I would like to extend a cordial shout-out to Cormag Ravenstaff, who always helps me when I need advice! Also, I'd like to thank AquaticSilver for reviewing every single chapter! You two are awesome, and I appreciate the feedback immensely. Additionally, thank you so much to Milonar – you gave me such an awesome, nice review, but I can't reply to your comment for some reason! :( So a shout-out will have to suffice :P You guys truly make my day. It's humbling to know people enjoy my writing.

Posted: 11/17/2013

"No-ocht, you still haven't answered me." A deep voice told the tactician with a jokingly singsong tone.

The woman that was being addressed eyed Gaius warily. She wasn't sure why he kept probing her, but if he wanted to know, she'd be glad to tell him. She'd just forgotten to. Repeatedly. Right.

With a sigh – sighing is all I seem to do nowadays – Nocht acquiesced, "Well . . . it went like this:

'Ah, Nocht. Good to see you again.' Chrom looked nervous, and Nocht didn't blame him. He fidgeted as much as the flames on the candles danced. Which was almost non-stop, because the windows were open and the room was enjoying a wonderful breeze. Cordelia sat beside him, face taut with worry. For what, Nocht wasn't sure.

'Hello, sir –'

Chrom's face then displayed pain, if the wince was any indication. 'No, Nocht. Just . . . just "Chrom", please.'

'Of course . . . Chrom.' It was difficult to say the name, to his face, even though she had tried to imagine this scenario in her head, over and over again. Truly, Nocht didn't expect the sound to have to be torn from her throat by mere duty. 'I have prepared a plan of attack - so to speak – and will present it to you, if you will allow it.'

'Nocht, why . . .' Shaking his head, the King's shoulders drooped. 'Why are you speaking to me as though we've never met? I know . . . Gods, I know I must seem a villain to you, but I promise that I mean you no harm! I will do nothing to hurt you! Just . . . speak to me as you once did. As one friend to another, at least!'

His despairing tone caused her to step back, heart throwing itself against her ribs. She convinced herself the pleading pity in his eyes was irritating, rather than sympathy-inducing. 'Of course, Chrom.' She cursed herself for repeating the same line she'd been using the past few minutes. Relax, fool. Relax. He wants to be your friend. So, by the gods, let him - before you drive yourself insane with this formal dialect.

'Very well. Cordelia, I know you and Chrom have been drafting men from the age of seventeen to the age of twenty five. I think this is wise, but I also cannot agree with how you emphasize the use of force. This is not yet a war, may I remind you; you're going to frighten the populace. Lyram poses a threat to our way of life, indeed, but we should go about this with . . . well, finesse.' Nocht couldn't look Cordelia in the eyes. She wasn't sure what those deep reservoirs of knowledge would tell her. She was afraid to find out. Cordelia was a compassionate person, she remembered, and Nocht didn't need pity. Not now. She needed anger.

'We intercepted a message from the Circle of Priests. We now know Dieter is an apprentice of the Priestess of Nila. He is working in conjunction with a young woman named Severa. We should dispatch a team, a small team – I cannot emphasize this enough – very, very small, who will find this Dieter and Severa. They must be questioned. Tortured, if necces –

'No! Nocht, what's gotten into you?! There will be no torture!'

Nocht sighed in relief. Yes, anger! Anger, I understand! No more pity, King. No more.

'The torture of the enemy is worth the life of this society, I should think.'

'But what monstrous society would we be protecting, then, Nocht? A people that allows waterboarding and racking? No. I don't know how you became this way – so . . . indifferent – but I will not allow it to continue.'

Nocht couldn't keep herself from smiling in a cynically expectant manner. 'As you wish, King.'

Chrom winced, realizing what he had done. It had been a compromised position, however – a precarious situation, even.

She continued, without regard to what had transpired. 'Cordelia, I would like you to lead this team. We will use the special unit as propaganda. The public needs to know we're protecting their lives from beyond the bounds of Ylisstol. Chrom, you will lead the subliminal propaganda campaign. We need –'

Aghast, Chrom could only shake his head. Nocht stopped talking, allowing the King to formulate another rebuttal against her plans.

'It's . . . almost amazing, how much you've changed. Torture? Subliminal politics? What else will you say? Saving all rations for the smartest scientists? Having the best fighters breed so we can reap the well-built children? What's wrong with you?'

Nocht couldn't help it. She laughed. 'If I ever plan on creating a super-race, you'll be the first to know. Now, if I may continue –'

'Nocht!' Chrom slammed his palms on the table, voice ricocheting off the walls. "Are you insane?! This is no joking matter. '

"You're right. This is simply a case of you making something into more than it really is. I need you to calm yourself, and let me finish. Afterwards, I will listen with an open mind to all your criticisms. Please, Chrom. That's all I ask.' I don't remember him being this much of a jackass back when I was alive. Nocht rubbed her nose with impatience, itching for the canteen at her hip. The faster I can get this presentation over with, the quicker I can grab a drink.

Struck by her reasonable tone, he immediately sat back down. Cordelia took his hand, and said he, as well, should keep an open mind. Looking into his wife's loving eyes, his shoulders sagged once again, and he let Nocht continue.

"Thank you, Chrom, Cordelia. Now, instead of getting into the details of the apparently"bad guy politics" I had planned,' she gave Chrom a small, apologetic smile that she hoped showed her willingness to meet halfway, 'I will instead speak of Cordelia's unit. This infiltration unit will be comprised of the best Shepherds. This is you, Cordelia. I would also like to volunteer Morgan, Inigo, and Owain. They have all proved themselves to be extremely powerful on the battlefield – their character, as well, exceeds that of the common man. The other two spots will be yours to fill as you see fit. I recommend those who are accustomed to infiltration. Anna, perhaps?

'You will be infiltrating our enemy's base. We are not positive about the density of the enemy at their main chantry, so all caution must be exercised.'

After a pause: 'My apologies. I forgot to mention another special unit. This will be a reconnaissance team, of which composition is myself, Gaius, Virion, and Henry. I would like to bring Olivia and Lissa, as well, but they . . . have children to take care of.' Nocht's face contorted for a moment, and it was all Cordelia could do to remain in her seat – how she wished to comfort her friend. So strong was the urge, Cordelia almost did – but Chrom quickly placed a hand upon her shoulder, urging her to sit down once more. She complied, but the seed of guilt that had been planted so long ago was now a budding flower.

Nocht noticed the exchange, and gathered what Cordelia was feeling at the moment. She was a tactician, after all. An overwhelming tenderness overcame her heart - she cares about me still? After all these years? - and she righted trembling knees by leaning on the map table she stood before. With a reassuring smile: 'No, Cordelia. Thank you, truly. I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine.

'Chrom, if nay is your answer to the more . . . subtle ways of politics, then I shall have to give you a more blatant campaign. Do not – I repeat, do not – outlaw the worship of Nila. That will only exacerbate the given circumstance. Appeal to the farmers. Lower taxes, if you must. I understand the army you are currently raising will need all the money it can get, but if my plan succeeds, then we won't need the army as anything more than a symbol for the people.' She sighed, then resumed, 'I know you never felt the need for an advisor, but if any time's the best, it's now. Or find a treasurer, at least. Someone who can discuss the finances of the country with you, and help decide what should be done. I'm a tactician, after all. Not a politician or accountant.'

Nocht sat back down with a grunt. Deciding her work was done, she dropped the formal pretense and reached for her canteen. She frowned when it was found to be empty. Sighing, she poured herself a large glass of the wine that sat at the center of the map table in a crystal carafe. Clearly this visit was well-planned on their part. The whole room smells like wine. It must've been aerating for quite some time. Nocht drank deeply, then grimaced. 'I've always hated wine. The expensive stuff's so . . . savory.'

Cordelia laughed. 'Yes, I remember. You loved ale, though. And whiskey. Which I could never fathom why.'

Nocht's eyes brightened, and she looked at Cordelia as though she had discovered an angel. She remembers? 'Barrel-proof malt's where it's at. Well, it does burn going down. But the warm feeling in your gut shoves any qualms in the closet.'

Cordelia laughed again, mood brightened significantly. Nocht noticed Chrom observing the two of them: previous wife and current love, talking to each other about booze. Hey, it'd make anyone a bit mystified, Nocht thought with a smile. But Cordelia's always had the softest heart. I remember how much she used to push herself, though. I hope she's retained a bit of that, for the task ahead of her. She might just need that level of raw determination that would put even Lon'qu to shame.

"And then I left." She finished. After taking another swig of whatever it was in the flask she carried at her belt, she smiled. "And here we are."

Gaius looked at the canteen curiously, trying to ascertain what swished within. "Yup . . . Here we are."

The trees around them swayed steadily, adding an ominous magic to the already chilling evening. Nocht gripped her arms as a shiver wracked her robe-clothed body. "Well, what does everyone say to setting camp for the night?"

A cacophony of agreement reached Nocht's ears, and she put her flask away. "Virion, if you would scout for the best location?"

"As you wish, milady. Ah, I avidly remember a time where the humble Virion's legendary –"

"Gods, Virion. Just go before I fall asleep on my feet."

The blue-haired archer laughed, then trotted ahead on his valiant white steed.

As its hooves pounded along the road, heading into the cold, dark night, the assassin beside Nocht grumbled. "Hey, why couldn't I get a horse?" Gaius eyed the equestrian with jealously.

Suddenly a cold draft blew about the travelling party. His companion tried to speak around her bouts of shivering. "Because . . . assassins don't have as much use for one as . . . a mounted archer does?" Nocht chuckled as best she could while her throat was halfway frozen. "It's in . . . his job description. Anyways, if you did have a horse, you'd . . . be the pack mule, m-much like," she coughed, a painful dry cough, and Gaius' gaze turned to her warily, "Virion currently is."

Jeez. A coughing fit like that and she's still determined on finishing her sentence. She's quite the stubborn mule, herself.


Cordelia nodded to Anna, who then used a rescue staff to retrieve Owain from the dangerous predicament he had put himself in.

When he appeared in front of the designated leader, Cordelia was fuming. "You can't throw your life away like that, Owain! They're just bandits! What were you thinking?"

Irritated, Owain shot back, "I could have taken them on, I assure you. There's a reason Nocht wanted me as a part of this team."

Cordelia shook her head, tapping her javelin against the ground in agitation. "What do you think would happen to Nocht, if you died now? Before you head into battle, always think of those that would be left behind. Fight to stay alive, Owain. Don't act recklessly."

Startled, Owain's heated demeanor cooled down significantly. "I . . . I didn't even realize . . ."

With a compassionate smile, the strong falconknight rested her hand upon Owain's shoulder. "I know you love her. So don't let her down by dying."

Owain's eyes widened, until the whites were perfectly displayed. "You . . . you what?"

"Oh . . . well, I thought everyone knew. I mean, i-it was so clear to me back then . . ." Clearing her throat, Cordelia swung herself back onto her pegasus. "Right! Nevermind, then. A-as you were!"

Once Cordelia flew off in a torrent of wings, Owain cursed himself. Was is that obvious? Is it that obvious? Gods, I had no clue!

"Hey, Loverboy! I know you can take on ten of these guys at a time, but Cordelia's been fairly stingy as of late." Inigo clapped the sage on the back supportively, inciting a deep scowl to form upon Owain's lips. Inigo, oblivious, sighed musically. "Well, anyways, let's get back to work."

"You had a crush on Nocht, too, if I remember correctly."

"Yes, well, a crush is nothing compared to full-blown love. Ah, young love. Isn't it beautiful?" Inigo shaded his eyes with the hand that wasn't resting on Owain's back, staring into the sunset, trying to look the philosophical noble.

Owain snorted at the picture. "Speaking of unrequited love, how's Kjelle these days?"

A grimace changed Inigo's face into that of a despondent man. "Sigh . . ."

"There you go again, just saying 'sigh'! What does that mean anyway? That you're so phlegmatic you can't even bother yourself to perform the action of sighing?"

"Uh . . ." Inigo blinked. "I assure you, if I understood what you just said, I'd have a rebuttal against it."

Of course. His vocabulary couldn't fill a pie tin. "Right. Let's just kill the rest of these bandits."

"Right you are!"


"Gaius! What in the world are you doing in a tree . . . that is precariously positioned over a cliff . . . Dear gods, Gaius! Come down, now!" Nocht ran over to the blaze of orange hair set alight by the morning rays.

"Re-lax, Bubbles." Gaius cooed, scooting himself a foot further towards a bee hive at the top of a large oak. "I got this." It was the morning after a cold, dreary night, and he needed a sugar surge in a bad way.

"Are you insane?! Get down before you fall to your death! We don't have a sage, remember? The most we could do is have Henry stitch the bloody pieces together and hope he can hex you back to life!"

"Crivens, Nocht. I told you, this is easier than taking candy from a babe. Wait . . . then again . . ."

"Hold on! I'm coming up!"

"What in the – Bubbles, have you lost your mind?"

"No, sir! But I'm gonna smack yours back into your skull!"

The hopeful pilferer watched Nocht as she slowly made her way up the thick oak.

"If you're gonna come up here, you're goin' about it all wrong. See, there's nice footholds everywhere. Just try to –" Oh, jeez. He laughed as Nocht squealed, having fallen on her rump. "See, I told you, Bubbles. Now, -" She flung herself at the tree, eyes blazing.

"Raaugh!" Somehow, she made it up with a last gargantuan pull. Gaius noticed how flushed her cheeks were, with a slight ruddiness to her nose that made his heart tighten. An insufferable urge to ruffle her hair and kiss her nose gripped him. He looked away.

"Well, ya made it. Now what?"

Nocht teetered on the branch next to him. She looked down, and winced. "We're . . . gods, we're so high up!"

"What, the fearless leader's afraid of heights?"

Closing her eyes, she scooted closer to Gaius. She felt for his arm with her long fingers, patting the air around her. With a smile, Gaius gave her what she sought. With a solid anchor, she breathed more easily, and finally opened her eyes.

Nocht reached to her belt for the third time that morning, drawing a few long gulps from her canteen.

The burning, throat-constricting stench of strong booze grazed his nose. "Bubbles . . . is that . . . whiskey?! Crivens, woman! What's this flapdoodle? You tell me you're scared of heights, and now you're fixin' to make yourself tipsy?"

She shrugged, eyes still closed. "I came up here to beat you. It's easier to beat people when you're drunk. Your knuckles don't hurt as much afterwards." Her cloak fell from her shoulder a bit due to the severity of the shrug, and Gaius hastily placed it back on her shoulder, not wanting to admit how form-fitting the vest underneath was. She hadn't put on her breastplate yet. Nor any of the other components of her armor.

"I love you, Gaius. As a friend. Please don't hate me for that."

He remembered that day, so well it hurt. She had come into his tent, and he had tried to plead his case. He'd never loved anyone. Oh sure, some girls had fancied him, but he'd never fancied them back. Only Nocht. The only one he'd ever wanted, and she was out of reach.

"I could never hate you."

Startled from her daydream, Nocht opened her eyes groggily. She looked up at him, deep opals muddled with sleep.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep, Bubbles."

"Wait. I forgot to smack sense into you . . ."

Gaius laughed, pulling out a toffee from his pocket. "I'll give ya this, if you forget about your planned assault."

Nocht's eyes widened, until they looked ready to pop out of her skull. "Toffee?! Why didn't you tell me you had toffee?!" Her long fingers scrambled for it, but the nimble assassin deftly pulled it away before she could grasp it.

"Nuh-uh. You have to promise."

"Fine, fine! Just give me the damn candy, already. I haven't had something sweet to eat in eons." She held out her hand, palm up, eyes shining with hope.

Gaius gently placed the wrapped treat upon her open palm. It comes with a kiss, too. But he wasn't brave enough to say it.

A sigh escaped his morose lips.

Nocht's eyes turned to the sullen friend, as she chewed sympathetically on her toffee, assuming his despondence was caused by the current state of affairs. They had left Ylisse in a hurry, without much time to say goodbye to the rest of the Shepherds. She felt empty, after those few words she'd said to them. That boring, hastily put-together speech. They deserved better. After washing down the sweet, chewy sugar with a long drink, she offered him a swig.

"Nah. I don't know how you stomach the stuff, Bubbles."

She shrugged again, her favorite expression of the morning, and leaned against the tree. Her ears craned as they listened to the never-dying cadence of the bees overhead. She then finally put together a sentence. "I couldn't stand the stuff, at first. Nearly had a heart attack on the first sip. My veins throbbed and my heart was pounding," she laughed heartily, throwing her hand into the sky, "It was hilarious! You should've seen Chrom's face. He thought I was going to die! Well, I thought so too, but after I got over that tell-tale bitter alcohol aftertaste, this stuff tasted pretty good. Granted, that was a few drinks into the night . . ." Nocht trailed off, fingering a filigree on the canteen, eyes wrinkling as they strained to find a dream in the morning clouds. "Well, you get used to it, after a while."

But Gaius couldn't keep a suspicious tone from slipping into his voice. "You never used to drink this much. Crivens, your liver's gonna be shot by thirty!"

She waved away his concern with a flapping hand. Sloshing the flask about, Nocht replied indignantly, "It's not even empty yet! Besides, if my liver croaks, then Owain can just magic it back to life." She said the word with gusto, twiddling her fingers about in a manner that somehow suggested magic.

Shaking his head, the assassin frowned. "What am I going to do with you?"

Nocht grinned in reply. "Hopefully, give me more candy."


"Hey, sleepyshorts. Wakey, wakey."

Nocht's brown hair fanned around her, long enough to flow a foot or two beneath the branch. Gaius prodded her leg, watching as it dangled back and forth. Her robes also dangled, no longer concealing her body framed by a waist-cinching vest.

He gave a low, appreciative whistle. You'd think having a kid and drinking 'til ya pass out would make a woman uglier than a burnt pie. But slap me silly if she doesn't look better than ever.

Guiltily, he let his gaze trace the curve of her hips, up her stomach, over the swell of her breasts, to her strong neck. She was like no other woman he'd ever seen. Beautiful, feminine, but with an inner strength that was made apparent by minute details; the blades in her eyes when angered, the throb in her vein when irritated. Bubbles was formidable, and as much as he hated to admit it, just her mere glance – a kind look tinged with the wisdom and strength of the ages – did something to his heart. Held it captive, really.

Noticing something move in the corner of his vision, Gaius examined more closely. Nocht's hand was twitching – it was flushed red, and the veins throbbed. Gaius stared at it a while, brows furrowed.

"It's what happens if I put more alcohol in my system than it's used to. I bet it reacts to the arcane in my veins." She laughed at her rhyme, but her voice startled him, enough so that he fell off the branch into the dry abyss below.

Almost.

"Gods! Gaius, grab my hand!" Nocht's kind eyes reached out to him, but that familiar threat of raw assertiveness swirled in their depths.

Gaius gulped.

"Bubbles . . . I appreciate it, but I'm still hangin' on." The lithe man grunted as he heaved himself quickly up to Nocht's height once more. Coming face to face with those churning opals, he nearly fell off again.

"Look, here. We need to get down before you fall to your painful, gruesome, bloody death. I can just imagine it, now. Your head lying fifty yards from your body, arms mangled and twisted at odd angles -"

"I get it, I get it. Y'know, it's kinda creepy you could imagine something like that."

The tactician snorted, reaching for her flask. Tipping it back until only a few drops remained, she jerked it up and down over her mouth, hoping for a last rainfall of molten gold.

Gaius sighed. "You're getting hooked, Bubbles."

"I already am." She glanced at the sun. Her demeanor quickly changed, as she assumed the role of Leader. "It's almost mid-morning. We should depart within the next morning if we wish to make it to our checkpoint in a timely manner." With a grimace, she pulled a small notebook out of the satchel tied about her waist, reading it over, then hastily scribbling notes. "We meet with Cordelia in a fortnight. Let's get moving."

She hopped down rather ungracefully after shoving the notebook back into her pack, stumbling over the tree roots and catching herself before she tripped. Gaius did a bit better, but only because he was used to similar activities.

She quickly righted her robes, and tied the deep blue cloth closed with a supple leather tassel. Immediately, her shoulders seemed immensely wide, her face carved of stone.

A quiet sough due to sadness whispered past Gaius' lips. The assassin looked to the tactician, who goaded him on with a military nod.

Sometimes, I wish she wasn't a tactician. She . . . changes, when she dons that Tactician's cloak. She becomes what the army needs her to be. But whatever she changes into, it's never Bubbles.


Cordelia looked over the roster from their position high atop a rocky plateau. They had finally arrived at their destination: the enemy's base. Her unit had stopped for the night to observe the enemy. Only three guards patrolled the chantry, but more could still lurk within, and perhaps even around them in the surrounding forest. The roster was quick and to the point, with her neat and precise shorthand describing their tasks.

Panne: Transform into taguel to hide identity. Lead main guards off, in the hopes that other guards in hiding will give chase. Run into the southern forest. In the event of their catching up, silence them. Dispose of their bodies discreetly. Lead the horses down from the plateau to the north-forest meeting point.

Anna: After guards are gone, sneak in through side window that is always left open. This could be a trap. Be wary. Unlock all doors, check inside rooms. Draw a map of any and all locations, with specific mention to whereabouts of enemies inside. Kill anyone who suspects. Hide the bodies. Relock all doors; leave no evidence. Escape quickly. Give map to Morgan, pointing out any details that could not or should not have been written.

Morgan: Form strategy within an hour. (If his morale becomes low, give him a caramel apple. Nocht said they're his favorite.) After relaying strategy to comrades, ink most important parts of map on Inigo's back. Burn map.

Inigo/Owain/Anna: Infiltrate base. Find and capture Severa and Dieter. The two are only known by hair color, voice, and gender, due to Ylissian spies' ineptitude. This information should be enough. Bring Dieter and Severa to the rendezvous point in the north-forest, where you will meet Panne. Depart immediately.

Cordelia: Observe from above, keeping watch. If there is need, help Panne kill guards. Heal any team member if necessary. When Inigo/Owain/Anna/Morgan leave building, head to rendezvous point.

Cordelia sighed, fingering the corner of the roster. Why can't I help more? Why do I have to sit atop some cliff while the others risk their lives?

She violently shook her head, snuffing out the urge to go against orders. No. Nocht told me to advise, and that's just what I'll do. I won't let her down!

"Gather 'round, please!" Cordelia whispered, gesturing them towards the rock on which she sat.

Her group formed into a circle around her as quickly and quietly as possible.

"Everyone read over their tasks and all others', as well. There will be no mistakes; there will be no casualties. Nocht needs us, and we won't let her down."

They nodded assent.


"But . . . Gaius, don't you see? What you want, I can't give you." Her voice contained within it the strength of a thousand warriors – as steady and uncompromising as her eyes. He was entangled by those eyes, while something in his chest was being constricted – slowly, suffocated. It was an odd pain, and he placed a hand over his heart in absent confusion.

"He has proposed, Gaius! I can't love you. I can't!"

"Raugh!" Gaius bunglingly tumbled from his cot onto the hard ground below, managing to slam his elbow on a conveniently placed rock.

He stared at the tent's makeshift ceiling, rubbing his funny bone. It was just a dream. It had never happened. But his heart still ached.

Weird dream. Must've had too many sweets last night.

"Ah, it seems the nimble thief needs a new occupation. Such an erroneous tumble! For he can't steal prize jewels by falling into the treasury as a drunken monkey!" Virion tittered, though he had a dangerously curious expression painted in those wise, sharply seeing eyes.

Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask . . .

Surprisingly, the archer checked his cat-like interest, and instead exited the tent with a few "tsk"s.

Gaius haphazardly threw on various articles of clothing. As he stumbled toward the door, his legs felt especially cold and airy. Looking down, he realized he forgot to clothe the lower half of his body. "Crivens!"

After making sure he left nothing else important out of his morning routine – or lack thereof – the red-haired thief made his way to the campfire, which Nocht already had going strong.

"Morning Gaius. Breakfast'll be ready in a few." Suddenly, she put a hand to her heart. Nocht quickly stood, mumbling a guttural and constricted "excuse me" as she strode to the small copse of trees near the road. The trio watched, concerned, as she coughed violently, her small form leaning against a tree to keep herself from falling. The stew began to boil over, and Henry reached for the pot as quickly as he could. He saved most of its contents, and methodically doled out the rations. He left a steaming bowl for Nocht on the rock she had abandoned.

Gaius watched that empty spot of slate as the lone soup's steam slowly licked the air, rolling into the heavens. The small, collapsible bowl looked frighteningly alone. "Should I check on her, d'you think?"

It was Virion who answered, first. "No, Gaius. She, being the dashing leader she is, cannot stand admitting her weaknesses." He shook his head, eyes softened by sadness. "She never looks to others for assistance."

Henry nodded assent. "I doubt she'll wanna see us scramble to make her better. I think this is why she didn't bring Owain along."

"Owain?" Gaius dropped his spoon back into the bowl with a plunk. "What about him?"

"Oh, well . . . You know . . ."

Gaius grew increasingly irritated. "No. I don't know."

Henry shifted uncomfortably. "She just didn't want him to worry, 's all."

Virion nodded hastily. "Indeed!"

The cunning rogue looked back and forth, from one suspiciously innocent face to another. With final sigh, he resumed his meal. "C'mon, pals. Don't hold out on me." Suddenly, Gaius remembered the dream, his hand over his heart as it broke into tiny shards and stabbed his insides from within. Perhaps I shouldn't know. Ignorance is bliss, so they say. "Nevermind. If Bubbles doesn't think I should know about it, and I didn't even notice it, then I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason."

Virion sighed in relief. Henry looked calmed.

Dragging footsteps sloughed through the muck as Nocht neared them. A final bout of wheezing coughing, then she sat. "Smells good, doesn't it?"

No one responded. They ate silently, knowing if they spoke, they'd bring up her vicious coughs.

"What, now? What did I do this time?"

"Nothing, dear lady!" Virion quickly stood, gesturing for her to be seated. "Come, let us eat together as a merry band of travelers, thriving on the reckless adventure of youth –"

Nocht's tactician eyes mulled over her comrades, silently assessing their feelings. After gathering all that she needed, she sat with a slumped attitude. "Yes, I'm sick. No, as bad as it sounds, it's not fatal. And no, I doubt it's from my drinking. Can we continue, please? I grow tired of this awkward dance."

Gaius cleared his throat, and smiled. "'Course, Bubbles. We were just worried. That's all."

Her eyes became unexpectedly soft, and the appreciation laden in their depths made Gaius' shattered heart mend itself together again. "Thanks, Gaius." She quietly commenced eating.

Their spoons clanged and tinked against the sides of the bowls, their slurps louder than Chon'sin firecrackers. Nocht was the first to finish, offering to wash the dishes if anyone else was done.

They knew this to be a warning sign; she hated washing dishes, and must have been as adamant about getting out of this awkward predicament as they were. All handed her their dishes, eager to be back on the road.

She slowly weaved her way over to the waterfall: through the copse of her cough, and down a fairly steep incline into a beautifully carved basin, placed by the rains and winds of time. She didn't want to sully the pristine crystalline water, so she scooped out handfuls and deposited them into a large dip in a smooth rock. It took many minutes, but she felt it was worth it. The water quickly became dirtied, and she had to find a new rock on which she could finish washing. The waterfall was fairly small, but just loud enough to provide a lulling roar.

She suddenly heard the waterfall fall silent, and she spun to meet what she feared was a threat. It was a man: tall, concealed with deep red fabric that swayed about him with every step, arm held up as he commanded the water to remain still. He quietly strode out from beneath the suspended water to where she stood, and she put the pot she was washing down with a splash.

Nocht removed her canteen from her belt, slowly letting its contents swirl about her mouth to keep herself from coughing. Eventually, she swallowed, grimacing at the bitter, dry taste that had accumulated in the back of her throat.

She lazily leaned back, watching as his feet traversed the small pool of water. Somehow, he'd managed to stop the waterfall. Was he a mage, she wondered. He paced before her repeatedly, splashing through the liquid mirror, throwing the reflections of the trees askew, growing more tense by the second. "Why are you here? Why do you bear the robes of the Lady Tactician?"

She looked at the robed man. He was a foot taller than herself, with a gait that could easily be recognized, for she had seen it before. It was the walk of a confidant man; of a noble soldier, a knighted lord.

"I am a tactician. I dress accordingly."

"It's you. Finally, I've found you."

Nocht's head jerked back in surprise. Alright, then . . . "Lower your cowl, so that we might speak as men." She now stood regally, and he lowered the implement of concealment.

She reached her hand out to grasp his, but he quickly shied away. "You would shake hands with a man of whom you do not know the name?" Dark blonde hair fell into his eyes as his head cocked in confusion.

Nocht was impressed by his sculpted features. He seemed nothing short of a glorious statue, erected in a place of sanctity after heroes of old. He had a strong, sharp nose; wide, knowing eyes; supple lips the color of deep maroon leaves in the wake of fall; and a serious demeanor that brought a smile to Nocht's expression. He was quite striking, indeed.

"Where I come from, shaking hands is how we introduce ourselves." Though smiles flitted over her lips, she said it simply, without a hint of arrogance or pride. It was a fact, and it fascinated the man. He immediately regretted brusquely speaking to her so; her very stature carried with it a demand of respect that he felt obliged to give her.

His hand met hers. The tactician's grip was of iron, and her strong, callused hands quickly led him to believe she had more experience with a blade than the tales let on.

"I am Nocht, Tactician of His Majesty's Shepherds. I wish we could have met under better circumstances, but, alas, if this is how the world wills it, so shall it be."

"Meridian." The hands shook once, twice. Meridian then stepped away rigidly. "I have been searching for one by your description for quite some time now." His stoic attitude gradually began to intimidate her. "Though the tales do not do you justice." He said it simply, without a hint of exaggeration or coquetry.

It was a fact, and it fascinated her. She could feel aggressive heat creep up her neck like bramble vines. Why am I blushing? He didn't mean anything by it. Curse these infernal emotions! "May I ask why you were searching for me?"

He nodded, blonde curls bouncing as he motioned for them to continue toward the hovering waterfall. "Our camp is stationed behind it. The cave may seem rugged, but it is a very defensible spot in which my unit and I gathered we should camp."

"How many of you are there?"

"Five, including myself. The others are on patrol. Fairly small, but secrecy was needed."

They proceeded inside.

Nocht eyed the glint of armor that peeked out from under his thick robe. With every step, the clothing was ushered away from his body by a moving leg, revealing golden greaves with brilliant silver accents. The patterns were intricately done, astoundingly so. Small battles waged on over his shin, a banquet reveled in merriment on his calf. The knee was seemingly a place of honor, with a ruby inlay that resembled a pegasus diving through silver clouds.

Who is this man? I've not seem armor like his since visiting Mus and his comrades in their outrealm – beautiful armor of ancient civilizations, more intricate and artistic than anything a smith can make today.

The curtain of water fell closed behind them, shrouding the pair in darkness. Finally, after many moments of silence, they reached a hollowed alcove, lit by scant torches. A round table sat in the middle. Two racks of weapons stood to either side of the room. The half-pikes were marvelous: tempered steel tips with golden designs of gruesome duels, the shafts made of bone. Nocht shuddered to think of the beast those bones had belonged to. The swords were seemingly divine: more beautiful than the Exalted Falchion itself, they gleamed with a red spiritual hue that hungered for blood.

There were no staves, however, nor tomes. "You have no mages among you?"

"I have no need of equipment." He sat at the head of the table, and he patted the place beside himself. Nocht saw this as a gesture of friendship, and quickly obliged. After a moment of thought, his expression turned grim. "There should be staves, however. But our sage fell in battle not two days ago."

Nocht inclined her head in respect. "I'm sorry. I myself am no sage. I tried to dabble in the art long ago, but I fear I am better at taking lives than saving them."

Meridian gave her a knowing look, grave and true. "I am quite the same way. My brother had a natural gift; he was able to mend bone and heal wounds with naught a staff." Nocht's eyes widened. Like Owain! "But I was nimble of foot and quick in decision. My destiny lied at the forefront of battle."

"Lied?"

Pleasantly surprised by her quick wit, the stoic man repeated. "Lied, yes. No longer am I to battle on the front lines. My gods have a different destiny for me, now."

Nocht sighed inwardly. Figures such a handsome man would fall prey to false gods and the ridiculous idea of "destiny". There's no such thing. I've proved as much.

"Was it your brother who fell?"

"No." His voice was without feeling. "He remains in the palace."

"Who . . . well, from whence do you hail?"

"Ah. That is quite the loaded question, though you did not know it upon asking. I hail from nowhere, but belong to all corners of the world. Our palace, itself, does not reside on the ground. No, it rises high above, always reaching for the heavens."

Well . . . alright, then.

"You may know of me from my time in the Sordid Wars of Guildon. I was at the forefront of the confrontation, challenging Potentate Guire. I defeated him, as we lashed at one another with barbed tongues and equally sharp blades. We, the both of us, had magic as well. It was a fact Potentate found to be quite bitter. Only the most noble of men had magic, you see. Though I understand, in this outrealm, it is usual for any person, of common blood or otherwise, to intrinsically know the arcane. Your magic is quite different than ours, however. We controlled the raw elements. The very earth itself could be moved by my will, and it was with this power I encased the leader of the Guires in a molten prison."

Man, this guy loves to talk. Not that I mind. His voice is quite soothing. No . . . not soothing. Monotonous. Boring. Like the drone of an overzealous bug that won't stop flying.

"The fool. This could all be for naught. He has escaped, assisted by my former comrade and hateful friend, Dieter." Nocht's face went slack. Dieter! "I know not where Potentate has gone, but I shall find him, and return him to his rightful place at the center of the earth – flesh always burning to blisters and running wounds, made whole again by the gods, only to run red once again. It was his destined torture: the liquid rock flowed down his mouth, into his bowels, burning him from the inside. He will not escape his punishment, as much as he may wish it."

"What made him deserve to be tortured in this manner?"

It took a moment, but Meridian slowly formed a response. It was clearly a weighty topic, and one he did not think Nocht could understand.

"He is Nila's exalt."

"Who's what?"

"Yes. Similar in the way of this world's Chrom being the Exalt of Naga, so Potentate is the guardian of his bloodline. He rules his kingdom of excess and depravity."

Nocht was astonished. "You were able to defeat the Exalt of a goddess?"

A shake from his head, then a low sigh. "Nila is no goddess. Just an ethereal being with immense power." Why did I ask that? Nocht snapped to herself. I know Naga isn't a goddess. "We know not what created her, nor who created the Lady of Intemperance's counterpart, the Lord of Rein. I was able to defeat him because I am his counterpart, as Raedon is Nila's."

Nocht's tongue was heavy, her mouth dry. She simply had too many questions. Why were these people here? Why is Nila in this outrealm, if she belongs in another world? Moreover, what did Nocht, herself, have to do with this, and why has this man been looking for her?

"You're an Exalt, as well?"

"Yes, of country Dolynne, servant of Raedon. My brother rules beside me."

Didn't you just say you "hail from nowhere"? "Belong to all corners of the world?" Now you're the ruler of a specific country?

"And you fought Potentate because . . ."

"Because it is the way."

Nocht felt like banging her head on the table, until her skull caved in and her brains spattered the intricately-carved wood. She hated confusion. The only thing she hated more was vague answers.

"That's your reason?"

"Our line and theirs have fought one another since the beginning of time, our countries constantly at war."

". . . Oh. I see."

They sat in silence. Nocht was irritated, and trying to articulate exactly the questions she needed to. It was taking quite a long while, however, so they remained in still peace while her mind churned. The waterfall could be heard, its roaring cadence just several meters away, back the dark way they had come.

They were both jolted from their thoughts by a cutting yell that echoed through the cave. "Hey, Midi! Let me in!"

Meridian stood up violently, chair falling behind him. He quickly strode to the front of the encampment. Nocht heard, but couldn't see, the waterfall stop. Greaved footsteps moved back down the hall, towards her again.

The figures came out of the darkness, lit by the jagged torchlight. The stranger walking beside Meridian had almost the same build as the man at his side, but a bit more lithe. Both had the stoicism of kings, though the new man had a slight cocky smile upon laying his eyes on Nocht.

"Ah, Nocht. It is you. Good to finally meet you. My brother has been searching for a replacement tactician, ever since ours betrayed us. I'm glad he's found you."

"Oh, well . . . Um, yes. Nice to meet you, uh . . ."

"Radik. Meridian's brother."

"Thank you. Yes, good to meet you, Radik."

Nocht felt like an idiot. His first impression of me must be horrible! I can see it in his eyes! Look at the way he's smiling at me! Knowingly, cunningly . . . suggestively. I can tell. He thinks I'm not good enough. The way I stumbled over my words – I don't usually do that. Why now?

Wait. I'm not usually good at interpreting emotions, am I? Perhaps I'm mistaking one look for another. No, benefit of the doubt Nocht! Do not self-depreciate now, when confidence is so important. But . . .

She went on with her back-and-forth emotions, doubting herself relentlessly. Radik noticed the internal pain manifest on Nocht's soft face; her brows deeply furrowed, mouth shaped into a dark and menacing frown. He wondered what could cause this feeling to writhe inside her. He thought her to be quite the tactician, based on the stories he'd heard around Ylisse. He had high hopes for her.

Both the observed and curious observer were revived from their contemplation by a sharp voice.

"Radik, what are you doing here?" Meridian's voice was cold and neutral, bust his earlier agitated surprise was not forgotten by Nocht.

Nocht turned back around, the dark lines on her face carving more deeply into her soft skin. Is that all he is? The tactician decided she didn't like Meridian. Cold and calculating. Boring and tedious to listen to.

Oddly, Radik's voice was much like Meridian's, rich and smooth, though Radik had everything his brother didn't: a wily glint in his eye that betrayed his inner cunning, a smug lilt to his tone that made his words interesting, a cocky half-smile that let on he was as good a fighter as he looked, perhaps even better.

However, Radik no longer had his signature smile, as a grimness overtook his jaw. "Nila has awakened the one with the Blood of the Many."

Horror overcame Meridian's features, and the cave became oppressive in its weak lighting. He quickly righted himself, and absently unsheathed and sheathed again the dagger at his belt, hidden behind robes. "Where is the awakened one?"

"We aren't sure. The spy told us he was with a band of combatants, aiming to infiltrate Nila's priestess's chantry. The peasants have been holding sacrifices at chantries such as that for quite some time. Apparently, the priestess tried to draw the unawakened blood from the man. I fear that now, since he has come into full power, the priestess will try again. I must go to him, and teach him the ways of his blood-wielding. We need his help if we are to defeat Potentate, should the chantries' sacrificed blood finally make his form tangible."

They're speaking of Owain, aren't they? Blood-wielding? That's how he healed me, without a staff, isn't it? And this Radik seems to be capable of the same thing, from what Meridian has told me . . . "Wait!"

They turned to the small figure whose voice was uncompromising. Her chest rose and fell, eyes burning with despairing ignorance. Immediately throwing her formal tone to the wind: "I need to know every clandestine detail you're keeping in those minds of yours. Just what do you know? And how do you know it?"

The brothers gave each other a sidelong glance, one much more amused than the other, then both sat down at the round table.

"We shall explain the current affairs to you, as quickly as possible. Gather those who traveled with you – I assume you are journeying with others – and we will make clear the enemy we face." Meridian nodded to Nocht, who immediately stood, and went to find her comrades. He then lifted his hand, raising the waterfall, and turned to his brother. "You didn't tell her."

Light fell into the cavern entrance where there had previously been only a dark hallway, the opaque curtain of water finally gone. The glowing yellow beams dappled the ground in soft shapes. Radik watched Nocht walk beneath the elevated water, small dazzling droplets falling upon her shining hair. "Of course not. I thought you would."

"I fear she may not be up to the task. The bards sing of her undying tenacity, and yet . . . did you see her eyes, Radik? There is something missing, though I am not sure what. I remember a strange light that would always sharpen our tactician's expression. All I see in Nocht is anger. Anger, sadness, cynicism. It makes me doubt her capabilities. How can this broken soul perform the tasks ahead of her?"

Radik replied slowly, tracing the carved scenes in the table with his nail. "They say she sacrificed herself. I'm sure dying changes you – affects your soul in unimaginable ways."

Meridian nodded agreeably, clearly more at ease alone with his brother. "How did you know she found her way back to the realm of the living?"

"Raedon foretold it. 'Find the soul of one who has broken; she who lost herself to find victory."

"The soul?"

Radik leaned back in his chair, legs resting now upon the table in absent nonchalance. "A body cannot survive in the Abyss for so long a time. She just happened to possess the body of herself from another realm. Luckily, that parallel form had the same abilities this current Nocht seemed to have had, before she died. Which is quite odd, frankly. What are the chances?" He said the last words with a chuckle, but Meridian was not amused.

"I remember when our tactician betrayed us. It was a dark day. How very wrong it seems, for Nocht to come back and serve the same king even after death, while Dieter betrayed his masters in life. Do you remember the –"

"I remember, brother." Radik wasn't in the mood for another of his brother's long-winded stories. They'd both been there, under the angry black sky, when Dieter appeared above them, on a jagged cliff lined with the enemy's archers. The traitor had told Potentate of Dolynne's plans - every strategy, every possible outcome, was then in the hands of their enemy. The clouds churned above them, matching the evil thoughts of the fighters below, slaughtering one another on the red grass, dying together in the cesspool of intestinal fluid and rancid blood. "Don't remind me."


A thousand moans grated against the party's ears. The inhuman sounds set Anna's hairs on end. It was the wailing of the dead – suddenly, risen charged out of the darkness. An assassin charged at Anna. She quickly met it with her sword, running the sharp silver through its gut. She gave her blade a savage twist. The risen roared at her, arms reaching out, though being impaled hindered its advancement. With a warring yell, Anna pulled the sword from the rotten bowels - black, putrid blood fell from the deep hole. As newly melted snow overflows a river, so the blood ran over the ground, causing Anna's feet to slip. She felt a steadying arm on her waist, then a flash of white hair flew past. Owain stood before her, and in a movement quicker than any she'd seen, his sword cleanly cleaved the risen's head from its neck, its dead eyes flying through the dark night, landing with a sickening splat on the hard ground, tossed away like a wet rag.

And Cordelia didn't think this guy could take on those measly bandits? This Owain's a beast! In a good way, of course. I wonder if he'd be interested in that new levin sword I just got in stock . . .

Anna pulled herself out of her merchant thoughts to thank her savior, but he just smiled obligingly, his mind elsewhere.

The plan had been all but forgotten. It was chaos; the risen had come from everywhere, attacking the small party relentlessly. One minute, they had prepared for the silent infiltration, the next, they had been ambushed. From the bushes, the sky, the ground – seemingly from everywhere dozens of risen swarmed.

Owain was the only soldier who wasn't having a difficult time. Inigo slashed his way through a group of the bloody ragdolls, only to be met with five more. His chest heaved, sweat falling into his eyes. A dead warrior's axe suddenly landed on his unprotected shoulder. He felt it saw through bone. Inigo's cry of battle then became savage; he fed off the pain, brutally slicing through the thick, hard skin of the risen - he thought it felt like cutting apart frozen meat, prey left out in the winter too long after a hunt - ignoring the limp arm at his side.

Cordelia quickly healed him, green light flooding down on the fighter from the sky like a holy beam.

Inigo's arm now healed, he took his blade once again with both hands, cutting through his enemies with confident grace.

Panne leapt from a high place atop a rock, biting the head off an enemy, ripping it away with the sound of tearing sinews and splattering gore.

Morgan rushed to help Inigo, though the dancer no longer particularly needed it, setting alight the attacking risen. The scent of burning bodies wafted through the still air, no breeze to lift it away.

"You thought we wouldn't know?" A smug cry came from below them, near the chantry. Morgan recognized the girl from the rally he and Owain had attended. Blue hair tied in pigtails, bow at her hip, she aimed at Cordelia's pegasus. "It was so obvious. Dieter knew you'd attack. He's a better tactician than your stupid Nocht!"

She laughed, the sound carrying over the din of clashing swords and violent magic. Unleashing the bowstring, her arrow sung through the air, eagerly flying toward the flying steed's flesh.

Owain ran forward like lightning, setting his sword aflame with his knowledge of the arcane. He sliced it through the air, the white fire hotter than the breath of a dragon. The arrow was burned to dust in naught but a second by the licking flames, and he leapt atop the rock on which Panne had previously been standing. The granite slab was coated with thick red fluid and chunks of dark organs that had slipped from their homes deep inside the risen's bellies. The sage didn't notice, his eyes were alight with merciless spirit. Throbbing black tendrils burst into existence on his wrists, dancing along his blade. He felt his arms pulse with heat, and he, almost unthinkingly - for wielding this magic somehow came naturally to him - willed the black fire to maim the girl. Suddenly, the young figure below clutched at her throat, wailing as inky darkness burned her from the inside.

In the next moment, Owain was gone. Inigo saw nothing but a flash of light – Owain used the attacking technique he'd learned while being a Dread Fighter. Running to the edge of the cliff, Inigo then found Owain, his sword at the small brat's throat, drawing beads of blood, his handsome face menacing as far-away lips moved threateningly. Inigo could only guess what the angered sage was saying.


"You have no place insulting Nocht, you heathen!" Owain snarled, pushing the burning blade further into whom he guessed was Severa's throat.

The battle that raged on above them fueled the anger in his gut. How had she known we were here? What did we do wrong?

The blue-haired enemy's voice was agonizingly hoarse as she spoke – the superheated darkness now gone from her body, but only after having left its savage mark. Owain thought with a shudder what her larynx must look like by now, after how hot he had willed those flames to be - it was a wonder she could speak at all. "Let . . . me . . . go!"

The sage laughed. "You assume you can give me orders? I think you have our roles flipped." He lessened the pressure on her throat, not wanting her to bleed out just yet. "You're going to tell me everything I want to know."

"Oh yeah? What if I don't?" Severa reached for an arrow at the quiver resting upon her hip. Owain saw it coming, and immediately grabbed her wrist. He bent it back until a sickening crack caused the girl's eyes to leak salty tears, and she cried in pain.

"You . . . you bastard!"

He felt horrible about it, but she didn't need to know that. Nor did she need to know that her aim with a bow was spectacular. He postulated she was probably just as good at using her arrows as melee weapons. He couldn't take that chance. Not when his friends' lives were at stake.

"If you don't, I'll do the same to your neck."


Long-winded Author's Note: Ooooooh yeah! It didn't take me ten years to upload this, like I'd thought it would! Yay! Sorry the formatting is so odd in the beginning. I just wanted to make it as legible as possible. Typing Nocht's story in italics really doesn't seem to have worked well enough, especially when the "page" the story is read from is so large, and the font so small. But that's alright :) Thank you for reading!

P.S. Writing the action scene was fun XD I loved this chapter! I'll make it gorier next time }:D

P.P.S. And no, "from whence" is not tautological. Trust me when I say it's perfectly politically pristine. Now, "overexaggerated", that's definitely redundant. Good thing I didn't use it in this chapter!

Oh, wait! Before you go, if you want, pretty please leave me a little review telling me of any discrepancies you may have noticed, or typos, if you please. Thank you! I can't fix a problem if I don't know about it ;) Those are wise words for any relationship, aren't they? For, indeed, it takes two to tango :P But that's neither here nor there, so I'll stop rambling.