The Man in the Arena

by RisingSunfish

When his already-fraught relationship with Roy escalates to a confrontation, Hector must decide how to make amends— if he can stomach the thought of apologizing in the first place. Takes place a year before FE6.

Hector just didn't like the kid.

There weren't many people he tolerated, let alone was fond of, and it so happened that Eliwood's son barely fell into the first category. He looked enough like Eliwood, albeit shorter, rounder-faced, and more sniffly, but he inexorably reminded Hector of the now-Marquess Laus (or, as Hector still called him privately, "the slimy bastard"). Erik was always fawning over authority, and Roy seemed to do the same. He'd maintain a fiercely attentive eye contact with you, nodding like a pigeon after every breath out of your mouth. He'd tail his teachers after lessons, asking questions and taking notes. Taking notes after class! Something was wrong with him, clearly.

Actually, Hector knew there was a lot wrong with him. Roy was frail, and Eliwood was reluctant to let him study in Ostia in the first place, so Hector had foolishly agreed that he'd keep a close eye out to catch if the boy took a bad turn. That meant hosting him in his own quarters. And that used to mean putting up with his prattle about magic theory and history and a host of other things no one else cared about, but lately Roy seemed to have at least understood that Hector didn't want to be bothered. He'd taken to eating hastily at dinner and taking off for the library as soon as he'd finished a few bites— if he showed up at all.

Lilina, predictably, was troubled. "He's scared of you," she told Hector one such evening, after Roy had inhaled a meager portion of his meal and stumbled off.

"Good," Hector replied. "He's getting a chance to learn that the easy way."

Lilina raised her eyebrows in disdain, but said nothing else. Of course, she was the other factor in all this. Hector wasn't worried about her safety quite so much anymore, at least not now that she could make her fingertips hot as molten steel with a mere incantation. He was proud that she was growing up to be a warrior of sorts— it was all the other ways she was growing up that he wasn't too keen on. He returned to his leg of lamb, hoping to shake her off the subject. "How were your lessons today? You get to blow anything up?" No answer. "Hm?"

Lilina picked at her gnocchi, looking sullen. "He stormed out of his training session earlier, too. I tracked him down in the portrait room, but—"

"If I wanted to know about Roy's day, I'd've asked him."

"It's not just his day that was worse," Lilina snapped. "He's my friend— I don't like seeing him upset."

"And what kind of friend is he for dragging you down with him?" Lilina looked toward the fireplace, either considering Hector's words or wishing to set something ablaze herself (he could never quite tell anymore). "Look, I know how busy you are with your schoolwork. Whatever Roy's dealing with is his battle to fight, not yours." Of course, if she was anything like her father, she'd jump at the chance to fight someone else's battles, but she didn't have to know that.

Lilina didn't respond, and Hector figured she'd spend the rest of the night in angry silence, but after a minute or so, she spoke up, her voice surprisingly strident:

"He said everyone thinks he's a disappointment. That he's just wasting our time, being here." Hector looked up to see tears in her eyes, and a surge of protectiveness welled up in his chest.

"Well, he's wasting yours. It's not up to you to sort him out every time he goes to pieces, Lilina. You're not his caretaker." At this, she finally stood up and shoved her chair back in its place.

"You're right— I'm not." She left, and a moment later Hector heard her door slam.

The more he thought about it, that evening and the days that followed, the more it angered him. He'd gone his whole youth feeling like a disappointment, and he hadn't cried on anyone's shoulder about it. But even Hector knew it wasn't Roy's fault. Everyone else treated him delicately, like he'd catch cold and die any day, and they didn't want to be caught in anything but deathbed manners. He'd never grow strong or resilient learning from them.

So, the next time Hector heard the polite clink of rapiers drift into his study from the higher courtyard, he swung out of his chair and headed down to watch for an opening of his own.

On his way downstairs, he caught a glimpse of the mock duelists: it was Cecilia teaching this time. Hector slowed down a shade. Marcus, Roy's usual trainer, was already on his side of things, though far from the strict, barking commander Hector remembered. Cecilia would be much harder to deal with. She was gentle and easygoing with her students, but sharp-eyed and cunning with everyone else— as if she didn't trust past a certain age. Hector, meanwhile, didn't trust anyone he knew could outwit him. But he had the advantage of territory here, and that was enough.

Roy froze halfway through an evasive move when he caught sight of Hector. Cecilia followed through and drew an exaggerated slash over his shoulder.

"Not the sort of dis-arming I was going for, but I'll take the point," she said. It was the sort of insipid joke Roy should have at least cracked a grin over, but he just kept on staring, going paler by the second. Cecilia turned and smiled diplomatically. "Good afternoon, Lord Hector. What brings you here?"

Coming from her, he knew it wasn't just an empty greeting, but he answered like it was. "Just stretching my legs. Mind if I watch?" Cecilia's eyes narrowed just barely, but Hector took the invitation before she could give it, planting himself on one of the nearby stone benches. It was his castle.

"N-no, of course not." Roy turned to her with plain terror on his face. "We'll continue where we left off. It's a shame you weren't here earlier… Roy's technique has improved tremendously. En garde." She tapped Roy's sword arm with the end of her rapier, breaking off his mortified stare and knocking a bit of color back into his face. He took his guard stance timidly, with a white-knuckled grip on his sword. Cecilia opened with a low sweep, and he jumped wildly backwards to avoid contact. It bungled his footing completely, and as he attempted to right himself, she lunged and tagged him in the ribs.

"Let's try again," said Cecilia promptly. Roy resumed his guard position, his feet now planted much too far apart and his sword held as if a rotting carcass hung at the end of it. Hector leaned forward and covered his mouth, an observant-looking gesture to hide the fact that he was starting to laugh. Cecilia opened again, this time with a slower, more predictable attack. Roy managed to knock it aside (though Hector was certain anyone could), but didn't follow up, instead retreating further, flinching at every one of his opponent's swings and stabs. This continued until Cecilia cornered him against the edge of the fountain and jabbed him in the stomach.

"You've learned more than that, Roy," she said in a low voice; gentle, but reproachful. Roy went dramatically red this time. He rubbed the spot where her sword had tagged him and mumbled something Hector couldn't quite hear. "Forfeit is not an option," Cecilia answered sternly. "You're going to finish this lesson."

She steered him back to their original position, but only took guard stance for a brief moment before going on the attack. Roy blocked a few swings successfully, looking surprised as he did it. But his victory was laughably short; this time, Cecilia did manage to disarm him. She caught his sword at an angle, and it flew out of his hand and clattered down right next to his book bag, a few feet away from where Hector sat. He didn't move.

"Go get it," Cecilia said, now sounding almost weary. Roy dragged himself over, avoiding Hector's eyes. As he crouched to pick up his sword, Hector leaned toward him.

"Suppose we'll have to keep waiting on that 'tremendous improvement,' eh?"

Hector had already turned back when something hit him hard on the nose. It didn't feel cold or metallic, but he tasted blood almost immediately. He locked eyes on his assailant, who was once more rooted to his own shadow. Roy looked as if his expression was being pulled in several directions, at once livid and dumbfounded, tears crowding his eyes. But when Hector rose, blood now soaking his beard, Roy's face dissolved into sheer panic. He tripped back a few steps, then turned and bolted.

"Damn it." Hector's nose had been broken before, and it was definitely broken now. He noticed a thick book at his feet, open and face-down on the mossy ground. A few drops of blood landed on it through his fingers. Cecilia rushed over to him.

"I'm so sorry… I don't know what's gotten into him." She had brought a bag of healing supplies with her. "I can take care of that for you. You'll want it set sooner rather than later, at any rate."

"Erh… yeah, thanks." Hector grit his teeth as she pressed his nose back into shape.

"He lost his temper at Sir Marcus last week, too, for what it's worth," Cecilia said as she chose a staff and held the jeweled end close to Hector's nose. "What exactly did you say to him?"

"Just told him to keep working at it." It wasn't altogether false. Still, Cecilia looked as if she didn't believe him. "He's fourteen; what do you expect? No sense in his head at all, none. If I told you half the stuff I got up to at his age— agh!" She had gotten halfway through healing before she suddenly retreated, and the pain came flooding back.

"You know, this could heal on its own. I suppose it might end up a bit more crooked, but... that's hardly critical." Hector kept himself in check only because she wore the beginnings of a playful smile.

"I… would prefer if you finished," he growled. Cecilia obliged.

"Of course…. It wouldn't do to leave someone in pain like that," she said, putting on a thoughtful air. Hector hooked his thumbs into his belt; he could take veiled moralizing from Eliwood, but had no patience for it otherwise. Cecilia stepped back and regarded her work. "Well, it's not straight, but it looks like it did before. More or less."

"Fine by me. Nothing interesting about a straight nose, is there?"

Cecilia's face fell deadpan. "You ought to talk to him, Lord Hector. He's not the sort who improves out of spite."

"And I'm not the sort who talks," Hector replied. "He'll be fine. At least, he'll figure out how to be."

~oOo~

As the rest of the day wore on, though, Hector felt less and less certain about this prediction. When Roy didn't show up for dinner, Lilina was worried. When night fell and he was still nowhere to be seen, Hector started to be. He saw that Lilina went to bed through her sulking and protesting, reassured her with completely false resolution, then went straight to the infirmary.

Roy wasn't there, nor was he in the library, banquet hall, courtyards, or classrooms. It was here that Hector tipped off the guards. And, though it would leave his pride a bit wounded, he decided to check in with Cecilia in the guest quarters, not far from his own. He figured he deserved the wounded pride. He was beginning to consider whether he deserved the broken nose, too.

Cecilia invited Hector into her sitting room, which surprised him; for as guarded as she was, he never expected this level of hospitality. Odd to say that in his own castle. Cecilia had transformed the place into a sort of conservatory. She'd piled every surface with plants, candles, and books, which seemed to Hector like a bad combination, but he supposed she was graceful enough to avoid a disaster.

"What's wrong?" she began.

"Never said anything was wrong!" Her eyes pried the truth from his immediately. He used to be able to withstand that trick from his own teachers, but he didn't quite have the guile for it anymore. "But, er… something is wrong. Roy's missing."

"Missing? What do you mean?"

"He didn't show up to dinner, or after. I've checked everywhere up here, got guards looking downstairs… you wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you?"

"He's not in the library? You know, sometimes he'll tuck himself between the rows—"

"Trust me, I looked." For as small as Roy was, he was hard to miss. Cecilia frowned mildly. "Look, Lady Cecilia, I don't want to worry you, but we really do need to track him down. If he's slipped out of the castle…."

She raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said he'd be fine?"

This stoked Hector's anger. "I was wrong," he snapped. "That's what you were waiting to hear, isn't it?" His voice rose dangerously, but it was easy to brush aside any of the reins on his temper when something was really at stake. "He could be rotting in an alleyway somewhere for all we know, but just as long as you can wash your hands of it—"

Cecilia placed a hand on the windowsill, looking stung. "That's not what I want. Of course that's not what I want." She moved to her cluttered work table and fished out a lantern. "I'll help you look for him. Shall we split up?"

"Do you know where you're going?" Cecilia shot him a venomous glance, but remained silent. "I don't want two of my guests missing. Besides, we'll work faster this way."

"So, where would you have us start, milord?" she said, setting the lantern alight with magic and moving to the door. Hector ran a hand through his beard, thinking.

"It's me he's running from… and my men, by extension. He'll be trying to keep out of sight." He exited the room with Cecilia. "We'll check the outer ring. I have a few spots in mind."

~oOo~

Hector hadn't given any thought to hiding places since Lilina was little, and the ones she picked for their games of hide-and-seek (or her flare-ups of defiance) were often obvious and always within easy reach. She never really wanted to not be found. Looking for Roy took Hector back farther than that, to a time when being present in the higher rings of the castle meant stiff, itchy, presentable clothes, waiting ceaselessly for the end of meetings he was deemed too loud and distractible to attend, getting lashed by sharp tongues (among other things) at every angle. If he was to be made unwelcome in half his own home— well, then he'd welcome himself to every nook and cranny of the other half. He'd made friends this way, or at least alliances— and wasn't that how most of his friendships had started, anyway?— the market deliveryman who always left a space for Hector to ride in his wagon, the empty-nest servant women who fed him generously and compared his growth to that of their own sons, the guards who soon realized just as well as Hector did the futility of putting him back upstairs again and again, and opted instead for a blind eye and a friendly spar.

So it was that he fell back into those old paths easily, looking around and under and behind with a surprising efficiency and thoroughness. There weren't many people to talk to at this hour, and word had already spread among all the guards, so the search remained physical. Every time Hector tore open a broom closet or bent over to scan the narrow underside of a scaffold, he felt a fleeting rush of discovery, but none landed. He was becoming frustrated.

The Etrurian diplomat tagging along behind him wasn't helping matters.

"You know your domain well, Lord Hector," Cecilia remarked, her words touched with the professional, almost wry veneer of a teacher who reached for such mundane praise all the time. Just the sort of political rubbish he'd always sought to hide from in the first place.

"Can't afford not to," he replied neutrally, after shoving an empty barrel back into place.

"Does Roy come this way often?" she pressed on.

"I should be asking you. You usually see him in the library in the evenings, don't you?"

"Well, yes, but only briefly…."

"He doesn't come down here," Hector said firmly. "Servant quarters, maybe— he's got a page here visiting, you might've seen—"

"Wolt? He's a squire, not a page, but yes, I do know him." Obnoxious. He's learning from a master. "Has anyone asked him if he's seen Roy?"

"I've got guards covering the servant quarters, making inquiries… if they haven't gotten to him by now, they will soon."

"Oh, and there's another thing," Cecilia added, in a tone that suggested something like extra homework to Hector. "We ought to let Sir Marcus know what's going on."

"No way," said Hector. "I'm not letting this business get back to Pherae if I can help it." Cecilia scoffed; Hector turned to her. "What's so funny?"

"Do you really think Lord Eliwood doesn't know already?"

"How on earth could he know about this? Don't tell me you shot a messenger across the country with one of those warp—"

"I didn't mean about Roy running away. I meant…" she paused, seeming to weigh her words carefully, "...his time here generally."

Hector wasn't about to let her off the hook. "What about it?"

"How he's been treated… by his host." She said it as though it was heavy cargo she no longer had to carry. If Hector was to be perfectly, unabashedly honest, it stung to hear. He knew then that she'd heard about or gleaned more than today's whispered taunt, and a cold, numbing sensation stole over him: the rush of a kill without any of the thrill or order of victory. But just as quickly, he pushed it aside.

"Nonsense. If Eliwood had a problem, he'd tell me."

Cecilia peered into an alleyway that was being used to store wagon parts. "He does, and he won't. Not as long as there's a chance his son will suffer for it."

Hector's heart sank further. "What does he think I'd do?"

Cecilia returned, looking seriously at Hector with her eyebrows raised. "Isn't it a bit late to be asking that?"

They finished the search silently after that— and for Hector, rather halfheartedly. The realization had gradually stolen upon him that Roy would not hole up in a dingy underpass or alleyway of the outer ring, a cornered rat with no claw or fang to speak of. After he decided he'd had enough, he wheeled back around to face Cecilia, his face set like stone.

"He's not here."

Cecilia took a quiet, steadying breath. "What's next, then?"

Hector nodded towards the direction of the drawbridge. Cecilia's eyes widened with foreboding.

"Then… he could be anywhere by now."

"Well, he's not here," said Hector, brushing impatiently back past her. "I'm going to have a word with the porter."

The porter didn't need to have any words to give Hector information; upon seeing the marquess, he bristled, as if a surge of lightning had run up his body. He attempted to hide it with a nervous smile.

"E-evening, Lord Hector. What brings— er, wh-what can I do for you?"

"Nichols." He left the porter's name hanging, letting him decide whether it was a greeting or a threat. Nichols chose the latter, his jovial mask melting into panic.

"S-sir, I tried stopping 'em when they passed, but they said… lay me down to dust for believin' this, milord, but they said it was for a practical lesson, something about navigating terrain in the dark—"

"Nichols, who is 'they'?"

Nichols swallowed. "Y-your daughter, sir, and—:"

"You let her out unaccompanied?" Hector bellowed. Nichols shrank back into his station.

"N-no, sir, not unaccompanied— she took a servant boy with her— real wiry lad with green hair— a-and they had a dog with 'em—"

"What about the Pheraean delegate?" Cecilia interjected breathlessly. "He'll have come through here with me and Lilina before. Was he with them?"

"The redhead? Scrawny fella?" Cecilia nodded. Nichols winced slightly. "He went out hours ago. It was still daylight… didn't think I had to keep an eye out for him." He balked even before Hector opened his mouth again. "Begging your pardon again, Lord Hector, it's just… Lady Lilina's gotten so grown-up, I didn't think to question her comings and goings any more than I'd question yours, sir."

Hector said nothing. He'd reached the sort of anger only a weapon could properly channel, and the only suitable prospect was a torch shelved in its iron cage just outside Nichols' station.

Cecilia, to her credit, had the good sense to remain quiet for a while as they left the gatehouse. When they were both far enough outside the castle for the scent of cedar and the hum of crickets to overpower the smells and sounds of the lower ring, Hector stopped. The road that stretched on ahead, lined with cottages and the empty, packed-up carts of vendors, led to the city. But the great forest ran adjacent, and trails abounded, carved out by thousands of travelers making shortcuts and outlaws avoiding the main road. Hector used to know both quite well, but that didn't motivate him any better to pick one. Any time searching in the wrong place would be disastrous. And what if Lilina had struck out in the opposite direction from Roy? Hector knew the streets of Ostia, and the forest roads, and he'd seen both under the cover of night. If he was already nearing the end of his rope, this was the tug at his neck. He swung the torch aimlessly and roared.

"I'm going to kill that boy!"

He thought he was past it all— this blind, helpless rage. That was his lot as a young man, a throwaway heir, a wild dog whom they at least had the decency to stop dressing up and trotting out in court after a while. And he'd taken so much bad news in stride since then, but this was different.

Cecilia stepped forward. "Lord Hector—"

"That's it— I'm not picking up after him any longer," he spat. "See how he does out here. Soon as we find Lilina, we're going back."

"We are not. You have a responsibility to fulfill— a diplomatic one, if nothing else." There was a cold, composed groundedness to her defiance, and it shook Hector of a bit of his ire. As if to guide him, she tempered her own volume: "I've no necessary loyalty to you, Lord Hector. We have a contract, and we have, I should think, a thread of respect beyond that. But don't think I'll hesitate to break either of those should you give me reason to."

Hector fumed, but even he knew it was all smoke and no fire. Cecilia continued, her voice less cutting, if no less fervent: "If Lilina's used any magic since she left the castle, I should be able to get a sense of where she is."

"You can... track someone using magic?"

"Broadly, yes," Cecilia said, leafing through her tome. "You see, when a mage invokes a spell, it leaves an impression on the tenor of the surrounding air—"

"I don't need an explanation," Hector blurted out. Under Cecilia's glare, he qualified himself: "I mean, you'd be wasting your breath. I've no mind for magic."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Cecilia mused, tracing her finger down a dense table of runes and numbers. "But we can discuss this another time. Ah, here. Quiet, please." Hector shut his mouth, suspecting the Etrurian woman's short, confident commands were themselves laced with some kind of enchantment— he otherwise never did as he was told. Cecilia whispered the incantation and signed a faint sigil into the air before her. It dissipated, and she closed her eyes as she maintained the position of her hand and fingers. After a moment, she opened her eyes, relaxed her stance, and turned dutifully towards the forest. "This way."

"A-are you sur—"

"Lord Hector, you are hardly in a position to question my methods." Now it was his turn to follow as his partner pushed ahead dauntlessly.

The forest pathways curled and tangled, vinelike, and often uneven with growth. Cecilia maintained a steady march, pausing on occasion to adjust her direction, as one navigating by compass. Hector couldn't keep his eyes from wandering off the path, honing in on every break in the darkness or stillness. He met with a few pairs of shining eyes, but it turned out to be nothing more sinister than a fox or a red panda.

At length, a soft glow interrupted the cool evergreen darkness ahead of them. Cecilia closed her tome, looking satisfied. Hector thought he heard voices, but Cecilia spoke over them:

"I'll leave it to you to discipline your daughter, of course, but if I may—"

"Shh!" Whatever storied and prestigious learning Cecilia had amassed, the closed-fist signal evidently hadn't been part of it. She fell silent, and the voices faded into their hearing.

"I-I don't mean to talk outta my place, miss, but I know my way around tracking." Pheraean accent, young, and male, but too folksy and clear to be Roy. "We've just gotta be patient, I promise."

"We've been sitting in this same spot for ages!" Lilina. Hector's heart skipped unpleasantly, even in relief. "This isn't the kind of thing we can just wait out, Wolt! He could be in danger!" Hector moved to shove his way through the foliage to them, but this time Cecilia signaled— and grabbed his cloak for good measure.

"You think you can sniff him out better'n my dog can, go right ahead," Wolt said, a nervous anger prodding his words. "I'm just doing what I know works."

"I'm not going to sniff him out— but I know where he'd go. It's the same place we always go."

It took Hector a second to process the full meaning of the words. When he did, he tore the cloak out of Cecilia's hands in his haste to push through to them. He crashed through underbrush and fallen leaves onto their path, and when he looked up, was met with a shaking arrow point and the swirling glow of red-hot fire magic. Both kids lowered their weapons when they recognized Hector's stern face, and a guilty expression stole over Wolt's. Lilina, however, stepped forward.

"You liar!" she started in, hands glowing anew. "You knew he was gone! You just let him leave, and now h-he's—" Her voice cracked, died in her throat, and the light at her fingertips flickered out as she broke into angry sobs. Hector reached out to touch her shoulder, but she shook him off, sinking to the forest floor. Cecilia approached; Hector perceived a small crackling sound to his left, and looked to see the controlled smolder she must have set through the brush. She crouched down next to Lilina and said something low and, presumably, comforting.

"If you wanted t-to find him… you could've just… asked me," Lilina was saying in between gasps for air. "But he doesn't care… if Roy's safe or n-not…."

"Lilina, where do you think Roy went?" Right to the point, even as she squeezed Lilina's shoulders reassuringly. Bless her. Lilina sniffed loudly, wiped her face, and shot her father a poison-dagger glare before answering.

"The ruins." Her lip trembled, and her hands curled into fists. "We go there sometimes, just to study, a-and talk." Hector scoffed loudly, unable to stop himself— and instantly regretted it, as Lilina's eyes flashed and narrowed with betrayal. "I'm telling the truth!" she cried. "It's just a change of scenery, we don't… we haven't…."

"It's all right. We believe you." Hector expected another glare, but when Cecilia met his eyes, it looked like pleading. He could almost hear her voice: for heaven's sakes, don't pick this battle.

"Lilina," Hector began, squatting down and attempting another brush of her shoulder, "don't you worry about being believed. I know you. I know you're telling the truth." He paused, gathering and weighing his thoughts. "But you sneaking out of the castle at all… that's what scares me. I wouldn't know what to do if anything happened to you." He hesitated again. "To… either of you. You understand that, right?" Lilina said nothing, avoiding his eyes. "Lilina. Answer me."

"I don't want to talk to you." Hector blinked. Lilina had a short temper, but he was sure this would have coaxed her out of it. He felt starkly alone, an island with all bridges burned… but wasn't that how he'd always worked best?

He stood up straight, holding the torch aloft and peering up the path leading toward the ruins. "Not too far, at least." Cecilia had helped Lilina to her feet by the time Hector swung the torch back around. "Cecilia. Take them to the east entrance to the castle. Wait there for my return."

Lilina and Wolt rounded on Cecilia, as if it was her say.

"N-no! Lady Cecilia, please—!"

"L-Lady Cecilia, all due respect, my dog's still out here, he won't know where to go if I'm not where he can smell me—"

"Enough!" Hector snapped, stopping everything but an aggrieved groan from Lilina. "You two are going back to the castle. That's final. I'm not taking any more chances," he added, cutting Lilina off before she started in on him.

Cecilia had waited to speak, but she was no less ardent for it: "Lord Hector, let me look for him. He's lost, he's probably scared… the last thing he needs is—" She bit back the response in time— or, at least, struck at his heel subtly. "That is, he'll respond better to someone he trusts."

The anger rose even further in Hector's throat. "Of course. Why should he trust the only person who doesn't lie to him?" He took a step closer. "He needs to be told these things. If he doesn't know how much trouble he's caused us by the time I bring him back, he'll have learned nothing from this."

Cecilia was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice shook, livid: "I'm glad you're at peace with the truth, Lord Hector. Because you're the one who's going to be penning the letter to that boy's father if you don't find him. I hope you can tell the truth then."

She turned and, with all the wordless command of a seasoned general, indicated to Lilina and Wolt to follow.

~oOo~

Hector didn't say what they'd all been thinking at that moment, but it loomed over him as he trudged down the pathway to the ruins. If Roy doesn't come back with me? He hated to admit it, but the forest roads were dangerous, especially at night. As his eyes traced over the trail and branches and foliage, he scanned just as much for shreds of fabric or drops of blood as he did for Roy himself. He called out a few times before realizing his voice would scare Roy further away, if he could hear it.

The canopy of the trees thinned slightly, and the moon's glow made Hector's surroundings a touch easier to see. Bats swirled and squeaked above him, tumbling in midair to catch insects. As the road progressed, it also dissipated, leaving the ground looking more untouched and wild. And another world began to reveal itself from under the earth.

Hector didn't make a point of going to the ruins often. In a few words, they unnerved him. These were edges and corners of walls made for another kind: massive, ancient, not to be known by mere mortals like him. The soil here was darker and softer, cradled in the shadow of Mount Orreaga. Every Ostian grew up hearing that the earth here had been stained a rich near-black with the blood of dragons. It had soaked into the ground, the legends said, and restored life to the ravaged crops and razed forests. Hector wondered if new growth had sprouted in the place where he had seen a dragon slain with his own eyes. Being near the foot of the mountain again, away from the paintings and carvings of his castle, he felt a strange tension. How Roy— of all people— could stand it in this place was beyond him.

He thought of Eliwood, wracked here with an agony so intense he'd almost grown sick to watch it, and that tension twisted like a knife in his gut. This was his only child, a miracle by all accounts and, Hector knew, loved beyond reckoning. Why did it take this for him to remember that?

Maybe it was the memories of dead friends and powerlessness that made Roy easier to spot, lying prone next to an outcropping of some ancient structure. Hector rushed over, panic stoked, but it became clear immediately that Roy was only sleeping. Wolt's hunting dog, a handsome beagle, was curled up next to him, likewise asleep. It surprised Hector, actually— he would've thought that Roy slumbered as fastidiously as he seemed to do everything awake, but he was sprawled rather carelessly, his bedroll lying over him, and snoring to boot. Hector exhaled in relief— and a little dread, knowing he'd have to be ready at any minute to talk— and, suddenly feeling the exhaustion he was due, sank down next to Roy, planting his torch in the ground. If Eliwood were here, he'd point out that it was rich of Hector to mock Roy's subpar dueling skills when he himself was so dreadfully out of shape. Then again, if Eliwood were here he'd have gone to find Roy before he'd ended up in the wilderness a mile away from the castle.

Hector stared at the banners of smoke coming off his torch. What was he going to say? The loud, brash voice in him, the one that usually won out, was clamoring for an end to this sentimental bunk. After all, he wasn't beholden to anyone. No one would force him to talk, to do anything but drag Roy back up to the castle and assure him it was a mistake to go chasing him down at all (and that was if he was feeling generous). It felt foreign— traitorous, almost— to consider the alternative. It just wasn't his way of handling things.

But his way of handling things had driven off the boy he'd been charged with looking after— might have gotten him killed given more time or worse luck. His way of doing things had made him an enemy of his daughter, and an embarrassment to the ambassador under his roof. It was time to change direction.

Hector didn't get any longer to think about how. Roy stretched, cracked his neck, and yawned before opening his eyes, looking as if he slept here every night. It took him a few blinks to see Hector there, and another few licks from the dog for, presumably, the memories to settle back into place. With a jolt of recognition, he shot up to a sitting position and began trying to back away again. Hector nearly grabbed him, but held himself back and exhaled quietly.

"You're not in any kind of trouble, lad," he growled. It ached like lying. "So don't waste more of our time running farther." Roy stopped, his face very serious despite looking ridiculous otherwise, his hair mussed in every direction and sprouting leaves. The dog, now fully awake, wagged his tail and barked as if to break the tension. Hector sighed again. "Come here. I want to... talk to you."

After what seemed like a dragon's age, Roy shrugged his bedroll aside and carefully placed himself an arm's length away from Hector. He breathed in and out once, as if it would be his last good breath before he was pulled to the gallows. Truthfully, Hector had no idea what to say, but he firmly suspected that if he said nothing, Roy would start in on his usual litany of apologies. He cleared his throat. "You… you're all right, then? No injuries?"

"No." A perfect parry, for once. Hector tried a different approach.

"How'd you get out here?" He was curious, after all.

"Just walked out. The guards didn't pay me any mind." Hector snorted; he'd backed off from wanting Nichols hanged, but he would definitely be appointing a sharper-witted gatekeeper soon. They fell silent again. The little hound sat beside Hector and nudged his arm, soliciting scratches. He couldn't seem to form another idea. What was stopping him? He'd never been hesitant about speaking his mind before. But maybe that was the problem… he didn't really know what he thought anymore. Roy, for once, was doing nothing to irritate Hector— not wheedling, nor grinning over some utterly minor achievement, nor fumbling over his own very presence. He just sat and stared at his hands, tired and extinguished.

And it hit Hector: of course he didn't know what to do, because this was no longer a fight. He'd already wrestled this boy's insufferable spirit to the ground, and he could hardly enjoy the victory as long as it lay motionless. The same cold feeling he'd gotten while talking with Cecilia earlier spread in his chest. If he retreated now, he'd lose his last opportunity to make anything right. He cleared his throat and, without the vaguest hint of a plan, spoke up:

"Look. We haven't gotten along all that well since you've been here. No denying that. You're—" He exhaled aggressively, searching for the softest words he could spit out, "—you're nothing like me. Always going on about… I dunno, Etrurian architecture or wyvern feeding habits or what have you, nose in a book most of the time, can't handle a weapon to save your life…."

Roy's eyebrows twitched. "I can handle a weapon," he said, barely above the whisper of the trees around them.

"Not well," Hector continued. "Even you must see that by now—"

"Did you follow me out here just to keep mocking me?" said Roy, this time audibly. He kept a fervent gaze on Hector, with something like a glare kindling in his eyes. "You couldn't go one night without it?" Hector ran his thumb over his knuckles.

"I'm being honest with you," he said. "Someone around here needs to be."

"Might I be honest with you, then?" No, it wasn't really a glare, and any fire was merely the torchlight reflected. This was a watery stare— not so shallow as to spill over, but deep as a well. "I'm not stupid. I know I'm weak. Everything I do, everything I try… there's no way I couldn't know." Casting his eyes down again, he picked up one of the sticks at his feet and pushed the point into the soft earth. "If there was a way for me to fight as well as you want me to, I'd take it. But reminding me over and over again, as if I wanted any of this..." He snapped the twig and stood up suddenly, goaded into restlessness. "I thought coming here would be the best thing that's ever happened to me. And it was, at first. I could look past the bad parts. Every time you put me down, I thought, 'that's the last time. Tomorrow I'll show him what I'm capable of.' So I studied more, and trained harder, and everything started running together…. I thought, if I just got one thing right, and you saw, then I'd be… i-it would finally feel like…." He trailed off, looking east, and Hector could see his lip trembling. When he next met Hector's eyes, hesitantly, his own were now welling up, and his voice broke as he stammered, "I j-just wanted to go home. I don't know h-how I'd get there, I just couldn't… c-couldn't stand another day here." His tears fell on the forest floor, and even before embarrassment started to redden his cheeks and ears, he sniffed heroically, hastily wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and puffed out a loud, deep breath. He was pulling himself together, and Hector thought he should have been proud, but he felt hollow. Roy continued, his voice now husky and even: "I'm sorry… I-I'm being a coward. I know I just have to keep at it. Even if I can't… I have to. They're saying there's war coming, and I'm not going to survive it at this rate, but… I have to keep going."

Hector felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. He'd known, of course, that Bern would be on their doorstep soon enough, but that was for battalions and spies and warriors to deal with. Not children. And yet, how many times had he thought along the same lines? Didn't Roy's feebleness and frivolous curiosity bother him because of how useless it all was, how much of a liability he'd be? Hadn't he weighed Lilina's talents according to her prospects in battle— and ridiculed Roy in comparison? Hector couldn't control whatever that mad king was doing, but how often had he been an emissary of war in his own home? I'm not going to survive it at this rate. He knew he'd thought it, and maybe he'd said it, but hearing it from Roy, it suddenly rang true, in all it meant, stark and poisonous as the smoke before a blaze.

Another quiet moment passed. Perhaps it was the solemn history here, the bloodshed under their feet, the guardianship of the stars above them, but something changed within Hector then. He didn't want to kill anymore— hadn't for a long time, really. But it was more than that: it was as if the wild beast that had driven him from within for so long had finally proven tameable. Even his instinct to protect wasn't the thundering, unthinking juggernaut he'd always known it to be. Roy's weakness was palpable, overwhelming; it cut through stone and steel, and through Hector's illusions of force. In the face of war, a war already underway with savage momentum, they were both powerless.

The torch glowed red and fragile now, and Hector made up his mind.

He rose and, without another word or thought, pulled Roy into a hug. Roy was rigid as a corpse at first, but then Hector began to feel the boy's shoulders quake, and to hear, buried somewhere in the mantle of his cloak, what sounded a bit like an old floorboard being stepped on. An hour ago, Hector would have been disgusted by any of this, but now it was effortless to keep holding tight onto this boy who was not his son, who was nothing like the son he'd have wanted, whose very presence drove him mad, and yet whom he must have loved.

"I'm so sorry." Just the same, the apology came unexpectedly and easily, like the snap of a ripe fruit from its branch. "This was supposed to be your home. And I robbed that from you." Roy had quieted enough by now, drawing his breaths in deep, with the occasional stutter. "You're already fighting with everything you've got. I shouldn't be thinking of anything but fighting at your side."

"You don't… y-you shouldn't have to… to pick up the slack f-for me—"

"I know," said Hector, stepping away and pushing Roy's hair back, out of his eyes. "Don't worry about making things hard on me, son. I'll be able to handle it— always have."

"B-but… it's like you said: I'm not improving... I-I just need to work harder—"

He looked very suddenly like his father, and not in any way Hector could take comfort in. He hadn't ever quite been able to see in those clear, abyssal eyes Eliwood's clever perceptiveness or hard-won daring, but here and now, he could see the sheer exhaustion ringing them, and such a foil finally unlocked that resemblance. And he was thin, too; Hector had taken for granted that this was merely a symptom of his youth, but the sum of all Roy's abandoned meals hit him as he regarded him closely, even in the dim light. Shame nagged at him again— but this time with the cut of sorrow.

"You know," Hector began in a low voice, pulling the torch back out of the ground and taking a small, slow step towards the direction of the castle, "when I was your age, I thought I always had to pull my own weight… and then some. It wasn't that I didn't have friends or allies, but I'd rather die than accept help from anyone. Your dad's probably told you this, but he and I used to have a running tally of our sparring matches. But I kept track of other stuff, too. Any favors he did for me, or times he bailed me out… I couldn't rest with myself until I repaid that debt." He paused as the truth washed over him. "You're more like me than him in that regard."

They'd started back on the trail, such as it was. Roy was breathing steady now, keeping stride with Hector and listening courteously in his usual way. At this, he ducked his head, and a mirthless smile strained his face.

"Yeah. That's exactly it." Hector said nothing, so Roy continued. "It's like... everyone's given up so much to help me, and I can't do anything for them in return."

"Mm."

"I sort of lost my temper at Lilina yesterday too," Roy pressed on, with all the measure and restraint of one vomiting. "But that was stupid. I don't think she really expects me to do anything to repay her… does she?"

"Not in the least," said Hector, unable to keep himself from smiling. "She would've stopped putting up with me a long time ago if that was how she did things. No, that's the toughest medicine to swallow… some people just like having you around." He cast an arm around Roy's thin shoulders and pulled him in for another hug, this one more natural and honest than the last. Roy's odd squeak of surprise turned into bashful laughter as Hector ruffled his hair.

They were still a ways away from the castle walls when Wolt's hound began howling— not in distress, but almost dutifully. It echoed back— or seemed to, anyway.

"Ah, we should wait," said Roy. When Hector opened his mouth to ask, he elaborated: "He's trained to track people if they get lost. And, erm…" he looked at his feet and mumbled, "...he's had practice on me already."

The distant replies grew louder, then seemed to break, giving way to the crashing of branches. The beagle remained unfazed— in fact, he was wagging his tail a bit cautiously.

No sooner had Wolt turned onto their side of the path and spotted them than he let out a big laugh and ran over to tackle Roy in a rough embrace.

"What got into your head, runnin' all the way out here at night?" Wolt chided, though without a hint of anger. "I never thought you even could do something that dumb." Roy grinned despite his better efforts… and Hector saw himself in even greater relief: the troublesome younger brother, the prodigal son, welcomed back whether he deserved to be or not. "Hoo, you had me worried. But I'm glad you're alright." He crouched down and let his dog leap into his arms. "Thanks for keeping him safe, pal."

"And warm," Roy added, with a shiver. Is it cold? Between the torch and the exertion, Hector was sweating. Roy evidently hadn't thought ahead far enough to dress for a night outdoors; his cloak had been folded under his book bag, Hector recalled.

"Heads up." He unfastened his own cloak and tossed it to Roy, whose reaction wasn't as fast as it needed to be. "We don't want to keep the other two waiting."

The remaining walk to the castle didn't feel long or tiresome. Wolt's joy and relief was contagious, Roy seemed to recover more fully with each warm welcome, and Hector wouldn't let himself think about being worn out before he was within reach of his bed. But when they were almost within view of the east gate, Roy stopped.

"What's wrong?" All ease and smiles had melted away; he was back to looking pale and nauseated.

"Lilina's gonna kill me," he muttered, fidgeting with the edge of the cloak. Hector was silent, though not for a loss for words. For all Lilina's rage towards him, he couldn't imagine her taking out any anger on Roy. He was too deferential, not satisfying to fight with… and, well, the warmth in her eyes and voice when she spoke to or about him was certainly not coming from the fire of fury. He didn't want to be sore about this, but she always seemed to be the one to give, to search, to bolster and comfort. Part of him gruffly hoped she would save a bit of her anger for Roy.

Wolt had other ideas. "'Course she won't," he said, clapping Roy on the back. "She'll just be happy to see you're okay. And if she gets mad, just take it for a bit and apologize after. Just like with Ma, you know how she is."

Roy started on an undoubtedly doubtful reply, but the dog cut him off with an abrupt bark, then tore off towards the torchlight at the gate. Wolt shrugged off an apologetic wince at Roy before following. Unloading another heavy breath, Roy looked back up at Hector with nearly the same pleading expression he'd leveled at Cecilia earlier… nearly. This time, there was a bit of steel to it. Hector thought he understood.

"Go on," he grunted. "I'll catch up."

Roy didn't waste any time. Hector positioned himself at a vantage point somewhat out of sight to watch the reunion. He was surprised to see Lilina slumped against the wall, asleep, though she shot up as soon as the dog approached her and barked again. Roy held out a hand to help her to her feet; she took it, and, in the same movement, threw her arms around him. It was a bit overbearing, Hector thought, but she certainly wasn't angry.

Like the unplaceable chirp of a cricket in the shadows, a shred of relief made itself known in him. So they weren't going about everything the right way, weren't sharpening their wits and steeling their hearts against each other. What good was that notch of preparation if it left their peacetime cold and empty? They were just kids. Their lives didn't arc toward war, in the end. It became harder to believe each passing day, but Hector knew it had to be true in a greater sense than he could see.

Suddenly aware of someone standing beside him, Hector glanced over to see Cecilia. Under a thick layer of fatigue, she looked relieved.

"You certainly dodged a bolt," she half-sighed. "Lilina was ready to start felling trees."

Hector chuckled. "She is her father's daughter."

"How is everything with Roy? I trust he's unharmed?" Hector wasn't sure if this was a simple question or a veiled accusation, but he reminded himself that he need not worry either way.

"He's fine," he said. "We owe that dog a damn knighthood." He sensed he hadn't yet seized on a resolution here. "We… we talked. I understand where he's coming from a bit better now."

Cecilia admitted a restrained, not-too-victorious smile. "Well… I suppose you were right about one thing. He should know how much worry he caused us."

"Aw, c'mon. I was angry when I said that. Wasn't thinking."

"No, I mean… it's good that he knows we were all looking for him— at this hour especially." She offered the first of a slow pace back towards the castle, and Hector followed suit. "He… doesn't set much store by himself, I'm sure you've noticed."

"'Noticed?' It's my fault, Cecilia. You said as much earlier. And you were right."

"Certainly." Her smile grew a touch more smug (deservedly so, loath as Hector was to admit it). "But I don't intend to dwell too long on that. You apologized to him, I trust," she added sternly.

"I did." He didn't deflect or embellish. It felt like being in the arena with no armor. Maybe that was why he flinched when Cecilia patted him on the arm.

"You're a good man, Lord Hector." She looked ahead when she said this, to where the three kids sauntered under the portcullis, bidding a cheerful good night to a faint-with-relief Nichols. "They're lucky to have you in their lives."

Hector let a deep breath fill him, taking in as much of this night as he was able, cooling its newly-forged memories. "I'm lucky they let me in."

~oOo~

It was nearing midday when Hector finally heard Roy's door pop open. He was sitting in the parlor, trying to concentrate on his scribbled notes from the week before; there was still a proposal for a new aqueduct he needed to finish reading. Roy approached looking like Hector still felt: as if he'd just woken up. Hector set everything down and stretched in his seat.

"'Morning. How'd you sleep?"

"Fine." Roy rubbed his eyes vigorously. "I forgot it was cold up here. Kind of wish I had Bacon again."

"Oh, well.…" Breakfast had been served, but the marquess's quarters was never offered so small a meal for it to ever run out. "There's still a few pastries left, bit of honeyed ham… or I can have something hot fixed up for you—"

"N-no, I meant the dog." Roy pulled up a chair at the dining table and helped himself to some of the remaining food. Hector squinted at him, puzzled. "Bacon is Wolt's dog," Roy explained through a mouthful of stromboli. "That's his name."

"Of all the daft names for a dog..." Hector muttered, returning to his paperwork. He managed to make modest progress before Roy spoke up again.

"You're sure it's okay for me to— skip class?" He hiccuped slightly as he said it. Hector looked up to see that he'd polished off the rest of the meal. He must have left in too much of a hurry yesterday to take any rations.

"I told you, you're not skipping class. You, y'know… did what you did, and so we're all taking the day off for it." He smirked. "And speaking of committing treason, did you leave anything for Lilina?"

Roy choked on his presumably lukewarm tea. "I thought she was up already! I-I'm sorry!"

"You're fine. I'm teasing you… it's banter." An invisible weight seemed to pull Roy's face into that confused, vaguely skeptical frown. "You can give it back to me if you want."

"Oh… n-no, I'm not going to…."

"You broke my nose yesterday, and we're still talking. Go on."

Roy mused over his tea for what was really far too long before a smile crept over his lips. "W-well, erm… g-good to see you've started paying attention to the laws, Lord Hector."

Hector was ready to swallow his pride and nod sympathetically at whatever feeble attempt Roy made, but this disarmed him into a real laugh.

What could he say? The kid was growing on him.

~oOo~