OMG my chapters get shorter and shorter D8 Alright, the one after this is a bit longer, I believe. I just stop when it fits and that's not orderly.
Summary: In which Fado loses it and is miraculously happy in the end.
Fado had always known that he was proud; he had never thought that he was arrogant or thought too highly of himself, though. By now, he shouldn't be surprised that he was proven wrong again.
Not long after Fado's conversation with Karl, a messenger arrived. He reported that the town was secured and General Duessel arrested. Fado had immediately stormed off after giving the command over to Karl. The knight had wanted to protest, but Fado didn't listen. There was nothing to fear anyway; as Fado hurried towards the commercial district, he only passed Frelian soldiers collecting their wounded and dead. A short man with a grim and fierce expression watched them – he looked vaguely familiar to Fado but he couldn't place him.
The commercial district was almost deadly silent – only moans from the wounded or dying pierced the air. While looking around for Ephraim and General Duessel, Fado noticed that all houses were still tightly shut. Bethroen could've been a ghost town.
As Fado turned a corner, he spotted his son standing at the quay. And next to Ephraim stood an older man with dark crimson armour. General Duessel's hair looked greyer than Fado remembered.
"Ephraim!" Fado called. The two turned to him surprised and General Duessel immediately bowed deeply as he recognized Fado.
"King Fado." Duessel looked at him with apparent disbelief. "How can it be?" Fado came to a stop in front of him.
"What happened to Vigarde?" The general hesitated. Fado didn't have the nerve for any formality or politeness. His heart was drumming wildly in his ears. He was getting answers. They were so close he could almost touch them. His body was burning with excitement and impatience.
"Father, General Duessel just wanted to tell me what he knows." Fado threw a restless glance at his son. Anger surged through him as he saw how calm Ephraim was. Calm down, he reprimanded himself, he has other priorities. Not that that made Fado feel much better. "You said he suddenly changed," Ephraim prompted.
Duessel's eyes lingered on Fado for a second before he turned his attention back to Ephraim. "Yes, from one day to the other the emperor was completely changed."
"How so," Fado interrupted.
"He suddenly ordered the army to gather. His whole behaviour was different." Duessel cleared his throat and looked out at the sea. "He was suddenly secretive and very aloof. He sent everyone but Prince Lyon away and would no longer confer with us generals." He shook his head.
"But why did he change?" Ephraim asked. "What happened?"
"I wish I knew. But if you're looking for a likely cause, I have one. This all seems to have begun when Prince Lyon and the mages created a strange gemstone they referred to as the Dark Stone."
"The Dark Stone?" Fado and Ephraim asked simultaneously.
"Yes, that's what the clerics and the prince called it. Now, I'm just a soldier. I don't know anything about these magic things. But they said the Dark Stone is more powerful even than the Sacred Stones."
"Where did they get it from?" Fado asked, crunching up his forehead. "There is no power in Magvel that is stronger than the Sacred Stones. What kind of devil's work is this?"
"If the Dark Stone is stronger than the Sacred Stones," Ephraim thought aloud, "then …"
"… Ephraim?" said a small voice. Fado startled terribly and looked around for the speaker.
"Myrrh?" A small girl stood behind Ephraim. She had been standing close to a low stone wall, which had hidden her from Fado's sight. The girl named Myrrh threw a shy glance up at Fado. Her eyes were big and round and made her look very young but there was something strange about them; Fado couldn't say what it was, but he took a step away from her.
"The wave of evil I felt surging from the capital… It hungers… It consumes. It envelops and transforms. This power can tarnish the purest of souls with its corruption," she said in her low voice and hid behind Ephraim, maybe from Fado's glare. He didn't want to glare, but he couldn't relax his face.
"Who is that?" Fado asked.
"This is Myrrh." Ephraim turned to him again. "She's one of the Manakete."
"Manakete?" Fado frowned deeper, looked at Ephraim, then the girl and back to his son.
"I'll explain it to you later." Ephraim turned to Myrrh again, putting his hand protectively on her shoulder. "So the Dark Stone could be the reason for Emperor Vigarde's madness?"
"Madness," Fado hissed under his breath. He was sure this was not just madness. This person he had met in the capital was someone else. Madness didn't erase someone's memory. A mad person would never be this chillingly calm. No, there had to be more behind it.
"Where is the stone now?"
"Prince Lyon carries it with him at all time," Duessel answered.
"Lyon's in the capital. Then we're going there. Maybe together we can restore the emperor."
Ephraim and Duessel continued the conversation, but Fado was no longer listening. He was wrestling with these new informations. They were no answer. The question who was posing as Vigarde, who was responsible for Fado's situation – who took Fado's old life from him – was still left unanswered. Disappointment quickly turned into seething anger. He thought he had been close, but of course they had to throw another obstacle before his feet.
He could no longer stand still and paced up and down. His hand automatically moved to his back – he stopped dead in his tracks as he noticed that he couldn't clasp his hands behind his back. Fado growled lowly, swung his hand forward and let it hover there, not exactly sure where to put it. Eventually, he stuck it in his belt again and continued to pace about.
"Father, please calm yourself." Fado stopped again dead in his tracks. He forced his face to remain expressionless as he looked at his son. "We'll soon find out the truth."
"What did you say?" His voice was flat and he tilted his head in disbelief.
"We have more time later to discuss the news. Now we have to organise our stay and find a ship." Ephraim threw a glance at Duessel. "How did you cross the sea?"
"Our ship has left already. But there is a merchant ship, if I recall correctly." Fado breathed out deeply. His blood was still boiling. To be disrespected by his son in this way–
Fado stepped close to Ephraim; the boy startled barely noticeably. "Do not ever talk to me like that again," Fado whispered. Ephraim took a breath and straightened, staring directly back into Fado's green eyes.
"The soldiers were already looking worried at your reaction and we don't need a hesitant army." Heat shot through Fado again; embarrassment about his lack of foresight and anger at his son's audacity – however justified – mingled and shut down his rationality.
"Be glad," Fado whispered as he leaned closer to Ephraim so that Duessel wouldn't hear him, "that it would harm the moral of the army even more if their commander would be disciplined like the disrespectful brat that he is."
In a matter of seconds the calmness disappeared from Ephraim's face. The stony countenance he had worn since they had been reunited in Fort Lochmol was finally crumbling. "Your hothead would've destroy the moral long ago with your antics."
"My hothead?" Fado hissed. "As if a rookie like you would be able to lead an army on your own. Without Seth you would've been long lost." Ephraim's eyes were ablaze.
"And you couldn't even managed it with Seth." Fado's anger froze; a cold wave of hurt washed over his heated body. He swallowed hard and pressed together his lips tightly.
"I can't believe that someone like you is my son." Ephraim's face smoothed back into a cold expression, probably mirroring Fado's own. Fado turned, no longer able to look at Ephraim's face that looked too much like his own, and walked away. Somewhere towards the mountain district. Or somewhere else, he didn't care. He couldn't believe that Ephraim, his son, the boy he himself had always loved and cared for, would intentionally take advantage of his weaknesses and personally drive the knife deeper into his sore wounds.
Disappointment clouded his head until he almost walked into Karl. In a daze, he let the old knight guide him to the Port Inn. The officers and other important people would sleep there and the soldiers would erect a camp just outside the town. They would embark on the ship early next morning. Fado spoke no word until he was in his room and Karl was gone.
Then Fado slumped on the bed and the fog of disappointment dispersed. Waves of shame washed over him and hurled him to the ground. How could I lose my self-control so? He painfully regretted every word he had spoken. Ephraim had been right and in his situation Fado would've done the same. But he had lashed out and pushed his son away – even though he needed his trust. He needed the strength that Ephraim's presence could give him.
"I'm sorry, Ephraim." He knew he would have to say that to Ephraim in person later, but now he could not do it. His limbs seemed to weigh tons. The day had tired him so much. He couldn't remember any other time where his mood had gone haywire and exhausted him like this. With each passing day, he felt less and less like himself. Falling back onto the bed, Fado stared at the ceiling. While his body was resting, Fado's mind beat him down until he fell into an uneasy sleep.
###
Fado's sleep couldn't have been long; he still felt horrible when Karl woke him up for supper. He refused to go down to eat with the others so the Inn Keeper brought a tray with meat, vegetables, potatoes and a bottle of wine into Fado's room. Fado watched grumpily as Karl cut up the food. That was another advantage of eating alone; nobody could see how he had to be babied. Swallowing mouthfuls of wine – it was not particularly good and obviously mixed with water – to wash out the stale taste clinging to his tongue, Fado slowly regained something akin to a neutral mood.
Wordlessly, Fado took a seat at the small table and quickly cleared his plates. Karl was standing by the door and waiting. "Have you eaten already?" Fado asked, throwing a short glance over at the knight.
"Yes. I've been in the camp until a few minutes ago. I needed to supervise my unit. They're still inexperienced and have little discipline." Fado hesitated slightly. "I was assigned the unit Madam Linnéa and Sir Lajos are also part of, as you surely remember." Fado didn't and felt resentment for Karl's reminder.
"Of course," he replied curtly and downed the last bit of wine. Rapidly tapping his fingers on the wooden table, he reclined. Inwardly, he was more than fidgety. The food and wine had driven away all of his tiredness. He felt cramped and locked up in this small and ugly inn room. His tirelessly working mind was unfortunately affecting his body.
"Your Majesty?" Fado stood up and threw a flat look at Karl. "Maybe we should postpone our spar. You seem to be–"
"No, no," Fado interrupted him and actually felt his mood lightening; exercise always managed to clear his head and cheer him up. "That would be perfect right now."
"Very well." Karl was smiling lightly. "I have organized two blunt swords. We can go any time." Fado quickly threw over a thicker tunic – it was dark outside and the nights were growing colder – and let Karl lead the way.
They had to pass the main room of the inn to get out. Fado threw a very quick glance in, but didn't see Ephraim. He felt guilty about his relief at that realisation. When he stepped out into the late evening, Fado took a deep breath. It reeked of algae and port water, but was still more refreshing than the air of the inn.
Karl waited patiently for Fado. After a second of admiring the stars on the sea-blue sky, Fado turned to him. His heart shot up to his throat as he saw the two swords in Karl's hand. Involuntarily, his hand shot forward. "Give me one," he commanded. He hoped none of his strange excitement tainted his voice.
"As you wish."
Pure calm flowed through Fado's veins as his palm touched the sword hilt. He gripped it tightly; the leather of the hilt pressed delightfully against his skin. Fado sighed deeply – his palm had grown softer after many weeks of neglect. The rough leather almost tickled him. And the weight – the familiar weight of a regular sized sword. Heavier than a rapier – Fado had never liked them – but lighter than a two-hander – but he liked those.
"Your Majesty?" Fado startled as if he had been awoken from a dream. He could just feel how a grin fell from his face. Karl was regarding him curiously, but not surprised. He gestured down the dark road. "Will you come?"
"Yes, yes," Fado mumbled and returned his eyes to the sword. It was by no means nice; it was old, dented horribly and as plain as it could be. But to Fado it was the most beautiful thing in Magvel. "Let's go." With élan, Fado followed the knight.
Their way was not long. They merely rounded the inn and walked down one street. Behind it was a marketplace – the district marketplace, not the big one at the quays. It was not paved and surrounded by regular houses. There was a big fire in the centre and a few torches at the street corners.
As Fado took in the place, his grin immediately plunged to death. There were several people sparring. A group of five to his left, a couple just across the square and another couple sitting to the right at a street corner. Karl hadn't immediately noticed that Fado had stopped in his tracks.
"Is something the matter, Your Majesty?" he asked over his shoulder.
Fado gritted his teeth. He had almost reached his goal – he was on his way to become a warrior again and now–
"Do you truly believe I want to make myself a fool in front of them?" Fado hissed. Karl frowned, his expression openly confused. Heat tickled under Fado's skin. His gaze flittered over the training soldiers. They were all fighting and knew their steps and could hold their own and had no problems with the handling of their sword– Sickness rolled up from his stomach to his mouth. They would be highly amused by the sight of the cripple trying to be a warrior. They would see him struggle and fail and lose. He could well imagine how they would laugh – not when he could see them, but when they were alone.
"Your Majesty, I don't understand," Karl said and stepped closer. "Have any of them offended you?" Clenching his teeth – first on the left, then on the right side –, Fado straightened unconsciously.
"We're going somewhere else." Fado already turned on his heels. The weight of the sword suddenly dragged down his arm. Like an anchor tying him to this soon-to-be embarrassing scene.
"Wait." Karl grabbed Fado's arm. The king glowered at him. Startled, Karl let go and stared at Fado. "Your Majesty, what is wrong?" He gestured towards the soldiers. "They're here to do the same as we. They cannot be any distraction." Fado struggled to remain calm.
"I said we go somewhere else."
"No, we can't." Fado couldn't believe his ears. "It's still too dangerous. We may have conquered the town, but who knows if not some of the civilians sympathise too much with the emperor. We can't risk letting you run around alone." Fado turned slowly.
"You disobey your king?" He saw Karl swallow and hesitate. "Then come already." Fado was already a few steps away, when Karl answered.
"Your Majesty, you cannot go." Fado ignored him. He would go to some deserted place where he could be alone and where he would be the only one to see him fail. No danger could make him stay there. He had just reached the corner of the inn, when he felt a vice-like grip on his arm. Karl had caught up. "I've enough!" Before Fado could react, he was whirled around.
"What do you think you're doing?" Fado snarled.
"Enough of this!" The biting anger in Karl's eyes made Fado hesitate for a second and so enabled Karl to start ranting. "I have enough. I'll be frank now, Fado, as it seems that you don't get it otherwise. I was lenient, I know. I've seen you struggle with yourself and seen your pain. I tried my best to support you so that you would recover quickly. I was confident that it would be just a short matter of time and that you would be again the king that I remember. I tolerated your antics because I thought it would help you to adjust."
Fado stared at him with wide eyes, unable to formulate even just thoughts in return.
"But all you're doing is behaving like a brat. I'm sorry to be so harsh, but you're not just changed but completely turned up-side down. And it doesn't even seem like you're trying." Fado's heart halted for a second. Anger, however, and frustration immediately brought it back to life.
"You think I'm not trying!?" Fado shot back. Karl had made the mistake to stop for breathing. "I'm doing nothing but trying, but nothing helps. Every day I'm trying, but I don't make any progress. Do you think I like this? That I enjoy all your pitiful looks!" This strange vibrant feeling in his chest– it wasn't anger anymore. It was something far colder.
"No," Karl answered lowly. Fado's breathing shook as he looked at the knight, unconsciously absorbing the calmness. "But I think you're not trying the right thing."
"The 'right thing'?" Fado spat, incredulous. "You don't know what's right for me."
"Maybe," Karl admitted and bowed his head, "but I know that you're wasting your energy." Fado's mouth snapped close. "You're trying with all your might to be your old self. You said so yourself. But that is impossible." A slight pressure pushed against Fado's throat. "We agreed to turn you into a different but better version of yourself, remember? But you haven't accepted that."
"Stop acting as if you know my thoughts." Fado turned away. His heart beat far too guiltily in his ears.
"You hate asking for help. Especially for things you think you should be able to do yourself." Karl's words pierced his heart. "You always did." Fado dropped his gaze; his body felt heavy again. He wanted to get away – he didn't want to hear this. "But now you have to. At least for a while. You have to get used to the fact that you have to work your way up again." Fado sighed shakily. He heard Karl step closer. "Your Majesty, they won't look down at you for failing at first. They'll be impressed that you don't just lean back and do nothing." Fado pressed close his mouth and eyes.
He couldn't believe him. Of course they would laugh when he would embarrass himself and look worse than someone who've never held a sword. He couldn't bear the thought that anybody would think of him as an incapable fool.
"You don't believe me, I see," Karl eventually said quietly. Fado opened his mouth; on the one hand to deny it, on the other to agree and explain himself. "Your Majesty, might I suggest something?" Fado's voice was stuck in his throat so he just nodded. "Trust me this once and let us train with the others. Should I be proven wrong, I promise to comply with all of your further commands without any objection."
Into what have I degenerated? Fado's mouth was stale and dry and his head swimming. I've turned into a coward. All of my actions have been driven by fear. Fear that people might look differently at me and think me weak. But… He slowly looked up; Karl was watching him closely. Isn't cowardice the true weakness? If I shy away from possible failure and do nothing, I can never achieve anything.
"I'd rather try and be laughed at," he mumbled – Karl leaned closer to hear him better –, "than never try and be pitied." Karl smiled sympathetically and nodded. Fado lowered his gaze; that was easier said than done. "Remind me of that," he said a tad louder and looked into Karl's blue eyes, "when I despair next time, alright? I might… forget."
To Fado's surprise, Karl knelt down, his right hand on his heart. "I swear, Your Majesty."
"Oh, stand up," Fado answered, strained as he tried to make his voice sound light. "A simple promise would've been enough." Karl smiled when he straightened.
"Then let us spar now." Karl gestured towards the small marketplace. Though Fado's heart was still beating painfully with anxiety and insecurity, he walked towards it. Karl's presence on his new sword side gave him a smidgen of confidence. Maybe that would be enough for this training session.
Karl chose a space that was not in the immediate field of vision of the other people. In front of a pretty, simple house, he rested his sword against the wall so that he could put on his gloves. Fado looked around nervously. Only the couple at the crossing, a young man and an equally young woman, had noticed them. "Your Majesty, let us start with the basics."
Fado released a strained breath and stared at his sword. He needed to shut them out. His thoughts needed to all focus on the sword and the sword alone. Closing his eyes, Fado tilted back his head and breathed in deeply.
He raised the sword, pointing the tip at the throat of an imaginary foe. The weight of the sword – the main stress in his hand, balancing on his first two fingers, the gradual lightening – was familiar and alien at the same time. He knew this feeling perfectly well, just mirror-inverted. His forehead twitched once with irritation. He assured himself that this would be the easiest adjustment and his forehead straightened out.
Carefully, he tipped the tip of the sword inwardly; gently, the hilt pressed against his thumb. This feeling was the same – familiar and alien. He weight it outwards and there it was the same.
Fado opened his eyes. "I'm ready," he said with a nod to Karl.
"Very well." Karl picked up his sword and shifted so that he was in a protecting stance. "Then let us begin with the first routine."
Fado shifted his feet. The first routine consisted of three attacks; left, upper left and left again. As he was now fighting with his left hand, this would be quite a problem. In contrast to regular soldiers who were all fighting with their right, he couldn't strike out from over his left shoulder. To strike he had to move his arm back, drop his defence and open the way to his vulnerable chest, and swing the sword up – in that moment, his grip on the sword was the weakest. Either he needed to twist his wrist back or show his palm to the enemy. In any way, he was terribly vulnerable. And the attack from the upper left was even worse. If he wanted to gain speed, he'd need to raise his arm up straight and leave his side and chest unguarded. Not to speak of how incredibly awkward that motion was.
Fado mulled over these questions a few seconds before he decided to stop thinking and to trust his instincts. It has always worked before, hasn't it? Growling low in his throat, Fado swung back his arm violently and lunged. His sword smashed loudly against Karl's. The knight was unfazed, but Fado startled. The force – a teeny, tiny force that was nothing like what he remembered from himself – had almost slapped his sword out of his hand. Frowning, he corrected his grip. "Again." Karl just nodded.
Fado shifted into position again. The upper half of his sword was in his field of vision; the metal glinted reddish in the light of the fires. Like red sparks, they flickered over the dark grey. Fado breathed deeply and slowly. He twisted his wrist lightly.
Again he lunged, again the swords sung. Fado's grip had been better, but the sword still reared up. Fado shook his head and again resumed his starting position. Then with the palm back. He twisted his wrist further so that the back of his hand was towards Karl.
He lunged and this time his grip remained firm. Fado was smiling when he stepped back. His thumb had prevented the hilt from slipping. It was uncomfortable, but he could get used to that. "Very good, sir," Karl said. Fado grinned – he agreed with Karl. That had actually been easier than he had thought. Then maybe all won't be as bad as I think. His heart jittered with pride and excitement.
"Now the upper left."
This attack took quite long; Fado couldn't find a good way to keep his grip and put at least a bit of strength behind the strike. He was a tad frustrated at that, but it didn't make him despair.
Somehow, somewhere had the success of the first strike found his ambition. Like a heap of white ash that with the help of a tiny breeze began to glow red again, it flared through Fado's mind. He could think about nothing else but manoeuvres, swords, different techniques, series of attacks and how he could convert them.
He had long forgot that he was not alone and that it was growing very late. He overheard Karl's reminders of the time – involuntarily and voluntarily – and it was only when the last other pair of training people were extinguishing the big fire that Fado awoke from his stupor. Lowering the blade, he looked around. The sky was pitch-black and most of the rooms of the inn were dark.
Karl was looking slightly disgruntled. Fado smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He was positively sure that even though Karl had not adhered to his day schedule, he would get over it. They would be caged up on a ship for the next days. They couldn't train there with the ground shaking and moving beneath them.
Karl wordlessly turned when he noticed that Fado was paying attention to him. Amused, Fado followed him back to his room in the inn. Karl quickly helped him to get into his night clothes and only after the knight had been gone for several minutes did Fado remember that Karl had to sleep in the camp. Now, he felt vaguely guilty for detaining his friend for so long, but in the end he didn't have much time to think about that. For once, he was tired for a good reason and gladly let sleep carry him away.
