Chapter 11: I'm the Fury in Your Head
"Calm your breathing, Ian. Do not be fooled by the lack of a sword; you will tire easily if you put too much energy into each move," No'bun warned as he sat outside the small home, watching Ian focus on the hand movements he had taught him so many years ago.
"I know, I know. It just feels so liberating to fight like this. Gods I'm so much faster on my feet now! Hah!" Ian went back into his original stance; both fists were held out in front of him and his feet spread out wide, rocking back and forth to keep his movements fluid. He controlled his breathing for a few moments before performing a quick roundhouse kick and rotated back to step one.
It had been roughly a week since Ian arrived at the old home in the middle of nowhere east of Southtown. Soon after his arrival he ran into Marth, a mysterious warrior who only seemed to appear at the most random yet convenient of times and had arrived in the plains searching for someone of unknown interest. And then afterwards into No'bun, an old retired tactician from Chon'sin who acted like both a father to Ian's late mother and a grandfather to the white haired youth himself. And finally the appearance of Tharja, the dark mage from Plegia who was infamous amongst the Shepherds for being a tad sadistic and having an irrefutable infatuation with the group's tactician. She managed to show up near the end of the battle with the risen that were attacking No'bun's home and had allegedly followed Ian by sneaking a strand of his hair and creating some sort of hex to keep track of his whereabouts.
All three characters appearing in Ian's life now all of a sudden had been bizarre to say the least. In fact there were times when Ian was alone or lying in his bed at night that he would sometimes compare theses circumstances to some kind of scene in a comedic play Olivia would occasionally talk about. And yet, even though the events were a bit outlandish for the boy's tastes, it didn't mean they weren't enjoyable.
Ian finished his last set of moves and calmed his breathing. He picked up a towel that was laying around on an area of ground not destroyed by craters or burnt grass and wiped the sweat from his face before walking over to the trio with a satisfied grin, "That was fun."
"You're still rusty it would seem," No'bun commented. "You put too much force into each punch."
Ian shrugged, "Two years of no practice will do that to you. Or maybe I've gotten stronger and caused more force to come behind my punches, have you thought of that?"
"That is an argument of an amateur."
The young man rolled his eyes at No'bun's criticism before turning to Marth who had been observing his practice for some time now.
"So, what do you think, Marth? Think you may be interested in learning?" Ian asked.
"It's a… brutal fighting method. I've only fought with a sword my entire life," Marth sadly admitted. "I'm unsure whether I can master such a skill."
"Oh it won't be too bad, I'll teach you. We have all the time in the world to practice."
An indecisive expression tugged at the edge of Marth's lips as she played with the thought, her left hand lifted ever so slightly so her thumb could trace the pommel of her sword. She was clearly uncomfortable with the thought of abandoning her weapon.
"...Perhaps another time," she slowly proposed.
Ian shrugged at Marth's decision and decided to let it go, "Alrighty then. Your choice."
"I'll be happy to have you teach me," Tharja said with a sly grin as she closed the book she was reading shut. "And perhaps I can teach you a thing or two about the dark arts.
Ian gave pause at the dark mage for a moment before he respectfully declined, "Uh, no thank you, Tharja. I'll pass, on both accounts."
Tharja gave a slight glare at Ian and then a larger one at Marth. As the blue haired warrior nodded appreciatively at the tactician No'bun decided to speak up, "So, aside from ignoring my advice and turning down women; what other plans or misdeeds do you have planned for the day?"
"More or less the same, I suppose," Ian said. "Reading manuals, do some training here and there, go over the letters a few more times. Just going over the routines to get my memory back."
"Is it common for someone to never recover from amnesia?" Marth asked idly after she had stopped fidgeting with her sword, now that she knew she wouldn't have to part with using it for now.
"Not really, especially if the memory loss is natural," No'bun mused, stroking his chin. "However if unorthodox means are used, say, magic or potions, then it is entirely possible."
"Magic, eh?" Ian thought outloud. "You think I may have lost my memories by practicing magic and 'donging' my head too hard with a spell?"
Everyone paused to stare at Ian and his strangely worded phrase.
"Ah, no," No'bun awkwardly coughed, breaking the silence his grandson didn't even notice had occurred. "Unless you all of a sudden became a magical genius and conjured up a spell such as Thoron and then hit yourself and then became stupid, which looking at you now may not be outside the realms of reality-"
"Hey!"
"But that is an outlandish case. It would require a bit of potent dark magic to conjure up a spell capable of amnesia. And I was only able to teach you anima magic."
Ian blinked at the old man's comment about dark magic and had to resist the urge to look at the mark on his right hand. Tharja took notice of his hesitation and softly stared with empathetic eyes.
"It may not be as outlandish as you think…" Ian began, speaking slowly and with a small hint of fear.
"Oh?" No'bun asked.
The young man's shoulders visibly rose before they dropped and he heaved a sigh, "It's nothing. Don't worry about it. Just me being stupid."
The old man raised a brow at his grandson but decided to say nothing further on the matter.
"Well, how about you then, my lovely Tharja? Going to make some deadly hexes of insurmountable evil? Potions capable of eternal youth? Or even…" No'bun's face turned to a shade of perverted red as his two nostrils flared. "Doing sexy poses out in the middle of the field and saying, 'Oh! Don't look at me! I'm too embarrassed!' But actually wanting me- I mean Ian to look!" the old man hugged himself while making kissy faces as well as blushing heavily and having the biggest grin on his face.
"What in the world are you on about?" Ian deadpanned.
Tharja's stare lowered into a vehement glare, "What I do is none of your business, old man," she said in a venomous tone which only seemed to excite the elder even more. "And even if I were to show my… my…" Tharja paused, clearly embarrassed by the thought in her head. "I wouldn't let you see it! Only Ian is allowed!" she ended her rant with a blush that could only rival Olivia's.
"Gee, thanks," Ian said sarcastically.
No'bun practically squealed and gave his grandson an indiscreet thumbs up and a wink. Ian just simply shook his head and sighed.
The old man guaffed when Tharja began to pester Ian with questions regarding her attractiveness and what kind of women the tactician was interested in. As No'bun turned his attention when Ian threw a fit, he saw Marth looking forlornly at the sword at her hip. She was quiet despite Ian's cries in the background.
"And you, Marth? What do you plan to do?" No'bun asked.
Marth took notice of the elder's more serious tone and stopped. She took her hand off her sword and opened her mouth as if to say something, but stopped when she saw the face of the old man. He stared with a curious twinkle and Marth didn't dare answer her thoughts.
"I…"
"Wait, No'bun," Ian loudly interrupted, effectively cutting Marth off. "Why does it have to be specifically dark magic that causes amnesia? Shouldn't anything capable of giving me a concussion be enough to give me amnesia? Regular magic included?"
No'bun turned to answer Ian's question, leaving Marth with only a stunned look and an eventual sigh of relief.
"Everything's a possibility, I suppose," No'bun began slowly. "Dark magic is known to be the strongest form of manipulation and is easy to get wrong. You could have shocked yourself with a thunder tome but…" he then went into a deep, long pause. Stroking his chin and becoming quiet all of a sudden.
Ian raised a brow while he waited for the old man to continue, "But…?"
"But it's the only one that makes sense…"
"What makes sense?" Ian asked impatiently, quickly becoming tired of No'bun's nonsense.
No'bun stared at Ian which caused the young man to give pause; even both Marth and Tharja became still in anticipation for the senior's answer.
It came in a low whisper, "The destruction in the woods. North of here. A crater, larger than any I have ever seen. Unnatural. I found it not long after you disappeared."
Ian stood still, unsure at the cryptic message of the old man's words, "What?"
"Dark magic," No'bun said. "Traces of dark magic permeated the air. It was… intoxicating."
Ian's mouth slowly opened, his jaw stuck at the revelation of this new information. There was something, a link to his disappearance two years ago. Instead of trying to rediscover the lost jumbles of his memories which pretty much spanned throughout his entire life, he should have been focusing on what was the cause of his amnesia in the first place. And that would mean…
"The day I disappeared..." Ian repeated in a low tone. He blinked, realizing that only now No'bun finally told him this information.
"Wait, why the hell did it take you so long to tell me this?" his tone rose, greatly annoyed by No'bun's delay.
"I… I didn't-" No'bun began with a stutter.
Ian marched over to his coat where he left it lying around and began to ignore whatever answer his grandfather may have given. He put on the coat and turned to Tharja and stared at her with eyes that never before had looked at her with such hunger, "Tharja, you said you wanted to teach me some dark magic in return for some lessons?"
"Y-yes," Tharja said, clearly unused to the amount of enthusiasm Ian was showing her, directly at her. "I know every single text on dark magic imaginable: Hexes, curses, blood, unholy, frost… Whatever you desire I'll teach you."
"Good," Ian grinned before doubling back and facing No'bun, "Where the hell did you say this bloody crater was at?"
"I… I…"
"North, he said it was north," Marth answered, looking at No'bun with worry at the man's sickly behavior.
"North, got it," the young tactician repeated with much excitement. "Tharja, grab your books, we're finding this damn crater."
"As you will, my love," Tharja swooned.
"Wait, I don't think-" No'bun began when he was finally able to recollect his thoughts. But with that Ian and Tharja disappeared to the side of the house, and soon afterwards they saw Cinis neighing and gallop away through the valley.
No'bun stared at the woods Ian and Tharja had disappeared too, dumbfounded by how quick the situation had deteriorated. Marth cautiously approached him and asked him what was wrong. No'bun turned around, not even realizing he had stood up from his seat and was without his cane while at a loss for words.
"Tharja, can you sense any dark residue in the air? Woods are becoming a little thick."
"Barely," the dark mage replied, hiding her growing blush as her arms wrapped around Ian's torso while they rode upon Cinis's back. "It's extremely faint. If I wasn't looking for it I might not have noticed. "
"So No'bun was telling the truth then," Ian thought out loud, tugging on Cinis's reins and commanding the horse to jump over a fallen log. "Damn it, what a waste of time trying to recover lost memories. If he had told me about this sooner I might have had them back by now!"
"He's a senile old fool, Ian," Tharja cooed, tilting her head forward and slowly gliding the tip of her nose along the nape of his neck. "But what is important now is that we're together. Alone."
"Focus Tharja," Ian snapped.
The dark mage gave a low growl, "...Fine."
Several more minutes of silent riding passed and very soon the woods began to turn thicker, eventually slowing Cinis down to a trot. Everything was a dark brown with green in the treetops, just as a normal forest should be. But there was a certain dread in the air and just like the surrounding trees, Ian felt something closing in his lungs and making it harder for him to breathe. He wasn't sure if it was the apprehension or the excitement in the upcoming discovery, perhaps it was the dark magic Tharja felt in the air. But for something to have lasted for so long, more specifically two years, it must have been something powerful.
"Was that the power that resulted in the loss of my memories?" Ian asked himself.
More quiet moments passed when Ian thought aloud, "I should have asked him about the size of the crater."
"Hmm?" Tharja hummed amusingly.
"It could be a small hole, or something expanding the size of an entire field. If it's the first then we can easily overlook it and miss it. But if it's the latter," Ian asked. "Then how could it have gone unnoticed for so long?"
Tharja's face hardened, "We won't miss it."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Don't you feel it?" the mage asked as she straightened her back, opening the distance between her and Ian. He felt her fingers no longer holding onto him as she wrapped her arms around her own torso and whispered, "That tingling in your spine? The numbing of your sensations but feeling an acute sense as if someone were pressing a knife to your neck? The fear. The dark. The… cold. Do you not feel it, my love?"
"...Should I?" Ian asked hesitantly.
"Your horse certainly feels it."
Ian peered down at Cinis's, the beast was showing very subtle signs of panic, something that was incredibly unusual for the normally well-worn and stoic steed.
"...We must be getting near," the tactician theorized. "Come, Cinis. Hiyah!"
The horse was whipped into motion and Ian leaned forward all the while directing Cinis clear of any debris and forest brush. Soon after several minutes of sprinting Cinis came to a halt, refusing to move any further.
"Cinis, what are you-?"
"It's..." Tharja clenched her eyes tight as stress lines were scrawled across her face. "It's near. It's... here."
Ian looked back, worried, "Are you alright, Tharja? Do you need to turn back?"
"I'm fine," she panted. "I just need a moment. The- This power. This... mere residue. It's so strong that it is almost... delicious..."
The man's eyes lowered. "Don't you go all psycho on me, Tharja."
"I-I'm fine. Do not worry about me."
Ian gave a few more seconds to truly see if his partner was fine, but once she gave another dismissive wave he turned back to the parting of trees before him. Leaving Cinis by a nearby brush despite the horse's violent protests, the duo hesitantly walked forward.
Checking over his shoulder Ian could tell something was wrong with Tharja, or to say, she was acting more lively than normal. This may have been the power of the dark magic in the area or perhaps more innocently it was his mere presence that caused her arousal. Nonetheless it put the tactician on edge.
Several more paces in Ian could finally see the trees parting almost fully. The sun was hanging perfectly in the sky, making it difficult for him to see and as he got closer he heard a voice.
"Stop."
Ian paused and turned around to see the intoxicated mage suddenly turn shivering with fear.
"Don't go any further."
Ian's brows furrowed and he looked between the final opening in the woods and Tharja, "What are you talking about?"
"It's… It's…" Tharja chewed at her lip and growled. "It's not safe over there."
"What in the world are you talking about?" Ian repeated. "A moment ago you were excited about seeing this crater."
"When?"
"A moment ago."
"How long ago was that?" Tharja asked with an almost docile tone.
Ian's paused with confusion and his lips parted slowly, "What?" he turned around. "What the hell is going-?" he hesitated before suddenly bursting through the last row of trees as Tharja cried after him.
When the light had cleared and it no longer hurt to see, Ian stood awestruck at the edge of an enormous pit spanning the size of a small village. Dirt, debris, and ash littered the wasted land and the trees surrounding the crater were dead, blackened by fire and their leaves burnt to a crisp. From the edge, the highest point in the elongated hole, Ian could have jumped down and easily have another meter above his normal height.
Ian stepped forward and realized that the crater was not natural. The curves and the circle were so smooth and so perfect, they contrasted heavily with the dead forest around it. The sheer magnitude and size told of something incredibly powerful, and yet aside from the immediate destruction and outskirts of the crater, the rest of the forest remained untouched. It was as if a singular, omnipotent force appeared, left it's mark, and vanished all within the same instant.
Though humbled by whatever this force was, Ian couldn't feel the dark magic in the air Tharja had talked about. However, he did have a sense of dread as if something terrible had happened here. He peered across the dead plain and felt normal; perhaps he wasn't as in tune with the darker forces as Tharja was or maybe the magic was so beyond him that just like a simple villager he could not even perceive the intensity around him.
Landing with a small hup, Ian strode across the waste until finally reaching the center. He stopped and looked around, waiting for something to happen. He waited for a sense, a tingle, a vision, waiting for something until he finally felt… nothing.
His head rotated back and forth on his shoulders, stumbled around himself in that perfect circle as if something was going to happen sooner or later.
"Are you serious...?"
"I came all this way! I waited for so long!" Ian's knees hit the dirt and with his bare hands clawed at the earth, digging and snarling all the while swearing profusely into the sky. "I worked so hard! I killed, I fought, I begged! I did my bloody job! I stayed up through nights! I freakin' read books! Read letters! Ate, slept, lived here! I did everything! What the hell do you want me to do!?"
"The signs! I followed the damn signs! Everything! No'bun! I found him! Why can't you let me bloody remember!" his hands rose toward the sky and came crashing down as dirt and mud permeated the crying man's nails and palms. He threw the dirt around him with all of his might in every which direction. He howled in agony and screamed in frustration, screaming toward the gods and all around him. He kept screaming until his throat could take no more, making his voice hoarse.
As the dirt landed around and on him and as the dust drifted into his lungs, Ian coughed through his sobs, feeling as though the world was mocking him for his efforts. Tears rolled down from his eyes and he felt nothing but absolute defeat as his mind went blank. Nothing but the sounds of his whimpers and his weeping spirit.
"I wasted an entire year learning how to ride a bloody horse damn it…"
For several moments Ian sobbed. He stayed there on his knees with his head tilted back facing the heavens and his arms limp at the sides. The sky was blue and clouds lazily rolled through the atmosphere. Nothing was rushed and the world seemed perfect.
His breathing slowed and from the corner of his right eye he saw movement. Ian slowly turned his head and glared at the familiar sight, "Now you finally decide to show yourself," he spat.
The ghost, the spirit of his mother, the shimmer, the concentrated reflection of light, whatever it was appeared from the trees not far from where Ian had originally entered. And though he normally would have been excited to finally see another clue to his past, the boy just simply sat, spiteful and staring at the approaching sprite.
However something seemed different about this apparition. It was faster than the others. It moved with purpose. This one appeared to be… running.
Ian paused, confused.
The closer the apparition got, the more Ian was able to see of their features. The spirit appeared to have short hair, hinting at a male. On his body was a coat which was hauntingly familiar to the one Ian wore.
It didn't take him long after that to realize what he was looking at, "You're kidding me…"
The ghost or memory of Ian held his side as if it were bleeding, his misty face was filled with anguish and worry. He appeared to be limping and when he looked back he suddenly tripped and fell. The ghost quickly recovered however and made it's way to where the present Ian was.
Ian quickly stood up and took a step back when the ghost fell before him, hearing his sobs and uneven breathing. He looked at his past self wide eyed and his vision became distorted. Ripples and flashes blew up before him and he heard distorted voices of men yelling in the background.
All of a sudden Ian was back in the forest where there was no room to move, the crater was gone and all around him were bushes and vegetation. Echoes of voices and swishing sounds reverberated off inside his head and the markings on his hand and back began to pulse.
Ian peered down at his past self and gasped when his past self stared back; his eyes charged in a crimson red.
"What the hell is-?"
The ghost vanished into a smoky haze, leaving Ian completely alone feeling both tremendously nauseous and with a pounding headache. He closed his eyes in response to the pain but when he opened them once more the world had shifted to night; he stumbled around, discombobulated and when he felt something wet slide between his fingers, the tactician had to fight back a scream when he saw that the dust had turned to blood.
Three more spirits seen through the forest were rushing toward Ian. And when he blinked they multiplied to ten. Blinked again and they reversed back to three. Three then ten. Ten then three.
Three.
Then ten.
Three.
Then ten.
Three.
Then ten.
Three.
Ten.
Three.
Twenty.
They called out.
"Ian-!"
"Where is he?"
"Do not let him escape! The high priest will have our heads if he does!"
"Ian!"
"Find him!"
"Boy, what are you doing out there? And why did you leave poor Tharja by herself? She was fraught with worr-"
"Grab him!"
"No!" Ian heard himself scream. He did not know what was happening or why, but as he lifted his right hand to cast a spell at the people after him, the very visible mark opened up and a mass of dark energies ruptured from his fingertips, engulfing the land and causing the entire world to explode.
Ian's vision darkened and he could have sworn in the background he heard Marth scream.
Huff… Hah… Huff… Hah... Huff… Hah… Huff… Hah…
Huff... Huff... Huff... Huff... Hah…
I remember running.
Tss. Ha. Tss. Ha. Tss. Ha. Tss. Ha…
But I don't remember for how long.
Hah… Hah... Hah… Hah…
Could have been seconds. Minutes. Hours. Most likely minutes. Seconds are way too short and anxiety always seems to make time longer than it actually is.
Hah… hah… Tsss… Hah…
It was dark out and I remember looking back, shortly before I tripped.
Argh…!
Must have been a branch.
Oof!
I hit the ground hard and I quickly tried covering my mouth and biting my tongue.
...
I was scared, ya know?
I remember the ground being dusty. My knuckles were scratched, knees scraped, and belly cold. My head hurt from the fall and tears fogged my vision. I heard voices in the background. Angry, predatory voices, shouting and yelling for me. Demanding I come out and turn myself in.
I didn't.
I stayed there, quiet, with a hand over my mouth and eyes tightly shut. I heard the bandits approach, but I said nothing. Not when they were near, nor when they were on top of me and breathing down my neck. Not a peep, not a word. Not even a single, single breath. It was like being a child all over again and the only protection from the monsters in the closet was your favorite blanket. But soon the voices and the boots passed, and the monsters were gone.
For the next hour I stayed there. Lying in wait, dying with fear. Never in my entire life had I been so afraid.
Huff... Huff... Huff...
It was chilly, but not in the way you'd expect. I put my head down and sobbed into the dirt, because that was what I was, dirt.
I'm sorry…
I loathe that feeling.
Losing a loved one is very similar to losing a part of yourself. But to lose someone because you failed to protect them is like having a part of your soul ripped out and turned against you.
I remember her snow white hair and the way it fell in the wind. The droplets of blood as they trickled down her neck. The sense of helplessness and despair as I turned coward and ran.
What a terrible memory.
Eventually I picked myself up and decided to return to the bloody fields. I couldn't tell you why my legs carried me as well as they did, but I ran back with both the sense of dread and excitement of a child.
Yes, I remember all this. And I also remember that sight. That beautifully haunting sight; the smoke and ash. Orange and red shaded with black. The sight of your loved ones, your family, your home, everything. All of it, all up in flames.
It was marvelous.
I remember it all, every detail and every sting. Forever burned into the back of my mind, just like that inferno.
Oh yes, I remember that night.
...
Do you?
…
No.
The first thing Ian saw when he opened his eyes was the looming silhouette of a woman's face staring down at him. And while he thought of Lissa back when he first awoke in that field all those years ago, it became clear to him that it wasn't the bright blonde and yellow princess, but instead the dark brooding brunette that was Tharja.
"Ian," the dark mage said softly with a hint of relief in her voice when he awoke.
Tharja leaned back in the chair she was sitting in and Ian groaned as he slowly rose from his bed. He was shirtless and he felt a painful cringe in his head as if someone was pounding a hammer against his skull, "Ugh, damn my head, it hurts. How long was I out?"
"For almost the entire day," Tharja answered as she turned her head toward the window right above Ian's bedside; the stars were already out and a single candle at Ian's desk was the only thing lighting the room.
"The entire day?" He repeated in disbelief.
Tharja nodded before she placed a hand on the tactician's chest and slowly eased him back toward his pillow. Her hand lingered for a moment longer than necessary before she finally relieved the pressure, "I was so worried I was going to lose you. When you wandered off ahead of me I couldn't follow. The darkness was so strong I… I thought I would never see you again."
Ian craned his neck to look at his unexpected caretaker and replied with an awkward tone in his voice, "Well… I'm back now. So you don't have to worry about losing me, I guess,"
"I'm never letting you out of my sight again," Tharja announced with staunch resolution, taking one of Ian's hands with both of her's and placed them firmly against her chest. "Wherever you go I will follow."
Ian blushed profusely before hastily taking his hand back, "Please don't."
From down the hall Ian could hear the sounds of a ticking grandfather clock. The slow monotonous beat eventually began to reveal to Ian that the only ones in the room was him and Tharja. Neither Marth nor No'bun were present.
"Tharja."
"Yes?" The dark mage hummed.
"Where's Marth and No'bun? It's awfully quiet in here."
Tharja's face darkened for a second, almost as if pained by the tactician's question. Her raven colored hair awning her eyes, "The others are in another room. Marth is… taking care of the old man."
"What are you talking about?" Ian asked.
"It wasn't your fault," Tharja began, much to Ian's confusion. "The dark magic in the air I told you about. You weren't yourself. When we approached you… you. It was as if you were possessed."
"Tharja," Ian sat up, causing another headache but quickly decided to ignore it. "What the hell happened out there?"
Tharja clenched her teeth, internally debating whether or not to answer her beloved's question or risk hurting him further. But when she saw his face gradually move closer to her's without him realizing it, the dark mage's face turned crimson and she quickly backed away.
"You attacked us!" Tharja confessed. "When we found you you yelled 'No!' and attacked us! The old man took the brunt of the attack and now he's in his room receiving treatment from Marth."
Every part of Ian's body froze and he experienced the very palpable sensation of his heart drop. He felt his exhale stop mid breath when he finally noticed that parts of Tharja's revealing suit was ripped and tattered in multiple locations.
"I... did that?" He said before his thoughts returned to No'bun. "No…"
Ian ripped the bed sheets off him and burst into a sprint out the bedroom door and down the hallway. Ignoring both the headache and Tharja yelling after him for the second time that day.
Everything was dark in the entire home except for small bits of candles that barely offered any light. The run down the tiny hall felt like an eternity and even the light coming from No'bun's room was nothing more than a flicker, "No'bun!" Ian called when he rounded the corner and into the old man's room.
The bedroom had the same shade of shadow and meager lighting as his own. As Ian entered the room he saw the silhouette of a woman on her knees right by the side of No'bun's bed. The candle was right behind the woman which allowed her outline to flare orange and red but the rest of her features were hidden by the darkness. A hand was resting limp outside the sheets of the futon, reflecting the light from the candle and was ominously still.
Marth turned her head to see Ian standing hesitantly by the sliding doors, his face fraught with worry and fear. She stared at him with an almost neutral glare for a few seconds before she rotated her head back toward No'bun's resting body; Ian bit his lip and gulped at the heavy atmosphere. For a few more moments he stood there until eventually he slowly made his way to Marth's side and carefully fell down to his knees.
"How's he doing? Is he alright? Is he awake right now?" Ian asked with a small crack in his voice.
Marth said nothing as she let out a small breath and was debating on what to say when No'bun's handed lifted slightly and he said in a hoarse whisper, "I'm awake."
"No'bun?" Ian leaned forward and crawled forward as Marth decided to scoot back to allow the tactician some room. "H-how are you? Are you holding up fine? How's the damage? I… I'm so sorry, Tharja told me what happened. I don't know what came over me, I'm so sorry-"
The old man took ahold of Ian's hand and squeezed and though the light from the candle failed to illuminate No'bun's face, hidden in the darkness he gave a weak smile, "Peace, I am alive. Do not fret."
"How are you feeling?"
"I am alive," No'bun began. "I am well. My body may be damaged but my mind is my own, it is whole. But how about you, Ian? My main concern is you. How are you feeling?"
Ian opened his mouth to speak but closed it and bowed his head in shame. He brought both hands to cover his mouth and closed his eyes, sounding as though he were on the verge of tears, "I am so, so sorry. I'm-"
"Shh. Shh. Shh," No'bun hushed, motioning his hand for Ian to come closer. "Come. Come here, boy. Come here. Do not cry, no more tears. There you go, there you are. I'm alright, see? I'm here, I'm alive."
"Grandpa…"
Ian clung onto the only living family member left in his life. The old man smelled of a strange medicinal ointment whose sensations seemed to overwhelm Ian's nostrils; the scent felt minty and cleared any sinuses the boy may have had. The smell permeated Ian's nose and parts of No'bun's body where the medicine was applied felt sticky under Ian's embrace. This only made him hold on tighter, afraid to let the old man go as he buried his face into his neck.
"Grandpa…"
No'bun smiled and rubbed his grandson's naked back despite the pain the embrace caused him. As Ian continued to hold him however, No'bun looked up to see Marth glaring at something, her eyes wide in shock and surprise. Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly and her right hand twitched as it crossed her body and toward her sword. No'bun followed her gaze and realized she was staring straight at Ian's back.
As Marth's hand gripped the handle of her sword, No'bun raised up his free hand while Ian continued to hold onto him, oblivious to the developing situation. The retired tactician's hand was raised, poised as if he were preparing to fire upon the blue haired warrior and Marth hesitated. Her teeth were clenched and her sword was shaking inside its sheath, making repeated clanging noises as it bounced back and forth within the scabbard. Tears were threatening to break from Marth's eyes as she stared at the old man she had come to respect and love as if he were her own grandfather. But there was also that mark, that damnable mark on Ian's back; it's six eyes staring back at her… mocking her.
"Please No'bun… I have to. It's…" she said in a pained whisper. The old man sadly shook his head no.
Marth bit her lip and closed her eyes to fight back the conflicting tears. When she opened them she saw an orb of pure darkness with swirls of purple to her right and saw Tharja standing at the doorway with a tomb in one hand and a ball of shade in the other, her own face one of dangerous warning as she fought back every urge to destroy the one who would dare threaten her beloved. After several tense moments Marth released her grip on her sword and her arm fell lethargically to her side, but her fist was still clenched, shaking ever so slightly at her newfound anger.
Ian, now finally releasing his hold on No'bun noticed the ominous darker than dark orb at the side of the room. He turned his head and saw Tharja by the doorway with her arm outstretched and the magic in hand.
"Tharja, what the hell are you doing?" He asked.
Tharja continued to glare at Marth with her menacing glaze before she eventually put her hand down and extinguished the sphere, "Nothing, Ian. Nothing at all."
Ian glowered at Tharja's cryptic message as he was now suddenly suspicious and turned around to look at Marth, "Marth, do you know what she is talking-" Marth looked as though she were about to erupt before stomping out the tiny room and slammed the sliding door shut.
"-about…" he lamely finished.
No'bun let out a long, painful sigh that almost sounded like a wheezing bellow, "Leave her be… I believe it is time for you to return to bed. Rest Ian, it has been a long… day."
"What about you, No- grandpa? Are you going to be alright? I can stay here and help take care of you. I'm fine, honest."
No'bun smiled, "No. That won't be necessary. Marth or Tharja will be around if I ever need something," he made an attempt at a cheeky smile. "Especially Tharja if she'd be so-"
"No," she cut the old man off, causing him to chuckle.
For several moments Ian stood at the door, staring at the poorly lit figure of his grandfather, torn between staying behind to watch over him or follow his wishes and allow him to rest.
"I'll be here if you need me. Just holler and I'll come running," Ian said.
No'bun smiled and watched as Ian and Tharja slowly slipped away. After the sliding doors had closed and making absolutely sure everyone else had gone to bed No'bun let out a pained grunt. His breathing began to quicken and as he sat up, he pulled the sheets off his body and took the candle by his bedside. There the shaking tender light revealed the twisted and grotesque jet-black scorches permeating his entire body.
For several days No'bun's condition seemed to worsen as time went on. His breaths were longer and much more labored like the sounds of a moose; low at first and ending with a higher pitched squeak. Along with the black marks on his body, the old man's skin had taken on an ashen color and had begun to prune in some places. It paled and darkened and even the silver in his beard had shriveled and begun to come apart. A stroke from a comb or even a gentle grasp could have taken a large wad of hair from the decadent mane.
Ian spent every day watching over his grandfather. At every cough he would ask if he was alright. At every moan he would ask if he needed a glass of water. Every hour he would ask if the old tactician was hungry. He fluffed pillows, fed medicine, re-read letters, and swapped stories in their times as tacticians. Ian was constantly by No'bun's side and had refused almost every reason to leave.
It was hard watching the dying old man, literally his last and only family member. There was a subtle sense of dread in Ian's heart as he watched No'bun slowly edge closer and closer to his potential death.
"Most likely his death…" Ian thought to himself as No'bun slept. What boredom he may have had sitting in that small room was overwhelmed by the aching desire to help his grandfather. He felt like a small and useless child, sitting at the bedside of their sick parent and with their only power in the situation was to ask repeatedly if they were going to be okay.
Tharja politely knocked twice at the door and Ian said she could come in. Ever since the incident with the dark mage's open hostility toward Marth, Ian had kept on eye on his friend and even asked what her problem was. But Tharja had decided to remain silent on the matter and told him not to worry, much to the ire of the tactician.
She sat down on her knees right by Ian and asked how he was doing.
Ian sighed, "It's not looking good. I've been giving whatever herbs and elixirs like the doctor told me to, but they don't be seem to be doing anything. I'm running out of money, don't even have enough for a vulnerary."
"That's not what I meant," Tharja said as she replaced the wet towel covering No'bun's forehead with a new one. "I'm talking about you. You've been in here the past few days obsessing over him, it's not healthy."
"What right do you have to tell me it's not right to obsess over someone?" Ian demanded. "No'bun is dying right before our very eyes and you're worried about me looking out for him?"
"I'm not worried about you looking out for the old man, but I am worried about your state of mind. Hopelessness is a dark place, Ian. I don't want you dwelling there."
"And you?"
"It's my state of being. I find comfort there."
The two sat in a comfortable silence for the next few minutes. Despite the weariness Ian felt toward Tharja and her presence, it was nice to have someone to talk to when No'bun couldn't. In truth Ian had tried multiple attempts to leave the room and focus on other things to keep his sanity, but there was always the admission of guilt later on that forced him back to his seat.
"Any word from Marth?" Ian asked after a moment's time.
"Hmm?"
"I haven't seen her for a while now. What is she up to?"
Tharja took in a long breath, looking as though she would rather talk about other things or perhaps nothing at all, "No. What she does is her own business, and what we do is ours."
"It's just strange is all. I know Marth usually goes off without a trace and that would have been the first thing to pop into mind, but I know she is still here. I hear her coming into her room late at night but is always gone the next morning. What do you think she's doing?"
Tharja huffed, "Again. None of our business," she paused for a second before eventually adding. "Let's talk about something else."
Ian stared at the dark mage before shaking his head in resignation, "So much for conversation."
Several moments past and Ian asked again, "Do you think he'll recover?"
"Doubtful," Tharja replied with little tact. "Dark magic is a sinister force. On it's own it is capable of many great and powerful things, but this is something else. I have only seen these kind of effects from prolonged exposure spanning years at a time. This was instant however. This was from you."
Ian's right hand curled into a fist as he stared down at the Plegian markings looking back at him, "...Dark magic can go rot in hell."
Tharja said nothing on the statement and allowed Ian to fester in his own hate.
"It's getting late. The old man won't be waking up for a while now. You should rest, waiting here won't do you any good."
Ian looked up from his hands and at his grandfather, looking at his slow moving chest rise and fall ever so slightly. It was getting to the point where it barely moved at all.
"But what if he-"
"Ian," Tharja cut him off.
The young man sighed once more and eventually gave in, "Fine… But only for a few hours."
Tharja nodded at his decision and watched as Ian slowly rose to his feet and stared down at the old man. He paused for a moment before he leaned forward and edged his lips toward No'bun's forehead. He stopped and hesitated, looking conflicted about whether or not to commit to the action until he scrunched his face in repulsion and finally kissed his grandfather's temple. Ian stood up and Tharja eyeballed him with a dubious stare.
Ian deflected the stare and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, "Look, it weirds me out too, alright? But he's my grandpa. An I don't know how much time I have left to do the whole 'loving grandson' thing."
Tharja nodded her head once in response, deciding again to say nothing.
Ian ran a hand through his messy hair and released a yawn, "C'mon, it's getting late. Let's head to bed."
The dark mage smirked, "I like that idea."
"No Tharja, not together," Ian massaged his temples like a migraine. "It's late, I don't want to have this conversation now."
"Hmm?"
"Just go to sleep, please."
A soft chuckle was heard from the dark mage when the sliding doors quietly closed shut.
About an hour later the doors reopened, waking up the bed ridden No'bun. With enough strength to keep one eye open he hoarsely uttered.
"Lucina..."
The blue haired warrior respectfully tilted her head before looking back and closing the doors. She sauntered on into the room and knelt by the old man's side. He asked.
"...Had you any luck?"
Ian woke up the next morning bright and early just as the sun rose, forgetting for a brief second about his grandfather's condition before forcing himself out of bed and out the door. As he stepped into the halls he noticed the door to Tharja's room was still closed, signifying she was still asleep. This humanized the dark mage to Ian, knowing that she slept like a normal person just like everyone else. The thought brought him some small comfort.
The same could have been said about Marth's door as it too was still closed - as it always has been for the past few days - telling him nothing if she was still here or had gone off again.
He stopped before No'bun's room and listened carefully for any sounds of snoring or heavy breathing. When he heard nothing, Ian took in a deep breath and opened the sliding doors wide; surprised to see Marth sitting silently by No'bun's side, her fists clenched and with a written piece of paper in hand.
Ian carefully tiptoed forward, "Marth? What are you doing here so early?"
Because of the room's dim lighting and Marth's hair partially covering her face, Ian couldn't read what the young woman was thinking, but even from the lack of sight he could have sworn he heard a slight sniffle. Silently Marth stood up with the letter and passed it over to Ian, her head still in a downward cast. She stepped past him and stopped as if she were about to speak, but said nothing and walked out and closed the door.
Ian looked back, confused and suddenly afraid by what had transpired. He looked at No'bun sleeping quietly in his bed before reading the paper in hand. It was a letter.
Dearest Ian,
As the morning sun peeks through the dawn, I have come to realize that these may be the last few moments I ever see. My time left on this earth is short and I am thankful for all the joy this life has brought me. I am blessed to have experienced so much and to have known so many, but never more than knowing you. You may not remember much because of your amnesia. And while it is only up to the will of the gods that you do, I write you this letter in the case that you do not.
You lived your life here in this home for many years, cared and nurtured for by your loving mother. She brought you up with strong morals and strict when your strayed from that path, but she was not unkind. She loved you deeply and was proud to have you as her son. Your uncle, though not often here, was a soldier and because of his travels wrote you many letters regarding life, love, and friendship. He too loved you deeply and bragged about you as his nephew.
History has shown the terrible nature of Plegia, and though that was what your family was, do not disregard your heritage nor your birthright. Do not be so quick to judge others and remember this: Not all priests are saints and not all thieves are devils.
Do not despair by my passing and do not be ashamed by what has transpired but instead become thrilled by your new awakening. You will travel the world and relive everything you thought you once knew. This will not be the first nor will it be your last. Oh to be young again.
Now, my hand is starting to cramp and I was always terrible when it came to poetry. So for now I end this here. Good night.
Forever here,
Your loving grandfather.
Ian's eyes were glued to the piece of paper. First it was disbelief, then was dumbfoundment, then disbelief again.
"What…?"
He walked over to No'bun's body and placed a hand over the old man's chest and felt nothing. The same over his mouth to feel any breathing and saw the same result. It was as the letter confirmed.
"You died?" Ian asked slowly.
He couldn't believe it. Ian paced back and forth in the cramped room, only making two to three steps before he had to turn around. Ian swung his arm holding the letter to and fro as he walked, letting the paper slip between his two fingers little by little but never fully letting it go. He brought both hands up into the air and brushed his fingers through his hair and released several bouts of dismayed breaths.
Ian looked at No'bun's body and he still didn't know what to think, "You're dead? You freakin' died? ...What?"
The tactician plopped onto the floor and rubbed his temple. Thinking and trying to figure out this situation, just like he had done so many times in the past before a battle.
"What the hell?"
It was slow, but eventually his grandfather's death dawned on him. Ian stared at No'bun's body, the aged, peeled skin hanging off the old man's face. The unsightly combination of old age and terrible dark magic.
There was an empty pit in the middle of Ian's chest. He was sad, depressed, and lost. No words came from his gaping mouth and he wanted to cry, but no tears came. His body, despite all the emotional turmoil, could not produce a single tear.
"C'mon, cry," Ian ordered himself in a drawn whisper. "Cry you idiot. This is the part where you cry. Your grandpa just died, you freakin' dumbass. Cry! ...What the hell is wrong with you?" He turned his head up toward the light from the approaching dawn and opened his eyes wide. Burning the tears out if he had too.
"Cry damn you!"
And with a mighty roar Ian slammed his fist into the wall behind him, tearing through the weak paper screen. He pulled his arm back in and destroyed more of the wall, viscously cutting up his knuckles with the broken edges of wood. His knuckles bled but he didn't care. He stomped his right foot against the floor multiple times in rapid succession before he finally screamed.
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"
The tears finally came but first out of frustration before sadness. Ian tilted his head back against the wall, his fist was still hitting against the lower end of the screen but with significantly weaker strength. His cried and he mutely swore, letting every emotion he felt out.
On the other side of the screen Marth leaned against the wall, hearing Ian's sobs. She closed her eyes and fought against the sadness that berated her. She slowly slid down and buried her face in her arms, listening to the terrible sound of Ian's cries.
The next day Ian found himself back in No'bun's room, surveying the seemingly empty space while trying to take in every bit of it in his memory banks.
No'bun's body was buried the evening before. His body wrapped in an old cloth because Ian couldn't afford to buy a casket plus the nearest town was several leagues away, a nigh impossible task even if he could. Though he could have waited to find a different solution, the only want Ian had at the moment was to be done with it. Done with the mourning and done with the memory searching, done with it all so the pain would go away.
In his hand was No'bun's old tactical guide, an old thing documenting all of his grandfather's past battle plans and campaigns. There were even a few hypothetical ones that centered around small groups of one or two people, most likely written after he and his wife escaped from Chon'sin.
Ian gripped the book hard for a moment before placing it into the bag on his back. When he looked back into the room, his eyes fell on the curved blade sitting on the shrine directly across from him. His mother's sword, Ashen, the sheath still shiny and pristine after all these years. Ian let out a sigh and hesitated for a moment, fidgeting in place before he walked over and picked up the sword.
It was light, especially in comparison to the other swords he's used before. He brought up the sword to eye level and slowly took out the blade, instantly noticing the one side razor edge facing upward. There was a flicker of light from the sun dancing on the sword's body, Ian nodded in satisfaction and sheathed the blade with a gratifying click.
The tactician walked out the room, his mother's sword at his side and grandfather's tome in his bag. Upon entering the living room Ian saw Tharja and Marth waiting for him. Both seated but in different areas of the room. Tharja was the first to stand up when he entered.
"Do you have all your things?" She asked.
Ian nodded, "Yeah. I'm… ready to go."
Tharja pursed her lips to Ian's cold response but said nothing on the matter, "Your horse is ready and everything is packed."
"Good," Ian said, still with the monotone voice. Tharja sighed and said nothing further. She then decided to leave out the front door but not before shooting Marth a heated glare. Marth countered with a likewise equal stare, keeping the look until Tharja grunted and walked out the room.
Ian noticed the exchange between the two women and raised a brow but kept silent out of apathy and wanting to leave as soon as possible. He looked at Marth, still sitting in her seat and waiting for her to get up so they could leave. She did nothing.
"Hey," Ian said to get her attention, his tone already sounding annoyed.
"So this is it then?" Marth began, cutting Ian off. "You're just going to leave. Just like that?"
"There's no reason for me to stay. Besides, I think Chrom may be worried with how long I've been gone," Ian responded, slipping in the little joke despite how terrible he was feeling.
"Just like that?" she asked again.
"Just like that."
There was a bout of silence for a moment with neither party saying anything nor moving anywhere. Marth looked up at Ian standing on the other side of the room, his eyes looking empty and despondent.
"I don't trust you," she stated.
Ian was taken aback for a moment, confused by what she had said. But the mourning from No'bun's death still lingered around him and he gave a sad smile and a nod, "Yeah, I don't trust myself either."
Marth's eyes lowered, "I don't trust you. And I'll kill you if need be."
"I wouldn't put it past you."
Marth fell silent once more, glaring at the defenseless tactician. This man killed his own grandfather, the last living family member left in his life. She wanted to call him a murderer and was about to so when she opened her mouth, but her eyes fell on the piano next to Ian and a question overrid her next words.
"Who taught you how to play?"
"What?"
"Answer the question," Marth ordered, not wanting to look like a fool for the randomness and suddenness of her inquiry, even in front of this man. She pointed at the piano.
Ian turned to where her finger was pointed and saw the box-like instrument. The beautiful piano which he had played on his first day here was standing strong and brilliant in comparison to other objects in the room. The tactician placed a hand on the wood's surface and hummed.
Marth watched, "You played beautifully back then," she paused, reconciling over her words. "Despite who you are."
Ian smirked at Marth's words, "Didn't I tell you back then too I didn't even know I knew how to play?" He opened up the lid to the keys and played a note.
"So the answer is no?" she followed, staring at the tactician's back. Her eyes lowered into a glare.
Ian paused and stared down at the grand piano and her claviatures before him, "If I had to make a guess. I would like to think it was my mother."
Marth tilted her head slightly and stared, not with hatred this time but curiousity, "Your mother?"
"Yeah," Ian smiled, feeling somewhat nostalgic for some reason. He felt the sword sitting hidden beneath his coat and was slightly comforted by it. "I was taught here obviously, that much is certain. It may have been from No'bun or my mother, hell it could have even been from my uncle. I don't know. I just like to think it was from her."
Marth fell silent at Ian's answer, not sure how to respond. Despite though however she felt toward the tactician, she couldn't help but give a hidden smile to herself, "I'd like to think so too."
Ian pressed one more key on the piano, causing the instrument to make a long, high pitched ding. He smiled and slowly closed the lid. Marth huffed and and stood up from her chair, grabbing her sword that was sitting next to her and placed in on her hip.
"We'll be going our separate ways. I will not be traveling with the two of you."
Ian turned around, "You're not coming with us?"
"No," Marth said flatly before pausing. "I don't trust you."
Ian said nothing before giving an understanding nod. "Fair enough."
"If next we meet and I catch you hurting others again, know that I will put you down."
"Understood."
Marth's face softened, looking melancholy even, "Your grandfather didn't deserve this."
Ian stopped breathing, the guilt from No'bun's death taking hold in his chest. He looked down, "No. No he didn't."
Marth nodded in agreement. Soon the sadness she showed washed away, returning back to the stoic expression she usually wore, "Goodbye, Ian."
"Goodbye."
And with that Ian watched as Marth walked out the door, leaving with him with the sound of a soft click.
Ian sighed and slowly sauntered over to the front door, taking in deeper breathes through his nose as he walked as if to take inasmuch of the scent of the home with him. Once his hand reached the handle, he turned his head to take one last look of the room. The books, the plants, the statues, the kitchen, the table, the chairs, everything. What once had so much life and laughter only days before, now soon to be empty. His eyes finally wandered to the resting place of the piano, still looking as magnificent and as strong as before. Ian gave a sad smile and turned the knob.
"Goodbye home. It was fun remembering you."
And with that he too walked out the door.
Dunn, dun dun, dun dun... Dunn, dun dun, dun dun... Dunn, dun dun, dun dun.
"Mommy! Mommy!"
Dunn, dun dun, dun dun... Dunn, dun dun, dun dun... Dunn, dun dun, dun dun.
"Hey!"
"Yes, Ian?" Laura turned to look down at her son, seeing the white ball of hair on his head as the soft sounds of the piano faded into nothingness.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm playing the piano."
"I wanna play!"
Laura smiled, "Oh do you? Are you sure? I think you're a little too small to play."
"Yes!" Ian hopped up and down with laughter, trying to get up onto the long stool but failing miserably.
The mother laughed as she watched her son's antics. Soon she picked Ian up from under his arms and hoisted him onto the seat of her lap. It didn't take long for the child to poke at one of the keys and laugh in delight when it made a sound. Laura smiled and instinctively kissed the top of her son's head, "Wow, Ian! You're so good at this."
The response was more laughter and more random pressing of keys.
"Teach me!" he giggled.
Laura laughed, "Alright, alright I'll teach you. But you will follow all of mommy's instructions, okay?"
"Ok."
Laura smiled once more, loving every second she was spending with her child, "Good. Follow my hands now, alright? Watch my fingers and see how they move…"
Holy cow, it has literally been an entire year since I last uploaded. I'm not kidding, as of writing this it literally says I last updated this October 2, 2015. How on earth did I let this happen? I'll tell you what happened. Procrastination to the next level happened.
This story, despite not being updated in a year was never abandoned. As with all new updates of chapters I immediately began work on this one, but at some point I lost motivation to write and so this chapter has been left untouched, often weeks at a time. Every now and then I would work on it, but only for a few sentences until I got bored.
This year has been a special one, especially with the elections as I hardcore got into politics. And I don't just mean arguments on the internet, but volunteering with knocking on doors and calling and all that jazz. Never thought I would willingly do that. Fire Emblem Fates was released which I thought was alright at best and made me question if writing Awakening stories was even relevant anymore. I've been having more of a social life as I regularly hang out with friends, Overwatch was released which I find extremely fun to play and often do, and the new WoW expansion was also released so I've been grinding and leveling a whole lot since then. And I've also finally got into the university I've been applying to for the past three years. Took me forever but I've finally uploaded.
I apologize profusely for making you guys wait a literal year, I still intend to work on this story despite the end of the chapter sounding like the usual end of a series or show. I'll keep working on this and hopefully I don't become so bored from the scene and location that I procrastinate for so long again. If you're reading this and do intend on reading whatever chapters come next, then I thank you profusely for sticking with me. I'm sorry again for the wait and I'll get back to work as soon as possible. Thanks again and have a good one guys.
