Congratulations on reading this story up till chapter four! If you like my writing this much, you are to be commended, but for greatness or foolishness I cannot say. If you are a fool, however, you might say that I own some part of Fire Emblem. I do not. Rest assured, fool.

Four: Two Long Roads

Eliwood, flanked by Matthew the spy and Mikhail, marched from the din of the council chamber to the silence of the Royal Quarters. Eliwood threw open the doors, ushered the two in, then closed and locked them with an ornate key. Carefully, he lit two candles on the center table and closed the windows.

"Sir, if I may, your actions in the chamber may have been a bit too...sudden, for some of the lords." Matthew had gone to the cabinet near the door and grabbed a bottle of brandy and three glasses, which he was distributing as he spoke.

"I agree, Matthew," Eliwood said as he took his glass in hand, "but they had to hear it." He drank and sighed. "And if not now, when? They would be more distressed, I think, to hear of my plans the day of my departure."

"I suppose so, my lord." Matthew took off his breastplate and helmet and threw them in the corner with a clatter. Mikhail was a bit shocked to see such rash behavior, but he was perhaps more shocked to be in the presence of the legendary Thief Lord of Ostia and Marquess Pherae at the same time, and to have them talking so amiably with one another. He sipped his brandy quietly.

"So, Matthew. Tell me, what didn't you tell of your story to the council. I gathered there were some secrets hidden between you words in the chambers." Eliwood sat back and poured himself another glass.

"Ah, yes, your Majesty has guessed correctly." Matthew sipped his brandy and continued. "Zephiel himself did not issue the order to go to war. When Murdock made his accusation, and presented his witness–"

"Who was the witness?"

"That good-for-nothing priest, Julius of Vitroven."

Eliwood's eyes darkened at this news. "I see. Go ahead."

"Yes, well, Julius spoke, and Zephiel didn't believe a word of it. Then Murdock told him that it was on disputed territory." Matthew looked into Eliwood's eyes. "I cannot say whether it was a look of shock or disbelief that crossed the Prince's face, only that he shouted 'NO!' an instant before Bearoth gave Murdock the orders."

"So Zephiel didn't Bearoth to initiate these orders, then?" Eliwood was contemplating Matthew's words, trying to understand what was happening to his friend. He looked back to Matthew. "So then, is Bearoth working behind the Prince's back?"

"Most definitely. The Prince ran away crying, and then Bearoth gave Murdock the marching orders I told the council about."

"What is this man, Bearoth, like?" Mikhail's voice made the two, who had forgotten he was listening, jump. "I should like to know, as I will be helping defend Etruria against him and his followers."

Matthew thought for a moment, recalling the image of the man as he had done so many times for Marquess Ostia in the past. "He is large, tall...he has dark features...long black hair..." Matthew shuddered, then spoke again. "He wears a cloak most of the time, with some arcane symbol drawn on the chest, but his golden eyes seem to pierce you from wherever you stand."

"Golden eyes!" Eliwood stood abruptly, eyes wide with terror. "It can't be–"

"Yes, sir...I thought the same thing myself." Matthew stood beside the Marquess. "I thought we had defeated them all. But it looks like Nergal has found a way to harass us from beyond the grave."

The three looked at each other in stunned silence, each weighing the news on already heavy hearts. Though Mikhail had not fought the Morphs, the golem abominations of Nergal of which Bearoth obviously was, he knew of the magic involved with making them, and he shuddered at the thought of the horrible power the one who made them must have possessed. Even Lord Pent would not be able to wield such fearsome magic, and he had become quite the Sage in twenty years.

There came a sudden knock on the door, which jolted them all out of their thoughts. Matthew slipped himself and his stolen armor into the shadows, and Mikhail stood sentinel by the window. Eliwood opened the door and was attacked by two children dressed in riding gear. "Father!" Roy's hug made it hard for Eliwood to breathe, so he freed himself from his son's tight grip. Lilina stood in the doorway, silent. "Father, are we really going to the Lycian League?"

Eliwood laughed. "You were listening, weren't you, you little rascal?" He ruffled his hands through his son's red hair, laughing in spite of his dark thoughts. He stood his son straight in front of him. "Yes, you are going to Ostia. You will represent Pherae in my stead, and you will be recognized as a true prince of Pherae!"

Roy's eyes gleamed as he listened to his father's praise. In a prideful show of patriotism, Roy saluted his father. Eliwood laughed. "I am already in riding clothes, father, and I have packed a saddlebag."

"As have I, Marquess Eliwood." Lilina smiled, her violet eyes glowing sheepishly.

"So, we are ready to go, then?" Mikhail stepped forward from the window and took Roy and Lilina in his arms.

"Not just yet, Mikhail." Eliwood looked at his son. "There is something I must give my son, first. Excuse us." Eliwood took his son by the shoulder and walked down the corridor. Roy looked up at his father, waiting for him to say something, but he didn't. They passed through the dining hall, the ninepin hall, and the badminton courtyard, and into a part of the castle that was unfamiliar to Roy. Above him, frescoes of ancient heroes wielding mighty weapons and fighting giant dragons leaped from the ceilings, and the gold and red paints splashed downward onto the pillars, until they collided with the rich purple marble of the floor. "Where are we, father?"

Eliwood kept walking. "We are in the Hall of the Kings, son. This is where I will be buried when I die."

Roy just stared at his father as they kept walking in silence. Suddenly, they stopped.

Before them was a giant statue of a warrior. His noble, fierce face was etched into purple marble, and his cloak of gold billowed from the nape of his neck, where a shining red brooch clasped it in place. The knight was holding a sword, but it was not one of marble. The sword was real; the cold steel reflected the sunset in a flash of yellow, orange, and red that danced across its shimmering surface. The hilt was anchored to the blade by a mosaic of blue glass surrounded by gold bands, showing a stone of fire burning a dragon. The hand holds were wrapped in rough leather, and the ends of the hilt were pointed arrows of black onyx with a ruby set in each one. Roy breathed in awe of the sword. It was truly beautiful.

Eliwood walked up to the statue, staring up at its face with a familiar smile that Roy couldn't quite fathom. Surely, his father didn't know the Great Hero, Roland...did he?

"Do you know what this sword is, Roy?" Eliwood stepped up on the pedestal and took the sword from the statue's hand. Roy gasped as he handled it with ease, twirling the gigantic sword through the air as though it were nothing more than his old rapier.

"Is it...Durandal, slayer of dragons?"

Eliwood laughed. "It is indeed. Here, take it." He held out the hilt for Roy.

Roy shoved it back. "Father! I cannot wield a sword so great as that!" He stood on his toes so as to look more commanding. "And I don't think you should either."

Eliwood laughed, then sighed and handed the blade back to the statue. Roy gasped again as the statue's hand closed around the blade's handle. "Fine, then. Roland will be here to give it to you when you are ready." Eliwood then moved the left of Roland's statue, to a small alcove shrouded in red-violet curtains. "But you can at least take this," he said as he swept the curtains aside.

There, in an open chest on a marble pedestal, lay a magnificent sword. Not as great as Durandal, but an excellent blade nonetheless. The steel was thin, double-edged, and elegant. The hilt was again of onyx, wrapped in leather and studded with rubies. The mosaic in the hilt, though, was blank. Roy picked up the sword, twirling it in his hand as his father had done with Durandal. "What is this sword's name?"

"It has none." Eliwood smiled at his son's confused frown. "It was made for a lord who had not yet become a man...who did not yet know his destiny." He knelt beside his son. "It was made by the same hands that forged Durandal. It was made for the heir of Roland. You are the next in line to Roland's throne, so you must have it." He hugged his son. "You are not yet a man, but a fine boy you have become." He ruffled his fingers through Roy's red hair, fighting back tears. "I wish I had yet more time to prepare you."

"Aww, Dad." Roy laughed and hit his father playfully on the shoulder. "Don't cry, or I'll tell the Council you're not a man either."

"You wouldn't dare!" Eliwood laughed, and chased Roy all the way to the castle gates.

(&)

When they arrived there, Lilina was already saddled on her horse, Midnight, and Mikhail was on one of Eliwood's finest horses. The stablehands brought out Roy's horse, Sandalwood, and he attached his saddlebag to her. Then, with utmost care, he mounted her and put on his riding cloak. Eliwood came to speak with him.

"Roy. I am sending some of my knights with you. They are under your command now." Eliwood motioned to a gate at the far side.

From the shadows of the doorway, five warriors came dressed in their battle gear. The first was a young woman with a bow and quiver strapped to her back and green hair in tight pigtails falling from her head. Roy recognized her as Rebecca, one of Eliwood's friends from the Second Scouring. Behind her were two men who looked almost exactly alike, with blond hair and strong faces. Both bore swords and shields with the Pherean guard coat-of-arms on them. The fourth person was a tall, broad shouldered man about Roy's age and carrying a giant axe. The fifth was an old friend of Roy's, and his training partner.

"Lowen!" Roy shouted, almost falling off his horse in surprise.

Eliwood laughed. "Yes, Lowen is going to accompany you. As is Rebecca."

"Your Highness," Rebecca bowed gracefully.

"I don't believe you have met Sir Harken's sons, yes?" Eliwood said. Then, screwing his face up in thought, he introduced them. "Zechary and Phillip?"

"I'm Phillip!" said the twin on the left.

"And I'm Zechary!" said the one on the right. Roy looked for a way to tell them apart, then decided he would have to do it by voice alone; their appearance was almost identical.

"Quite right. And this is Victor, our newest axeman."

Victor merely nodded. Roy wasn't sure what to make of the tall axeman, but he decided whatever judgements he had would have to wait. "Alright, Father. I am ready to go!"

"Wait, son." Eliwood went over to Roy as the others mounted. "There are two long roads ahead of us. Unfortunately, we have to walk them without each other." Eliwood smiled bitterly. "But you have Mikhail and Lilina, and I have my knights. We will not be alone...Just, promise me that you won't get hurt."

"Father!" Roy chided. "I am simply going to the Lycian League. I'll be back soon, and then I'll write by carrier pidgeon to you."

"I hope that happens, son."

Roy was left little time to stare and ponder his father's words. "Roy!" Lilina prodded, "Aren't we going to leave?"

"Oh, ah, yes, of course." With that, Roy raised his sword and pointed it west. "To Ostia!"

The rest of the group chorused behind him, and then charged off through the gates and into the night.

Eliwood looked longingly after them, his face wet with tears. "Farewell, my son...until we meet again."