrey asked.

"She's not my mother," was the instant reply. Oscar finally looked up, and the candlelight caught the tear-tracks, hastily rubbed away but still ever so slightly evident. "Yes, she's Rolf's mother. Father was... she..." His face broke suddenly, and he turned away.

Geoffrey put the letter on the desk, and reached forward to put a hand on the young knight's shoulder. It was shaking. "Lieutenant," he said softly. "You don't need to resign your commission." The young man looked up at him, and he added, "In cases such as these we usually give an honorable discharge. This is a time of peace, and it's quite evident that your family needs you more than we do."

Relief dawned on the lieutenant's face, and Geoffrey added, "And after a time, when your family problems have been alleviated, perhaps you may return to the Royal Knights."

The young man sniffed, quite bravely, and stood up straight. "Thank you, sir." He saluted neatly, tears notwithstanding. "I would... May I request permission to leave immediately?"

"You may, and permission granted." Geoffrey turned to rummage for a scrap of paper on the desk. "I don't think you can be granted an escort, but under the circumstances I think you must return home immediately. Which horse did you ride today?"

The young knight looked taken aback, but answered, "A bay mare called Lille."

"I will log that your horse has been given an honorable discharge as well," Geoffrey said, scribbling down a reminder to do the paperwork in the morning. Then he threw down the quill and turned to stand in front of the other knight once more. "There is no formal ceremony. You may leave the barracks as soon as necessary."

His salute was snappily returned. The relief and gratitude on the young man's face was so clear that Geoffrey almost stepped forward to embrace the poor fellow. But he merely nodded as Oscar said, "Thank you, sir," one more time, and watched as the young knight left the room.

He shook his head. The letter had been left behind on the desk, and he picked it up once more. Can you come home? Love your brother, Boyd.

"It always seems to be the most talented ones who have the most difficulty," he said aloud to himself, then closed the letter into his ledger to save for the next day.