Here is the beginning of my story. Give it a chance. You might like, you might not. Who knows until you read it.
Disclaimer: I don't Fire Emblem in any way shape, or form, other than having bought the games.
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It hurt. Even the first breath that he was conscious for seemed to be trying to pull him back into oblivion. It wasn't the first time the young man had experienced pain. On the contrary, very few, if any, could lay claim to his level of resilience. Not the worst pain either, he reflected, as the sharp throbbing slowly receded from his body, leaving only a dull ache that centered on his chest.
He could still hear the sounds of the swirling seas, but the tell-tale signs of being onboard a ship were conspicuously absent. The ground underneath him was steady, not at all like the gentle swaying of any seafaring vessel. The ground was also grainy. Must be on a beach. He'd have to trust his deduction; his eyes refused to open. He wasn't sure why. It was as if his body refused to obey his commands, simply lying inert on the ground. He felt detached from his body, his connection to it severed.
He heard soft footfalls on the wet sand, causing his consciousness to slam back into corporeality. He sucked in air with a gasp, the pain returning in full force. The squishing noises gradually increasing as the distance was closed.
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"Pops, look at this!"
The heavy-set man turned to the young girl calling him. She was several yards ahead of him, kneeling next to a pile of shattered wood. "What is it, Mica?"
The girl didn't bother clarifying. "Pops, you gotta see this!"
The adult sighed. Mica was always so excitable. Granted, one didn't see a shipwreck around these parts very often, but a bunch of broken timber scattered across the beach was just a hassle. Fishermen like him needed clear beaches to bring in their haul, and such a mess only delayed the process. "I'm comin', hold yer horses."
The sand was soaked from the previous night's thunderstorm, causing his sandals to sink into the ground. It made for slower going than he was used to.
"Geez, Pops, you're such a slowpoke!"
The man grunted in reply as he approached the wreckage his daughter was standing next to. "What is it?"
"Look!" Her small hand was pointing towards the pile. The man followed the finger, leading his eyesight to a bleeding limb underneath the shattered lumber. "Somebody's there, dad!" The fisherman pulled his daughter away from the wreckage. "Go to the house, Mica, and get whatever bandages you can find." The girl looked strangely at her father. "Now!" the man hissed, causing the child to scurry in the direction of their dwelling. He ran a hand through his sea-sprayed hair, and turned back to the wreckage with the arm sticking out of it. Just what I needed...fella, hope you're alive in there. I don't feel burying anyone today.
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He could hear and feel the shifting of material above him, some of it scratching against his torso. Little by little, more sunlight blared through his eyelids. The rough grunts of a man accompanied the scraping wood, each one louder than the previous. Once again, the eyelids refused his orders, clamped firmly shut. He sighed only to wince as the exhalation brought about a new wave of pain. I think some of my ribs are broken. The agony didn't stop, and he drifted back into unconsciousness.
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"Is he dead, Pops?"
The bed the fisherman placed the young man on was a lumpy one, and fraying at the edges, but it served its purpose well enough. As far as the father could tell their 'guest' had two broken ribs, along with several shallow cuts along his arms and legs. "Don't be daft, Mica. You can see him breathin', don't ya?"
The ten year-old's face reddened at the reprimand, glaring hotly at her father. "Of course I can! I meant, is he gonna be okay?"
The fisherman turned back to individual in question, adding more bandages around the cuts on his legs. "Sure he will. He just needs some rest."
"What about his stuff? What should we do with it?"
He shook his head. "That's up to our friend here, when he wakes up." The girl nodded, and then yawned. "Go to bed, Mica. I'll tell ya when he wakes up." The fisherman heard the door behind him close and the soft shuffling of her small feet getting quieter.
Ten more minutes passed. At last, the final bandage was put into place. Standing up from the stool next to the mattress, he arched his back, trying to stretch out an hour of bandaging. When he heard the obligatory pop in his spine, the fisherman relaxed his posture, his eyes falling on the 'stuff' that seemed to belong to his patient. There was a soaked traveler's bag, its contents, mostly food, ruined by the storm and the ocean. Next to that was a blue cloak; at least, it was a blue cloak, until the seawater had stained and worn it down so much it now had a sea-green color. With two such inconspicuous items, the man was unsure as what to make of the last one. It was a sword, the most beautiful sword he had ever laid his eyes upon. Granted, he hadn't seen many blades in his lifetime, but deep in his gut, he could tell the weapon was a truly marvelous one. Carrying it back the dwelling he and Mica inhabited was a feat in and of itself. The sword was incredibly heavy, and he barely was able to lift it off the ground. To think that this young man was carrying such a weapon with him, perhaps even able to wield it…Just what are you, lad?
The fisherman sighed. Thinking of such things was too complicated. He would care for the fellow, and when he was ready to leave, that would be the end of it. The door creaked as he opened it to leave the shed, and the creaking returned as the door slid shut. Right before the door fully closed, a sliver of moonlight fell in between, landing on the stranger's weapon. For a brief second, the area where the blade met the hilt was illuminated, and an etching on the sword was visible. Had the fisherman not had his back turned, he might have seen what the moonlight reflected.
Ragnell.
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If you liked it, review. If not, don't. It's cool. But I do like reviews. It appeals to my pride.