A/N: Is the FE:13 fandom dead? Hmm...guess it doesn't matter. This is a melodramatic Gerome/Cynthia experimental fic of sorts. To be expanded on at the bottom.

Chapter 1

You sparkled. Literally.

It didn't help that you were covered in that powder you filched from Tharja (and seriously, Tharja? Of all people? Who knew what it could have been! It could very well have killed you, you imbecile) and it made you shine on the battlefield. It was a halo of yellow displayed around your neck and in your blue, blue hair. It glittered beneath the light of the setting sun peaking between the hilltops of Wyvern Valley. If it had been anyone else I would have thought you looked ridiculous and stupid (and, to be perfectly honest, I did) but it was you. You were beautiful, I thought, and was immediately ashamed.

You were with your mother, who looked so young and healthy and alive that I thought I was dreaming. The two of you were radiant, flying and swooping amidst enemy lines, charging bravely into battle like those heroes you loved hearing about.

Did you know? Did you know it was a farce? That the woman riding beside you on that identical Pegasus was not your mother? You probably did, yet you most likely didn't care. That's just the kind of person you are.

You whooped and hollered as you glittered through the battlefield and the grin on your face was more pleased than maniacal, but you still looked a little crazy and —damn it—you became an actual glowing target.

One, two, three, four archers were aiming at you. I didn't even have to think. I was on Minerva in seconds and she whooshed forward with the terrible grace of a war veteran. It was ridiculous. It was stupid. I had sworn not to get involved, not in this timeline, not with—

A grunt and a swing toward the first archer, who barely managed to dodge away. I nicked him in the shoulder and he dropped his bow. Minerva's tail swiped at the next and they were down, but they were not out. I should finish them off, I have to finish them off, but I couldn't. Archers 3 and 4 had let loose their first barrage of arrows at you and you dodged them beautifully thank Naga, but they were already loading their bowstrings for another round—

You had to attack the berserkers coming at you with their hand axes from the ground—

Your mother was occupied with the swordmasters who couldn't stay down—

The first and second archers were already recovering—

"Damn it!" I roared and Minerva screeched beneath me as she swooped down with the speed of a falcon. Her clawed feet swiped at one of the archer's faces as she landed atop him, crushing his bones with a sickening crunch while I threw my axe at the other one before he could release his arrow. He saw me, jerked back, the steel sliced through one arm and he screamed, screamed and the merciful thing to do would be to finish the deed, but there were still archers 1 and 2 and—for martyrs' sake there were more?

There were five now, snipers and berserkers with silver bows, glinting under the light like wicked omen. Two aimed at me, but three aimed at you.

No no no.

With all my strength I threw my hand axe. It missed, damn it. The axe was about to boomerang safely back into my hands, but Minerva had to dive a hard right and an arrow whizzed by my left ear. My axe fell uselessly off the cliffs to the wide expanse of the valley and it was going, going, gone. The other bowmen scattered to get away from me. More bows aimed at me at larger distances. Couldn't get to them, had to get these ones first, but as long as they weren't aiming at you.

It was a barrage of arrows. I gripped Minerva's reigns and we barreled to the left, skimmed to the right, tilted forwards, dove down in dizzying circles to dodge them. One managed to nick my cheek. Another flew right by my arm. One almost got my chest, but I managed to stop it with my iron gauntlets. They bounced off harmlessly, but damn they smarted. The arrows were close, so close, but we had to get to the archers fast… Go, Minerva, go!

We shot toward the fleeing bowmen and skirted close to the ground in hot pursuit. Two arrows came flying at us. One buried itself within Minerva's scales, but she continued on, continued on. Minerva and I easily overtook the foot soldiers but—blast—my steel axe was still buried in the other ruffian and they were still aiming at you. I was unarmed. I was defenseless. I—

Still had Minerva.

And she was ferocious. She was precise. Her clawed feet buried itself in one berserker and he screamed and he fell. Two more arrows embedded themselves in her, but she's beautiful, she's powerful, they didn't affect her at all. She moved, moved, moved, toward the next ruffian, but I managed to pilfer the tomahawk he kept strapped to his back in the split second I had before she did. She crash head butted the next ruffian, swiping at another with her tail with such force, he fell right off the cliff and went down down down into the endless valley.

We couldn't stop, else the other archers would get to us. Keep moving, keep moving.

I swung my weapon right, just barely deflected three arrows aimed at Minerva's wing. The other two snipers were running, and they were getting farther and farther away from me, but Minerva was faster and I swung my axe just as we whooshed by one and his blood splattered on my gauntlets, but no time no time I lashed out on my other side and buried my tomahawk in the last one's spine. We reared back to gain some purchase, some brief respite from the onslaught of arrows but—

You. Just…you.

You were on your Pegasus with that distracting glowing powder dancing about your head. Time itself seemed to slow down and I finally noticed that the arrows that were dotting the sky, aiming at us, were no longer there. Your armor was splattered in blood. Your spearhead was dripping. You may have looked frightening with the blood upon your body, but I didn't notice that. You were alive. You were unharmed. No major injuries, just a few cuts, a few bruises maybe.

We sat on our mounts, hovering over the valley stretched beneath us with the orange sky framing your face like eternity. You saw me and stared at me, your eyes roving over the mask that covered my face and a look of recognition dawned upon you…

"Gerome?"

I stiffened.

Minerva must have felt me freeze upon her back because she huffed at me, concerned. One hand gripped her reigns until the knuckles turned white. The other moved to trace the lining of the mask set upon my cheeks. It was still there. I relaxed just a little.

Your face split into a brilliant smile and you shone brighter, brighter than the stars that were beginning to dot the orange-purple sky. Gods, you were just as beautiful as I remembered you, even with that stupid light powder turning you into target practice. I hadn't seen you smile like that in years.

"Gerome, I can't believe you're here! It's so great to see you! And you're still wearing your mask; for a second there I didn't even know it was you! Which is absolutely crazy because I'm sure I'd be able to recognize you a mile away! Gosh, I can't believe you're still wearing that thing; how long has it been? Like four years now? Well, it's alright, we finally found you and now you can join us!"

My jaw clenched. My hands tightened. My body trembled. Minerva felt it all, knew it all, for she had been with me all my life. She turned her body away from you, ready to fly away at a moment's notice. Masks don't work on her, but maybe—just, maybe—it would work on you. I prayed that it would.

"I'm not joining you," was all I could say. My voice was even, emotionless. Fitting for a man with a mask.

But you…you who hid nothing, who shone like the rays of sunshine breaking through the clouds… Your presence was blinding, overwhelming. Even through the mask I wore, your gaze pierced me.

"Wait, what are you talking about, Gerome? It's been two years! And aren't we supposed to fight all the bad guys and save the day? Hello, there are bad guys everywhere! And Risen! Which is kind of scary considering what happened and stuff, but this time we've actually got a chance to beat them!"

I could not stand to be there for much longer. Minerva turned her head toward me. Shall we go, her gaze asked me.

Another Pegasus glided toward us, "Cynthia, who are you talking to?"

"Oh, Mother!"

Your smile grew, if that was even possible. But since it's you, well.

Minerva and I pivoted in the air to look at your mother's face.

"Hello," she said, nodding cheerfully toward me. "Are you also one of the children from the future? Oh, whose child are you?"

She smiled, excited and full of sunshine. There was blood on her armor from the battle still going on around us, but her smile was the same smile I remembered when she offered us cookies after a long day of play, or when she greeted me at the castle gates, beside you, to welcome me into her arms. It was warmth I felt second only to Mo—

No. No. I shall not be deceived!

"…I'm leaving." I began to turn Minerva and myself around. I must go. Hide the desperation I felt with this mask because I can't do it. I can't do it.

"Wha—! No, Gerome, wait! Please don't leave! We're finally together again!"

Together again.

I scoffed. "Do not play me for a fool," I said, trying desperately to hide the trembling in my voice. I foolishly chanced a glance at you in the corner of my eye as I turned away completely and I saw your confusion, your frown, the creases in your brow.

A mad part of me wanted to wipe those creases away. To nudge Minerva towards you so I could reach over the expanse of sky that stretched between us, to bridge the gap, to touch you, to know that you're real—

Minerva and I dashed off. I won't. I won't. I won't.

Your face haunted me even as Minerva and I shot through the air as fast as we were able. Your light, your smile, your cheerful voice…it was a nightmare I did not wish to relive. Leave me in the dark, please. Because the gods knew how undeserving I was. Not after everything that happened. Everything I did.

The battle was still going on around us, and the tomahawk in my hand burned through my gloves but I knew this battle was not mine to fight. Who am I to mock fate? Who am I to…

Oh.

…

Gods, why.

It was them. It was…

I clutched at my chest and I thought I might lose all the air in my lungs. Minerva swooped through the air, a concerned squeak leaving her throat as she touched down upon land. Trembling, I slid off of her and collapsed to the ground. Minerva wrapped her long body around me and covered me with her wings. It was what she used to do, when the world seemed too large, too frightening, for a ruined boy burdened with loss and despair.

I leaned into her, inhaling her comforting scent, feeling her familiar scales beneath my gloved fingers, a texture that was as much home to me as I could feel now that I had lost everything.

I heard another wyvern's cry (damn it, this cannot be!), the whoosh of wings and a heavy landing. Two pairs of feet hit the ground: thump, thump. Footsteps.

"Hello, there. Are you alright?" A pause. "Oh, what a lovely wyvern!"

"Cherche, please."

"Oh, Lon'qu. Just give me a minute or two, while I—ah!"

Minerva swung her head sharply in their direction. I didn't even have to open my eyes to know what she was saying. Go away. Leave us alone.

It made me smile, her protectiveness of me. Even in front of her old masters, she still chose me.

I breathed in and out. Twice. I stood. I turned toward them, slightly.

"Wait, you're not one of the villagers."

It was them. Mother and Father. No. Cherche and Lon'qu. Their faces were so familiar it hurt. There was Mother's hair like fire and Father's stoic stance. But they were young, so young. I had never known them without the wrinkles creasing their cheekbones, without the scars upon their necks, their hands.

It was them, but it was not them. Gods, what do I think? What do I do?

My hands reached up to touch my mask.

"No, I am a traveller. My name is Gerome." My voice stayed smooth.

They stared at me, perhaps at my mask, wondering if I was trustworthy.

"You were the one who saved Cynthia and Sumia," my fa- no, Lon'qu said. It was a question, though it didn't sound like one. It was just the way Father used to make inquiries when he was still…when we were…

I stood there, determined not to say anything, else my voice give away my emotions.

"What amazing riding skills! I can tell that you and your mount have utmost trust in each other." She chuckled softly. "I must say, it's a rarity to see such expert handling of wyvern such as you." It was my mother's voice, right down to the slight drawl of her vowels, the gentle femininity of her tone, even down to her gaze, so sharp and piercing and painfully familiar.

I ached to throw my arms around her, to kiss her face and stroke her calloused hands and to let her hold me against the terrors of darkness the way she and Father used to…

I shoved the thought away immediately, feeling disgust and shame crawl up my throat. She may look like Mother. She may act like Mother.

She was not Mother.

She smiled a smile so familiar it hurt. "It would be a great boon to these villagers if you were to lend your aid."

There it was. Her chivalry. Her desire to protect, to help, to nurture. I tried not to scoff. I failed.

"Is it not a fruitless venture? No man can stop fate." I would know. I tried. And it nearly tore me apart.

"So you would leave innocents to die and chalk it up to fate?" Lon'qu gave me a glare that shot daggers into my stomach. "Hmph. I judged you wrongly."

His words affected me far more than they should have. Anger, shame, and terrible loneliness ripped at my abdomen. I sneered. "If there is anything I do not doubt it is the cruelty of fate. I have watched it burn everything worth fighting for with my own eyes."

"Then why fight so fiercely against those archers? Are there exceptions to your rule?"

Her gaze was fire and ice; a look that can only be achieved by a woman like Cherche. The light in her rose eyes shone with the beauty of a challenge. Beside her, the man who was not my father nodded, once. His lips tilted upward slightly as he looked at me expectantly.

I had studied that face in my youth so often. The contours of his smile, the light of his eyes, the tilt of his mouth. I knew it all because it was the face of my father. As a young boy, it was his approval I yearned for most. His pride I strove for most. He was my inspiration, my guide, my pillar. Of course of course of course I would respond to the gaze that looked just like him.

I wonder if you knew I would meet them like this? If somehow you had orchestrated all this. From the glowing light powder like a halo around your hair that drew my eye to my bodily reaction that would lead me right into the line of sight of the people I had not wanted to see the most.

But I also know how foolish of a thought that was. I know you would never be able to do something like that. You are too kind, too innocent, too honest for such underhanded tactics. But I still wished I could blame you; hate you, even. Because then it would be easier to refuse you.

But your smile haunted me. Two years of separation condemned me. Years and years of pain and loss cursed me.

I couldn't look at them. They whose hope had not yet died. And I am reminded again that I am a weak, weak man.

"If you would have me fight," I began slowly. Every word felt like a weight upon my chest, "then, fine." I paused, breathed in once. Then I whispered, a promise, an oath. "I'll fight if you wish it."

Fighting back the tears that gathered in my eyes, hidden by my mask, I turned toward the only companion I know I can trust. "Come, my dear Minerva. Join me on one final flight."

I mounted her. Her great wings flapped, her clawed feet kicked at the ground. We hovered.

Cherche's face was incredulous. "Wait…Did you just say…?"

Before she could say another word, we took off toward the battlefield.

Behind me, two beacons of hope. Ahead of me, sparkles, streaking across the orange sky and a smile as bright as the sun.

A/N: I guess some context is good. I'll do my best to portray all of this in my writing, but I'm kind of an amateur. And I always enjoy constructive criticism, so giving you all a background on my thought process might help in aiding whatever complaints/comments you wish to give.

I'm experimenting with first person-second person viewpoints. I myself am not a fan of either perspectives, but since I'm already experimenting with the kind of fic this is, I thought I'd go all out and experiment on everything.

This fic is meant to be a kind of character study on Gerome. FE:13 lacks a good deal of realistic character development (actually, let's not kid ourselves, it lacks A LOT of realistic character development. I mean, the whole scene with Lucina trying to kill Robin! There was no foreshadowing of that happening, and then literally no realistic dealing with the whole scenario. Robin just forgives her? After just one apology? No hint of distrust or suspicion before or after from either parties…? No. Just…no). Saying that, I think the game misses the mark on what could have been very profound relationships, so I'm taking a lot of artistic license with this fic.

In an effort to keep this author's note short and sweet, I'll just say that I wanted to explore themes in Gerome's personality that the game touched on, but never fully delivered. So, I'll be going off script a lot. Introducing relationships between characters that may or may not exist in the game, scenarios that never happened, and referencing some dialogue, but never staying completely true to them.

TL;DR This fic is meant to highlight some interesting aspects to Gerome's character that I think are worth exploring a little, while also trying my hand at something longer than a one-shot. This requires me to take some artistic license, especially in the portrayal of characters and the relationships between them.