Well . . . I was just really amazed. That's more reviews than I've ever gotten- even more reviews than that stupid story that I now hate that had nineteen chapters . . . There is not much I can think of to say about this. Ugh . . .

I am now aware that script format is no longer allowed at Though it is nice to be able to get rid of those weird stories that are written in script format that don't really have a good solid point, considered 'humor', it will be a hassle to try putting in my muses. I thank R Amythest for pointing this out to me.

Quill comes into the chapter, not as cheerful as he usually was. His usually wide muse eyes were narrowed a little, and his usually grinning mouth was now pulled down a little on the corners. "Come on, Scarsi!" He complained, using his nickname for the authoress of this story. "We don't have to, do we? We don't have to speak in story format?" He wrinkled his nose a little in disgust, his small frown deepening a smidge. "I keep getting these tremendous urges to revert back to my character form. It is very hard to do my usual cute musings while I am forced to speak in this way."

The authoress pats him on the back and tells him that it would be all right and that he would get used to it. The shaman-in-training merely shrugged, then looked up at her with hope in his eyes. "Does this mean I can say the disclaimer?" He asked eagerly, smiling a little to increase his chances. The authoress rolls her eyes and tells him that he's an unusual muse, and that he is still not allowed to say the disclaimer or tell the readers to review, so his eyes start watering a little. "But! You said under normal circumstances! Is this the normal circumstance from now on?" Then, trying to catch the authoress off guard, he suddenly added, "Scarsi does not own- "

But, of course, I didn't let him finish that sentence. I do hope someone pulls that duct tape off his mouth soon . . . He has to do something in this chapter, and we can't have his mouth taped up . . . And I don't own Fire Emblem. So ha, you stupid lawyers. (kicks them) (kicks Renault)

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Chapter Nine

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The army had arrived at the Hidden Fort, though at first they couldn't see anything. Karel had led them straight to the middle of a large clearing in a forest, and everyone looked about, confused, for the fort. But, Kent noticed some scratches on several trees, and they inspected them.

"What is this?" Eliwood asked, running a finger along one of the scratches. "It looks like a sort of mark from a weapon. . ."

"What do you think that might mean?" Lyn wondered, peering a little closer at the marks.

Just then, some of the ground at the very center of the clearing rippled a little, and a boy rose slowly from it. His dark purple hair fluttered a little, though there wasn't any wind, and his light and dark blue robe slowly emerged with the rest of his body. He levitated several inches above the ground, to add dramatic tension, before he snapped his burgundy eyes open. As he did so, all the grass in the clearing seemed to blow away from him, forming another ripple-like appearance.

The boy suddenly grinned, ruining the entire effect. "I always wanted to do that!" He said in a clear juvenile tone of voice, and as he said this, he started swaying. "Whoa!" He fell down hard on his behind as his levitation spell dissolved, completely destroying what was left of the dramatic tension. He grinned sheepishly at the army as he picked himself up.

Eliwood raised an eyebrow. "Uh. . ." He peered at the boy. "Who. . . are you?" He asked politely, leaning toward the young face.

The boy smiled. "I'm Quill! The shaman-in-training from Hidden Fort!" He ran in a circle around the place he had appeared from. "Wow, you people really are here, just like Rade said!"

"The Hidden Fort?" Many people's faces suddenly scrunched up at the boy as Eliwood said this. "You're from the hidden fort?"

"Uh, huh!" Quill nodded. His grin dissolved, and he held a finger to his chin, as if he were thinking. "Oh, yeah. . . I think Rade also told me to send you there!" he laughed. "I mean, you've made it this far, but I'm guessing you don't know how to get there, do you?"

"Eliwood," Lyn said cautiously, leaning toward the lord's ear and speaking in a whisper. "You must be careful, and you mustn't let your guard down, even to a child. He has already admitted of coming from our enemy- be careful, or we might walk into a trap."

"I know that," Eliwood whispered back, before speaking to Quill again. "Quill, how many others are there in the Hidden Fort?" He questioned, hoping that the little kid was naive enough to give away the numbers of the army.

"Oh," Quill smiled, "Point said you'd ask that. There aren't that many people, actually- there's me, obviously, then there's my sister Page, and my big brother, Point, and the thief, Rade. And none of them are really that good at fighting. Why, just this morning, Rade was made fun of by a little rabbit he had tried to hunt to increase his speed!"

"That's it?" Eliwood was more than a little startled by this. "Just you four? You did all this?"

Quill nodded, making sure that nobody in the army could see his crossed fingers behind his back. "Yep!" Then he leaned closer to Eliwood's ear. "But, don't tell Point I told you! He'd be very angry with me!" he whispered.

The ground rippled again, and another figure emerged from the ground about the same way Quill had, only this figure was a young girl. Her hair and eyes looked almost exactly like Quill's, but she was wearing a light green cape, a dress in the same shade as the leaves on the trees, and a sort of pendant around her head. She dressed like a mage, though she didn't carry any tomes. The girl frowned, then grabbed Quill by his light blue hood. "You idiot!" She hissed, though she was loud enough for the entire army to hear. "Why did you tell them how little we were? Now they won't have to worry! Why didn't you just lie and tell them we had an army of a thousand warriors or something like that?"

Quill looked worried. "Why? I mean, that man over there asked really nicely! And he didn't seem like he would hurt us at all!" He didn't even bother to whisper.

"Yes, but these people are actually our enemies! They're the people we started this whole thing after! Point told you to make them nervous by telling them they're outnumbered! Remember?"

Quill's eyes doubled in size, as he gazed in shock at the army in front of him. "What! But Page, Rade said they were travelers!" Then he realized that he had just raised the army's confidence in winning. ". . . Purge," he swore.

"And watch your tongue!" Page scolded. She paused. "And why do you swear by 'Purge', anyway? Everyone else says 'Flux'."

"I LIKE Flux!" Quill whined. "It's my favorite weapon so far! It's so light and inexpensive!"

"Could've sworn I heard Canas swear by Purge one time, too," Sain muttered to Kent. Kent shrugged.

-----

"So."

"What?"

"Up to anything lately?" Cylt peered at the assassin next to him, suspicion all over his face. "Nobody saw you anywhere during dinner."

"Well, this is a rather large place," Scourge reasoned. "And there aren't all that many of us."

"Yes, yes. . ." Cylt nodded, though his suspicion hadn't lifted one bit. "That would be a reasonable explanation. . . had nobody been searching the entire fort for you!"

Scourge seemed a little startled. "But nobody has." He turned his head to look at Cylt. "If they were, they would have said so. . ." Then he saw the anger in Cylt's eyes, and he leaned back away from him a little. "Whoa. . . you weren't THAT worried about me, were you?"

The myrmidon huffed, looking instead to the dungeons as they stepped down the last set of stairs. "I didn't say that."

Scourge smiled knowingly. "You were!" The assassin almost laughed as Cylt looked to the ground, growling. "See? You're not saying no! Sacaens like you can't lie!"

"Sh- shut up. . ." Mentioned Sacaen covered his face with a white sleeve, but the assassin could still see the little bit of pink blooming over his face.

Scourge would have laughed and poked fun at him longer, but he wasn't feeling well enough too. He suddenly realized that he had a stomachache, and a nauseating feeling was rising to his chest, and slowly going up to his throat. Paling a little, he sat down. "Guh. . ."

"What is it?" Cylt asked, finally looking toward Scourge- only to find him missing. He looked around wildly before his eyes were drawn to the ground. The assassin was crawled up on the floor; one hand placed over his stomach, one over his mouth. "Scourge? What's- "

"N- not. . . feeling. . . too well. . ." He closed his eyes and slowly stood up. It was the bread from that afternoon. He had thought he would have been fine. . . apparently, that bread was far worse than he thought it had been. He staggered over to the side of the wall and threw up.

Cylt jumped back. "Scourge! Are you okay?" He jumped over to him and donated several whacks to the back. His comrade coughed a little, spitting out remaining bits of bile, and waved a hand, as if to say he was fine. Then he threw up again.

The myrmidon continued to whack the other on the back, until the assassin told him to stop. "I'm sorry, Scourge. . . did I cook something rotten? I'm. . . I'm so sorry. . ."

"You didn't cook it." Feeling much better, Scourge walked to the other side of the small room and sat down. "But you did serve it. It was the bread you gave the captives. . . it seems to be more rotten than it looked."

"I. . . I. . ." then something hit him. "Wait! You ate their lunch? That. . . that's why I couldn't find you! You were down here the whole time!" He looked at his comrade. "Didn't we tell you not to go down there? Are you listening to me?" No reply. "Hey! Are you- "

The assassin fell over, landing flat on his face, though no exclamation of pain came out. A gasp. "Sc- Scourge!"

-----

Heath awoke from his dream, though he did not open his eyes. He didn't really remember falling asleep, and assumed it was the cause of a full stomach. He shivered when he remembered his dream. Every face was hazy, but. . . he could make out a smile. A very wide, mysterious smile, and a lot of a certain color. . . he strained his memory trying to remember what color it was. Lavender. Where was the lavender, anyway? It just seemed to be. . . there. The person. . . what was he wearing? Or was it a she? He couldn't quite remember. And. . . where was he? Ah, yes, what was he wearing? This also took slight straining to remember, but it hit him suddenly, very hard- the person, whoever it was, hadn't been wearing anything. This came as a slight shock, as Heath desperately tried to remember whom it was, and he shivered again.

Then he noticed; he wasn't only shivering from the dream. His face felt like ice, and his arms, though he was wearing long sleeves, were cold as well. The armor he wore kept the rest of him warm, but there was one part of him that was especially warm, and it- or rather, they- weren't even covered with armor or even cloth- his hands.

The wyvern rider finally decided to open his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't. His cellmate, Legault, had also fallen asleep, and was holding a rather firm grip on Heath's hands. Heath looked at his hands, to the long scar running down the calm, sleeping face merely inches from his own, and it was suddenly very, very warm.

Curiosity did kill the cat.

He tried moving his fingers. They wouldn't budge. "L. . . Legault. . .?" He continued trying to release his hands from his cellmate's, but as before, nothing happened. ". . . Uh. . ." Just great. Just great. What had he ever done to deserve this?

Well, as long as he couldn't do anything, he might as well get back to sleep. He closed his eyes again, and tried to think of something that would be boring enough to lure him to sleep, but after a while of trying to think of a subject at all, he found himself wondering why everyone had captured them to begin with.

Nobody's told us anything. There doesn't seem to be a specific pattern to the ones that were captured. . . it wasn't a certain class, or a certain personality, or a certain ranking. Our classes range from a normal, everyday archer to a stuck-up cleric who never learned to shut up; our personalities go from someone who likes to rant and ramble to someone who almost never talks at all; our ranks go from someone picked off the streets to one of high and noble birth. So. . . why were we captured, and not the others? Would they not rather take one of our Lords prisoner? That would have given them much more power and fear than they have now. What is this really about?

It was getting too warm. Heath opened his eyes again, and saw the last thing he expected. Legault. . . he had suddenly leaned into the wyvern rider's arms, and was starting to snuggle himself into a more comfortable position. The green-haired man twitched.

"Are you really asleep?" He asked the ball of lavender hair, though he obviously did not receive an immediate reply. Though. . . it didn't feel all that bad. . . hmm. . .

His hands were getting sweaty. Legault didn't seem to want to let go anytime soon. To his own surprise, Heath didn't seem to care anymore.

Though it might have been comfortable to the scarred thief, the position they were in was starting to make Heath's neck and back hurt. It might have been from sitting in the same position, looking down, for such a long time; whatever it was, Heath tried to make himself more comfortable. He ended up scooting both of them to the stone wall, though the hardness of the rock didn't do much comfort to his head. He shifted his legs and bent forward. . .

Wait, that resulted with his face in Legault's hair. He didn't want that. . . did he? Come to thing of it. . . it was rather soft. . . And it smelled nice, too. A special, unique. . . Legault smell.

He'd remember that scent forever.

And now that he'd seen Legault's face close up. . . He could see every last bit of detail. The amazing scar being the lord of them all. But there were other small, tiny little details. . . the way the lips curled in many special ways, forming smiles that others could only try to match. Now that he thought about it, that smile- it was a very reassuring smile, for some odd reason. Others might have found it sneaky, or secretive; Heath could find a way to restate that. It was clever, and mysterious. When he had been so scared, afraid that someone had come to turn him in to his certain death, that smile was there. . . to calm him down.

And there was another use for those lips.

Almost as if someone else were doing it, he leaned closer to that face. Why was he doing this? Even he didn't know. It was as if he were in a sort of trance. . . feeling nothing but that tickling sensation in his stomach and seeing that lovely face. . .

"Everyone! Wake up! I'm going to get you out of here!" The voice sounded really tired, and upset for an unknown reason, as the sound of a door being slammed against the wall followed the warning. As if someone had hit him with Thunder, Heath suddenly sprung from what he had been doing. What had he been doing? He didn't even remember.

Moans sounded all over the room. Serra got up from her position against the wall, rubbing her head; Lucius lifted his head up, loosening his hand off his Aura tome with a heavy blush; Wil picked himself off the ground, releasing his protective grip around his Longbow; Guy cracked one eye open, but made little movement; Priscilla sat herself up from the corner of her cell, as her cell had two stone walls instead of one; Nino had already been awake, practicing for another tome she had wanted for awhile. Legault's eyes fluttered open, and for a long second, it seemed as if he were disappointed about something, though what it was nobody could figure out at that moment. Then the look was gone, and he, like just about everyone else in the dungeon, turned their head toward whoever it was who had awakened them all.

It was Cylt. There were damp marks running down his cheek. . . he had been crying a little over something. He was still rubbing his eyes with one hand- the other was supporting another person. A limp Scourge. "Everyone. . . I have to get you out here. It's. . . what Scourge would have done sooner or later. He stayed here during dinner, didn't he?" Everyone nodded, and Cylt looked down. "I. . . I'm very sorry about that. Because I had been so cruel to people I did not know. . . I ended up harming a person I did."

The victims looked at each other, not really knowing what the myrmidon was talking about, though they didn't think about it for long. Cylt rested his assassin friend against the wall, then grabbed a set of keys from his pocket and started unlocking the cell doors. When he got to Heath and Legault's cell, he cut their bindings with his sword, though he stared for awhile at the small cut he had made on accident on the back of Legault's right hand before bandaging it up. He looked at several of the stronger-looking people in the small group. "Can. . . can someone here give me a hand? I'm. . . not strong enough to carry him. . ." He pointed to Scourge as he said this, and Legault picked up the assassin with one smooth gesture. Cylt uttered a thanks and looked to Guy. "You still need to wash all that blood off your hair. I guess you can wash your clothes, too, so you can change back into them." Then he paused, taking a moment to look Guy over, an odd smile appearing on his features. "Though, you really don't look that bad in my tunic."

"Yours. . .?" Guy looked down again at what he was wearing, and realized that it looked similar to what the myrmidon was wearing. "Uh. . . thank you. . .?"

Cylt scratched his head, laughing softly. "Sorry about that. Well, actually, it is some walk to the nearest stream, but we have a fountain somewhere. You can wash up there." He gave directions to the swordmaster, pointing occasionally to help with understanding. "It's a rather large room, and an awkward place to wash, but may lock the doors if you wish. If anybody comes by, they'll understand, and the only ones with lockpicks around here are Rade, Scourge, and Page. You don't have to worry about them."

Guy nodded. "Thank you." He picked up his blood-splattered clothing and the blanket from his cell, and looked at the other things in there, in case he might need anything. "My scabbard. . . you gave me a sword. Why?"

Cylt pointed to the person in Legault's arms. "His idea. He wanted to make sure all of you were treated as kindly as possible, and apparently letting them be armed was considered kindness. Then again," He shrugged. "It is dishonorable to disarm a helpless enemy."

Guy nodded. That really made sense- it actually sounded like something he'd say. He had probably said something similar to a certain thief before. . . He picked up the sword set and set off to look for the room Cylt had said. A Sacaen wouldn't lie, so he was confident that he would find the room.

As he left, Cylt turned toward everyone else, pointing different directions. "Some of you could go down to the West Wing- there are plenty of places to hide there, so it is unlikely one of my comrades would find you there. Others of you should go up the stairs, though you'd have to be more careful because that's where our bedrooms are. You can hide in mine- it's the fourth one to the right. And you could use Scourge's, too, if there isn't enough room, I'm sure he won't mind. His is the second to the right."

He continued to name off places to go, and they all nodded, trying to think of a place they would like to stay. "You should all decide where to go before leaving; if you split up, it's less likely that my comrades would find you all, and it would be easier for people from your army to find some of you."

Cylt ended the big Fort Tutorial with "Best of luck, on my honor as a Sacaen" and practically pushed them out of the dungeons. He exited the room and locked it, then raced up the stairs. "Scourge, I put you in the hands of the enemy, and I would only hope their hearts to be as kind as yours."

-----

A red-haired assassin jumped, just in time to dodge a large amount of dark energy. He uttered a word so colorful, some other people in the group gasped. Eliwood jumped away from another attack, and watched as Hector did the same. "Are you attacking us?!" He demanded, as the little shaman boy stood by innocently with his tome open.

Quill's eyes widened, and he shook his head. "Oh, no no no. I'm trying to send you to our Fort, but you all keep dodging the energy to get you there!" He closed his book, frustrated, and held up the cover for everyone to see. The design on the cover looked unfamiliar, and even Canas couldn't recognize it. "It's a type of spell developed so that anyone can use it- even people who don't use magic." He pointed to Page, who had started casting the same spell. "It's called 'Send'- every occupant of the Hidden Fort is given one, if they're wanted back." He looked at the book cover, frowning. "Come to think of it, I don't even know how this strange method of entrance was created, but I think it was developed by the founder of the Hidden Fort or something. . ."

Just then, a spell cast by Page hit Ninian. She let out a short yelp as the energy wrapped around her, and the ground started rippling in a similar way as before. She sank into the ground, looked shocked and stunned, though she didn't scream or say anything. Nils was a different matter.

"N- NINIAN!!" He tried to grab onto his sister's arm and pull her back out of the ground, but she sank too fast, and was soon gone. Nils fell forward from the momentum of his movement, and sat there on the ground, looking angry with himself for having lost his sister for the third time.

"Actually, Nils," Lyn looked puzzled. "She didn't seem harmed at all. She didn't even scream or cough, or anything like that. I don't think she was harmed at all."

Quill slapped a hand to his forehead. "That's what I've been trying to tell you for the last few minutes! I'm SO glad you listen to me!" Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

-----

After an awkward silence, followed by an awkward argument, the army finally arrived at the Hidden Fort, followed by Quill, who looked a little frustrated, and Page, who was rolling her eyes. Quill caught Point's eye in a shadowed area of the room, and he made an odd sort of fist. Point nodded and pressed Mint against the wall.

"Mint, I want you to stay here. I know that stunt wasn't exactly what Rade told us to do, but it will work. We got the point across, and Scourge won't murder us for hurting innocent enemies. And don't do or say anything that might make them find you," he hissed, as Mint opened his mouth to argue. The bishop closed it, frowning, and glared at the mercenary group that was now walking through the Entrance room. He leaned against the wall, making as little sound as he could, and nodded at Point.

The sage gave him one last look, as if to say, "Don't get us killed," and walked ahead to block the door to the next room. He smiled hospitably, and hoped his armor didn't give him away as a sage. "Good afternoon, Lord Eliwood, Lord Hector, Lady Lyndis," he said in greeting, and the three lords stopped the army to look at him. "No need for alarm, I am here to show you around. My name is Point, and I'd like to welcome you to the Hidden Fort." With that, he opened the door and showed the army in.

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Quill walks into the author's notes, wearing the frown from earlier. "I was so out of character here!" He complained. "Even in my character form, I was still talking like my muse form. This is not fair." He crossed his arms and glared at the authoress.

Yes, he's right, actually. . . he was really out of character in this chapter. But, do you really care about him? Let's see. . . MORE ACTION!! YAY!!

And, about the carrying thing. . . actually, Cylt's only a who-knows-what level myrmidon, and he's only fifteen, as Guy is a swordmaster around level 20/9, and I don't know how old he is, but I'm sure he's older than fifteen. So, it was actually impossible for Cylt to carry him in Chapter Four. If you check your Swordmaster Guy stats, you can see his constitution is six. Cylt's constitution is probably around four, and his aid is probably something like three. So, he wouldn't have been able to carry Guy. (eyes swirl from all the thinking) Scourge's constitution is probably something like five. Ack. . . maybe you all shouldn't think about this for long. . .

I can't really think of much else to say. Oh yeah! About half of you guessed that Rade/Mint pairing. They're. . . not that obvious, are they? But if they are, well. . . nobody really confesses anything in this story, but maybe sometime off stage they might say something. So technically they are kind of together.

So please review, so that I know you read the chapter. (grins) And, Amethyst Bubble, please update something, anything! And Rianne, please post your next chapter. You're both really great, and I admire both of you. Flames are still allowed, though stupid ones will be frowned upon and sent an email asking why whatever was said. So until my next chapter, buh-bye! (Hah! I beat Quill to it!)

Quill is whining offstage about not being able to even say anything.