A/N: The idea for this story has been in my mind for a long time and I've finally typed it up to share with you all. This story takes place at the very end of Chapter 22 (or 22x) of Eliwood's story. In the game, Eliwood meets with the Tactician in his room and straight up asks him about his past. Naturally, it fades to black and ends the chapter, leaving what Mark said up to our imagination. The part after the fade is what this story will cover through dialogue and a series of flashbacks to important parts of my interpretation of Mark's life.

So let's get the show on the road.

Stories of the Past

Part I

Lately, sleep was not coming easily for the young lord. For the last few months, events had been conspiring against the newly named Marquees, robbing him of something that he now understands he had been taking for granted. It started when his father went missing. Constantly worrying about the whereabouts of his father, why he left at all, and if his father was still even alive had weighed heavily on his mind. But Eliwood was an eternal optimist. He assured himself that his father was safe, had a perfectly legitimate reason for leaving Pherae, and would return home soon. Those happy, and admittedly naïve thoughts, would be crushed when the questions that distressed Eliwood were answered.

The death of his father was still a very open and large wound for Eliwood. It had only been a few weeks since Elbert took his last breath in his son's hands, and Eliwood had struggled to move forward emotionally from the events on Valor. At first, Eliwood blamed himself. He should have gotten to Valor sooner, he should have gone looking for his father earlier, he should have stopped his father from being a part of this ordeal at all. He should have done something.

But Ninian, bless her soul, snapped him out of his self-loathing. Everyone in their little army had tried to help him through this, and while the sentiment was comforting, Ninian did something that no one else did. She blamed herself. Eliwood was beyond baffled when she said it was her fault. Here was this innocent girl, who had been running from Nergal for so long, blaming herself for the death of his father. Eliwood ended up trying to comfort her by saying the thing that Hector, Lyn, Mark, and everyone else in the group had tried to make him understand. No one was to blame for his father's death but Nergal. Not Eliwood, not Ninan, only Nergal was at fault. That's when it finally sunk in.

After leaving Badon, Eliwood began the coping process. He knew he couldn't afford to wallow in self-pity while a deranged villain like Nergal threated his world. Mourning would have to come later, especially after what Eliwood had learned only a few hours ago. Arch Sage Athos, the Living Legend himself, had explained to him and his friends to true extent of his enemy's power and what he planned to do with it.

So here Eliwood was, lying sleeplessly in his bed in Castle Pherae. Again.

Instead of staring at a celling all night, Eliwood decided to take a walk around the castle, hoping it would help take his mind off the impending battle with the Black Fang. Using a small candle to light his way, the young Marquees began to trek the castle he called home. Roaming though the corridors of his home began to flood Eliwood with fond memories of his childhood. In his youth, Eliwood would spend hours, sometimes days, just exploring the castle grounds. He was fascinated by the sheer size of the castle and it's seemingly endless number of rooms and hallways. He chuckled lightly, remembering how his mother loathed his passion for exploring. As he grew older, it became a game to Eliwood. He would often challenge his parents to find him while he hid in places that he believed un-findable. Elbert always found him with relative ease. Eliwood figured that Elbert, during his youth, must have shared his enthusiasm for roaming the castle. This love of exploration was only amplified when Eliwood was sent to study in Ostia. With a whole new castle to explore, and an equally venturesome friend in Hector, Eliwood's intrepid spirit continued to grow.

Eliwood's pleasant reminiscing was interrupted by the sound of rustling papers, scratching of a quill, and soft, incoherent, mumbling. Deciding he had no reason not to, the young lord indulged his curiosity and followed the sounds through the dark corridors of the castle. As the noises grew louder, Eliwood rounded a corner and saw light breaking through a door on the right side of the hallway. With fire light and shifting paper sounds pouring out of it, Eliwood stepped into the open door frame. What he saw was something that he was very accustomed to seeing in the past few months. At a table in the middle of the room sat the tactician of their brigade, Mark, sifting through layers of documents. Mark was so focused on his task; he was completely oblivious to Eliwood's presence.

'He must be preparing for the upcoming battle,' observed Eliwood as he took note of the maps, inventory lists, and troop rosters sprawled across the wooden surface. 'Lyn's right. This man is going to work himself to death.'

It had become a very common sight during their campaign to see Mark working on his battle plans for hours on end. This was a cause of concern for many of the members of their army, most specifically Lyn. She had expressed her frustration with Mark's work ethic many times throughout their journey. One instance in particular, Lyn had become so angered by Mark's seclusion she physically dragged him out of his tent, forcing the strategist to take a break from his meticulous work. It was quite the comical scene to the rest of the troops and it brought Mark a fair amount of ridicule. Hector was the most outspoken, commenting that a man shouldn't be so easily controlled by a woman. Eliwood however sympathized with Mark, knowing that there was no victory to be had when it came to dealing with angry women, especially one as stubborn and strong-willed as Lyn.

Eliwood continued to stand in the door frame pondering how long it would take Mark to notice him. Looking around the room, Eliwood saw Mark's trademark green cloak resting on a coat hanger as well as a messy, un-made bed indicating Mark also had trouble sleeping. Deciding that it could take hours until Mark noticed him on his own, Eliwood tapped his knuckles on the door frame.

Adjusting his attention from his work to the knocking sound at the door, Mark saw the red-headed Marquees. The tactician immediately stood and stammered, "L-Lord Eliwood. I'm sorry I didn't see you there."

Eliwood chuckled, "It's alright. May I come in?"

"Of course. Please, have a seat." Mark said as he gestured to the empty chair on his left.

By opening up his body, Eliwood was able to see the silver glint coming from the sheath of Mark's dagger on his right hip, normally hidden by his cloak. Eliwood had only seen Mark use the dagger on a few occasions when an enemy would attempt to sneak around the main body of their army and try to 'cut the head of the snake' so to speak. However, each time Mark would easily dispatch his enemy showing great skill with the weapon. When asked about his seemingly honed fighting skills, Mark would wave it off saying that he caught his attacker off guard making it look like he was skilled. Mark insisted that it was an unrefined skill that he picked up in his travels. Eliwood was never fully convinced.

Putting those thoughts in the back of his mind, Eliwood walked to the table while smiling and shaking his head. "Mark, I've told you many times that you don't have to be so formal with me all the time. You are not my subject, you're my friend"

Mark sheepishly ran his hand through his chesnut hair as he waited for Eliwood to sit before taking his own seat. "So Eliwood," Mark said, purposely emphasizing his given name with without his title, "what troubles you enough to keep you up so late?"

"I could ask you the same question." Eliwood gestured to the mess of papers on the table, "It seems our troubles are similar… We have quite the task ahead of us don't we?"

"Indeed," Mark replied nodding his head, "It's not every day you have to infiltrate a militaristic kingdom and stop a psychopathic wizard from summoning dragons."

Chuckling at the strategist' sarcasm, Eliwood moved the conversation forward, "Do you know Bern well?"

"Not particularly." Mark reached over to a book sitting on a stack of papers, opened it, and began flipping through pages looking for the correct passage. Eliwood recognized the book as Mark's journal. He's seen the tactician scribble in the tome many times but never asked what he was writing. Despite his curiosity, Eliwood knew that Mark was a very private person and Eliwood did his best to respect that. "I passed through Bern briefly last year, but I did write some of my general observations. Terrain, climate, flora, fauna, and other things like that."

Eliwood raised an eyebrow, "Do you do that for everywhere you go?"

"Absolutely," Mark continued to leaf through different pages, "and it's not just places. I take notes on strengths and weaknesses or our troops, strengths and weaknesses of our enemies, effectiveness of different weapons, honestly if I find something even remotely interesting or I think I could use the information in future battles I write it down."

Eliwood sat, nodding his head throughout Mark's explanation. He never knew Mark was so perceptive and thorough with his notes. In fact, Eliwood didn't know much about Mark's life at all. Other than his exploits with Lyn, Mark's past had been a complete mystery of the young lord. He stopped himself from just blurting out his question, and tried to think of a way to move around the question, hoping Mark would answer it himself. "Do you have notes like that on every country?"

"Not every country," Mark stated without skipping a beat, "I got this book in Bulgar right before that whole Ludgren affair so naturally most of my notes are on Lyncia, since I've spent most of the last few years here. After I left Calien, I traveled to Etruria and spend a few months there so I have a decent amount of notes on it as well. I also have some general observations on Sacae, Nantaba, and Valor. I've never been to the Western Isles, and like I said before I've only been to Bern briefly."

Eliwood noticed the omission of a certain country, "What about Ilia? You've never been there?"

Mark stopped flipping through his journal and sat silent for a few moments before responding, "I have been to Ilia I just… never found the need to take notes on it."

Seeing how Mark reacted, Eliwood believed he might have found an answer so he kept pressing a little further. "Why not?"

Mark kept up the façade of indifference but inside he was panicking. He was scrambling to think of an answer while avoiding eye contact with the lord sitting next to him. "Uh…. I don't-"

"Is that where you from?"

Mark stared as his journal and stayed silent. Seconds felt like hours as Mark could feel Eliwood's eyes on him. He didn't want to lie, but Mark wasn't sure if he was ready to tell the truth to anyone. 'He's going to find out sooner or later' Mark told himself.

After a few minutes of silence, Eliwood finally spoke again. "I apologize if that was too forward, I just-"

"No it's okay," Mark interrupted. The tactician sighed and placed his journal back on the table. "It's not really something I like to talk about."

Eliwood weakly smiled at his friend, "If it's difficult to speak of you needn't continue. It's just that we've spent so much time traveling together and yet I know so little about you. I want to learn more about you and your life."

Again Mark sighed, "I know. We have been through a lot and while I know quite a bit about you, you know next to nothing about me."

Eliwood frowned and shook his head, "I didn't mean to imply that you owe me anything, Mark. I'm simply curious about your life before I met you."

The strategist shook his head in return, "Whether or not you meant it, it's true. Hell, nobody knows about my past and yet you all continue to trust me with your lives by listening to my orders."

"You haven't told anyone about your past? Not even Lyn?"

The tactician lowered his head at the mention of their female companion. "Lyn knows more than anyone but a lot of what I've told her is distorted from the full truth or just a complete lie."

Eliwood was astonished to say the least. Everyone could see how close Mark and Lyn were and to suggest that Mark had been lying to her about his past was something Eliwood could have never imagined. "What does she know?"

"Well she knows, as you just deduced, that I'm Ilian and she knows that both of my parents are dead, both of those are true. I told her my father was a tactician, which isn't true at all, and I told her that I spent most of my life traveling the continent, which is true but she doesn't know the real reason why."

So many questions made their way through Eliwood's mind; what happened to his parents, what was his father if he wasn't a tactician, why had he been traveling is whole life, but the loudest question in his brain was the one he voiced, "Why are so instant about hiding your past?"

Another sigh escaped the strategist's mouth, "My past is something I am thoroughly not proud of and if a… certain person were to learn the truth, I don't think I'd ever be trusted again"

Eliwood guessed the 'certain person' was Lyn, and if Mark thought that revealing his past would cause Lyn to mistrust him, then his secret must have been major. "Well Mark, I assure you that no matter your past, I know who you are now and I trust you with my life."

Mark's head was still hung low, but a small smile graced his face at Eliwood's words. "Thank you, Eliwood. That really means a lot to me."

"Will you still tell me? I promise what you say will never leave this room."

Mark looked back up at the Marquees and stayed silent as he contemplated Eliwood's promise. "Alright," He answered, "just give me a moment to gather my thoughts."

Eliwood nodded, leaned back in his chair, and stayed silent so that Mark could concentrate. He could tell how difficult this was for Mark so he was going to try his best to not rush his friend into his story.

After another few moments Mark finally began, "Well as I said before, I was born in Ilia. I am the only child of two Ilian mercenaries. My mother, her name was Kira, was a Pegasus knight and my father, Isaac, was a swordsman. My mother retired from mercenary work when she became pregnant with me so that she could stay at home and care for me while my father traveled for various assignments."

"Was your father away from home often?"

Mark shrugged, "I couldn't really tell you. I was very young so I don't really remember much of that time. He wasn't gone enough that I didn't know who he was if that's what you mean. It didn't matter; staying at home with my mother did not last long."

"Why, what happened?"

"When I was about four years old my mother died from illness."

Eliwood was a bit taken back by the bluntness of Marks statement, "I'm sorry"

The tactician shook his head and continued, "Don't be. It was years ago, I've accepted and moved on from it. Besides, it's hard to mourn someone you barely remember. The only memories I have of my mother are brief flashes of her face and little things like that."

With the death of his father still fresh in his mind, it was difficult for Eliwood to imagine getting passed the pain to such an extent as Mark clearly had, he hoped time would help him similarly, but he decided to keep the story moving, "What happened next?"

"Well obviously, my mother's death took a heavy toll on my father. Not only did he lose his wife, but now he was alone to raise me. One of the earliest coherent memories I have is talking to my father at my mother's grave …"

Cold was a word that could describe many things about the way he was feeling right now, physically cold because of the bitter weather that blanketed the frozen tundra of Ilia but also emotionally cold. At a hedge stone he stood, wearing green armor that covered his chest and shoulders, and a two-handed sword strapped to his back, its hilt stuck out of the brown cloak that covered his armor and the rest of his body. He stood there motionless, continuously reading the inscription on the hedge stone, still unable to fully comprehend the words etched upon its surface.

Here lies Kira of Ilia

Loving wife

Caring mother

Honorable knight

May she rest in peace

It had been less than a week since the day Isaac's wife was tragically taken from him and the wound was no more healed than when it was first inflicted. The shock still hasn't quite gone away either. One day he was enjoying a good life with his beautiful wife and son, and the next, St. Elimine found it necessary to take the love of his life from him, leaving the traveling mercenary alone to raise his young boy.

He stood there, seeing the white mist escaping from his nostrils, simply dumbstruck, 'Kira I… I just…. don't know if I can go on without you.' Opening his cloak, Isaac laid his eyes on the silver sheath of the dagger in his hands. Her dagger. Before, it had been a simple side arm, just in case she ever lost her lance. Now, it was one of the only things he had left of her. Taking the dagger out of its sheath, Isaac admired the sheen of the blade. He scraped the pad of his thumb across the blade. 'Still sharp' he noted. It didn't come as a surprise. Even though Kira almost never used the blade, Isaac knew that his wife was always prepared for combat and she would be caught dead before she was caught with a dull weapon on the battlefield.

He wished he didn't understand how true that expression really was.

He continued to graze his thumb over the edge of his wife's dagger. He knew the knife would do the job he was contemplating. It wouldn't be hard at all to just take the blade and…

"Father?"

The sound of his son's voice broke Isaac out of his trance. Quickly sheathing the blade, the mercenary turned around to see Mark slowly trudging toward him, each step crunching the snow beneath the boy's feet. Isaac fastened his wife's dagger to his belt, knelt down on the snow covered ground to bring himself down to his son's height, and opened his arms. Seeing his father's actions, Mark quickened his pace and crashed into his father's embrace. With tears seeping out of his eyelids, Isaac held on to his son tightly. Guilt began to overwhelm the warrior as he realized what he just contemplated. He couldn't believe the thought of leaving his son alone on this world even crossed his mind. 'I have to stay strong. For Kira. For Mark.'

Isaac began to release his son from his hold, allowing Mark to take a step back and see his father's face. Mark lifted his small arm up to his face and wiped away the tears away from his eyes with Isaac's hands still firmly sitter on his shoulders.

"Father, why do people have to die?"

Isaac sighed and hung his head. Explaining death to a toddler was never something he could prepare for. He would just have to tell Mark what he believed and hoped his son would understand. "I don't know son. We all die someday, some sooner than others. St. Elimine decided that it was time for your mother to join her in the afterlife."

Mark crossed his arms and scrunched his face in anger, "Well I don't like St. Elimine. Mother should be here with us." The swordsman solemnly smiled at his son's naiveté, although he didn't disagree with the boy.

"It's not like that Son. Your mother is in a much better place now, and no matter what we do we can't bring her back. But don't worry, your mother is watching over us in heaven. The best we can do now is honor her memory and keep looking toward the future. It's what she would have wanted." By the end of his explanation, Isaac wasn't sure if it was just his son he was trying to convince.

Mark's face softened as he brought his eyes back down to the white surface beneath him. Isaac held his son's shoulders tightly knowing how difficult it must be for Mark's young mind to comprehend such a mature topic.

"What's gonna happen now?" Mark said to the ground.

Isaac sighed and looked off into the distance, "I don't know, Son. I don't know." Isaac looked back to his son, brought his finger to the toddler's chin and lifted Mark's face back up, "But what I do know is that we will get through this. Together, okay?"

Isaac gave his son a reassuring smile and Mark responded with a smile of his own. "Okay Father."

The swordsman placed his hand on Mark's head and ruffled his hair. "I love you Son and so does your mother. Never forget that. Now come on," Isaac stood, picked his son up, and placed the boy on his shoulders, "Let's go."

Walking away from his beloved's grave, Isaac embraced the weight on his shoulders, both the physical and the metaphorical one. 'I will live on Kira. I will raise our son into a truly great man, one that you would be proud of. So you rest easy and leave this to me."

Mark recalled the memory all too well. So much so it still brought back a fair amount of pain, albeit none that Mark couldn't handle. Eliwood had stayed silent throughout Mark's memory, not wanting to interrupt the tactician. After a few moments of pause, Mark began again, "So with my mother gone, Father decided that I would travel with him."

Eliwood's eyes widened, "Wait your father took you on mercenary missions while you were a child?"

"No it wasn't like that. See…" Mark paused to gather his thoughts, "The Ilian Mercenary Guild works as an intermediate between clients and the soldiers. People contact the guild with a job and the guild assigns that job to members of the guild based on difficulty of the mission, skill of the soldier, and other things like that. So with no need for us to stay in Ilia, my father became a freelance mercenary. We would travel the continent together, finding clients for him and when he got a job I would be left in another's care for the duration of his mission. Sometimes it was the noble that hired him but, more often than not, I would be left in the care of Elimine monks; he wanted me to learn reading and writing, and while we traveled together, he would teach me some basic defense techniques."

Mark reached to his belt, unsheathed the silver blade, and held it up for his companion to see, "This dagger was the first weapon my father taught me to use. It actually was my mother's."

Mark returned the knife to its sheath as Eliwood crossed his arms, "So it isn't just some skill you picked up after all? I knew it."

It took Mark a moment, but when he understood what Eliwood was referring to, he nervously laughed. "Hehe. Yeah not my best lie. I'm sorry. There's a reason, trust me. We'll get there." Eliwood smirked and nodded, signaling Mark to continue.

"Anyway after I was proficient with the dagger, and grew up a little, my father began to train me to be a mercenary. He taught he taught me the basics of bows, axes, and lances, basic survival skills, and some standard tactics. But the majority or my training was in swordsmanship. By the time I was 15 I started joining my father on missions and I was a full-fledged mercenary. We traveled together, fighting side-by-side for about 2 years." Mark ran his hand through his hair and sighed, "Then my father was killed and it all came crashing down."

Eliwood leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, "What happened?"

Mark took a deep breath, "We were in a farming town in northwest section of Etruria. Nothing was very special about the village; we just needed a place to stay for a bit between missions. One night though, the village became a target, and we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time…"

As the sounds of metal clashing, burning wood, and screaming villagers filled the air of the small Etruian borough, Mark tried his best to block out all of the chaos surrounding him and focus on his objective: find as many villagers he can and get them the hell out of here. Having already lead several families away from the raiders, Mark continued to dash from house to house, with his sword in hand, looking for any lingering village people unable to escape their homes during the bandit assault.

Slashing though a few unskilled brigands still wandering the streets looking for their plunder, Mark noticed the door of the house on the end of the street was bashed open with an axe. Knowing he hadn't been to that house yet, Mark sprinted to the open door while silently praying that he wasn't too late.

He pushed through the threshold of the doorway and saw the body of man lying to left of the entrance. He looked to the right and saw a woman huddled up in the far corner of the house, holding a young child in her arms as an axe wielding man lumbered towards them. The young mercenary hurried towards the bandit.

"Oh don't worry lil' boy. I'll take real good care of your mum. Be real gentle and everythi-AAAHH!" The lecherous tone of his voiced was silenced by the blade erupting through his chest. He fell to the ground in a heap after Mark slid his sword out of the body.

Mark stepped over the felled bandit and held out his hand to the trembling woman and her child. "It's okay. I'm here to get you out of here. Please, we have to hurry."

Still shocked from the all that transpired in front of her, The woman hesitated for a moment but still took Mark's hand while holding her quivering son in her other hand. Mark led the mother and son back up the dirt road to the rest of the surviving villagers.

Mark was still dealing with the shock of all that had happened as well. What started as a peaceful night in the small farming village, turned into a nightmare beyond anyone's belief. The limited Etrurian military presence was easily overwhelmed by the invading bandits. The surviving soldiers worked as best they could to evacuate the village of as many innocents as possible. Isaac and Mark were in the local tavern, preparing for sleep when the first screams were heard from dying townsfolk. The mercenaries immediately sprang into action to protect the people inside the tavern. Coordinating with the remaining Etruian soldiers, Isaac and Mark began evacuating the nearby houses and taking them to the outskirts of the town, knowing the bandits were much more interested in the goods left in the town. There, the remaining Eturian soldiers would escort them to the nearest military outpost where they would stay until further notice.

Mark continued to lead the two townspeople up the secluded road until they met the rest of the convoy, one that consisted of too few people in Mark's eyes. Seeing his father conversing with one of the soldiers, Mark let go of the woman's hand and she tearfully embraced Mark mumbling as many thanks as she could for saving her and her son's lives. As she assimilated with the rest of the surviving villagers, Mark turned towards his father who had finished his conversation with the soldier and was walking towards his son.

Isaac gave an approving nod and placed his hand on Mark's shoulder, "Is that the last of them?"

"I think so," Mark said as he looked down at the dirt.

As if he could read is son's mind, Isaac went on, "I know it's not as many as we'd like but we saved as many as we could. That is something. Don't let things out your control take away from the positives. We saved innocent lives today. Don't forget that."

Mark nodded but didn't take his eyes off his feet.

Isaac let go of his son's shoulder and looked back towards the burning village, "I'm going back to do a final sweep for any stragglers. I just finished talking with the Colonel and told them to start heading towards the base. I need you to go with them."

Mark snapped his head back up to look at his father, "What! You can't go back there yourself! What if you get ambushed or stuck in a burning bulidi-"

"Mark!" Isaac snapped. Mark stayed silent except for his heavy breathing. "This is not up for debate. I need you to stay with the soldiers in case the bandits follow them. Don't worry I can handle myself. Go back with the others. That's an order." The older mercenary began jogging back towards the burning buildings while Mark stayed still, staring at his father and clenching his fists.

Isaac turned around one last time and shouted, "Go! I'll catch up!" before continuing down the path.

Mark stood and watched Isaac re-enter the village, rooted to the dirt while he contemplated his next move. He knew it was more likely for his father to find too much trouble than he can handle than it was for the bandits to follow the group of villagers. But disobeying a direct order from his father was not something he could take lightly. He had been trained his whole life to follow his father's orders and never thought twice about it before. He contemplated the consequences for a few more moments before making his final decision. He ran back towards the convoy and went straight to the Colonel.

"I'm going with my father. Go. We'll catch up." Before the commanding officer could protest, Mark raced away back towards the town, his father already several minutes ahead of him.

Dashing though the streets, lined with bodies of villagers and bandits alike, Mark looked for signs of his father, knowing just shouting his name would only bring him unwanted attention. As he neared the town square, He began to hear the sound of clashing swords. Putting all his strength in his legs, Mark barreled toward the fighting.

Mark rounded a corner and found his father locked in a duel with a behemoth of a man. He stood a full head taller than Isaac, arms the size of tree trunks. He wore red clothes with spiked pauldrons, steel gauntlets, and a leather chest guard. He wielded a heavy claymore that Mark knew he would have no chance of wielding. A handful of bandits stood several yards behind the giant, observing the battle as well. Mark stayed hiding behind the wall to avoid being seen by the other bandits, and continued to watch the duel.

The giant man swung his sword across his body causing Isaac to jump back. Mark could tell that the giant was using his superior reach to keep Isaac at bay. The veteran mercenary weaved to the side, avoiding a downward slash, dug the balls of his feet in the ground, and lunged forward, poised to stab the brute in his chest. The bandit reacted quickly dropping his sword, blocking Isaac's sword with his left gauntlet and drove his right arm into Isaac's side. The blow sent the mercenary away from the bandit, landing in a heap several feet away from his opponent.

"Father!" Mark shouted, rushing over to Isaac's aid.

Isaac scrambled to his feet as his son ran towards him, "Mark, what the hell are you doing here?"

Before Mark could answer a deep laughter filled the air that caused both Mark and Isaac to turn to the colossal bandit. "Hehe well who's this then? This ya boy 'Zac? I never knew you had a kid."

Isaac snarled as Mark looked at back at to him, confused, "Father, who is he?"

Isaac tried to answer, but the bandit answered first, "The name's Ragnar and you better get used to it. Pretty soon the whole continent will fear my name."

"Keep dreaming Rangar. You're a fool if you think you can unite the bandit clans," Isaac responded, readying his sword for his next assault.

"Oh it's no dream. I've already gotten more than a dozen bandit clans to submit to my rule. It's only a matter of time before every bandit in Elibe is under my rule," Ragnar bent down to regain his dropped blade from the dirt and point the tip at Isaac, "And no one is gonna stop me."

"Mark," Isaac stated without taking his eyes off Ragnar, "You won't stand a chance against Ragnar. If we would attack together you would only be a liability. Stay back."

The young mercenary wanted to protest but he could tell from his father's tone that this was an order. Having already disobeyed one of his father's orders today, Mark silently stepped back and tightened his grip on the sheathed sword strapped to his hip.

The two combatants charged at each other. Ragnar brought his sword back and swung across his body, aiming to cut his opponent in half. Isaac saw his attack and dropped one knee to slide on the dirt, under the swinging blade. The mercenary held out his sword as he slid, hoping to clip the bandit's shins. Ragnar recognized this and jumped to avoid the coming slash. As soon as he landed, Ragnar spun to see Isaac dig his foot into the ground, using his momentum to nimbly spring himself back up a standing position. The mercenary tuned and re-engaged his opponent.

The duel continued in a flurry of trusts, slashes, parries, and dodges showing the skill both men possessed. Mark stood back and watched the whole fight, analyzing each and every move. Isaac had always praised his son for his exceptional perception and urged Mark to exercise it every chance he had. Mark immediately identified Ragar's weakness: his speed or, more accurately, his lack thereof. Unfortunately for Isaac, he wasn't fast enough to take advantage of this due to his age as well as Ragnar's superior size keeping him at a distance. It seemed only Isaac's experience and pure skill was keeping him in the fight causing a sinking feeling to grow in Mark's stomach. There was a very good change that Isaac would lose this fight.

The duel raged on as Mark internally panicked. He racked is brain to think of a way to help his father, but his father wasn't lying when he said Mark had no chance against the brutish bandit. While he could tell that he was faster than Ragnar, he had a disadvantage in size, strength, experience, and every other conceivable factor Mark could think of. He really would just get in the way.

Isaac ducked to avoid a high horizontal slash from his opponent. Ragnar recovered quickly and swung his blade with all his might. He aimed his slash lower than the last, forcing Isaac to block the strike with his own sword. The blow was too strong for Isaac to handle causing him to lose his balance to fall on his back. The veteran mercenary saw Ragnar preparing a downward stab and quickly rolled away from the bandit. Ragnar stopped himself form stabbing the ground and advanced toward the mercenary as he lifted himself from the dirt. He reared his sword back and prepared to thrust it forward into his opponent's abdomen.

Before Isaac could lift his head to face his opponent, pain erupted from his stomach. Noticing the large blade protruding through his stomach, He lifted his head and saw Ragnar's toothy grin barely a foot from his own face. The pain felt as if it was subsiding as Isaac's world began to fade. He prayed to St. Elimine, asking her to let Mark escape alive from this ordeal, as he took his final breath. His pupils receded into his skull and Isaac of Ilia was no more.

"Nooo!" Mark screamed as he drew his sword and began charging his father's killer. All the analyzing and tactics were propelled out of Mark's brain and was replaced with searing rage.

Ragnar looked to the approaching boy and casually began to slide his sword back out of Isaac's body, allowing the dead weight to fall to dirt with a thud. He returned his attention to Mark and saw the young mercenary leaping at him, sword held high. The bandit swung his arm and slammed Mark in the stomach, knocking the wind out of the young mercenary and sending him aside.

Mark landed hard on his back as he struggled to regain his breath. He could hear the slow, heavy footsteps of the self-proclaimed bandit king coming closer. Before he could lift himself up, Mark felt his sword being kicked out of his hand and large fist grabbing a handful of his collar.

Being lifted off the ground, Mark's unfocused gaze met the grin of Ragnar. "This is only the beginnin', boy. My ranks grow every day and soon even the continent's militaries won't stand a chance against my hordes."

Mark tried to speak but only a cough escaped his lips. Ragnar chuckled and turned his head so that his ear mockingly faced Mark, "What was that, boy? Didn't get that."

Finally gaining his breath, Mark growled, "I will kill you."

Ragnar erupted into a deep belly laugh and turned to his fellow bandits who followed suit. "You? Kill me? Haha you've got spirit kid I'll give you that. But as you can see," Ragnar theatrically waved his arm back toward Isaac's body, "you are no threat to me. In fact, I'm not even gonna waste the energy to kill you."

The bandit tightened his grip on Mark's collar and lifted him a little higher, "You can be my messenger. Tell the world of my impending rule. Soon they'll be powerless to stop it."

Mark watched Ragnar rear his fist back and violently slammed it into his face. Everything went black before he could feel any pain from the punch.

A/N: I started this thinking it would be a one shot, but it got a little long for me so I broke it up into two parts. Don't worry, I have the second part fully written and I will post it in a week. I want give it a chance to breath a bit and see how well it's received. Should I get a lot of reviews, I'll post the second part a little earlier. So review.

One thing before I go: You'll notice I named the tactician 'Mark'. This was not for my benefit but for yours (my name's not Mark. My name's Dan). It's his default name and it's something we can all agree on. I don't know about anyone else but for me, when people name the tactician something made up that I have no idea how to pronounce, it's a real turn off and it makes it harder for me to enjoy that story. So if you're currently writing a story with the tactician (Awakening included) consider this my personal plea to you: Please just name your tactician Mark. If you don't like the name Mark, fine then name him Chris, Robin, Dan, any common name, or even just a name that actually exists. At the very least, make it something that's easy to pronounce. Also if you do make up a name, make it 2 syllables or less. If you think about it most male names have 2 or less syllables. (i.e. Mark, Hec-tor, Cor-mag, Ra-ven, Os-win, Ike, Chrom, Fred-rick, Hen-ry, O-wain, ect.) Please. It will make your story so much more readable.

Alright that's it for now. Remember to review and tune in next week for the trilling conclusion of Stories of the Past.