…the Demon Sword.
It was power made flesh in metal.
Entering this world was much like being born. Chaos, pain, and discomfort: These things are known to humans. Even as the energy grew stale and solidified into a jade polish, a sentience had been sparked.
Not all things which think, feel, but that which is given sentience is also cursed with ambition and aspiration. Unable to move, unable to voice its desires, such an object remains forever disappointed and displeased. Existence becomes a prison; a cage that cannot be broken. Humans have death.
Through the arm of its master, the Demon Sword felt. The human intellect spoke through touch, and a limited connection gave it influence, if only indirectly. It yearned for these moments, the warmth of fingers closing around its hilt, the connection to the living—the influence of a voice; a whisper in the mind.
There were emotions, there. Emotions implied an interest, and interest implied ambition. It understood hate, for it knew frustration, and grasped the concept of blame. Even an object can accuse. It hated the gods, but the feeling was lost on the omniscient; wasted. Such helplessness gave rise to grief. It understood grief, for it knew ambition, and aspiration, and grasped the concept of failure.
It had lusted for Hezul's grip. In his hand, the Demon Sword's ambition had been born. In knowing one wielder, it knew only itself. Knowing the power of touch, it had desired to plunge itself into the skin of Hezul's foes; to feel their flesh, and know their minds—and through them, their weapons. It had searched in vain for a mate.
It had lusted for Eltosian's grip. In the Lion King's hand, the Demon Sword had been granted the hope of an end to its search. The Lion King's foes were worthy, but in the end, unsatisfying. It had hungered, but been denied. Eltosian's honor had been the rise, and the fall.
It knew not honor. Honor implies action; the fulfillment of ambitions and the neglect of desires. It knew not honor, but it thrived on it all the same.
It lusted for Aless' grip. In the Black Knight's hand, the Demon Sword began to understand the true extent of its influence, and with the realization of this small power came great ambition. It had hungered, coaxed, and pressured, but been denied. Aless' love had been the rise, warped as it was, and the fall.
It knew not love. Love implies choice; the elevation of one thing and the disdain shown for another. A sword does not choose its master; instead its master chooses the sword. Even for the Demon Sword, this was true. Bound to Hezul, it was without a choice, and could neither accept nor reject. It knew not love, but it hungered for it all the same.
That which is given sentience begins life alone. With perception comes a realization or dismissal of this fact. A human child has a mother, but the Demon Sword found that it was truly alone; unique. Uniqueness breeds sorrow, and sorrow demands release. Those who are unique begin to search for a reflection; a mirror to show its tears.
Even within the flesh of a thousand humans, the Demon Sword could not find a reflection.
Mistoltin could not weep. Humans had tears.
Author's Notes: The battle against Eltosian in chapter 3 was the single most puzzle-like part of a Fire Emblem game I've played. For a flawless victory, it really stretched your resources to the bursting point.
I prefer the Romanization of "Eltosian" over "Eltoshan" or "Eltshan," which is why I used it. It has the best ring to it, in my opinion. Although "Ares" is the best Romanization for his son, it has too strong connotations for my tastes. It might work for the Japanese, but not for me.
No, the love between Sigurd and Eltosian does not imply something more than friendship. Even so, love is a strong bond. You know, both Sigurd and Eltosian would have made excellent female knights, though, and if that were the case, I would not hesitate for a moment to write a longer romance between them. I think I prefer Sigurd as the female. Mm…such tasty idealism. That would be the One True Pairing in Genealogy of the Holy War. Maybe I'll write it one day. Actually, the more I think about it, the hotter it gets. Celice already looks like a girl, anyway; Female Sigurd—Sigrid—could resemble him.
On the other hand, I do imply that someone loves someone else in an M-rated way. I think you know what I mean.
Amusingly enough, I paired up Nanna with Aless during my play-through, so I guess they're living in sin at some cozy castle right about now. Nice.