Prologue: Mercenaries

A staccato clack echoed between the tree trunks. Light filtered through the pine branches, casting sharp lines across the scarred edge of another length of wood. One stripped of bark and sanded smooth. One wrapped in leather at the end for a more comfortable grip. A practice sword.

Two figures danced along a trail of packed earth. The smaller shouted as he attacked, slashing down at his opponent with both hands clenched around his weapon. His untidy blue hair swayed against the band of green fabric he wore tied around his forehead. Dirt caked his tunic and trousers.

His opponent stood upright and collected, one hand held almost behind his back. Taunting. He wouldn't need it to give the boy he faced a sound thrashing. His silvered brown hair barely stirred as he blocked each of the boy's blows with ease.

Sensing an opening, the more seasoned warrior slashed at his opponent's stomach. The boy dodged, swiftly stepping backwards out of the wooden sword's reach. Even bruised and gasping for breath, he felt his lips twitch in a small smile. Greil was the greatest warrior he had ever known—and for the first time, he felt as though he might be holding his own.

Greil stabbed under his guard and caught him in the ribs, knocking him flat on his back.

"Well, Ike?" he asked. His voice rumbled, an affectionate growl. "Have you had enough?"

Ike's lungs screamed for air. He gasped as he struggled to push himself upright, his elbows catching in the scarlet folds of his cape. Greil loomed over him like a figure from legend. His stern gaze over the arch of his nose. The golden drape of his cape against his black tunic. Even with the deep creases that framed his mouth, it was sometimes difficult to think of him as a grizzled old mercenary. As a child, Ike had sworn the man must be a knight.

Not like this, Ike thought then, meeting Greil's eye. He couldn't lose like this again. He lunged to his feet with a defiant roar. Greil caught the blow. For a moment, they stood motionless, their wooden swords locked together. Ike thought he saw Greil chance a small smile of his own.

"Father! Ike!"

Greil turned his head, searching for the source of the call. Ike risked a glance himself. The voice floated along the path ahead of a young girl dressed in yellow. Her honeyed brown hair drifted in a breeze as she ran, just brushing her shoulders. A blue scarf mimicked the motion around her neck. She raised a hand to wave.

Greil lowered his sword. "Oh, Mist."

That was it. The opening Ike needed. He charged, a triumphant cry tearing through his throat. This time for sure.

Greil stepped to the side, letting Ike's momentum carry him into empty space. Then, almost with an air of boredom, he cracked his sword across the boy's back. Ike tumbled to the ground again.

"Ike?" He did not see Mist pause, but he heard the uncertain shift in her steps. "Oh no!"

The world faded as he lay face-down in the dirt.

Ike was a child again. He lay in bed with a quilt pulled up to his chin. Somewhere nearby, a woman hummed a comforting melody, gently patting his arm over the cloth. He turned his head to look at her. Blue hair like his. She smiled.

"Mother?"

The image vanished, torn apart by sunbeams. Ike sat up. He felt groggy, like someone had stuffed his head with wool. Something yellow slipped to the ground beside his knee. Frowning, he bent to pick it up. A damp handkerchief. Someone must have put it on his forehead while he dreamed.

Notes shimmered through the air behind him. The same song he had heard in his vision. Startled, he found his feet and looked around. The forest no longer surrounded him. Instead, he stood in a grassy field at its edge. A mountain stabbed into the sky in the distance. A lake glistened in the sun. Not far from it, Mist knelt in a patch of flowers, picking any bloom that caught her eye. Butterflies hovered around her as she hummed.

"Mist," Ike murmured as he approached, "that song."

She blinked at him, and then grinned. "Ah, you're up. About time!"

Ike had never noticed before. In that moment, she looked exactly like their mother.

"Are you alright?"

He must have looked dazed. Shaking his head as though to clear cobwebs, he said, "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"So, the sleeping prince awakens!"

Greil's laugh rumbled across the field. He must have been watching them the entire time.

"Father!" Mist made a face. Puckered and angry like her tone. "I can't believe you. I know those are practice swords, but they're still heavy. You have no right to be so rough on Ike."

Greil regarded her seriously. "If this is too much for the boy, he'll never make it as a mercenary."

Heat flared along the curves of Ike's ears. His hands clenched into fists. He knew his father was right, but did he have to call Ike the boy while talking to Mist?

"But—" his sister began.

"Mist, you don't have to worry," Ike said quickly. "I told you, I'm fine."

Greil laughed again. "You'd better be. Now, grab your sword and get ready."

"What?" Mist demanded. "Don't tell me you're going at it again!"

"Just until I land a single blow," Ike assured her. "I'm not giving up until I can get one good hit on Father."

A grin split Greil's stern features. "I like your resolve, Ike. But it takes more than a strong will to . . . Hm?"

He turned towards the gap where the path cut through the forest. Another boy emerged from the trees. He stood around Ike's height, but was slightly more muscular. An orange band kept his green hair out of his eyes.

"Aha! I knew I'd find you here," he said.

Mist smoothed her hands over her dress. When she spoke, though, her tone was off-hand. "Hi, Boyd. What brings you here?"

"Nothing special," Boyd answered with an airy shrug. "You said you were going to get the boss, but you never came back. I got picked to check on you."

Mist threw her hands over her mouth, blue eyes wide. "Oh! Sorry, I got caught up with Ike and my father."

"It's nothing. Besides, I figured I'd get a good laugh watching Ike get worked over by the boss."

Ike watched the exchange through narrowed eyes. The two had always bantered, comfortably tugging at each other's triggers. It had never bothered him before. Lately, though, watching them talk made him feel itchy. Like the time he had accidentally brushed a plant that hadn't agreed with him.

When Boyd turned away from his conversation, his wide grin faded. "You . . . look fine. What happened?"

"Nothing at all," Ike said. "I'm sorry to disappoint you."

Mist snickered. "You missed it. Just a minute ago, he was out cold."

"Mist!" protested Ike.

"Sorry," she sang, still laughing.

Ike may have found a few more choice words to share with his darling little sister, but Greil chose that moment to hold the battered length of a training sword under his nose. He took it with an uncertain frown. What was this about?

"You came at just the right time, Boyd," Greil said. He found the wooden practice axe he had left propped against a tree and thrust it at the younger warrior's chest. "You can be Ike's sparring partner."

"What? Me?" Boyd asked.

Greil made a thoughtful sound, half consideration and half assent. "I'm beginning to think it would be better if he sparred with someone closer to his own skill."

The words stung a little. Ike had thought he was improving. He had come so close to landing a hit in their last match. But if his father thought this was best . . .

"I understand," Ike said reluctantly. "Thanks for your help, Boyd."

Boyd snorted, but he turned the practice axe over in his hand, testing its weight as he took his position on the field. Cautiously, Ike settled into his stance opposite his new opponent. He checked his grip. His family stepped back to the trees to watch.

"I don't know about this 'closer to his skill' business," Boyd complained, "but I'm ready. Let's go!"

Ike circled, watching Boyd's face. His smirk. The fierce light in his eyes. The movement of his shoulders. As long as he stayed back, Ike knew he was safe. His sword had a greater reach than the short handle of Boyd's axe. But Boyd was bigger than he was, and Ike had seen him spar with the other mercenaries in his father's company. Even with a wooden weapon, Boyd had a mighty swing. The type that could crush bone.

His hesitance widened Boyd's smirk into an outright grin. "Hey! What's the holdup? Let's get started already."

"I'm coming," Ike assured him. "Wait right there."

As if Boyd would ever stand back and wait for a fight to come to him. Ike shifted his grip and lunged forward. The exertion tore a battle cry from his lips. He struck high, as he had in his match with his father. Boyd caught the swing on the blunted crescent of his axe and pushed it aside, then changed direction to slash up under Ike's guard. Ike threw himself backwards. A near miss.

"You can do it!" Mist shouted from the trees. "Boyd's got nothing! Take him out!"

Boyd gaped at her, outraged. "Nothing? I don't have nothing. I mean, I have—I mean . . ."

His sputtering gave Ike the opening he needed. He swung again, catching Boyd's arm near the elbow. A spasm shook through Boyd's hand. He dropped his axe. Ike followed with another powerful overhand cut, but Boyd rolled out of the way. The sword hit the ground with a muted thump, leaving a dusty dent in the dirt.

Boyd found his feet with a firm grip on his axe and an untarnished grin. "I'm not done yet. We're just getting started."

Ike growled to himself. Boyd's ego was starting to annoy him. He charged again, hammering Boyd with strike after strike. The other boy turned each blow away without ever giving up ground. He clipped Ike's side. Then his shoulder. He made it look easy—the same way Greil had.

Wait. An eerie sort of calm spread over Ike, trickling down to his fingertip, stilling his frantic attack. His feet shifted in the grass. His back straightened. Maybe that was it. Boyd scowled at him and chopped down at his head. Ike swatted the blow aside. He knew his weapon had a greater reach, and if he knew that . . .

Ike stabbed forward, driving the tip of his sword into Boyd's chest. Just like Greil had done to him. Boyd stumbled, and fell flat on his back. He lay there for a moment, fighting for his breath, and then started to laugh.

"That—that wasn't too bad."

"Boyd, you're such a loser!" Mist called.

"Shut your trap!" he shouted back.

They grinned at each other, Boyd still gasping for breath, until Greil frowned.

"Good work, Boyd," he said. "That's enough."

"Oh." Boyd rolled to his feet. "All right."

He trotted off the field. Ike thought he might stand next to Mist so the two could keep whispering and giggling together, but Boyd kept his distance. He glanced at Greil as though he had been scolded. That was strange, but trying to work out why made Ike itchy again. He let it drop.

Greil kept his eyes on his son. "Your swordsmanship was decent enough, Ike. Don't forget how it felt. It won't always be this easy."

"I know," Ike said.

Nodding, Greil added, "Now that you're done warming up, it's time for you to face me again."

Ike tried not to smile. "I was hoping you'd say that."

His father did smile. The same wolf's smile Ike felt twitching its way onto his own lips. Then, all at once, it faded.

"But first," he said thoughtfully, "Mist!"

"Right here."

She dashed cheerfully over the grass to drop a small burlap pouch into her brother's hands. "Here you go, Ike. It's a vulnerary. I'd recommend using it now, before you fight father." She winked. "Last time, he knocked you silly."

"I know what it is," Ike grumbled.

Mist puffed out her cheeks and turned on her heel, but the face she showed her father when they crossed paths was as fresh as the light sparkling on the lake. Normally, the change in mood would annoy Ike, but he couldn't take his eyes off his father's approach. Tiny waves of lightning seemed to crawl over Ike's bare arms and through his hair. Somehow, this felt like his last chance. He had to prove himself.

"Always take time to heal your wounds in battle," Greil said. "By time you think you're in trouble, it's probably too late. Don't get into that situation."

Obediently, Ike pulled one of the three soft chunks of medicine out of the pouch and popped it into his mouth. It tasted vile. No doubt the company healer made the awful concoction of roots and herbs with the best intentions, but no amount of good will could soften the sharp, weedy bite. Ike forced himself to chew and swallow. His bruises faded. His aches dulled. He tied the remaining portions to his belt.

Greil tested his grip and his footing, and then extended his sword in challenge. "Get ready, Ike—here I come. Give it your all."

Something about the match with Boyd must have impressed him more than he said. For the first time in Ike's memory, his father attacked first. Ike fumbled to get his sword up. Greil smashed through his guard, snapping his blade across Ike's thigh. Ike stumbled, but did not fall. Shouting through the pain, he retaliated with a slash that glanced off Greil's shoulder.

Ike staggered back, circling out of range. He limped. His foot tingled on the edge of numbness, and his thoughts ricocheted between triumph and confusion. He had done it. He had finally landed a blow on his father. Why did he feel disappointed?

"Come on, boy," Greil growled as he shook out his shoulder. "You going to give me a challenge this time around?"

Ike could have attacked, but he knew no good would come of it if he could hardly feel his leg. He pulled a second dose of vulnerary out of the pouch on his belt and chewed it, wincing at its bitterness. Watching for his father's reaction. Did he imagine that relief flashed across Greil's face? The tingling faded.

So did Greil's patience. He swung his sword like a scythe, cutting across Ike's shoulder. The boy countered quickly, landing a second hit before they parted again. Thanks to the vulnerary, Greil was more winded than his son. His breath came heavily. The tip of his sword wavered. Ike pressed his advantage, darting close and cracking his sword across his father's stomach.

Greil fell to his knees with a groan.

"Ike!" Mist cheered. "You were great!"

He wished he could share her excitement. Sliding his sword into his belt, Ike approached his father and offered his hand, helping the older warrior to his feet.

"Father," he said slowly, "you were holding back, weren't you?"

Mist stopped short. "What? Is that true?"

Chuckling, Greil accepted a pouch of vulnerary from his daughter. "If you could tell the difference, it means you're improving."

"You know, I wasn't really giving it my all either."

Ike startled. He hadn't noticed Boyd join them. Mist shot him an exasperated glare.

"That is such a lie," she said.

Boyd made a frustrated sound and tried to ruffle her hair. Ike decided to ignore them.

"So, Father, does that mean you finally admit that I'm ready?" he asked.

Greil feigned a startled look. At least, Ike thought he feigned it. "What, to join the company? To take on a job?"

"Yeah." Ike swallowed. He wished he sounded more confident. This was a big step. "I mean, Boyd's already out on the battlefield. I'm ready. I'm tired of being a trainee."

He winced. That probably could have been worded better. Boyd noticed too.

"Listen," the mercenary said, "the difference between you and me is that I'm a professional."

"A professional that just got beat," Mist taunted.

"That was just random chance," Boyd protested. His voice squeaked a little. Despite his bravado, he was still quite young. As though to convince himself, he repeated, "Random chance."

Greil sighed. "You've got a point, Ike. All right. Tomorrow will be your first day as a full-fledged mercenary."

"Really?" Ike tried not to sound too eager. He suspected that he failed.

"But," Greil said sharply. He had definitely failed. "If I think it's too much, you're back to trainee status. You'd better work hard."
"No problem. Watch—I'll catch up to everyone in no time."

"We'll see. We'd better be heading back to the fort. Everyone's waiting."

That calmed Ike's excitement. He followed the others to the path through the forest, but he could not quite manage the same bounce in his step. A pit formed in his stomach. Everyone was not waiting back at the fort. The most important person was away, studying in some dark library in the capital. The same person who had taught him to take advantage of his opponent's distraction. His best friend.

He wished he could have shared this moment with him.

.

.

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A/N: First, I know, game text. But let me explain.

My name is Rachael. I've been playing Fire Emblem games ever since Path of Radiance came to North America in 2005. It was the first video game I ever beat. And, to be honest, one of my greatest writing teachers. I'll never forget what it was like to sit with my sister in front of the tv and play this wonderful game for the very first time. We had waited ages for this chance. You see, we had fallen in love with Eliwood and the other characters from Rekka no Ken through the internet, but we had missed our chance to play it because we didn't have gameboys. The cube was our salvation.

Now that Nintendo is gearing up to release the first console Fire Emblem since we left Tellius in 2007, I've pulled out my wii and my cube controller and fired up the nostalgia again. But this time, I want to take other people on the journey with me. I've noticed some alarming trends in how people characterize Ike after his Smash Brothers debut-and that the price of a Path of Radiance disk online these days borders on atrocious. My hope is that turning my experience of the game into a work of fan fiction might allow those without access to the game to at least enjoy the story and the characters.

Maybe I'm just an old fart now, but I still think Tellius had one of the best story lines in the series.

So that's it. Fire Emblem helped shape me into the writer I am today. This is my way of giving back.

Enjoy~