Welcome to my new story, everyone! I don't remember where I got this inspiration from, it just looked like an interesting story for me. This is 20 years after FE7, means it's in FE6. But that doesn't mean it has nothing to do with FE7. Ah, what am I talking about, just see yourself.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fire Emblem, Nintendo and Intelligent Systems do, and I'm pretty sure you knew that already (just routine)

No winners

Narshen was angry. Really angry. He had trouble on all fronts. Slowly, the Lycian alliance army came closed in. Soldier by soldier, his troops fell, the blood changed the floor colour from sapphire blue to crimson red. Even his mamkutes where falling. His strong, fire-breathing mamkutes! They withstood the attacks for a long time and they took the attention of three Lycian warriors each, but slowly, their strength faded, there legs trembled and even their dragons didn't seem to be as big as before. In the distance, Narshen saw a Wyvern rider fly, it was his ex division commander Miledy. She rushed to the west to aid her brother, who was marked as a traitor by himself, Narshen. He also detected problems in the treasure room. A couple of Lycian thieves were emptying his treasures. His treasures! It weren't really his treasures, but nothing was more important to him than the chests. Zephiel had promised to give them to him when he would finish this job successful. A little farther away, four fighters surrounded Douglas, the Knight General, and prevented him from doing much damage to the troops, while trying to not injure him. One of these four was Percival, the Cavalier General. "Traitors everywhere," Narshen whispered. But what irritated him the most was that lone man in front of the throne room. He furiously swung his axe and hacked down one soldier after the other. One, two, three, Narshen tried to count the corpses lying at his feet, but it was impossible. It where a doze, maybe two, or even more! Every minute that passed, Narshen's face looked more upset.

"They can't kill him," a voice next to Narshen said in a Pheraean accent. The Wyvern lord turned his head to see an old, white haired paladin in purple armour standing next to him, a silvery shining lance in his hand. "And why do you think they can't!?" Narshen asked in a very angry tone. "His will keeps him alive. He lives for revenge, and he won't die before he gets it." Narshen's face turned to a very weird kind of annoyed confusion. "And who are you, if I may ask?" he shouted. "I am Marcus, loyal knight of Pherae, and you will die here and now!" The paladin stormed toward the Dragon Lord and tried to pierce him with his silver lance. The Wyvern rose into the sky. As it came down again, held forward his short sword and stabbed it through the knight's armour. The blood spit out, mixed with some purple substance. It fused with the sword and an evil grin appeared on Narshen's face. "So… this is… the end…" Marcus said with weak voice. He fell off of his horse with his face to the ground and stopped moving… forever. But somehow, Narshen couldn't forget the word's of the paladin. "He lives for revenge, and he won't die before he gets it."

There, next to the Wyvern lord, stood another stranger. "And who are you, another suicidal fool?" Narshen asked irritated. "No," the man answered, "I'm a mercenary hired by Lord Gale. I'm on your side." observed the man. He must have been almost fifty, but his body radiated great skill. Narshen didn't know if this guy had been even stronger in his youth or he just managed to stay fit, but it could as well just not concern him. He pointed to the axeman who still was fighting, who still didn't look exhausted and who still killed soldier after soldier. He wanted to say "There's your enemy!" but the swordfighter had already understood and stormed forward.

The axeman had already emptied the entire throne room expect for Narshen and the mercenary. "You!" the warrior yelled when he saw his attacker. The swordsman stopped as he recognized the Lycian. For a few seconds, they just stood there and looked into each others eyes. "Long time no see, Bartre," the swordsman then said in a serious tone. "I sought for you, Karel," the axe wielder countered. Again, there was a short silence. "It's because I killed her, isn't it?" Karel's voice turned sad. "Yes, you killed her. You killed her, just because of a damned sword!" Bartre sounded as if he could explode every moment. He drew a black axe, somewhat bigger than his normal one. "I longed so long for this moment!" he shouted and stormed forward. In an eye blink, Karel drew his crimson sword and parried. The blade vibrated under the impact of the attack. 'What a power!' Karel thought.

He leapt backward and Bartre jumped up. He used gravity to push his axe downward. Karel skipped to the side. The heavy axe was stuck into the ground. The swordsman took his chance and pushed his blade forward. To his surprise, his opponent stopped the blow with his bare hand. The blood spitted out and reached Karel's nose. With the other hand, Bartre pulled his axe out of the floor and hacked at the sword master. He drew his sword out of the axeman's hand to dodge. The warrior began to furiously swing his axe. His foe had his hands full parrying and found no hole to start an attack himself. Yet, he didn't understand what the axeman was planning since he could dodge every blow with ease. But then, Bartre jumped back and then forward again. This gave his blow far more impact. Startled, Karel saw a small crack in the point where his sword and Bartre's axe met. The sword master jumped back. His foe followed him, still swinging his axe. Karel jumped back, not willing to parry anymore. Bartre drove him toward the throne room. For a few seconds' both fighters paused. They stood there, heavily breathing. Everything was in complete silence.

Then again, Bartre stormed forward. He lifted his axe and Karel jumped back, just like he had expected. His axe still above his head, he followed the swordsman. He would hit before his opponent reached the ground and could jump again. "Your moves are predictable!" he yelled. Karel saw no other way to survive and positioned his blade between him and the mighty axe. Bartre jumped up so he was on the same height with his axe. He reached his foe and pushed the axe forward with his full body. The weapon reached his foe's sword. The sound of metal clashing on metal filled the fighters' ears. The next moment, the axe stuck in Karel's chest. In every hand, he held one part of his sword. Blood spitted on the ground. But it didn't hurt him. It took a few seconds for him to realize it wasn't his own blood. On the place where the steel of the axe stuck in his body, Bartre had a deep wound. "…Blast…Karla…" he said in a low voice. Karel touched handle of the weapon. "The devil axe… Deadly to its enemies as well as to its wielder," he said calmly. "You took such a big risk to get your revenge." But Bartre didn't listen. His grip loosened and he fell on the ground. Karel looked down at him. "You lost your wife and your life. I lost the sword. There are really no winners in this game. Only losers." he added in a sad voice. 'This wasn't what you wanted, was it, Karla?' he thought, 'Did you foresee this? Was this why you didn't want to fight me? But yet… You came…' He kneeled down next to Bartre. He stabbed the point of his broken sword into his own arm. With his own blood, he wrote on the ground.

Meanwhile, the Lycian troops had cleaned up everything. All the chests where empty, all the reinforcements rooted out and even the mamkutes had fallen. Someone had been so smart to hit Douglas knock out with the blunt side of his sword. Now, everyone moved toward the throne room. On the floor laid many enemy corpses. A little farther laid a more familiar corpse. A young girl with dark hair sprinted forward to the man. "Father!" she screamed. "Father! No!" She broke out in tears. "Father…" On Bartres body laid a black axe which was almost as big as he himself and on top of the axe where two parts of a broken, crimson sword. Wondering, Fir inspected them. Then, she noticed a letter on the ground. It was written in red... or… in blood. It had the same colour as the sword.

My Dear niece

I don't even know your name or your face,

but I have a request for you.

Please take care of these weapons.

The sword is a keepsake of your mother.

The axe belonged to your father.

They both where proud warriors until the end.

Remember them as such.

Karel

"Uncle Karel…" the girl whispered, "You where here? Then why? Why didn't you save him? I know you could have. But yet… Thank you… At least, you solace me a little bit." Then, she prayed in silence for a while, until a strong hand on her shoulder brought her back to reality. "Come, Fir," a gentle voice behind her said, "We have to keep up with the others." Fir turned around and saw Noah's calm face. Then, he looked at Bertre. "We'll burry him later," he said. Fir silently nodded. He helped her up, mounted his horse and Fir lifted her father onto the stallion, behind Noah. She took the two swordparts and placed them in her belt, next to her own blade. With both hands, she dragged the axe to the camp. When she arrived, everyone was already there.

If you still didn't realize, this was chapter 16 from the sword of seals. Please review! Everything is appreciated, expect for flaming. And you don't want to see what happens when you still do. I disabled anonymous reviews for a reason.