CHAPTER SEVEN | Shadow
She is capable of cutting herself. She would cut herself. Hang herself on her balcony, even. If my lord knew my lady that well, you would know that she is indeed capable.
He remembered something he had sworn to forget, long and far ago.
He had ran to the Queen's Chambers as soon as he heard the news, feeling his heart thumbing so quickly in his chest that it began to hurt. It cannot be real. I have told her that she would live to see the day when everything will be alright and we would be happy. She cannot cheat on me like this. She cannot leave me! And his world came at a standstill when he had just somehow found his way into the Queen's Chambers, looking around the huge rooms, smelling her scent in the air. So it cannot be real. She was there, her scent was there, her presence was there, and so she existed. But the chambers were empty of her, and for what seemed like a lifetime, he gathered the courage to push aside the balcony curtains.
Her fresh white sheets of linen were tied around the balcony railings. He dared to look down. And he gasped at what he saw, as he felt his knees give away and tears start pouring.
I'm all alone now. Why did you leave me alone?
…No one is allowed to leave me anymore. I will not permit it. You have done it, Mother. Guinevere has done it. So by all means I will not let my wife go the same way you all went. All of you were the only women I have ever let have a place in my life. And yet, all of you were my curse.
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BERN KEEP | The Queen's Chambers
"He's going to—he's going to—is he? Or is he not?" Kumiko fretted, walking left and right, right and left, in the confines of her private bedroom. Nino was there, sitting on the red velvet couch, beside Anko, who was there against her will but did not regret coming once she has heard what Kumiko's problem was. Kumiko was, apparently, convinced that Zephiel had indecent plans for her this evening—and that sent her to panic.
Which is one thing Anko—and even Nino—somehow found laughable. "Kumi," Anko began, "your own husband cannot possibly rape you. It's simply not possible. And if he does attempt it, it's his right."
"But—but! I'm not ready! I can't, I'm not mentally or emotionally prepared for all of this and—"
Anko, now grinning widely, turned to the equally amused Nino and asked her, "How old were you when you had your children?"
"Oh, I think I was, what, sixteen? Seventeen?" Nino answered, with an air of nonchalance, making it sound like she was teasing Kumiko—which she was.
"And we see here that Kumiko is already almost twice that age and she barely knows anything," Anko remarked. Nino nodded.
"I'm not that old!" Kumiko said, defending herself. "I'm not even thirty! …At least not yet for now, but that's not the point! And you're older than me, Anko, and you're not even married yet."
"And don't even start talking about me," said Anko. "You're the one with a problem here. You're the one who is potentially going to be 'raped' after all by her husband—if that is possible at all."
"I don't see what your problem is, Kumi," Nino said, with a tone that meant it this time—no teasing. "It's been two years. His Majesty has hardly forced you into anything—why can't you just say 'no' like you always have?"
"Because this time," Kumiko said, "I am honestly convinced that he secretly loathes me and therefore will force me to do it."
"Then just let him do it," said Anko.
"B-But I can't!"
"You sound worse than a cleric who has vowed to chastity," Anko said. "And even a cleric would drop her vow, I think, once she is aware that it is the most powerful man on the continent who wants her!"
Nino couldn't help but giggle at the comparison, and Kumiko couldn't see what the two found funny at all. Because, for her, she was utterly distressed.
And then three knocks came on the door, and Miranda found it right to peer inside and call, "My ladies, court dinner is to start in an hour."
At this, immediately Nino jerked up and said, "Oh my! I must—We must get dressed!"
"You mean the two of you," said Anko, "not me." The spy hardly attended the court gatherings, and if she did, she never stuck to protocol or wore anything fancy.
"I must run to Jaffar to try on my new gown. He got it for me—it's a beautiful cerulean hue!" Nino shared excitedly. And then she turned to Kumiko. "What about yours, Kumi? I shall order for it—what would you like to wear tonight?"
"Your choice, Nino," said Kumiko.
Nino only nodded, and hastily walked of the room, ecstatic to see her own wardrobe and choose through the queen's own. Kumiko smiled at that thought—Nino has always been excited to do these things. The sage never had much of a childhood, growing up with an awful "mother" and surrounded by men. She had never experienced the joy of looking through clothes and being able to have what she wanted, so thus, at certain tasks, she was eager and excited.
"Call for an absolutely attractive and sheer nightshift for Kumiko, too, for her evening with His Majesty!" Anko called after Nino with a laugh.
Kumiko went over the spy and elbowed her, and then she shouted after Nino, "Call for a gown for Anko, too! In a shocking red color, Nino!"
Kumiko laughed, and it was Anko's turn to be annoyed. "I'm not getting in a gown. It's stuff for those stiff, barely-know-anything nobles. It suits me ill. Besides, I can't fight in it. I refuse to wear anything that will possibly hinder me from flinging a man to the floor and knifing him quick."
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When Nino was gone, only Anko was left with Kumiko, and the spy took to lethargically lying down one of Kumiko's couches, her boots dangling from the armrest, as she pondered on Kumiko's dilemma in a darker sense. To tease Kumiko was one thing and was a friendly sport—to think of the events in a darker overture was a requirement of her profession.
To ask a woman to disrobe was a high form of rudeness, in Anko's opinion. She certainly would not take that order from anyone, even if it were from a king, unless of course there was an ulterior benefit for her in a grander scheme of things. But in this case, there was no ulterior benefit, so Kumiko had leave to feel frustrated, even if she were a married woman. No one should simply impose such things on a woman, and that is what every woman believed. It certainly could be read as a show of superiority, an assertion of control on Zephiel's part. But that was the truth—he was the man, he was king, he had control over anyone. And if he simply forced her own wife into bed, no one can fault him in it.
Anko felt her eyebrows knot. Zephiel? Force Kumiko? Is that what is going to happen now? Has he reached the depths of insanity? He would never do that. It goes beyond what his mother taught him and goes beyond how he manners towards women. Asking her to disrobe is one thing, forcing her to bed is another. His request is most possibly only a display of superiority. It doesn't necessarily mean that he shall further impose things on her. He probably only meant to show her that he still had control over her. And, gods, Kumiko needs that reality check sometimes. The worst insults on Zephiel's reign are hardly about him, but about Kumiko. He let her run too freely and barely forces any responsibility on her. And the fact that he cannot even get his wife to sleep with him and give him children makes the insults worse, making him out to be a weak king who cannot even control his own wife. Although weak is the last word you ever associate with Zephiel.
And, Kumiko? What was her excuse? Which side should I take on in this matter?
Anko knew Kumiko ever since Kumiko was ten—Kumiko's blood father had then just died, murdered by the Black Fang, and Kumiko, the heiress, escaped without any plans of ever coming back. She had discarded of her real name—Genevieve Regrada—and had taken to calling herself "Kumiko". From that time Anko first met her, Kumiko's dislike for male nobles was evident, and being trained to be a tactician—an occupation dominated by men—only made Kumiko's dislike for them worse.
"So," Anko said, to Kumiko, "I had the feeling that your complaint earlier was supposed to be valid and serious, but, my apologies, I couldn't help but laugh."
Kumiko took on a somber mood as she sat down on her canopied bed, facing Anko, who was now reclining on her red couch like she owned it. "I understand you, though," Anko said. "I know what you're going through. You're one of my closest friends. I'd be a fool to not understand. We—you, me, Nerisa, and Xarin—have always grown up in a man's world, haven't we? It generally is a man's world out there—men call the shots, and we women are worth not much, and in this courtiers' world, we are not worth anything at all and will not be able to speak our minds. Our worth is only if we look good. They say we've made it far only if we get to marry rich or powerful men."
Kumiko gave some sort of small laughter, and said, "You could not have said anything truer, Anko."
Anko continued. "And being trained to be tacticians—and as for me and Xarin, spies—it's still a man's world and if they see you are a woman, well, you have so much more to prove and you are belittled. Men suck. They get all the privileges."
Kumiko laughed at her friend's ranting, and she thought, when was the last time Anko and I ever talked like this? Just as friends, without any pressures at all?
"As I was saying," Anko continued, "yes, we all grew up in environments where men and women were not equal, and it has its effects on all of us. I grew up thinking no man can match me. Nerisa would only use men—she hasn't actually 'loved' anyone. And Xarin—just look at her. If a man tries to make advances on her or even just compliment her, she would just speak to kill the conversation and be so cold. And you... you…I never thought you would have ended up being afraid."
Afraid? Kumiko thought. What led Anko to conclude that she was afraid? "I'm not afraid of men," Kumiko said, a bit too defensively.
"I wasn't through speaking. You're not afraid of men but you're afraid to trust yourself to one. Completely. Or is this just Zephiel? Whatever is wrong with Zephiel that you're afraid to trust him?"
The mere mention of his name made the corners of Kumiko's mouth pull dangerously down into a frown. "Everything is wrong with Zephiel!" Kumiko said, frustrated. "Him, and his insane ideas for war and—"
"Two years ago, there was no war, and Zephiel was the perfect man," Anko snapped at Kumiko. "So why? What's the problem? Is it because he's so much taller than you? So much bigger? So much stronger, and he can practically break your neck in half if he wanted to?"
"Anko, it's not—"
"Do you think he'll be violent? Do you think he'll hurt you?" Anko continued, starting to look more and more concerned with each word she said. Kumiko only looked at her, half-puzzled, half-ashamed. "It doesn't seem like it, but if that is your worry, Zephiel is also capable of restraint. No woman can ever complain about him." Apart from you, of course. You're the only one who's ever complained. "Zephiel has been taught to be a gentleman, thank his mother, gods bless her soul. What makes you think he will be different to you?"
Because he's a noble of Bern, and all of them are the same. He might do just like what my bastard blood father did to my helpless mother. I'm scared he might just do the same.
"...Is it because of Regrada?" Anko suddenly asked, as if reading Kumiko's mind.
Kumiko felt herself flinch at the mere mention of him. He was the last person she ever wanted to remember. She still saw him, though—in the mirror. When she would look at herself in the mirror, more often than not she failed to acknowledge the beauty that she was faced with only because she saw in her face the face of a man she had sworn to forget and is long dead but still somehow makes himself felt. I had sworn that I would never ever have to see his face again. But I still do—in my own face, I am a shadow of him.
"...She still..." Kumiko began, fidgeting with her dress, looking deeply bothered, "...she still had nightmares when it was all through and done and I was born. I remember waking up in the middle of the night to hear her screaming, crying, helpless, sobbing. Her husband was there to comfort her, but all I could do was stare at her. I knew better than to approach her when she was like that. I would cause more harm than help—I would only remind her of him, because we looked so much alike. But she tried her best to love me. She forced herself to love me, even. But I knew she would have felt regret for me all the same. She might have loved me, but she would never have wanted that nightmare to happen to her even if it meant that I would never be born."
And then there was a silence. Anko stared long and hard at Kumiko—this was the longest she had ever bothered to talk about her 'parents'. She loathed her blood father, the marquis of Regrada, and while she holds nothing of that kind for her blood mother, she had not talked much about her, either, or her husband. Anko had never admitted to Kumiko that though tight-lipped she was, the spy knew everything. Ever since they were young, Anko, out of curiosity, had checked on Kumiko's history.
Her background had always been scandalous and harsh—an illegitimate child born of a marquis and one of his Knights, both of whom were married. And it was not even a matter of choice for Kumiko's mother. It was an accident, it was rape, it was forced on her. And when she tried to fight for her right, she and her husband were stripped of knighthood, of land, of title, everything. And then months later she finds out she is pregnant. And then out came Kumiko—a horrifying mirror of the marquis' brown-blonde hair and sapphire eyes.
"...I will never let that happen to me," Kumiko said, breaking the silence. "I don't want to do something and then regret it. I don't want to wake up to nightmares and regret. Zephiel and I married in a hurry. I barely knew who he was and if I felt anything for him. I didn't know if he would take advantage of me. I didn't want to allow him to do it and then regret it later. I don't want the same things happening to me—"
"You don't want to have children," Anko blurted out, a realization, getting ahead of Kumiko. "You don't want to give birth to someone and then try so hard to love her but know in your heart that you would rather not have had her. Because that's what your mother felt towards you."
Kumiko felt awkward at Anko's deduction—but admitted that it was, in a way, right, "...I guess..."
Anko felt herself give an inaudible, sarcastic laugh. Kumiko and Zephiel. What a perfect pair they make. They both know how it feels to be the shadow of their parents. They both suffer up to until now for the mistakes that their parents brought on them. And they don't even notice it, though they are both grown man and woman now. That is one thing they at least have in common.
And yet, how to maneuver this? Zephiel cannot be kept in check using Kumiko if all she does is fail to see him because of all she sees is her own self. How then can we unravel this war? Grow up, Kumiko. You have to grow up. A little more and Zephiel would be beyond redemption and all we may do is kill him. That would leave a bad taste in my mouth. He was my friend, too, once. I would hate to kill him. I would resort to that only as a last thing.
And so, quickly, Anko decided on what move to make. "And so, such is your bitter past," said Anko. "It doesn't mean Zephiel will be as awful as Regrada. It doesn't mean you will have as much difficulty as your mother had. After all, you will not be forced. You will not be left alone."
"How can you say that so certainly, Anko?" Kumiko asked.
The spy gave a slight shrug and said, "Hey, I was Zephiel's friend. I knew him before I knew you, truth be told. He is just the same, haven't you noticed that? You and him. He acts like this now because of what his father did to him. Bernese nobility tend to be jerks as fathers, right? But I guess that is why the line continues—no one is brave enough to break the chain. Everyone stupidly steps into the trap that their fathers have prepared for them. Even... even Zephiel. I dare say maybe the reason he's turned out like this now is because of Desmond. Because if he had been a little more loved? Maybe this war would not have happened after all. Maybe things would be different."
The spy quickly got up to leave, to leave herself with the last statement, so Kumiko could ponder on it and leave no counter-suggestions. And then maybe Kumiko would get the hint, Anko thought. Maybe she'd try to unravel Zephiel and figure out why he had started the war after all. Instead of demanding answers from him, she may start to try to actually understand him and conclude on her own. Only she can do it—there is no other woman, she is the only one able to get that close to him. It's timely with the recent lapse in military activity for Kumiko to be able to do this. And then he may not be beyond redemption, after all. We may not have to kill him. And yet, if all this fails, there is no choice. Another King of Bern must die, again thanks to me.
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LYCIA | The Toria-Ostia border
"Hello, there, lady cleric," A man sitting on top of one of the bar stools regarded the pink-haired woman who sat next to him. Cleric, he knew. He was positive. He had known her for a while now. And, of course, it was hard not to know the Lady Serra, the once-priestess of Elimine who had renounced her vows "to be able to serve Ostia more". She made sure everyone knew her name. However, "to get rich and acquire a higher standing in Ostia" was far more fitting as her motive, way back then, the spy thought.
"Hello," she murmured a low, dark greeting. Just as he expected, her spirits were low. Even the famed Lady Serra couldn't endure the sight of Araphen in siege, it seems. What has she witnessed? What has she gone through? Only a few had surpassed it. In fact, she was the only one, apart from the Master of Spies' assistant. They were the only ones who got through.
She was wrapped up carefully in her lavish red cloak, the beautiful fabric of it torn up at its edges. The hem of her white dress was all muddied up, and specks of red blood were there, which she carefully tried to hide with her cloak. She pulled on the garment so much, pulling it tighter around herself, as if it were a security blanket, something that kept hidden from others the horrible things she had been through.
"Lady Serra," he called on her attention yet again, calling her by her name, so to say he knew her.
She looked up to him, looking at him straight in his eyes—just as he expected her to. She was audacious enough to stare at anyone, she thought of herself high enough to do it. "And who would you be?"
"I work for Ostia," he said. "For your friend, Matthew. We have heard news that you are alive and well and we are genuinely happy that that is so."
She regarded him for a moment with a slightly agape look, recognized him, and then she flipped her long pink hair over her shoulder with the back of her hand. "And what does Matthew want with me? I won't say anything. No information escapes my lips until I am speaking to him directly. You spies are an odd bunch. I could never trust you just like that."
She was shielded. Jaded. Walled in. The Ostian spy looked at her and began to pity her. "Nothing. He presses nothing from you. We are only to watch over you. He feels responsible for you. ...We can get you a meal and a room. If you want, we can find a safe place for you to move in—"
With a quick gesture of her hand, Serra called a barmaid to her attention and ordered a drink and a meal. The spy cringed when he heard that she had ordered the house specialties—his purse was not at all that prepared for this—spoilt Lady Serra, what should he expect? House Ostia has given her much. Lord Oswin had taken good care not to spoil her and always reminded her of her place, but now that he was dead, all that he had told her might very well be gone along with him.
And then, surprisingly, she told him, "I don't want to move anywhere. I don't need looking after. All I want is for you to point me in the direction of Lady Lilina. She needs me. She needs someone. No doubt, she'll be surrounded by those rowdy men trying hard to protect her but by all means failing and forgetting to treat her like a lady. She needs another woman to stay by her side. Especially... especially with Lady Lyn gone."
Hector's last words, before he was dragged away from them, were still of his family, a warning to the Bernese troops for them to stay away from his daughter and wife. Serra could hear them clearly in her head still. She could also still smell the stink of battle, hear the sounds, feel the heat in the air, and feel the sobs that pain her chest until now.
…I know you never loved me, and you only married me for status, but I want you to know I loved you. Don't waste your strength on me, Serra, I'm about to die... Get away from this battlefield—hide, and take care of yourself. You're still young... you can get married again...
She felt it again, that stabbing pain in her heart, as she recalled Oswin's last words. She bit her lip as she tried to stop the tears from coming. I'm sorry, my lord. I don't want to disobey your wishes. But... but... I want to make sense of your death! Of everyone's deaths! Ostia has not yet fallen. We will rise up again...
"My lady?" the spy had snapped her to attention, and Serra knew she must have been silent for long.
She shook her head. "It's nothing. Get me a room. I need to rest. I need to pray."
...I loved you, too. I'm sorry I never told you, Lord Oswin...
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"Are you still angry at me?"
She lift her eyes to look up to him, and she bothered to look puzzled. "Zephiel, what in the world are you talking about?"
"Don't bother to look innocent, Kumiko. I know by that little pout on your lips that you are still very much annoyed and just choose to appear by my side out of convenience. When will I be forgiven?"
"I'm not angry," she corrected him. "...Just a little. You are king and you have your say on your own country. You can do as you like. I'm sorry for reacting immaturely to it..."
"Don't say sorry when you aren't, Kumiko," he said. "I know what you want. I'll see if I can find a way to work around the issue and fix it. Will you forgive me then?"
"Zephiel, it is not necessary. You don't have to do anything for me. But it would be much appreciated."
"...Are you still angry at me?"
Zephiel had entered her dressing room without much of an announcement yet again. He was king—he had the right to walk in on anybody as he saw fit, and apparently that included her even while she was in the middle of being forced into a dress. And, as is usual, he commanded her attendants to leave them, after which he made his inquiry of her being angry. Kumiko was familiar with the routine. There must be some things and some conversations in relationships that apparently tend to repeat themselves.
"That's a stupid question," Kumiko said, with a bit of barb. She was fully dressed now, but she looked long and hard into the mirror of the dressing room vanity, looking at her long, brown-blonde hair. Something had to be done about it. She gathered the strands in her fingers as she said, "I am not angry at you, Zephiel."
I don't know if I'm truly not angry. But I know I'm too tired to be angry, for now.
He studied her as she proceeded to look in the mirror, in contemplation of what to do with her hair. She twisted the locks, tried to pull them up to a bun, and then tried to braid them. "Forget about it, you look beautiful either way," he remarked, as he walked up to her and pulled her hair from her fingers. And then he regarded her expression again, and said, "I know you're angry when you pout like that."
"Oh, yes!" she finally admitted, as she pulled away from him and nabbed a hairbrush from her vanity and began to furiously brush her hair. But then she thought back on her actions—what was the point of argument? It is over and done with and I have to try to be kind to him, if that will actually change anything. "Oh, forget it, Zephiel, let's not start an argument. Nothing ever comes out of these conversations."
"Comfort," he suddenly said, puzzling her, as he shoved her hands away from her head and gathered her locks in his hands. He began to expertly plait her hair—from boyhood, he had learned to fix his sister's hair to humor her, and it had become one of his unheard-of skills. Must he truly excel at everything, even at a task that usually called for a woman?
"Comfort?" she asked him.
"Yes," he said, as he quickly worked with her hair. "Repetition can be absolutely boring. But sometimes, it can be a comforting reminder that nothing has changed at all."
Nothing has changed at all. What can be comforting about nothing changing at all?
Kumiko took a breath and let the thoughts sink in. When Anko had left, Nino and her attendants had immediately arrived to dress her for dinner. It had been a while since she and Anko actually talked like that—like friends. Ever since the war started, it was all prattle about events concerning the war, usually involving a lot of screaming and, until recently, getting slapped by Anko. But their recent conversation leaned on none of that. Anko had openly confronted her about her past—about her father.
She looked up to the mirror and saw him there, the color of his eyes, of his hair, the angles of his face and nose. She looked so much like him—one of her curses. And, maybe—just maybe—she had walked into the trap that he had set for her too, without her knowing it.
Because of him, I feared every male noble of Bern. Studying briefly in the Military Academy did nothing to help that, either—I had confirmed that most of Bernese male nobility are jerks.
And then, looking at the mirror, her eyes fell on her husband, in the ridiculous activity of fixing her hair. Absolutely ridiculous for the most powerful man on the continent to be caught in such activity. But then, for a moment, Kumiko felt like he was staring at another man in the mirror, too—Zephiel's father. She had never noticed it before, but he had inherited his father's intimidating height and frame and much more. When he was younger, he mirrored his mother more, but as he grew towards manhood, he began to look more like his father—his hair color darkened to his brown-blonde, his eyes were the same color, he even acquired his cheekbones and nose. Does Zephiel look at the mirror, too sometimes, and see another man?
And if he does that? Did we both just walk into the same traps that someone else has already set up for us?
...I liked Zephiel. I respected him. Who wouldn't feel that way towards a man who practically had no flaw? He had always been careful not to let anyone see that his past had actually bothered him.
Until now. Could he have actually started war because of what his father did to him? That's ridiculous—why would anybody start a war for someone long dead? That's a ridiculous question coming from me, of all people. Hadn't I thwarted my name 'Genevieve' and had chosen to become a tactician and dislike nobles in general because of a man long dead, too?
But if things had been different? But if he, if King Desmond, had loved Zephiel? Surely Zephiel would be a different man. If my father had not been a jerk of a noble? I might have been a different person. Is all these—this war, even!—the fault of someone long dead and gone? A part of a chain that we never bother to break?
He tied a strip of velvet ribbon into her hair, finishing it. And then he said, almost an afterthought now, "You are attending dinner,"
"Yes," she said. "Of course."
"But you'd rather not and am only doing so out of convenience."
The line sounded familiar, and Kumiko actually found herself reveling in it. Comforting. There is some comfort after all. War aside, nothing has changed. Maybe, at the root of all things, nothing has changed at all. "Yes," she admitted.
"I barely realize if I have done anything wrong but I am apologizing to you either way. I always apologize," he said, matter-of-factly. "When will you forgive me?"
The lines were from their usual previous arguments, the usual conversation after a disagreement, that he just had to be repeating them out of whim, Kumiko thought. "Oh, Zephiel," she said. "I am not angry at you." And for once it sounded natural and real. Perhaps because, for the first time in a while, it was.
I am not angry at you. I am angry at what and where we are because of bastards who no longer exist.
If her statements were not a lie, he must have detected it. He looked genuinely surprised. But then he just chuckled and offered, "If you say so. But is there anything you would like, Kumiko? Even if it is hundreds of those ridiculously expensive perfumes for Etruria or a whole new room full of gowns, I might just try to get it for you."
"Zephiel, you are ridiculous," she said, laughing a little.
He gave a little laughter, too, and soon after left her.
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The last time that court had even assembled for dinner and entertainment seemed quite far away, if the courtiers had to think about it. King Zephiel, in the middle of war, was not much for entertainment and merrymaking. The Lady Kumiko could hardly be bothered with the task. It was Princess Guinevere who used to thrive on these events, making them her responsibility and task, and enjoying every bit of it. It was surprising that, without the princess, there was a court dinner at all. Her seat at the impossibly long dining table had been vacant for quite a while now, and more than one courtier wished for the princess' presence.
If the king ever cared that she was missing, he never let on. Certainly he must be aware that the princess' place had long been vacant, and he was noted for his love for his sister, so he must be aware. But he had never said anything about it—no word, no action, no display of frustration. The queen let on more than she thought—she would, in dinners like this, frequently stare at Guinevere's place across her, as if wondering where the princess might be.
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LYCIA | The Toria-Ostia Border
"Soon we arrive in Ostia," said Roy, son of Eliwood of Pherae, as he looked ahead of the path overlooking the distant Castle Ostia, famed far and wide to be impregnable. Ostia's military had mostly consisted of heavily armored Knights and Generals, making their defenses as solid as a rock. Nothing would have prepared Castle Ostia, though, for the way it was taken—division and betrayal among its very defenders. The news, fed to Roy by many a reliable source, was saddening. What had Lord Hector done to call for treachery? He was a just ruler—sometimes rash, but humble always to correct any wrong decisions he might have done. Was power really that blinding that even veterans serving Ostia would be blinded?
Roy regarded the woman walking by his side, silent. "My lady, are you alright?" he asked, sounding concerned.
The woman only kept fidgeting on a blue, spherical jewel hanging on a cord around her neck, thoughts distant, replaying the words of a thread of conversation she had not too long ago.
"Do you know what the Fire Emblem is used for?" a blue-haired priest of Elimine had asked her when they met.
"...The Fire Emblem is a key that awakens the sword that was used to slay the mighty Dragons in the past. Or at least, that was what my father told me. But I am unsure about how exactly the Fire Emblem or the sword work. However, the possibility of the Fire Emblem falling into enemy hands seemed to worry my brother...a lot."
She continued to fidget on the jewel hanging around her neck—the Fire Emblem.
"So you took the Fire Emblem, hoping to make your brother believe that it fell into enemy hands so that he would stop his conquest?"
"Yes...but war broke out anyway."
"Princess Guinevere, are you well?"
She snapped from her thoughts and regarded Roy with a, "...Yes, Roy. Pardon me—I was just deep in thought."
Roy—much younger than her—proceeded to look at her with concern. He had been most kind to rescue her and take her in, being Bern's Princess and all that. He had genuinely understood her plight and had not taken advantage of her title as Bern's Princess, and had instead, worked with her. He was a rare find among nobles—at least, Guinevere could not name another Bernese noble who matched Roy in kindness.
Except for my brother.
She had tried, so many times, to stop her brother's paths to war the moment she was aware of it. Even going as far as to steal the Fire Emblem, as far as rebelling on her own country. Surely they have heard of it now, surely Zephiel was aware now that she is travelling with the Lycia Alliance Army. Every bandit or traitor to Lycia was after her in hopes of selling her back to Bern, and of course such news would reach Zephiel. What did her brother think of her, now? She had hoped that her rebellion would rouse him a little, to tell him what he was doing was wrong, but apparently, nothing has changed.
"Is that so? If you're feeling a little faint, then maybe we can stop for a little while—"
"No, Roy, I am fine. Please do not stop for me. We must get to Ostia as soon as we can and rescue your friend," she said, determinedly. "I will have no more of your people being oppressed for what my country has started. Please, let us move along."
But her thoughts were far back and far away, at the halls and rooms of Bern Keep, thinking of the brother she has not seen for so long now. She left him in hopes of making him realize, but it seems that had not worked. Now that she was gone, who would take care of him now? Who would breathe wise counsel into his ear and make him realize?
Kumiko, please, take care of my brother.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
BERN KEEP | The Grand Ballroom
It was a rule in court dinners and the entertainment after that no one was supposed to upstage the queen. She was supposed to be the most powerful and beautiful woman in the country—who had the right to upstage her? But certainly, with the rumors circling that the king and queen were not well with each other these days, every young woman tried hard to look their best and call attention to themselves.
However, they were disappointed since the queen was present—she had arrived by the king's side and holding onto his arm, no less. In her white gown which made her look as beautiful and virginal as the snow, she was beautiful and hard to compare to, and if she and the king had been arguing, it was hardly noticeable. Her royal circlet, however, once a permanent fixture in her hair, was missing, and has caused whispers among the courtiers. However, if it meant anything significant at all was not to be found out immediately, for the king never let go of his wife (as is usual) and it seemed that they were getting along just fine.
Kumiko was much used to it. Two years, and she had stood by his side, pretending to be getting along fine with him when other people could see, even if they were in an argument and she would hate to appear by his side. After all, she thought, keeping the appearance was far easier than having to endure the gossips of the courtiers and their questions that would only lead to intrigue in her life. During those times, she had always appeared by his side, no matter how much she loathed him, and had almost treated him like a shield. She hid behind his robes and evaded conflict and intrigue by keeping the appearance that she did not hate him.
It seemed like a different world. When everyone was watching, she said nothing ill of him, acted no ill of him. Oh, sure, she complained a little when she was behind closed doors to her attendants, but she was still careful with what she said. And when she and Zephiel had to be seen together in an event or such, she treated him with all kindness and respect, and so did he.
An act, she thought. Deception of the masses. We do not get along this much behind closed doors.
...But its was during those times, when they were forced to get along with each other or at least retain the appearance of it, did Kumiko remember that Zephiel had actually once made her happy and content.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0
If anyone could have upstaged the queen, it could only be Anko, the Master of the Spies, who has arrived at the entertainment after dinner, and was surprisingly in a red gown picked out for her from Nino from among the queen's wardrobe. The brilliant red-and-black gown was, of course, retouched by Anko herself using her dagger—cutting out a long slit was all it took for the gown to be distinctly hers. It had worked for her, though—she looked spectacular.
Even Zephiel was surprised at the event. "Is that the gown I gave you? You let Anko cut up the gown I gave you?" Zephiel had whispered to Kumiko as she sat by the side of his throne for the evening. There was no offense taken in his tone, though—only sheer surprise that Anko ever turned up in court dinner, in a gown—no matter how she had 'damaged' said gown.
"Forgive me, Zephiel, I thought I would lend her one but I hadn't the faintest idea she would... turn it into that," Kumiko said, not being able to keep her smile from showing through as she watched the Master of Spies prove why she actually held that title. She was a sight to behold, surrounded by men who now suddenly regarded her as if some new species of a flower, a bloom that they have never seen before. And quite skillfully did she converse with them and exchange pleasantries with them, though Kumiko could tell that she was all annoyed of them and had declined any of their invitations to dance with her or escort her.
"...I have known Anko for as long as I can remember, but I have never seen her act like this," Zephiel remarked, amused, and even Kumiko could hear that in his voice. "Your friend is full of surprises. Then again, what would you expect from the best spy in the land?"
But then Kumiko lit up when a dangerous—but mayhaps in the good way—thought entered her mind. "If I may suggest, Your Majesty? If you would summon the Wyvern Knight Heath and dress him as a courtier for the evening? Then we might see Anko acting in more surprising ways."
Zephiel looked geniunely intrigued. "He fancies Anko?"
Kumiko gave a little laugh. "I believe it is the other way around."
And much to Kumiko's own amusement, Zephiel actually laughed, and decided to humor her by whispering to one of his attendants to have Heath summoned and dressed for court.
...War aside, nothing has changed at all. Zephiel humored her like always, tried his best to please her and bended to her whims. I liked him, back them. I knew I could always turn to him. How did he end up differently, now? Did he never really like me at all? Is it true that I was just an object to him? How can than be true when, being in moments like this, I actually feel his effort to please me?
Minutes later, sitting from their thrones, Kumiko and Zephiel watched as a tall, lean man with deep green hair walked into the ballroom, dressed in a black and gold military suit that fit him well and made him look more dashing than many a young man. Kumiko clapped her hands in delight, struck by how well Heath looked when he was dressed as a courtier, and Zephiel couldn't help but let out a little laugh when he found that Anko, standing in a corner, had seen the entrance of Heath and looked like a starstruck little girl.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
She was tapped lightly on the shoulder, so she turned around to face the man, feeling her heart skip a beat when she saw him. And in seconds she was able to put herself in check. "Well, don't you look well, Sir Heath," she greeted.
He managed a little laugh, particularly at how she called him. Sir Heath. How ironic, since she was of higher rank than him—forever and always was of higher rank than him—and she had always called him and ordered him around as she saw fit. He admitted hearing his name with a 'sir' from her mouth made him feel a little good about himself. "As do you, Lady Anko," he told her.
She gave him a hearty laugh. Anko tended to do that when she heard people calling her a 'lady'—more so, Heath, of all people, to call her a lady! "This is ridiculous. We never talk like this at home or anywhere else."
The reason we never talk like this is because you're the Master of Spies and I'm just a soldier. You always ranked higher than I ever did. So you called me as you saw fit. You, however, refuse to be treated like your rank. "Of course we don't. But we should match the setting and these clothes, shouldn't we? What say you to a dance?"
One of Anko's eyebrows sharply raised up in a look of question, or—offense, even. At least that was what it looked like to Heath. "Dance with you? Sir wyvern knight, do you even know how?"
Heath couldn't help but furrow his brows and look back at her with the same critical, calculating look. He liked Anko—she was so easygoing and she treated people, whether they were small people or big people, the same way. She had no regard for nobility or rank or hierarchy—absolutely unlike him. There were times when he looked up to her strength, to how she was so different from him, but there were times—many times—that their difference would make him feel defensive about himself, made him feel... small. "I'm not that great, but I do know how," Heath said, already looking defeated despite his reasoning. "I'm a Knight, Anko, I received some training on court graces. I think I can manage..."
She continued to look at him as if he had just said some grand lie. "Sorry to have sounded presumptuous, Heath. Of course you know how. But I'm just sorry—it wouldn't be fair. I've been receiving requests from all those ridiculous men of the court to dance and I've refused them all saying I'd rather not. If I said yes to you, they'd all start pestering me again."
I'd defend you from all of them. I'd dance with you the entire night so no one else would have a chance.
...Way to sound heroic, Heath. But you can't even say it. And Anko's not even saying the truth. She doesn't care about being fair to others at all. Being fair is the last thing she cares about. You're the problem. She doesn't like you the way you...
Oh, Heath, this is ridiculous. You're taking a hit to yourself just because she won't dance with you? This is exactly why she probably doesn't like you. You're such a ridiculously weak man... and as usual, you aim too high... again. Anko began to regard him with a puzzled look, and that was Heath's cue that he was silent too long. "...Alright," he told her, trying to sound level. "If that's what you prefer. I'd just... go... somewhere..."
He started drifting away, trying to wonder where he could possibly go and fit in now—he knew no one from this crowd of courtiers—until he felt a grip on his wrist. He turned around and found that it was Anko, not even glancing at him, only holding to his wrist and pulling him towards the center of the ballroom. When he found his feet too stunned to move, Anko actually turned back to look at him and said, "What are you waiting for, wyvern knight? Let's dance."
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Kumiko soon felt tiredness dawn on her as the evening went on. Guinevere was one to stay up late and dance like a maiden with no tomorrow, and normally Kumiko was one such woman, too. She would gossip all evening with Nino or Guinevere or any of her ladies and dance all night long, which would make Zephiel shake his head and cluck his tongue in disapproval of his sister and wife, and yet he would humor them both, dancing with each of them until they were tired and could no longer go on. And when she declares her tiredness, he would leave the ballroom with her and chastise her about her actions in the banquet, but then she would only laugh it off and pull him into a dance then and there in the middle of the hallway. He would groan and roll his eyes, but humor her, and end up later in a fit of laughter himself.
Those were the days. No matter how much Kumiko brought herself to remember the way things were before, it did not change how things were now. She barely danced the first part of the evening, and only out of courtesy, not like she actually felt like it. She was up for chatting with Nino and gossiping with Anko though, and she had flattered Heath of how handsome he looked and jested that he should appear more in court. Heath only laughed this off—this one appearance was only to humor Kumiko, since they had both agreed a long time ago, that he should not be showered any favor just because of Kumiko's (or Anko's) standing. That aside, gossip circulating among the courtiers about the war had kept Kumiko on edge. There was rumor—no, fact—that Bern had pulled out its troops from Lycia. What could this mean? Is Zephiel actually starting to heed advice or is this just some trick? Or is there actually some uncertainty there—is he second-guessing what he is doing now?
And when those thoughts—and Anko's reminders of Zephiel's past—were processed at length by Kumiko's mind, she decided to make a calculated move—she replayed the past all over again. Sans Guinevere, she danced the entire night like a maiden in a village festival, constantly pulling the king to his toes and getting him to escort her. As is usual, he humored her. If Nino or Anko had noticed what she was doing or getting on to, she never knew, but the sage had dragged her husband to the dance floor more than Jaffar would have wanted, and Anko, much to Kumiko's surprise, had kept the entire night lively with dancing and drinking and sharp conversation, escorted by Heath at her arm.
The evening felt normal. Deceivingly so. It seemed like the war never existed at all. And somehow, that was the goal. It was the most subtle call to Zephiel that she, and Nino and Anko, could muster. Remember this. Remember these evenings. You were happy enough without the war, weren't you? We lived like this. Weren't you happy those times, at all? Why have you changed everything?
We were happy, weren't we? If I had known better, I think I would have loved you. I think you would have loved me. But then you had to change everything. Why change everything, Zephiel?
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
BERN | The Tactician Guild
Heath struggled to help a half-asleep, heavily drunk Anko back into the Tactician Guild. It was a great ordeal for him, even, to have been able to reach the guild and to have been able to mount Hyperion while part-intoxicated himself as well. The wine they served was strong and barely watered, and he could still taste it in his mouth. Anko herself was blind drunk and unable to keep standing. They say that one of a spy's quality should be high tolerance for wine, to be able to think straight and hold on to logic even in a battle with a drunkard to down the liquor. That was one quality that Anko never had, or so Heath thought. She had seen Anko more than once blind drunk, unaware of her actions at all. It fell on his shoulders, most of the times, to get her back to her home, to her bed.
Hyperion was already content and still in his stable and his comfortable mound of hay while Heath was still climbing down the steps to the underground Tactician Guild, Anko at his side, muttering incorrigible things. This is the second time he had witnessed Anko drunk—the first was when he had visited, a long time ago and while he was still in that campaign with Kumi. He kicked open the Guild door and muttered an "ouch" when he hit his head at the doorpost as he entered, something that frequently happened to him, for the door was just too low for his height. The magic-powered lighting in the Guild stirred and lit up, detecting their presence. He dragged Anko along, careful with her, and eventually led her to her room.
He carefully lay Anko on the soft cushions of that bed, and then stood over her and looked over her form—still in that red dress, and surprisingly, with her working boots underneath. He managed a smile. Well, what would you expect? It was Anko. She had to break the rules somehow.
And that was when she began to speak. "Heath..."
He glanced up to and said, "Yes?"
Her words had a slur to them and she didn't even bother to open her eyes. "Have I ever told you that you're damn handsome?"
He knelt down by the bed and started to pull off Anko's boots, knowing that she was drunk and muttering nonsense already. "I don't seem to remember that you've told me that," he said.
"And that I hate your hair? You should get it trimmed."
He began to laugh at that. Oh, Anko, you're ridiculous. "My hair?"
"Yeeessshh. It's sooo thick. And you're almost hiding your face with it. Too bad, since you're absolutely handsome..."
"Please stop that, Anko, I've had enough people teasing me about my alleged handsome looks," he said, as he set aside her shoes and then looked over her, deciding that she was pretty much fine and it was time to get her to go to sleep. It'd be ridiculous to sleep in that gown, though, Heath thought. I wonder if she can still take it off for herself. He was about to suggest that, when Anko suddenly turned quiet again, mayhap slipping into a state of sleep.
He sighed, and pulled on the white sheets and began to pull them over her. But then she stirred again, and she rolled onto her stomach and revealed the back of her gown to him—numerous ribbons in a crisscross pattern holding her dress together. How do women get into this and wear this stuff? "Take it off," she chided him. "...Get it off me."
He—against better judgment—decided to oblige her. He sat on the bed and began undoing the back of her dress, pulling each ribbon free. With each one he unmade, the bare of Anko's back started to reveal itself. Tanned skin peeked through, with a few lines of scars. From what? Heath found himself thinking. Fighting? Accident? Torture? For a second, he had almost dared to touch her skin, touch the scars, and ask her where they came from, but he decided not to.
"All done," he said, as he finished with the ribbons. He was ready to get up and tuck her in and leave, when, much to his surprise, Anko got up and grabbed him by the collar of his suit, and then kissed him.
His mind was too tired to comprehend or put up resistance for a while, until he felt Anko's deft fingers undoing the front of his suit, making quick work of it, so she was able to slip her hand onto his chest. He broke away from her kiss and tried to stop her, his sleepiness suddenly vanishing. "Anko," he said, urgently. "Anko! What are you-?"
She latched her legs onto him and thrust her body towards him, making him lie down on the bed, helpless. She began kissing him on his neck, the bodice of her sleeveless gown dangerously tugging down.
"Anko, you're drunk!" he said, trying to pull away from her and hold her firmly to get her to stop. "I don't want you to do something you'll just regret later… You're not aware of what it is you're doing..."
"...I know what I'm doing," she slurred, right into his ear. "Heath. I want you so, so bad…"
He froze at what he heard. Heath. His name. She called him by his name. She was not that blind drunk that she could not recognize him. She was not mistaking him for someone else. She did not just have a need that she was willing to satisfy with just anyone. It was him. Heath. I know you. I know it's you.
…Maybe she IS aware of what she's doing.
No… I must be dreaming. Why in the world would Anko ever want me? All these years she has never looked at me as more than a friend. I have treated her to the best I could and yet she never… sometimes it's like she doesn't even see it. But then again, I treat everyone nicely, so how would she see that she was different? This is absurd. I refuse to do this. It goes against what any gentleman would—ah, damn! I want her this bad, too. Who is to say what's right or wrong here?
She was kissing him lightly on the neck when he asked, "Do you… do you really want this, Anko?"
"Mmm. Yes," she purred. And then her lips reached up to touch his ear again and to whisper. "Heath. Please," she said. "Please…"
How do you say 'no' when she starts to beg like that? "Do you absolutely, truly want this?" he found himself asking her.
"Yes," she said. "Yes yes yes yes yes..."
"…Alright," he said, as he leaned towards her and kissed her.
Anko, I love you. I hope you at least know that.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
When she dances like that, she reminds me of mother.
She used to dance so gaily during banquets and entertainment, a graceful dancer of Etruria, and more often than not she would go over to his father and drag him to the dance floor to dance with her. King Desmond, still an agreeable man during those days, would go with her, and Zephiel would laugh at how his parents had acted.
That was back then, when Desmond was a different man. But with each year that Zephiel grew older, his father started to loathe him for unknown reason, and view his mother with a suspecting eye. And then Guinevere's mother came, a woman barely of noble blood but astonishing beauty, attracting the King of Bern.
That was when he forgot all about us. That was when everyone changed.
Everyone around him changed. His father certainly did—his mother more so. Far from the sweet mother he had known, she had become spiteful and distrusting, like a wounded animal ready to spit poison at all who seemed to be an enemy. Suddenly, she was no longer secure in her own home, with her own husband. Suddenly, she was evicted from Bern Keep to the Royal Manse, far to the north. Who would not feel so defensive after that? Who would not view everyone with suspicion?
I told myself that someday—someday—my own wife would not have to put up with that. She will not have to change because I've made her go through pain. I will never commit the same mistakes he did. Never.
"What are you standing around there and looking at, husband?" Kumiko spoke, and he stirred, snapped from his thoughts, to see her standing before her vanity, pulling her hair from its plaits. "Is something wrong?"
He shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing. Just... I was wondering when you were coming back to share my chambers with me. It feels like an eternity since you have took your belongings and left."
She turned to him and looked contemplative. "I... I don't know, Zephiel. I'll think about it."
"...As you say."
There was silence, and for a second she looked away coyly, almost hesitantly, and Zephiel had long since known that such actions meant that she was preparing to ask him something embarrassing. Emotion had never been one of his stronger suits, and when she started to act like this, he knew a question was coming. He knew a conversation was about to follow. It either made him curious of what the issue was, or it made him evasive and feel on edge.
He cocked his head to the side, as if waiting and telling her, "Well, what is it?"
"I wanted to ask you something," she said. He was standing behind her red couch, and she approached him and sat down. He took note of this and sat down himself, knowing that what was to follow was probably going to be long and tedious. "...I wanted to ask you about your father."
He was visibly taken aback, surprised by her words. "And why in the world would you be interested about that? You know everything, Kumiko. You know what he has done to me. And you've proven that you know what I have done to him. What is there besides that? What is it that you want to prove?"
She winced—already he was taking on a hostile tone, making it clear that she did not want the topic broached. "I just want to understand why—"
"I've had enough. I'm tired-I'm taking my leave."
"Zephiel, please—" she quickly held on to his hand before he could even get up and go. "I'm sorry. I'm just trying to... I was... please don't leave so soon."
He groaned and resigned himself back to her couch. For a moment, he stared at her, his mind quickly forming theories for what was inspiring those questions and words in his wife. Odd, it's been an entire day and I've heard nothing about the war yet. All I've been faced with is this meek image of submission. There must be something going on in her head. Kumiko, to him, had always been an open book. It was one of the traits that worked for her and against her. And so he knew that something has changed. Whether or not she was going to tell him what it was was another story.
It must be the war? Has she heard of the pull-out of Bernese troops? Does she actually think the war is stopping now? How naive. But then again, that is exactly how she is. But how does my father figure into that?
"...I hope you enjoyed yourself this evening," she said.
He chuckled a little. "Well, I certainly know that you and your friends did."
She laughed, too. "I hope I didn't embarrass you at all."
"Not at all," he said. "...Only a little."
She smiled and actually inched closer to him, linking her arm with his. "I'm happy, Zephiel."
He noted her display of affection—such a rare thing for Kumiko to do these days—and said, "It's good to hear that."
"Don't you feel the same way, Zephiel?"she asked. "You were right about what you said earlier—there's comfort in routine. This evening I remembered how we once were. How we used to laugh and dance together and... we were happy, right? Everything was alright?"
Happiness? Does such a thing exist in this world? That thing is fleeting—it only exists a moment, and then fades away. You can't seriously think that we were that happy, Kumiko.
"Everything was fine, Zephiel," she said. "Why does everything have to change?"
So that was it. That is your point, that is your agenda, as is always. He shrugged as if to shrug her off, and then he said, "I'm not falling into this trap, Kumiko. It's late and I'm tired and you're right—the evening went well. So don't spoil it by acting like a selfish woman who complains when she's not getting one thing she wants—"
"That's not what it's about, Zephiel!" she raised her voice now, pounding her fists on the cushion of her couch. "Why can't you see what I'm saying? I'm not just thinking about me, I'm thinking about you as well and all you say is—"
"Me? When ever did you think of me?"
"I'm trying to make you see the stupidity of your decisions and am actually bending to try to understand you and all you ever—"
He got up, and she almost thought that he was going to leave, but then he turned and looked down at her and continued the argument. "I don't need your understanding, woman. I never asked for it. All I demand is your obedience."
His statement offended her, and he clearly saw it on her face. "Well, unfortunately for you I'm not a mindless doll that will just blindly follow everything you say! Will we only get along and be happy when we are forced to do it?"
"You were never truly happy, you were only forcing yourself—you just said so."
"Zephiel, I was happy! I was content. I couldn't ask for more, and then everything had to change—"
"Goodnight, Kumiko," he said, then bending down to kiss her lightly, and then, turning to leave. The conversation was over. There was no talking to him anymore, no convincing him, no changing his mind.
"Goodnight," she said, almost a whisper, as he left.
Zephiel, what am I going to do with you? Are you that far gone? Can't you see that you're trying to avoid becoming like your father, but in the end you're just stepping into his trap?
End of Chapter.
Ridiculously long Author's Notes ensues.
A/N:
I've gotten a blog at .com – there I shall dump the excessive things I realize and thoughts that I stumble upon writing for FE. If you had a gist of what was going on in my head everyday, The Journey and Bern probably constitute 30% of my everyday thoughts, thinking of plot and characteristics of charries and all that, so I thought all that time thinking should not go to waste and so I created that blog. Visit please? I have an article about how I characterize FE charas like Heath, Matt, and Legault. :3
My FE9/10 Lethe cosplay has debuted last June 18. I had a fun time at the con though no one recognized me, haha. And there I prepared a batch of my best homebaked oatmeal cookies and said that whoever recognizes the character and series I'm cosplaying from shall win it. But no, nothing happened, haha. I think, for FE cosplay, I'll probably do Nino next. :3
This... is by far one of my most 'pointless' chapters. I read it and I think it's sooo sloow. That's why it took me so long to upload it—it was trying to, in a myriad of ways, get the point of the chapter tackled while keeping it on a good pace. This is the best I can do so far. Series writers are right in a way when they say, "try airing one episode where your main cast is happy and there is no conflict—that episode will NOT sell." Same on chapter-by-chapter fanfics, I think. The lack of tension between Kumi and Zephiel miffs me. They, everything else aside, kind of make a good pair but if there is no conflict, there is no story, nothing to keep us on the edge of our seats. Please review on what you think. Chapter a nice break or a boring pause?
It's quite an insightful read if you're thinking past traumas and its effects on personalities, though. Pop literature/media tends to highlight the consequences of past trauma in teenagers and the like, but have you ever wondered what their effect is on older people? By then the reflexes and defense patterns that they have adapted because of abuse almost become a part of themselves that you hardly notice them and you think it's normal and a part of them. Being a victim of abuse too, once, I can pick out traits from my personality or pattern of thinking and say, "If that had never happened to me in the past, I don't think I'd be like this/have this trait". I can relate to Zephiel in that sense, that's why he's one of my favorite characters. This whole fanfic is a self-insert? Heck no. But I believe that when you get a grip of a character's patter of thinking, or can relate to an aspect of his or her life, you can write better. I give a piece of myself to the characters I like, because, really, but more like, a small part, like Anko's cunning or desire to control things, and thus build an entire personality to suit that integral trait. Meh, I'm babbling. Ignore me. This is why I created that blog, so I can dump excessive thoughts there.
Be warned! Parental Guidance is advised for the next chapter! XDD Nah, just kidding. I'd never write anything overly explicit. I may write something suggestive and mature-themed, but never EXPLICIT and outright graphic. I don't like putting sensitive images into my readers' heads. (Yeah, sure I did that in the raep scene, but that was because it's intent was to frighten.) Most historical romances have sexual themes, though, and I admit I have a lot of influence reading historical fiction for this, but I don't think that's the core of Bern. Oh, it does exist and it is involved that's why we have the moments wherein Zephiel acts and speaks in manners that would make us say, "Perv! Dislike!" and I include them to keep it real. But I also don't think it's the core of the story, so I fail to make this like the smut-ladden historical romances sitting among my books. No lemon ahead or in any chapters.
I fear Heath is done OOC. :( Apologies. Actually, I fear everyone is OOC. Some of these are fresh off the keyboard and should have been thought of more, but I have been staring at the content for over a month now, so I feel it was time to upload. At least if there is something wrong, you, my readers, will point it out to me, right?
Our latest FE7 character to return hereby returns here: How do you guys like/dislike the Lady Serra? As for me she's not the usual energetic Serra that we see in FE7, I play out more of her 'other side' so to speak, in her scene here. Like? Dislike?
EDIT AND ERROR: I had described the dagger from Matt as silver and gilded with rubies at the hilt. ERROR. It is silver and decorated with SAPPHIRES. I have reread that part in Journey and have just realized it. FACEPALM.
NOTICE: Timegap between FE7 and 6 is 20 years. I took liberties and reduced it to 15, if no one has noticed. Thus Kumi would only be around 29-30. Why did I change it? I was uncertain about writing characters around the 40 age border, since I know their thinking would be slightly, or greatly different. HOWEVER, the ages of the FE6 characters will not be reduced (ex, Lugh and Ray are still 13) though the older cast would have magically had 5 years off their age.
BTW, Whitzwolf and I have just realized we are both Filipino… and we have been connected though these fics for the longest time… (4 years lol) I check the stats and I see that I get visitors from the Philippines frequently. I dunno if that's ME and not anyone else, but, seriously, I thought I had been giving myself away in the Journey with my references to spiced ginger ale (ahh, I love that, seriosusly guys you should try it) and calamansi (aka Philippine lemon) which is mentioned by Legault once in Journey.
For those who got annoyed at how fast I have progressed Heath and Anko and you keep seeing a lot of them in this chapter, well, it's for a reason. (Because—cough—prettysoonandi'mtalkingrealsoonHeathleaves.)I had wanted to build up the deal with him and Anko before that happens. And yes, no lemon scenes ahead.
I have just realized (right in the wee hours of the morning) that Kumiko is not exactly likable in this fic. I have one reviewer who actually said, "I had to read The Journey to actually like Kumiko". For those who read Journey, Kumiko is only acting completely in character and is doing what she would most likely do in these circumstances, but for those who read Bern before they have ever read Journey, she may come across as a touch too emotional and as a 'weak' character constantly maneuvered by strong personalities like Anko, or Zephiel himself. Or she may come of just as how Zephiel describes her in her worst—selfish and ungrateful. One reviewer puts it well: "Kumiko tends to interpret things wrongly and misunderstand things, rather than actually making wrong decisions from right facts." This especially worries me. This, is in fact, a pattern in Kumiko's personality that I have never noticed before though it's there consistently, even in Journey. See! Even own writers sometimes need outside opinion to evaluate their characters. Now I feel weird. Does this bother you the same way it bothers me? Uhh, I feel weird. Review please. I always try to make use of your insights and criticisms.
