Chapter 12: Cold thoughts wrought in heat
"Phew! So hot! Back in Regna Ferox we can stand snow and minus degrees when lesser people would have received frostbites, but this!" Flavia, the Khan of East Ferox said. The reason she was with the army was because Regna Ferox had given assistance to Ylisse for the time being. Her thin, tanned face and set-up bleak yellow hair was sweating under the sun. The desert was a few miles ahead, but the natural baking oven of Plegia exuded warmth from a distance. The sun shone brightly. Basilio, her now dethroned counterpart ruler from the West, scoffed. The sunlight glinted off his bald brown head, which also had an eye patch covering his left eye.
"Hah? Getting a bit downed by sunlight? I've grown strong in both ice and fire, Flavia, my dear. This is quite refreshing!"
"Mm, I imagine so." She said. "Seeing as you've got nothing keeping the warmth in on that head of yours, oaf!" She joked cruelly. Basilio's face just grew strained, letting out a sigh of displeasure.
"Lon'qu, I'm sorry for those jokes earlier. I was wondering... Robin told me you had kitchen duty some weeks back, and that you peel potatoes like a professional." Marth said.
"Apology accepted. And yes." He said shortly, looking at the very few clouds drifting by in a blue sky, hand always on his sword. "In Regna Ferox, crops are hard to grow. Potatoes live through the winter best, thanks to a special type of roots on the Ferox breed. My mother assigned me to peel them every dinner, back when I lived in the country of Chon'sin, overseas. Long story short, potatoes should fear me... and rightfully so."
"Wow... you think there are any undead potatoes in the Risen army?" Roy asked.
"Highly unlikely, my dear Roy. Plants possess no means of movement on their own, and have no neural pathways for mind-controlling magic to go through." Miriel said, very academically.
"It would be cool! What would they taste like?"
"Your sweaty socks. Ugh, when did you change them last?" Cordelia said, scrunching up her nose and looking away.
"...Never." Roy shrugged. "I'm sort of dead... ish. I think I shouldn't sweat."
"Gods damn it, Hubba! First the alcohol, and now we sweat?" Marth said.
"I think not. I know what it is. The bag of bones and innards from lizards that Henry carried with him. He must have forgotten it..." Lon'qu added simply. "...Strange kid."
"EW! Marth, toss it off!" Lissa said, disgusted, backing away from the seat under which the bag was.
"Alright, don't get your frilly hair in a twist..." He said, and grabbed it. He checked inside once, and then retched. Apparently there was a spoiled piece of Wyvern meat inside. Henry cut it from the mount of a dead rider previously, eager to study it's anatomy and brew potions. THIS was useless now, though. "Hualgh! Be glad it's not your socks, pal!" He addressed Roy, and tossed the bag onto the ground, leaving it behind. Henry, who sat in a cart at the back of the caravan smelt the bag, and asked the wagon to stop so he could pick it up. To great peril, as they would find out.
Over in another cart, Vaike told tall tales of his past, in which he wrestled Wyverns, ate a whole cow in two hours, and threw an axe fifty feet, cleaving a strand of hair. Gregor did not believe him, and since the foreign-speaking man was very blunt in honesty, he admitted to have used a toothpick to carve a whole set of tattoos on some of his peers long ago. It hadn't broken, and he had used it for picking his teeth afterwards. Also, to slay ten bandits raiding his village.
"B-But... blood is filthy! You should have been sick! And everyone else!" Vaike protested. "Besides, it was WOODEN! How the heck...?"
"Smaller man with axe does not have stomach to share the blood of brothers? No one was sick. We fought, laughed and later, ate at grand feast. Simple." Gregor said, stroking his short beard stub.
"The bandits are a lie. They must be." Vaike said, crossing his arms with a secure smile.
"Eleven bandits fought after dinner. Ten dead from pointy pick. One left. He could, what you say, couch for me? Vooch? Vouch! Vouch for me! He gave up, agreed to be honest warrior, and married fine woman! Is now some rich village elder's bodyguard! Live far away, but Gregor drag him here for proof, if need is. Plus, who said Gregor used LITTLE toothpick? Teeth in my mouth are size of... well, point is gotten."
The man was completely sincere. Vaike was shocked beyond belief. "N-No. The Teach believes you. And... would like to spar." He grunted, wanting to know what made Gregor so tough.
"HAH HAH HAH! Brave man admits need of training! Good friend!" Gregor laughed, and hugged Vaike. The younger man was uncomfortable. Just like his creaking ribcage.
"We're headed south for a bit when we start the walk." Chiki told Chrom in their cart. They had just stopped, overlooking the edges of the sandy wasteland from beside a small river, and a sparse glen of leafy willows growing on a grassy patch, barely surviving without much water near such heat. "I've used this portal once, but it should still be intact. Good that we can fill up on water... some people in our group will be parched dry, I fear."
"I second that." Robin said, ready to faint from heat already. "P-Parched... heh. Parchment. Park. Parlor. Pearl... UGH! I'm dizzy already! Chrom, hand me a sip!"
"Here you go... how're you feeling? Still worried about Marth and Roy?" Chrom asked.
"Gulp! AAAAHHHH... yes." Robin said, having emptied a skin bag of water already. "We've been through that awful, warm place once... and they held up well. Now... I'm just worrying too much, is all." He said, waving away his troubled thoughts. "We'll set up everything here. And then have a final meeting before heading into the desert."
Once camp was set up, Marth eagerly went back to cooking lunch. The heat in the kitchen didn't bother him that much, because of his state of being. Besides, any water he drank would be wasted.
"Such a lot of... asparagus." Marth said, felling an overwhelmed sweat drop (which meant the spirits could sweat to an extent), when he saw what Robin bought from Anna. A few veggies, yeah, right... "Camp will have to do with asparagus and potato soup for a week... served cold. No one would eat it otherwise, out here. How to do that, I wonder?"
"Make a cold tomato soup instead. I know how." Lon'qu said. "Kitchen duty falls to me, as well. But potatoes shall be included." He spoke seriously. "Here's how..."
Lon'qu was apparently well versed in cooking stews and soup, being from a country where resources were used wisely. Such food could be saved for several days, growing tastier and gathering flavor over time. But how did he know of special cold soups? Marth didn't complain at the results, though. The Chon'sin's peeling skill wasn't questioned either.
"So we meet again. I'll make this quick. How well will you die...?" He whispered to the potatoes on the chopping board, brought one up, and peeled it in seconds, twirling the peeling knife. One by one they fell into a cooking pot, like bested warriors, fools eager to prove their worth without knowing their limits. "Now... they have all fallen. YOU..." He pointed with the peeler at Marth, who was crushing tomatoes and dropping them into the same pot. Lon'qu's gaze was steeled and deadly. "...Have witnessed my way of treating idiots. Swift, using my energy sparsely, and dispatching them with grace. One too many hopefuls have tried to strike me down... and all lie like these root fruits... on the bottom. However... a legendary King... your skill could be equal to my own. I have seen you in battle. If you were a potato... you would be at the top."
His seriousness was severe. And his metaphorical use of potatoes was extremely awkward to Marth.
"Um... so I'm a better potato?"
"You know what I meant, Marth. You have my respect. Few do." He said, barely letting a smile loose, and then grabbing a carrot, munching away surprisingly silently while seating himself. "One day we may spar, in a REAL match. Until then... prepare yourself."
"Right... we got off topic. Next, deal with the peels. We can cook them too, and get more nutrients for everyone."
"...Smart chef." Lon'qu said, and got up, gathering the peels and fine-chopping them, tossing it all into the pot. "...Will some of these kids ever realize war isn't fun and games? I doubt it..." He diverted onto a new subject. "Ricken, Donnel, even some of the oldest, they seem to mind war too much. In the end, you need to be prepared to kill or be killed. I have slain many... but I do not let it get to me anymore. Treat their corpses with honor, and move on. If I lose sleep over it, I'll just be weakened."
When he said this, Lon'qu seemed to emit a field of tempered fury. The warrior's discipline was flawless in theory. Marth had some objections. You should show mercy at times. And when it is impossible to do that, then...
"...One should live on for their fallen allies... and enemies. By that, I mean to live your life to the fullest. Marth always did that. He was sad about ending lives, but promised for the sake of those he took the chance of living from that HE would never stoop into self-pity again. Life is a gift... and even you, I feel, care that way too. Life would be hard-lived if we had no remorse, Lon'qu." Marth finished.
"...Perhaps. I'd just never admit it." Lon'qu said sincerely. He was a hard man, and would need to remain that way for now. Marth diverted the subject instead now.
"Hey, look! We have company. What do you need, Miss Florina?"
An Einherjar Pegasus knight, Florina, had entered the kitchen. She came from Elibe too, and was shaped after the girl who helped save that continent twenty years before Roy set out on his journey. Her hair was very lightly lavender-colored, bushy and silky, hanging far down her back. She wore a white skirt, with blue chest pads over a white shirt for armor.
"U-Um... I-I wanted to see if f-food was ready. Some of my companions from the other worlds were getting hungry... I-Is there a problem?" She said with a light voice, shaking a bit. Roy had told the King that Florina was a shy woman, especially around men. It was a severe case of androphobia, fear of the male sex. Lon'qu, in turn, had gynophobia, strong fear of women. Visibly so. They sort of complimented each other, Marth thought...
"U-U-U-U-U-Um... It's al-al-almost readAAOCH!"
The man from Chon'sin had accidentally reached into a boiling pot, which Marth set to prepare a very tough type of meat in beforehand. Lon'qu quickly dipped his hand into a barrel of cold water. Florina screamed, looking like she'd been struck by lightning.
"EEEEEEK! M-M-M-My goodness! S-So loud..." She said silently, closing her eyes, falling over towards the pot of hot water. The stress was about to get her a new facial color.
"BY THE SAINTS!" Marth yelled, tossing himself at her. He caught her, and rolled out of the way of the tipping pot. "Phew! ...Are you okay?"
Florina was out cold for two minutes, and then woke up in Marth's arms. She nearly fainted again.
"Hey hey! Don't drop unconscious yet again! You're fine! Did Lon'qu scare you?"
Her response was a face colored crimson. Tipping hot water on her would not have made a difference in color context. She stuttered, getting herself up with Marth's hand.
"Y-Yes. Men are so l-l-loud sometimes. T-T-Thank you, sir Marth." She bowed, head alight like a torch.
"It was no trouble. I'll give you a serving as soon as we're done. Okay?" He smiled. She nodded, and went out of the tent, looking once with a shy expression at Lon'qu.
"B-By the West Khan's underpants!" Lon'qu exhaled, having held his breath after sticking his hand in the barrel. "She should be more careful. She almost spoiled tomorrow's dinner. That piece of meat is still edible, though. Back in the pot!" The swordsman looked at the chunk of animal flesh like it had better jump back into the pot by itself, or else...
"Lon'qu... she's scared of men. She couldn't help it. As for you..."
"I fail to see what involvement I had." He replied calmly. Amazing, that this man could act half his age around women, but was undisturbed when talking to only men. "Women simply lack the proper way to present their thoughts to me."
"PFFT! Try the other way around, friend. You could have rivaled the sun in intensity for a moment there. Red as a rash!"
"...I have no idea what you speak of. I'm worried about your eyesight. And hearing. Also, have you treated your own rash?" He said neutrally.
"Will that stalk me forever?" The King thought desperately about his encounter with Chiki that day before. "She almost smiled at you on her way out! Come off it, or I'll buy you a book on how to talk to women for your birthday. And... she IS cute. Admit that." Marth said humorously, hoping to get the Feroxian's behavior to change. Results were inbound.
"Ugh... keep your mouth shut! I... I'll apologi-gi-gize." He said, stammering at the mere thought. "She d-deserves better than what I said... even if she's a card spirit. Tell no one, or we'll have a match here... to your loss." He said, eyes glinting darkly at Marth. Oh, boy... would the kitchen drama ever end, the King thought? As well as the related injuries?
"I know just the guy to speak to about girls. The Teach is a great woman's guy, and he keeps secrets!" Marth said, knowing full well how corrupt and evil he was for suggesting Vaike to Lon'qu. Anything for a friend, though... a friend who had mentioned those blasted loins twice...
During a small, fifteen-minute break, Marth sat outside, bringing a hand up above his eyes to look at the clear sky and merciless sun. "I can't remember what it felt like to dehydrate... or to be truly struck by the sun. Some things just can't be felt when you're dead, I guess..."
"Hey, Marth. Fancy seeing you here, master chef. Although, maybe not. This is where you work after all..."
The Hero-King looked around. From the direction of the Einherjar tents Ike now came walking. His face was calmly serious as always, yet had a hint of strain. Marth hadn't spoken to him that much, just in passing. He knew parts of the man's history, but not all about his personality. Which is why he invited him to sit outside the kitchen with him for a moment, where they talked. The King brought up Ike's fierce appetite.
"You know, you could leave a few more plates for the others. Not even Panne eats that much, and she can transform into a giant rabbit-beast. I don't think you need the extr-... I mean..." Marth regretted saying that. Ike turned around uneasily, but was otherwise unfussed. Was something wrong?
Ike knew that Marth had knowledge about his Einherjar life. But he still put on a brave face and pretended the King had just misspoken.
"Yeah... sorry about that. Meat and I go hand in hand... but I'll control myself from here on. Or I could not call myself a proper warrior!" Ike said proudly.
He wouldn't let anyone know he'd broken, lest he endangered and sabotaged the army's plans. His problems were his own, he figured.
"From what I've heard, you've been damn strong, Marth. Coping with your strange existence... it's like the Branded of my world. They're beorc, my race, similar to humans, who unlike me have blood mixed with the beast tribes, Laguz. Most feel like they never fit in anywhere. I welcomed some of them into my force when I was at war. Unlike many other beorcs, I never felt racial prejudice. As long as you're willing to stand up for others, you're all right to me. I'd say you fit that bill, too." Ike said with respect.
Marth felt surprised he even had the trust of a relative newcomer. They were already getting along pretty well, the noble King and rough merc captain. Plus, both had gotten to know Roy, which made them have slightly more in common.
"I'd still like to see you in REAL combat though, sir King." Ike said, flashing a smirk. "Can't stand up for anyone without a decent weapon arm." He said, twirling his silver sword between his fingers, and then back into the sheath. "Best of luck, comrade."
When Ike passed out of sight, he sat down behind Henry's tent. Not caring about the squeals and sadistic laughter he heard from within there, he sighed.
"That was too close... but I have to stay quiet about it. Why won't it stop gnawing at my conscience? I'm doing a good thing here, keeping everyone else's lives carefree. My problems are my ow-"
"Are they? What aren't you telling us?" Micaiah asked. Appearing like from thin air once more, she sat down beside him. Ike winced. He did not need, as he called her, the vice president of the "Blame Ike" club to comfort him. While he stared at the ground, she looked at his visage with some tenderness. She didn't really hate him, he was just such a handful to her. "Ike... come on. This isn't like you." She touched his shoulder gently.
Ike's face turned slightly pink. "What do YOU know, Priestess? ...I have training to get to. See ya... though I'd prefer not!" He said brusquely, storming up and away in a fret. Micaiah continued to think where she sat, a bit hurt.
Ike was the only person in camp she recognized well, so she did stick around him quite often. She wished Edward, Nolan, Leonardo and Sothe were there... the Dawn Brigade... these "Shepherds" didn't accept her yet, she believed.
Suddenly, a big, three-headed frog jumped out of Henry's tent, scaring her silly. Henry apologized and offered her to pet his domesticated crows, but she didn't listen, walking off with a sad expression.
Marth was excused from kitchen duty after lunch, to great protests. Gregor, however, was grateful. Now he could whip the food into "proper" shape again.
"Well, cooking wasn't the only thing I ever wanted to do." The spirit said to Robin, walking over to the command center to plan the desert trek. Chiki said that since they would walk instead of flying, like she had done the first time through, it would take perhaps a day and a half to reach the gateway. A small group would go along, of up to 8 people. A camp would be set up halfway to the gate, for extra support, with people taking shifts out there. If they ran into enemies, they would need able fighters. Marth was of course one, then Chrom (being the leader), Chiki (path seeker), Lissa (to back up with healing), Gaius (for lock picking, if needed), Virion (for striking distant targets), Henry (because of his fascination with the arcane... and horribly effective Dark magic) and lastly Sumia, for air support, and to transport someone if they got hurt. Roy was bothered he couldn't come, as he told Marth when the two spirits were at his tent.
"Marth, why can't I go? I know your pain better than anyone. Old Hubba would be in for such a cracked nose when I got my hands on him..."
"Roy, you have come to terms with being a memory. I still have a few issues that never leave me. I may look happy now, but for everyone's sake, I need to erase all doubt."
"Including yourself?" He asked sadly. "Look at the progress you've made. No one would turn their back on you now. We've learned who you were, and are. What you have become... so it's kind of selfish to us others, just tossing that out the window. Before you yell at me, I know, how hypocritical of me, saying that even if I myself have been through it, and wallowed in self-pity. You ARE stable. And if you weren't we'd all do our best to help you. Even Chrom, that unfair nut-head." Roy said seriously. "Will you reconsider?"
"...I wish I could. It tears me apart, but a lost age calls me, and I can never again answer it. It bothers me every day. Even during my best moments... and at the same time, I love this new life. The real Marth would have, too..."
"...Aren't you him? The real deal? Can't you be the Hero-King of Akaneia anyway?" Roy said, clenching his own fists lightly. "I'm your friend, and since you said you would stand by me when I wanted to become unaware before, I'll respect your choice. But next time we meet... I can't view you as I did. All the good times will be gone... except in memory. Such a dastardly concept... so cruel... memories."
Roy had started to shed some tears. For a minute they turned to a small stream. He then spoke with finality.
"Go ahead, milord. No matter where you go, remember in some dark corner of your head... that I was your friend. Roy, Marquess of Pherae. Son of Eliwood the Brave. And quite the strange little jerk!" He snickered in melancholy.
"Roy..." Marth spoke, nearly crying himself. The months passing, the times shared... Roy was right. Marth would be selfish AND selfless at the same time by doing this. But it was what he wanted. And Roy was good enough a friend to accept his final wish. He grabbed the Marquess's shoulder, and looked him in the eye. "Brothers in arms... forevermore, friend."
They both left the tent silently, walking in opposite directions. Marth met up with the rest of the group, ready to set out. "...Let's go. I'm finished here."
"You sure?" Robin asked, there to see them off. He was obviously sad to see Marth go, too. "Have you talked to the others? And Ro-"
"Yes. Let us MOVE." Marth said with such gravity that the whole group nearly shuddered. "If we are to save the world, I can't dawdle. No king in history ever won a war by sitting lamely on his throne."
Author Note:
Things are about to change for everyone in this story soon...
And for you too, fellow FE fans. I published two chapters today, because of the following decision. In order for you all to savor the story a bit longer, I'll upload less frequently now. I think I was too hasty last week, so I'll try to give you one chapter every week instead, give or take a few days. Hope that's okay! If not, you're welcome to speak up. See you in a while, then!
Update:
Fixed Lon'qu's nationality. I forgot he wasn't Feroxi to begin with, but from Chon'sin. Thanks to Glaceon Mage for the correction.