Author's Note: A oneshot that I've had in mind for quite some time, but haven't had time to type up until now. I had to finish my other full length story first, and then I got caught up in school, because I just started my first year of college! Oh well, it's here now and I have tons of oneshots backed up to do after this :D

Obviously there are spoilers ahead, so if you haven't finished the game you may not want to read further. This takes place after the Beaver Lodge attack, but before the prince and the others go to Nirva Island to intercept the Island Nations ambassador. I've named the army the Dauntless Army.

I don't own Suikoden V or any of the characters, as upsetting as that is. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit fun ^_^. Anyway, on with the story! Enjoy!

Fatal Flaw

By Angel Wings-008

Prince Freyjadour Falenas sat at the small worktable in his room, forcing himself to at least attempt to focus on the reports in front of him. It seemed that the harder he tried, the harder it became. Of course, the fact that he had hardly slept at all for three days straight could have something to do with it. Or maybe it was due to the violent migraine pounding in his eardrums.

Frey reached up to rub his eyes, resting his head in his hand for a few moments more. He knew he should sleep, yet somehow whenever he tried the faces of everyone he'd failed flashed through his mind in an unstoppable barrage, bombarding him with images that tormented him. Sighing, he slumped a little more in the desk chair. It was all the more sad that these faces that once filled him with strength and hope, now filled him with shame.

His father, standing confident and strong; his mother, benevolent and warm. His sister, so loving and full of life. He had failed them… was still failing them, whenever his people had a reason to cry out in pain. Every tear shed from a child's eyes, every droplet of blood that fell to the ground in his name, was yet another mark on his tarnished soul. He'd never been good enough. He never would be.

Stay strong, he always told himself. Things will be better. I'll fight to the end. But sometimes, the futility of it all struck him hard and hit him where it hurt. Fight? For what? Why was this happening in the first place? All of this destruction wrought upon his home, and for what? A single rune? It was so ridiculously pointless, he felt like screaming. No one should hold the power of the sun itself…no one in this world could or should handle that.

It seemed a bit childish to him to wallow in misery when there was work to be done, even as these thoughts ran through his head, but he couldn't stop them from coming even if he tried to. He wished there was a way to change what couldn't be changed. He wished he could go back to stop those Godwins where they'd stood, wearing sly grins that hid their true intent. If he'd died in the process, then so be it. The thousands of lives that had been lost already were worth far more than his ever could be.

Slowly he lifted his head, then blinked rapidly, trying to unscramble the blurry jumble of words on the page he'd been attempting to read. He sighed as he looked away from the table, at the same time telling himself that he needed to press on no matter what. If he couldn't even absorb what was in front of him right now, what was the use of anything he'd been doing lately? The irony of it almost hurt. Everything made him feel so helpless these days, even something as mundane as reports of supply convoy activities. It wasn't enough. He had to do more! Beaver Lodge was still trying to rebuild what they'd lost and many needed medical care. He'd picked through the charred remains of some of the buildings himself, searching for lost relatives and treasured keepsakes. There were a few people who had escaped into Sable from Armes, thieves to be taken care of in Estrise, the reconstruction of Lelcar. Every cause was important…he had to do more. He had to help them.

Disgusted, he pushed the barely touched tray of food that Lyon had brought hours before, farther away from him. What a mess; he couldn't even eat. They'd had a good string of victories going for them lately, and for that he was grateful, but did it matter? With each passing day, Lym's coronation drew closer and close, and every second of it brought him closer to the edge.

Feeling weak, he let his head slump onto the table and shivered briefly, though it wasn't from the cold. What would they think if they could see him now? He couldn't even hold himself together. How was he to hold a country together?

So immersed was he in his miserable thoughts, he didn't notice someone had come in until he felt a gentle touch upon his shoulder.

"Prince, are you alright? You look sick," Lyon said, frowning as she stared into his face with a concerned expression.

"Oh, Lyon. Sorry, I was just distracted, that's all. I'm okay," he replied, feeling just about anything but okay. His head was spinning, felt as if it were on fire, and he was so dizzy he was glad he hadn't really eaten anything today. If he had, chances were, he'd be throwing it up.

The Queen's Knight apprentice, not fooled for a second, gave him a stern look that reminded him of an angry mother. Or lover.

Ha. In his dreams, maybe. Lyon was everything he would never deserve.

"Look at this, you've hardly touched your food, and that report is the same one you were staring at when I came in an hour ago. Prince, I understand you're trying to do everything you can, but you're overextending your reach. There is such a thing as trying too hard," she told him, in that gentle yet stern way only she could properly pull off. Some part of his mind acknowledged she was right; another part rebelled and screamed, No! His own mind seemed to mock him.

You can't even read a report…worthless. You're worthless.

He turned away, but he knew it didn't matter; she'd seen the utter desolation in his eyes. Lyon took him by both shoulders and turned him toward her, sorrow that now mirrored his own reflected in her beautiful, deep purple eyes. "You need to rest. You'll feel better if you just take some time for yourself, just to think things through. I know that's what you need. I'll help you, I promise. Nothing is too much for us to overcome when we're together," she finished softly, almost shyly. Even in his present state, it warmed his heart.

"I'll cancel that meeting with Lucretia, she'll understand. I need to go get Doctor Silva though, so you stay put, okay? Let my help you to bed," she said, sounding alarmed and grabbing his arm when he tried to stand up. He must look even worse than he felt if his bodyguard didn't think he could even walk on his own.

Frey began to shake his head, stopping when it made him feel even worse, and took a few steps toward the door, undeterred. "I can at least get through one meeting with my tactician without messing it up, I assure you," he snapped, immediately regretting it. He was feeling hot, bothered, and irritated at everything, and he was lashing out at Lyon for it. Fantastic. Now he was a jerk on top of everything else.

She looked slightly hurt and a little confused by his statement, as if she didn't understand why he'd said that. "That's not what I meant at all, it's just that you're in no condition to go anywhere. You can't even stand without stumbling."

"Watch me," he replied, moving closer to the doorway. His walk was unsteady, his vision clouded, but he refused to give in. If he couldn't even walk on his own to sit at a meeting with his tactician, what right did he have to lead the Dauntless Army? What right did he have to call himself the Prince of Falena when he had failed her so? His mind was going in circles now; he'd just been bashing himself for this before Lyon had come in, but he couldn't help it. It was all true, and he couldn't stop the pain of it.

Stay strong.

It was a mantra, a talisman that he held close to his heart. If he didn't fight the injustice of the Godwins, who would? But then there would be times when he was alone, cold and troubled by nightmarish visions, when he would stop to think of the things he had lost…and he would remember.

"Prince!" Lyon screamed from behind him, sounding caught between concern and annoyance. "Honestly, you're being childish. Get into bed."

Lyon's presence was normally a great comfort to him, but right now he just wished she would go away. Angrily, he jerked his head toward her, then realized too late what a bad idea that was under the circumstances.

"Ugh…" he muttered, clutching his head in his hands. His knees buckled underneath him and he felt himself fall, completely unable to stop it. Each second that passed, he expected to crash face first into the floor, but instead he fell into the strong arms of his bodyguard, who had apparently dashed forward at the last moment to catch him.

Although he knew he wasn't really moving, he could feel the room spinning around him, as if it would come alive to suck him within its depths. The nausea he'd been trying to keep in check hit him in crashing waves, and when he attempted to open his eyes, overwhelming dizziness swamped him. Quickly, he closed them again, afraid that he really would throw up if he had to stare at the blurred shapes for a second longer, regardless of whether his stomach was empty or not.

Second by second, he could feel his fragile grip on consciousness slipping away from him, and as he sank deeper within the abyss, darkness and dizziness swallowed him up. Bile rose steadily within him, burning his throat as it came. Somewhat hysterically, he thought that this must be what it felt like to have acid eat you from the inside.

With a shudder, his stomach heaved and he retched violently; he couldn't help it. Sweat coated him in a thin sheen, making his long silver hair stick to his forehead. Vaguely, he registered Lyon rubbing his back, holding back his tresses of hair as he vomited upon the floor.

"Kyle, are you out there? Someone, please. Help!" he heard her scream. Inwardly, he frowned, even as he weakly sank back into his friend's arms. That wasn't right…she shouldn't be sad. He never wanted Lyon to be unhappy, especially not because of him.

"Prince? Prince! Answer me!" she sounded desperate, and that alone scared him. She was solid, a true warrior. She didn't lose her cool easily.

I'm sorry Lyon…I can't…he couldn't hold on, could stave off the darkness no longer. Once again, he wasn't good enough. Sometimes he felt he never would be.

Weak and defeated, he sank into the darkness, not knowing if he would ever have the strength to get back up again.

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Tick-tock…tick-tock. That rhythmic sound brought him unwillingly out of his slumber, and he groaned aloud. He was so tired…he just wanted to sleep. He couldn't recall when he had gone to bed, but at this point he didn't care, because he wasn't moving. His duties were important to him, but they could wait another hour or two, just this once...right?

Tick-tock…

There it was again! That was annoying. When had he ever had a clock in his room anyway?

Frey attempted to shift onto his other side, and was surprised to find that he could hardly lift himself to do so. Confused, he settled back down into the bed, not yet willing to open his eyes. His head was really killing him, and he was aching all over. The blankets piled on top of him felt soft, but something was off…the texture was different. Odd…

Finally, his curiosity got the better of him. He forced himself to pry his suspiciously heavy eyelids open…and almost gasped at what he saw.

He was in a small, sparsely furnished room with plain, tan colored walls; naturally, the same as that of any in a building built by the Sindar. A nightstand stood to the left side of his bed, and a couple of chairs were set up along the walls. Asleep in one of them was his bodyguard Lyon, her hand resting gently on her cheek as her head lolled back and forth.

The Infirmary… why was he here? Had he gotten hurt in a battle?

Frey forced himself up onto his elbows, wincing as the movement jarred his body. He did a slow exam of himself, moving all of his limbs and feeling along the length of his body for wounds. Nothing.

Puzzled, he attempted to get out of bed but found that his legs were so weak, he wasn't sure they could support him.

"Lyon?" he called, but his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. He hated to wake her, but it was time to get to the bottom of this. He called again, louder this time.

"Lyon!"

This time his voice carried across the room, and the young woman stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. Groggily, she looked across the room towards him, and as quickly as that, all sleepiness disappeared. Her violet eyes widened and she leaped from the chair.

"Prince! Are you alright? How are you feeling?" she asked, her words running together as she sat next to him on the bed. "I've been so worried!" Without hesitation, she lunged forward and hugged him tight. Confused, but happy, he wrapped his arms around her. Lyon nestled her head onto his shoulder and he rested his chin gently on the top of her head, content. He wondered what would happen if he pressed his lips there, threaded his fingers through that glossy black hair to bring her lips to his…but this wasn't the time. They both had enough on their plates with the war. He didn't need to complicate it further by doing something like that right now. He knew it was best that way, so then why did his chest tighten up at the thought of never holding her in his arms like this?

Reluctantly, he pulled away, resting his hands on her shoulders to look into her eyes. "I don't understand. Lyon, what happened to me?"

Tears of happiness that had gathered in her eyes all of a sudden looked mournful to him as she softly answered. "Don't you remember?"

Frey narrowed his eyes and searched through his memory, trying to remember what it was he had been doing before he'd gotten here. It was hazy… Oh…that's right…He'd been trying to read some reports, and failing miserably. He hadn't been feeling well all day. He knew he had been getting down on himself again, too…he just couldn't help it these days. It was getting harder and harder to stave off depression, and no matter what he did, it never seemed to be enough.

Just thinking about it now brought his feelings of despair right to the surface again.

Lyon must have seen that too, for she reached down and took his hand.

"It's okay…I know. I know how you feel. Queen Arshtat and Ferid were parents to me too…the only ones I'd ever known. Ferid was the first one who ever cared about me…he gave me a home, a name…a family. I couldn't save him. I couldn't save anyone," she choked, tears swimming in her eyes. "I've never felt so worthless. But you know what, Prince? I can still move on. I have to. I have something I have to protect. Something more important than anything else in this world."

"What?" he questioned softly, truly not sure of what her answer might be.

"I have you. I'll protect you always Prince, even from yourself. I'll protect you, no matter what!" She was crying in earnest now, tears cascading down her pale cheeks. Frey could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had ever seen her cry. He always hated to see it.

Reaching up, he tenderly brushed the droplets away, his hand resting upon her cheek perhaps a bit longer than necessary. What a fool he was…he'd always had parents who loved him, a home, a name he knew he could always call his own. Lyon hadn't…and still she made the best of it. She always fought for what she held dear, and she never stayed down for long. What was he doing, sitting around moping about what he couldn't change? He smiled; whether it was a sad or happy one, he could not say.

"I'm ashamed of myself. You've been through so much more than I have, and still, you always keep moving. My problems feel petty compared to what you must have been through while you were with Nether Gate. Lyon, thank you. That means more to me than anything else you could have given me." Hesitantly, she gave him a shaky smile; still she clutched his hand in hers.

As if from out of nowhere, he heard footsteps outside the door, and Doctor Silva entered, followed by Lucretia.

"We'll it's about time you got up. Everyone's been tenser than hell around here since you decided to make yourself sick," she said, in the same tone you would use to scold a child; nevertheless, she smiled at him. "You were exhausted, dehydrated, and running a dangerously high fever. What on Earth were you thinking, exhausting yourself like that? Honestly, kids these days."

In spite of himself, he smiled. Doctor Silva could be stern, but she really was a nice old woman. She'd saved more lives than he could ever count.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned his head toward it to find Lucretia gliding toward him, colorful robes swishing around her as she walked, feathered fan held motionless in her hand. Keen blue eyes gazed at him with kindness as she sat down in a chair, so she could be on level with him.

"Well, hello there Prince. I'm glad to see you are well on your way to recovery," she uttered in that soft, yet commanding voice of hers. Her lips formed a smile as she spoke.

"I'm sorry…I must have caused such an uproar," he replied. He should have been more careful. He couldn't die…if he did, the rebellion just might die with him.

"Well, there certainly has been a fuss, but we are trying to keep it quiet. If the Godwins found out you were vulnerable, they might take the opportunity to attack the castle." His eyes widened as he realized how right she was. How foolish could he be? He should have thought of that before he'd pushed himself too hard and fallen ill.

She must have seen the panic on his face, for she rested her hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, it's alright. The town leaders and some of the people you have recruited are the only ones who know. Even the soldiers aren't aware of this. We're putting Roy to work. Any Godwin spies that might be around won't know the difference."

He let out a sigh of relief. He never thought he'd say this, but thank the Gods for Roy.

"It's a good thing we have him, but honestly, I can't understand how anyone falls for it. His eyes are completely different," Lyon scoffed, looking a bit irritated in spite of herself.

"I think so too…his are the eyes of someone who has suffered. I know I have troubles, but they're probably nothing compared to what other people are made to go through. I've no right to compare myself with him," Frey mused, ashamed. He had no right to be complaining about his own life.

Lucretia sighed and shook her head, a knowing expression on her face. "That is the very reason you're in here, Prince." He snapped to attention, startled. What did she mean by that?

"I had a feeling something like this would happen. I should have kept a closer eye on you, and for that, I apologize," she explained, voice soft and apologetic. "It is plain to see. You are entirely too hard on yourself, Prince."

"But, I…" he began, ready to protest, however she raised a hand, gently silencing him before he could say anything further.

"Much of your country's suffering is your fault, as is the death of your parents and the suffering of your sister. Nothing you do is good enough, and no matter how much you do, it will never be enough. They deserve better. You're country deserves better, and so you push yourself harder and harder to give it to them."

Frey sat motionless, stunned into silence. It was as if she'd taken a peek inside his head. As he stared into Lucretia's face, there was nothing accusing in her gaze. No condemnation, as he thought there should be. No reprimand fell from her lips; no blame was dealt by her hand. There was only a knowing acceptance, a kind understanding.

Her voice was soft and comforting when she spoke again, and her face blurred as his eyes filled with tears. "You are a very strong person, stronger than you realize, but you are unsure of yourself. And you are steadfast, a driving force to be reckoned with. You are determined, almost to the point of foolishness. That foolhardy determination almost got you killed…a tragic misstep. A fatal flaw."

Frey dropped his gaze and stared into his lap, reaching up to brush the tears away, as if they were annoying flies buzzing around his head. Before he could do anything else, Lucretia's hand cupped his chin and gently forced his head up, to the point where he had no choice but to look at her. "But, it doesn't have to be. As long as you see yourself as weak, you will be your worst enemy. However, you can correct it. That same determination that holds you back is also your strength when you let it be. We've all seen that. We've seen the real you." Her smile was tender as she reached forward to embrace him. That was surprising; normally, she seemed to hold herself back a little, but not this time. It warmed his heart.

Lucretia pulled back, and Lyon replaced her, slipping her arms around him to comfort him, drive his pain away.

Taking a shaky breath, he swiped at the remaining tears staining his face, keeping his other arm twined around Lyon. "Thank you. All of you. I don't know how I never saw it. I'm not alone in this. I never was," he addressed them all, his voice choking up. Perhaps a part of him saw himself as weak, and probably always would, but whenever his friends stood beside him, whenever Lyon took his hand, he knew that he could be strong. He must be strong. No matter what happened, he wouldn't let himself be beat. He wouldn't be his own worst enemy. He had to tell himself that. He had to try.

"Always, Prince. I'll always be by your side. Always, I'll protect you," Lyon replied, her face buried in his shoulder. Under her breath, she whispered; words that made his heart stop and soar at once. They were said in a low whisper, so quietly he knew he wasn't meant to hear them, but he was glad for them all the same. Whatever might happen to him in the days to come, he would take it with a smile and keep moving on. He'd do his loved ones proud, living or dead.

Her words would carry him forward:

You're everything to me.

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Wow, this turned out way longer than I thought. What can I say? I'm detail oriented.

I know the Prince seems darker in this oneshot than he is normally portrayed, but that's the point. With a silent protagonist, there's only so much you can do, and I don't feel that this side of him was shown nearly enough in the game. He's only human, after all. He would experience the same depression and anxiety as others would, especially in a situation like this. I tried to take the natural feelings of worthlessness he must feel, as vaguely hinted at in the beginning of the game, and show people what he must feel in his darkest times.

Thanks so much for reading! Reviews are always appreciated.