CHAPTER FIVE | Confrontation

The Lady Kumiko will hardly be in danger. I dare say the king dotes on her in such a loving fashion and is even quite possessive of her. She is blind and does not see this. Nor does she ever see that when our talks turn to her, the king takes on a slightly softer tone and such a smile. He has delighted in her much, and that makes me believe he will not turn her away or harm her. Only she can make her own undoing. She is absolutely intent on leaving that I dare say she is blind to her potential power in the Keep. I will relay what influence I can to make her realize this. Her sensibilities, I hear, are getting the better of her.

A coded response to the received letter was quickly penned by a left-handed man:

That is typical of Her Majesty, if I must say. She has been that way for as long as I can remember. The only person getting in the way of her ability to stop the war in the easiest way possible is, I dare say, herself as well. I've known her to be incapable of treachery or disloyalty of any sort—she will do the nobler thing, even if it is longer. And we both know that fighting opposite her husband in war is seen as a greater good by most people rather than quietly maneuvering in the Keep to place him between her fingers, or if worse comes to worst, quietly just slipping some poison into his drink, which she is capable of doing. It is the highest treachery, but I think both means just lead to the same end—the death of His Majesty and ultimately the end to this war. Kumiko is not aware of the easy way to do it. It would frustrate her if I be the one to suggest it to her, but we shall continue to strive to retain her in the Keep until, hopefully, she realizes her power on her own.

BERN KEEP

"Pack your things," Jaffar quietly prodded Nino upon his return to their chambers in the Keep. "And I don't want to hear about taking any of those gowns, Nino. Take your essentials—some gold, some jewelry, and your magic tomes…"

Nino had been sitting in front of her desk, quill in her hand as she wrote for spells in a tome. She turned to him and blinked plaintively, puzzled by his sudden demands. "…Jaffar?"

"Nino, do it."

"Well, I demand an explanation!" Nino said, getting up and looking straight at her husband with a pout. "You've left without saying where you were going to a while ago, and now you tell me to pack my things…"

"I escorted Kumiko to leave the Keep to their guild a while ago. She seems to desire to stay there more than returning here for the meantime," Jaffar explained quickly. "While I object little to that—she can do what she wants—this puts us in the most awful position should His Majesty return to see she is not here and we are. We will be the receiving end to his temper. This is why I tell you to prepare. If we begin to sense that his return is imminent..."

Nino nodded, realizing Jaffar's point. She quickly took out her packing bags and scoured her shelves for her magic tomes—taking one of each spell. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? Oh, this is such an awful situation we are in, Jaffar. Doesn't Kumi notice this? She'll protect us if she can, but there is no telling when the king's temper will boil over."

"I believe she is preoccupied thinking of what to do in this war. I've yet to give her my honest counsel. She is blind in her current frustration…"

"She'll snap out of it eventually, of course," Nino remarked, as she took her hidden stash of gold from underneath their beddings and threw it into her bag. "If she does not, well, it's a good time for us to go on our own and, you know… look for them…"

Them. "Yes," Jaffar nodded. "That would be a good plan of action. For now, I'm going to check some more of our things, Nino. I need to see if I can figure out information as well about the king's return."

Nino nodded to her husband, and Jaffar returned it, as he turned around to walk out of their chambers to, as he said, find more information about the king. But before he could leave, their door opened, and guards of Bern Keep entered.

"Sir Jaffar, Lady Nino. I'm afraid you are to not leave your chambers as order of His Majesty, and we are to see that it is so."

Too late. He has already returned.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

He peered into the dungeon cells, careful not to seem suspicious, since he was, after all, a knight of Bern. He was not to be concerned about the dungeons, or any prisoners that they may hold in. But he was.

Thankfully the Araphen Dungeons were pretty empty—a minimal of guards were assigned there, both of whom he knew personally. He had no trouble entering the dungeons because of that, and if he was discreet enough, he was going to escape danger.

He stilled when I heard heavy, labored breathing. That must be it. He peered into the next dungeon cell and saw a man with thick blue hair and beard, in all his armor, sitting on the damp, bloodied dungeon floor.

Lord Hector.

The said lord was supposed to be younger than the knight, but in his current state, the Ostian Lord seemed so much older. Didn't anyone tell him to shave off that beard or trim that hair neatly? Ah, but then again, he was Lord Hector, unconscious of his appearances.

"…What are you staring at?" the Ostian lord breathed out, snapping the knight from his thoughts. Even in his weakness, Lord Hector still managed to make his statement sound threatening.

"Lord Hector," said the knight, "it's me." And he took off his riding helm to reveal his face to the Ostian lord. Hector had difficulty seeing in the dark, but he managed to make out the knight's dark green hair and the undeniable streak of white in it.

Faces and memories flashed back to the lord's mind, and then he finally said, "Heath… what are you doing here?"

"Long story, my lord," he said, kneeling towards the cell, holding onto the bars that separated him from the lord. "I was reinstated as a knight of Bern, but I did not know that this was what was going to happen. My apologies, Lord Hector…"

"I don't… blame you," Hector said, in between his labored breathing. "…How were we supposed to know?"

Heath regarded the lord for a second, and drew into his pack for his rations and pushed them into the cell. "My lord, please take these. You need to eat and drink. If I would be staying here for much longer, I'll find a way to get you out of here. Just hang on, Lord Hector. Just—"

"Heath!" a soldier called from the end of the dungeon hallway, holding a torch and peering into the darkness to look for the wyvern knight. "You're being called! It's time for assembly! You're unit's gonna leave you, man!"

Leave? So soon? Heath did not expect it at all. He started to panic, not knowing what to do—how was he going to help Lord Hector, then? He thought he might help the lord escape and find a healer to deal with his wounds, but… "Wait a second!" Heath called out to the soldier, trying to buy himself some time. "I dropped something, let me just find it!"

And then he felt into his pack for the small lockpick that he swore was in there, and when he got it, he started working on the locks of the cell door. The light was sparse and he could barely see a thing—and he knew too little of this, "I should have listened to Anko better", it would take him long to get this one lock open. Hector looked up to see what the knight was doing, and said, "Heath, what are you doing?"

"Opening your cell for you, my lord!" Heath replied, panicked. "But I don't have much time—"

"Fool! Don't do it! You'll get in trouble with your own country—again!" said Lord Hector. He began coughing violently, prodding Heath to finish up his task of picking the locks much more quickly. "I don't have… I don't have much time," said Hector. "…I'm going to die anyway. Don't waste your time. Don't risk yourself. It was good enough to see an old friend…"

"Heath? Where are you, man? We're leaving!" another soldier called out—and this time Heath was more familiar with the voice. It was the captain of his unit calling to him now.

"I'll be there, sir!" Heath called out, just as he threw down his lockpick and stopped at the locks. He turned to Lord Hector one final time, and said, "My lord, this is all I can do for you, my apologies. But don't give up just yet. We might meet again."

Heath walked away, and Hector was left, not knowing what to make of the meeting. He knew his time was short, his strength was gone. There were so many questions now, and he needed to make out what answers he could get from the events. That was all he could do now—think. His gaze then fell to the wrapped rations and the vulnerary that Heath had left for him, and he reached out for it. The cell lock was already open, but Hector barely noticed, and barely had the strength to get up and leave.

"Heath?"

The wyvern knight stirred as he felt Kumiko grip tighter around his stomach, an action to call on his attention. He blinked, feeling as if he just awoke from a daydream, and he focused on his surroundings again, at the skies of Bern in the evening and the path to Bern Keep. The winds were cold and wet with rain, the water misting his and her—and Hyperion's—bodies.

"Yes, Kumiko?" he asked.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "You were so quiet…"

"…I was just deep in thought, Kumi. So many things happened in Ostia. It was too much to take."

"Will you tell me?"

" I'll tell you later," Heath said. "You'll have enough to tie your hands now, Kumiko. I'll tell you later."

BERN KEEP | The King's Audience Room

The guards were pulling her to the throne room as if she were a criminal—they didn't drag her like they did with criminals, but they held her arms with a grip that was determined to bring her to the throne room. And so strong was their determination. She knew they could have been more considerate, as she was queen, but they only became like this because she fought them, screamed at them, kicked them, scratched them with her nails, and pulled on their hair, as if they were going to bring her to her death.

She was finally released when she was pushed into the throne room by the men that were holding her. She gave them a furious look before turning her head to the room—where the king was on his throne of sleek old wood, looking as if he had been waiting for her.

And he then asked the inevitable question.

"Where have you been?"

She gave him the same glare she gave the guards, and said, "My affairs are mine. I don't see the need to tell you. And shouldn't I be asking you that? Where have you been, Zephiel?"

He returned her glare, and she noticed one of his eyebrows twitch up ever so slightly. He was not in the best of moods for confrontation, that was apparent.

She was in no mood for it, either. She tried for a way out. "Look at me!" she said as she raised her arms as to display her white cloak that was soaked from the rain outside. Her hair and her entire being were wet of the rain as well, and the drips of water from her clothes made the vibrant red of the carpet on the floor change its color to a deep wine red. "I look ridiculous," she said. "Surely there's a better time for this? I beg you, my king. Can we just discuss this issue in our chambers at a later time? I beg your leave, my king. I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."

She turned to leave, but his voice interrupted. "I see you are trying to run away. But you may not. I ask you. Answer me now."

She took off her coat in one brisk motion that caused more water to splatter onto the carpet, and then threw it behind her back. A servant who was quick on his toes immediately lunged after it and caught it.

"I deserve more discretion than this," she said.

"You only deserve all that I think you do."

She rolled her eyes, and then put a hand to her hip, and looked at him again. "Whatever is so important with where I went off to, anyway?"

Her eyes were filled with her annoyance as they trailed off to the windows and her were eyebrows slightly raised. She looked as if the most ridiculous thing in the world was happening to her—and she thought that it was.

"You know," he began, in a tone slightly more relaxed, "that I am very fond of you."

She knew.

"But," he said, and she knew he would say it, "I also know that I don't exactly have your loyalty. In fact, you are the most likely person that I would expect to betray me."

"…Are you accusing me, Zephiel?"

She did not scream, but the hurt in her voice was very clear, even the king himself was taken aback. How could she have made it sound as if he just told her the most hurtful words she has ever heard? There was a truth to Zephiel's accusation, she knew—she went to the Tactician Guild to meet with her colleagues and plan a way to end the war after all, and didn't she just stubbornly declare there that they had to fight Zephiel? So how could his accusations hurt her?

He took a breath, and said, more softly, "My apologies. …I was simply worried for you. I had no idea where you were."

Worried! What a brilliant lie, Zephiel. I doubt you would be worried about me. "Worried?" she said with a stifled chuckle. "My, my, Zephiel... You know how to worry? For me?"

His only answer was, "Well, Guinevere is missing."

"I wouldn't wonder," she said. "I doubt she has been abducted or anything of that sort. I believe it is her choice to leave you—and who wouldn't? I would do the same thing, given the chance."

Angered by her words, he finally stood from his throne, and walked down the steps and said, his voice clearly irate, "Just what is wrong with you? What wrong did I do again this time that is making you act like an incomprehensible-"

"You know full well what's going on now that I dislike," she snapped at him. "And unless this war stops, I am not going to manner myself the way you want me to!"

She was brave, thought the small crowd of attendants and guards in the room. They may not have thought of her much as a queen, but if there was one thing they could merit her for now—it was bravery. Even the most valiant hero could never stand just the king's anger—it was like staring death in the eye itself. But she could handle it, and let alone have the guts to argue with him. They all knew he could throw her out of the castle with a single word—but anyone who can hold her own against the king of Bern was someone to fear as well, that part everyone knew.

And she certainly could hold an argument with him. If she could not, she should have been dethroned or dead sometime two years ago.

"Just who do you think you are to make these demands of me?" he said, his tone rising dangerously. "You forget who you are talking to, woman!

"You killed my best friend!"

The crowd of attendants and guards stirred, wishing they were anywhere but there at the moment. She truly was brave—or highly foolish. Who would launch such an accusation to the king, no matter if it was true or not? Who would dare him?

The king's eyes widened in surprise of her declaration, but then he just raised an eyebrow, and asked, "Just what are you talking about?"

"Lady Lyn of Ostia! She's dead! And it's your entire fault! It's because of this stupid, insolent, accursed war!"

He was taken aback by her outburst, but he knew full well what she meant. He stood still and watched her in her rage. Rage—that was the only way to describe that flame in her eyes, the way she looked at him with such intense… hatred. And yet she was shivering in fear. And yet her eyes were teary in mixed anger and sadness. "So is this why you went off today again, Zephiel? Have you killed another of my friends again? Murderer! You are no king, you are a murderer!"

Everyone was shocked by her bold statements—even Zephiel himself. If she were not queen, she would be quickly hanged to death for her words alone. And even if she were queen, her actions deserved punishment.

He stared down at her, looking offended and angry, and she tensed, recalling the words that just ran out of her mouth. She did not regret saying them—there was no point in regret—but she wondered if there could have been a subtler way to say it. She almost waited for his judgment—for him to order her killed or to be banished.

But then he shook his head, putting a hand to cover his face, and he could be heard laughing to himself.

He walked towards her, a smirk present on his face. She shuddered. For some reason, she thought that being executed or being banished would be a thousand times better than what was to come.

He stopped when he was in front of her, and said, almost casually, "Well, look who's talking."

She gave him a puzzled look.

"If I'm a murderer, I wonder what that would make you, Strategy Queen," he spoke as if he was teasing her. "I must wonder how many people you've killed with your tactics! Your hands would never have to be stained… but how many times in your life have you pointed your finger at a man so that one of the fighters in your group would kill him?" He saw her shudder at the image he suggested—because she knew she had done that. "How many members of Black Fang have you had slain in that little campaign we all heard about more than a decade ago? I remember you and your group killed a lot of people who were attempting to assassinate me at one point in time, long ago. So how funny you declare that I'm a murderer! You are just like me! You've given orders to kill people before I have!" She was frozen in place now, face pale and aghast. "Tactician? Strategist? Hah! Your kind hides behind these words, declaring figuring out how to kill people and win battles as a profession. You live and earn money playing these little games, using people like they are chess pieces and victory is only brought about by killing the enemies! That is how you think, right? That is the mentality of your profession! That is—"

The sound of a crisp slap filled the room.

She slapped him, her face blank and dumbfounded. Her hand rose by itself to hit him earlier, as if it had a mind of its own. She stared at him, her eyes glossy with be tears. Oddly, he found that her eyes didn't burn with hatred now, but rather a form of disappointment.

He put a hand to his reddened check. Untouched by her emotions, he continued, "And you slap me for talking the truth. Tell me, Kumiko. Was I not speaking the truth?"

And her tears began to flow. Because in a way, yes, he was talking the truth.

She never, ever, ever wanted her being a tactician to be seem as an excuse for murder. She never treated tactics like a game. And she never liked the violence. She never liked it, and while she has gotten accustomed to death, she has never been clear of conscience for everything she has done. How many times, in her youth, had she woken up screaming, seeing dead men's faces and bodies all bloodied and cut up? And how many people have cried out, 'Murderer!" to her? She was a hero to many. But to a few, she was a harbinger of death all the same.

She cried silently now, never taking her eyes away from him. He stared at them, and found them asking things such as 'how could you say that to me?'. But he was unmoved.

She rubbed her eyes, and finally said, after what seemed like a while. "At least I didn't kill my father with my own hands to get the throne." It was a low, angry whisper, but he heard it very clearly.

His eyes widened in surprise and in offense—he didn't expect her to throw that back at him. "Try saying that again, woman—"

"At least I didn't kill my own father to get the throne!" she yelled, startling everyone around her.

He stood in shock at her audacity to speak of that—in front of the castle guards and his attendants, of all people. He grabbed her brusquely on the shoulder, pushing her back, shaking her violently—"He tried to kill me first!" he said in his defense. "And I did not kill him!"

"You killed him! With your sword, as you rose from your pretended slumber, and—"

"Shut up, woman!"

She gasped and was still not because of the fact that he raised his voice, rather, that he raised his hand up to the air as if to hit her. And he surely was, but at the last moment, Zephiel withdrew his hand, and irately turned around, purple cloak swaying behind him as he walked a few paces from Kumiko. It was almost as if he were trying to distance himself from her in an effort to stop himself from hitting her.

Everyone—Zephiel included—reveled in that small silence, thinking Kumiko would stop once she saw how Zephiel seemed considerate enough to control himself from hurting her. But she was stubborn. She opened her mouth again, and everything started again. And it was worse.

"…Were you going to hit me, Zephiel?" she asked, lips curled up into a smirk as she spoke. The tone by which she spoke sounded so light and sweet, but he knew it was barbed and it meant ill all the same.

"Does it matter?" he replied, sounding tired. Whatever I do, you are only going to find something wrong with it.

"You thought I didn't know, did you? You thought I never heard about you, and that well-played funeral, where you lay there, in your coffin, holding your ceremonial sword, peacefully pretending to be dead… And the moment you rose and struck your father when he came close enough…"

Zephiel was starting to fume, continuing to move farther from her, as if wanting to block out her words, to stop his mind from bringing back the memory that Kumiko was retelling. She is my curse. She is my torture. Why did I even marry?

Her tone became bolder and bolder, her voice louder and louder, as she went on with her story. "…You struck him dead then and there, with your little sister Guinevere wailing in the background, not understanding anything at all! Witnesses were forced to be silent—anyone who talked ill about the event was never heard of again. Do you think I'm blind to not know about that? And do you think people follow you just because you are good enough? Well, Zephiel, you are damn good at being king, but on that day you became a monster, a horrible, killing monster gripped by revenge and—"

"Shut up!" he finally cut in, turning back to her, retracing his steps back towards her, letting his anger control him now. "You do not know what happened. You will never understand what happened and why it had to be done. You have never felt my pain, and you have never tried to understand it at all! You ungrateful, annoying—"

"Dethrone me!" Kumiko suddenly yelled, so loudly that Zephiel and everyone else flinched. She was yelling and angry, but tears were on her face as well. "If you hate me so much, take this goddamn crown"—and she reached up to her head for the bejeweled royal circlet that was in her hair, and tossed it aside, the item clanging against the floor—"take this damn crown off me and forget about me being your wife! I don't want any of this anymore, Zephiel! Just let me go so we can stop getting in each other's way!"

He looked absolutely stunned at her words, and she just sighed and turned to walk away, relieved to be able to get her desire through. If he wasn't going to stop the war for her, then he might as well just dethrone her and let her walk away. But before she could take a step out, Zephiel reached out and grabbed her by her wrist.

She turned to face him, and she found him looking at her, straight into her eyes. "I never let something I wanted so badly ever just walk out on me."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

For some odd reason, Kumiko stilled, and felt something… odd, about that declaration of Zephiel. It took her a second or two that she actually felt flustered at the implication that once, he had wanted her so badly, and maybe—just maybe—wants her still, which was why he did not want her to let go. Kumiko felt guilty with conceit as she felt her stand soften at the idea that, no matter how determined she was to let go, her husband was still chasing after her and telling her not to.

"Do you want to know why I married you?" he asked.

She only nodded slowly. Did he actually care for her,as Anko and others have suggested?

But that was not what she was going to hear.

"Because I didn't want a skilled tactician like you going against my plans and possibly ruining them. You were a threat, you know, especially if you sided with Etruria or Lycia. And I didn't want that happening. So I tried to prevent that by making you mine, and you actually fell for it! You actually believed that I gave a damn about you! I only cared that you weren't in the way of my plans! So don't you dare think you can just walk away that easily! I will never let you! You are my wife! You are my property! If you refuse to submit to me, woman, than I am going to have to force you into submission until you realize your place!"

Another slap made its way to his cheek. He looked down at her, stunned once again. He felt the sting of her hand on his cheek, and this time, it really hurt. Much more than the first one, much more than he thought she was capable of.

He held his cheek, which was burning and stinging from her slap, and he threatened, "Just try doing that again..."

Annoyed, her hand rose again to slap him, but it didn't make its way to his skin. He quickly grabbed her wrist, and he held her arm up high over his head which made her rise on her toes. He held her with such a force and grip that she swore he was going to impair the wrist of her writing hand, in which she thought she would never be able to write again. She saw his fist rise to hit her, and in fear, she closed her eyes.

But he stopped midway. Again he stopped midway. With a groan, he let go of her, and she fell back on her feet, puzzled of why he restrained himself, but still angry the same.

"Get her out of my sight," he said, an order to the guards standing by the door.

The guards, who long wished that they weren't there to witness the whole scene between the king and queen, jolted to action and took the queen by her arms. She protested and struggled to the best she could, and she screamed.

"I hate you!" she yelled at him. "Marrying you is my biggest regret! I hate you!"

"Take her to her chambers," he ordered coolly.

She protested and struggled from the men holding her with strength they never knew she had. "I hate you! I swear I am going to kill you with my two hands!"

A guard found it right to give a blow to her stomach, and a strong one, which caused her to faint almost instantly. And with that they took the woman away.

When she was gone, the king found himself caressing his cheek, still red from her slap, and he whispered, "Really, that woman. She's more trouble than she's worth."

But then he looked down at the royal circlet that she had left on the floor, its rubies blinking in the light. Dethrone me, her voice had said. I hate you. Marrying you is my biggest regret.

LYCIA | Castle Araphen

Hector stirs as he hears footsteps walking into the damp dungeons, and torchlights drawing near. He did not expect for anyone to come so soon. He had not expected help at all.

The lights had stopped drawing closer, and finally, there he was—Roy, son of his good friend Eliwood of Pherae. The Ostian lord took all his strength to just look up at the boy, and he managed a small smile at the sight of Roy—for a second there, he thought he was looking at Eliwood in their youth. He took on the same red hair as his father and the same kind countenance.

"Lord Hector!" Roy entered his dungeon cell and immediately rushed to his side. He looked over the Ostian lord and quickly noticed his wounds, the blood pooling around him, and the blood on his body and face—which was, sadly, a little dry now. "What an awful wounds... We must treat it! Here, lean on my shoulder..."

His voice gave nothing away though he knew Lord Hector was more than worse. Ah, you're just like your father. Never one to sound discouraging. "It's all right," Hector said. "...I won't last much longer..."

"Lord Hector..." Roy began, voice sounding like an appeal, as he tried to pull the lord up and get him to walk.

But Hector did not budge—he had neither strength nor will to do so. "I was… taken by surprise...I never would have guessed that Bern had resurrected the Dragons..."

For a second Roy thought Hector was kidding, or he has slipped into a delirious state. "Dragons!"

Hector nods weakly. "Yes, Roy. Dragons… which we humans have already fought in the past…"

"But how can that be possible, Lord Hector? Dragons?"

Hector almost came up with an answer, but then he started coughing violently, blood coming out with his coughs. There was no time to explain. No time at all. "Roy," Hector said, voice and breathing already raspy, "...go to Ostia...! ...You must...lead what is left of the Lycia Alliance Army...instead of me... Lilina...please take care of her too..."

"Lord Hector…"

"...Lilina... Lyndis… I would have loved to see you both… one...more...time..."

And the Lord of Ostia stops breathing and falls dead and limp into Roy's arms.

BERN KEEP | Military Base

Zephiel had been staring at the report from Araphen for much longer than he would have. The report, concise in nature, brought good and bad news: Castle Araphen has been retaken by Lycia. However, Lord Hector is dead.

Retaken? Zephiel thought. By who? What force in Lycia is still capable of fighting? And for a second he thought, Lord Hector is dead. Good—who would be more capable of leading the Lycia Alliance Army apart from him? Anyone else would be less that him, his death was definitely a blow to Lycia.

Lord Hector is dead. One more thing my wife could scream to my face and blame me for.

"Pardon me, my lord, may I speak of something?"

Zephiel blinked and snapped from his daze, again returning his focus to the battle map in front of him instead of the note, and then to the man who just spoke—one of his generals, and his closest advisor, General Murdock. "Yes, Murdock? You were saying? Forgive me, I lost my concentration a few moments ago."

"So it seems, Your Highness. But please do not worry. As I was saying, I was asking for your leave to speak about something…"

"Well then, you may speak," said Zephiel, though in truth, Murdock hardly needed the permission. Not only was the ridiculously tall and giant-like General Murdock the most influential and powerful General amongst his two other peers, he was also King Zephiel's guardian since he had been a small boy. In truth, he was more of Zephiel's father than the king's blood father ever was. Everyone in Bern Keep was well aware that General Murdock was the only man that King Zephiel looked up to in high regard. His voice and his opinions were always considered by the king and by every nobleman of Bern.

"I have heard," Murdock said, "about your recent argument with the Lady Kumiko…"

Zephiel groaned. He had thought Murdock was about to speak of some military affair, like the nomads of Sacae throwing an all-out resistance force against their Bernese occupants. That would have been better news, thought Zephiel, than anything that was about his wife. "Murdock, it's not an issue of any concern. I refuse to pay any attention to that woman for the time being."

"It seems to me that you are only hurting each other with your words and a reconciliation would be beneficial to both of you."

"Murdock, please!" said Zephiel, exasperated. "You should have heard her! She was talking without any respect for me at all and she was demanding that I dethrone her!"

Zephiel shook his head as he remembered her words. Dethrone me. I hate you. I am going to kill you with my own hands. Marrying you is my biggest regret. At least I did not kill my own father just to get the throne.

"…Actually, sire," Murdock spoke, after a small silence. "…I did hear her. I was in the room next to the audience room, and your voices carried that far, my lord."

"Oh." Oh indeed, Zephiel thought. So that was how loud we have been screaming. "…Then you have heard my point that she was utterly disrespectful and deserved no less from me."

"Lady Kumiko is naturally not like this. She has been as kindness and respect to you for two years. She just does not understand what is happening of current, and you are very well aware, my lord, that this war is against all of her desires. I believe some explanation may benefit you both."

If you would not explain things to us, than you might as well explain to her. Because I have no idea why this war has started as well, but it is not in my position to pry or ask. All I can do is follow my orders.

Zephiel looked contemplative, and then he said, "I was very much aware from the beginning that she was going to loathe me for this, and yet, this is my choice. If she cannot live with it, so be it. But she cannot leave, either. I have had enough rebellion and betrayal from my sister and I will tolerate no more. Kumiko will have to learn her place and I insist she learns it."

Murdock stared at the king, failing to see the kind little boy he had once taken care of years and years ago. That little boy was dead. When Zephiel haid lain in a coffin years ago and risen to kill his father—the first life he had ever slain—he was not the same. Zephiel had been dead and left in that coffin. The current King of Bern was a different man. Only in glimpses did he see that boy again—when Zephiel talked with his sister, or laughed with (or at) his wife did Murdock again see the young Prince Zephiel. That must not be lost. He must not lose himself.

"…You cannot keep her confined in her chambers for eternity," Murdock tried once more. "We are not aware what she might do in her desperation. I beg you to appeal to her again, Your Majesty. It will bring the castle and your subjects—and yourself—to peace again. If I had been of any service to you in all those years, my lord, I beg you to do it."

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BERN KEEP | The Queen's Chambers

"She refuses to talk, refuses to eat, even if we set the best food and drink before her!"

"She is acting like a mad woman! She tore all the sheets and curtains, and where in the world did she get those knives?"

"My lady, I beg you to help us! She shall be our undoing! We shall hang should the king be aware of this!"

Anko looked at all the Queen's attendants, buzzing around her like bees before a flower, as she stood there before the door to the Queen's Private chambers. Kumiko's attendants (much to Anko's amusement, as she had never been fond of any of those attendants herself) had been thrown out by the queen. And now they crowded around Anko like beggars, when they used to sneer and look down at her for her lack of grace or inability to adapt to nobility—that is, to wear their fancy dresses and gowns.

Anko turned to face the one attendant that was not fretting at all, at least not obviously. The red-haired Miranda was silently in a corner, keeping to herself. An interesting character, Anko thought. She was the youngest of all the queen's attendants, but the highest of rank, an heiress, the sole daughter of the lord of the Wiechenhof. That might explain her unusual calm and grace—she was much used to the pressure, being such a high-ranking woman, and she must be better educated than her peers. Kumiko had always favored her, and Anko had always wondered why. Is it because once, Kumiko was an heiress to, to Regrada, that she saw herself in the young lady? Bah. Not likely. And why do I even bother to think of that? It is absolutely unimportant.

Miranda looked up and met the Master Spy's gaze. "Yes, Lady Anko?"

Pfffhhh. I believe no one has called me 'lady' before. "How long has she been going like this?"

"For two days now, I believe. She has been continuously demanding dethronement and asking why she has not seen Lady Nino or Sir Jaffar."

Anko rolled her eyes. And I had just told her to be kind to him. Kumi does not heed advice at all. "You have not told this to the king?"

"We," Miranda said, enunciating the word well while glancing at her peers—which meant to say that she meant her peers, herself not included at all, "thought that would be ill. Being at the receiving end of the king's temper is not a dazzling thought."

"Well, I'll try to snap her from this. And if she refuses to listen to me, I will bring this up to His Majesty myself."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Anko was quite surprised to be greeted by the wreckage that was the queen's room. True to what the attendants testified, the place was a mess—vases and glassware shattered all over the marble floor, curtains and bedsheets torn up, books and displays pulled out of their shelves and thrown all over. And Kumiko was there, standing by the balcony, looking down at the castle grounds.

She looked exhausted and looked pale as death—like a woman who has cried and cried without stopping. The goddess of Regrada who cries endlessly after her husband leaves her. For a second or so, Anko was filled with pity and guilt—she knew she was to blame for Kumiko's demise. I was the one who put her forward. I thought she could take it. I thought I could protect her. I thought wrong.

But still, Anko approached Kumiko, and called on her attention. "Kumi."

The queen only turned to face her in the slightest, and grudgingly said, "What do you want?"

And that was when Anko's hand connected with Kumiko's cheek in a crisp slap. In its power Kumiko fell on her knees to the balcony floor, and then she looked up to Anko with a betrayed look in her eyes. "What was that for?"

"To snap you to your senses!" Anko yelled. "What you are doing will benefit none of us at all! And I have been trying to avoid saying this to you, but I dare say this now! You want to end this war? You swear to kill Zephiel with your own hands? Then by all means, do it! You are in the best position to do it! A stab in his sleep, or poison in his wine… your opportunities here are endless! So pick yourself up and start acting well! This is your battlefield."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

End of Chapter.

A/N: There you go. Huh. It seems to me that my chapters are progressing faster than I intended.

It seems to me that there are other powers trying to control Kumiko. Any guesses to who exchanged the letters?

Wow, I wrote a very long and epic confrontation between Kumiko and Zephiel…

Here we have another OC, Miranda. I hope she's as nicely constructed as my other OCs. (When will I ever stop adding OCs? Haha.) I have no obsession for OCs, by the way, but if I think a story will be enriched by adding one or will be better relayed by having one, then by all means I have no hesitation.

Some minimal Lycian theatre there, with a Heath sorta POV with his meeting of Lord Hector.

No Etrurian politics yet, apologies. I'm enjoying the Bernese politics, and if this isn't what took center stage here, then this fic should not be titled "Bern" at all… lol. XD

…Did I just successfully post a chapter in which Matthew was never mentioned? Hurrah! What a great success, though I can't say I'm happy about it. I want more Matthew. :3 Oh well, I should probably just write my own Matthew-centric fic to satisfy my desires of writing Matthew scenes. The Matthew absence was filled in by Heath. 3 Our favorite (well, at least MY favorite) Wyvern Knight will slowly be more involved in the plot, and holes as to how he got back into Bern and all that will be filled in.

After the next chapter, I am going on a long trip away from progress in this fic to start working on the Journey and also diving into my re-acquaintance with FE6. I shall re-play, re-read, and read as many supports as I can, so the rest of the politics can be beautifully executed and my facts straight. That sacrifice is for both Darkblaziken and Naryfiel, so I may execute Etruria and Elibe-in-General politics well! XD My FE6 is rusty as best, admittedly, no matter how well I may characterize Zephiel. (I'm a Zephiel fangirl, so I have no excuse to not be familiar with him!)

Suggestions for returning FE7 characters? Legault is definitely returning, by the way, but only way later in the fic. As for others, hmm…

Question: Do I have a reader here who hasn't actually played/read/is aware of FE6 but aware of FE7? I guess I just want to know because one of my main goals in writing this fic is really about bringing FE7 players to come to know FE6, thus the incorporation of some FE7 characters.

Please review the chapter in general. Reviews inspire any writer. Thanks!