"I say..." Canas lamented to Lucius, helping the monk with preparing rations for a possible siege, "he has become rather outspoken lately, hasn't he?"
The monk nodded in agreement, but soon his infectious smile followed. "Yet, it's because of those qualities that any of our compatriots have yet to fall in battle. Remember our first sojourn to the Dread Isle?"
"Ah, yes. You handled yourself quite well against those Black Fang Shaman. I was most impressed."
Lucius nodded in appreciation. "Thank you. However, it was a good thing that Mark had the presence of mind to position me there when he did. Otherwise, I fear that a few of us would not have made it thus far."
"What I find unusual," Canas started, "is how many of us still follow his orders to the letter in spite of his lack of social grace. I mean, it's only common courtesy to show respect to those that you command. It inspires loyalty. Mark, on the other hand, has not done much to earn the trust or respect of anyone in our group."
The monk of St. Elimine shrugged. "I can only assume or guess that his confidence in his ability to command gives him a charisma that keeps us together. That and our allegiances to our lords' alliances make it more binding than normal. However, I agree that it'd be better of Mark were more tactful when it came to interaction."
"Has it ever come to a head? Mark's behavior I mean."
The priest nodded sadly, "Unfortunately, there was a poll to see who'd be the first to physically react to Mark's derision."
Canas raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And who won?"
Lucius gave an embarrassed smile, "Sir Wallace. Mark had a rather large bump on his head for about a week. Since then, it became no surprise to anyone that he used a messenger to give Sir Wallace orders."
It still confused the Shaman how a lame legged, unkempt, and outright confrontational individual could command such strategies. In his experience, strategists were often calm, quiet, and serene to keep the morale of the troops high. Mark was the complete opposite.
Lucius' smile soon faded as he found Mark and Serra in yet another argument. The Sister in St. Elimine had become one of Mark's most vocal critics when most other simply toppled underneath the tactician's piercing gaze. From where he stood, it appeared she was bereaving a minor task she was given and felt it beneath a woman of high class like herself. It was a small source of consternation to the monk, for he had actually grown fond of the spirited priestess.
"Have you no idea what the wounded are going through? It is not only them, but we have an expectant mother in the infirmary being moved when no one in their right mind would do such a thing!" Serra hissed quietly.
Mark turned his bloodshot and tired eyes to Serra and snarled, "Then maybe she may as well miscarriage and save herself the trouble of raising an illegitimate. I have a job to do and I can't be bothered with trivial matters at the..." he was interrupted when Serra's hand struck his cheek with all the force a priestess of St. Elimine could when pushed.
The blow, gone widely unheard due to the commotion and preparation around them, forced the lame tactician back a few feet before he regained his balance. The priestess frown had not only grown, but it started to quiver as she said, trying to hold her tears in check, "How... how can we owe our lives to such a callous beast like you?"
Holding his reddened cheek, Mark said with a frown of his own, "It's quite simple, sister. The divine comedy needs its clowns and jesters. And I am merely an actor, performing my act to earn my bread."
Serra clenched her hands even harder, then, she turned and stomped off, hoping to never speak with him again.
Both Lucius and Canas watched in silence and only gave a passing glance to each other, knowing that much could have been said. However, now was not the time, for there were preparations to be made. As they entered the storeroom for where the rations would be held, Canas adjusted his monocle and whispered, "quite an anomaly, indeed."
In the higher turrets of the castle, the soldiers of Lyndis' Legion, Wil, Florina, and Lyndis herself, surveyed the dusk covered countryside with a looking glass that Mark had constructed himself. The archer, having the best eyesight and the steadiest aim, noted the clouds gathering at the foot of the hills just south of their position. He hopped down to the conversing lord and pegesus knight, and said, "As Mark had said, I can't see the movement in the hills as much as I used to."
Lyndis turned to him and asked, "But does not our location near the rivers create most of the mists that gather in the mountains?"
Florina shook her head and answered, "No. It's only so much if you're near the ocean. Remember Badon? I had to wait until the mist burned away before I could fly."
Lyndis, living on the plains for most of her life, realized her error, yet neither of her soldiers could chastise her for it as Wil continued, "basically, those clouds are being used as cover for Nergal's forces. I'll inform the others about it."
"No. I'll tell Lord Hector and Lord Eliwood," Florina interrupted and started downward before she started to wobble down the steps. A quick catch from both Wil and Lyndis prevented the Pegasus knight from falling down the stairs. Upon closer inspection, they saw the lack of color in her skin, the light layer of perspiration, and slightly nauseated look she had on her face.
"Florina," Lyndis asked, worried, "are you well?"
The Illian seemed more preoccupied with breathing than meeting the gaze of her liege as she answered, "I am fine. Yet, all this consistent travel has taken much out of me. I think I just need to rest."
With an incline of her head, Lyn ordered Wil to take Florina's other arm and place it over his shoulders as did the same with her other arm and carefully guided their friend down the stairs to where Lucius, Erk, Serra, or Canas would be waiting with the other clerics to administer to the sick.
So focused they were on Florina, that they failed to notice Mark slowly stepping out of the shadows of the stairwell. He remained still as their footsteps slowly faded away. Knowing they were gone, he turned back to the turret, stumbled up the stairs with his walking cane, noting the location of Florina's stumble and letting his gaze observe everything that may have escaped their notice. Moving his ruffled and messy hair out of his face, he noticed a faint sparkle near the place where the Pegasus girl had sat. He staggered to the location and rubbed his tired and sunken eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things.
Reaching forward, his hand clasped a small and solid object. With the last of the sun's rays reflecting on the small trinket in his hand, he muttered, "Interesting... most interesting... don't you think so, thief?"
At the very top of the turret, Legault stepped over and landed without a sound behind the tactician. "You speak the words I was going to say in understatement."
With a slight of hand, Mark placed the trinket in a hidden pocket in his many robes, replacing it with a simple gold ring in the process. He turned and gave the former Black Fang member a sour look. "Very little surprises me anymore. Now, what it is you want?"
Legault appeared hurt as he answered with a smile, "You wound me, sir. Whatever gave you the impression that I would wish for anything?"
Mark snorted and started to hobble past his guest, "Says the man that plays with the heart of a promised woman." He figured quickly that the thief, Isadora, and Harken had quite a history together and all the digging he had done only redoubled his suspicions of the Hurricane.
Legault stepped in front of Mark with a smile that spoke that he knew more than what the tactician had assumed. "So says the man who tosses stones in a house of glass."
Mark locked gazes with the Hurricane and said, with thinning patience, "If I had the time for analogy based hyperbole, I'd be more than happy to oblige, but the forces coming upon us from the south are not so easily amused. You have your orders, thief. See that you do them and be quick about it."
As Mark once again moved past Legault, the thief said with a smirk, "they say, that the louder a dog barks, the duller his teeth are."
Not bothering to turn, Mark growled back as he hobbled down the stairs, "They, whoever they are, say many things. You'd do well to comprehend that." As Mark finally reached a level pathway in the castle that was far from where the Hurricane was, he checked his pockets and confirmed what he had planned.
The gold ring was gone.
Surely enough, the ghastly creatures in the shape of men assaulted the castle. The guards, being warned in advanced we prepared and soon started to push the invaders back, though suffering losses.
In the throne room, Mark had gathered their merry band into a meeting where he had given orders for everyone, where they should go, and what they should do.
"I need three groups; each comprised of armor or calvary at the front, archers in the middle, and magicians in the back to support and heal. The flyers will serve as lookouts to report back to me when the siege breaks. Lady Lyndis, you take your men and defend from the west. Lord Eliwood, you and yours will go to the south and southwest. Lord Hector and his own will support both groups as needed."
After nearly a year of consistent combat, the group that had shared so many battles knew what to be expected of them as they separated into groups Mark had conscripted them into.
As the men and women of their group filtered out of the room, Mark grabbed Florina's wrist. The Pegasus knight nearly jumped as she asked, "Yes?"
Mark didn't flinch as he said tersely, "It would be best if you refrained from this battle... and the rest of them from hereon."
Florina looked shocked as she stuttered, "b...but why? I am not invalid, I can still fight with my sisters."
Mark frowned, pulled her close, and hissed in her ear, "the child in your womb says otherwise."
Florina's eyes grew wide with horror. As Mark had expected, she tensed up, knowing that her secret was out, yet he felt no need to inform everyone as of yet.
"H... how did you...?" she faltered quietly as Mark let go of her wrist.
Mark's voice was dispassionate as he continued, "That is irrelevant. If you wish to spare your offspring from the possibility of dying before birth, I suggest you think of a good explanation to appease your sisters and tend to the wounded. Until then, go."
She slowly walked back, her lips quivering, trying in vain to hold back the shame she felt in front of him. Mark, in spite of all his foulness of character, had made sure she was safe, but to do this seemed cruel. She had, at one time, thought of him as the brother she never had.
She attempted to start pathetically, "Mark... I'm sorry... I..."
Again, the tactician interrupted her in a completely normal tone, "I'm disappointed, Florina. Not surprised, but disappointed."
Not being able to withstand the tears anymore, she started to sniff and run to the infirmary as she was ordered. Mark closed his eyes and sighed as her footsteps grew further from the throne room.
"Now, comes the headache..." he muttered as he turned to find Hector, just emerging from where Florina had left, stomping towards him. Mark had no time to react as the Marquess' brother's fist knocked him off the floor and into the wall. The wind was forced out of him as she collapsed to the floor, without his cane to support him. It would not have mattered, for Hector had grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and slammed him against the wall once more.
"You wretched son of a whore! What did you do to Florina?" Hector snarled.
Mark struggled to get the air back in his lungs as he replied acidly, "I, unlike you, did nothing."
Now it was Hector's turn to be surprised as he let Mark tumble to the ground. "What are you talking about?"
Reaching into his pocket, Mark pulled out the small trinket he had found on the turret earlier that day. "This is yours, I believe?" It was the head of a small amulet, given to the women of the House of Ostia. "I was a bit surprised to find you and Florina had not only become friends, but lovers."
The rage in Hector's eyes returned. "That's no business of yours!"
Despite his shortness of breath and prone position on the floor, he still challenged the Marquess' brother, "Quite to the contrary. It was always my business when you, Eliwood, and Lyndis requested me to be your tactician. Then, your lives and the lives of your followers belonged to me. If you wished to live you would follow my orders exactly."
Hector's anger started to subside as the tactician continued. "Up to this point you've done so and as a result, not one of our band has died. However, thanks to your camaraderie all this is threatened and I need to rethink everything from here on out."
Not desiring to hear anymore, Hector growled, "You knave, what makes you think yourself so indispensable to think we still need you to defeat Nergal?"
With a tone of finality, Mark snarled back, "It's quiet simple, you boar! You follow my orders, you will live. Don't and you will all die. Nergal will see to that."
Still breathing heavily from the heat of the moment, Hector stepped back and without his wrath, he looked away and started, "I didn't mean for it to come to this..."
Reaching for his cane, Mark answered coarsely, "Nobles never do. Instead, all they do is follow their instinct and rut like a bitch in heat, and give no regard to the fatherless bastards the mothers have to endure. It's never changed."
"You've gone too far!" Hector yelled.
Mark snorted. "You've gone farther. So, tell me, what will you do? Abandon her to let her raise a child by herself? Let her lose her life in childbirth? I'm sure Farina and Fiora would relish hearing this."
Knowing how fiercely protective of their baby sister they were, the other Pegasus Knights would not be happy at all. The idea drained all color from Hector's face.
The air in the room was tense as Mark struggled to get to his feet. With another struggled breath, he said, "We don't have time for this. Go to the front and imagine every beast you see is me as you tear them apart."
Mark started to hobble back to the rooms with his maps, notes, and everything else. He said as Hector started to walk quietly to the front. "Nothing we say leaves this room. How you conduct yourself as Florina grows closer to childbirth is a problem we will have to face as it comes. Until then, you do what all warriors do: Fight and Die."
Hector turned one last to the retreating tactician, frowned, and stomped out, reaching for his Wolf Beil.
The siege was repelled and they soon set out once more for the Dread Isle with the assistance of Master Athos. Fate had smiled upon them, for Captain Fargas was still generous enough to give them passage, wishing to tempt their luck all the more.
On the bow of the ship, Hector stood alone, watching the waves splash against the side of the ship and onto the planks at his feet. Many things weighed heavily on his mind as he felt the wind caressing his cheek.
"Lost in thought? I find that most surprising," a familiar voice said from behind. The new Marquess turned to see Mark hobbling up to his side. He looked even more worn since the battle at his castle.
"Don't you have anyone else to taunt?" Hector grumbled bitterly.
"Not really. What better target than an oaf whose tongue is about as sharp as a club? But that's not what I came for," Mark said, watching the same horizon as Hector.
"Are you going to berate me for bringing Florina along?" Hector asked with his fists clenched tightly.
"Not at all. In fact, I wanted to tell you that you are one of the few who have actively disobeyed me for something in this particular situation," Mark answered, leaning casually upon his cane.
"What do you mean?" Hector asked again.
"I'll answer with a question of my own: Why did you bring Florina?" Mark said, turning to the Marquess. There appeared to be no malice or derision in his voice or countenance.
Hector tried to meet the tactician's gaze, but couldn't. "I wanted her here... I know I won't be able to protect her at all times from what I've done to her... but I don't want to leave her behind."
There was a long and tense silence as Mark digested his answer, taking note of everything Hector did. Hector had no idea what the crippled man was thinking as he continued his vigil of the seas. He continued to wonder of the various venom filled answers Mark would have when the tactician interrupted his thoughts.
"Very well. If you wish to take her into battle, keep her by your side and never let your gaze wander from her. I'll be sure to send Oswin, Matthew, Serra, and Rebecca along with you to protect her." The tone in Mark's voice wasn't calming at all. It still retained the cold and efficient professionalism he always did, but the fact he was changing his orders to ensure Florina's safety was still surprising.
He finally turned to Mark, noting the dispassionate gaze of the smaller man and asked, "Why?"
Mark had answered yet again, no wavering of confidence in his voice. "I have my reasons. You don't need to understand them now."
Hector replied helplessly, "Will I, or anyone for that matter, ever?"
For one of the few times in the short while he knew Mark, the lame legged genius actually paused before answering. "Yes. You will... you all will. Once we defeat Nergal, there is much I will tell you all. And for you, Hector, I will tell you the reason why I had no desire to allow Florina into battle."
The tactician looked directly into Hector's eyes. "Tell me, do you believe that my ability to command and strategize came easily?"
Catching the Marquess off guard, Hector struggled to recall the lessons of his tutors. Knowing that they all had to learn lessons that were harsher than most to get were they were, he thought perhaps the same applied to Mark.
"No."
Mark nodded in agreement. "That's correct. When I first studied the art of war, I foolishly believed that my gift to think elevated me to a level above everyone else. I shall not bore you with the details, but I paid a heavy price for my arrogance."
Hector looked to Mark's lame leg and asked, "Is that how you became as you are now?"
Mark nodded again. "Yes, but not only that, I lost everyone that I had grown to know and trust. They all believe me to be able to lead them to a flawless victory and I had failed miserably. I barely escaped with my own life as those that trusted me perished in a mistake so horrid that I shall never know peace until the day I die... and even then, that's not a given."
Silence once against prevailed over their conversation as the sound of the sea, the gulls in the air, and the wind against the sails filled the empty spaces.
Feeling contrite, and finally starting to understand Mark's devotion to their cause, he said quietly, "I'm sorry."
Mark's eyes were closed when he answered and turned away. "Don't be. The sins on my hands are not yours. In fact, I am not surprised at all that you acted the way you did back at Ostia. Were I in your shoes, I would do no different."
Hector, determined to make the tactician see him eye to eye, stood beside him and said, "I will take Florina as my wife. That way, she won't be shamed and the child won't have to grow up without a father."
Hector found himself surprised again when he saw Mark silent as a rock. It was broken when Mark asked, "In spite of the potential scandal this may cause? The persecution she may have to endure because she's from Ilia? The stigma the child may have to endure because she was conceived out of wedlock?"
"She?" Hector asked.
"Yes," Mark noted with a nod, "Florina will give birth to a girl. She will become a magician most likely, given the hereditary traits for magical proficiency that comes from Ilia. "
"How do you know all this?"
"For a while, I worked as a Mid-wife and was able to learn much about the attributes that children receive from their parents. Granted, I may be wrong about the child, but my assumptions about inheritance have more often than not rung true. Regardless, you didn't answer my question: Will you support both Florina and the child no matter what?"
Mark's and Hector's eyes were locked in a battle of wills, with neither wanting to pull back. Hector answered with all the confidence he could muster against Mark's piercing gaze. "Yes. No matter what."
The smaller man's eyes did not waver as he answered curtly, "Excellent. I believe you will make good on that."
Hector cocked his eyebrow and asked with a hint of suspicion in his voice, "Why did you wish to know? Do you actually care about Florina?"
The scowl on Mark's face returned, but with none of the anger that usually accompanied it. "I will deny what I am about to say if you repeat it: Yes. Save for Nino, she is pretty much the baby or our merry band. And I wasn't pleased to hear about her recent developments. I will not let her endanger herself for something so foolish as pride, nor will I let a foolish noble think he can taken advantage of her."
The larger man sighed as he spoke, "I deserved that."
Mark nodded in agreement and added, "Yes, but if you will keep to your word, then I shall have nothing to worry about. Now then, I have to get what little rest I can or else I will be useless for the battle ahead." Mark was about to walk down the stairs to the lower decks when he turned again to Hector and said, "Remember, we never had this conversation."
Hector nodded and kept the secret to himself and always would.
With ever increasing fury, Nergal's forces rose up to strike down the soldiers from Ostia and they're determined tactician. However, with Mark's planning, they were cut down, one by one. Even the morphs that Nergal had held in reserve stood no chance against the power of the sacred weapons that Eliwood, Lyndis, and Hector used.
One by one, the remainder of Nergal's creations fell. And with the victory in hand, all seemed won. Until the gateway to the realm of the dragons had opened, revealing its frightening occupants.
Ahead, the Lords and their group fought for their lives, while in the back, Mark had stumbled quickly across the worn stone floor, to the pile of ruined cloth and magic where Nergal lay.
The tactician looked the body over briefly, noting every detail. And one in particular that Mark had wished. From his robes, he pulled out a flask of vulenary, a few cloths, and poured the healing substance into it. Kneeling with great difficulty, he removed a few interfering robes and started to wipe the blood away from a few supposedly fatal blows give to him from Eliwood.
Nergal's breathing was hard and labored, how he had survived was beyond anyone's guess. But with everyone else occupied at the moment, they would not see Mark giving aid to the monster that had been tormenting the land for many years. From beneath his only visible eye, Nergal's gaze slowly traveled upward to see his unknown benefactor.
Nergal then gasped in shock when Mark's features, barely visible in the firelight from the battle head, illuminated his weary features.
"You..." he whispered in fear.
"Yes... me." Mark answered back quietly, and with a calm that made his earlier behavior seem like an act. From the corner of the necromancer's eye, he saw Mark pull out a dagger and before he could move, Mark's hand covered his mouth and the other, which held the dagger, plunged the blade into his hand.
With no strength to resist, Nergal's cry of agony went unheard as Mark not only pushed the blade in deeper, but twisted it around, causing further damage and indescribable pain.
"It hurts... doesn't it?" Mark asked, giving an extra pull on the dagger, catching the bones in Nergal's hand amid the blood and tissue. His other hand only gripped Nergal's face tighter, making sure no sound escaped.
"And don't believe that I don't understand your pain..." Mark said, his face twisting and contorting with a rage he had shown no one. "Because, I do... the pain you feel now is the same pain I knew when we last met. The only difference is that I felt this pain everyday since. I knew no rest, no reconciliation, no peace until I knew that your life was in my hands."
Nergal tried to struggle as more blood started to seep from the ruined turban atop of his head. He tried to speak, to howl, to say anything, but Mark's chuckles drowned him out as the tactician continued, "What's that? You beg for mercy? Is the pain too much for one as old as you? Tell me... you beg for mercy, but have you shown any?"
Then Nergal's eye turned on Mark in anger. He twisted his head to get it out of Mark's grip as he snarled, "I spared your pitiful life, you ingrate, when I should have killed you prior."
Mark's twisted smile only grew as he pulled the bloodied dagger out of Nergal's hand. "No. You had no intention of letting me live and you and I both know it. I escaped... to come again against you take everything from you when you took everything from me."
Ahead of them, the battle itself was won as the Red Dragon was beaten to the ground by the efforts of the Lords. However, it went ignored as Mark continued his torture of the necromancer.
Raising the dagger again, Mark plunged the weapon into Nergal's arm, just a short distance away from the first gash. This time, with no hand in his way, everyone had turned to see the source of the cry of pain.
"It no longer matters what happens... I have you here... and it is here you will die!" Mark yelled and raised the dagger once more, only to plunge it into the dying Nergal's body repeatedly.
Once in the head, then in the neck, several times in the heart, and several more times in the stomach. All the while, the tactician let loose a roar of anger and hatred he had built up longer than anyone had ever hoped to guess. The struggle of Nergal was brief, and soon, he fell silent, and yet, Mark continued to attack the corpse.
Pushing their way to the front, Hector, Lyn, and Eliwood looked upon their strategist with horror at the monster he had become, repeatedly inflicting wounds upon an already dead man.
"Mark... what are you doing!" Eliwood asked in shock at what had become of the man they had trusted for nearly a year. When Mark had not answered them and had continued to stab Nergal's lifeless body, Eliwood turned to Hector, Lyn, and even Athos, who seemed at a loss.
With no more strength to continue ravaging Nergal, Mark let go of the weapon and fell back upon his lame legs. His smile, now a hideous mockery of the face he usually wore, held a stream of saliva dropped from both ends of his mouth, giving him a nearly animal like appearance as he laughed.
"It all returns... doesn't it..." he picked up the dagger again and stuck it in Nergal's head with one hard stab, "DOESN'T IT, MASTER!"
All within earshot were shocked immediately at the sudden pronouncement, but the following rumble prevented anyone from doing anything.
"What's happening?" Raven yelled, picking himself and his sister, Priscella, up.
"The gate is collapsing! We must hurry or else we'll be buried here!" Athos announced to the group as he started to the exit with those that would follow.
The lords made a mad dash to the entrance of the Gate, save for Hector who noticed that Mark made no attempt to escape. Though he wasn't surprised, he had too many questions to ask Mark and he wasn't prepared to lose their tactician on the verge of their victory.
With a hasty grab around his waist, Hector lifted the smaller man onto his shoulder, in spite of all the cursing, struggling, and yelling from his accomplice.
"Unhand me!" Mark hollered, "Let me go, I said!"
"Never!" Hector roared back over the ear-deafening sound of the earth falling about them. Pretty soon, the Marquess' balance started to waver, and knew that unless Mark complied, they were going to be the only ones buried.
In a moment, he placed Mark on his feet, only to send his fist into the tactician's stomach, effectively knocking him out. With that, he tossed the limp man over his shoulder and redoubled his speed forward to his friends and the exit.
Along the way back, the weary band had kept a close vigil on Mark, who still lay unconscious in one of the cabins of captain Fargus' ship as they made their way back to the mainland. He had not recovered for the two days they had been at sea and though he was still breathing and very much alive, he would not stir.
Hector had taken it upon himself to watch over the unconscious man during the journey home, since he still had unfinished business with him.
"Do you suppose he'll arise by the time we return to Ostia?" Florina asked, standing by her future husband's side amid the low candle light.
Night had fallen once more and everyone had retired to their quarters. Safe for Florina and Hector, everyone was getting a well deserved rest.
"I can only hope so," Hector replied, "there's quite a bit I want to speak to him about... and everyone else, I imagine."
She turned to him, "About Mark calling Nergal, Master?"
The Marquess nodded. "Eliwood, Lyn, Athos, and I discussed it, but he can't be one of those things Nergal made."
"A Morph?"
He nodded. "Yes. You remember how they looked. Also, they were in perfect form, you and I haven't seen him take two steps without his cane."
Florina put her hand to her chin in thought. "Perhaps a regular servant that was dismissed? He could have worked for Nergal in his younger days."
Hector could only shrug as he took Florina's slowly widening waist in his arm. "I assume the only one that can tell us, is him. If he wants to tell us, that is."
Florina looked up to him and said quietly, "Maybe he will. He was always constant when it came to his word. He told you himself, didn't he?"
Hector nodded, "I don't see him as the type that would go back on his word. And he can't go far, at least as far as we know about him." He looked down to see Florina's worried countenance and Mark's words concerning her. The tactician's words continued to haunt him and the only thing that seemed to silence them was his renewed determination to uphold his word.
"You want to get some rest? You look like you could use it," he asked her quietly.
She turned to him with tired eyes and nodded, but not without standing upon the tips of her toes and giving him a quick kiss. He kissed her back and opened the door for her as she padded back to hers and his cabin, where she would be waiting for him.
With her gone, he took a stool and sat it against the wall by Mark's bed. With his arms folded, he leaned against the wall and took another glance at the ever mysterious man that had saved their lives, yet made every effort to trod them down with his confrontational tongue.
The minutes passed by slowly as he felt his eyelids grow heavy. Eventually, the weight grew too much for him as he soon nodded off against the wall. When he felt his eyes closing the last time before sleep claimed him, he widened his eyes and rubbed the sleep away. He looked down to the bed to find it empty!
He stood up quickly and looked around frantically for Mark, only to find the sheets being left undone leading to the door. He dashed out the door, looking everywhere in a panic, trying to see anything from the few candles that provided what little light they had.
He dashed to the front of the ship and up to the deck, looking this way and that until he heard what sounded like a chant being carried on the wind.
Red Moon, Red Moon. Cleanses the sinful and makes them anew.
He looked to the back of the ship to find the missing Mark, sitting on the deck, watching the moon, with a new cane in hand. He was the source of the song. Hector looked up to the clear new moon, glowing in the clear sky above, almost like the audience to Mark's lonely tune.
Shining brightly, in the night sky, waiting for the souls. Who will be born again tonight?
The tone of Mark's voice was obviously sad. Hector had never seen Mark sad, he was always either angry or frustrated. Never this. He walked carefully up the sparsely populated deck, making sure not to interrupt Mark's song.
Who will be born again tonight? Be born again tonight?
When he finally came up to Mark's side, he noticed another astonishing sight. Streams of tears were on Mark's cheeks. It appeared that wonders would never cease concerning this person.
Mark turned his face to the Marquess and said, "It's Demon Song, translated into human tongue."
Astonished at Mark's holding of such knowledge, he pressed, "Where did you find this?"
Mark looked to the sea as he answered softly, "In the Holy Writs of St. Elimine. They say the souls of the damned are consigned to the care of the demons and overlords, to serve in unspeakable pain and torture until justice is satisfied. Then they are released to be cleansed by the Red Moon and be born again for another chance."
Mark turned to Hector and smiled sadly, "And yet, you still have questions."
Hector noted that Mark's attitude had change dramatically. Though it looked like a heavy weight had been lifted off of Mark's shoulders, it also appeared there was something else missing. Like the light he usually saw in Mark's eyes.
"Yes. And I think you already know what I'm going to ask," Hector said carefully.
Mark's sad smile didn't fade as he replied, "And for that, I'm afraid it will have to wait until we return to Ostia. But I will explain everything, I promise."
Hector was about to argue against that, since it looked like Mark was not going to make it to Ostia at this rate. If he did, he'd probably be too weak to say anything, for his already poor health appeared to have gotten worse.
"Will you sing a verse with me?" Mark asked tiredly. Now Hector was starting to grow uneasy. Mark never asked, he only ordered. Nevertheless, when Mark started to sing, Hector hesitantly joined in. Hector was never a good singer, but did all he could to maintain the same tone Mark held as they repeated the same verse a few more times.
Soon after, Mark fell asleep once more and as carefully as he could, Hector wrapped the cloak around his friend and slowly walked back to the cabin.
"You're going to be the death of me, Mark," Hector said with a small frown as he placed the frail man back on his bed.
He was going to get the truth and as much as he hated to admit it, he was going to have to be patient in order for that to happen.
Despite Hector's fears, Mark did recover and was able to walk under his own power back to Ostia. They planned to celebrate their victory the next night, because the general feeling of dread welling up in their hearts concerning Mark, who wanted to tell them all the truth about him and his behavior.
More speculation ran rampant in the dining hall as Mark slowly made his way to a chair at the other side of the room, in front of everyone.
A heavy silence fell upon the room as Mark held the head of his cane in both hands and said calmly, "You are all here to hear the truth. A truth unsullied by opinion and in its purest, and at times, its ugliest form."
He turned to the Lords and said, "Back at the Dreaded Isle, you all wondered why I referred to Nergal as Master. Many of you have assumed that I served Nergal at one point. That, by itself is true, though, not to the point you would think."
He stood up and with a casual tug, he removed his cloak, and shirt and let the articles of clothing drop to the floor, exposing himself to his compatriots.
A collective gasp flew around the room as they witnessed Mark's body.
Half of his torso was caved in. For every section of exposed skin on his body, there was wrinkled tissue and visible bones protruding under it. The bones that comprised his rib cage were arranged and assembled half-hazardly, giving him a more grotesque appearance. The only exception to his hideous deformation was his head. For even his arms were too thin to even consider being usable.
His hardened and piercing gaze returned, daring anyone to make a remark as he continued in his usual harsh tone. "What you see before you, is the first of Nergal's attempts to create what you would call Morphs. I was the first. The proto-type. The test subject that was given life thanks to Nergal's dark magic."
Even the mighty Wallace and Oswin found themselves at a loss at the hideous sight of Mark's shriveled body as the tactician continued.
"Nergal did not wish for a mindless servent. So, he blessed me with an amazing intellect, capable of utilizing anything around me with the greatest efficiency. I served him will all my heart." His sharp gaze faltered and he looked to the floor.
"For years, I obediently did as he desired, thinking of him to be everything I wished to be..." he started to waver more as he collapsed onto his chair, "he was everything to me... I even dared to consider him... my... my father..."
No one said anything as Mark struggled with words to continue, "Then... next came the Kishuna, then Limstella, Ephidel, and Sonia." Words came harder as Mark actively and audibly started to sob. "When Limstella... was completed... Nergal... he abandoned me... left me to die in the deserts... I... he called me 'worthless' as though I were..." he turned and momentarily locked eyes with Serra, "...an illegitimate... but..."
Mark's sadness soon culminated into a wail that stunned everyone into silence. Tears were coming like a torrent from Mark's eyes as tried to support himself with his cane. Through ragged breaths and tears, he cried, "I... I loved him!"
Everyone was silenced by how chaotic Mark's behavior had become. Yet, the all know this was the man that had led him to victory. The same man whose anguish was a thing they could not begin to understand. It was almost surreal how quickly the veneer of calm and reason vanished in the wake of pure emotional distress. If he was as old as some of them had assumed, the immense weight he had carried for so long most likely did not spare his sanity.
He leaned over, still sobbing loudly with his forehead on his cane. Too quickly, the sobs changed to gasps of a frenzied man. He looked up and with a face that scared all who dared meet his eyes, he snarled between his teeth, "I HATED HIM!" He repeated the venom filled phrase, each time more heated and more vile than the last. A few in the group, being closer to Mark's true disposition, could empathize with him, for they knew what it was like to bear such a burden.
His breathing grew faster as he continued, "I did all... I could to find those who could defeat... those things that dared replace me, but they failed! No, I failed!"
Like a storm of uncontrolled emotion, Mark continued to rave, "Many times, I recruited those I thought strong enough to kill Nergal... but I failed and their blood... it's all on my," he would have continued, but he started to cough violently.
Another gasp went around the room as Mark stumbled forward and began to cough up blood that seeped through his hands. As the Lords and the healers dashed to his side to somehow give him aid, Mark's coughing only got worse as he eventually passed out.
The next day, Hector, Lyn, and Eliwood found that even with the combined healing powers of all the magicians of their troope, Mark still showed no signs of recovery.
"His natural resistance to magic is making it impossible for us to even see what's wrong with him, let along try to heal whatever it is that ails him," Lucius said helplessly.
At his side, Serra added, "and spite of his deformities, he appears perfectly sound. It's like something else completely."
Looking back to the bed where Mark lay motionless, Hector turned to the priestess, bishop, and monk and asked, "Is there nothing we can do?"
With a look of resignation, Renault shook his head. "We have done all we can. If there is any determining factor concerning his survival, it would be him."
Eliwood, with Ninian at his side, asked almost desperately, "but, why is this happening? It doesn't make any sense."
A new voice answered the prince's question hoarsely. "To the contrary, it makes perfect sense."
They all turned to see Mark's eyes fluttering open and labored breathing. "My extended life was no accident. It was through Nergal's power that this became so. And now that his power is gone, I will join him in death. Which is unusual, since I thought I would perish in my attempt to kill him."
When Mark had finally calmed down, Renault turned back to him and said, "And yet you don't seem as disgruntled as one would normally be?"
With great difficulty, Mark pushed himself upright and said with something akin to a smile, "I have lived a long life... and I believe I have earned my rest." Whatever elation he once held vanished as he turned to the Lords and asked, "I beg for your pardon for using you all the way I did. There is no excuse that can justify how I have behaved."
Hector answered before any of the others could, "You kept your word, Mark. And I believe that if you had not acted the way you did, a lot of us would not be here now."
Mark was about to protest when he leaned back against the headboard. "If you say so." A second later, a small semblance of a smirk appeared, "Oh, if I heard correctly, you all mentioned something of a celebration. Am I correct?"
Though everyone was taken back by the sudden change of subject, Serra answered, "Yes. The bonfire's being made as we speak and Sir Lowen's is preparing the food."
"Excellent," Mark said as he tried to leave the bed under his own power.
Not believing where the conversation had headed, Serra grabbed Mark by his collar and shook, "Are you mad! You're at death's door and all you can think about is celebrating!"
Unperturbed, Mark answered, "As a matter of fact, yes. My time is short and the last thing I want to do with it is lament over the things I didn't' do. And besides, it's going to take me a while to get there and I don't wish to be late."
His simple response dissipated Serra's shock as Eliwood, understanding Mark's intent, said, "We would be honored if you joined us, Mark."
The festivities were a modest affair, exclusive to only those that had traveled throughout that whole year. There was much merry making as Lucius and Serra sang celebratory hymns, with Priscilla accompanying them on a lute she had learned how to play herself.
Among some of the laughter from some of the larger knights and more powerful wizards, Mark and Sir Wallace had another staredown.
"You seem to be holding yourself well for one in your condition," Wallace ventured, his voice nor gaze wavering.
Mark replied cautiously, yet refused to back down from Wallace's stare, "I am just as well as any of you. I prefer not to be judged by my lack of a full body."
Wallace grinned and asked, "Oh? Are you saying that you could have actually fought with us in battle with those tiny arms of yours?"
"Of course I could have you..." Mark then remembered the last time he had belittled Sir Wallace and quickly relented, "Yes, I could have instead of lollygagging around while all of you did the dirty work."
"Ha! I would have relished seeing that. Imagine little Mark, swinging his stick and causing the enemy to shrink from his savage tongue!" Wallace bellowed.
Everyone in earshot created an uproar of laughter, save for Mark who did not appear amused. The closet thing he could do was give his poor excuse of a pout to show his disapproval of being the butt of the jokes.
"Most amusing," Mark muttered sarcastically.
Beside him, Kent gave an honest smile before speaking, "I wouldn't take it too personally. He does that with most people he's fond of."
Mark turned an eye to him and replied, "And you would know, a man that doesn't know the difference between fidelity with a woman and duty to one's lady, hm?"
Kent froze and Mark smirked. The former frowned and said, "I'd prefer that such a subject be kept out of the public discourse."
Across the way, Sain's smile grew. "Oho. So my brother in arms is not the completely reserved stalwart I thought he was." The green-clad knight stood up and stood beside his brother in arms, "So, tell us, Kent. How many hearts have you broken during our time together? Surely, with as many fawning over one such as yourself, there must be many to speak of!"
Mark's knowing smirk grew as he interjected, "To the contrary, there is but one and I'd fain ignorance to say that she did not feel the same of him. It must be a thing about noble ladies."
Kent's face changed from flustered to agitated as he nearly roared to both of them, "Not another word!"
Completely ignoring Kent, Sain continued to dramatically step, reciting lines of his own creation, "Oh, to know love from one so chivalrous is both a blessing and a burden!"
"Sain!" Kent growled, not holding back anymore.
Around them, the roar of laughter grew louder at the expense of the Pharean knight.
With his mischief completed, Mark stood up with stumbled over to an enchanted Eliwood, watching Ninian dance gracefully in the firelight.
He sat down slowly beside the lord and said, "beautiful, isn't she?"
Broken out of his revere, he nodded and replied, "Yes... and I have to admit that it's rather humbling that she chose to stay here instead of returning with her brother."
"Love makes us do strange things, doesn't it?" Mark noted, recalling how he once felt towards his former master.
Picking up on his train of thought, Eliwood found any words to console Mark had vanished before they came to mind. It was a scene somewhat similar to his own with the last Marquess of Pharae... with the notable exception of Mark's love for his master turning into a all-consuming hate.
Without looking to Eliwood, Mark whispered ominously, "Eliwood... what I'm about to tell you, you should relate to Hector: Beware of Bern. Hector has his spy network and he should use it to remain vigilant against the prince. Moreso when he becomes of age."
Surprised, Eliwood asked, "But why? I'm sure they realized the things we did in protecting the royal family will not be forgotten."
Mark shook his head, "No. They won't be forgotten, but they won't honor the same courtesy you showed him. He still desires to prove himself to his father and will find a way to do so. Even if it means returning evil for the good you did for him. Bern is a military state and will be until it's wiped off the face of the world."
Eliwood remained silent for a moment before saying, "You make it sound like there's no other alternative."
"I want to be wrong, prince. I truly do. However, the reality is that Bern will always hold delusions that it holds some divine right to rule in dominion over the land. That is why you and Hector must remain eternally vigilant, for that's the price you pay for your freedom."
Eliwood nodded, knowing that if Mark's words rang true, then he and Hector would have much to discuss.
The smile returned on the tactician's face, "But that's for later. For now, be merry. Your beloved Ninian would appreciate it."
The lord of Pharae turned to see a puzzled Ninian looking towards their direction. Taking Mark's advice to heart, he stood up and requested that he join Ninian in her dance.
Watching the prince and his future bride dance brought a smirk to his face. "May your son live up to your legacy, Prince," he whispered before once more he stood with great difficulty and slowly sneaked away from the revelry.
Mark wasn't sure how far he had traveled in the night. He knew it wasn't far, considering it took much longer than normal to take a single step. His breath had come increasingly difficult and he was moving by sheer will-power, for the pain in his failing joints had nearly stopped him on more than one occasion.
He was almost there. All he needed was a little more time. He had already left the locations to his studies of all his books for Ostia and Pharae to learn from his experience for the lords and said his peace to the group he had worked with for so long.
He looked to the slowly brightening dawn and struggled to keep himself upright. His time was almost gone. Just a little longer. He couldn't even talk and it was a struggle to breathe.
He fought to keep the moisture out of his eyes. He wanted to live. More than ever, he wanted to live. Without the crushing burden of his hatred for Nergal, he felt that he would have been empty as the pockets of a pauper. However, the people that he had fought alongside him still believed and saw the best in him, in spite of how horrid he had treated them.
He collapsed against a boulder as he lost his grip on the cane. He weakly turned to the horizon and adjusted his head against the crook of the rock.
Mark sniffed once and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He was going to miss them. He was about to mentally speak his good-byes to the group that had become a family to him when he saw the first vestiges of the sun peek through the mountains.
His eyelids grew heavier by the second as he mused at how the sunrise was the most beautiful thing in this two-bit world. A pity people didn't recognized this as much as they should have. A greater pity was that he needed to be on the verge of death to truly understand it too.
Ever so slowly, Mark's eyelids closed for the last time. With nothing more he could do, he slid to his side, never to move again.
The End
Notes: All things Fire Emblem belongs to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems, who deserve major kudos.
Mark's song, Red Moon, belongs to Tenpei Sato and Nippon Ichi.
If you enjoyed the story, please, leave a nice, long review. If it sucked, leave a nice, long review explaining why. After all, can't make a story better by myself, can I?
I consider my many conversations with Samuraiter to be a major contribution to the inspiration to this story, so he gets some thanks in the end too. While we're at it. Go have a look see at his stories and enjoy. I know I did. And with that... I'm off.