Seth had the new recruits start training drills as soon as possible. Eirika protested at first, said it was too soon, and they'd already been through so much. But the boy they'd pulled from the village that no longer existed, Colm, had readily agreed. And the girl, Neimi, who never seemed to stop trembling, nodded firmly too, her jaw set.
What do you do when everything is lost, or close to it? The two of them were so young, even younger than Eirika, but to their credit, they hadn't stopped trying. Neimi hit target after target. She missed once, just once, and Colm was watching, as always. He leaned up against a tree, arms folded, almost bored-looking, like they weren't children training for war.
"You have to stop shaking," he said, rolling his eyes. "The enemy can see it a mile away."
It was the wrong thing to say, Eirika could tell from the sudden panic on his face, and Neimi immediately started sniffling. Eirika was almost ready to join in, because she was so afraid of every battle too, but Colm was there in a second with his arm around Neimi's shoulders.
"I'm sorry," he said, in a gentle voice Eirika hadn't heard him use for anyone else. "I didn't mean it like that. I just think... I know you can do better."
"You're right," murmured Neimi, and then her eyes were still misty but the tears were gone. And she was restringing her bow, and Colm was leaning back again like he didn't have a care in the world. So not everything was lost.
Father was dead. Ephraim wasn't here. Eirika felt like she was missing limbs. But she had her sword arm, and it would have to do.
She was surprised the first time Colm asked to spar with her. She was worried she'd hurt him at first, but he was fast, and stronger than he looked. She knocked him back with the wooden sword but he landed neatly on his feet, unfazed. She found herself getting into the spirit, holding back less and less, until she struck him hard between the ribs, clanging his borrowed breastplate that didn't fit, and he cried and fell to the ground.
Eirika yelped, throwing her sword aside, but Colm was already trying to pull himself up. She grasped his hand and heaved, and he was back on his feet again.
"I didn't mean to hit you so hard," she said anxiously.
He waved her off. "It's alright. I'd rather get bruises now than deep wounds later."
The adrenaline buzzed in her blood, and she spoke on impulse. "Colm. Are you sure you want to be here at all? You can leave if you like. You can-" go home. She cut herself off before she could misspeak, but the words were already hanging in the air.
Colm gave her a strange grimace. She thought it might be his attempt at a smile. "It's okay, Lady Eirika. Neimi, and me... we don't have anywhere to go back to anymore. I feel... different. Ever since Lark burned down. I think I have to be here."
Eirika understood. Home was gone; she had to be here too.
Eirika sat by the river in the dead of night. She had hoped the sound of rushing water would hide her crying, but no tears would come. She'd left Ephraim back at camp, trying to sharpen his lance with gritted teeth and entirely too much force. Forde watched him with sad eyes, Kyle fixed his on the ground.
She'd left Lyon to that monster.
No. He'd left her, a long time ago.
Neimi had a quiet tread. She bore of the blood of her grandfather, the hunter, after all. She touched Eirika's shoulder, feather-light, but it didn't stop Eirika from tensing with surprise.
Neimi opened her mouth to apologise but Eirika interrupted, head bowed- "Don't worry. It's alright." Her voice was loud over the sound of the river and entirely too wavering, but Neimi passed no judgement. Instead she settled down next to her, kneeling close by on the rough grass.
"There are a lot of people I love who are gone now too," she confided. Eirika hadn't heard her speak so firmly before. "But there are people here who need me. And you. So please don't give up."
Eirika didn't notice her tears until one fell onto Neimi's lap, landing on her clenched fist. Neimi clasped her hand and squeezed. The tears kept coming, but she felt stronger for them.
When Fomortiis was dead, they began the journey back. Back where? Home, said Ephraim, hugging Eirika hard.
There was already talk among the knights, word from the council, of a reconstruction. Eirika couldn't imagine home ever being the same again, even with a new ruler and reformed policy and new staff to fill the places of the dead.
They were still marching home and she and Ephraim were already being given duties to perform, urgent arrangements to make, people to reassure. Seth showed up in her tent on the third night, bowed deeply and apologised in advance, and asked her to include Orson on the list of tributes to the dead. She agreed without hesitation, controversy and outrage be damned. Another person missing from the place where he belonged, another face she'd never see again.
A week later, with the capital visible on the horizon, she received a notice on scrappy parchment paper, written in a shaky hand and littered with small mistakes. Eirika read it anyway. It asked the new ruler of Renais to help rebuild a small village to the south of the capital called Lark. We don't need much. Just help with the fields, and to fix the houses, and maybe to spread the word that people can come home and help now. It was signed with two names: one in the practiced hand, shaky but clear and true, and one scrawled in a hurry, like the writer didn't think it was so important. But Eirika knew better.
Eirika slipped out of her tent to speak to them, but paused when she happened upon the clearing of their small camp, the firepit they made still glowing in the night with weak embers. Colm and Neimi were fast asleep and sprawled against a log, limbs askew, leaning against each others' shoulders, a makeshift quill falling out of Neimi's open palm. They looked like one of Forde's paintings, the ones that were funny but sweet, strange in composition but so natural that they made sense. So she left them where they belonged for now and resolved to help keep their peace.
