Madelyn's Choice

By Becki

© Fire Emblem

Characters and ideas copyrighted to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems

Chapter Six: Ill Message

"Lord Hassar! Thank Father Sky I've found you!" Hassar and Wallace simultaneously turned to see a young man running down the hill to meet them. The man was easily identified as Sacaen, his dark olive hair over his eyes and the thin sword tied at his waist.

The two warriors were outside of Caelin castle, in a small valley were a small river cut across into the woods. The friends had decided to enjoy their break from training outside, but their quiet, joking conversation was interrupted by this call. Hassar instantly recognized the man, and he didn't like the fact that he looked so flustered.

"Kasha!" Hassar said, approaching the myrmidon. "What has happened? You were sent to find me?" He let the messenger catch his breath, and Wallace with his clanking armor approached the two Sacaens.

"I left... a week ago.. the Lorca are in dire need of you, sir." Hassar tensed.

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Why?" His tone was hard, and his face was no softer. When Hassar realized how severe his tone was, he mentally kicked himself. He had no intention of becoming fond of the outside world. True, the people of Caelin were no kinder to him now since the day he arrived. Then, why was he hesitant to return to Sacae, where he belonged?

Madelyn.

"This letter.. it is written by your mother.." Kasha quickly fumbled with loose parchment and handed a folded letter to Hassar. Wallace looked on towards the two, but dared not interrupt.

Hassar's eyes followed the recognizable writing, and the worst was confirmed. Covering his head with a hand and closing his eyes, he listened to his deep breaths, trying to keep calm.

"When.. when did this happen..?" His voice was shakier than intended.

Kasha lowered his head and his hands were at the hilt of his sword with a gesture of respect.

"Not long after I left. Your mother was concerned and wanted you back home immediately."

Hassar turned away from the messenger, nearly dropping the letter. There was a moment of silence that had some awkwardness in it, and he started to walk away from the two others.

"When will you return?" Kasha's voice asked. Hassar didn't turn, but answered loudly.

"When I am able. Return to the Lorca, Kasha. Tell my mother I will come." Without further bidding, the man turned and raced up the hills. Wallace's face was hard to translate, but he followed after his friend.

"Hassar, what is the meaning of this? Why do you look so grave? Look at me when I speak to you!" Wallace and his blunt demeanor crossed the Sacaen's thoughts, and he stopped after exhaling deeply. But he dared not turn.

So Wallace did it for him.

Putting a metal plated arm on his friend's shoulder just next to the shoulder guard, Wallace pulled gently. Hassar finally turned, his face full with a frown and eyes dark. Wallace sighed, and shook his head, taking back his rough question and gestures.

"Then.. if you are so reluctant to tell me what happened.. when do you plan to leave?"

"I.. don't know."

Madelyn realized that the castle was in higher spirits. The servants treated her so differently, with more respect and in seemingly congratulating intentions. She had not seen her father in days, and suspected that he was most likely outside of Caelin's walls, perhaps dealing with other Lycia lords or off inspecting.. something. But she felt uneasy with all this attention. It was as if everybody expected Lord Hausen to suddenly fall and die and quickly raise Madelyn as the heir to the throne. But even if this suspicion was not correct, she felt a fear to be afraid of what was going on.

In the shade of her own room, she had ordered everyone-her ladies-in-waiting and the servants- outside and only allowed the guards outside her door. She was trying to read the book which sat on her thigh, her knees drawn at a loose angle. The wind sneaked through the window, a cool breath on her clammy skin. Momentarily raising her head, she let the wind calm her nerves and encourage her. It was like a comforting embrace.

She looked out the window, and it was hard to see where the sun's position was at, the sky was completely gray with undetectable clouds hovering over the lands. It was a cold, bleak day. One of those days that was best dealt with a cup of tea and a book. But her cup had been long empty and was ice cold by the table. Her book was bland and uninteresting to read.

It was a bit early for reporting to her lesson with Hassar, but she wanted to speak to him anyway. That glance that seemed protective and wise. His strong grip on her hands, guiding her sword and teaching its ways. She had learned much from him, and felt in debt, in a way.

Madelyn put the book aside, and leaned back against the wall, her high-done ponytail like webs falling in a sheen of brown. Laughing with a clear girlish tone, she closed her eyes and wondered what more could happen. A great noble lady as she, learning to fight and combat in the style taught on the plains.

Rising, she flipped the strands of hair that fell over her shoulders with a flick of the wrist. Quickly dressing, she prepared to make one of her habitual outings.

Hassar was alone, outside, under a grove of trees. He leaned against one of the tall trees, the branches held high like a trophy. His shadow was dim against the ground, and the texture of the air was crisp yet foggy. Well, it seemed like it at least.

He held the letter in his hand. It must have been the hundredth time reading it, but each time his eyes fell over the next word, his disappointment clouded as thick as the sky on this day. He knew this day would come, but it seemed so soon.

Too soon.

It seemed unreal, untrue and deceiving. Was it not just yesterday, he was a child on the plains under the guidance of his sister, as they played and hid in the shelter of the tall grasses? In his mind, the scene played over and over again. Two children marveling at the wonders and being called in for the meal. Was it not just yesterday?

Or long years ago? His mind could not decide.

Time was like a flood, vivid at the time, but fading as the weather changed.

"Lord Hassar?"

The voice was gentle, a soft voice which succeeded in arousing him from his former thoughts. It was that voice that he knew so well, although his ears had not yet dwelled in yet a year of its words.

Madelyn stood under a tall sycamore, her head veiled in a dark hood. She looked no different from the day he had met her, at the crowded day in the bazaar. Her face and figure blended in the crowd, but he could see all the difference.

He was quiet, but folded the letter and removed it from sight. But those teal eyes noticed, they saw all.

"Does something plague you?" She frowned but did not approach him. One hand was raised, fingers curled delicately. But he did not answer this question.

"You're here." He said, looking distantly at the castle in the background. He hardly ever saw her unless it was during one of their lessons. It was unusual that she had risked to see him at this time. Perhaps.. she had heard to news? It seemed highly unlikely.

"Hm." She breathed, and looked tenderly at the trees. "This was my favorite place as a child. But.." She touched the trunk of the tree, fingering the folds on the rough bark. "These trees were planted by knowing hands. I had never seen the true blessings of Mother Earth, where the trees grew naturally by her touch. Everything I have was made to be enjoyed by humans."

"...." Hassar turned to her, feeling the weight of that earring as he did so. Her expression was in a pensive state, draped arms low.

After the dragging moments of silence, Hassar looked away.

"Later.. There is something of importance that I must tell you." Madelyn turned and stared with a crinkled frown at his back.

"Why.. not tell me now?" She clearly knew that something serious must have happened.

"I do not think I am able to." Hassar said truthfully, looking at the serene landscape far from his eyes. The birds soaring far in the blank sky caught his eyes, freely falling and rising on the drifts. His hand was instinctively at the sword by his side, and each second seemed to speed right passed.

"I.. I must return now." Madelyn turned back, looking a bit disappointed. "I might be missed." Hassar had a feeling that she was just trying to get away. But she added earnestly. "You will be at the Training grounds at the usual time, yes?"

"Yes. I will be there." But he did not turn to look at her. She moved with such stealth and silence that after a few minutes when he did turn, he saw that she was gone.

It felt normal in her hands. As if she had always been destined with a sword at her palm, her sensitive fingers which had begun to build an immunity against the rough hilt. Her nails were scratched, underarms sore and bruised. But she was improving. Her reflexes were quick and her grace was definitive. But she sorely lacked physical strength. She hoped that these long hours of training fixed that.

Hassar watched her as she practiced the fients and parries into the air, swiping at the clouds of swarming gnats. He was impressed by her quick-learning and witty tongue. This was their sixth consecutive week that they had lessons. Perhaps it was time..

He took two blunt practice swords, the metal sanded off so that they wouldn't hurt even the softest skin of the most fragile baby. Madelyn turned to see him coming, and paused in a mid-turn. Sheathing her sword, she took one of the blunt swords from him.

He looked serious as he raised his own.

"You are ready for combat. Don't forget your lessons even as the time of battle slips by." She nodded, and stood in a loose but quick stance. The opponents stepped back from each other. Madelyn with her fair figure and wind-tossed hair. Hassar and his tall stature and hard face.

"Begin." He said, signaling their start.

Madelyn began her first move, and started to move across at a slow pace towards him. Hassar made sure to keep his distance from her, and they began to circle.

Madelyn's eyes were straight at Hassar, and their eyes locked for a moment.

This was when Hassar lunged.

His sword just barely reflected off of hers, but it had slid almost a foot beyond her sword's defenses, and she jumped back in surprise with an unwanted cry. Hassar frowned and drew back momentarily, and let her recover her stance.

"Don't look at me." He ordered. "Keep your eyes on the sword." And she obeyed instantly, realizing the error in what she did.

Hassar leaned down and threw a jab at and around her knees. A common move to fall an enemy. But he did not put all his force into it, this fight was meant to be easier because it was her first experience in combat.

She saw the gleam of the sword and stepped aside of her opponent's sword, prepared to return a blow of her own. Metal clashed as Hassar had drawn up his blade to combat hers. Not wasting a single minute, she made for a lunge at his side, only to meet another vibration on her hilt where Hassar was ready to meet her.

She needed an attack that was unexpected. It was obvious that he was not putting his entire strength behind every parry. But it was fortunate for her that it was so.

Ducking low, the Sacaen made a horizontal swing at her. With her own vertical stance, she forced her sword down to make a cross shape with his blade. The swords seemed to lock into each other. Knowing that her strength could never win against his, she swung her weight to one side and released her blade from the tension.

This was a move that Hassar had not expected. But he was well prepared nonetheless. Getting close to the ground, he put one palm on the ground for balance and their blades clashed again.

Now that Madelyn had the advantage of altitude, it was easier for her to overpower him to the ground. The steel swords tensed and strained against each other, and Madelyn found it hard to find secure footing. So she leaned back slightly, her sword at a horizontal status.

"...!" With a simple pluck into the air, Hassar swung his sword up with a sudden burst of strength, knocking the sword from her hands. She stopped as his sword was just below her chin, and heard the sword fall into the sand some meters behind her.

Madelyn lowered her arms and smiled weakly.

"You won." She said. He lowered his sword, and let a grin sneak up himself.

"So I have. But I was surprised at your skill for first combat." He got up and pointed the practice sword to the ground. Madelyn turned around and pulled the sword which had landed with it's point in the sand.

After raising it, she brushed off the particles of sand off of the dull edge.

"Swordplay is an art." She said simply. "At the castle, I am taught to dance and paint. To write poems and literature. But as swordplay is as close to most of those things.. it is forbidden that I am taught to fight." She put a hand on the hilt of her real sword by her side. "And even own a sword." He took the practice sword from her, and she stared into the darkening sky.

"It was as if.. my hands were so accustomed to the quick dance of fighting. To.. paint the strokes with the blade. I've.. never felt so familiar to anything like this." She turned and looked at him, smiling. "I must sound so awkward."

"Not at all." He replied tossing both swords on a patch of straw. "I've been watching you practice for quite a while now. Your style is unlike any I've seen. You are not.. like a fighter. But an artist. Someone who puts meaning in each stroke."

The side of her mouth was curved upwards in the smile.

"I'm not anyone." She said modestly. "I'm just a trapped, spoiled child in the role of a Noblewoman." Her eyes were low, with an 'out-there' look. Hassar turned slightly. It looked as if he wanted to say something, but didn't know what.

"Lady.." He said softly, his profile to her. She looked up at him, and he could see the shine of her eyes from the corner of his own.

"Yes..?"

"I got news today.. of my father."

Madelyn tensed.

"And..?"

"My father.. Chieftain of the Lorca, has passed away." Madelyn put her hands to her mouth.

"Surely.." She started, but did not finish. Hassar could not bear to look at her.

"Tomorrow.. will be our last lesson." He said, face down with his eyes clothes, his brow drawn. "I will be leaving Caelin late that night."

The door shut almost automatically behind her. The sword dropped through her hands, hitting the ground below with a dull clamber. She fell on her knees, her head down, hair over her eyes. The shadows were dark over her face as her back leaned painfully at a sharp angle by the door.

Something splattered on the ground just by her leg. Something that shone in the moonlight, and spread like a drop. Another followed, wetting the ground with sorrow. Her hands were loose at the sword's scabbard, and the moonlight shed upon her pale face.

Those trembling hands raised and covered her face.

I knew he would not stay long.. He was just to be my friend and teacher.. She told herself over and over again. I knew he would.. Her face felt cold, but the drops which fell down her face and by her lip felt so hot. There was a wind that shuddered through the room, draping the curtains as the cloth fluttered.

She leaned back with her shoulder blades flat and aching against the door. Her neck tilted back into a curve over her right shoulder. Another tear fell with a sparkle, bathed with the eerie light. Her lashes fluttered, but her eyes remained closed.

But if I knew.. why.. am I crying..?