Not sure what we has doing here, Mark opened his novel from Sumia and continued where he had left off the previous night. Early in the morning, Chrom had told Mark it was of the upmost importance that he "Go to that one sitting room near the throne room and stay there for a bit." Now he was sitting there, obeying the Prince of Yllisse out of curiosity more than fealty. They had been in the capital less than a week, and Chrom's official ascension as leader of the country had been less than a week ago. Now, Mark had suspicion that his friend was planning to appoint him to some trivial official's position, as a director of military uniforms or something ridiculous like that. To be honest, he would enjoy the break. The stresses of being the small war band's tactician was starting to get to him. In a way, he hoped that Chrom wouldn't ask much of him.

There was a knock, and Mark shouted that he was inside. The door open, and revealed Stahl standing there, green armor shining with its new gold trim. "Well Stahl, Captain of the Left." Mark said with a tongue in cheek bow. "What can I do for you?"

"Come on, Mark. Chrom needs you to be a witness for some documents he's signing." The tactician rose, and followed his friend out of the room. Outside, he found Sully was also there, gold gleaming as well on her armor. For actions during the war with Plegia and before, the pair had each been promoted to Captain and given new armor to signify their posts. They stood at his flanks as Mark opened the double doors to the throne room, and he was met with a sight that mildly surprised Mark, considering what he was expecting wasn't far from this.

The throne room was filled with people on all sides, people who Mark had never seen before. Scattered among them were Shepards here and there, however many of the faces were unknown to him. On the other end of the room was Chrom, standing upon the elevated platform that held Yllisse's throne. He stood in regalia, not armor, but with Falchion at his side still. "Ah, my Lord. Looking fine today." Marked cracked, looking around to get a reaction where none was to be found. He cleared his throat and proceeded into the room, soldiers snapping to attention as he passed. Sully and Stahl outpaced him quickly, and stood to Chrom's sides. Mark continued to walk a little more slowly now, looking around for any kind of clue to what was happening. When he reached Chrom, his friend drew the blade that signified his house and his country.

"Kneel, Mark." Confused, Mark bent onto his left knee, and felt the blade rest on his right shoulder. "You have proven to be a brilliant mind for my army, as well as being composed of great moral fiber and possessing a drive that I have not seemed match in all of the kingdom. What I ask of you is not a light task or easy one. But do you accept it?" What was he talking about? What position? It would be nice if someone had told him about this before. Not to be embarrassed or embarrassing, Mark nodded, not lifting his eyes from the ground. Falchion lifted from his shoulder and found itself on his other. "Then, by my right as Prince of Yllisse, I name you Prime Minister. Rise now, Right Hand of the Kingdom." There was applause around him, but to Mark it was like the sound of glass shattering. Minister? What's a minister do? Right Hand? Work? More effort? All these thoughts swirled through his mind as he rose, time around him seeming slower. Chrom clapped him on the shoulders and smiled at his friend and new Hand. "This is a good day, Mark. I can have you filled in on what you'll have to do during the reception." Mark nodded wearily as he turned around, to meet the waves of people coming to congratulate him.


Nergal was dead, his morphs disbanded. His body, still not yet cold, lay on the steps of the great chamber where he was fought. Mark stood over his tattered body, the life gone from the man's eyes. Finally, the fighting could be over. He leaned against the wall, taking a breath and looking for Eliwood with his Sight. There he was, surrounded by Lyn, Hector and Athos. The tactician was relieved to see his friends seemed to be as happy as he was they could put away their weapons. Mark blinked, and was staring again at the emerald floor of the Dragon's Gate. There, lying near Nergal's open palm, was a ring. It was cast in silver, and as Mark bent down to examine it further he saw there was a trio of gleaming gems that rested on the outside of it. Oddly compelled, he picked the ring up and turned it in his hands. It was a pretty thing indeed, and the amethysts shone in even the low light of the torches on the walls.

"Mark." At the sound of his name, the strategist jumped. As he turned, putting the ring without thinking in his pocket, he found Jaffar standing over the corpse of his former master. His knives were laid on the ground, and he was wrapping around himself a mantle that was covering his entire figure. "My debt is payed, Nergal is dead. I don't have a place in the army anymore." He approached Mark, the imposing man standing several inches taller than his comrade.

"You don't have to think like that, Jaffar. You could travel with me, or work for Ostia, or..." the Angel of Death held one hand up to stop the trail of words coming from the tactician's mouth.

"There's no place for me in the civilized world. I am a killing machine, and killing machines have no place in the world at large." He strode past Mark and began to walk down the steps. "I am disappearing from the known world. All I ask is you take care of Nino." He turned to look the man at the top of the steps. "Can you do that for me?" For a moment, silence between the two. Eyes were locked, until Mark heard footsteps coming from behind him. He turned to see Eliwood, coming towards him rushed.

"Mark, come on! We have trouble!" The tactician began to follow, but turned to speak a final farewell to Jaffar. But only the empty stairway met him as he looked.

"Farewell, Angel. Find peace." Mark broke into a sprint to join Eliwood. Soon, they caught up to Hector, Lyn and Athos. They group then strode up even more steps, until they reached a doorway and-…

Dragons. Three red, massive, evil looking dragons. Mark was frozen in place, a chill coming up his spine and winding back down it. Voices around him were muted, his vision was tunneled on the beasts in front of him. Even when Athos stepped forward and the dragons attacked, scorching the archsage. Only when there was a bright light near him was the trance of fear broken. He turned to see Ninian there, standing alive once again. He stepped back near Lyn, and watched as the young dragon girl focused her power and dispelled two of the three red giants in front of them. She collapsed, but she had only fainted. Now, it was their turn to face the last dragon left. Mark hoped they had the strength to pull it off.


Mark managed to slip away from the reception and its tedium. Too many stuffy nobles trying to get on his good side, and not enough of his actual friends. It was explained to him that the prime Minister, or Chancellor, was in charge of two facets of the government in Yllisse; diplomatic affairs and management of domestic affairs. "So basically," he had said, "make sure other countries don't attack us and don't let the country fall apart…great." He made his way to the tower of Ylisstol's palace where his stuff had been taken, and opened the door to his new room. He stepped in, stripped his coat, and threw it onto a chair that sat in the corner. His new room was larger than most rooms in the palace, with a large bed in the corner next to a bookshelf holding the tactician's growing collection of books. Chrom had told him it was traditionally the minister's room, but Emmeryn had never appointed a minister in her reign as Exalt. Mark came to a dresser in the corner and opened it to find a collection of more discreet clothes: shirts, pants, robes and other various gear. It took a minute for him to remove his breastplate, greaves and vambraces, before he changed his shirt and pants. As he closed the dresser and began to leave, he paused when his eyes caught a deep green hood hanging on the post next to the dresser. He snatched the cloak from its hanging place and clasped it around his neck. He admired himself in a nearby mirror for a minute, letting his new garb come over his arms and twist after him as he turned in place. Somehow, the earthy shade seemed proper draped from his shoulders.

He made his way quickly from the palace, evading guards as he exited so no one knew he had gone. Making his way through the streets of the city, Mark finally had a moment to take in sounds and sight of the capital at night. As he walked, he eventually found himself rounding a corner and faced a street full of laughter and color. He looked towards the post that was staked on the corner, and saw the word 'Bousset' carved into the sign on the stake. Fredereck had remarked once or twice about how his time as a beat guard conditioned him to hate Bousset. It was a street lit up to late into the night, with revelers and drunkards aplenty. Many a time he would have to wade into the mass of bodies to make arrests of stop a brawl. Sounded like a place to get lost for the night.

Each tavern down the street had lit stain glass to attract customers, illuminated by the lights inside. Images of women and flowers and other pretty things to get the drunk masses inside. Mark stopped when one that finally caught his eye; amethyst glass depicting a four legged beast with its head reared back. Mark studied the glass for a long while transfixed, before looking upwards to the sign that hung above the door, name that came out occasionally in lantern light.

The Purple Dragon

Inside, the minister found a rowdy place with a quartet of bards playing on an elevated stage. On the air was the smell of ales, wines, along with the sweet sounds from the strings played on stage, and of course the breaks of laughter. Mark kept the cloak's hood up as he made his way to the bar. Behind the bar was a cutting figure; a fair but weathered face, with red hair tied behind in a ponytail and a goatee of the same ember shade. "Ah, hello friend. You're a new face around here. Out on a celebration like most of us are you?"

"And what is there to celebrate, sir?" Mark replied, doing his best to mask his voice behind a rasp he layered over his normal tone, keeping his head angled down.

"The land is at peace, finally. They say the Mad King is dead, and Plegia no longer wants Yllissian blood. And that, lad, is a worthy thing to celebrate." The man couldn't help but smile when he said this, reaching over to grab an empty pint glass on the bar and began to clean it out. "And happy, safe feeling people is good for my business. Good for the Dragon." He put the clean glass in front of Mark, who finally looked up to lock eyes with the cheery man. "Now, what is it I'm pouring for you tonight?" Mark only shrugged, as the bartender turned around for a moment, before returning with a tall bottle in his hand. He twisted the cork from the neck and poured its contents into the glass. "Talgera Red Ale, the best ale from the best county for ales." He slid the glass towards Mark, who took it and nearly choked when he drank it. The ale had a sharp, bitter sting to it, but once that subsided he found a better taste than the brews he had tried in the past.

"Thank you. How much do I..?"

"Don't worry about it tonight, lad. First round is on the owner tonight." The man extended his hand, which Mark took gladly. "Hunter Riptarian, at your service tonight and on any other."

Mark took his drink over to a table in the corner and took a seat. For a half an hour, no one bothered him as he drank the ale, and eventually lit his pipe for the first time in a few days. The light from the pipe played itself off his cape and hood, as he finally felt at ease after the happenings of the day. As he sat in relaxation, he didn't notice the woman approaching him until she was almost in his face. He looked up from under his hood to see a fair woman with indigo hair tied back, wearing clothes she seemed uncomfortable in. "Can I…sit with you?" The new minister lifted the hood away so he could focus on her face. It was Marth, or at least the woman who claimed to be named Marth. Seeing his full face, the woman didn't wait for confirmation before she sat down "I knew it was you. This is the first time I've seen you in here."

"And this is the first time I've seen you where you aren't either fighting us or saving one of us." Mark remarked as he put his pipe down. She gave a small smile at this, and seemed to relax in her chair. Hunter himself came to the table seconds later with a glass in his hand and put it in front of the blue haired woman. She took it and drank deep from it. "So. Gangral dead, Emmeryn avenged and Chrom the leader of the kingdom. Is this result satisfying for you?" The minister spoke out before drinking himself. Marth's eyes lit up at this, putting her glass down and sighing.

"Yes, for now. But my purpose here is not yet finished." She looked at the tactician with a slightly tilted head, a look of confusion on her face. "I heard that you were appointed minister earlier today." Mark nodded, but the look did not escape her face. "Strange. In my time, the position of Prime Minister was never filled." She shook her head and took another drink.

"Well, I guess something you helped us change spurred Chrom to choose me." Mark said through a drink of his own. "I sure didn't ask for this…diplomacy, politics…I swear some of the nobles at the reception were trying far too hard to get my hands in their own pockets."

"They tend to have nothing better to do, nobles. Play for power and sit on the power they have." Marth smiled. She reclined back in her chair, and Mark finally took her whole figure in; without armor she was slender, but not thin. Toned and trained, Marth had the marks of a mercenary, but still her speech and mannerisms carried an air of nobility about them. "Well, I do believe I'm ready for bed. Congratulations on your position." The woman abruptly stood from her chair and made her way coldly across the room and through the crowds before ascending a staircase. Pausing at he top, she turned to face Mark once again, and raised her hand as if to give a small wave, but the hand was quickly lowered as she abruptly turned down the hall.

What an eccentric performance.


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