-Dark Flame-
(C) Fire Emblem
Original ideas copyrighted to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems
Fan Fiction by Becki
And alas, Becki is deciding to skip around in years once more...(and it won't be the last time either..)
Six summers later..
Chapter Nine: Captain Aidan
'Caelin.'
Rath read upon laying eyes on the plaque. It was what was written at the portrait of the noblewoman in the hall just descending to the dining hall. The woman whose facial expression was always the same, pained behind a fake mask of a smile. He continued his way down through the hall, keeping his head in front of him.
Roland had taught him to read. The elderly gentleman who had agreed to guide the Sacaen youth and teach him the ways of Araphen. The man who had a strong liking for the boy since the tournament. It was obvious why he was named after the valorous general.
And Roland explained weeks after Rath was taken in by Marquess Araphen that it was he who had entered the nomad into the tournament. Rath seemed rather grim at the statement, but did not say much. He was thankful that Roland had done so in a strange, ironic way.
Rath's archery could only get better. His shot was so accurate and quick that many began to envy his skill. But to them, he was just a silent, expressionless, sixteen year old youth who said nothing unless spoken to. But his silent nature was dying slowly, and he began to speak freer.
Roland had beckoned the Sacaen to come to his home for important matters. Rath felt no urgency in the situation, because it was one of his many times visiting. Amy was the same as she had always been, grown to be a stubborn young lady with a temper as fiery as her orange locks.
He stepped outside, the sun glaring down on him. A few guards greeted him, and Rath responded with a sage nod. He was unequipped at the moment, feeling bare without his weapons. But his shoulder guard was readily strapped over his chest and proved to be of some defense.
Rath was given clothing by the servants of Araphen castle as he grew older. He was dressed like any other Lycian native, a simple olive colored tunic with a pair of leather boots. He still wore his bandana, feeling it necessary to keep the sunrays out of his eyes (although his hair already did that job for him).
Roland's home was a humble hut built in a small village of other buildings at the south end of the Castle's property. It was a ten minute walk from where Rath lodged, and Rath descended upon it at a quick pace.
Speed. It was all that mattered to one who lived on the Sacaen plains. If they were not quick enough, their prey would slip through their fingers. If they were not brisk in moving their tents and gers, their rations would diminish and leave them vulnerable.
He stopped at Roland's door and gave a quick knock at the door. There was shuffling inside, but no footsteps to open the door. He waited patiently and listened for more noise. There was none.
As he was about to knock again, Amy came around the side with a bucket full of water.
"What are you doing?" She asked with a cross frown. Her hair was loose and kept out of her eyes with a yellow bandana. Her apron was dirty with fingerprints on the white cloth.
"Is your grandfather home?" He asked, and she puckered her lip with thought.
"He should be." But she came forward and Rath stepped out of the way. She pushed the door open with a scratched knee and continued inside. "Well come on in, you'll let in a draft." She said when he hesitated outside.
Rath stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Amy set the wooden bucket harshly on the table, and the water sloshed at the sides, spilling small drops on the wood.
She opened the door to another room leaving Rath to wait alone. He could hear voices, Amy's then Roland's surprised tone. The conversation moved for a few more minutes, then Amy came outside, Roland accompanying her. His face was sallow, and he seemed older than usual. His eyes lit up as he saw the youth standing near the door.
"Ah, Sir Rath." He said, not dropping any formality. "It is of fortune that ye were able t'attend today." He leaned against the table as Amy watched on with a disapproving look.
"Grandpa, you should be resting.."
"'Tis nothing, 'tis nothing." He reassured her with a wave of a hand. "By and by, there is something important that I'd like ye t'do." He beckoned Rath towards him, and turned to go through the door. Rath followed as instructed, holding open the door as Roland came through in front of him.
The room was dark with the windows shut halfway. A figure huddled in the corner of the room, and Roland held out a hand to stop Rath from coming any closer.
"Careful, lad. She's been badly hurt by the guards, I'm afraid. Won't talk to anybody or anyone." Rath frowned slightly.
"What can I do that anybody else can't?" He asked softly, and Roland hushed him, turning to see the Sacaen and his granddaughter's faces.
"She's Sacaen. I believe that perhaps she'll be more free to speak to ye, Sir Rath. Amy-" The girl looked up at the elderly gentlemen quizzically. "...Let us leave." She nodded and they both left the room, closing the door with a gentle click.
Rath turned back to the figure in the corner, noticing that they trembled, relaxing ever so slightly as the door closed. Rath approached slowly in a way not to frighten her.
She raised her face. Her face was streaked with mud and there were streaks from the tears. Her hair was the Sacaen green, eyes a light amber. When she saw him, she fell back and tried to hide her face again.
She was young. Looked older than Rath, perhaps four or five years his senior. But she slowly raised her glimpse to study him further.
"Y-you're Sacaen.." She said with hesitance in her voice.
"I am Rath of the Kutolah tribe." He replied.
"You.. won't hurt me.. will you?" He saw the bruises which marked her face. "Why.. do you wear their clothes..?" He paused, but chose not to answer.
"What is your name?"
"..I- I am Haru of the Lorca." She said, pronouncing the words precisely.
"How did you come to Araphen? Were you.. an outcast?" He said as gently as he could, but could not avoid the bluntness of the idea.
"N-no.. My mother was a seamstress.. we sought work in Roland's lands, our Chieftain believed that it would make better ties with the Lycians.. But.. on our way.. to.. to Caelin, my mother was taken, they.." She swallowed, but did not cry, as if all of her tears had dried up.
"They said saw her dyes and the luck charms that our diviner gave her for luck. They thought she was a thief with those expensive gifts. She protested, but they just laughed. When I spoke out against them, they.. they beat me."
"Who.. is they..?"
"Them." She said softer, voice breaking. "The men at the castle gate."
"...And.. Roland brought you here..?"
"No..." She said, giving him a strange look. "That old man did."
"..." He paused again, but did not bother to tell her Roland's name. "You can speak to him. He and his granddaughter are kind people."
"...I'm.. afraid to. These people.. they treated us like.. animals."
If only you knew. Rath thought almost angrily and frowned. She looked up at his disturbed expression.
"You.. are you with them..?" He saw the shine from the tears which wet her eyes. She sounded doubtful, afraid of this youth who was of similar blood and younger years. He turned away from her.
"I am here to serve. But my heart was long lost."
Rath knew he was disliked by his fellow soldiers. They gave him those looks, critically looked at the color of his hair, the Sacaen guise he took. It didn't help much either after Haru had made clothes for him to wear. She felt uncomfortable watching him in those Araphen uniforms, and asked him randomly once what his favorite color was.
It was easy for him to say green. The color that he missed most. But when he thought about it, he remembered what had given him warmth when only cold remained. The soft color that would bathe his face every morning with new hope.
He said orange. She gave him a smile, and within the next week had a pair of folded up clothes sewn up for him in the traditional Sacaen fashion. And the first day he wore them, she said (quite haltingly) that he looked better in them.
And he preferred the new set of clothing anyways. It was long since he had seen that triangle pattern upon the 'Y' shaped neck. It was more comfortable, and matched a bit better anyways. Haru began to open up to Roland and Amy, finally convinced that they would not harm her. Rath often saw her laughing and talking to Amy, and Amy had said that Haru was almost like an older sister.
Rath saw Captain Aidan occasionally give him suspecting looks. Captain Aidan was the head captain of Araphen's men, he was the highest ranking official. But his demeanor was just as cold as his black armor. He never spoke to Rath since he had joined unless it was to bark some sort of order. And the Sacaen had a feeling that the man didn't like him.. at all.
As Rath came down from the stables with his gray stallion and quiver to resume his training, he saw the paladin at a distance with his black mount. The Captain was staring directly at him, and Rath knew better than to stare back like he usually did. Instead, he chose to ignore the man, leading the faithful steed down the rugged hill.
But no such luck.
Captain Aidan called him. His voice was deep and brusque, commanding with no courtesy.
So Rath came obediently as any soldier was ordered to. Aidan watched him critically, looking down at his clothes and then at his own horse.
"Sir Rath." He said with mocking formality. "You seem rather in a hurry today."
"No, general." He replied with an expressionless face. "I am often in this type of hurry."
"Ah, good call." Aidan said, but he did not laugh. "Would you like to spar with me today? I would like to see how your famed skills would hold in battle. You.. have not faced the live combat of battle, have you?'
"....." Rath didn't like where this was leading. "......not since I have joined Araphen's ranks." But he had sparred regularly with the other men.
Aidan's eyes were two empty pools staring through the youth. He raised his spear and watched the point critically. Rath waited, keeping silent.
"Well, it would be of terrible waste to let your famed talent stray. Now, let's begin, shall we?"
Now..? Rath thought, finding inconvenience in the chosen time. But he dare not disobey. He started towards the quarters. "I shall go get my training arrows, then." He announced, remembering the location of the blunt pointed arrows in his room.
"Oh, that's not necessary. Now, begin!" He said, catching Rath off-guard. So the first thing the young man did was mount the gray stallion. The horse paced uneasily beneath him, and Rath clicked his tongue in a calming order.
He had just barely got on the saddle before he saw the Captain lunge towards him on his black steed. Rath reared the horse and just barely passed the Captain.
It was an unfair advantage. Rath, as an archer had a hard time attacking at close range. But he knew that the Captain was only toying with him. Perhaps use it as an example saying that he was not qualified enough to be in Araphen's ranks. Rath knew that the people around him were not overly fond of him, excluding Roland and his family. Even the Marquess seemed to speak freely about the 'barbaric rituals of the savage plainspeople' with no respect to Rath's presence.
As these suspicions roamed his mind, a spear came down on him, and Rath just barely flinched. It struck the ground beside him.
No.. He thought plainly. The captain was aiming to kill him. And it was obvious. The look of acrid hatred in the black eyes. This was no normal joust.
The captain, seeing that he had lost his spear drew his sword. The dull edged sword with the stains of permanent red upon the sharp edge.
With a loud cry, he ran full speed at the Sacaen. Rath dared not take his arrows against the Captain, knowing that the consequences for wounding Aidan would be severe. Yet another excuse to point fingers at him.
But the gray stallion was skilled by this time. It knew when anybody tried to harm its rider or itself. And as a Sacaen steed, it bolted at the slightest order Rath made on the reins. Captain Aidan swerved away, swinging his sword madly at the nomad's head.
It hit Rath's jaw, close to the curve of his ear. Rath's instincts forced him to pull back upon feeling his own blood flow down his neck and stain his clothes.
The crimson like dark blots splattered into the soft, orange clothing. Rath felt his skin suddenly exposed to the open air, and he cursed softly. It was hard to say whether the Captain was trying his hardest, or believed Rath to be no challenge for him. But Rath knew that his aim was to somehow hurt him.
It almost made him laugh. But Rath never laughed. It was a cursed sound, something that his young ears had only drowned in. He could hardly remember the time last when he had let a chuckle escape. To him, laughing was just as bad as cursing the gods.
So he took up his short bow. And drew an arrow.
The Chief Captain was slowing his horse, recovering from the sudden burst of speed. This gave Rath an opening to attack.
He nocked his bow and raised the arrow's point, watching the black figure. He closed an eye to focus better. The black was very easily picked out, and with a deep exhale of hair, he released the tension in the bowstring.
He had aimed at the man's breastplate, at the center where the metal was thickest. Only a warning, he decided, nothing that would hurt him. But nevertheless, he was more than appalled to see the arrow land its mark in the man's neck, just over the man's collar and under his jutting chin.
"Father sky.." Rath said out loud, watching as the man gurgled and spat blood to the ground. Aidan's sword fell to the ground and clashed loudly against the rocks. Barely five minutes into the match, Rath had already supplied the fatal wound upon his opponent.
It seemed like hours as the Captain fell from his saddle and upon the ground with a deadening thump. His eyes looked up at Rath, the abhorrence still clearly visible. The black horse made no movement, as if it did not know the master had fallen.
Rath just barely caught the surprised voices behind him. Angry voices, frightened ones.
And men came from as if nowhere grabbed him from all sides, forcing him off of the stallion. These angry hands confiscated his bow, and Rath felt his own hands pinioned from behind.
The High Captain of Araphen was dead. The highest quality knight killed by the hands of a training nomad of sixteen years.
But Father Sky and Mother Earth would not let Rath die at the hands of foreigners.
Sometimes, he wished they would be more merciful.