This story is based off of the DS adaptation of Ankokuryuu to Hikari no Ken, A.K.A. Shadow Dragons and the Blade of Light. It is told in gameverse, with some elements taken from manga and imagination, from Merric's point of view. I write names as I know them--you will spot translations both official and fan.

Fire Emblem is copyrighted by Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. I don't own it. Because if I did, they'd be more favorite-characters-getting-the-shit-beat-out-of-them-ness.

One last note: I altered Merric's appearance. His character art is just weird, and his manga reincarnation is...rather painful. Guys can wear pink, but only the Scottish have permission for skirts.

Oh. AND I DON'T SUPPORT MERRICXELLIS. End of story goodbye the end.

---

Chapter One: Reunited

A small cup of tea found its way to the table easily, the thin fingers curled casually around it. After so long in Khadein, the habits of his teacher had worn off onto the young man. Such as drinking the herbal liquid.

The village of Iasu was as peaceful as could be, despite Dolhr's constant, looming presence. The townsfolk had no wish for violence, and continued with their lives as peacefully as possible. The local militia served as their protection, their priests their guidance, perfectly unaware of the real power at their disposal.

Not that the green-haired youth minded. The only thing he wanted was to lay low, remain out of Dolhr's grasp until he could find his way home. Surely the armies wouldn't look for the Aritian in such a run down little village?

He blinked eyes the color of the trees surrounding the walled village, brimming with knowledge and maturity that belayed his youthful appearance. He was only fifteen years in age--and even then he looked closer to twelve--but there was knowledge tucked away in his brain that came from years of training, years of learning.

He stood from the table, resting his hands on the lanky wood. His small home was unfurnished, save for the necessities. A bed, a cabinet, a table and chair, an oven...the one room building was intended to be temporary, and so it was.

Dark blue robes swirled around the boy's feet as he moved to the door of the house, pushing it open to peer into the grassy streets, spring sunlight illuminating the village. The robes were tied at his waist with a golden, braided cord, the frayed ends hanging to his knees. The robe crossed across his chest, underneath which he wore a white shirt that stopped at the base of his neck, giving his long hair free reign to blow in the wind. His sleeves were oversized and long, his hands unscarred and ivory. The trim of his robes shimmered silver, the light reflecting in a way that made his movements seem fluid and watery. He looked like a mage--which was exactly it. He trained in Khadein, what else could one expect?

An Aritian, trained in the city of magic, hiding in Aurelis, wielding power very few men could imagine. That was his single treasure, the tome that lay beneath his bed, waiting for use, for the arrival of the rumored Aritian army.

What else could he do now?

His feet carried him onto the main road, towards the well, where many gathered to converse. Children dodged around his boot-clad feet, glancing in awe at his fancy clothing, before their short attention spans gave way to another distraction.

He smiled as a group of young women, probably no older than him, glanced at him, whispering and pointing. At the sight of his grin, flashing teeth kept white by herbs that he'd taken to growing, they huddled among themselves, giggling and swooning.

Ah, how well loved he was. He couldn't help the fact that it did not take much to remain handsome, or keep his kind nature. He worked with these people, showed them tricks he had picked up in his travels, and in turn learned the way of the peasant.

"Hey, there!" He glanced as a man, one of the militia of Iasu, beckoned him over, where he and the other warriors were gathered. "Merric! Come join us, ya old tyrant, didja hear what's been going on?"

Merric flexed his shoulders as he changed course. "Well, Gathin, who's the tyrant: the one who knows his shit, or the one who accuses the shit-knower?"

Gathin, a big, burly man with an axe strapped to his back, slapped Merric on his shoulder. "Merry, mind your manners," he joked. "You might get your skinny ass kicked for it one day!"

He howled with laughter as Merric blushed the slightest, then looked to the others, ignoring Gathin. "Well?" he pressed.

"You'll never guess," Rolin, a lithe archer, replied. Four seconds passed, then, "The Aritians are coming this way! Or, that's the rumor. Lead by their lost Prince! Or, he ain't lost if he's leading them....but hey, who cares? I'd bet this year's harvest they're gonna come a-knockin' on our city when they arrive."

"You know," said Thren, a portly axeman, "That means Macedonia's comin', too. They'll tear us up real good if they get to us."

"Nuh uh!" Rolin argued. "We's got nothing they'd care about! Right, Merry?" He looked to Merric, who was listening with a very surprised look on his face.

"Lord Marth?" he murmured curiously. "So, you're not dead?" He realized quickly he had been thinking aloud, and rushed to explain himself. "I mean, I'd heard he'd disappeared off the face of the earth, so I didn't know...yeah."

The air was now stirring with the threats of war. And if the two armies collided here, in the Lea... "Merry?" Gathin said. "Hey, kid, you okay?"

"I'm fine," Merric replied automatically, emotions brewing beneath his flesh. Aritia! He'd been waiting for this opportunity for a long time...and now Marth was alive...or, so he hoped... "Hey, you guys. If Aritia does march near us, tell me. I want to catch them."

"You?" Thren echoed. "You've got the fancy robes, kid, but you're armed?"

"I know some...err, basic magic arts," Merric replied. "I want to be of use. You see, well...Aritia's m' homeland."

His words were met by silence, and he cringed internally at their surprised looks. "And you never told us why?" Rolin said at last. "Damn, Merry, I didn't know! Lucky, we're pure-bred Aurelis." He smacked Merric on the back. "Don't worry, we'll let'cha know. You're our friend, just don't get your hopes up. And if you do manage to recruit yourself into their ranks, don't get killed, okay?"

Merric grinned. "Thanks, Rollie, I always knew I could count on you." He grasped the man's hand in a handshake, before pulling him into a big bear hug. "Well, I'm going to go back home, I might actually get a tan out here," he joked, stepping back, and the militia laughed.

"Be seein' ya, Merry!" Gathin waved as the mage ran back to his small adobe. Aritia! His homeland...his life, the very reason he'd been so determined to learn what he knew. To become a master of magic. Or, not a master, yet...sheer will had gained him the tome beneath his bed, not talent. Or perhaps talent, untamed...ah, who gave two figs? Merric dodged a group of children tormenting a frog, and slipped into his house, throwing himself to the floor and fishing beneath his bed.

His hands curled around the old, worn book spine, and he pulled it out, blowing nearly a year's worth of dust off the cover. Writing most people would not be able to read shimmered in silver leaf across the front and side of the green book, trimmed in white and weathered from centuries of use. The book acted as a beacon for Merric's power, allowing him to use the spell within.

Sheer will? Talent? Whatever it was, it had hurt to gain the ability to use this book, and with the price paid, he was the wielder of a master magic. Who was complaining?

He brought it to his chest, and sat on his bed, feeling the old mattress groan beneath his weight. Merric's fingers tapped the spine nervously, his body shaking with anticipation. Oh, please, Marth, come past this little hamlet, the mage thought. Come on; don't leave me here to rot! Or I'll come show you my newfound talents m'self.

*

"Merric! Merric! ...MERRIC!"

Merric nearly fell off his bed as he jerked away, his slumber disturbed by the loud knocking and even louder yelling.

"Merric!" screamed Rolin, before practically knocking the door off his hinges. "Dragon breath, kid, Macedonia's here!"

"Shit!" The mage jumped off his bed, scooping up his tome in the process, and rushing out the door, Rolin at his heel. "If they decide to attack, we won't be powerful enough to run them down!" Oh shit, Merric added silently. If they come here, they might find me...and they might realize I'm an Aritian! And if my luck really sucks, they'll figure out I'm a noble with connections to the Lowells. Shit! Damn you, Gharnef, get your ass out of my kingdom!

Women were ushering children into their homes, fear plastered on their faces. Iasu was no longer simply a haven in Aurelis. Now, it had the potential of becoming a war zone, if Macedonia was not feeling generous. And from what Merric knew, that was exactly what was going to happen.

As he reached the city gate, he heard words that brought salvation. "Look! Eh, look, to the south! It's Aritia! They're cresting the hill! Aritia has come! It still lives!"

Merric scrambled up the wall to the outlook tower, trembling. "Look through your 'scope!" he ordered the watchman. "Who's heading the army?"

The watchman peered through his handheld telescope, watching the approaching army. After a moment, he announced, "A blue-haired lad, Merry! Small, youthful, sword, cape...a tiara? Could it be...?"

"It's Prince Marth," Merric whispered. "It's the heir to the throne of Aritia. He's here...thank the gods!" Without waiting for another response, the mage was already moving back down, towards the ground, before turning to the assembled militia.

"It's Aritia, all right," he confirmed. "And they're being led by the Prince himself!" He held up a hand to silence the babble that broke out. "The north is flat, but the south is hilly. If we spotted Aritia now, and Macedonia only a few minutes earlier, the former is going to reach Iasu first. Let me deal with them; I know some of them."

Nobody argued; this was beyond their coping abilities. "Alright, Merry," Gathin said, stepping forward. "We'll leave this to you. But if something goes wrong, we're coming out. You're a friend, and we don't abandon them."

Merric smiled warmly. "Thank you, my friends," he said. "Now, go, let me handle this." Let me meet my destiny. Without another word, the militia retreated, milling in nooks and crannies, waiting for something to happen, whether in their favor or against it.

Minutes passed. Merric paced back and forth, hand curled around his tome, sweat dripping down the nape of his neck. Almost here...now! No...now? Aritia would be coming in some time soon...any time now...right...?

What if Marth slipped by this village? Did Merric think it safe to give chase? What if they mistook him for an enemy and shot him on sight? "Shit," Merric murmured.

And then someone knocked on the village gate.

One of the watchmen sprang before Merric could even register the arrival of a human being, and opened the wooden door, inviting in the man on the other side with a shocked expression.

Into Iasu slipped a male, who held himself with a confidence not seen in many men. He was clothed in a slate blue tunic, dark pants, brown shoes, blue cape, golden crest on shoulder, a tiara in his blue hair...there was no mistaking the person.

Merric rushed towards the blue-haired male as he stepped forward, almost nervously, as if afraid of intruding. He opened his mouth to speak, but the mage planted himself in front of him, choking off any words that had been ready to emerge.

"Aha!" Merric proclaimed happily, hands on his hips and looking up to the taller boy. "Prince Marth. We meet again!"

Marth blinked. There were fresh scars running down his face, and his eyes were accented by shadows and dried blood. It took him a moment to recognize the green-haired individual before him. "Huh?" he muttered, then, "...Merric?! Merric, is that you?"

Merric looked down at his chest, then back up. "Well, yes, sire, last I looked." He ignored the shocked whispers of the villagers eavesdropping on the rather loud conversation. "Whilst studying magic in Khadein, I caught wind of a war brewing and decided to seek you out." He spoke with a formal accent, almost teasing the Aritian Prince he hadn't seen for nearly four years. He was partially lying, as well, but no need for Marth to know that.

Marth did not take long to mull that over; he was grinning like a toddler on Christmas. "I see... Thank you, then. I need friends like you on the battlefield. You will fight with us, of course?"

The mage whistled deeply. Marth had matured a great deal since the last time he'd seen him. That probably had to do with the fact it was his country that was stolen, his people that were suffering, his blood Dolhr wanted spilt... "Of course!" Merric replied. "'Twould be a passing shame if you didn't get to see me flex a little magic muscle. Wait until I show you my latest!"

Merric turned to the assembled people, and waved once, before following Marth out of the village and onto the Lea, with no intention of ever returning.

"What's your latest?" Marth asked, moving quickly towards his army, marching towards Macedonia as they moved to attack, with such speed that Merric fought to keep up. "Your magic, I mean?"

"It's a surprise," Merric grinned back. Excitement bloomed through him like a raging fire. Their reunion had been subtle, but he was sure once this battle was won, they could catch up a great deal on their past adventures.

"Damn you, Merric," Marth sighed in reply, as they broke through the ranks of the Aritian army and moved towards his elite front.

"Your Highness!" Merric glanced up as a green-haired paladin, with a lance at his side, rode up, panting. "Sire, we've spotted the Macedonians! They'll be here in less than an hour! What do you propose we..." He trailed off as he spotted the mage standing next to Marth. "Merric?"

"Hey, Abel," Merric replied. "Long time, no see."

"Merric?!" Merric recognized the shout almost instantly, and ducked to the side to avoid the fist that swung at him. "Damn, I knew you were coming back!"

Merric glared at the red-haired sword paladin as he dismounted from his horse. "Kain! Don't take my head off! What are you so--"

Kain grabbed Merric in a choke hold and rubbed his knuckles on his head. "Ahaha! Tricked ya! It's great to see ya again, Merry!" He pushed the mage away, and his face fell. "But, my Lord, what--"

"We'll set formation near the river," Marth replied. "Send the strongest units out front, to the bridge. We're going to bottleneck them. That'd be…Draug, Oguma, and you, Abel. Gordin! Follow behind, let your arrows fly! And you, Merric—" He looked to the mage. "—you go too. We don't have any magic users in our ranks, don't get killed, understand?"

"Sire!" Merric bowed, his heart pounding. "I would be honored! Don't be killed yourself!"

*

The Macedonian attack was easily predictable and easy to fend off. The army pushed their way across the bridge, Marth and a swordsman Merric had never seen before, Navarre, were weaving through enemy lines, killing everything in their path. The Princess Shiida of Talis weaved through the sky, swooping every so often to stab her lance into some unfortunate warrior.

So far, Merric had held back, watching strategically as Kain and Gordin unleashed their own attacks, backing up Abel, the legendary Oguma, and Draug. The Aritians were gaining ground, pressing forward, pushing the weakening Macedonians back.

And then forward came a massive knight.

He was clearly one of the elites in this fight. Red armor glistened with blood, and he raised a foot to kick the wailing Talis soldier off his lance and to the ground, to die in the grass. Gordin readied his bow, and fired an arrow, but the knight raised his shield and defended the blow easily. Two cavaliers flanked him, wreaking a path of hell. And they were advancing towards the bottleneck.

"Shit!" Merric gasped, flicking open the tome in his hand. "They're too strong, the only thing good against these people…magic!" He ran forward, shoving past Gordin and Kain. "Move!" he ordered. He pushed his way to the front line, then lunged for Oguma when he got the chance. "Sir!" he cried. "Order the soldiers to fall back, there's some people on the way that could wipe us out!"

Oguma winced, the cross-shaped scar on his cheek distorting with his face. "Right, kid, Marth's got good reason to bring a little guy like you in, right?" He lunged into the fray, and Merric shrank behind Abel, who guarded the mage from a lancer with bloody intention.

Soon, "Fall back! Fall back, units, change of strategy!" Merric felt Aritians push by, retreating behind their wall of muscle. He didn't fail to notice Marth was the last to retreat, and even then, it was only to the front line. "Merric," he muttered. "You better damn hope you're good for this." He was stressed, and Merric swallowed.

"Don't worry," he promised. "I've been working too hard to fail in my first fight!" He stepped forward, flinching internally as the eyes of the advancing Macedonians turned to him.

"A little brat!" heckled the knight. "They retreat and send out a toddler! The irony! Has Aritia stooped so low?"

And that was when the winds changed.

Merric scanned over his book, clutching it to himself, feeling the air twist around him, contorting to his wishes. Leaves and debris were caught in the whirlwind, obscuring his view. It would be misfortune if the Aritians had not fully pulled back, but it was too late to stop anything now. The swirling air took on an eerie green hue.

"The Divine Sword of Wind…protect these men! Protect my country! Excalibur!" Merric lifted his head, and trust his hands forward, letting his tome fall to the weed-covered bridge before him. The tornado of power gained an edge, and shot forward, digging into the dirt and carving a long crater. The power fanned out, taking down everything in its vicinity. There were screams, which the spell quickly carried off before all ears could hear them, and the curses of survivors as they watched their core units dematerialize.

It lasted for no more than fifteen seconds. The spell lost its power, and Merric crumpled to his knees, exhausted. He was rusty on his magic skills, and it did not help his chosen spell was so powerful and energy consuming.

There was no time to be stunned at the spectacle, though. Marth recovered, and pointed his rapier towards the enemy. "Charge!" he roared. "Attack! Make them pay, my fellow warriors!" The Aritians surged forward, quickly falling upon the remaining Macedonians like a tidal wave. Marth did not join the advance, instead making his way to his friend. "Merric!" he cried, kneeling down next to the mage. "Tell me you're alright."

Merric looked up, a tired grin on his face. "I'm fine," he replied. "Don't you worry, it takes a lot more than that to put me out of action." He forced his legs to work, and he stood, picking up his tome at the same time. "Didja like my latest?"

Marth was not expecting the question, and took a moment to reply. "Huh? Yeah, was that…?"

"Straight right, Excalibur!" Merric replied proudly. "You're just bursting with jealousness, right?"

The Prince grinned lopsidedly. "Nah. But I am so glad I paid that little village a visit now. I mean, where could this battle have turned, if not for Merric?" he mocked, still smiling.

Merric knew humor when it was there, and he laughed. "Oh, shut up."

"Still kids? You'll never grow." Both warriors started, and turned to see an old man padding up on a silvery horse, scars littering his wrinkled skin and grandfatherly warmth to his eyes. "I'm glad you two are reunited, you've grown, Merry."

The green-haired mage sucked in his breath proudly, puffing out his chest. "Yep! See? I might even get taller than Marth!"

Marth looked dubiously down at the boy, nearly a foot shorter than himself. "Uh huh," he replied simply.

"We're in the middle of a battle, you two," Jeigan reprimanded. "Let's get moving if we want to stay alive." And with that, he took off, back into battle, his lance raised and a war cry tearing from his lips.

The Prince sighed. "Yeah, he's right, come on, Merry, we'll fight side by side. Can you use some simpler spells?"

"Want me to torch your eyebrows off?"

"Good." And the two boys lunged forward, into the fight again.

*

"He's talented."

"Very."

"He mastered the Wind spell at thirteen; that's nay a near impossible feat."

The woman leaned forward, peering into the swirling, rainbow orb. "I see his future. I see what he will hold, in time to come."

"As do I."

"And me."

"There is only one course. We must kill the boy at all costs."

"What about the Prince?"

"We will take care of them all in due time. That is as Master Gharnef ordered, after all. Right now, the two we will destroy…it will be them. Anri's descendant…and the Master of Excalibur."

"We will destroy their souls."

"And take back the blood that is ours."

I have always…eh, disliked, the lack of assassinations, in the Fire Emblem games. That's where my imagination kicks in. Because Shadow Dragons needs more story! If it had the same amount of story as in Path of Radiance, I would go BESERK and never take that game out of my DS. But, alas, 'tis not the case.

Ramble ramble.

Sinister? I love Merric. He highly contests for my heart, between him and Marth. And it should be made known I beat the living shit out of the people I love. Marth and Merric don't stand a chance!

And I'm going to eventually get a picture of Merric's new design. I have a plan. A PLAN. THAT'S, LIKE, REAL.

Anyway.

Please review.

-Muse