Author's Note: Whoa! 3 reviews! (:O) And here I was, not expecting any…
Warning: Again, there will be OC/OC romance and OC/FE romance later in the story. I'll do my best not to fall into the typical ranks of OC fics, but…feh. I'm just a wee little girl, after all (o.O). I will also try my best to keep the OC/FE pairing to a minimum. (one or two is the number I'm shooting for)
Second Warning: This is something I forgot to mention in the first chapter—since that I've defeated the game only two times (and don't have all the support conversations), a lot of things will be inaccurate. Please forgive me, and please feel free to correct me. Okay, now for the review replies:
Wistful-Eyes: Well, I didn't really like the prologue BECAUSE of the whole Eliwood/Rai scene. I think it made it sort of look like that it's going to be an Eliwood/Rai pairing, when it's not going to be. (That's a real no-no.) Thanks for the compliment, though! (coming from you…hee hee. Kidding!)
Dragon of Zhao: Wow. You like Rai? Ha ha. I'm glad you like it so far!
AxelWildfire000: Thank you! Like I said before, I really don't like my prologue (or this chapter for that matter) but I'm glad that you like it. Hopefully, this chapter is better than the last!
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Voice of the Plains
Ominous Signs---
A Forest Near Castle Pherae
Heavy breathing pierced through the thick silence of the forest. A pair of intense red eyes darted around furiously, searching for the traces of his attackers. He steered clear of an arrow that was aimed at him with extraordinary speed, and then looked about him again, desperately trying to pinpoint the locations of his enemies.
The man was Jaffar, an infamous former Black Fang assassin. The ex-Four Fangs member had been on his way to meet Eliwood in Pherae, an unknown group had ambushed him in the forest. He had been chased for about an hour now, darting this way and that through the dense woods as he dodged the deadly projectiles.
Another arrow flew at him, and he forced his weary feet to direct his body toward right. As skilled sword-wielder as he was, the numbers (if he estimated correctly) were too great for his tired self to take on alone, and besides, they were all too well hidden. Even so, he continued to search for a gap in their ranks, seeking for a chance to counterattack. So far, however, he was not very lucky. He had barely enough time to reflect on the ironic fact that the hunter now was the hunted before a Poison Arrow grazed past his arm.
"…!!" Automatically, his other hand shot toward the cut, then he brought it in front of his face. Blood. Letting out a silent curse, Jaffar groped around his pocket for an Antitoxin. But before he could apply the salve to his wound, a stray arrow pierced the bag and all the contents were spilled onto the ground, with zero chance of recovery. As he stared at the expanding dark spot in disbelief, a vaguely familiar voice boomed out at him.
"Afraid for your life, Jaffar? They have softened you up a great deal, eh, old friend?" The frustrated red eyes narrowed, struggling to remember. Where had he heard this voice before…?
Minor detail, he reminded himself quickly, his hands slowly creeping toward his Killing Edges. What was important now was that one of his would-be assassins (presumably the leader) had given himself away with his voice, Jaffar now knew where he remained hidden. Strike now! This may be your only chance! his instincts screamed, and he was more than glad to obey it. After giving his swords a swift twirl, he silently sprinted toward the location of the voice and struck the startled figure with all his might. He felt his swords driving past the heavy armor and into the flesh, a sort of grim approval welling up inside him. After giving them a violent twist and hearing a pained yelp from his victim, he jerked the swords out and leapt back instantaneously, regaining his composure. He listened to the faint clanking of the body armor and a dull thud; apparently, the figure had gone on its knees.
"Very good," sneered the voice, its deep tone mingled with pain and surprise. "You still possess your exceptional skills, Angel of Death." The voice held a definite angry pitch, yet it seemed amused at the same time, as if enjoying this unexpected turn of events.
"How shall I exterminate you, hmm, my past comrade?" it rumbled, and Jaffar knew that the voice was toying with him, drawing his death slowly out so that he may suffer as a cost for drawing its blood. "Oh, I know—I shall kill you slowly with all the Poison Arrow at my disposal. A shame, to let a talent such as yours go to a waste, but seeing as how you are unwilling to join us—archers!—" he could hear the faint noises of the strings being pulled "—On my signal, fire with no mercy!"
No…no! thought Jaffar frantically as he looked around for an escape route, feeling utterly desperate for the very first time in his life as he faced a certain death. Many thoughts raced through him—but a single thought dominated over them all. He had promised to the both of them that he would defend her. But now…
"Aim to kill, for him and his stubbornness are no use for us! Archers, ready your Poison Bows!"
I have failed…to protect you, Nino.
He heard at least thirty bows preparing to shoot. He was doomed to failure.
A wave of despair washed over him as he ceased to look for a way to escape, knowing that there was none.
"My old friend…how do you feel, knowing that you are about to die, right this minute?" A cold laughter. At first, Jaffar felt resentment at the mocking words, then oddly enough, a sense of calmness swept through him as his fingers brushed against his two Killing Edges. And followed by—foolish and useless, he knew, but—hope, a tiny flicker of optimism that he would see her again. He didn't know why, especially when the situation was so…hopeless, but…he could fight once more. That tiny shred of hope brought his warrior spirit back.
"On my signal!" There was a brief pause, as if they, along with the Voice, were savoring this moment.
"Do your worst!" he shouted finally, grown tired of waiting in the nerve-wrecking silence.
"Oh, I will," came a low chuckle, and Jaffar gathered up what little strength he had left, forming his body into a combat position. He was born a warrior, and he would perish as one. He will not give up!
"…Fire."
Arrows flew—too many! The air was filled with the sounds of the deadly missiles rushing by, yet he did not panic as he swung his swords around, stopping all of them before they could get to him.
"For someone who had been chased for an hour," the deep voice commented, too quiet for the preoccupied assassin to hear, "he has a great deal of strength left in him."
Before long, his blocks began to slow down, his fatigue at last catching up to him. His hands faltered as he blocked the arrows, and a few grazed his skin. Finally, one found its target and was now protruding from his left upper arm.
"…" He did not stop to pull it out, for there were still countless Poison Arrows aimed at him. Despite the fact that he was concentrating on his defenses with all his being, his hands were wavering severely and his body staggered dangerously as exhaustion began to take over him. Drowsiness reached toward him and he bit his lips forcefully in a useless attempt to hold it back.
I cannot…collapse now…he thought despairingly, frustrated with himself, with five more arrows piercing his right arm and thighs.
No! he screamed inside his head as another arrow struck at his right arm. His hands shook pathetically, and he dropped the two Killing Edges in his hands, his head swimming in darkness. His half-asleep brain barely registered the dull pain throughout his body as every arrow now struck its target without a fail. His vision flickered on and off treacherously as he bled profusely—his whole body was drowning in pain—dying! His poisoned mind tried to force his body to pick up the swords again, but another arrow pierced his arm, immobilizing him temporarily from the shock.
A complete and total fog of darkness began to swirl around him, and he could feel his mind slipping from his grip. He fell on to his knees…to his fours…he collapsed onto the ground.
This is…the end…
He thought that he had heard a soft, gentle sigh, like that of a child, before he lost consciousness completely.
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"…Is he dead?" A throwaway tone. The deep voice that taunted Jaffar.
"Let me check," said an archer. Torchlight suddenly filled the forest, and when the blinding glare was replaced by a gentle, even glow, the owner of the previous voice was revealed as an unusually young general. Blood trickled down his right hand that clutched at the scarlet opening of his chest plate, yet his expression remained unperturbed. His other hand rested on his bent knees, his blue eyes indifferent as he watched the soldier approach Jaffar's still body with a torch held above his head.
"He's still breathing," he declared, stepping back and looking at him as though waiting for his orders. The youthful general snorted, wiping his dripping hand with a cloth and pressing a new one against his broken armor, still kneeling.
"Fool. Won't go so easily, eh?" A determined fellow, even in the face of death.
"What…shall we do, General?" the other inquired nervously, eyeing the body fearfully as if Jaffar would spring up any second and slash his throat. Even though the Black Fang was long since gone, its most infamous assassin, the Angel of Death's reputation lived on.
"We leave him here," he replied simply, his blue armor faintly clanking as he stood up. "We are pressed for time; there is no one around for a while, and on top of that, he is badly poisoned and wounded. It is a matter of time before he dies either from poisoning or from loss of blood. We will retreat immediately."
"Yes General," the subordinate said obediently, and then departed to round up the rest, leaving the brunette man with blue eyes to gaze thoughtfully into the depths of the forest.
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"Rather late, aren't you, Eliwood?" said a smiling girl with teal hair as he seated himself between her and Hector, at the head of the table. "Where's Rai?"
"I hope she's coming soon; I'm famished!" complained Hector, staring down at his empty plate wistfully. The girl rolled her blue-green eyes, then caught the red-haired lord's own and grinned.
"I was late because I was trying to convince her to come, Lyn. She almost left without telling anyone," Eliwood explained, pulling his chair closer against the long table. "She should arrive soon." Barely after the last words were out of his mouth, the doors to the ding hall, and there stood Rai adorned in a white dress—first time he had seen her wearing one.
"Rai," he called, indicating at the seat next to Lyn. "Over here." As she strode over to him, she shook hands with everyone that was seated around the long, rectangular table and exchanged warm words of greeting.
"You're finally here," Lyn said cheerfully as the tactician sat down in her seat. "I was afraid that you would slip out without telling anyone."
"I was going to," Rai replied matter-of-factly as she settled down. "But he won in the end." She nodded her toward Eliwood, who merely smiled at her before standing up to make an announcement.
"As you probably noticed, Lady Rai has finally joined us. So let the feast begin!" He sat back down as servants hurried to the kitchen to bring out the food. As they were laid out onto the table, the sounds of people chattering, eating, and laughing filled the dinner hall. The banquet was full of life, with every person enjoying themselves and others' companies, a number of them seeing each other for the first time in a year.
Eliwood glanced around at each individual in the hall. Lyn and Rai were deep in discussion; even though they were close by, he could not hear their low murmurs. Serra and Erk were bickering loudly—big surprise. Lucius and Priscilla were speaking quietly, most likely about her wandering brother and their worries for him. Oswin and Marcus were huddled together, talking about…whatever they usually talked about. Matthew and Heath were chatting rather formally, with the wyvern rider glancing at a certain red-haired troubadour every so often. Florina, Nils, and Ninian sat, not too far from himself, discussing matters that obviously did not concern him. Isadora and Harken couldn't keep their eyes off each other, and Fiora and Farina argued rather noisily. Wil conversed with Canas; Dorcas, Natalie, and Merlinus were making a friendly conversation at the other end of the table. Lord Pent and Lady Louise were gazing lovingly into each other's eyes, exchanging affectionate words, while Sain gagged silently to the right of them and Kent glaring at him disapprovingly. Everyone that Eliwood could contact was here…yet something was amiss. He casually glanced around the room once more, and when his eyes rested on Marcus again, a sudden realization came to his mind, along with a faint sense of dread.
"Lowen has not arrived yet," he said anxiously to Hector, who had barely managed to tear his attention away from his lovely plate of steaming food. "He was supposed to escort Nino here…I wonder what's delaying him."
"You worry too much, Eliwood," Hector said sagely after a gulp of wine, wiping at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "Stop worrying so much; he's one of your best knights. I'm sure he'll be here soon." The redhead nodded, pushing his seemingly groundless fears aside.
"You're right. I should stop worrying." Hector was right, of course. Lowen was an excellent knight. There was nothing to worry about. After all, Nino had gone to a nearby city and he was merely accompanying her back here.
But why did he still have a lingering feeling that something was terribly wrong…?
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Author's Note: Darnnit! The QuickEdit thing won't let me insert thegray line...oh well.R & R!