A/N: As promised, behold my lovely, kind, patient readers who have put up with the wait so well! Kisses!
For anyone who missed the announcement, Gangrel and Nisha's story is not over yet...they have a new quest to set out on!
Gracias a mis críticos: potatoman098 (I'm glad you enjoyed. :) ), Lady Weavile 461 (3 ), Brenna Snow (Oh trust me, the inspiration is there...I've been suppressing this plotline for over a year), sugouxxx ("Sumia, use doubleslap!" XD And hey, I know you just wanted an epilogue, so I've tried to make the opening part to be sort of epilogue-ish for you), Emozenith (oh, where do I begin? You are one epic human being!), Shimi (The conversion is permanent...you may never go back...jk! Glad to know I gave someone feels!), and Pandora's gift (Worry not, mein freund!).
They reached Ylisstol that same night. The celebrations that occurred within the castle's walls once the Shepherds learned of what had happened lasted for an week with the those members within Ylisse's borders travelling to the capital to come join the party. The Shepherds that lived in other nations received word via letter or magic and send word back that they were holding their own feasts to honor their returned tactician. Many of the women—and a few of the men—had shed tears of joy upon hearing the news. Morgan wept openly when he embraced his mother before dragging her to Lucina to see the ring that adorned the young woman's finger. Even members of th stiff and no-nonsense Ylissean Council joined in the festivities!
In the midst of their joy, there was one man who refused to leave Nisha's side. Gangrel stayed right next to his lover throughout the entire affair, holding her hand and sitting beside her. He didn't talk much, but even in his silence he looked far more alive than he had for months, actually smiling when Shepherds came to congratulate him on his fiancee's return. It almost seemed as though a fragment of his old, livelier self had returned and for the first time, the Ylisseans were glad for it.
Of course, nobody had honestly been expecting for the Mad King to return to his usual sassy, sarcastic self right away, but his newest shift in routine had taken the entire castle by surprise: Gangrel never let Nisha out of his sight anymore except for the moments when she was bathing or changing clothes and even then he was close by. The clinging had first become apparent when the Shepherds observed him following their tactician absolutely, refusing to let go of her hand or be further than five paces from her at any given moment. Whenever Nisha sat anywhere that wasn't a chair, the trickster would be right behind her, positioning her in his lap, holding her tight about the waist. This had initially been something of a shock for anyone who saw him do this, but the Ylisseans had decided to just accept it without much complaint—he was bound to want to be by her side at every moment considering how long they had been apart, after all.
It had become a problem when it was discovered that the Mad King would wait until the castle was asleep at night and creep into the tactician's room and fall asleep on the floor by her bed rather than in his own quarters. Chrom pulled Gangrel aside after the first incident and tried to tell him off, but the next morning, the trickster was found again at Nisha's bedside, fast asleep.
In truth, they all knew why Gangrel was acting this way: he was afraid Nisha was going to disappear again. Every night when they parted ways, his mind couldn't let go of the thought that he might wake up in the morning and she would be gone. It was an illogical fear and the redheaded Plegian knew it, but that knowledge did nothing to soothe his worries. Finally, Nisha put her foot down.
"This needs to stop," she told him when she woke up to find him in her room again. "It's not healthy for you to be so obsessed with me."
Gangrel had given her a look, one so full of worry and genuine terror that her sternness softened and she took his hand into her own.
"I promise you, I'm not going to run away any time soon."
"You promised that you wouldn't sacrifice yourself to kill Grima either," the Mad King reminded her.
"I never actually said those words to you. But I did promise to come back, and here I am."
She kissed him gently and let out a faint gasp when Gangrel crushed her against him in an embrace. After a moment, the tactician reciprocated the gesture and heard him whisper into her ear.
"Never do that to me again, alright? Else I won't give you so long to come back."
"I won't; I swear."
It had been almost two weeks since Nisha's return to the world of the living, and things had returned to normality within the castle walls. Gangrel still spent most nights on Nisha's floor, but at least he was polite enough to ask permission when his paranoia refused to leave him alone.
On this particular morning, the tactician had been unusually stressed as she went about her usual routines. She was currently taking out her ponytail for the fifth time, upset over some tiny imperfection in the way she had pulled it up. It was at this point that Gangrel decided to intervene.
"Alright," he sighed, "what's wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing's wrong."
"Oh don't give me that. You're all but pulling your hair out you've messed with it so much. I can tell you're stressed."
"And that's the problem," Nisha muttered, carefully tying her hair back and finally just letting it be. "I really shouldn't be worried; it's just the diplomatic representative from Plegia. I probably won't say or do anything. But the fact I am so nerve-wracked is only making my emotions worse!"
The Mad King raised an eyebrow before he stepped forward and captured his flustered lover in his embrace, kissing her temple.
"Just relax," he purred into her ear. "You'll be perfect as always. In all honesty, you could deal with diplomats in your sleep."
Dropping his hands to her hips, Gangrel turned her around a kissed her lightly on the lips, smirking when he felt her tightly wound body loosen in his arms.
"It's hard to believe you can't stand to be away from me for fear I'll vanish when you get like this," the dark-haired woman mumbled.
"That's because it's daytime," he replied smoothly. "It's only when darkness falls that I run to your chambers."
Nisha laughed before she kissed her fiance and wrapped her arms about his neck. It was while they stood together like this that Olivia knocked and reminded the tactician that she had ten minutes before she was due to the council chambers to greet their guest. Gangrel stepped back, lacing his fingers with hers.
"Shall we, my Lady?"
In the trickster's personal opinion, the Ylisseans were a tad overly theatrical with their ruling system. True, he could be accused of the same, but Gangrel liked to think that he reserved all the pomp and ceremony only for the most deserving of occasions. In Plegia, a diplomat would meet with the king and potentially a few of his advisers, but it would be a small affair, most likely over the king's writing desk, and was dealt with as soon as possible. Here in Ylisse, the diplomat was invited to dine with the royal family the night of their arrival and have their audience the next morning with the entire council in attendance.
And they had called him dramatic. Oh well, the pot calling the kettle black and all that.
The Ylissean council were seated comfortably around their large table, mingling casually through every once in a while one would shoot a glance at the redheaded Plegian standing beside Nisha. It was no secret that the council was wary of him—feared him even—but they did not openly contest Chrom's decision to allow Gangrel to be present at meetings where the tactician was required. As far as they were concerned, he was a waste of room space, one they tried to ignore for the most part.
The doors to the chamber opened and Frederick entered, a woman following close behind him.
"Lady Rema, diplomat of Plegia, my Lords and Ladies," the great knight intoned before moving to stand at his Exalt's side.
"Welcome," Chrom greeted her warmly. The diplomat bowed deeply before she straightened and everyone managed to catch a fair glimpse of her.
She was a lovely woman with richly tanned skin and short brunette hair. Her eyes were like liquid gold and caught the light whenever she made eye contact. There were also dark shadows under those eyes, recently formed.
"It is an honor, your Excellence," she replied softly. "With how Plegia has treated your country in these recent years, I do not deserve such kindness."
"Nonsense," the bluenette smiled. "The Plegian people have done much for Ylisse and I would see that all hostility between our lands cease. Now, what brings you before us, Lady Rema?"
"My homeland is in dire need, my Lord," the noblewoman stated wearily. "I have come to you for aid. The people are starving and the government is in shambles after Validar's death. The noble houses quarrel as to what should be done and I knew not where else to turn."
The rest of her story was no better: a high-ranking Grimleal priest had taken the throne as a temporary steward and was unfairly directing the rebuilding efforts and most of the resources to be within the cult's jurisdiction while the Lords of Plegia withheld great stores of food and wealth from the common people. Violence was increasing as citizens turned to crime to survive and farms were failing due to plunder. Entire cities that had been destroyed in Grima's rise to power were left in ruins and international relations were at a new low, trade having stopped entirely. The entire country was dying it seemed. Lady Rema was nearly in tears by the end of it, clearly worn out mentally and emotionally.
"I have done all I can to help the people, but my power is limited, as is the resources I can share. It is only at this hour of direst need have I been able to surrender my pride and come to you, sire."
The desperate woman looked around her as she finished her plea, at all the powerful men and women seated at the table, but when her eyes landed on the Mad King standing behind his wife's chair, her skin went an alabaster white. It were as if she had seen a ghost. Her expression did not escape the Exalt, who leaned forward in interest. A few of the council attempted to ask some questions, but Lady Rema seemed stuck staring at the red-haired man across , unresponsive to all others
"I would speak to this woman in private," Chrom announced after an uncertain silence had persisted far too long. "Frederick, Nisha, if you would stay here please."
The council members vacated the room in record time and Frederick guided the shaken Plegian woman into a seat near the Ylissean ruler. Rema's golden eyes did not leave Gangrel's still form as she moved, not for one second.
"Gangrel, have a seat as well."
The trickster obeyed Chrom's request, studying the golden-eyed diplomat as he steepled his fingers. Nisha's dark gaze flickered between the two of them, reading the situation until the other woman spoke.
"My Lord...is that really...you're alive?"
"Indeed, last time I checked anyway," Gangrel replied coolly, his scarlet eyes still unwavering from her.
"How is this possible?"
"Lady Rema," Chrom interjected, drawing her attention away from the former king though he did not reciprocate the shift. "Your cause is just and your story seems sound, but I would prefer to confirm that what you say makes sense to our...specialist on Plegian politics."
"Is that what you're calling me now, princeling?" the Mad King asked dryly. "Bit of a mouthful, isn't it?"
"Gangrel," Nisha chastised gently. "Just do as Chrom asks."
"Well he hasn't asked me anything yet," the trickster smirked. "Once he does, then I'll answer."
The tactician rolled her eyes at his antics and Chrom sighed.
"Well then would you please tell me what you think of Lady Rema's account? Is it plausible that these events have actually occurred?"
"Oh most definitely," was the immediate response. "Fits the Grimleal pattern perfectly: power vacuum opens up where they had influence and one of their finest weasels his way inside the system. As for the noble houses being a bunch of dastards, well that's nothing new-the crisis just brought it to the forefront. The rest is the same reaction that any population would do. So yes, princeling, I do believe her story. In any case, why would she lie to us?"
"So what do you think can be done to help?" Nisha pressed. "Anna has a fair number of sisters who could help her get more resources to the people at better prices."
"Not enough," Gangrel muttered. "You'd need a miracle worker."
"You could return, my Lord."
The words were soft, but everyone present heard them and turned their attention to the brunette diplomat. She was looking at the Mad King earnestly, some of the color returned to her face. Gangrel stared her straight in the eye and gave her a one-word response:
"No."
"But why not?" Lady Rema pressed. "You navigated Plegia through a situation just as bad during your reign."
"Because I am not 'your lord'—not anymore. I have commitments now that hold precedence and not to mention the people despise me."
"But if you were to rally them—as you did during the Purges—you would give us enough leverage against the nobles and Grimleal to even the scales!"
"Rema—" Gangrel's tone was warning, but the younger Plegian was only gathering momentum.
"So what if you choose not to return to the throne? You would have the influence to guide Plegia towards a fitting candidate, someone who would rule justly and rebuild—"
"The answer is no Rema and it is not going to change!"
Gangrel shout echoed in the sudden stunned silence, tension rising as the former king suddenly found himself standing, hands braced on the table. The noblewoman's face fell, but she nodded sadly in silent acknowledgement of his decisions, tears collecting in her eyes. Chrom slowly rose to his feet, announcing that he would call back the council and continue to discuss their options, but the trickster simply turned on his heel and walked out without another word. Nisha watched him go before she rubbed her temples and smiled lightly at Rema.
"Don't worry," she said soothingly. "I'll talk to him."
"I doubt you'll be able to convince him," the diplomat muttered. "When the Mad King Gangrel makes up his mind, he doesn't change it."
"You haven't seen him very recently, have you?"
"Why won't you go back and help?" the dark-haired woman pressed Gangrel later that night in her chambers. "Other than the reasons you mentioned earlier."
"That's just it tactician: those are the only reasons I have, and they're non-negotiable," the Plegian stated stubbornly. "I have you here and Morgan and I'm not leaving you behind. Not even all of Plegia's former glory would change that for me."
"No, there's something more here; something you weren't willing to say I'm front of Chrom and Lady Rema." Nisha began to pace as Gangrel sat down on her bed, absolutely exhausted. "I know you love your country. And yet you refuse to reenter your homeland. Forget going back and helping, you just don't want to go home. That just doesn't make any sense."
"You're attempting to solve me like one of your puzzles," her lover pointed out bluntly. She paused in her pacing a flushed a little before she sat next to him, unnecessarily smoothing out the blankets.
"Gangrel...you know you can tell me anything, right?"
Her question was greeted with silence as the trickster studied his hands folded in his lap. Nisha waited, watching him, but he made no move to answer so she blew at a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes before she stood up and went to the mirror to take down her ponytail.
"I'm afraid."
The tactician froze when she heard Gangrel speak softly, slowly dropping her arms and letting her black locks tumble onto her shoulders as she studied the trickster in the reflective glass.
"You know what I became when I had the throne. The people won't just forgive and forget—and if they find out about you, then you'll become a target of their rage too. But it's not just my...the people: what if going back, being surrounded by old influences, I return to my madness? What if I turn back into a monster?"
Nisha felt a tug at her heart as he bared a fraction of his soul to her: it was rare for the Mad King to be so honest about something so intimately personal. As unreasonable and unfounded as those fears might be from her perspective, they were real to him and so bothered him greatly—to the point of sleeplessness if she was reading the situation correctly.
The dark-haired woman left the mirror and knelt before Gangrel, taking his hands in hers as she gazed earnestly into his eyes.
"Gangrel, I love you," she informed him, "and I'm pleased beyond belief at how much I mean to you. But your people are suffering when you could relieve them of that pain. I won't force you into a decision, but know this: you lost yourself for a while, but I have no fears that you will succumb to any of your old vices. You are strong—stronger than you think you are by far. And I trust you to do what you feel to be right. I'll be beside you no matter what you choose."
She finished her statement by kissing his cheek and was a little startled when the trickster slipped one hand free of her grasp to caress the side of her face tenderly. His ruby eyes were unreadable but a weary smile crossed Gangrel's features as he held her there.
"Nisha," he breathed. "I love you more than words can say, I hope you realize that."
The tactician smiled.
The next morning, Gangrel sat alone in his quarters, clearly lost in deep thought. All at once, the rooms suddenly felt far too large and he began to pace, but the movement was irritating him, distracting him from the raging battle inside of his own mind. The former monarch released a huff of frustration before he stalked over to the side table under a window where a servant had brought a pitcher of water, a basin and a towel.
The cool liquid felt good against his skin, like he had calmed the flames of his mind by letting the water touch his face. Gangrel stopped thinking and lost himself for a moment in the feeling of moisture beading and rolling down his face like rain or tears.
It was in this calmer state that the Mad King looked up at the window and saw his own reflection in it. For one second, he didn't see a coward looking back at him. For just a moment, he saw himself as what he really was: a man lost and unsure of his place in the world. He didn't belong in Ylisse; it wasn't his home. And deep down, Gangrel knew what he had to do—and what could come of it. Yet he didn't feel conflicted or worried. No, the only thing he felt was a deep conviction that his course was right and he had to see it out to the end.
Gods above, he truly was mad. And for some reason, it didn't seem entirely like a bad thing.
A/N: *dramatic music cue*
I should probably say something really cheesy right now, but honestly, I'm just glad this is out of my head. :) Until next time! R&R!