Genres/Rating: Family, War, History, Introspection, Death. (M)
Characters: Raine, Jeralt, Claude, Nemesis, Dimitri, Warin.
Summary: Memories flickered through her mind's eye like the wings of a hummingbird, reminding her of things she had forgotten, or stored away in her unthinking youth. Words played in her ear like the rolling of far-off thunder, with wisdom she had ignored in her brashness, and now she stood humbled and quiet, sword in hand and eyes piercing as she stared at what could have been her mirror's reflection in another life. This was the culmination of her life. The opposite of the equation that had given birth to her. He didn't know it, but it didn't matter. She'd meet him once she closed her eyes for the last time, anyway. They could discuss it all at length there, in the cold darkness of purgatory, or they could fight as they would now, locking blades for eternity as only mirror images could. What else would two puppets ever do, otherwise?
Horsebow Moon
Caledonian Plateau
Noon
"You need to remember your limits... You're young, as well as small. Not to mention the fact that you're a girl. You could have gotten a lot worse than you did." Jeralt remarked tiredly as he leaned back on his haunches to expect his handiwork. A lattice of bandages was wrapped tightly around his young daughter's mid-section, arms, and legs, hiding the nasty bruises and cuts she had received earlier that day, but he didn't dare reach into the city for a healer after what had transpired. It was bad enough to have pricked a noble's temper, worse still that he and his son had fought off the offenders without consideration of their status, but he hoped his own hands would be enough for the treatment his girl required of him.
Overall, he knew they had been lucky. Only two boys had "taken her to task" for her supposed slight against their little sister, and the thought still made him burn. It had been an accident, as he had been told later, that his daughter had brushed her in the marketplace and caused the other little brat to misstep and stain her petticoats with mud in the streets. His daughter, not thinking of anything but the tasks she had been assigned, had called a cursory apology over her shoulder before hurrying off to deliver the supplies he had requested of her. The next day, the little girl had summoned her elder brothers, and the two had taken their hands, and boots, to her to remind her of her place when she had been pointed out on her next errand run.
Jeralt didn't want to know how long the beating had gone on, but from the wounds on his twelve-year old daughter, he could imagine it had been long enough. He had found her curled in the fetal position, her arms covering her head as the two teenagers took turns kicking at her stomach and ribs, and Warin had leapt into action before he could collar him. His son had grabbed the nearest offender, headbutting him so hard that he likely had broken the kid's jaw, but in the moment, Jeralt hadn't felt an ounce of pity for him. Not when he saw the dirty, wounded lump that was his daughter, covered in water, blood, and mud and completely at their mercy. They had chased off the trio without any trouble, collecting their precious flower to return her to the camp outside of the city walls, and Jeralt was aware it was only a matter of time before the hammer fell down for their actions.
No one was permitted to injure a noble without cost, especially not when they had travelled so far south and near Andrestia's borders, but it had not concerned him at the time. And as he watched his daughter plucking idly at the bandages around her torso, he felt his lips curling into a wry smile. Punishment or no, he would do it again in a heartbeat, and Warin's callous indifference to the idea of being chased out of the city, and perhaps even the entire territory, was not exactly something he could view as a bad thing. If a handful of kids, barely older than his son, treated commoners so poorly, he wasn't quite sure he wished to do business here anyway, no matter how heavy the proffered purse was.
"Why does my being a girl matter?"
Raine's cutting question brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see her staring at him despite the cuts and mud that had yet to be washed off her face. He had to admit, with that icy look in her eyes, she looked remarkably fearsome despite her age... and he knew that look, that strangely neutrally defiant look, had been the trigger that made the boys resort to violence when she had not risen to their taunting. Even an adult would feel threatened, or insulted, to be looked at so flatly by a child, but Jeralt had long grown used to his daughter's mannerisms, and he answered back calmly, yet wearily, "Your being a girl matters quite a lot, kid... I may not discriminate amongst my group, but that's because everyone here is trained and capable of carrying their weight. Not to mention that they're all grown adults. You're still young, and you're still small. Any boy your age is going to be stronger than you, especially if you don't have a weapon. That likely isn't going to change as you get older, either."
Jeralt watched her eyebrows furrow together, but otherwise her expression remained painfully neutral. He could tell, though, that his words had struck an unhappy chord in her, and he could almost see the gears in her mind turning as she tried to process them. She had been training since she could walk, fighting as she learned to read, but none of that had made a difference in that back alley. She had been outnumbered as well as outmanned by her opponents. A twelve year old girl, trained as a mercenary or no, would never be able to take two teenage boys on and win. Only her knowledge to protect her head had likely kept her alive during their beating, even if the rest of her body had suffered for it. And while he knew that she knew that, considering she was sitting there with him right now, he still could understand that it disturbed her greatly.
After all, he made no bones about the people he hired, and he had exposed her to many types of soldiers over the years. Men and women alike were welcome to accompany his band, so long as they proved their worth, and never had he showed one gender favouritism over the others. More often than not training won out over gender norms, and he was selective in his requirements for training, and he knew full well any woman in his band could stand shoulder to shoulder with any man without much effort. It was how a good mercenary band was run, but Raine was still young, and she was grappling to understand the nuances, and it showed as she asked him plainly, "Boys will always be stronger than girls?"
"Most times, yes. Especially when there's a size, or age difference. You won't ever be as strong as your brother, even when you're his age. He's simply built differently than you. You take more after your mother, and that will hinder you in battle as you grow up." Jeralt answered her bluntly, and though a small part of him winced in guilt to be saying such things to such a young girl... He knew he had to speak as factually as possible to ensure that she understood. She was still young enough to learn before she would truly fight, and if he pounded his lessons hard enough into her head, then he could ensure she would survive whatever battles that would come her way in the future. "You'll be on the smaller side compared to most usual soldiers, probably for the rest of your life, and that means in a competition of brute force, you'll almost never have an advantage. That means you need to make up for your size with speed, and with training."
"What use is speed and training if I won't ever be as strong as anyone else I fight?"
"You tell me, kid. I saw the marks on the taller of the two earlier. You got a few hits in on him, didn't you? And how did you do that?" Jeralt returned with an easy, yet still somewhat painful smile. His daughter was every inch the scrapper that her brother was, and even when she was clearly outnumbered... She still had chosen to fight, rather than simply surrender, or grovel. It simply wasn't in her to take orders from anyone who wasn't family. He pointed to the bandages on her knuckles as he stood up, then pointed down to his knees as he remarked, "Let me guess... You went for his knees, and when he stumbled down, you punched upwards, right? You were smaller than both of them, but you were also faster... Had you been carrying a weapon, or had you been a bit more trained, you may have made it out of that scuffle winning. But you weren't, and you got hurt because of it. You're naturally fast, and that's good. You'll be able to outpace your enemies, and being able to get the first stroke usually means you're dictating how the battle carries on after... But that's only when you're fully trained, and fully equipped."
"I lost because I was small, and didn't have a weapon?" Raine questioned, tilting her head to the side as her eyes flickered across her father's sparse tent to see his lance laying idly on the post behind him. She didn't like lances, or axes. They were too long and broad for her body, and they could never be shaped right to make her feel comfortable. The swords her father carved for her always felt much better in her hands, even though he was trying to ensure she could also use gauntlets. She didn't like them much, either, but she knew she needed to please him, as her brother had two weapons, and she would not be seen mastering only one compared to him. She returned her eyes to her father, examining him closely as she continued, "Then I would win more if I was a grown-up? If I was faster?"
"Maybe not all the time, but you need to play to your strengths to compensate for your weaknesses. And your weaknesses are that you're small, and still not fully trained. But you're young. You'll grow bigger... and you've got a few more years of training left before you'll see real combat." Jeralt answered with a light shrug of his shoulders, and he reached for his daughter's face and turned it from side to side to examine the scratches and dirt that covered her skin. She did not react, merely held still for investigation, and he sighed as he reached for a cloth to begin cleaning up the mess, "As unfair as it was... You need to take this as a lesson about what you can and cannot handle in the future. Your brother and I may not always be there to save you. You need to depend on yourself, just as much as us. You need to train, and train hard, for the day you become one of us."
"Compensate for my weakness..." Raine repeated the words slowly, rolling them on her tongue even as her father roughly bean scrubbing at her face to rid her of the mud that had been kicked so unceremoniously on her. Her clothes were practically beyond salvaging, but she didn't much mind it. Clothes were easily replaced, but her body would take much longer to heal. She was sore almost everywhere, her entire body was throbbing like a bruise, but she didn't permit it to show. That would only be allowing further victory, and her eyes narrowed somewhat as she glanced over her father's shoulder and to the tent's entrance before questioning him, "Is Warin slow?"
"Not in comparison to most enemies he's seen... or to most of his allies. That's his youth. He'll slow with age, but that's a long time out yet." Jeralt answered again calmly and factually, and he was amused to see there was a flicker of disappointment deep in his daughter's irises as he scrubbed the mud and congealed blood from her left cheek. She didn't wince away from his clumsy attempts at nursing, she never did, but of course the idea of her brother being more capable of her was what made her unhappy. He fought a smile, not wanting to further injure her pride as he added on, almost as an afterthought, "Compared to you, though, he might be. You won't ever beat him in a contest of strength, but in a contest of speed, I'd give you the upper hand. And that speed can carry a battle. You will almost always have the benefit of a first strike. What you do with that first strike can carry you all the way to the last. That's how you compensate."
It was strange, that here of all places, it was that conversation that was playing out in her head, and yet Raine almost didn't want to be pulled away from that moment all those years ago. It had been a harsh lesson her father had given her, reminding her of her weakness when she had been already physically beaten, but she knew now with hindsight that she had needed it. Now, though, as she looked out across the battlefield before her, she wondered why the refrain sounded so much more like a comforting reminder than a warning. No blades had yet to be drawn, no foes had engaged, and it seemed that the whole of the continent was holding its breath in fearful anticipation.
The plateau was not the plains that she had seen so many times in her dreams, but that did not matter as she sized up the enemy forces that stood at firm command, almost frozen like statues, with Nemesis at the very heel of the formation. He had spread his warriors far and wide across the field, a healthy mixture of mages, infantry and calvary, and the Ten Elites were likewise scattered in proof of their prowess, and the threat they posed to her own soldiers. Worse still, the already untrustworthy terrain had been manipulated with magic, turning much of the field into a mire that belched a deep magenta haze that Raine knew on instinct was toxic. Every enemy soldier stood somewhere safe even amidst this new witchcraft, as if daring for their opponents to entire the mire to take to battle, but no risk was about to permit Raine to give such an order.
Then there was the ballista, hastily erected, but still no less deadly to the fliers who could avoid the toxicity of the land. They would be at the mercy of the archers, and that damned resurrected soldier who was holding a twisted version of Failnaught, which only slimmed down her future options further. She did not know if this was Nemesis' tactics or the Agarthans, but she supposed in the end that it did not truly matter. Either way, she, and he, were both aware that this was the line that needed to be crossed if victory was to be found. He would need to punch through them, or they through him, if anyone wished to claim the battle. This was the end of the war, or the end of them. There was no two ways about it.
It had been with careful, purposeful deliberation that she had placed her troops as she assessed the formation ahead, and though not a single soul had raised complaint, she had seen the way that confusion, or sometimes worry, had creased their brows. She told them nothing of her thoughts, only giving curt, clipped commands on positioning until she was sure that she had arranged her board as best as she could to fight the unknown threat of what was ahead of her. Even here, face to face with the walking dead and risen figures of history, she knew so little... Instinct and sight alone were all she had to rely on, and she gave full faith to it as she gave her troops their orders, and waited for them to amass as she had demanded. The pressure felt like slabs of steel on her shoulders, threatening to buckle her legs, but she only had to look out and past the troops before her and to that damned shape in the back of it all before her spine automatically stiffened and her rage cowed the fear in her stomach.
He was not like Edelgard, despite his positioning in the rear, as he stood shoulder to shoulder with the men that made up his final defensive line. He did not put himself front and forward, but he did not hide away from the battle either, and the thought made her hackles rise in angry defiance. Two knights flanked him, wearing similar armour to those she had already picked out as Elites, and a small, curious part of her wondered if in his prime, those soldiers had been his left and right hands in life as they now were in death. It irked her that she could not tell, that even here on the field that she knew so damned little about her foes, but she was sharply aware that such knowledge would likely do her little good now.
The foes she faced were the scattered remnants of Shambala, the fortress of the Agarthans, and the ancient soldiers that had fought against Seiros, her kin, and the rest of the world desperate to free themselves from Nemesis' reign. Whatever war they had fought had been lost to history, as had their stories, and the stories of their families. Now there was only their lineage, twisted and warped beyond recognition, and the weapons they had once used, now in the hands of young men and women under her command, and again she felt that strange cold feeling creeping up her spine. She could hear her own voice whispering into her ear, chuckling at her in mockery, but she didn't allow it to stymie her.
They were reflections. Shadows. Two puppets put on a playing board neither had known of, to fight and kill as they were commanded, and to the tune of their masters they had danced, and died. Now, again, they were pulled from the grave to do battle, and Raine had to bite the inside of her cheek to hide her sardonic smile. What would anyone say, if she was to claim that this would be a good place to die again? Fighting her mirror image, wondering if he, too, was trapped in a cycle he could not escape, or if whatever had remained of him was long gone into the ether that had once swallowed her whole? Questions upon questions that she could not answer, but still she felt an odd and unrelenting sense of calm underneath the anxiety. Regardless of everything, regardless of her rage and her impotency and her lacking heartbeat... This was a good a place as any to pull her blade, and risk her neck. If it was her time, she would not complain. She could think of no better way to go.
"You called for me, Teach?"
Claude's voice broke her cruelly from her thoughts, but for once she was glad of it as she turned her eyes away from the terrain ahead. The sniper was fully kitted for battle, leading his great wyvern by the bridle with a complete calm and unease that she almost envied him for. Failnaught hung in his free hand, ready and waiting for his use, and for the first time since she had all but strong-armed him in Derdriu she was glad to see the Relic in his hands. She straightened her back and then nodded to the field, knowing he would follow her gaze to the north as she did so, and she spoke bluntly and freely, "That trio to the north... The mage. She's responsible for the mire. If I were to order you and Leonie to take her out, flanked by Catherine and Seteth, what would you say of your odds?"
"Fifty-fifty. I'd up them to eighty percent if you would take out the ballista in tandem with our strike, which is what I imagine you're thinking right now, isn't it?" Claude returned with a thoughtful tilt to his head, and he cast a firm, but unpleasant glare at the machine that would threaten three fourths of the team she had suggested if he was to obey her orders. There was little question that he had no choice in the matter, but she had asked him for his opinion, and he gave it to her freely as he wondered at her plans. She had been strangely tight-lipped, ignoring all ideas of councils or meetings until she saw the field personally, and beyond assembling her lines, she had not once called for anyone to speak to, until she had called for him. He fingered the steel and leather bridle in his hand, eyes narrowing somewhat as he questioned, "What's your plan?"
"Petra, and Ashe. That ballista, and that mage, are our biggest threats at current. We can't move our infantry or calvary across that swamp, and anyone with wings is inviting a bolt with the ballista being manned. Take out both at the same time, and we free up our movement." Raine replied easily, though she could tell from the twist of his lips that he wasn't as sure as she was in placing yet another flier in harm's way in order to take out their biggest threat. She nodded towards the machine, crossing her arms over her chest as she continued flatly, "Petra uses Ashe as a decoy, takes out the ballista, and then we move our men in to create a wall... and then we continue, one move at a time, moving farther east as we go."
Claude tilted his head, admittedly impressed and yet somewhat uneasy by how flatly she spoke of using her students as decoys in order to get the job done. Yet, she had played such a hand before, and it had proven a successful gambit all those moons ago in Grondor. Playing the goat seemed to be a strategy she knew as well as the back of her hand, and yet he had to wonder if it was the smartest one to use now, against the undead and the desperate. Would they fall as easily for such a ploy as an easily tempted Edelgard had? Part of him doubted it, and then there were the other enemies to consider, and he pointed them out none too gently, "There are Elites scattered all over the field, though. Some very close to where you intend on sending us. What are your plans for them?"
"Not sending off anyone to suicide against their predecessors is one. I see the appeal, but I want you as far away from Reigan as you possibly can get. The same stands for everyone else here in possession of a Relic." Raine answered immediately, and a part of her almost smiled as she took in the offence on Claude's face at the blunt order. She turned her shoulder back in his direction, raising her eyebrows at the incredulous expression on his face, and she pointed out with the smallest trace of a smile, "I won't lose this battle to petty familial drama. I won't permit anyone to point their Relic at the man or woman who wielded it first. Those weapons were made for their hands. It doesn't matter if the weapons they now wield are paltry counterfeits. Play to your strengths, not to your ego. There won't be any young versus the old here. Only the better against the weaker. You can kill a mage much easier than you can fight with another sniper on a wyvern. And frankly, I think the same for everyone else. I won't call on Sylvain to take on Gautier, or for Dimitri to square up against Blaiddyd. Everyone has their strengths, and their weaknesses. We'll play to that, and that will help us win."
Claude opened his mouth, about to comment on her easy dismissal, but almost as quickly as he made to speak, he quieted himself. That small smile she wore spoke volumes more than her words, and he understood immediately what else was on her mind. She had taken a moment to mention their counterfeit weapons, and she would never have done that unless such a subject had been weighing on her thoughts already. He understood grimly what else was concerning her, and he shook his head slowly, both impressed, and yet also a little bit apprehensive as he mused, "You don't want them getting their hands on their old Relics, huh, Teach? So much so that you've already decided it's better anyone with one dies somewhere far and away from their original wielder, rather than taking them on. I don't recall you having so little faith in your students."
"It's not a lack of faith. It's lack of information. I don't know these soldiers. I don't know what they're capable of, or how they even function. They can clearly use their Crests, and that's enough for me to know that they can likely use their weapons of old. I don't need to add another element of uncertainty into the fray by granting them even an opportunity at getting their hands on them." Raine dismissed his cutting remark with a flick of her fingers, though she admitted she was somewhat glad that he called her out on her thoughts all the same. It was too worrisome for her to entertain the idea, and it didn't help that several relics could easily be dual-wielded by stronger, or better trained, soldiers than the ones she led. The risk was simply too great. "The plan is as follows. The mage and the ballista. Then the Elites. Everyone acts as a unit. No one moves alone. Once the Elites are gone, that leaves the stragglers, and then Nemesis."
"The Elites are protecting him, so it makes sense to take them first. There's no going for the head here, I agree with you on that." Claude spoke slowly, grudgingly, and he cast a wary eye to the field as her words ran over and over in his head. She made it sound so maddeningly simple. He still was not sure how she did it, but... He had to admit she made him almost believe it was possible, when she presented things in such a calm, plain light. She was not like him, wrapping things up in scheme upon scheme, and that very quality had been what had made him agree to her plan to turn on the Empire in Grondor all those moons ago. She was a brilliant tactician, one who did not shy away from taking risks, and she fought just as hard as the soldiers she commanded. Still... "All right... Say I agree to your orders. You're going to continue to have me working as a unit with Leonie, Seteth, and Catherine, then?"
"If you're willing. By the time you get to the mage, you'll be out of reach of my voice and my orders. From there, you'll fight as a four-man team, and you'll be doing as you see fit." Raine answered plainly, and the momentary look of surprise on his face made her once again need to bite the inside of her cheek. How much more could she unseat him from his laid-back and carefree attitude? It almost felt like a game, though every last instinct she had was screeching at her that the situation couldn't be more serious. She shrugged her shoulders a little, but continued on seriously, knowing that otherwise Claude would simply dismiss her as a raving lunatic, "Claude, I may not like you, but I do trust you to know how to handle a battlefield. You're a seasoned soldier in your own right. So is everyone else here. I don't only expect for you to be able to act on your own and to the benefit of everyone else on the field, but I am depending on it. From all of you. I can't micromanage this army like I could a chessboard. Once you're out of my reach, you're on your own. That's how all battles end up going."
"That's a lot of faith you put in your men, Teach... Too much. This battle could get away from you if you expect everyone to be looking out for the betterment of everyone else, and not just themselves." Claude mused with a slow shake of his head, and yet he could feel the weight of her placid stare on him like a stone. That trust had won her every single battle she had fought thus far, and they both knew it... To his own chagrin, his lack of trust had cost him too many. He had never been able to command his house, and she had used that against him so expertly that it still stung his ego to this day... yet he could not say he was surprised. She was too different than him. Too willing to extend her neck to others who could, and had, put their hands on her throat.
Yet, she still was there to stand beside him, and remark on the fact that she would continue with her plans even if he would mock her for it. She was strong in her beliefs, strong in her training, and it had made her the victor too many times for him to discount it. He had lost, Edelgard had lost, simply because they could not command as she could. This was the final test of her skills as a tactician and commander, and if she wished to stick with her winning formula, who was he to call her a fool? It would likely only end with his shame anyway, and he had eaten far too much crow already in his young lifetime.
"All right. I'll take that mage down for you. What happens next will be in my hands, but I'll accept that responsibility, so long as you cover us like you said you're going to do." Claude shook his head with defeat, and yet a small smile played on his lips all the same. It was ridiculous that he was conceding, that he was putting up his neck for this, but that had been the deal. There were still secrets to be unburied, and she was dangling them in front of his face even if she didn't speak of it. He had committed himself to this cause, and he wished to see the end of it almost as badly as she did, now. He tugged gently on his mount's lead, turning it in the direction of his reinforcements and Leonie, and he called almost absently over his shoulder as he made to leave, "Any last orders?"
"Stay alive. You can't reconcile with Hilda if you die out here now."
The words were like a blade, sinking so cruelly through his ribs that for a moment, Claude almost thought that she had unsheathed the Sword of the Creator and plunged it into his back. The air escaped from him in a pained hiss, but any anger he felt was extinguished almost at once when he turned to look over his shoulder at her. She was watching him almost sadly, but there was no real pity, or loathing in her eyes. Just a calm quiet empathy that made his skin cold, and his heart seize violently in his chest. He had said nothing to anyone, not even to Leonie, of his guilt and distress over Hilda's condition, and yet here she was, speaking of it so casually that he wouldn't have been shocked if she had read his mind to do so.
For a moment, Claude could say and do nothing as those seafoam-coloured eyes held his stare without a hint of judgement. That kindness that had marked her as naive, as painfully idealistic, did not reach out to burn him now. He had insulted her and Dimitri for their chosen paths, had dismissed them as fools for not seeing the world as he did, and yet now... A quiet curl of shame wrapped itself around his throat and made it impossible for him to do a damned thing. She had made it clear there was no love lost between them, and yet still, still at such a critical juncture, she was willing to command him not to die, because she knew he wanted to be able to say at least one apology to his dear friend that he had hurt in his willingness to chase his dreams.
A rueful smile curled at his lips despite everything, and he shook his head as he admitted that once more she had completely outperformed him. There was no question as to why, time after time, he had lost to her... and for once, he didn't feel the sting at his ego for it. He bowed his head slightly, giving her a small, acquiescing nod before he answered as he turned to leave, "I'll do my damnedest... Professor."
"You are all pathetic weaklings! Does not one of you have the courage to challenge me in lone combat?!"
It was a roar, deep, demonic and full of indignant rage, and for a heart-stopping moment, all movement on the battlefield froze at Nemesis' challenge. He stood with the tattered remnants of his army at his side and at his back, and yet he also stood alone in front of them all like a lone mountain, daring for anyone to come to him to settle the fight against him on their own. One by one his army had been felled, with the corpses of the Agarthans dropping to the ground, while the bodies of the Elites teleported, one by one as they, too, fell, to rally about their former leader even if they could not longer fight.
Their bodies were a macabre display behind him, missing limbs, oozing black gel from their myriad of wounds, and twitching and trembling where they stood behind their former captain. Each time one of the ten had found defeat a black vortex had consumed them, bringing them back behind Nemesis even if their bodies could do no more battle, and like him, their red-tinged eyes glared balefully at the army that had slowly but surely encircled the stampeding forces that had been drawn from the very annals of history. There were none left that could fight now unless those warped forms somehow managed to continue going past the limits of the human body, but Nemesis stood tall all the same before them.
He was bleeding, true crimson blood from the myriad of wounds he had taken from those who had fought him, but still he had not gone down. Dust and dirt coated his bulging muscles, and his sword hung black and daunting in his overlarge hand, but against all odds he had not fallen. His eyes cast amongst the numbers before him with a glowering sort of distaste, and a scowl of derision curled at his lips even as the fiery eyes of his foes all pierced him back in answer. Again he called his challenge, his sword sweeping out mockingly at those assembled but frozen, before him, "Will not one of you answer me?!"
"You don't deserve an answer, but seeing as you've asked, I'll do you the service all the same." The reply came from the very fore, and the silence seemed to grow tenfold as one lone woman broke from the pack to approach him. No one dared to move, dared to even breathe as she rolled her shoulders, and the blade in her hand pulsed with a soft golden light as she cleared the distance to enter no-man's land. Seafoam-green eyes met black and crimson, and their hands tightened on their swords as the entire plateau seemed to spark with the building tension. The air was forced from the lungs of all who watched, and silence grasped at their throats as Nemesis looked to her, eyes narrowing, but his lips uncurling into something that could almost be a twisted facsimile of a smile.
"Good."
The resounding clap of blade on blade was like the rolling of thunder, and both sword wielders moved almost too fast for the human eye to see as they closed the distance between them in one huge bound. The black blade and the golden one screeched as they connected, with one pulsing in two spots of crimson while the other glowed with one solitary orb in answer. To the surprise of almost everyone watching, they held that stance, straining against one another in a desperate bid to find ground, and with each movement came that unholy screeching noise and the flight of blood-red sparks as the Relic and its counterfeit struggled against one another.
'So, you are in there, after all, aren't you...?' Raine wondered as her body swept into a mechanical dance, leaping back as Nemesis' brute strength threatened to overwhelm her. The Sword of the Creator had lessened the impact of his initial blow, surprising both him and her with its otherworldly abilities, but the sheer power behind the man had forced her back all the same. He was a monster of a man, whether by magic or by sheer size alone, and she didn't need any more trading of blows to understand that her strength would never win outright against his. Yet, that was a not a surprise, and it did not worry her overmuch as he swung again, sensing weakness and his advantage, and her body moved without her input to duck and weave from those arcing swings.
His reach was near double her own, even without his sword, and with each swing of the blade she could hear the air cry out as if in pain from the sheer strength behind his blows. Though there was violence and unwieldy strength behind his strikes, there was also a tempered motion to them that warned her of his skill. The man before her could very well win a battle with nothing but sheer force, but he was not a mindless brute. There was training behind those swordstrokes, a familiarity with the blade he held, but it was alien to her all the same even as she dodged the arc of his blade with only millimetres of distance to spare between her skin and his sword.
Of course, that was the nature of things, considering their opposing build and sex. His sword was an extension of him, and he used it in the exact same way that she used her own... but with his own skill set and natural abilities to bolster its great power. He had no need to rely on speed and subtlety, his reach and his strength were more than capable of dealing punishing amounts of damage to anyone unfortunate enough to try to close with him. And for those who did not, the blade extended like a whip, reaching out in a maddening length she had never once seen before when she naturally tried to put distance between them.
Her knees hit the dirt as the sword screamed overhead, and a small, cold smile curled at her lips as she watched the links of that black blade soar right where her waist had been only seconds before. Each single piece of it was a mirror image of her own blade save for the colour, and those black bits of bone and steel were tinged with the red magic of the two Crest Stones that had been embedded in the hilt of his blade. The length it was capable of reaching far exceeded her own, but she had expected nothing less as she watched it sing, pulling back to the hilt in a familiar jerk before it once more took the shape of a simple, if roughly-hewn blade.
Those red eyes flashed, and in an instant he was on her again even as she regained her feet. Only instinct saved her as her blade raised to deflect his, and again that ear-splitting screeching noise echoed across the plateau at their connection. The hilt in her hand felt hot, burning and scalding her palm as if in horror and defiance, but she took the pain without flinching. This, too, was expected. They could not connect without reacting, with the real and the forgery demanding to know which was more powerful, and the thought made her calm in the midst of the whirlwind of dust and debris that was kicked up from the ground from the force of their clashing.
Seafoam once again met crimson, and in them was a question she could not ask aloud, but still pierced through in her gaze as she again disengaged and leapt clear of him before he could use his strength to drive her back to her knees. She did not dodge and roll again, but rather swirled about him, a wraith in the wind as she took the fight to him, and this time he was the one lifting his blade to catch hers in a moment of genuine surprise. She leapt from the ground with all the ease of a lioness, as if the weight of the world was incapable of keeping her grounded, and she used it to her advantage to bring both herself and her sword down even harder than she ever could dream of doing if she stood and struck.
'A warrior's pride remained behind, but what else? You kept calling for Seiros, never for anyone or anything else... and only now do you speak to us directly, to call for a challenger to end you. Who were you...? Are you me, had our paths been more similar? Or are you just a shell?' The words rolled about in her head, unending and deafening, and as she was swatted away as easily as a fly from a horse, she could not stop the din. She did not wish for it to stop, even as she kept her feet, and she braced herself as he rushed for her, snarling with the effort, with the bloodlust, that she could almost feel reaching out to throttle her for her defiance, and her ability to stand toe to toe with him despite her obvious weariness and wounds.
It was confounding, trading blows with this behemoth and knowing she would never find the answers to the questions she was so desperate to ask. It was not the time or place, and deep within, she was well aware that even if she spoke to him, that he would never return her speech. He was single-minded in his want to kill her, to prove himself her better, and despite it all, she felt a strange aching pang somewhere in the depths of her stomach at the thought. There were no strings to hold up those bulging limbs of muscle and sinew, no commanding officer behind him to yell out orders, but those red eyes glowed in hate and battle lust, and yet still seemed so painfully empty.
Just as Edelgard's had been, at the very end of things, when she and Dimitri had faced her in that monstrous form she had forsaken her humanity for in her quest for power. Whatever magic she had chosen to use had been similar in the magic that was flowing throughout Nemesis' body now, and she could feel it on her skin each time their blades met, connected, then disengaged when they realized they simply could not gain purchase upon one another. He, so much like her, was wrong, and every last instinct she had was screaming with the warning. He was not meant to exist here, in this era, in this moment, and her instincts demanded she end him to ensure that his presence did not linger a second longer than was necessary.
But, hadn't her instincts given her the same clear warning all those years ago, when she had sat with her father's diary open in her lap, with one hand underneath her shirt to feel the absence of her heartbeat? Underneath the horror, underneath the confusion, one emotion had always remained the same, and had never left her no matter how many puzzle pieces fell into place. She, too, was disgustingly wrong, and it didn't matter how many people, or how many times, she was told otherwise. Her body's desires were all mechanical and simple, its function easy and logical, but it was all wrong, all the same. They existed as they were due the machinations of others, had come here despite their own wills, and now were crossing blades... and the very thought made her want to laugh despite it all.
"Creatures like you and I should never have existed, and yet here we are, crossing blades to decide the fate of the continent. What absolute lunacy. If gods do exist, then they're cruel bastards, don't you agree?" The words came out in a low, deadly laugh, and her body once again bent back as that snarling whip of a blade cracked out in yet another attempt to cleave her in two. He was growing impatient with her, his strikes becoming wilder and harsher, but she didn't allow herself to forget her surroundings even for an instant. She had seen how easily he had cloven the soldiers before him, like wheat before the reaping, and she was not about to let him do the same to her. As monstrous as they were, as much as they did not belong... She, at least, didn't spell destruction with her victory and survival, and that was enough to keep her fighting.
It almost amazed her, still, how his blade differed so much for her own. Those whip-like strikes were so broad, slicing the air and raising up dust no matter where he swung, or how far from the ground his blade was. It was a testament to his and to the blade's power, she supposed, and each time the two Crest Stones glowed crimson she wondered how much power he truly was handling. Amyr had been a falsified Relic, made to suit a falsified Crest Stone, and in the end, both the weapon and the wielder had succumbed to the fact that neither had been "real". Raine did not doubt that Edelgard's last ditch effort to find victory likely would have cost her even if she had secured their deaths, but Nemesis was something else entirely. He had no life to give, at least not beyond whatever force it was that kept him moving, and she was admittedly fascinated with him in a completely macabre way.
He fought like a machine, meeting her sword stroke for stroke, and when the blade didn't suit his purpose, he had no fear in using his limbs to try and gain the upper hand on her. He was surprisingly quick for his size, but he never caught her off guard no matter how he changed up his strikes. Each backhand was too firmly choreographed with his great musculature, each kick meant he had to adjust his hips to keep his balance, and she was far too fast to be caught by him when he changed his stance. All it took was a single twitch in his shoulder, in his leg, for her to know what he intended to do, and then she was sliding underneath that thick, iron boot, or feeling his fingers grasping for her hair and finding nothing as she twisted her head out of his range.
Another kick had her rolling for the ground, but this time her speed failed her as his blade sang out moments later to crunch loudly into the earth where she had aimed for escape. Almost at once the blade-tip was racing away, finding nothing of purpose to have sunk into, but a spray of blood followed its exit and back to its master's hand. Raine rolled to her feet in the same movement, feeling the hot trickle of blood down her left cheek, and despite herself she felt a smile curl at her lips at the stinging pain of the wound. It was barely even a glancing blow, but he had finally managed to make her bleed, and her collar was quickly wet and hot with the crimson liquid as she shook her head and spat out the few droplets that had managed to make their way past her lips and into her mouth.
The times for musing, for thought, were over. Those crimson-tinged eyes had seen blood, and now he, too, was wearing a smirk as if the sight of her wounded had proved to him that she could be beaten so long as he could catch her. Another catch would be all it would take before he could gut her where she stood, and both of them were coldly aware of it. They had tested each other to their limits, and now knew exactly what was needed for victory. The only question was which one of them would find it first. And as he levelled his blade, broad face cracked in a devilish, triumphant smirk... Her body went still, and her mind finally quieted.
Nemesis moved first, leaping for her with his sword outstretched in a clear attempt to stab her clean through the chest, and Raine felt her body sidestep more than she thought of the movement. The Sword of the Creator whipped out with a flick of her wrist, and in one smooth motion, it slid itself around the blackened copy he held like a piece of silk dancing in the wind. For a brief, breathless moment, seafoam once again met crimson, and this time, the seafoam glittered in triumph as the crimson widened in shock. Then her hand yanked, the hilt blazing in her hand as she roared with both exertion and fury and the sudden chain about the blade squeezed like a python about its unsuspecting prey.
There was an explosion of crimson as the black blade shattered underneath the sudden pressure, but there was no time for reaction as Raine leapt forward in tandem with her own sword. Her free hand reached, finding the broken hilt amongst the still-flying debris, and she hissed as it burnt at her skin in furious answer. The Crest Stones still embedded within screamed in revolt, refusing to answer to the body that did not hold the responding Crests, but she did not care for the black flames that wept from the holes where the Stones were buried. She ducked underneath the flailing limbs, her target exposed, and she snarled with both pain and effort as her hand reached as far back as it could before lurching forward for the broad, scarred chest.
The broken blade sank into the hilt, eliciting a loud, anguished roar before she caught the full force of his right hand coming down into her chest. The world spun as she went flying, her body thudding hard into the dirt and making her gasp with each painful revolution before she could grab her sword and slam it into the ground to stop the momentum. Her shoulder cried out painfully as she clung to her blade and let it take the brunt of her weight, and she heard something audible pop in her ears as she did so. He had flung her far in his wild throes of pain, his massive hands grasping at the hilt of the sword that had found its home in his chest, and she watched with a grim smirk as he tried, and failed to pull it loose from himself.
It took effort to pull herself up and out of the dirt, and she was grateful for the strength of her blade as she used it more as a rope to lift herself with than an actual weapon. She was sure she had broken at least two ribs from the mere effort of breathing, but she cruelly shoved it aside as she forced her feet to move. Her opponent was still grasping at his weapon, trying to dislodge it from himself and failing as hot, red blood soaked his hands and the hilt. His tortured and guttural groans echoed across the suddenly very silent plateau, and for a brief, mad moment, she watched him and almost felt a pang of sympathy for those shocked, pained eyes of his. Then as quickly as it had come it was gone, and with a grunt of her own, she pulled her own blade free of the dirt, and levelled her hand as all emotion drained from her mind and chest to leave her clear, cold, and quiet.
The Sword of the Creator sung, pure, high, and clear across the distance, whipping out with a golden sheen before the tip found the throat of its writhing target and opened it from ear to ear. There was a choked sort of noise that followed, something between a roar and a scream, and then nothing but the loud noise of a body hitting the ground moments later. With a soft hiss the blade returned to the hand of its master, and Raine welcomed it gladly, wrist twisting to accept it before she once more drove it point-down into the dirt when it re-formed. She watched, leaning heavily on her blade as Nemesis' shuddering, twitching body finally fell still, and quietly, almost to herself, she whispered in a voice made tight with pain and exhaustion, "Farewell, my shadow. Till we meet again in the flames."
Behind her she heard a roar, but she couldn't tear her eyes away as she watched the assembled corpses of the Ten Elites follow in the way of their captain in lifeless collapse to the dirt. Their weapons followed in a clatter, leaving nothing but a hoard of bodies where once a fearful page of history had stood, and she allowed a momentary breath to escape her in relief. Still there were the sound of roars behind her, cheering and yelling, but in truth she could barely make out whatever they were shouting, and she had little mind to try hard enough to listen. It was over. Finally, after what had felt like a lifetime and a half, in this dust-scattered plateau so close to Garreg Mach, it had ended. The war was well and truly over.
The hands that had been holding her sword in a blind effort to keep her feet shook, and her knees buckled the moment she no longer had a solid grip to help keep her standing. She fully expected to find herself face-down in the dirt, but a warm, strong arm wrapped itself snugly about her waist before she could fall more than an inch. It took too much effort to lift her head to see who had caught her, but it didn't matter as she was swept easily off her feet entirely and up into those same strong and supporting arms in the next movement. She felt oddly light, and her head rolled back on a useless neck to find a familiar face staring down at her with pride, love, exhaustion and worry all at once clouding that one good cerulean eye.
"I have you." Dimitri spoke softly as he cradled her with one solid arm, and he took her blade from the ground to settle it gently in her lap before he turned his back on the field and carried her towards the soldiers who had all stood and watched her performance with bated breath. The crowd parted for him as he approached, but the cheers only grew louder as he slowly, carefully, carried her past them and towards the backlines where the healers were likely waiting for her and the rest of the injured. She made no objections, merely leaned against his broad chest for support, and her left hand reached to hold the blade he had handed back to her to her chest in painful reminder. It was still red, still wet and sticky underneath her palm, but she didn't mind it at all as that sound of roaring and celebration was left behind her.
He only went far enough to have her safely out of reach of the majority of their assembled men before he carefully knelt down, and she heard more than felt him shedding his cloak on the patch of grass beneath them before he laid her down slowly on top of it. He placed her sword within her reach, knowing full well she wouldn't be comfortable without it, and a part of her thought to thank him but simply couldn't find the breath for it. He reached for her cut cheek, and she winced away from him instinctively as he brushed away the blood that had painted the lower half of her face crimson. His voice was quiet as he held her still with his free hand, and his cerulean eye was soft with concern and pain as he muttered, "You've plenty of wounds to worry over from that bout... Mercedes will see to you in a moment... But what do you want done with the bodies?"
The question shocked her exhausted mind back into action, and she was eternally grateful that even in this moment, he was still capable of thinking as he knew she would have if she hadn't been so winded and injured. She cast a tired eye over to the crowd, now dully echoing because of the distance, but she could almost feel their relief and exulted excitement in the very air. They, of course, would not be thinking of anything but the end, and she couldn't begrudge them of it even as she let out a long, tired sigh. She closed her eyes as she allowed Dimitri to clean her face, and she spoke slowly, purposefully despite the haze in her head, "Assemble every mage with the energy... Set them all aflame until there's not even the dust from the bones to be found. Break the weapons, as best as you're able, and don't let a single shard of them go missing. Collect the remains, and then toss them into the sea. We can't permit those things to fall into mortal hands... Not the corpses or the weapons. Destroy it all, and hang anyone who even thinks of arguing. This cannot ever happen again."
"I'll see to it all personally, then." Dimitri reassured her in a husky mutter, and despite herself, she found herself smiling weakly up at him. He was kneeling beside her, his left hand cradling her cheek even as he laid her out on top of his cloak, and though he looked as weary and exhausted as she felt... He didn't seem to care a whit about it. His gaze was for her and her alone, and his callused fingers were extremely gentle as they began an inspection of her battered body. He didn't dare to put any pressure on anywhere he guessed hurt, and he followed the rhythm of her breathing even as he asked quietly, "Where does it hurt...?"
"Ribs... Broke at least two, maybe three... Left shoulder. I think it might be dislocated... and I'm also having a very hard time focussing. Everything's blurry. I probably hit my head harder than I thought I did. And my hand... I think I burnt it..." Raine answered tiredly, and she let out another long breath as Dimitri's hand withdrew to rest tenderly on her forehead. She closed her eyes underneath his caress, and she noted inwardly that his free hand was wiping away the blood on her hands as he catered to her. If any other part of her could ache more, she imagined it would from his quiet, intense show of affection, but it was difficult enough to imagine her bruised and battered body accepting more pain. It did, however, remind her that she was not the only wounded one, and she asked him softly in return, "And you? Are you all right...? What about Warin and Shamir? The class?"
"Everyone has their share of injuries, but... We haven't lost anyone. Despite everything we were up against, our house pulled through without a single loss." Dimitri reassured her quietly as he finished with his wiping away of the blood, and slowly, gingerly, he turned her non-dominant hand palm-up so he could examine the damage. Just as she had said, an ugly mark had been burnt into her palm and fingers, and he gritted his teeth as he understood that one quick move of stabbing Nemesis with the broken hilt of his own blade likely would leave her scarred for life. Though she had only held it for a handful of seconds, the immediate rejection of the Crest Stones had done their work just as well as she had done her own. Swallowing a curse, Dimitri unhooked the flask on his belt and set it down before tearing a strip of fabric from his tattered tunic. Soaking it through, he waited a moment before squeezing the excess water away, and he spoke through a tight jaw in warning, "This will hurt... Forgive me."
"Damn...!" Raine cursed reflexively, and she was glad for the firm hand on her forearm that kept her from instinctively yanking her hand back and away from his makeshift compress. She knew just as well as he did that it was necessary as well as a preventative measure to keep the wound from worsening before the healers could see her, but her eyes smarted all the same from the pain. Her chest tightened as she fought the urge to gasp, and only feeling Dimitri's fingers on her bare forearm, squeezing in a clumsy but comforting fashion reminded her to try and bury her reactions. She closed her eyes, finding a white void to escape into, and she spoke through clenched teeth of her own in a desperate attempt to ignore the pain that was only growing worse without adrenaline to blunt it, "How... How many overall... did we lose...?"
"Eleven... Eleven good men and women laid down their lives today, and each and every one of them will be given a hero's burial once we return to Garreg Mach. But first we attend to the wounded." Dimitri answered her readily enough, both glad for her desperate want to escape what was happening to her body, and exasperated that she was clinging so fiercely still to her role as a commander. Here and now was her chance to finally cut loose from her chains, but she held them tightly anyway, refusing to even think of giving them away while she still lay on the edge of the battlefield. A quick glimpse upward gave him the chance to catch a flash of flaxen-coloured hair moving in his direction, and he caressed Raine's unwounded cheek before he spoke softly, tenderly, "Mercedes will be here in a moment... I'll carry out your orders, and return to you the moment I can... and then as soon as you're stable, I'll carry you back to the monastery myself to get us away from this blasted place."
Raine choked on a laugh despite herself at his fervent mutter, and immediately her ribcage screamed out in agony at her in vicious reproach. The giggle turned immediately into a groan, and only the desperation to avoid more pain stopped her from curling in on herself to flinch further away from the pain. Dimitri almost instantly hunched further over her, brow creasing in concern, and the look helped her little as she gasped out painfully, "D-Don't make me laugh, Dimitri... You'll be beating off every single member of the Blue Lions if you make a statement like that... You'll be beating off my brother. I don't need to be imagining that right now. Please. It hurts enough as it is."
Dimitri couldn't stop himself from chuckling, both guiltily and with great exasperation, and his thumb brushed lovingly across her chapped lips before he allowed himself to lean down to kiss her forehead. She stilled, eyes flickering to look up at him and lock gazes, and for a brief moment, Dimitri let himself still alongside her. It would only be for a moment, before everything called for him and for her, but in that moment everything was finally over, and it was just the two of them. She had seen her mirror's reflection and shattered it with her own two hands, and though he knew it pained her... He touched her lips again, and his voice was quiet but intense as he once more kissed her forehead, "You won your miracle today, my beloved... and words can't even begin to describe how proud I am of you. You're not only the hero of Fódlan today... but mine as well. Rest for me... I'll return as soon as I can."
Standing up from her side was more difficult than he had imagined it to be, but as he watched Mercedes rushing to take his place, he knew it to be for the best. His classmate knelt almost immediately beside their professor, taking her hand gently in her own and speaking to her in soft, comforting tones. Raine mustered a small smile for her, and Dimitri turned his eyes away, knowing if he continued to stare that he wouldn't find the willpower to leave. He set off quietly but powerfully, forcing his way through the urge to remain against his better sense to carry out the last of her orders to bring the battlefield fully to rest.
The soldiers were beginning to splinter now that the enemies had been defeated, but he noted that a handful were lingering at the farthest lines where the last gasp had taken place. Even from a distance he could see Warin, Claude and Seteth, and his lips pursed themselves into a scowl as he noted that their postures didn't speak of relief or of peace. Warin was standing with his back to the pile of corpses, arms folded over his chest, while Seteth was facing him almost as if he was a barrier he wished to get through. Claude, however, stood off to the side, almost as if he was taking in the discussion and not participating, and Dimitri heaved out a sigh as he wondered what next bout had been laid out before him.
He heard them well before he was there to actually intercede, and a part of him rankled as he noticed that Warin indeed was standing between Seteth and the corpses of Nemesis and the Ten Elites as if he was guarding them from the much older man. His face was calmly blank, his eyes betraying no emotion, but his arms were tightly folded and he didn't seem to be interested in moving. Seteth however was pressing, brow furrowed and his hands moving with great energy, and Dimitri caught the tail-end of his words as he approached, "... there is much to be examined here, much to be learned-"
"And that is not a call for you or for the Church of Seiros to be making. Don't make me repeat myself, Seteth." Warin's voice spoke almost of exasperation, as if he had been going in circles, but there was a harder note, a colder note, in his tone as he turned the full force of his stare onto Seteth. His back stiffened just a tad, his chin lifting almost in a defiant challenge, and he adjusted his footing to make himself a more permanent-looking barrier as he continued coldly, "Until Raine gives an order, no one is approaching those bodies for any reason, and I'll be keeping watch until such an order is issued. Try to get past me, and I'll put you in the ground, Seteth. Just test me."
"There will be no need for that." Dimitri announced his presence with a frosty snap, and he was bitterly satisfied to see both Seteth and Claude jump in surprise at his words. Seteth looked at him with those same narrowed eyes, clearly disliking the entire situation, but Claude was only watching with a blunt sort of curiosity in his. There was no lust simmering in his irises or pulling at his face, which Dimitri noted wearily seemed odd for the sniper, but he had no time to comment on it. Instead, he turned to Warin, offering him a cursory nod of approval before he continued flatly, "Orders have been issued on how to handle the... mess behind you. Raine has ordered for the burning of the corpses, and the destruction of their weapons. She will not see this chaos happen again. And speaking frankly, nor will I."
"A good enough pyre and some good magical flames should be enough to dispose of this lot... You may though want to ask for several of the available clerics to aid them. We have no idea what made these things function again. A good dose of faith-based spellcasting won't hurt our odds of cleansing this place." Warin agreed with a sage nod, but he did not move from where he stood as he watched a flash of panic go through Seteth's eyes at his and Dimitri's words. Claude was still watching, silent and clearly thoughtful, and Warin ignored him entirely before addressing Seteth flatly, "Do you intend to stop us on the Church's authority? Or shall I call for my men to get assembling to get to work?"
"At this time, Raine is still in command of the Church of Seiros... but I will however insist that you are making a grave mistake in simply destroying what you see before you." Seteth spoke through his teeth, forcing out each word with great effort as he imagined the sheer amount of rage that would be awaiting him in Garreg Mach once Rhea found out of what was to occur to her last hopes of achieving her goals. A part of him could not blame her, as there was so much to learn from the corpses and monstrosities that the Agarthans had wrought, but he still could not in good faith go against Raine's orders in such a manner. "All hope we ever had of completely unearthing the technologies of the Agarthans collapsed within their stronghold... but these foes before us, and their weapons, may still have clues that we may be able to glean if we were able to research them."
"To what end? You said so yourself that necromancy is an art forbidden and suppressed by the Church of Seiros. Are you going to conveniently overturn that suppression, because another culture dug up the secrets before your own could?" Warin demanded flatly, and Claude looked to him, eyebrows raising as the questions that had been on the tip of his tongue instead poured from Warin's mouth in a cold and deadly stream. He did not move from where he stood, but he did not need to as he swept an arm out behind him, gesturing to the pile of bodies and weapons that had all fallen useless, but still menacing to the ground, "And the man-made Relics, with their equally likely man-made Crest Stones? Even if you're thinking of putting a matching weapon into the hand of a living Crest-bearer here, I doubt anyone would want to take the chance of wielding one. And that means that these weapons would just be given over to the Church of Seiros, to be hidden away, and then dug up, at the first sight of a power struggle. We didn't end a damned war just to give you the tools to fight a future one. Raine's decision is the correct one. Destroy everything here, and make sure no one ever has the opportunity to use these monstrous things ever again, for any reason."
"It is not to use-"
"Don't try to fool us, or yourself, Seteth... You know exactly who you're speaking to." Claude interrupted Seteth's protest before it could even be fully spoken, and he shook his head slowly as Seteth turned to look at him with both surprise and no small part of alarm. He only met the man's eyes for a moment, before he turned his gaze back at the heap of horror, and treasure, that lay firmly behind Warin's back. He could understand, and the thought made him feel ill as he shook his head again as he sighed, rubbing the back of his head errantly, "You say that you wouldn't use what you learned... but that's just a naive little lie you're telling yourself to ease your conscience. Anyone would jump at the chance to learn everything that the Agarthans had to offer. Edelgard certainly did. Had I been in her shoes, I likely would have done the same for a chance at my own dream. And I would have been a damned fool to do so. Whatever we could learn from that pile in front of us is poison... It won't help in any way, in any future endeavour, except for in war. And as the good lieutenant over there just said, we just ended a war that split the continent into pieces. We have to dig up everything at the root. We can't allow anything the Agarthans left behind to exist. It's too big of a temptation."
Dimitri was momentarily silent, taking in the words he had not expected Claude of all men to say, but respecting him all the more for his willingness to say them. For the man to admit outright that the technology of the Agarthans to be a temptation enough even for him to cast aside his own small sample of scruples to use... He shook his head, turning to stand at Warin's side as he spoke lowly, seriously, "It seems that you are outvoted, Seteth... But even then, you must see the sense in these arguments. The temptation alone is far too much for anyone to simply shake away, even in the hands of the Church. No... Especially in the hands of the Church. I did not cast judgement on you or you kin for your twisting of history to preserve your lives, and to allow the humans of that era to live out lives mostly of their own will... but that was a different time, and here and now is our present and future to write. You, Rhea, and the Church cannot be trusted with the will of the Agarthans."
"Cannot... or will not, Your Highness?"
"That remains to be seen... I speak only for the Kingdom. I will never fully understand the tragedy of your people, but I do understand what it is like to lose all you love, and to be the only thing left standing after disaster sweeps away your former life. I will not say that makes me equal to you, but I know your pain, and I know your rage." Dimitri answered slowly and purposefully, and he unconsciously found himself mimicking Warin's posture as he faced those too-intelligent eyes that were boring holes into him. He chose his words carefully, not wishing to make light of the situation, but still knowing his own experience did not, and could not count for nothing as he looked Seteth in the eye and continued firmly, "If I made a monster of myself, as a mere human, with my trite power and my trite lifespan, I dare not guess at what you and yours could do if you decided to unleash yourselves on your foes. To go even further and arm you against your foes, in ways that we could never counteract, would be tantamount to suicide. You may not be our enemies today, and you were not our enemies in our past, but no one can tell the future. You only admitted to your control of history because you had no choice but to do so. And still, you hide secrets from us. How can we call you an ally, knowing already what you have done, and fearing what other secrets you hide? The Church has no moral standing in my view. That is the decision I make for the Kingdom... and for myself."
"I can't speak for the Alliance any longer, but I will speak for myself in saying that the prince is right. We as humans may have taken advantage of the Crest systems, and the Relics, and it could even be said that you allowed for that to happen in order to give us a fighting chance... but we all know it wasn't ever charity." Claude shrugged his shoulders idly, but his eyes betrayed his body language as they flickered from the Relics he and Dimitri held, and the ones that were scattered across the dirt not far from throwing distance before him. "Putting all of that aside, I think it'd be unwise for a completely different reason for the Church of Seiros to have possession of these things. We all know now that the Agarthans took advantage of the schism between the different heads of the clergy and caused massive unrest to lay the groundwork for their future war. Do you really want a repeat uprising of those of the Western Church, but this time have your enemies armed with Relics, or even worse, Relics and magically controlled corpses? With Rhea's return, and after the professor's tenure in her seat, there's going to be a lot of smoothing out to do with a lot of annoyed people in the near future. Take the weapons off the table before you invite your friends and enemies to dine with you, don't you think?"
Warin cocked an eyebrow, looking thoughtfully to Claude at his mention of the Western Church. Clearly, Seteth had not given his thought to such a thing either, and it surprised him that Claude was arguing both in their favour, and with such good points to back himself up. He had not expected this behaviour, but then again, he had noticed that the sniper had been particularly... bold on the battlefield earlier. He had been taking risks upon risks, as if he was trying to prove something to himself, and though he had not thought much on it then... Now it intrigued him. Had it been a change of heart, perhaps? He didn't know, but he also didn't want to try to guess. There was little point in looking a gift wyvern in the mouth.
Adjusting his posture, Warin tilted his head to the side as he turned his eyes on Seteth, watching as he took in the nobles' words with a creased brow. He was not arguing their points, clearly knowing the logic was sound, but there still seemed to be a grudging wish to argue in him. The thought brought a bitter curl to his lip as he could clearly see Rhea's phantom behind him, her claws at his skull and throat in silent threat, and he hid his laughter behind a grunt as he broke the silence, "I'll call my men to gather some wood and oil, and you lot can gather as many mages who still have some energy left. The longer we put this off, the longer those things keep laying there, and I'll personally be quite a bit more comfortable once they're all smears of ashes on the ground. If there are any arguments to be had, let them be had after we return to Garreg Mach. We can all take responsibility for our choices to follow Raine's command to whoever might be bent out of shape over it."
Seteth said nothing, fully aware that there was little use in arguing. In truth, there was a great part of him that relieved to have been so brutally put down, as he knew he could shift the blame to dodge Rhea's wrath, but another was simply grateful for the foresight of those who were to lead in the coming years. They had taken the lessons of war to heart, for the moment, and wanted nothing more to do with the shedding of blood. Whether or not their opinions would change over the years was still up for debate, but for the moment, it was clear that the want for peace had won out over everything else. That was far more than acceptable to him, and if his sister chose to argue with him over it, then he supposed he would have to simply accept it. He nodded his head, letting out a long, tired exhale before muttering, "I am afraid there will be great resistance upon your return, but to speak solely for myself... I agree with your reasoning, and am glad to hear it."
"Good. Then let's focus on that. Claude, Seteth, please round up as many mages as you can manage, if you don't mind... Warin, set your men to work to build a pyre. The corpses should be dealt with first. We can attend to the weapons after." Dimitri ordered briskly, though he admitted deep down in his bones he felt nothing but exhaustion. Seeing Raine fighting as she had, dancing with what she had called both a puppet, and the closest thing to a mirror's reflection she had ever known had terrified the wits out of him, but he hadn't been able to call to stop her when she had stepped forward. It hadn't been his place, he had known it, but when she had been sent flying, her small, lithe body hitting the ground over and over again... He flinched, and his jaw went taut without his consent. He was only glad he would only need to leave her momentarily, as he had no intention of parting from her once they returned to the monastery, and only that thought gave him a modicum of comfort.
"She'll be fine."
Warin's voice at his left started him slightly, and he turned to see that the mercenary had not left to obey his orders as Claude and Seteth had. The other two had seemed eager to depart, though they hadn't left together, but Warin had lingered, and his eyes were focussed over to where he knew his sister was currently being attended to. He looked tired as well, his face dusty and bloody, and his gauntlets were nicked and scuffed, but still he stood tall and uncompromising as ever. His eyes, though, were gentle, kind, almost, and he spoke again as he felt Dimitri's stare on him, "She's hurt, but she'll heal just fine underneath everyone's care as she always does... and she'll have you to support her through the worst of it. We'll take it one step at a time. One obstacle at a time. Focus on the work ahead of you. Then her healing. Everything that comes after can wait until then."
Dimitri felt his lips curling against his better judgement, and he felt a little pulse of surprise as he understood that Warin was comforting him. It still felt strange, to be spoken to by the older man in any other tone than curt or coolly polite, but he admitted he could quickly grow used to such treatment. It was a kindness he did not yet deserve still, but Warin seemed to think him fit, and the thought made him nod with appreciative gratitude before he remarked quietly, thoughtfully, "She is a very lucky woman, to have you as her brother."
"On the contrary." Warin shook his head, his eyes never leaving the spot where he knew his sister was even though he could not see her. His chest was tight, and deep inside he could still feel that raging burning that demanded sating, but for the moment it was as quiet as it had ever been. His words had been more for himself than for Dimitri, but he took in a long, cleansing breath as he cracked his knuckles underneath the sturdy material of his gauntlets. He could picture his sister now, laying quiet but slightly smiling under the hands of her students, and the thought brought him more comfort than he had imagined it would. His smile was wry, but honest as he gave Dimitri a glance over his shoulder before he turned to gather his men, "All things considered, I think that I'm the lucky one to have her as my sister."
AN:
This was shockingly... easy to write. I hate fight scenes, but for some reason, all of this seemed to flow quite naturally for me. I had no trouble picturing what it was I wanted to write, and had even less trouble putting those mental images to words. This certain section, of Raine and Nemesis facing off, was something I've always wanted to write, so I guess I had been very well prepared when it finally came time to do it. I'm glad it turned out the way it did, though I will also admit I'm supremely glad that I don't gotta do it again. It was a pain in the arse in a good way, but now I've got one other big challenge to tackle... and tackle it I shall... soon! XD
There are a few loose ends here and there to tie up before that challenge will be addressed, and I'm finally picturing the closing of this fic rather clearly. I want to make sure that everything wraps up as neatly as it possibly can, which likely means a few more chapters of work before it's "over", so I really do want to thank everyone for sticking around for as long as you have. This fanfic has been a hell of an adventure and a process to write, and everyone who's been along for the ride has my complete and utter gratitude. I'm not the most dependable author, or timely, for that matter, but you guys have stuck with me, and have really given me the push I needed to get this giant ass thing completed. This is a real labour of love, and I appreciate you all so much for helping me with it!
The next chapter is going to be a nice wind-down, but also a preparation, and will feature some chats that I believe have been long coming. I think I may actually surprise you with one of the characters who will be showing up, but that's just hopeful speculation. I've had an interesting time with this fic, especially with the character exploration I've been working on, and maybe that will shine through next chapter. Either way, I'm excited to get to work on it, and even more excited to show you! Also, while I'm at it, I'd like to pose a question to you. Quite obviously, this fic has been cut and trimmed here and there, and there are a lot of ideas and scenes that never made it into the final product, so to speak... Would anyone be interested in a short anthology to go along with AM: CT in the future? Of cut scenes or chapters, involving others of the Blue Lions and co, that I simply couldn't put in here for length and time? Drop me a review and let me know!
Mood: Excited.
Listening To: "Fall on Me" - A Great Big World ft Christina Aguilera
~ Sky