Fire Emblem: The Blazing Swords

by F-14 Tomcat Lover

A young woman finds a young man upon the plains. Neither realizing what fate has in store for them. With swords alight by the fire of their determination, they are joined by others and together with two lords, end a threat that can be scarcely imagined. A tale retold through history... The Tale of the Peerless Swordswoman and her All Seeing Tactician.

Fire Emblem

The Blazing Swords

Prologue I

The Boy of Maps

The horns blew loud as a shadow slipped through the night. A quick turn here and slip there and by the moving light did the shadow go unnoticed. The sound of metal against metal, shaking from chain mail and the rattle of plate echoed with the sound of armored feet upon stone and earth. One loud and grating, the other muted but strong.

The shadow slipped successfully away from it all. Using the aging structure as a means, the shadow quickly and ably ascended the old stone work of the walls. Taking little time, it found a zipper and with a gentle push, was right back where it started. Slipping into the room of the started Queen who could only smile as the shadow replaced the afterthought wall and sealed it well to hide it from inside and out.

"Are all young cadets this able?" the Queen of Bern, Hellene of Le Troye remarked with a smile and a laugh upon her radiant features. Her body barely hidden by the see through material of some foreign land. She may have been old enough to be the cadet's mother, but the passage of time had been kind and merciful to the woman.

Unfitting his pants, the cadet only smiled as drew in close to his Queen and the woman parted her own cloth for him to easily and gently…

XXXX

Eyes blinked as consciousness came back. Feeling the weight of pain and exhaustion, the armored form groaned as he heaved a massive corpse from atop him and managed to roll himself over to get hands and knees beneath him.

Up he rose to a sight that made him wish he was either still unconscious or even dead…

XXXX

The horns blew loud as smoke choked the sky. Flames reached high into the sky, burning all that they touched. The landscape was one of barren misery of overturned brown mud and dark earth from deep beneath. The waterways ran red as dark as the night sky itself. Once great walls, purest of white, were stained evermore black. Sparkling spires now ruined, collapsed into upon themselves or fallen over. Dark specks could be found far and wide. The remains of men, women, and children.

The city had fallen.

An ancient city, long left alone by the central crown. Never molested by the surrounding powers. It was an important site for trade and education. No one would dare attack it. Especially since it was sacred as the birthplace of their first and greatest king.

Now Zilum, Birthplace of King Hartmut the Founder of Bern, lay ruined. The great buildings, many ancient and irreplaceable, burned or had fallen in battle. Great academies, ancient libraries, and ageless centers of scholars and students now stood empty as crypts and the many bodies made that so. For these were the places that the people ran to for safety. Only to be slaughtered.

Great forges and once bustling marketplaces were now lost to the sands of time. The once constant pounding of metal by hammer and the calls of vendors and bustle of buyers and merchants were not replaced by the crackle and roaring of flames. Deathly still and quiet, the stripped bodies lay.

The great parade fields where the city guard once mustered often joined by the Steward Guard, Fountain Guard, Tower Watch, and Eternal Centurions was filled full of bodies, some already aflame as the once green grass and white paved grounds were turned to brown and stained with darkened blood.

A lone survivor, badly wounded tried to crawl away. Clutching a terrible, but recoverable wound, the Eternal Centurion, in his heavy layered plate mail and sallet helmet with long neck guard tried to use his other hand to hold himself up and push with both legs. He had not far to go and he would likely make an escape route and hopefully have time to close the wound and make to safety.

But a shadow suddenly and swiftly fell over him and before he could draw his short sword from its sheath, a massive clawed foot land on him, crushing him even as he let a curse be his last words.

Emblazoned with the symbol of the Kingdom of Bern, the two red stripes ran diagonally from left up to right down with a third black stripe between the two red. On the black stripe was the Red Wyvern of Bern. This was the royal symbol that came to define Bern's national banner.

Beneath the now dead Eternal Centurion was a similar flag. Its design was the same, but it was colored blue and red with the Blue Wyvern of Bern of the past. A sign as any other to the symbol of the Hartmut the Founder who, as legend says, chose it in remembrance of a fair dragon maid.

The King's Army of the Arre River gathered the bounty they had looted from the city. As clouds rolled in and rain began to fall, the soldiers all winced even as thunder tolled in the distance. Not to the thunder did they wince, but to their silent lord.

And the bloody end of a prisoner told how ill-tempered the Archduke had suddenly become.

Men withdrew from women captured in battle and began to clean and redress. More than one woman merely fell limp to the ground, minds shattered beyond recovery. Others fell with flowing blood from fatal stabs. Some were beheaded to hang or be piked. Some women were piked through their bodies as more were hung.

They were told to leave no survivors. No one to tell the tale of the city evermore. Such was the decree of the King of Bern.

"The King is mad, is he not?" one general overheard two men speaking.

"Aye I agree," the other looked over the desolation they had wrought, before shaking his head and continuing, "I tell ye here and now, the Gods shall forsake us for wrongdoing," he waved a finger before his fellow to make his point, "No matter or number of prayer will save our souls for what we have done."

"Be mindful you two," the general had quickly stepped over to the men, "Least ye lose your heads and your families suffer for treason."

The three then looked over as the Archduke of Rychbach pulled a young lady in close. He seemed to say something that made her relax and that was when he struck. Easily he beheaded her, holding up her head as blood fell upon her fallen corpse. With a wicked smile, he promptly kissed the lips for a long few moments.

All about the Archduke, his officers held in their true feelings. For King had ordered and so it would be carried out. But that did not mean they had to like it. They would secretly see to it that the Holy Church learned of this deed and the Archduke Rychbach would pay for his crime.

Only the personal guards showed true indifference. They themselves often did things best left unsaid by any man. And for good reason.

If the man wished to remain sane and alive.

As the Archduke pulled away, he smiled to his officers. His lips and teeth coated in blood as he dropped the head unceremoniously to the ground, next to the corpse it had belonged to in the living. Stepping forward and not paying much attention to the bodies that lay before him as he walked on them, the Archduke made ready to speak to one officer that he did not know and showed what he thought of the man's actions.

But as the thunder split the sky, one bolt came in and only long ingrained senses told the Archduke as he barely escaped death that tore open the ground.

"There is a survivor!" the Archduke Rychbach shouted in a calm, loud voice that betrayed that someone was going to die. "Find him and kill him and the one who does, will not die!"

Before the assembled officers could go off and kill the survivor, an arrow shaft of four feet length killed a Rychbach Rose Guardsman. Punching through the man's helmet, it went through the head and punched out the back of the helmet, instantly killing the man.

"Where did that come from?!" someone shouted as the Guardsmen began to form a loose barrier around the Archduke and raise their shields to protect him.

For all the good it did as another fell another arrow entered through a weak joint between his helmet and neck guard.

"THERE!" an officer had seen where the arrow had been sent from. A still largely intact tower. Gaping holes showed the inside and there was extensive damage to the exterior. But still it stood and defiant.

A third arrow slew another Rose Guardsman. This time, everyone saw it had flown from that tower. So the order went out to clear and capture that standing tower.

Light, foot soldiers with simple shields and spears charged towards the tower area. Fighters with axes and mercenaries with swords charged as well. A few archers also let loose with a volley to hopefully suppress the archer or archers and perhaps anyone else inside of the tower.

XXXX

The survivor chuckled as he saw the enemy come running. His shots had drawn such attention that horns filled the air and a poorly aimed catapult missed his hiding spot. Wyverns were mysteriously no longer filling the air and so he had to take care as he moved about.

Yet, a band of survivors could be seen. They were now easily escaping now that he was the focus of attention. Thus, it was worth it.

XXXX

As the men charged down a passageway, running up damaged and blood slick stairs, they failed to note the trip wires. They were well placed and not set to immediately be tripped easily. As such, the men continued to run down the passageway missing that not all of the blood was actually blood either. Then one of the men, leading the way, tripped one more wire, the main wire.

There had only been the slightest warning, for those close enough to see it and hear it.

XXXX

The explosion was deafening. The gout of flames shot out of any means of passage and exit. Whether by construction or destruction, the flames exiting much like a fire drake's breath. The Archduke Rychbach looked on without a flinch as an entire passageway was filled with fire. The screaming men who weren't immediately incinerated died as their living bodies were immolated. The few survivors rolling pitifully in an attempt to put themselves out as they were ignored by their fellows who sought a means to the tower.

The Archduke Rychbach ignored all else as he waited, calmly moving to a new spot to observe all around him. Something telling him of the danger that who set the trap could bring. It was a brilliant means to draw attention. But he had that covered. The Wyvern Knights would see to it.

But little did he know, the Wyvern Knights he had brought, had deserted to the last. As such, there was no one to stop the groups of survivors now escaping him. The Archduke and others like him, had caused them to lose faith and forsake their oaths to those who abandon their duties.

Even many of the hired mercenaries, many having served for years the Army of Arre River, had deserted. They had seen the madness that was wrought upon villages, towns, and now a great city. Few will show further loyalty. They left with disgust and plans for employ far from Bern.

And not all planned to continue with the sword when they sought new work for themselves.

Tumbling barrels was all the warning that was given and for many, it was plentiful. Yet, the barrels, upon arriving where the Archduke Rychbach stood, shattered showing little content in them. Some even had simple water.

But they did cover the approach of the lone survivor who dropped from above, a damaged warhammer crushing the head of another Rychbach Rose Guardsman. Before the nearest two could react, which was faster than what one might think of such heavily armored knights, a fifth man was killed and the sixth repelled at the cost of the hammer's head flying off.

Barrels continued to roll from a storage area on higher ground.

With the shaft of the broken hammer in hand, the armored defender thrust forward and stabbed a man-at-arms in the neck. He then grabbed the man's Steel Lance and kicked the body away, sending into another man-at-arms.

With a deft spin, the defender fended off three more men-at-arms and a dismounted cavalier. The butt of the lance then found another Rose Guardsman in the side of the head, before the head of the lance itself buried itself tightly in the sergeant of guardsman detachment, killing him instantly.

Releasing the entrapped weapon, the armored defender barely avoided one of his own barrels. Taking a chance, he looked around and saw that all of his enemies were either preoccupied dodging the barrels he had released, being hit and often killed by them, or were finding that this particular stonework was never used during the rains as they slipped and fell, usually with consequences.

Except for the Archduke Rychbach who easily batted two empty barrels aside and forcibly threw one of his officers into another, smashing it. He easily walked across the slick stone to his opponent, noting his feet were cloth covered on the bottom rather than iron covered. It was easy for the Bernese nobleman to conclude that his opponent would have an easier time keeping his feet beneath him than any of his own men.

"Too shame that you would be a dog that must be put down," the Archduke drew out his Silver Lance and barely brought both lance and shield to form a barrier as his opponent threw a strong burst of fire magic at him.

"I believe you are mistaken cur," the young voice surprised several men nearby. It was a voice of someone scarcely in his teens. Quite young to be so able a man.

"No dog, I do not mistake. For your time is near and your victory a fleeting dream as shall your life be," the Archduke stood up and carefully peeked between his instruments to carefully eye and size up his opponent, "A tactician, though, and so young. I admit to being surprised. But mayhap you be the Queen's-"

A barrel was barely swatted away. That one had been heavier and the contents had proven to be wine. It was then, that the Archduke realized that not all of the barrels had been empty or partially full of water. It explained why he saw some men struggle when hit or were crushed outright.

The crashing of a sword against his shield and he looked to see the young face of the tactician who had entrapped them both.

"Fool," was all the tactician said before sliding his sword and revealing that they stood next to an open barrel of explosive sawdust which filled the air like a low hanging cloud.

XXXX

The explosion at the northwest end of Zilum was not particularly noteworthy, but it was still spectacular as a spear of fire reached for the heavens. Dark clouds formed as the leaders of the attack fled from the fires that separated them and sowed confusion. The fires following the paths of oil and wine and soon men were fleeing in every point of the compass.

The Army of the Arre River was left reeling, even as the Archduke of Rychbach appeared from the flames, fully engulfed in fire. He screamed with a voice unholy as he burned and cooked within his own armor. His family seal quickly reducing to shreds of burning ash, he dropped to his knees, still screaming before a flaming barrel of oil rolled out of the smoke and crashed into him with a roaring explosion.

The more lightly armored tactician was not seen again. Only a piece of his right shoulder armor was found, lodged within stonework well away from the center of the blast. Likely torn and hurled from his body by the force of the initial explosion. There was no sign of the young man, more than likely a mere cadet. He had clearly met his end slaying the monster that was the commander of the Army of the Arre River.

XXXX

Some time later, perhaps day or more later, the tactician pulled his battered form from the river he was in. Coughing blood and water, he weakly and pitifully pulled his body from the running waters. A struggle that his wounded form cared not to do and his conscious, fading in and out, was prepared to abandon.

But his strong sense of loyalty refused to let him be felled. His comrades were dead and those alive needed answers. Inside his freezing body, fire burned, keeping him warm enough to fight off death by cold. He would live, he even heard them, his comrades, telling him to live.

And live he will.

For the King of Bern had demanded their deaths. If he died, the madman won. If he lived, the madman would be the maker of his own demise. It was that simple, though the journey would undoubtedly not be.

Pulling his weakened self free of the river and dragging a traveling pack ensnared on his right ankle from the water as well, the young tactician knew he had graduated from cadet to a realized warrior.

Not the way it should have been, but one that said that no longer did he learn from books. He would now learn from experience he will gain with time. That will be the factor henceforth, not an instructor's lessons or a teacher's lectures. He will be doing it for real from now on.

He groaned with annoyance at how the other way was so much more preferable to this form of graduation.

"The Sister's girdle!" he cursed as he pulled his ankle as close as he could to his hands and began to work the entangled straps free, also, keenly observing his surroundings and discovering, much to his dismay, "The Plains. By the Blessed Sister's-" he bit back before he could say a curse he did not wish to say lest he invite even more misfortune to himself.

The tactician, nevertheless, spoke some strong words that would have landed him in more than enough trouble had anyone heard him. Some of the words were something to make a sailor either proud or blush, the same of a miner or lumberjack. He knew his location well enough, having seen it from afar while taking class trips to observe the lands around their country.

"The thrice be damned Sacae Plains," the tactician knew what that meant.

Bernese and Sacaeans rarely got along. Starting some two, three, or perhaps four centuries after The Scouring, the great war with the dragons, both countries had ended up in war more often than not. Though the people of Sacae could be honorable and noble, such was not all the truth all the time. Indeed, powerful khans had managed to gather large enough armies to actually invade and run wild in Bern on more than a dozen occasions.

But at the same time, Bern has many times attempted to subjugate Sacae as well.

So many conflicts, so many deaths. It bothered him little. Borders had changed, the continent over many times, but they roughly stayed the same for long stretches. Such was the history of the life and so he cared little for it most of the time.

This time, he was unsure if it was a curse or blessing.

"Worry later," he muttered, removing his helmet and dropping it.

His long copper blonde hair fell free. He never liked it being long, but all cadets were required to have long hair. They were told it would help them rise early enough to treat and care for it and thus prepare them for the hardships of the field.

That and it was said the real reason was that when a skilled young woman joined to learn had to defend her home, she had cut her hair in order to hide her gender in a time when women were kept strictly at home. Only, later on, she had been caught when her body began to act through one of her processes.

Long ago, women with short hair were branded as heretics, the reasoning always eluding his classmates and himself.

But then the headmaster had stepped in. He quietly removed her from her cell and hid her among her friends who grew their hair long. They then dressed as women and tried several times to smuggle her out of the city. Each time they failed, but loyalty and friendship were rewarded when inquisitors attempted to track them down, only to find all of the students had grown their hair long.

The Patris Bishop of the St. Elimine Church at the time then learned of what was happening. Long had he come to question what many said about a woman's place. He had pointed out to the Church's very founder and to other women who stood tall and proud. By his own order, he called all of the High Bishops and High Cardinals together and the Second St. Elimine Reformation was announced.

Now, the young man knew that history. The Patris would live a long enough life, the tactician recalling he had been blessed to live 127 years, to name the Second Mater Bishop, who had been a woman of 37 years herself. The First Mater Bishop was obviously St. Elimine herself. So the title of a second was used. Since then, there had been more Maters than Patris Bishops.

There had also been the Mater-Patris War, where hardline conservatives had tried to maintain the time prior to the Second St. Elimine Reformation. They had clearly failed since women were more common beyond the home and the current Mater Bishop was considered the youngest of all, at the age of merely 24 years, having entered the Church as a young orphan, she had risen fast.

Which did nothing really to help him with his long hair. He grumbled about it, but he would ignore for now. He had to first get ready and then he could reduce it in size.

Grumbling as he pulled at a few straps and found his armor was simply ready to fall apart. He found himself missing his right shoulder pauldron and that some of his hip skirt armor was bent. A pull on one strap and he cursed as his chest plate fell onto his left knee. The back plate also fell where he poked himself in the back on it, eliciting another curse before he began to remove all that was left.

Once divested of his armor, he removed his under suit which was so waterlogged, it felt like he was trying to remove a whole bale of wool!

His underclothes had followed next as he pulled out the short sword attached to the traveling pack. His own sword was likely lost back in the city. But even so, this nameless Bronze Short Sword would do as he recited the Poem of Graduation and cut his hair to a shorter length. Now, instead of reaching his rear, it sat about the between his shoulder blades. Only when he was recognized as a true tactician would he reduce it to a shorter length.

Then he was pulling open the traveling pack. From the clothes and items, he discerned some peddler likely had owned the pack originally. The blood stains that had been largely washed away also indicated the owner had no more need of it.

At least that's what the tactician thought.

The clothing articles were roughly his size as well. Notably, he raised an eyebrow at the fact it was a Sacaean peddler. Though, from the patterns on the clothes and pack, he guessed the peddler was a townsman, not a plainsman. The cut of the cloth seemed to indicate that highly, yet the stitching indicated something else altogether.

Curious that.

"Here we go!" he pulled out the original owner's underclothes. Not much different from his own. Though he felt some hesitance at putting on another man's underclothes, the tactician simply shrugged and figured the original owner wouldn't need them anymore, so he put them on. Then he pulled on the leggings of the man. Sure enough, the man was likely a townsman, but also from a plains tribe. That told the tactician he spent a considerable amount of time doing business on his tribe's behalf.

"And that means traveling about," the tactician stated aloud as he pulled on the socks. Thankfully, all of the contents of the pack had been bound tightly beneath water resistant canvas and leather. The man had likely been a continental traveler at times. Explained why he had been in Zilum.

Pulling on the boots and then putting the shirts and coat on, fixing the bandanna to keep his eyes clear of his wet hair, he was soon ready.

Turning to his ruined armor, he gave a sigh and went through his things. Very little was salvageable. Some trinkets from the city and his fellows. He pulled out a basic tome for fire magic, likely grabbing the wrong tome on the way to battle by accident. A spyglass, a couple of maps, which were useless this far from Zilum, and a purse of coin that had caught on his armor.

With a sigh, the tactician stacked the armor up and placed his severed hair upon it. In all likelihood, he'd never see any of it again. It was saddening, but he knew he couldn't carry it as it stood.

He was still fighting to keep his eyes opened and focused.

Next, going through the traveler's pack, the tactician found maps, including maps of Sacae, some food, a canteen of water, some peddler's items, and some other knick knacks. Frankly, not a whole lot to care about.

Yet he carefully packed everything away back into the pack. Then, sheathing the sword and securing the tome, he grabbed the pack and pulled it onto his back. Thankfully, a walking stick was available, even it was just a tree branch.

A tree branch that suddenly moved and lunged back at him.

"SNAKE!" the tactician's focus and sight were weakened so bad as to not recognize a snake approaching him.

A quick bite occurred on his arm and he let out a painful scream as his arm suddenly felt on fire as a numbness began to join it.

"Dammit!" he swore as the sword appeared and he cut the snake in two.

"Dammit!" he cursed again as he pulling the snake from his arm and began to wobble. "That kind, Fire Sleep, doesn't travel alone."

And sure enough, several other snakes slithered into view, but he called up his magic and was able to burn all, but one away. That last one bit him again in the chest before he could slice it in half.

"Damn you!" he pulled the head away and threw it. "Dammit!" was all he could say though.

He grew weak as he held his sword and began to wander forward. He needed help and death would have him soon. It was something he had to defeat. He could not die.

But the sun was setting and his injuries and the two snakes' poison in him…

He collapsed, he knew that much.

"So…" his vision losing context and form, "Do I die?"

At that moment, he thought he heard a girl's voice. Thought he saw several about him. He thought he might just be dead. Until…

"Are you awake?"

A beauty asked him of him, such a simple question.

XXXX

My first Fire Emblem story!

This one has been sitting on the backburner for a while. So I decided to finish it and send it out. It was already largely finished. Just needed some minor details ironed out.

For those who know the franchise, yes, this is The Blazing Sword or Rekka no Ken. But there will be influence from other games of the franchise as well. Such as our hero using a Bronze Sword which didn't appear until Fire Emblem Awakening, more than a decade later.

We also get to see a different type of hero. A military cadet from Bern and having been up to something a lot different than most might think. We see a few things added and a somewhat different take on the mysterious Tactician. Hopefully, things will work out.

I will be announcing I have a stand alone Fire Emblem story in the planning stages. I've been speaking with some other writers about a potential new story. There might be some cameos, but unlikely. The story will definitely be different.