AN: I'm having a few issues with ffn's formatting (aka I need stuff to be bolded, italicized, and/or underlined and it doesn't come out how I want it to). I also realized ffn did not save the characters that I wanted to categorize, so sigh. Other than that, here's the first official chapter!


Chapter 1: Drunk People Tell the Best Stories

10 Years Prior, Porter's Pub

The night was cold and dark with a light fall of snow. There were a few people outside, but most decided to stay indoors to escape the cold and snow. It was one of those nights where it would be nice to stay at home and sit by a warm fire with a warm cup of tea.

Or in a pub surrounded by drunk, sweaty humans. That was also acceptable.

Porter's Pub was the local tavern within a twenty mile radius. It was located in the small village of Eisenwald on the outskirts of Cardiff. It wasn't spectacular by any means; it could only house around fifty occupants at most. But they served good ale at a decent price, so locals often flocked to Porter's for a good drink.

On a cold, snowy night with the comfort of some hearty ale to keep one warm, it was a good opportunity to gather information from loose lips.

A young man with blue eyes and short blonde hair ordered another tankard of beer. A long scar ran horizontal across the bridge of his nose. It harbored an interesting story of its own, though the blonde came to the tavern that night to listen to others' stories rather than tell his own. He would have stood out if everyone else wasn't already so drunk and rowdy.

He fiddled with his black cross pattée necklace, tuning out the chatter throughout the tavern. His eyes occasionally glanced at the Brisingr, making sure the sword resting against the table at his side was still there. He was on his fifth tankard of alcohol, but he was drinking at a slower pace than the other men around him. Although he hadn't drank as much as the others, the blonde did not consider himself sober enough to trust leaving Brisingr unattended.

The jug was placed down in front of him. The blonde man took a small sip and returned to the conversation with the other three men.

The current speaker was a small, plump man with only half a head of hair. He introduced himself as Paul and quickly started telling a grand tale of witches and sorcery. The transition into methods to reach immortality and having the perfect body caught the blonde's attention. He found himself listening to Paul's story.

"Sure we know that magic and witches and sorcery are real, but has anyone ever heard of anyone actually reaching immortality? Nope! Not at all."

Paul took another giant gulp from his drink. His face was already as red as a crawfish and he was swaying from his seat. But he kept speaking, which was more important to the blonde man.

"There's so many stories out there that you can't even tell truth from fairytale anymore. Hell, even witches flying on brooms still sound like a fantasy to me!"

The other two men guffawed with him. But the blonde man simply smiled and took a sip from his ale. It didn't feel like a fantasy to him, especially since he was married to a witch.

"But there's one thing that I came across during my long decades dragging around that smelly wagon across the country," Paul continued. "The Elixir of Life. Sounds like some crap you find in a children's book, yeah? No, this thing's actually real. For a human to make it? Impossible. To find it? Hard, almost impossible. But not completely."

"And that's the shit that'll make you live forever?" asked the biggest man of their group of four. If the blonde remembered correctly, his name was John.

"Not just that! It cures any sort of ailments too!" Paul took one giant swig of his ale and slammed the tankard on the table. "You got cancer? Gone! You dying from a hole in your gut? Not anymore! You got some sort of weird crap going on in your head? All fixed! It doesn't just let you live forever. You get to live forever perfectly!"

It was just as Paul said. The Elixir of Life was a famous myth, well-known within both the magical community and the normal populace. Even in a world of magic and fantasy, the Elixir's documentation varied from one source to the next. Some equated it to a philosopher's stone. Others believed it could only be possessed in its liquid form. Some believed it could be made by humans. Others believed it was a gift from the gods.

But in all accounts, it was known as a potion that could grant eternal life and cure all diseases. Such an item must be heavily guarded. Its existence was so obscure that no known human was known to ever possess it. Although the Philosopher's Stone was known to be real, the existence and whereabouts of the Elixir of Life - the mythical potion said to have the ability to cure all illnesses and grant eternal life and youth - were still debated.

This much the blonde was aware. He had come across the possibility of using the Elixir for his purpose. However, true to its infamy, he had no luck locating the coveted item.

The impossibility to locate it made the entire myth just that - a myth.

"Sounds like a scam, dude," said the third man. The blonde couldn't remember his name at all.

"But that's like every other fairytale you come across," Paul rebuked. "That's why they're called fantasies. But this one? Nah, I heard some guys talking about it. Someone says there's one in the deepest parts of the Regulus Caverns, tucked away so far in that it'll take decades just to make it back out if you can. But no one has returned with it, either dead or alive. Even if you manage to make it into the caverns, the survivors supposedly all turned into swords not longer after they returned empty handed."

The unnamed man snorted. "Of course they didn't. It's just crap spouted by some drunk men."

Paul slammed his hands onto the table, almost tipping it over to his side. "What you say?!"

The blonde man placed himself between Paul and the unnamed man. He was the only one of the four who was sober enough to prevent a conflict from starting. John the big man was already snoring in his seat.

"Hey you guys, settle down. We're here to share stories, not beat each other black and blue. None of us here know whether it's real or not. We've never gone looking for it, now have we? So how can we know if there is an Elixir of Life or not?"

"That's because it does exist!" Paul insisted. "This particular one is made from the tears of the Nine Olde Witches! They put it in the Regulus Caverns so not just anyone can use it." He directed the next part at the third man specifically. "Not stupid people like you."

The third man roared and threw a left hook at Paul's face. The blonde reacted before it could hit, pushing the third man back until he tumbled backward out of his seat. Despite the commotion they were causing, no one else in the pub spared a glance. It seemed something else was happening in the other part of the tavern, but the blonde man was too preoccupied with the current situation to turn his attention to it.

"I swear," the blonde man growled, a low rumbling in his throat. He rubbed at his throbbing head. "I'm not sober enough for this. If you want a babysitter, go call the sheriff."

But the third man did not reply. In fact, he didn't even sit up or make an attempt to get up from the floor. He stayed lying on the ground, fast asleep.

The blonde groaned. "Well, I guess that makes things easier for me."

On the other hand, Paul was blinking with glazed eyes at his empty jug of beer. "Eh? Where'd my drink go?"

The blonde sighed. "I'll order another one for you if you tell me more about the Elixir. On me."

"Pah, just gotta tell some more 'stories' for a free drink? Who am I to refuse?"

The blonde flagged down the bartender and ordered another drink for them both. His drink was knocked over when he stopped the third man from hitting Paul.

"Stories can be deceiving," he told Paul as they received their drinks. "In a world where magic is real, it's hard to tell what's fantasy and what's not. I've come to accept that anything is possible."

Paul took a giant gulp from his new tankard. "You're a strange one, you know?"

"I'm looking for something that can cure a respiratory illness," the blonde continued. "Sarcoidosis. We've tried everything we can. Nothing has worked."

"Sounds like a terrible one. Who's got it?"

"My wife." The blonde took a long gulp from his drink, letting the alcohol burn its way down his throat. "She doesn't have much longer. I don't know what else to try."

"So you're placing your bets on the Elixir?"

The blonde placed his tankard on the table. "What else can I do? At this point, I don't have the luxury of ruling something as impossible. I'll try whatever I have to. I will find a cure. I have to."

A low rumbled resonated in Paul's throat. "Man, I wish I can say most men were like you. Hell, even I'm not like that. I wouldn't go to the ends of the world for my wife. I'd rather spend my days drinking my life away and not have to worry about things like that. You're a strange one."

"I won't lose her. She's my entire world."

"Now that's something you hear from fairytales," Paul laughed. "You got any kids?"

"A daughter. Still a child." The blonde man smiled wistfully. "She is the joy of my world. I would hate to have her lose her mother at such a young age."

"So what happens when you go look for the Elixir? You leave your wife and kid alone? What happens if you can't find it and you both die? You fine leaving your daughter to grow up by herself?"

Those were some insightful thoughts coming from a drunk man. But despite being drunk himself, the blonde couldn't deny what Paul had said.

"I…"

There was a possibility that he could lose his life while looking for the Elixir. After all, no one had been successful. If that was the case, he would not only lose his wife, but also leave his daughter to a lonely fate.

But the other choice was to not even try. And he could not accept that.

"I cannot give up. We have exhausted everything from modern medicine to unorthodox witchcraft. If I had the option, I would choose to stay with my wife and my daughter in our home - safe - in a heartbeat. But there is nothing else. I have to try. Because the alternative means there is no chance to save her. And I cannot - will not - accept that."

The blonde drank the rest of his tankard and slammed it down onto the table, hard enough to break the jug and crack the table. The force spilled the rest of Paul's drink but didn't attract attention from the rest of the tavern.

Still holding onto the handle of the jug, the blonde wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Paul whistled. He didn't seem to mind that his drink was all over the floor now. "You're really something. Honestly, I can't tell whether that woman's lucky or cursed to have a husband like you."

The blonde shook his head. "No, she is the one who cleared any doubt from my heart. If anything, I should be the one who is grateful to her. I love her. And I will not stop until she is able to enjoy her life fully with our family."

The conversation had sobered him up enough to finally notice what was going on in the rest of the tavern. It seemed there was some kind of fight going on. Or a bull going on a rampage. And it was coming their way.

Although he was drunk, the blonde trusted his reflexes enough to stand up, pull Paul away from their table by grabbing the back of his collar, and evade a body thrown their way in under three seconds. Paul was so drunk that he did not object to the blonde's absurd manhandling techniques to save him.

The sound of said body crashing through multiple tables and patrons helped clear some more fog from the blonde's head. Beside him, Paul groaned in miserable pain.

"Man, I'm gonna have a hella headache when I wake up in the morning. Gonna wish I was dead… don't wanna deal with wife… night night…"

He then promptly passed out while the blonde was still holding his collar.

The blonde dropped Paul onto the floor and turned to the current commotion. A large man lumbered his way over to where he had thrown the other body. Although the blonde was well-built with broad shoulders and taller than six feet, this man towered over him by at least half a foot and twice his width. His shaggy brown hair did little to hide the savagery present in his green eyes. He wasn't wearing any armor, but the blonde noticed a broadsword strapped on the man's waist.

The smaller man thrown on across the tavern moaned in pain. He got on his hands and knees and clutched at his side. The large man was coming closer; it was obvious the smaller man wouldn't be able to defend himself. If he was assaulted and thrown a second time with that much force, there was a high possibility that he would lose his life.

So the blonde man made a decision. He stepped in between the large man and his prey. With one arm outstretched, he silently demanded the larger man to stop.

"If this ain't your business, get out of the way," the large man rumbled.

The blonde did not move. "There's no need to cause a disruption. This man is already injured. Whatever business you had with him, surely this is enough punishment?"

"Who the hell are ya to decide? You gonna make it your business?"

Maybe it was the alcohol clouding his mind, but the blonde was finding it harder to keep his temper under control. "Have you no shame? You would take advantage of a defenseless man already on the brink of death? Business or not, this is enough!"

The larger man growled and stepped close enough for him to tower over the blonde. He ducked down to stick his face in front of the blonde. He was now close enough for the blonde to smell his rancid breath of alcohol.

"Whatchu gonna do then? Make it your business? You tryna pick a fight, little man?"

Now he knew for certain it was the alcohol talking, because he actually agreed. "If that blade strapped to your waist is any indication, then we shall settle this as swordsmen."

That seemed to surprise the larger man. "Huh? You got a sword?"

The blonde reached to the side where he was sitting before and picked up a broadsword covered by a beautiful sheath of a gold and red pattern. The guard was gold while the handle a dark burgundy. The pommel was a small, circular orb adorned with an emblem of a gold griffin.

Although the large man was too drunk to notice, the others close to them gasped upon recognizing the weapon. Whispers arose throughout the tavern, but the blonde paid them no mind.

"Shall we take this outside? I will settle this matter in that man's place."


The snow was at least half an inch tall, but the blonde did not think it would cause him any trouble. Even though he was still tipsy, the previous conversation with Paul and his anger at the large man helped clear the haziness from his head enough for him to focus on his opponent.

The larger man seemed to be sober enough to stand straight as well. It did not mean his mind was clear enough to fight without any difficulty. But they were both intoxicated, so there was technically no disadvantage.

Most, if not all, of the patrons from the tavern had gathered outside to watch their impromptu duel. The whispers were getting louder, many pointing to him and saying his name. He paid no attention to them.

The larger man unsheathed his sword, prompting the blonde to do so with his own. The two prepared their guards, feet sinking into the soft white snow.

"You're the one who challenged me, little man. Should you not introduce yourself?" the larger man said.

"Very well." There was no point hiding it. People had already recognized him when he showed the larger man his sword. If his opponent realized who he was dealing with and decided to forfeit, that would be better for everyone.

"I am Arthur, head of the House of Reinhardt and knight of the Lady Bernadette of the House of Cavendish. State your name and status, and we may begin our duel."

The whispers grew in intensity. Gasps resounded throughout the crowd. Yet, the large man held no fear or recognition. He simply smiled.

"Dunno what that is, but I ain't got no fancy title like that. I'm just Duncan, a guy who goes around taking stuff when I want to. And I want that sword you've got."

"Fair enough. I've been told it's a pretty thing to covet."

The two men held their blades at the ready, stances in place. The blonde man named Arthur noticed his opponent swaying slightly side to side. However, he was not fairing much better. Arthur tightened his grip on his sword and blinked profusely to banish the dark spots forming in his vision.

There was no formal decree to signal the beginning of their duel. Duncan charged forward, swinging his sword with with both hands down toward Arthur's head. With his superior height and weight, only two large steps were needed to place himself within Arthur's guard.

Arthur shifted his weight so he was slightly off center of Duncan's charge. He raised his sword and deflected the blow, using the momentum of Duncan's attack to swing his own weapon around at Duncan's neck.

Apparently, Duncan wasn't so drunk that he couldn't move quickly on his feet. He took one step back and let Arthur's counterattack swing through without lopping off his head, only grazing his neck.

Duncan thrusted his sword at Arthur's chest. When Arthur avoided that by stepping to the side, Duncan swung the blade in a wide arc. Arthur parried with the back of his sword and aimed for Duncan's left shoulder.

Duncan stepped back and avoided the attack completely this time. He swung his sword around his body and raised it above his head. Before Arthur could counter, Duncan swung the sword down with enough momentum to feel it cutting the air where Arthur would have been if he had not avoided it at the last moment.

Arthur moved back a few steps. But Duncan was already charging at him again with his sword tucked at his side in preparation for a side cut.

Arthur grunted as he maneuvered his body to evade Duncan's dangerous attacks.

(For a lumbering drunk, he's pretty fast. It's also doing wonders for his strength. If I block any of these attacks straight on...)

"What's wrong, hot shot?! Where's all that cockiness now?!" Duncan yelled as he swung with the force of a wild gorilla.

Arthur felt his body start to weigh him down even as he evaded Duncan's swing.

(I suppose I'm a bit more drunk than I thought I was.)

Deciding to put an end to this before he actually got his head lopped off, Arthur placed his left hand on his chest where his necklace was worn beneath his coat.

Channeling both magic and his own life energy, Arthur whispered, "Magna Aestus."

A light green glow covered Arthur's body. Green lines ran along his body, the visible ones stemming from his hairline to his eyes and covering his hands like a circuit. Energy filled his veins, strengthening his body.

The trademark spell of the House of Reinhardt. Passed down and perfected through numerous generations, it used outside, external magical energy with the user's internal energy to improve the user's capabilities beyond human limits.

Normally, a magic user would not be able to use a spell without the presence of a philosopher's stone. That was why all members of the Reinhardt family who practiced Magna Aestus carried a small portion of their estate's philosopher's stone with them at all times. It acted as a portable battery for them to activate the spell even when they were not in range of a larger philosopher's stone. However, this meant the amount of energy they carried was limited; they still needed to return to their family estate to recharge the stone once it had been depleted.

The stone Arthur carried allowed him to use Magna Aestus around seven times. It had already been used before without recharging, but Arthur had enough for this one, small bout.

Arthur felt the fog clear from his mind. His grip on Brisingr tightened as he turned his gaze toward Duncan, who had begun to charge once more. Except he could see everything without worrying about Duncan's speed or strength. It was as if a switch had been flipped in Arthur's body; he was cognitive enough to discern the correct method to end this duel in one strike.

As Duncan swung his weapon down with enough force to bludgeon his opponent's head, Arthur took a small step to the side and twisted his blade so that it was angled toward Duncan's hands. Unlike the other times, Arthur met Duncan's swing head on.

Duncan smirked. There was no possibility for his opponent to meet his double-handed overhead swing head-on. Duncan was confident that his strength overwhelmed Arthur's.

But when the swords made contact, neither weapon broke. The two blades were not locked together. As soon as the blades touched, Arthur moved his sword to disarm Duncan. When Duncan blinked, his sword was no longer in his hands, but a few yards away lodged in the white snow. Arthur's blade was held at his neck.

The green circuit of energy covering Arthur's body began to dissipate as Arthur deemed it the end of the duel. Duncan, now disarmed, had lost. And he had no idea how.

Even before Duncan spoke, Arthur knew his opponent had conceded. Arthur could see the fear and confusion dominating his intoxication clearly through Duncan's eyes. If that wasn't enough, Duncan looked almost ready to faint.

"I-" When Duncan gulped, his adam's apple came close to the tip of Arthur's sword held so close to his throat. "I surrender. Please, please spare my life. I'm sorry!"

Arthur removed Brisingr from his opponent's neck. Duncan collapsed to his knees.

"Pay for the damages to the pub and I will grant your wish."

Duncan pressed his face down to the floor. "I understand! I won't do this anymore! Please don't kill me!"

"Well, as long as you understand." Arthur sheathed his sword. He pulled the collar of his coat up so that it was covering more of his neck.

The crowd parted for him as he walked past. Many looked like they wanted to speak to him, but they were all tongue-tied from that brief show of power.

It was one thing to have heard of the Reinhardt family. But to see it for one's own eyes was a different matter altogether.

But one man managed to find his voice. Now that he knew of his identity, Paul, Arthur's only conscious companion from the pub, called out to him and asked, "Sir Reinhardt! Where will you be going now?!"

The blonde man paused in the snow. Looking back, he gave the plump man a boyish grin that did not match his previous show of power. Nevertheless, he gave an answer of complete certainty despite the absurd difficulty of the task.

"To find the cure for my wife! To find the Elixir of Life!"


AN: Fight scenes are a lot harder to write than I remember them to be. And this isn't even the last time I'll need to write one *cries*

Please let me know your thoughts and comments. Reviews make this tomato happy :]

Fun Fact: The format of this story is actually inspired by Lugubrious DBB's The Sins of the Father over in the Frozen category. That author has some serious world building skills. It's amazing.