The battle for Altea continues...

There is some extra artwork for the end of this chapter on the AO3 version of this fic, as well. If you would like to see it please view it there, since I can't link it here...

Thank you for reading so far!

Prelude to Sorrow

All hell broke loose as Hollstadt's final wave of troops descended upon the Akaneian League. Arrows soared into the sky and rained down, pelting the field. The sound of hooves filled the air as paladins on their horses cantered across the battlefield, churning the earth in their wake. The storm clouds gave way to sunlight, and the rays glinted on their black armor. They were, without a doubt, members of the vaunted Sable Order.

It had taken Hollstadt little time to find Marth amongst the carnage—the young prince had been busied by a few of Hollstadt's subordinates. The paladins circled the prince and the comrades that were by his side.

With a firm grip on his rapier, Marth readied himself for any incoming attacks, though the paladins merely slowed their circling before they came to a full stop. Marth, Merric, Roy and Xane all had their weapons at the ready as they waited for one of the Sable Order paladins to make the first move.

"Prince Marth," Hollstadt rumbled as he approached. The heavy armor he wore clunked with each step he made. "It appears you've already been caught. Tell me, was all your training and your entire campaign for nothing? How did you expect to succeed here if you're so easily cornered?"

Hollstadt's words made Marth grimace, and no rebuttal came to him. He could find no words to refute the disappointment in the older man's voice.

"Pah, so you've nothing to say. No matter," Hollstadt said as he thrust the butt of his lance into the earth. "You are the leader of the Akaneian League! Therefore, as the general of this army, my fight is with you—one on one."

Marth was unable to hide his surprise. "One on one?"

"Though it would be easy to simply strike you down now as you are surrounded, that is not how I wish to end things," Hollstadt responded. "No. As one of the Sable Order, and as a general in the army of Grust, I demand an equal fight."

The four younger men had no time to question the truthfulness of Hollstadt's words—the paladins that surrounded them pulled their weapons back, and each horse backed away to form a ring. It appeared that Hollstadt's desire was genuine. Marth bit the inside of his lip as insecurity inundated him.

"Well, prince? Will you raise your sword, and fight me as a leader?" Hollstadt questioned as he raised his lance from the ground. "Or will you cower and run, as a child would?"

There was a slight nudge to Marth's side that bade him turn his head, and he looked towards his left. Roy was looking at him with those intense ruby eyes. A small nod of encouragement was enough to coax back Marth's confidence, and the prince returned his attention to Hollstadt.

"I accept your duel," Marth said.

"Excellent," Hollstadt said as he whipped his lance forward to hold in in both hands. "Then we shall have our duel. And your comrades…"

As his voice trailed, the members of the Sable Order that had surrounded them suddenly readied their weapons with a sharp clatter of steel, the horses snorting and pawing at the dirt. Merric, Roy, and Xane steeled themselves at the show of aggression.

"… Well, we will just have to see who remains to call the victor. Though we do not plan to fall here, prince!" Hollstadt said as he started to run towards Marth.

Within the castle, Morzas watched the battle unfold with sick interest. A cackle bubbled up in his throat as he saw Marth struggle against Hollstadt—the Grustian general was far bigger than Marth and had many more years of experience in battle. Grey, wrinkled fingers twiddled with amusement as his claws tapped on the sill of the window. The fact that Marth even made it to Altea was enough of a surprise, though Morzas was quite thrilled to imagine Marth's reaction to the withered state of the land he once called home.

Though there was more to Morzas' interest than simply the prince alone: his eyes strayed from Marth, to the redheaded manakete fighting nearby.

"My, my," Morzas hissed. "To think an ice dragon would turn on his own kind. What a fool. I almost wish to trample him myself, and yet…"

His gaze returned to Marth and Hollstadt once more, and shock overtook him as he saw the shine of Marth's rapier, now bloodied, sticking through Hollstadt's back.

"Ghah," Hollstadt grunted in pain. With labored breaths, he stumbled back, and Marth pulled his rapier out from the split in the general's breastplate. "You… did well."

Marth, still panting, pressed his hand to a bloodied cut on his right arm. "You as well."

"… Princeling," Hollstadt said, his voice quiet, "Grust did not wish to be part of this war. Though as a knight, I have my duty, as do the rest of us in the Sable Order. My only hope is that with my death, you may continue on to Doluna, and…"

A rough cough ripped from his throat as blood spattered onto the ground beneath him. After a moment, he glanced towards Marth once more, though the light in his eyes was rapidly fading.

"… And end this war… for mankind. We… leave the rest to you," he finished before his knees buckled and his body collapsed. The clanging of his armor as he fell echoed in Marth's ears.

With Hollstadt's words, Marth's victory rang hollow: it served as a bitter reminder that not all his foes were truly evil. Some were simply bound to their duty.

The last of the Sable Order's knights swung their sword at Merric, though in a pinch, Xane hopped off the ground with his sword raised.

"Not quite!" he said as he blocked the paladin's blade with his own.

With a quick wave of his hand, Merric shot a blast of Excalibur at the paladin. He let out a shout as he was knocked from his horse and tumbled across the ground.

"Great teamwork Xane," Merric said cheerily as he closed his tome. "All in a day's work."

Roy jogged to Marth's side. "Marth, are you okay?"

The blood trickling down Marth's arm had drawn his attention. Marth only nodded.

"Yes, I am fine," he responded. "The bleeding makes it look a lot worse than the wound truly is."

A screech pierced the air and they all covered their ears in response—the sound was practically deafening.

"You rats! Rats, all of you!"

Morzas flew down from the spire of the castle, his green robes violently rustling from the speed of his descent. His lips were pulled back in a wild, maniacal grin, though his eyes burned with fury.

"You wretched Altean whelp," he hissed. "And that foolish Grustian general. Hollstadt. I knew he was not worth his rank!"

Anger roiled in Marth's heart as he locked eyes with the manakete. "You…"

The darkness of Marth's tone was unlike anything Roy had heard from him before, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Agony washed over him, and his nose scrunched as he snarled.

With a gruff laugh, Morzas grinned and bore his curved fangs at them.

"Welcome back to Altea, little prince," Morzas said, his voice laced with laughter. "I am surprised to see you here before me. Will you run away for a second time, or remain here to die? These halls have already been stained with royal blood… though I am sure this land would certainly love to drink deep of yours!"

Anger continued to build in Marth's chest, and his fingers twitched. The pure, unadulterated hatred that he felt for Morzas surpassed even his hatred for Jiol; this monster had taken the seat at the throne of Altea, where Marth's father once proudly sat, and used that power to force the people of Altea into lives of suffering.

All with that same smile of devious delight that Morzas was wearing now.

Marth's loathing was becoming too much for Roy to bear. "Marth…" he growled. Marth looked his way, and Roy's pupils contracted.

Before Roy could continue, Morzas' cackling interrupted him. "I suppose this is fitting. This means that I get to kill you myself… I wonder if your screams will be as pleasurable to me as the screams of your mother."

With wide eyes, Marth turned to face Morzas once more. "What did you… just say?"

Roy's body shook as an overwhelming pain pulsated through his head, and he knotted the fingers of his right hand into his hair. His surroundings faded as a voice momentarily overtook his senses:

"I wonder how hard it would be for us to pull your strings, like Nergal did with your mother."

Air rushed back into his lungs as he gasped, and his hand moved from his hair to quickly clutch at his chest.

Chuckles gave way to booming laughter as Morzas raised his magestone. "That's right! I was the one who killed your beloved mother! I tortured her endlessly- listened to her beg for mercy! And finally, once she had withered away into nothing, I ended her life! Limb from limb, she was torn apart by my maw! Kahahaha!"

Marth had little time to react as the energy from Morzas' magestone was expelled, and the manakete's voice morphed into one much more monstrous. "Now cower and fall to the might of one of the Basilisk clan!"

The wind was so strong that all eyes were forced shut as Morzas transformed. A low, harrowing roar cut through the gales. Upon opening their eyes, Marth and Roy were both taken aback by the feral creature that towered before them: a dragon with ashen scales, wicked spines and talons, and eyes that were redder than blood.

Morzas roared and reared back on his hind legs before stomping the ground heavily, shaking the earth and sending everyone nearby stumbling. He lashed out with his tail, clearing the area of possible intruders to their fight. The only ones left standing at his feet were Marth and Roy.

The magical energy he exuded was incredible; Roy could feel the dragon within him cower at Morzas' might. He chanced a glance towards Marth.

Ferocity burned in the prince's eyes as he stared forward; Morzas' words had stripped him of all fear and replaced it with the overwhelming desire for vengeance.

"Marth…" Roy muttered under his breath. Seeing his partner stand confident and firm against such incredible odds shook him from his own anxieties.

"You are the one that killed my mother," Marth said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "You were the one to take all I had left from me… you subjugated my people to horrific torture and slavery, let this land run thick with blood, and defiled my father's throne. I swear on my life… your reign of terror ends here."

Morzas' maw hung agape as he breathed, revealing rows of sharp teeth with saliva webbed between. The slits of his pupils remained trained on the prince as he reared his head. "Your defiance will be your undoing. Now writhe! Allow me the pleasure of watching you succumb to your death by my hand!"

Volatile magic billowed forth from Morzas' mouth as he shot his breath at the two of them. Roy's heightened speed gave him enough of an edge that he was able to pull Marth out of the way with him, though the edge of his cape was slightly singed in the process. Marth wasted no time as he dashed forward with his rapier raised so that his knuckles pressed to his cheek, and with a swift jump, he swept the slender blade across the soft underside of the beast's neck.

Morzas hissed and reared his head back as his left claw raised from the ground, though his movement was halted by the searing pain of Roy's blade gouging through his right foreleg.

"You traitor," Morzas thundered as his attention was drawn to Roy. "To turn on your own kind and band with this rabble! Humans are naught but worms that are to be ripped from the earth and crushed!"

"You're wrong," Roy growled. "Humans and dragons… they can live together if both sides wish for it. Your hatred only holds dragonkind back!"

A powerful feeling of foreboding weighed in the air and Roy stiffened.

Not but a short distance behind him, a familiar voice spoke flatly, "How naïve."

Morzas, Marth, and Roy all turned their attentions to the newcomer: a portal of blackness warped the air as a hooded figure stepped forth from the abyss.

"You!" Marth shouted. Roy's jaw set as he gripped his sword so tightly that the scales covering his knuckles ached as they pulled.

"Yes, me," the hooded mage drawled, clearly less chipper than their last meeting. "Try not to act so surprised."

Morzas sneered and his nostrils flared. "Your stench… what brings one like you here," he demanded to know.

"Medeus' orders," the mage responded. "I have been assigned with the task of eliminating the Altean prince."

Roy's blood ran cold as his eyes widened. "What?!"

A dissatisfied hiss escaped Morzas. "You? Some nameless mage whose soul is shackled with grief—what would you be capable of doing that I could not do?"

The mage let out an unamused huff. "I've no time for your squabbling," he said scornfully and shrugged. "You've already been injured. Just step aside and allow me to do the honors of ending this pitiful charade."

Without a second thought, Roy stepped in front of the hooded mage with his blade pointed. The mage's expression soured further at Roy's defiance.

"Your fight is not with Marth," Roy said firmly. "Your fight is with me."

After a few tense moments of silence, one corner of the mage's mouth twitched into the slightest hints of a smirk. "You are right. My fight truly lies with you. And after I tear your soul from your body, I will go after the prince next."

"Assuming you make it through me," Roy said. "I will not fall to you."

The mage grinned, revealing sharp teeth. "The defiance in your eyes reminds me of your father's. You do not deserve the dragonstone you bear, nor the sword in your hand. I will relish in taking them from you, along with everything else you hold dear," he said before he tilted his head up to Morzas. "You busy yourself with that Altean brat. I will finish this half-breed off and then join you once he breathes his last."

"Roy—" Marth called out, though the gaze that Roy shot Marth from over his shoulder silenced him.

His irises held a ferocity that reciprocated Marth's own. No words needed to be spoken; the two of them trusted each other's strengths.

Morzas boomed with draconic laugher, and Marth turned to face him. Before him towered his mother's murderer: a terrifying beast, drunk with power, and far beyond any redemption. Wickedness exuded from his being in a way that Marth had never experienced before.

"The hatred in your eyes is so pure," Morzas said. "Show me just how much a worm like yourself can writhe against my grip… I want to see you struggle!"

Without so much as another word, Marth dashed towards Morzas—his boots gouged the earth as he closed the gap between them, churning the mud and grass with heavy footfalls. Massive claws swung at him as he approached, yet none hit their mark. He leapt and swiped at Morzas once again, though the scales on Morzas' body were far too thick to be cut by Marth's rapier.

With a growl, Morzas whipped his head around to slam the spines along the side of it against Marth, which sent the prince flying back. He tumbled across the ground, yet he refused to lose his grip on his weapon. Spots dotted his vision as the world rocked, and his teeth gnashed together as he pressed his palms into the grass to push himself back to his feet. The force of their collision left him dizzy and nauseous, his vision swimming, though he refused to yield.

The memories of his mother filled his mind as Morzas loomed over him. Her smile, laughter, her gentle kisses on his forehead when he was a child—those memories would remain forever entombed in the past, sullied by blood. To be trapped alone for so long, prisoner in her own kingdom, only to meet her end by means unspeakable.

Marth's distress could only be eclipsed by his rage, and with shaking fingers, he pulled his rapier back to his cheek. Though his vision was clouded by what was likely a concussion, his path was still clear in front of him:

A path of vengeance, borne by blood, and ended by it.

Roy drew in a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs and sharpen his focus on the cloaked mage before him. His hands tightened their grip on the hilt of his sword.

The mage's blade made a sharp, metallic sound as he drew it before he lunged at Roy. His sword clashed with Roy's own and bits of flame sparked along its edge.

Their fight was much like a dance: the mage was swift and light on his feet, with quick strikes. His attacks were a far cry different from Roy's heavier, more powerful blows. Each clash of their swords hit almost to a beat.

A sharp pain seared through Roy's left arm as the mage's blade swept across his scales. With a hiss, Roy stepped back and raised his sword to block the mage's second attack. A smirk played on the man's face.

"Pathetic," he said as he pushed back. "Completely, utterly pathetic. Even with the power of a dragonstone you still lack so much."

Roy frowned deeply. "You…"

"I grow tired of this folly," the mage said as he pulled a tome from his robe. He held the open book in his left hand as he pointed at Roy with his blade. "Your bloodline has caused more than enough trouble."

With squinted eyes, Roy watched the mage critically. "My bloodline?"

A deafening, monstrous screech interrupted Roy's question and pierced their ears. Marth's blade had sunk to the hilt through Morzas' jaw, piercing through his head from underneath. The soft hide of his underbelly had served as little resistance, and his blood ran thick down his neck as he reared back with a roar. Droplets of blood sprayed from his maw as he choked, and with a strangled curse, the beast collapsed backwards into the earth.

The quake that followed shook the three of them that remained. Roy, having noticed his chance, made a dash towards the staggered mage as he switched the grip of his blade.

Fire suddenly graced his sword and with one swift, powerful slice upwards, the steel of his blade met flesh as he cut through the mage's face.

The mage's hood was sliced through, throwing his cowl back to reveal his face. Short teal hair whipped backwards as his back arched, and his red eyes were widened in shock. His weapons dropped from his hands as he stumbled backwards a few paces.

Time seemed to stand still as all went silent, and the clattering of weapons ceased. The mage stared upwards towards the clouded sky and said nothing, and blood, burned black and cauterized by flame, made a dark contrast to the glint of his fangs as his jaw hung open.

Finally, the mage curled forward as he brought his clawed left hand to his gouged cheek. The braid on the right side of his head dangled down in front of his pointed ear, and his fingers trembled.

"… You…" he finally said, his voice quiet. The tone of his voice made Roy's blood run cold, and Marth carefully made his way to Roy's side. "Your blade… you actually cut me."

Neither Marth nor Roy responded as they watched the mage with heightened alarm.

Slowly, the mage removed his left hand from his face as he started to straighten his back. His expression was unreadable—as if he were a moment away from going mad—and the red of his eyes was strikingly deep as he glared at Marth and Roy with abhorrence.

His expression strained with still-widened eyes. "You know nothing of what you have and yet you dare raise that blade against me…" he hissed through gritted teeth, though the volume of his voice remained quiet. "Your blade… your father… your bloodline… your kind. Dragonkind… humankind… all of it, you are the epitome of it all. How my hatred burns, like a searing brand on my heart, every time I lay eyes on you."

"Who are you?" Roy questioned as he clutched his hilt tighter.

"Who am I?" the mage's expression relaxed as he maintained eye contact with Roy. A throb tore his attentions away as he pressed his left hand to the gouge—the wound seared hot against his palm as the skin of his cheek stiffened beneath the dried blood.

That arcane force was intruding upon his body now, and it infuriated him. Bitter memories of Nergal being brought low by Eliwood, wielding the blazing Durandal, flashed through his eyes. To think that he would flirt with the same fate by the hands of Eliwood's brood was ludicrous.

A mad laugh tore from his throat as that final thread snapped, and the dragonstone at his chest glowed as he clutched at it with his right hand. Energy burst forth from him and the wind whipped into a roaring tempest.

"Who am I?" He repeated between chuckles. A tail, adorned with tattered fins, sprouted forth from behind him as he rose from the ground, and feathered wings spread from his back.

"I am Fafnir! The wings of despair! Harbinger of the end!" he said, and his voice echoed through the gales. Flames were drawn into the whorl and the earth beneath him burned. "Surrender your souls! All shall be torn asunder by my claws and scorched by the flames of divinity!"