Chapter 11

Unsatisfying Victory

Walter raised his shield as Gerald neared, and winced as the greatsword connected.

"General Gerald," Walter greeted, stepping backward and lowering his mace, "I am glad you are here."

"You won't be in a few minutes, you murdering bastard," Gerald growled, his face twisted in rage. Walter frowned after a second; Gerald had quite a few wrinkles now, and his formerly blonde hair carried long streaks of grey. Gerald charged again, but Walter sidestepped him. He neglected to take advantage of his opponent's exposed back, instead retreating several more steps.

"Everything I did was in accordance with the Lord's will," Walter stated stoically. "I sought only to cleanse Bersia of evil; my conscience rests easy."

"You know," Gerald seethed, whirling around and holding his sword in a low guard, "that's one thing I don't miss from Ecclesia. Your sanctimonious, self-righteous blathering wore on my nerves."

Walter's face paled as Gerald began stalking slowly toward him, and mirrored his steps backwards. "What do you mean? Ecclesia has fallen?"

Gerald shook his head. "Not exactly. It's a part of Hironeiden now, under my rule." So, Gerald is now the King of Hironeiden…most of the nobility must have died to Encablossa. "Why haven't you aged?" Gerald suddenly asked, stopping his steady advance.

Walter frowned even further. "It has only been a little over a week," Walter stated, nonplussed. "Why would I be aged?" And why do you look many winters older?

"Because it has been thirty years since you almost destroyed Bersia," Gerald replied gravely.

Walter almost dropped his mace in shock. Thirty…years… he repeated to himself numbly. So I have not traveled only across worlds, but across time as well. Thomas…Thomas will be my age, he realized, almost laughing at the thought. The Lord works in mysterious ways.

"That doesn't matter anymore, though," Gerald said with a shrug, leveling his sword. "In the name of Hironeiden, I sentence you to death for your crimes against Bersia."

"Crimes?" Walter said with a scoff. "Says the heretic who openly associates with the Dark Legion. You have no room to talk."

"Like you never associated with Rithrin," Gerald said, almost laughing. "Even more reason I'm glad to be rid of the Ecclesian Patriarchy; you were not only self righteous, but hypocrites as well."

Walter's blood froze. He knows. "What else do you know?" Walter asked quietly.

"Everything," Gerald replied simply, before shifting back into a low guard. "And I do mean everything. From the moment you and the Patriarch received that 'oracle' of the Lord, to the destruction of the Ancient Heart. Everything."

Walter took a deep breath, and then sighed. "Then there will be no dissuading you," he concluded resignedly. "You would sentence me to death without trial? I demand trial by combat! We shall let the Lord decide whether I am truly guilty of wrongdoing." Walter then settled into his own ready stance, shield held high and mace ready to strike.

"Fine by me," Gerald spat, before he roared, and charged. Walter raised his shield to catch Gerald's greatsword, and the metal rang as the sword collided with it. As Gerald recoiled, Walter drew back with his shield arm before shoving forward, buffeting Gerald and forcing him back. Walter then stepped forward, swinging his mace in a vicious overhead blow. Gerald managed to recover, however, and knocked the head of the mace aside with the greater mass of his own weapon. Gerald then lunged towards Walter shoulder first, forcing him to stumble back much like Gerald had previously. Rather than bringing his sword to bear, like Walter had expected, he instead swung his gauntleted fist around the edge of Walter's shield and punched Walter in the face.

Walter felt a part of his jaw break under the sheer force of the hit, and staggered again. Gerald swung his sword, aiming for Walter's head, but Walter clumsily ducked and lashed out haphazardly at Gerald's knee with his mace. Gerald hopped back to avoid it, giving Walter time to recover.

Before Walter could press forward, however, a piercing pain bit into the area above his right elbow. Glaring down at his arm, he saw an arrow protruding from the gap between his couter and rerebrace. He turned his glare from the likeliest direction the arrow had come from, and witnessed Virion scrambling desperately away from Ellen's deadly marksmanship.

A stray arrow, then, Walter concluded. One aimed with uncanny luck at one of the few vulnerable points in his armor, but unintentional nonetheless. It would hinder his ability to fight, but he could do it. He absently snapped off the majority of the arrow shaft with the edge of his shield. He would have to remove it later, which would be excruciatingly painful, but he couldn't afford to have the arrow shaft snag on anything.

Remembering the fight at hand, Walter turned to see Gerald bearing down on him, features twisted into a snarl and sword raised high. Walter raised his shield between them, angling it slightly. Instead of Gerald's sword bouncing off, like Gerald was likely expecting, it instead slid off of the surface of the shield, pointed to Walter's left. Gerald stumbled, having overcommitted to the strike, and Walter saw his chance. As he moved to swing his mace, however, his muscles spasmed in agony; the arrowhead had ground against something inside of his arm, a nerve or some such thing. His fingers involuntarily relaxed, and the mace dropped from his grip. Instinctively, Walter's other hand shot to his elbow.

This left him open, however. As Walter just started recovering, a tremendous weight crashed into him; Gerald had shoulder-charged him. Walter stumbled and lost his footing, crashing to the stone floor of the arena. Within seconds, Gerald was on top of him, sword forgotten, and the King of Hironeiden began swinging.

Walter could do nothing. Every attempt to move his right arm ended in a spasm of pain, and his left arm was still encumbered by his shield, and therefore useless at such extremely close range. Walter could do nothing, except fight to remain conscious as Gerald's mailed fists crashed into his face over and over and over again. It was a fight that was steadily becoming even more of a losing battle; Walter's eyes began to swell so much that he could hardly see. His ears began ringing, and what little noise got through was distorted, muted. He coughed instinctively as blood began streaming into his lungs. Soon, he became too out of it to even register what was happening.

Then, suddenly, the barrage stopped. He could no longer see anything; his eyes were swollen completely shut. He vaguely registered several voices yelling, seemingly at each other, before he lost consciousness.

000

Walter awoke with a cry of agony. Several sets of hands restrained him, so he could do nothing as whatever was in his right arm continued forcing its way in there, and all he could see was white. Thankfully, after several seconds, the pain abated, the white in his vision faded, then a pleasant soothing sensation ran through his arm. Healing magic, he realized.

He then opened his eyes. They were no longer swollen shut. He felt no pain anymore; stiff all over his face, and in his now-healed arm, but he was uninjured. He saw only the ceiling, though, and moved his gaze elsewhere.

He was in an infirmary. Lissa was there, tending to several nasty looking cuts across Robin's arms and torso. Frederick sat on a cot, unarmored, with a Feroxi healer bandaging his shield arm. Walter could see a lot of burnt tissue. Virion also laid on a cot, unconscious, another healer holding a staff over his abdomen, a bright light emanating from it. Healing magic. The only one uninjured appeared to be Chrom, who was standing by Walter's bedside now, a grim expression on his face.

"I have already spoken with Khan Flavia," Chrom began. "She is marshalling the Feroxi Army as we speak. We won… though if it were not for the tournament's rules, I fear we wouldn't have. How are you feeling?"

"Like an enraged king used my head as a punching bag," Walter responded stiffly. His entire jaw seemed to not want to move. He still managed a small smile, though.

"Yes, we had to pull…Gerald, was it?" Walter nodded. "We had to pull him off of you. He was quite angry."

"And he had every right to be," Walter conceded. He briefly thought of telling Chrom the entire story, but…No, Walter told himself. Not now. Perhaps when we return to Ylisse…I have a feeling I will be here for a long time, he realized sadly. Perhaps even another thirty years, he continued wryly.

"Beg pardon?" Chrom asked. "Thirty years for what?"

Walter hadn't even realized he'd spoken. "General…well, King Gerald, now, told me that I have been gone from Bersia for thirty years."

"Gods," Chrom gasped. "Your trip here must have propelled you through time as well…I take it your home was saved, though?"

"Yes," Walter said, relief flooding through him. My mistakes did not destroy all. "Bersia is safe…though I doubt I will ever be able to return." Walter felt a foreign sensation in the corner of his eye. Wetness, he realized. Tears.

"What?" Chrom asked, shocked. "Why not?"

Walter growled in frustration. "Because Gerald, who wishes me dead, is King of all human realms. Ecclesia presumably collapsed during Encablossa's attack, and was absorbed into Hironeiden." Walter felt the wetness in his eyes grow. Such a glorious Empire, a monument to Lord's benevolence and mankind's accomplishments, now gone. Absorbed by secular Hironeiden, lover of lesser races and apostate capital of Western Bersia. "With Gerald ruling the human realms, I could go nowhere if I returned. I will not stoop so low as to seek refuge with the subhuman races. So I am exiled here." He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears away. He had not shed tears since his wife's untimely death, and he would not shed them again.

"I…I am sorry, Walter," Chrom said gently, placing a hand on Walter's shoulder. "That is a terrible fate."

Walter finally opened his eyes. The tears had not fallen, nor would they. "Indeed it is, Prince Chrom," Walter sighed. "But I know it is safe now. That my mistakes did not cost me all that I held dear. Even if I can never see it again, I know it still stands." Even if it stands in the hands of heretics and apostates. But that is beyond my control, he thought with a mental sigh, it is time now to turn my eyes to what I can control. Walter had no direction. Bersia was safe. He was exiled here in Ylisse. What use would this world have for an old soldier? Wait, that's it!

Walter forced himself to sit up, and he looked Chrom in the eyes. "Is my offer to join your Shepherds still valid, Prince Chrom?" Walter asked seriously.

"It was never meant to be revoked," Chrom stated, smiling. "In truth, I already considered you one of us. I am sure the rest of us do as well."

"Good," Walter replied. "Then I would formally accept your offer."

"Welcome aboard, Sir Walter of Ecclesia." Chrom said with a grin, extending his hand.

"I suppose I am no longer a knight at all, let alone of Ecclesia," Walter replied with a grimace. "I doubt Gerald would recognize me as a noble of Ecclesia if I asked. So now, I am simply Walter."

"Very well, Walter," Chrom said, still smiling. "Get some rest. Tomorrow morning, we will return to Ylisse."

Walter laid back down and stared at the ceiling. It would be odd, taking orders from a boy barely older than his own son, but he was a good prince. He would make a fine ruler, were his sister not the Exalt. Perhaps, under him, Walter could finally do some honest good in his life.

000

Robin was avoiding him. Walter was certain of it. He had said nary a word to Walter during the day in the infirmary, though he had put it down to sulking after Leinhart had thrashed him. In truth, all but Chrom had been outright embarrassed by their opponents, and the return march was accordingly somber. The Shepherds were more skilled than the average soldier, and most of them had let that go to their heads. To be so brutally reminded that they still had room to improve was a sobering thought for many of them. But then Robin had been distancing himself from Walter at meal times and during the march, the entire three days. And now that they were back in Ylisse, he was nowhere to be found. They had just gotten back an hour ago, for God's sake! Where could he have gone!? He had run into their new recruit, Lon'qu, but he had not seen the tactician either. Lon'qu was also a man of few words, Walter noticed, and curiously averse to women. He had formerly been Basilio's champion, from what he'd heard, but had been offered to the Shepherds as a prize for winning the tournament. Lon'qu didn't seem to mind, and thus was now a member of the Shepherds.

Walter cursed. What had he done wrong? This sudden aversion of Robin's made no sense. All Walter wanted was to consult with the tactician of his new liege, possibly see if he could learn anything from Bersian strategies or vice versa, but the man was nowhere to be found. Had he said something wrong?

As Walter stormed through Castle Ylisstol, searching high and low for Robin, he almost ran headlong into Chrom around a corner.

"Apologies, Prince Chrom," Walter quickly stated. "You wouldn't happen to have seen your tactician, would you? I wished to discuss Bersian strategy with him. With Regnier and Gerald being in this world, he may have need of it."

"An excellent idea, Walter," Chrom responded with a small smile, "but I have not seen him since we returned." Walter frowned. "However, I did wish to speak to you."

"How may I serve, milord?" Walter asked with a salute.

"Gods, please don't start that," Chrom stated with a laugh. "You may be an official Shepherd now, but the same rules still apply. No formalities. But as to what you can do…" he pulled a scroll from his belt and handed it to Walter. Walter unfurled it, and his experienced eyes quickly deciphered it.

"…you fear Plegia intends to go to war soon." It was not a question.

"Yes," Chrom replied worriedly. "Their army has been sighted massing at ideal invasion points, and bandit activity is increasing. They're up to something."

"What do you ask of me?" Walter asked.

"Themis is vulnerable," Chrom replied. "It's a province on the Plegian border, well known for its plentiful crops and strong horses. Most Ylissean cavalry mounts are bred there. Do you remember Maribelle?" Walter grimaced and nodded. Chrom gave a short laugh. "Well, she's the Duke's daughter, and through her, her father has requested the Shepherds to eliminate a particularly violent group of bandits."

"So when do we leave?" Walter asked.

"'We' don't," Chrom answered. "I want the Shepherds here at the castle. If war does break out, we will be sorely needed here. But if I send you with a contingent of soldiers," Chrom continued, "then we can address both of those issues."

"I am honored that you would put faith in me," Walter said with a humble bow, "but why?"

"You're a seasoned veteran," Chrom reasoned, "with experience leading line soldiers. Frederick would be my first choice normally, but he hasn't seen an actual war. You have. If war breaks out while you're in Themis, hunting these bandits, you will be more able to react properly."

"I understand," Walter said after a second of silence. "What troops are you assigning to me?"

"Duke Themis will likely be furnishing the bulk of your troops," Chrom answered, "but I will be sending twenty lancers, ten archers, and ten cavaliers with you. Is that acceptable?"

"Perfectly, Prince Chrom," Walter stated. "When do I leave?"

"Well," Chrom stated, rubbing the back of his head, "Maribelle's already here, and rather impatient from having to wait for us to come back. So, I'd advise grabbing your belongings and going now."

Walter groaned. He would have to deal with that petulant brat the entire trip to Themis. Chrom was openly grinning now. He thinks this is funny!? "Very well, Prince Chrom. I will take my leave."

000

"Sir Walter," Maribelle greeted him stiffly in the main hall of the castle, "in Ylisse, it is considered rude to keep a lady waiting."

"I am no 'Sir' anymore, Lady Maribelle," Walter responded, equally stiffly. But regardless of his personal feelings towards her, he was a commoner now. A commoner with high quality armor and an education, but a commoner nonetheless. As such, he knew well the obligations of the lower class to the noble class, the foremost being respect…or at the very least submission. "I am exiled from my homeland. I am naught but a commoner now, and here to humbly serve."

Maribelle looked to be taken aback, before her features twisted into a cold grin. "Well, that is a shame. Though perhaps now you will be able to demonstrate for me the best qualities of the lower classes?"

"I only hope I can meet your expectations, milady," Walter ground out. "Shall we be on our way?"

"Yes, let us depart. Do you ride?" she asked.

"Horses?" Maribelle gave a condescending eye-roll and nodded I have a feeling that they do not have Storm Riders here, if such a question prompts such a smug response. "I have not rode for many years, milady," Walter responded, "but I know how to, yes."

"Very good," Maribelle said with a happy smile. "Fetch yourself a horse from the stables, and meet me by the castle gates."

"Is there a particular reason you wish me to ride, milady?" Walter asked. Normally such a gesture would be reserved for fellow noblemen, at least in Ecclesia. Or in cases where haste was required; was Themis in deeper trouble than they'd let on?

"The simple fact that I ordered you to do so should be sufficient reasoning, Walter," Maribelle snapped. "Go. Now."

"Aye, milady," Walter replied, before quickly walking away. It didn't take him long to find a horse and convince the stable hand to let him take it, though he wished it had. It was a chestnut-coated mare, with a plain leather saddle. According to the stable hand, its last owner had died in a Risen ambush on the outskirts of one of the eastern cities. Let us hope that she bears me to better fortune than her former master. He quickly mounted, the long-practiced movements returning to him with ease, and he slowly rode the mare back to Maribelle.

"Well, it certainly took you long enough," she snapped. "Prince Chrom has the troops he is sending with you down by the main gate. Come." With that, she spurred her horse forward, and Walter reluctantly followed.