Chapter 2

Arrival

Walter felt the subtle vertigo of falling through the air, then grunted in pain as he struck the earth. He then groaned as he rolled onto his back. He smelled burning wood around him, felt earth beneath him. He was no longer at the Altar, but in a forest somewhere. A burning forest.

Walter became confused as he struggled to his feet. He was at the Altar of Nowart, when the magic in that archway seized him. Then a flash of blue, a spike of pain in his head, a brief fall, and now here he was, in the middle of a forest fire.

His blood ran cold when he heard a strangled snarling noise behind. Whipping around, he held up his mace, thanking the Lord it had been sent with him to this strange place. His eyes narrowed as he beheld the maker of the snarling noise. He clearly felt the aura of dark magic, necromancy, even from ten paces away. He could make out the pale grey, dry, mottled skin he'd come to recognize on Orc Ghouls. But this was no Orc; it was clearly once human. It wore ragged leather armor, its face hidden behind a wooden mask and iron helm, the features of which were formed in a permanent snarl. From behind the mask shined two baleful red eyes.

Another monstrosity of that "Encablossa" creature, Walter concluded as he raised his mace and took a fighting stance. Seeing his reaction, the creature (for he could not bring himself to call it a man anymore) bolted toward him with frightening speed, raising a weathered old war axe. Walter sidestepped the blow and swung his mace at the creature's back as it barreled past. He felt the familiar crunch of bone beneath his mace as the creature staggered and fell. To his shock, however, it quickly brought itself back up, and turned around snarling madly.

That blow could have killed an Ogre, he thought in panic as it rushed at him again. This time he could not move in time, and raised his shield to block. His arm screamed in protest as the axe made contact, hitting as hard as Kendal's hammer had not even an hour ago. Such monstrous strength. The blade of the axe skidded off of the side of the shield as Walter angled it, throwing the creature off balance. Walter took advantage of the opening, hammering relentlessly at its head and torso with his mace. With one final, resounding crunch, Walter landed a severe blow on the creature's head, caving the metal helm into its skull. It let out strangled groan, before dissolving to acrid purple smoke in front of his very eyes. The creature's axe and armor fell to the ground empty, as if they had never been occupied.

Walter had little time to contemplate exactly what had just happened, however. He heard another growl in the trees to his left, followed by a roar of challenge to his right. Throughout the woods, he heard similar roars being echoed. I cannot fight so many at once, he realized, his blood turning to ice, and took off into the forest. The creatures were right behind him, he could hear them trampling through the brush in pursuit. The burning forest around him prevented him from turning to lose them, however; he had no option but to run forward, hoping he could outpace them. That was easier said than done, however; at Nowart he had been fighting for his life non-stop for over a day. Fatigue was quickly setting in.

Walter began to lose hope. He was just slowing down to come to a stop, to die fighting instead of running, when he heard shouts ahead of him. Shouts of the living. Getting a second wind, and a shimmer of hope, he sprinted forward, eventually bursting into a clearing.

In this clearing were several people. Farthest away were two mounted cavaliers, one in red armor and one in blue, harrying the periphery of the skirmish, funneling the creatures into one area. Some foppish dandy who was using a bow to surprisingly great effect was riding behind the red cavalier, his back to hers, shooting the undead creatures as the pair rode by. Two blue-haired youths, wielding similar broadswords, were at the fore of the battle, cleaving away at a veritable horde of the creatures. A brown-haired man in a black and purple cloak stood behind them, casting lightning into the crowd from afar. Behind them all, directly closest to Walter, was a young, blond haired girl that he doubted had seen sixteen winters, holding a delicate looking staff. As he watched, one of the blue haired swordsmen stepped back, clutching his shoulder in pain. The girl quickly ran forward, waving the staff over his arm and producing a bright light, undoubtedly casting healing magic. The blue haired man nodded gratefully before jumping back into the fray.

Walter started as he heard the brush behind him shift. One of his pursuers darted out of the bush. It ignored him, however, heading straight for the young healer. She wasn't watching behind her, she was completely unaware. Taking action, Walter sprinted forward with his shield raised, slamming into the creature's back as it raised its axe and knocking it to the earth with a raspy grunt. He wasted no time, raising his boot and bringing it down on the creature's face with all of his might. This time, it dissolved into smoke after that single blow.

"The enemy is behind us!" Walter shouted to the soldiers in front of him. The brown haired mage jumped in surprise and spun around, as the young girl yelped and did the same. The brown haired man squinted shrewdly at him, then the empty armor at his feet that were dangerously close to Lissa, before nodding and turning back to the others.

"Chrom, they're behind us now! Close up the ranks, form a circle around Lissa! Frederick, join us, Sully, keep harassing them!" The man turned back to Walter. "Name's Robin, I'm a tactician, mind joining the line?"

Walter didn't even have to contemplate his answer, as he heard more movement behind him. He nodded, before falling into the rough circle (more of a pentagon) that had been formed around the young healer, who Walter assumed was "Lissa". The creatures quickly surrounded them, before charging forward.

Walter lost himself to the melee. He refused to underestimate his foes, not after the first one, and struck each blow with as much strength as he could muster. The familiar crunch as bone shattered beneath his mace, the familiar resistance as he pulled his mace out when the flanges were embedded in undead flesh, the ringing of steel against steel, the roars and screams of his allies and his foes. The crack of lightning and the twang of bowstring rounded out the chorus of war, more familiar to Walter than any of the Church hymns. The five melee fighters refused to let any of them past to the vulnerable healer, as she worked her magic and kept them all fighting. Even Walter had taken a hit in a vulnerable joint in his armor, but Lissa's quick work kept him in the fight. The spell was a bit sloppy and didn't fully seal the wound, if he was being honest, but she was young yet, she hadn't had decades of war to perfect her craft.

The tide seemed endless. Even past the adrenaline rush, Walter began to feel the hints of fatigue again. Deciding enough was enough, he channeled what energy he had left into a spell.

"Kaleidoflamma!" he cried, raising his mace in the air. A fountain of flame erupted upward from the tip, before coming down around him and rushing outward akin to a tide of fire. It flowed harmlessly around his allies, but the undead creatures were not so fortunate. They let out their strangled cries as their dried flesh caught flame like so much kindling, rolling around in agony to put out the magical fire. Within seconds, the majority of the creatures dissolved into so much smoke that the few remaining could hardly be seen. Nevertheless, they were dispatched with haste by the others as Walter sunk to a knee in exhaustion.

"That's the last of them," the blue-armored knight said with a tone of finality as he kicked the tattered remains of his last foe's leather armor off of the end of his finely crafted lance.

"Thank the gods," one of the blue haired youths gasped in relief. Gods? Polytheistic pagans, Walter thought disdainfully, Hironeiden, no doubt. He would not be picky, however. Allies were allies; his time with Rithrin had taught him that much.

The rest of the warriors gathered in close, allowing Walter to get a good look at them. The red armored cavalier was a woman, much to Walter's shock. Her hair was the same shade of red as her armor, and her face seemed to be set in a permanent scowl. The blue armored cavalier was a brown-haired man with fine features, clearly of noble birth. His features were set in a slight frown himself, but not quite a scowl that the woman had. The two blue-haired swordsmen both wore fine clothing, one of them a black tunic with a silver pauldron and white cape, and the other a blue tunic and cape, with a finely crafted blue mask covering most of his face. The former's expression was both worried and relieved, while the masked swordsman's face was unreadable. The brown haired man, the tactician "Robin", wore a expertly crafted black and purple cloak with strange markings on it, over tan shirt and black pants. The young girl, Lissa, wore a fine yellow battle-dress and brown corset, her unruly blonde hair done up in pigtails. Of all of them, the blue armored knight appeared the oldest, but only by a few years at most. He doubted any of these people had seen more than twenty-five winters.

Walter forced himself to his feet as the blue-haired man began speaking. "Thank you, strangers," he said, addressing Walter and the masked swordsman. "My name is Chrom, and I thank you both on behalf of Ylisse." A noble of some sort, from his dress and manner of speech, Walter concluded quickly, but what is this "Ylisse?" "I would like to know your names, and would invite you to return with us to Ylisstol, so I may reward you." Ylisstol?

"You may call me Marth," the masked swordsman spoke up first.

"Marth?" Chrom asked, confused. "Like the Hero-King of old?" What nonsense is this boy going on about? Walter wondered. "Well, you certainly fight like a hero. You saved my sister, and you have my gratitude."

"You must listen," Marth said, his voice becoming low and urgent. "I did not come here to talk about me. The world is on the brink of a terrible calamity. What you saw tonight was but a prelude. You have been warned." The man turned his gaze to Walter, head cocking slightly in confusion, before turning and striding purposefully away.

"W-what?" Lissa spoke up as Marth walked off into the forest. "The what's teetering where now?" Marth was gone, however. "Wait! I didn't even get to say thank you…"

"A man of few words, isn't he?" Robin asked wryly.

"His skills obviously lie elsewhere. I doubt that's the last we'll hear of him," the blue armored knight said, his features set in a scowl, glaring suspiciously in the direction Marth had gone.

"I agree, Frederick," Chrom stated somberly, before turning to Walter. "Thank you as well. Your warning was timely; we may very well have been taken from behind without you. What is your name?"

"Sir Walter, of Ecclesia," Walter answered. Most of the people present looked confused or surprised to hear of Ecclesia, all but the boy who spoke to him. His face was confused, but in a different way. Like he knew of Ecclesia, as all rightfully should know and fear the Holy Empire, but did not expect him. Like he shouldn't be here. What had happened after the Ancient Heart was destroyed? "Captain of the Patriarchal Emissaries," he continued. It was dangerous to offer his name and rank, being the fugitive he was. He thought that at least might clarify matters, but everyone simply looked more confused.

"What is this nonsense?" Frederick interrupted. "There is no nation called Ecclesia. Milord Chrom, I believe this man is confused or mad, perhaps he took a blow to his head?"

Walter felt a spike of fury go through him, before the first half of his statement sunk in. No nation of Ecclesia? His gut went cold. Did Encablossa destroy it? How long have I been gone?

"Frederick," Chrom groaned, running a hand down his face, "give it a break. Your paranoia is getting ridiculous."

"I only look out for your welfare, milord," Frederick answered stiffly, but fell silent.

Chrom walked up close to Walter, and leaned in, talking low. "I believe you, friend. I know of Ecclesia." He stood back. "But we can discuss this more when we reach Ylisstol. We must warn the Exalt of these…things."

"Agreed," Robin spoke up. "If they appeared here, they could have appeared elsewhere."

"Shepherds, to Ylisstol!" Chrom called out. The soldiers around Walter began walking with purpose out of the clearing. Chrom, however, stayed back with Walter, who hadn't moved, confused and unwilling to blindly trust relative strangers. Especially when none of them had heard of the most powerful nation in Bersia.

"You're a long way from home, friend," Chrom stated softly. "A very long way. Come with us, we might be able to get you home."

"What do you know?" Walter asked quietly as they began following the others.

"More than most," Chrom replied. "The Royal Archives in Ylisstol hold many secrets. Come with us, I can explain more there."

Walter hesitated. Something was very wrong here, nothing made sense. Ecclesia apparently didn't exist, the sky wasn't blackened from Encablossa's magic, he realized as the sun began to rise, and they had mentioned this "Ylisse" place that he had never heard of, despite his thorough education in geography. But he wouldn't find out why nothing made sense if he just stood in the woods, would he? Slowly, he nodded, and followed Chrom out of the clearing,

Author's Note. Warning: belligerence and profanity ahead.

Hello. Meant to add this in the first chapter, but hey, if I wasn't forgetful, I wouldn't be me.

Short version of why I'm writing this: I wrote this story as a favor to a friend. We both enjoy both of the series present in this story, nobody apparently ever posted a crossover between them, I owed him a favor, he cashed it in (albeit in a rather strange fashion, I was expecting more along the lines of "help me bury a body" or something) and he's liked what I've done so far. For some reason. I don't fucking know why, I literally bs'd my way through this. He liked it so much, in fact, that he bullied me into posting it on here. I don't know why he doesn't post it on his own account, IP is a fucking joke to me and idgaf if he "steals" my story, I mean if he did, and tried to cash in on it somehow, then when the pressure for more content builds up it would destroy him when he can't deliver (and he can't write for shit, and yes, I know you're probably reading this you fucker, tell me I'm wrong). I don't know why he was so insistent on me going through all the fucking rigmarole involved in making an account and posting a story. God, I hate that prick sometimes. I swear he does it just to spite me. Sorry, I'll be less profane now.

I tell you this because, well, I'm not entirely sure I want to post this, I'm doing it to shut him the…French… up lol. I don't typically write at all, and when I do it's historical non-fiction. I do read fanfiction sometimes, but writing it isn't my first choice of activity. So, bear with me. If you review, I'll try my hardest to be polite if you review or directly message me, but politeness isn't exactly my forte, so try not to take anything that's less-than-socially-acceptable personally.

In other news, I've completed the first arc of the story before posting. Why? Partly because my friend would clearly not stop nagging me until I posted SOMETHING, and I'm tired of my texts blowing up from the [wonderful human being]. But the main reason is that one thing I hate on this site (and every other fanfiction site) is waiting MONTHS for a single m************ chapter. I typically don't even open a story without a "complete" tag on it, I only do so if I'm feeling masochistic or it's recommended to me. So yeah, there's at least a semi-complete story here that will give you some sense of satisfaction when you reach that "Chapter 38 of 38" mark, there aren't going to be massive f****** cliffhangers that you have to endure every week/month for [however long it takes me to finish this].

Good news for you, lovely reader, is that I won't be posting AN's very much, and if I do, they'll likely be a hell of a lot more brief than this. So my belligerence will be infrequent, unless you're daft enough to approach me directly.

Oh, and if you do approach me directly despite that warning, do me a favor and bring me a title that's not fucking stupid. I picked this one as a pun when I went to post the damn story, I never had a name for it while writing it. Kthxbai