Thicker Than Water
A Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword novelization.
Part II: Encounters
destiny is a fickle thing -
even the most resolute know not what to do in her presence
They entered Bulgar when the gates opened the next morning a few hours after dawn. Even in the early hour the city bustled with life. Lyn gazed about as she led Elec through the crowded streets, eyes wide in wonder as question after question tumbled from her lips while Mark answered her questions tersely from the gelding's back.
"I thought you said you came here before," he said gruffly.
Lyn turned back to look at him. "I told you that I was only a child then," she said. "I do not remember much."
Mark frowned. "Pfeh." He looked off to the side for a moment and was quiet for a few moments until he straightened suddenly. "Wait," he told her. "Stop here."
The girl turned her head back and looked up at him quizzically but complied nonetheless, leading Elec off to the side Mark had indicated and stopping in front of a small stall. With some difficulty Mark dismounted and as the older man turned to look at the stall's wares Lyn asked him why he was in such a hurry.
He indicated the small objects on the stall's display shelf, a host of small everyday items carved painstakingly out of wood, and to the larger items set into the shelving on the sides and back wall of the stall. "Wood working," Mark told her. "Chances are there'll be a cane or staff of some sort here, and I won't have to use this pathetic stick anymore." He gestured to the broken beam they had found in the abandoned ger. "Damn thing is full of splinters."
As Mark spoke with the stall's owner Lyn turned back to Elec. The gelding flicked his tail now and then in annoyance as passersby walked too close to him but was fine for the most part. Her eyes traveled from the horse to another smaller stall selling wooden trinkets beside the larger stall Mark had gestured to earlier. One in particular caught her attention: a tiny wooden sparrow painted with painstaking detail, wings raised forever in flight as it rose on a nonexistent thermal.
"What is it, child?" asked the old woman whom Lyn assumed owned the stall. "Do you see something you fancy?" The crone gestured to the trinkets lying on the shelf before her.
Lyn pointed to the tiny sparrow. "May I see that, grandmother?"
The crone gave her a toothless grin. "Grandmother?" she cackled. "You plainsfolk – so respectful to your elders. Call me Granny Lilith then, and Granny Lilith I shall be." She took the sparrow and offered it to Lyn with one withered and claw-like hand.
Hesitantly Lyn took the figurine and placed in in the palm of her hand, fighting back a gasp as her skin became warm even through the material of her gloves from where the trinket rested. She could feel something within the sparrow pulse as if within it beat a tiny heart.
The crone seemed surprised and peered closely at the trinket in Lyn's palm, any air of madness about her immediately replaced with one of mystery and intrigue. "Ah. So it shall be again, shall it?" She laughed quietly to herself and reached out to fold Lyn's fingers over the trinket. "And to think that the winds had crossed as I rested…"
Lyn clenched her fist around the sparrow. "Granny Lilith?" she asked tentatively.
She did not respond immediately; the crone closed her eyes but did not remove her hands. "A kite, an eagle, a falcon, a crow – tumbling in a tempest of fate and followed by a motely flock. Destiny calls from across the sea, through a gate and to another side. But will you go? Will you go and meet it, little one?" Finally she withdrew her hands, opened her eyes and smiled at Lyn. "You have taken your first flight, child, but falter now and all shall end."
Lyn took a step away from the stall. "Who are you?" she asked.
"They call me one of the forgotten ones, though they themselves surely don't remember." Once again the crone smiled and Lyn found herself wondering how old the woman truly was. "But my question, child, is who are you?"
"I beg your pardon?" Lyn asked. She looked at the old woman curiously and the old woman stared calmly back; so intense was her gaze that Lyn barely noticed Mark calling for her until he was at her side, a new walking stick of fine dark wood in his hand as he led Elec through the crowded streets.
"Hell's teeth, lass," he said. "I was wondering where you'd run off to." He glanced at the crone. "Who's this?"
As if prompted by Mark's words the old woman began to cackle madly, all hints of sanity gone. "A crow, a crow!" she said. "A murder-less crow and a kite with no roost – and it is upon their wings the world will turn!"
Mark glared at her. "Crazy old bat." He turned to Lyn briefly before leaving the stall. "Come on, lass. We're done here."
Lyn watched him limp a few paces away before reaching into the pouch at her waist for some coin. "For the trinket, Granny Lilith," she said.
The old woman refused the money. "Why pay now, child, for what will be?" She smiled and drew the shutters of the stall closed. "Go forth and meet Fate, for more is yet to come."
Once again they spent the night outside the walls. Mark had said it was because they did not have the money for both supplies and lodgings, and yet he had still spent a fair amount of coin on flasks of ale and packets of pipeweed. She had bit her tongue during the purchases; the words of the old woman still weighed heavily on her mind.
She had spoken of fate and destiny – both were important things to the people of Sacae. They were sacred beliefs, and Lilith had spoken of Lyn's. Was this truly her path? For so long her mind had been clouded by thoughts of revenge – was she truly ready to move on?
Unconsciously Lyn raised her hand to the sparrow trinket where it hung about her neck as she prepared herself for sleep. The wood as always was warm against her fingers, and as sleep overcame her Lyn fancied that she heard her mother's lullaby on the wind.
Bulgar was not the largest city in Elibe, but it certainly was among the busiest. Its position as a cultural crossroads was obvious – Lycian craftsmen hawked their goods as dark-eyed Sacaean women squatted on their pallets, gazing silently at potential buyers who inspected their herbal remedies; a group of Ilian mercenaries chatted idly amongst themselves as they examined the wares of the Bernese blacksmiths
It was at one of these weaponry stalls that Kent found himself, examining a large iron broadsword. The sword's creator watched closely, commenting now and then as if he feared losing his customer.
"A good sword" he said in a thick Bernese accent. "It is very strong, very tough."
But also very heavy, Kent thought as he slashed with the blade experimentally; it would be a liability from horseback if he could not raise his weapon fast enough to defend himself. Kent shook his head and returned the blade. "Let me see that lance instead."
"Mind if I join you, boy?" a gruff voice asked.
Kent turned to the speaker, an older man with a scruffy beard and dark brown hair that had begun to gray at the temples leading a grey gelding behind him. "Of course, sir," Kent replied.
The man chuckled. "Sir – when was the last time someone called me that?" He shuffled closer to examine the lane, and Kent dimly noticed the dull sound of a wooden stick tapping against the packed dirt beneath their feet. A cane? "Thank you, lad."
The blacksmith spoke up as he handed the lance over. "Good balance," he said, "and reach – a good choice for both horseback and on foot."
"Let me see that." The older man took the lance, holding it across his chest expertly as he tested the balance. "Hm. Very nice." He looked at the blacksmith. "How much for two of these?"
As the two men haggled over the price of the lances Kent cast a glance down the lane – there seemed to be a commotion of some sort: a young woman in traditional Sacaean garb stalked down the dirt path toward them, stopping only to grab the older man's arm and tug him after her. "Come," she said, "we are going."
The man did not budge. "What happened, lass?" he asked, voice laced with irritation at her gesture.
She opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by a sandy-haired man who trailed behind her.
"Ah, sweet angel!" he proclaimed dramatically. "Please wait!"
"Hm." The older man shifted his weight and looked at the newcomer pointedly as the girl moved to stand behind him. "And who the hell are you?"
Kent fought the urge to groan. "Sain."
At the sound of his name the man turned and seemed to wilt visibly upon recognizing Kent. "A-ah," he said, "my boon companion!"
"Quiet."
"You know this idiot, lad?" the older man asked. Behind him the girl glared at them fiercely.
Kent nodded. "I apologize for my partner's actions," he said. "He means no harm, I assure you." He turned to Sain. "And you need to learn to hold your tongue."
"But Kent! To remain silence in the presence of such beauty is… Outrageous! Heinous! Unthinkable! Unimaginable –"
"Shut your mouth, you fool," the older man muttered. He turned to the smith and handed the man some gold. "We get it."
Kent looked at him. "I am very sorry sir. Sain did not mean any offense to you or your daughter."
The girl flushed. "He is not my father," she said.
"Ah." Kent bagan to feel the heat in his face beginning to rise. "My apologies, miss."
She smiled tentatively at him. "It is fine," she said. "You seem honorable, at least."
"Thank you, miss." He bowed slightly to her. Their eyes met briefly as he straightened and he felt a jolt of recognition run through him. "Excuse me," he asked, "but have we met before?"
Instantly her expression became guarded. "What?"
"Do my ears deceive me?" Beside him Sain immediately snapped to attention, almost colliding with a large man with an equally large axe tucked into his belt. He apologized to the man quickly before turning back to Kent. "You're interested in a woman? No fair, Kent! I saw her first!"
The older man began to laugh, mirth barely kept in check, and Kent felt his face flush as the girl glared at them. She grabbed the gelding's reins from the older man and set off through the crowded street. Kent watched as the older man, still laughing, turned to follow her until they were swallowed by the crowd.
"Sain, you fool!" Kent said angrily. "Now look what you've done."
Sain blinked. "You mean…?"
Kent fought the urge to throw something at his partner; instead he walked over to where their horses were tethered and quickly began to ready his mare. "I am not you," he said. "Now hurry – that girl. Something about her…"
"Ah?" Sain looked back in the direction the girl and her companion had disappeared in. "So she's who we've been searching for?" He turned back to his partner. "Kent?"
But the younger man was already gone, following the strange girl and the old man through the crowd. Cursing under his breath at his lack of attentiveness, Sain untethered his horse and set off in pursuit.
"Poor lad," Mark said as they reached the remains of their fire pit from the last few nights. He looked down at her from his perch on Elec's back. "He meant well – there was no reason for you to storm off like that."
Lyn glared up at him. "It was offensive," she said. "He spoke to me as if I were a prize to be won. And his friend was no better."
Mark shrugged and scratched Elec's neck. "I liked the quiet one. He knew what he was talking about when I met him in the armory." He turned to look back to look at Bulgar's silhouette in the evening air. "Speak of the devil…"
"What?" Lyn turned to see what Mark was watching. "Is it those knights?"
He shook his head and grabbed one of the lances from its sling across his back. "I don't think so, lass. Better be prepared."
Lyn allowed her hand to creep close to her belt as the strangers approached; she recognized their leader as the man the green knight – Sain, she believed his name was – had bumped into in the streets. The group stopped an arrow's flight away from their campsite and their leader approached.
"You, girl," he said. "Are you the one they call 'Lyndis'?"
She allowed herself to rest her hand upon the hilt of her sword even as the remainder of her body tensed at the strange man's words. "And if I am?"
The brigand sighed. "That's a shame, sweetie. The things I'll do for money – hey!" He looked quickly at a lance that had embedded itself in the ground at the brigand's feet and then to the weapon's source.
The knights they had met in Bulgar were riding out on the flatlands toward them, the hooves of their steeds pounding the dust as they strove to reach the brigands in time.
Lyn took the opportunity of the knights' arrival to dash forward and slash one of the bandits across the belly before moving on to engage another. The man wailed pitifully in pain and fell to the ground as he attempted to keep his entrails from spilling out of the wound – a quick stab from Mark's lance ended his suffering.
The knights meanwhile had engaged the remaining few bandits in battle; minutes later, the skirmish was won and the blood of the brigands stained the flatlands.
As the men watched silently from their respective mounts Lyn walked to where the brigand leader – Zugu, he called himself – lay dying.
"How?" she asked. She clenched her teeth and grabbed the man by his shirt front. "How did you know?"
Zugu did not look at her; the light was already fading from his eyes. "Damned knights," he murmured. "There was only supposed to be a girl." The last of his breath faded away and the bandit was dead.
Mark urged Elec through the carnage to where Lyn knelt in the grass. "Lass?" he asked. "Come on, tell me what's wrong." He barely noticed when Kent and Sain followed a few paces behind him.
Lyn looked up at him, her cheeks smeared with tears and blood. "My name," she said quietly, "is Lyndis."
"I know," Kent said. Sain watched them solemnly. "I know."
The knights had insisted on staying in an inn for the night. Mark could hardly fault them – after the day's events it was the safest option any of them could think of for the night and the fact that Kent and Sain insisted on paying for the stay was a proposition he could not ignore. The four sat at a small round table near the hearth. The men had each ordered a drink; Lyn traced her finger pensively around the dirty rim of her glass of water as she listened to the exchange around her.
"I'm afraid we did not have the chance to introduce ourselves properly earlier," Kent said before taking an idle sip of his beer. "My name is Kent and this is my partner Sain. We are knights of Lycia in service to Lord Hausen, the marquess of the canton of Caelin."
Sain opened his mouth to add something – a stern glance from Kent promptly closed it and the sandy-haired man instead lifted his own drink to his lips for a liberal mouthful.
Mark nodded. "I've been there," he said. He lifted his own bottle of strong whiskey. "I was born and raised in Santaruz, but my mother's family is from Caelin. Wasn't there some scandal in the ruling house a while back?"
Kent nodded. "About twenty years ago Lord Hausen's only daughter, Lady Madelyn, eloped with a Sacaean chieftain. The marquess was heartbroken and sent many envoys to retrieve her, but all of them failed. Eventually Lord Hausen declared he had no daughter and the incident was never mentioned again." He paused to take another sip of his drink and Sain continued the story.
"No one spoke of Lady Madelyn again for fear of incurring the Lord Hausen's anger – it was still a sore subject for him, you see – until less than a year ago. We received a letter and from none other than the estranged Lady Madelyn!" Sain beamed. "It said that she, her husband, and their grown daughter were living happily on the plains with the rest of her husband's people; I remember the smile on the marquess' face when he announced that he was a grandfather."
"Lady Madelyn wrote that her daughter's name was Lyndis," Kent explained, "named for her mother, the marquess' late wife who had passed away at a young age."
Sain grinned. "And so Kent and I were sent out to find Lady Madelyn and her family to invite them back to Caelin for the marquess' forgiveness and blessings."
Kent looked at Lyn. "It was only when we reached Bulgar that we learned that Lady Madelyn and most of her husband's tribe had passed away in a bandit raid. But we also discovered that there were survivors, among them Madelyn's daughter Lyndis."
She said nothing for a few minutes and instead looked into the flames dancing in the hearth, her fingers playing idly with the tiny wooden sparrow she wore on a thin piece of braided hemp around her neck. "I always knew there was something different about my mother," she said slowly. "My father loved her very much – it was the reason he made her his bride – but there was something about her that was different from the rest of us. One of the wisewomen told me once when I was very young that I had inherited some of my mother's 'otherness' but I did not understand it then." Lyn smiled bitterly. "I think I do now." She turned to Kent. "How did you know who I was?"
"You look like your mother," he said. "I did not know Lady Madelyn personally but I have seen her portraits in the castle."
Lyn nodded. "Only my father and mother called me Lyndis – only when it was the three of us. To the rest of my tribe I was Lyn. So when that man asked me if my name was Lyndis, I did not know how to react. I do not know how he would have known my name in the first place."
"I know how," Sain said solemnly. "Lundgren."
Lyn looked at him curiously. "Who?"
"The marquess' younger brother," Kent told her. "Your great-uncle."
"But what does that have to do with me? I do not understand."
Kent took another sip of his beer. "With Lady Madelyn gone, the order of succession fell to Lord Lundgren. But now that the marquess is aware of your existence, you are the new heir to Caelin."
"…I am afraid I still do not understand," Lyn said. She fidgeted with the trinket again.
Mark sighed. "Think about it, lass," he said. "Politics – you're in Lundgren's way."
Lyn seemed stricken. "But I do not want any titles!"
Sain shrugged. "I'm afraid your grand-uncle doesn't think so," he said. "The brigands we fought today were surely his henchmen."
Kent glanced at Lyn. "I am afraid it is unsafe for you to continue traveling this way if Lundgren is that intent on his attempts on your life," he said. "Why not travel with us to Caelin?"
Mark shrugged and lifted the bottle to his lips. "It doesn't matter to me – let the girl decide."
"Are you sure?" Lyn looked at Mark. "What do you think?"
"I already said I don't care," Mark replied gruffly. "It's your life – take charge of it. Stop moping about the past."
Lyn was silent for a moment as she mulled the proposition over. "Very well," she said. She turned to Kent. "I will join you."
"Then it's settled!" Sain grinned at his companions and finished off the last of his beer. "Fair Lady Lyndis, fear not! I, your loyal servant, shall guard you at all times!"
Kent nodded and finished his own mug. "Then we shall leave for Caelin in the morning."
Kent found Mark outside after Sain and Lyn – Lady Lyndis now, he reminded himself – the smoke from his pipe trailing lazily in the cool night air. "Excuse me," he said. "May I ask you a question?"
Mark glanced at him. "No need to be so formal with me, lad," he said. "Go ahead."
"What is your connection to Lady Lyndis?"
"My connection to the girl?" Mark grinned at the younger man. "Do you think she's my illicit lover or something? Sorry to disappoint you lad, but she's a little young and inexperienced for my tastes."
Kent didn't smile. "You know what I mean."
Mark took the pipe from his mouth and frowned as he tapped the ashes out. "She found me on the plains about ten days ago. She saved my life and in a way I guess I saved hers." He shrugged. "She would've died out there if she'd been alone much longer. So I brought her with me to Bulgar – I figured someone here would know her." He smirked. "I guess I was right."
"Were you going to leave her after she'd been taken off your hands?" Kent asked.
"That was the plan." Mark looked at Kent sternly. "But don't think it's because I'm a cold hearted old bastard; I've become fond of the girl. She reminds me of someone I knew. But I have no way of taking care of her – I barely have enough to take care of myself. How could I take her with me?"
"Will you come with us then?"
Mark looked at Kent curiously. "What do you mean?"
"You clearly have experience in battle. I saw you against those brigands on the flatlands. But your fighting style isn't the greatest – you weren't formally taught to fight from horseback, were you? Except against weaker opponents you're not an asset on the battlefield."
Mark chuckled. "You're an observant soldier, lad," he said. "You'd make a fine commander some day." His expression grew serious again. "Aye, I was a solider. A damned good one, too. But things happened and now I'm an ornery old man who doesn't even know where his next drink or job is going to come from."
"You work?" Kent asked in disbelief. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to sound so…."
"It's fine boy, I understand." Mark leaned against the wall of the inn. "I'm a tactician now – if you could even call the things I come up with actual battle tactics."
Kent felt his eyes being drawn toward Mark's misshapen leg and forced himself to look away. "But you know the ways of battle. You're clearly more experienced than any of us presently. We could use your aid."
"And?"
"You would be paid handsomely by the marquess upon our arrival to Caelin."
Mark contemplated the offer as he limped back toward the front door of the inn. "I'll come," he said. "I'm not getting any younger – maybe this is just what I need to get on with my life." He looked back at Kent. "Best get to bed boy," Mark said. He grinned at the younger man. "You said yourself we'd be leaving first thing in the morning."
As he followed the older man back into the inn a crow cawed from somewhere under the eaves of the establishment and Kent wondered what this journey would bring for them all.
Welcome to the second installment of "Thicker Than Water". Feedback and criticism are welcome as always. Notes will be posted to my Livejournal shortly.
Thank you again for reading.
