I do not own Fire Emblem or Harry Potter. Fire Emblem belongs to Nintendo and Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. All song lines belong to their original singers. I own all original characters and the plotline.
Chapter VIII:
Pitture
. . . Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive . . .
-'Iris' by the Goo-Goo Dolls
Firefly rubbed her temples, nearly wrenching her hair from her head and screaming out profanity in various languages. This couldn't be happening, it just couldn't happen to her. "I swear, I'm going to get gray hair before I'm twenty with this lot, and I'm only two years away from that!"
"So let me hear it again. The Sword Demon's amnesic, we're lost from our commanders and Farina's worried about that blasted winged pony of hers?" asked Geitz slowly as though trying to understand something very hard. He had only woken up about a minute after Karel had and it was clear he was about as cheery as Firefly was. One of his arms had been broken and it had taken the last of Firefly's cloak to make a sling. She now wore her precious coat as a midriff jacket, going poorly with the rest of her green attire.
"Yeah, do we need to spell it out?" snapped Firefly, "St. Elimine help me, WHAT DID I DO TO YOU!" she yelled to the sky, pointing a finger at it accusatorily.
"Exist?"
"Please, no jokes Mr. Hero," barked the tactician with a dark giggle while waving her finger in Harken's face, "And by the rights invested in me by my BRILLIANT tactical mind and my contract with Ely-Woody gives me ABSOLUTE POWER! Sir Harken, go find so shelter."
"That's why I came back, people here FEAR knights," growled Harken, a vein twitching in his temple, "Some woman screamed at the sight of me just because she caught a look at my sword." His gloved hand twitched as he wrapped it around the golden hilt of his Brave Sword.
Karel came between the two, limping slightly pitifully on his leg. Although Firefly's orb had saved him from mortal peril, it had not completely healed his wounds and his right leg was still fractured, though she didn't know the extent of the injury. "Look," he said sharply, "This woman's right, if we have any hope of living longer then the day, we'd better find some shelter."
"See? He knows what a genius I am, why won't you admit it Harken?" said Firefly brightly, sweeping up her pale hair for a moment into a bun then allowing it to fall back down on her neck.
Harken was trying not to let loose his temper, and simply grit his teeth and looked away from her. Farina, whose eyes were narrowed, sighed angrily. "Look, let's just find some place to crash until we get an idea what the hell happened, 'kay? And Firefly, it's not your idea, its common sense."
"You're all just jealous," she said, pouting.
"Of what, your oblivious nature to everything around you or the humor that's made us think about firing you and getting a new tactician?"
"Ha! Like Lord Eliwood would ever do that to me! Sides, he likes me." She nodded knowingly and pointed a thumb into her chest.
'Just keep telling yourself that,' thought Farina glumly, giving Firefly sharp glares and near disgusted glares.
With a thud, Nino landed on her arm very painfully. Giving a soft cry of pain, she blinked and winced as she moved her injured limb. Her clear, crystalline eyes looked around her new location, suddenly giving magic a whole new perspective. The disk the old man had given them had taken the small group to a large, roomy castle hall with large windows on the sides, decorated in rich, warming colors and suits of highly polished armor. It was, at least to say, impressive. She stood quickly, clutching her raggedy tome tightly, and felt Jaffar's rough callused hand grip her upper arm in a tight squeeze. Glancing back, she felt herself shiver. The legendary killer's face was hard as always but his hand was gripped tightly upon the hilt of one of his daggers.
"So, any idea where we are?" asked Lucius nervously, getting to his feet and wincing slightly. Nino knew it had to be his leg, a Wyvern Lord had presented him with a nasty gash from his spear and he had not had the chance yet to heal it.
"Not a clue," mused Legault, looking around. His violet eyes caught the silver suits of armor and gold framed painting. "Very well to do place, must be some noble's home."
"I would prefer if you didn't speak so negatively Mr. Thief," snipped a brisk, female voice, accented even stranger from Dumbledore's crowd. Everyone looked around for the speaker and the woman clicked her tongue loudly before speaking in clipped tongues. "The painting you twits, to your right!"
"Saint's grace, what is this?" yelled Isadora, drawing her sword and looking the painting Legault had just been staring at. It showed a blonde haired woman with deep emerald eyes and chocolate colored skin, leaning lazily against a violet curtained backdrop. She had a heart-shaped face and a richly tailored gown, fat sapphires at her throat and ears. The painting rolled her eyes, making Nino jump slightly.
"Honestly, the barbarians the Headmaster lets into the castle are unbearable, I would have thought those accursed twins were enough but no, now comes a set of rejects from King Arthur's court. I swear to the heavens above, Time Turners can bring forth all kinds of weirdoes and maniacs."
"You watch your mouth painting," snapped Isadora, the silver blade of her noble sword inches from ripping the canvas of the woman's painting. The subject merely looked at the sword and clicked her tongue impatiently again.
"Silly girl, you think that's going to hurt me? This painting's been around longer then you have and you'll have to face the wrath of the whole Ravenclaw house if you destroy me," sniggered the woman, lazily flipping back her hair.
"Okay then," said Lucius, regaining himself from the nasty shock of having a painted picture talk to you, and bowing gently towards her, "Sorry for our rudeness, ma'am, but could you please tell us where we are exactly?"
"Ah, you have some manners," said the woman, folding her arms across her chest and giving a mad grin, "You are at Hogwarts castle, and you'll do well not to help your hands on our items Mr. Thief, we'll know it's been you."
"How so, dare I ask?" asked Legault with a thin smile, probably finding extreme amusement in having a portrait insult him.
"Do you really think I'm the only painting that moves? Every single one does and there's that demon cat stalking the night, oh yes, very demonic. She knows everything that goes on at the castle after curfew. Though I suppose that won't bother you, now will it?" she simpered, eyes sparkling.
"May we have your name?" asked Nino softly.
"Ah yes, I am Rowena Ravenclaw, founder of the Ravenclaw house and the youngest of the four founders. And you ruffians must be Roland's kinsman, am I correct? Polite lad he was, a bit quick tempered but you couldn't find a better chef . . ."
"You KNEW Lord Roland?" gaped Isadora, "The founder of Lycia, the first king of Ostia?"
"Lycia, 'eh? Bit stupid name for a country if you ask me, but then again it's better then America, or even France mind you. Yes girl, I did and you do well to address me as Lady Rowena when you speak with me. If your looking for your bizarre friends, they're in the great hall, just follow the carpet to get there." She jerked her thumb to the right and the long table-runner looking rug. "And I suggest you learn some manners Mr. Thief and do something about that horrible scar. The dramatical effect is non existent, if that's what you were going for."
Legault chose to ignore this. "Well, that was an interesting conversation. Imagine, a living panting," muttered Lucius and Nino noted how he limped on every alternate step.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it but painting's aren't supposed to criticize you, they're suppose to hang on the wall and sit there," snapped Isadora, her sword still clasped in her right hand. There was a faint blush upon her cheeks, her pride probably serious offended from being insulted and reprimanded by a portrait.
"Well, I suppose so but if you're in need of a conversation you can always find one," said Lucius cheerily, trying to bring up the group's morale. It didn't seem to be working well.
"Having a conversation with that woman is like trying to talk to a drunk Firefly. Believe me, I've tried," said Legault swiftly, walking a little faster then the rest of their group.
"When have you tried to talk to a drunk tactician?" asked Isadora, turning to the thief.
"Her birthday, remember? It was about the time we were headed to Nabata, we were staying at an inn in Ostia and she suddenly ordered drinks for everyone in the inn, in honor of her eighteenth birthday." When the female Paladin continued to frown, Legault's smile widened. "Probably better you don't remember. She thought Hector was her husband and tried to make out with him right then and there."
". . . Okay . . ."
Legault was still smiling as though the memory brought back some pleasure only he could get out of the situation. Nino herself was glad she wasn't there during the incident, it was probably one of the less pleasant memories one could have.
"Firefly doesn't seem the kind of person to do something like that though," said Nino quietly and Lucius turned to look at her with a smile.
"Well, a year ago she wasn't really like that but she did drink herself silly at the feast Lord Hausen threw for the safe return of Lady Lyn and embarrass herself by claiming she was a FalcoKnight and that all bend at her will, but I guess a year is a pretty long time for somebody to change."
Nino giggled slightly, pulling Legault's cloak tighter to her still cold body. "She did that?"
"Yep."
"Why is it hard to picture her doing that?"
". . . You haven't been with us long enough to know what Firefly is really like . . ." muttered Lucius darkly, leaning against his staff for a moment as a grimace of pain crossed his face from his injured leg.
Coughing horribly, Rebecca tried desperately to get ash out of her eyes as she steeped out of a fireplace grate. Her vision was blurred and her eyes itched from the soot, but after a few furious blinks her gaze came into a near complete focus. "That was the worst experience of my life!" she snapped, turning to face Wil who had just clambered out of the fireplace as well. Her childhood friend was completely covered in ash from head to foot, his normally auburn hair pitch black and the only color on his person were his watering, bloodshot hazel eyes.
"Well, it could be worse," said the young Sniper brightly, coughing out more soot. "Enlighten me," she barked sarcastically, rolling her eyes and wiping soot from her face on her scarf and only bringing more soot to her face.
"Serra could be complaining," he said, still overly cheery, running his hands through his hair and shaking ash from it. His hair was now partially streaked with its normal chestnut color, giving him a very bizarre look.
A loud clunk of armor and a vast amount of coughing announced the arrival of the Caelin Knight's Commander. Kent, his copper hair turned black from soot, stood shakily, still hacking horribly. "That was a pleasant experience," he said sarcastically, looking somewhat nauseous. Rebecca couldn't blame him; she was wondering why she wasn't sick with all that spinning.
"Wasn't it?"
Another crash of armor signaled Sain's arrival. He got quickly to his feet and blinked to get the ash out of his eyes, doing little in the field of success and only serving to irritate them more. "Ah, even covered in ash, you are still beautiful as ever Lady Rebecca!" The female Sniper growled.
"Cram it Sain, I'm not in the mood."
"Well why not?" said a cool female voice, "I think your friend's very handsome, even if he's coated an inch thick in ash." The group jumped, turning. Nobody else was near the fireplace they had just come out of, and there wasn't any corners where somebody could hide in. There was a large painting of two women was on the wall next to the fireplace though. One was blonde with dark skin, dressed in a pale blue gown fit for nobility and her companion was very tall and thin with high cheekbones and a narrow face. Her long sheet of bright, platinum hair framed around her rather youthful face and her long, white and lavender robes clung to her body in a pretty – but not seductive – manner. The dark skinned woman seemed to be the one who had made the comment.
"DEMON PAINTING!" yelled Rebecca, drawing an arrow and sinking it into the canvas.
"Dammit girl, you just ruined good piece of canvas!" yelled the dark skinned woman furiously, "All the paintings talk and move here, so get used to it!"
"Wow, talking paintings, that's interesting," murmured Erk's voice from behind the group. The Sage was looking very irritable; the reason being the orb atop his Mend staff had been smashed, rendering the thing useless, or that most of his tome had been turned black from soot.
"Hey, your cute too," said the other woman in a voice distinctly Etrurian, "And, ah ha! You're a Sage I see. Young for one, aren't you?"
"Wait, you're from Elibe?" asked Kent sharply, looking at the second woman. She smiled slightly and nodded.
"Yes I am, good knight. Let me introduce myself formally." She curtsied low and spoke to Kent's face, which was amusing considering her entire body was about the size of it. "I am Elimine, bishop of Etruria."
End Chapter VIII: Pitture
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