Oy vey. I'm back.
"speech"
thoughts / flashbacks / emphasis / etc.
Reminisce: Part A
Flopping onto the chilly grass, Joshua let out a massive yawn. The motley crew traveling with Princess Eirika had finally set up camp near the village where their misadventure concerning man-eating spiders, villagers taken hostage, and some dumbass shaman who thought Artur was a pushover had happened. Oh, sure, you could guilt or force him into doing anything, but when push came to shove, panfrying people with his Lightning spells was second nature to the otherwise benevolent monk.
I still can't believe I'm doing this…. What kind of princess traveled with such bizarre company? A roseate crybaby, some uppity little kid who dressed in rags, and that weirdo…Lute, was it? Sure, Joshua might not be the perfect depiction of royalty himself, now a mercenary of ten years, but his story never suspiciously resembled those outlandish fiction novels read to him as a young child.
Leaning his head back, the redhead smirked at the large shining orb in the sky. "A full moon…" Pulling a coin from his pocket, he flipped and caught it. "Tails…figures. So much for good luck from the full moon." Shrugging nonchalantly, he stuffed the coin back in his pocket, and addressed a piercing and wholly unsubtle gaze directed at him.
That Ross kid. Didn't look any older than mid-teens. The son of Garcia – who, if he remembered his history right, was some axeman of supreme skill who once was a higher-up in Renais' military. Sure looked like a kid – leather headband, gruffly groomed dark-brown hair, shorts (always a surest sign of lack of age), full of the kind of confidence that ignorance of the world tends to beget. Returning the boy's glare with a sidelong glance, he lazily inquired, "What is it, kid?"
"You were one of the Grado mercenaries at Serafew, weren't you?"
"Were. Go thank that Natasha cleric for that. I probably should, too – some of these guys woulda stuck a lance into my ass, which is hardly how I'd like to go out." Yes, die ignobly out in some damned border town, leaving your mother to wonder what the hell happened to you without any idea that you're burning in hell. A brilliant idea, he mentally tacked on. Thankfully, he hadn't told anybody about this reason for his defection – his royal heritage was nothing worth mentioning since it certainly wouldn't be worth the hassle it would raise (if they even believed him in the first place – after all, what the hell kind of prince of Jehanna changes allegiances at the flip of a coin?).
"Yeah, well I still don't trust you."
Joshua shrugged. "I've heard worse. Mercenaries get this kind of thing."
"Well, just remember that I'm keeping an eye on you, so don't try anything funny!"
"Ross!" The voice was distant, but still rang clearly with all the authority of warrior with as much legend to him as Garcia.
"Dad!" The boy spun and faced his father.
"What are you accosting Sir Joshua for, my son?"
Pointing a finger accusingly at the swordsman, he began, "He's a mercenary! He can't be trusted! He'll sell us out when things turn ugly, which is always how things are in this journey! I can practically-"
"Son."
"Dad?" Ross instantly stopped at the muted but stern tone to his father's voice.
"Turn in for the night. Get your rest."
"But-"
"Now."
Never one to disobey his father, Ross nodded and hurried off. The older rendition watched his son leave, then commented to the lazing redhead, "Forgive my son. He can be…impetuous, at times."
The redhead shrugged. "Kids. What can ya do?" He knew better than to take Ross seriously – he had been the more levelheaded between Caellach and himself, after all.
"Indeed." The larger man turned his gaze to Joshua, and began, "I am Garcia."
"Yeah. General Seth tells me you used to be a legend in Renais." Actually, in all of Magvel, but I'd rather stay in my role as the everyday mercenary and not know my history.
The aging fighter sighed, running a hand through his still-short hair – perhaps he never rid himself of a strictly military fashion after all these years. "I was. Age separates me from my former skill, but I believe my old bones are still capable enough to serve Her Highness."
"Heh. Watching how you cut down one of those armored knights, I'm pretty sure that if you're nowhere near your former ability, you must have been something else in your prime."
"I was." Garcia's eyes narrowed, and a lesser man would have flinched under his gaze. Stroking his beard pensively, he asked, at length, "You're not just some ordinary sellsword, are you?" You aren't, he silently added. I merely want the truth from your mouth.
Joshua canted his head to the side. "I'm pretty sure you're not referring to my gambling obsession, right?"
The old legend chuckled and replied, "Although I recall few soldiers who ever enjoyed games of chance as you do, that is not so. There is something in the way you walk, the way you wield your blade. I see something in your eyes that I have seen in so very few others. The others in this group find nothing amiss, but I have seen far too much to not find something salient in your conduct." In King Fado. In those foreign royalty I occasionally met. In Emperor Vigarde, too. It's hidden underneath the roguish swagger, but I see it.
It was the redhead's turn to laugh. "The legend is perceptive and fearsome. Too bad they never endorsed your sagacious talents."
"Pity, though anybody with my experiences is invariably wizened. Perhaps they assumed it to be a given." Erasing the mirth from his face once more, Garcia asked, "Who are you?" What is royalty doing out here?
The redhead shrugged, hoping that he appeared nonchalant about the inquiry. He's close, but best to not let him know how close. "Joshua. From Jehanna. A mercenary long in the running – 'bout ten years now, I think."
The way Garcia wrinkled his nose hinted at his belief that the redhead hid something, but he dismissed it. "Perhaps I was mistaken in assuming something incredible to your identity." Turning his gaze back to the village they were spending the night at, the aging axeman suggested, "What say we get a good night's rest, Sir Joshua? I sense that we will need to embroil ourselves in a tough fight soon."
"Hey, you're the legend. I just got roped into this by my own bet."
Royal heir and old legend shared a grin.
Sauntering steadily through the lush collection of pretty flora within the Royal Garden of the Rausten Court, Joshua took in all the sights at a steady and leisurely pace, slowly losing himself in thought.
I'll be very busy once I get back to Jehanna – a lot repairing to do. Frelia is too far away to really ask for help, and Renais and Grado have too many of their own reconstruction problems to help, however willing they might be to do so. That means I might need to cut deals with Carcino and Rausten – they were the lucky ones, not losing many authority figures.
What would I do with Carcino? Maybe I should try to get Rennac to help negotiate for aid? I haven't talked to him very much…looks like I need to make another friend, but I'll have to be careful about it. He's not a trusting soul, and for good reason…. Joshua's thoughts tapered off, and he realized that he had just stumbled upon Saleh. The sage's legs were folded, and his hands were set on his knees. His eyes were apparently closed, and the redhead could feel a distinct shift in the air that surrounded the gray-haired magician.
He's using magic without a tome? Interesting…. Joshua took a step forward, but he felt the aura surrounding the Caer Pelyn native vanish.
"What is it?"
"Ah, Saleh. Mornin'. Sorry for disturbin' your training."
"It is no matter," Saleh replied. He rose to his feet and turned to face the redheaded swordsman. "Good morning, King Joshua. Did you sleep well?"
Waving his hand dismissively, Joshua sniffed. "Meh. Just call me Joshua. I hate formalities – it's why I left Jehanna Hall in the first place."
"Very well then, Joshua."
The redhead paused for a moment. Then, he leaned forward conspiratorially, and put up a hand to whisper, "Say, Saleh…"
"Hm?"
"You…you didn't see anything…out of place last night, did you…?"
Wise as he was, the sage caught his implication. "Fear not, Joshua. I have nothing to gain of sharing your…misadventure, and I would not speak of it even if I did."
"Good to hear. Thanks," Joshua replied. His face then scrunched up thoughtfully, and Saleh waited for his words.
"What say you and I make a bet? The loser owes the winner a favor."
The gray-haired villager wrinkled his nose in response. "No sleight-of-hand, Joshua; Gerik told me of your tricks, and I would have seen it regardless."
The redhead replied with a cheeky grin. "What? Are you calling me a cheater?"
"I believe I am," Saleh steadily countered.
"Well, not this time." Producing a coin from his pocket, he explained, "Call it in the air."
"Tails."
As Joshua moved to snatch the coin out of the air, Saleh snared his hand at the wrist, and glared at the coin. The moment it struck the ground, it adhered tightly to the earth, not bouncing back up or rolling about.
The red-haired prince tilted his head in amusement. "Thorough, aren't you?"
"A wise man does it right the first time."
Joshua grinned in response, and knelt over with Saleh to inspect the result.
"…Tails. Whaddaya want me to do?"
"…" Saleh was quiet for some time, then he replied with, "I will remember this, and I will think of a suitable favor to ask of you."
"Ooh," Joshua offered, punctuating his words with a goofy grin. "Should I be scared?"
The other man ignored him. "For now, let us join everyone else for breakfast."
On cue, Joshua's stomach growled. Only the ghost of a smile graced Saleh's face, but the other man didn't hide his friendly grin.
As they walked to the kitchen, the magician inquired, "If you had won, what would you have asked of me?"
"I woulda asked you to be a chief advisor and royal mage for Jehanna. Figure I'd need one, since a sage like yourself in power would be good for earning the popular support of the magician mercenary crowd."
Saleh furrowed his brow in response, and paused for a while. At length, he eventually replied, "I have my favor."
The redhead turned to look at his companion. "Hm?"
"One day, I will send Ewan to you. When that day comes, make him the advisor and chief magician you sought to make me."
Joshua shrugged. "Sure." Furrowing his brow, he realized what Saleh intended to do, and asked, "You'll send him once he's fit for the job, right? I figure you're a smart guy, so you would know when he'd be ready."
"Indeed." The Caer Pelyn native paused briefly, then added, "I thought you might balk at my request – it is Ewan we speak of, after all." Saleh's mouth twitched, which sharply contrasted with Joshua's uninhibited laughter. "Your insight is superb. Had I not known you to be royalty, I would have been very surprised…"
"Don't judge a tome by its cover," the king of Jehanna replied. Then, he broke out a friendly grin. "But enough of that. Let's eat."
"Haaaaaaaaaammm…"
Nightly walks always seemed to do good for Joshua. Ever since his father's death, he'd sneak out of the Hall and enjoy the chilly breezes, the feel of sand scuffling his boots, the soft moonlight. For over ten years, whenever sleep eluded him, he'd simply stroll out into the night, and come back ready to crash. Caellach always shook his head and told him nights were better spent on drinks and the ladies, but the larger man knew that his swordsman companion was always a little eccentric, and left him to his own devices. Besides, Caellach didn't really care – it meant more women for him.
Dodging Frelian security had proved to be infinitely annoying – Pegasi had terrific hearing and noses, not to mention their speed – but ultimately, no common soldier was going to stop the self-exiled prince of Jehanna from doing as he pleased. Half-crouching to shuffle past a pair of patrolling guards, he easily made his way back to the guest chambers of Castle Frelia, and found his room on the third floor – if he remembered right, the four cavaliers from Renais, Garcia, and Ross were also on this floor.
Which was why he was surprised to see a distinctive shade of light-blue hair and the combat dress of Princess Eirika of Renais outside his room. Canting his head to the side, he put on a roguish grin full of white teeth and sauntered over to the door. "Ooh, scandalous. A princess, here, at this time of day?"
She did not hide her amused smile as she bowed her head and replied, "Sir Joshua."
"Ya need something?" he inquired as he opened the door to his room.
"Yes." He stopped. "We part ways tomorrow, my brother and I – and he has the far more dangerous duty. He may be flanking Grado's troop movements, but he is still taking on an army with so few in comparison. I…I would ask of you – no, beg of you – to join my brother and help protect him."
Miscommunication, he'd learned, was a very disastrous thing. It was wholly necessary in his career as a mercenary, after all – coordinating where, when, who, and how much (he'd earn, that is) was central to the job. He and Caellach had fought alongside each other so many times that they knew all the preferred strokes and swings, when to step in and help, when to sit back and watch, who to leave to the other – it had been almost second nature after their third year of partnership. It got to the point where the smaller redhead could simply duck and let his axe-wielding partner-in-crime stick a hand axe or tomahawk into an enemy flanking Joshua without cues or shouting – just instinct.
Though he'd seen very little of how the twins interacted, he imagined they got along very well. Seeing Eirika very nearly drop her sword to run and crush her brother in a delighted embrace back at Renvall (in the middle of a battle, no less!) was proof that she could very easily worry herself sick over him. Judging by how bright Ephraim's smile had been, it seemed as if he was much the same. Obviously, they'd be very concerned over each other. And Joshua had about a dozen guesses as to how they'd reassure themselves of each other's safety. Wait…um…Gilliam, Vanessa, Moulder, Natasha, Ross, Garcia, Artur, Lute, the four horsemen, Neimi, Colm, and me…that's fifteen.
Ah, the wonders miscommunication wrought. Maybe the twins just loved each other too much to have an argument over who went where? The hell if I'll ever know, the redhead grumbled to himself. "I assume you've asked everyone else in our motley crew to do the same?"
Eirika jerked slightly in surprise, but nodded and replied, "Yes. I've requested each of them to help my brother. You're the last."
"My, how special I must be," Joshua jokingly offered. He then wrinkled his nose and looked the princess straight into her cerulean eyes. "I think your brother would want someone to watch over you. He'll worry about you, too. Besides, something unexpected can happen, and you'll need help. I also have some pretty important business to attend to in Jehanna, so, tell ya what – I'll head with you to Port Kiris, then I'll split off." Cutting off her protest, he continued, "It's some really important stuff – something that could prove pivotal to the war, actually." I'm way overdue for a homecoming, anyways – I just hope all the stuffy nobles and servants don't bite my head off for being AWOL for so long…
"Really?" she inquired. Joshua shot her another roguish grin in response, and she smiled. "You do know that Prince Innes travels to Jehanna, no?"
"Is he? …Hm. Guess I'll have to play catch-up, then."
Eirika pleaded once more, "What is this business of yours? Are you sure it is so dire that you cannot go with my brother?"
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Sorry. Not in a mood to tell." It'd raise too many questions. Best to answer them once I'm ready.
The blue-haired princess frowned. "Is it even important, or are you just trying to deceive me?"
"Hey now, nothing like that," the redhead replied, raising his hands in a surrendering gesture. "It's just so vital that it's confidential, that's all."
She regarded him skeptically. "If you say so…"
"Hey, I might cheat, but I don't tell lies. Those are two entirely different things." Producing a coin from his pocket, he offered, "Tell ya what – since you're so insistent about it, let's make a bet. Call it in the air, heads or tails. If I win, I'll go with you until Port Kiris. If you win, I'll join Prince Ephraim. How's that sound? You in?"
"Sir Joshua, please," she began. "If something happened to my brother, I don't-"
"And if something happened to you, he'd be just as devastated," the redhead countered. "Play along – it's a win-win situation."
Eirika sighed. "Erm…heads."
"All right. Then I'm tails. Here goes.
"Aaaand…" He flipped the coin high, then snatched it out of the air and held his closed fist before his face.
"What is it?"
He turned his hand over, opened his fist, and showed her the result.
Tails.
She frowned, then looked up into his eyes, a hint of desperate pleading beneath those deep sapphire orbs. "Please, Sir Joshua, my brother is-"
"Are you trying to worm out of a bet, milady?" She blinked in surprise, and looked at him inquisitively.
"'Cause if you are, we might have to settle this over a duel."
Eirika's eyes widened in surprise. "A duel? We…we don't have time for one. We part ways tomorrow-"
"So quit protesting and just let me go with you, all right? Don't worry – I won't be missed by everybody else."
Joshua had a nasty habit of being wrong whenever he said, "Don't worry."
"Waaaiiit!"
Two heads whirled to face the fussy braying of a Pegasus and the loud call of its rider. Eirika's jaw dropped in shock, and Joshua quirked an eyebrow in surprise. The pair had already departed briskly, and had not wasted time on farewells. Which was apparently why she'd run out after them.
"Tana! What are you doing out here?"
The Frelian princess sighed. "All of you are running off to war and risking your lives. I couldn't bring myself to just sit at home and wait – who are you kidding?" She paused when her eyes met with that of the red-haired swordsman, and she inquired of her friend, "Ooh! Who's this?" A cursory glance showed a handsome redhead with eyes to match, dressed in a deep green tunic, cloud-colored leggings, and a viridian hat pulled so far down it seemed to half-blind him. A sheathed Killing Edge hung at his side, and he also carried a normal straight sword strapped to his back along with a Lancereaver. Looking closer, the navy-haired Pegasus knight saw white bandages wrapped around his forearms, and wondered at what scars they might hide.
Jabbing his cap with his thumb and canting his head – a gesture that always worked phenomenally with women – he slapped on his roguish grin and replied, "Sir Joshua of Jehanna, at your service."
Tana cast her cerulean-haired friend a suspicious look. "What are you doing with this guy? Please tell me…"
Eirika smiled. "He offered to accompany me until Port Kiris. Sir Joshua claims to have important business to attend to in Jehanna. Allegedly something pivotal to the war."
The navy-haired princess narrowed her eyes, already suspecting something fishy. Pivotal business…whatever could he be talking about? How would a mere mercenary's dealings affect a war?
Noting the distrust in Tana's eyes, the princess of Renais reassured her. "Don't worry. Sir Joshua is very trustworthy – otherwise I wouldn't have let him accompany me."
Tired of simply sitting there and being scrutinized, the redhead added, "Relax." He shrugged, and continued, "Besides, Her Highness here is kinda flat, so I won't be-"
Tana's jaw shot open, and she eventually collected enough of her wits to shout in revulsion, "HEY! Don't talk about Eirika like that, you pervert!"
The other princess, however, never responded, opting to just stand there with her mouth hanging open and red in her cheeks.
Joshua's shameless grin did not leave, not even after Eirika's blush did.
At least, not until they arrived.
"Wow…" The two princesses turned round and round, slowly taking in the sights and the ocean smell.
"Yup. This is Port Kiris, one of Magvel's biggest trade centers. Trade between Rausten, Frelia, Carcino, and even Renais happens here, so there's all sorts of people you'll meet. Full of the usual haunts – taverns, gambling halls, an armory and a sorcery store, and if I remember right, that barkeep Caellach stiffed is somewhere around here…gotta watch for that." His voice had shrunken into mumbling, and neither Eirika nor Tana heard him.
"Well, at any rate, enjoy the sights, but don't forget why we're here."
Eirika nodded. "Yes. I am Erina, a mercenary headed to Rausten for payment for my latest contract."
"I'm Tara, her companion," the other princess chimed in. "Let's get to finding a boat already, then!"
"…My, these crumpets are just perfect!"
"Huh?" All three royalty turned to face the source of a comment – a green-haired woman on horseback accompanied by a viridian-haired, stout-looking man in red armor and a well-dressed brunette. The woman was busy nibbling at some small snack, and she eventually noticed the presence of the other three.
"Why, hello. These crumpets are simply delicious! Perhaps you would like one?"
Eirika gave Joshua a questioning look. He shrugged in response. She nodded, then replied to the rider, "I…I suppose."
While she took a bite out of the snack, the green-haired woman asked, "What business have you in Port Kiris?"
"We're here for a ship to Rausten," Tana replied.
"Well, I'm afraid that you're out of luck, my friends. There have been reports of a ghost ship traversing the seas between Carcino and Rausten. The tales terrify the local sailors, and they dare not to set sail. I, too, was looking to sail to Rausten, but I may simply have to take the land route!"
"Which leads through Carcino," Joshua added. "And takes much longer. And could be dangerous, since Grado has invaded Jehanna and most of the trails head through Jehanna. Any other path comes to close to Darkling Woods, which is a no-no."
"But I will fear not!" the horse-rider replied. "I command the strength of the Light! Nothing will befall me as long as I hold faith in it! We leave for the overland pass! Dozla, Rennac, let's go!"
"Ha ha ha! Let's get moving, Rennac!"
The stylish brunette sighed in exasperation. "Those two morons…"
As the (more) eccentric trio left, Joshua, Eirika, and Tana dumbly stared after them. The swordsman broke the silence first, asking, "Well, what to do? You can try to convince someone to set sail, or you can take the longer overland pass. I doubt you'll want to wait for something that won't happen, but you also need to be…" He trailed off as he heard heavy footfalls approaching them. Turning to face the source, his gaze met a gruffly dressed, viridian-haired, burly axeman.
"Yer Princess Eirika of Renais?"
Raising an eyebrow at the other warrior, Joshua interjected, "Might wanna back up, buddy. I don't mind you, but we've got a pair of delicate sensibilities here…"
Binks chuckled, and replied, "'Fraid I can't do that. There's a juicy price on yer head, after all…." Looking closely, the prince of Jehanna saw mercenaries of all kinds began to gather in the city's corners. Mages, swordsmen, axemen, spearfighters, archers – the whole kaboodle came forth as Binks vanished into their ranks. How much? Joshua rhetorically inquired.
He sighed at length, then admonished the mercenary, "Bad mistake, buddy…"
Snatching the Lancereaver tied to his back, he sprinted straight for the commonplace soldiers some meters away as he drew the specialized blade. Hearing the braying of Achaeus, Tana's Pegasus, and the metallic grating of Eirika's rapier being drawn, he allowed himself a feral grin as he caught the first lance with the intricately crafted handle, wrenched the metal point away, swatted the soldier's shield aside, and slicing a line from his left shoulder to right hip. Joshua ignored the soldier's eyes widening then dimming, instead focusing on the swordfighter coming at him. His foe came in with a powerful vertical swing that he parried into the ground. The redhead followed with a side-kick to the chest, and used the space to shut his eyes for a moment of concentration, producing a pair of mirror-images.
Just another day of work.
Joshua has always enjoyed silence.
It seems contrary to his nature. He can be irritatingly flaky, shamelessly forward, unbelievably goofy, any one of these whenever the spirit moves him so. Starting shit storms was a pastime of his as a child, and he often gets into bar fights when he feels compelled to be a smartass. But he enjoys companionable silences, contemplative silences, even lulls in combat. It means he doesn't have to do anything but sit back and enjoy it. He can just stretch or take a nap in the presence of silence. He can take a breather from a fight before collecting himself and stepping back into the melee.
Amid the roaring of magic spells, the ringing of metal on metal, and war cries shouted back and forth, he finds silence. A serene quiet, however, it is not – this silence is wrought of pain. Shock. Recognition. Too many things to bother naming in the din of battle.
He'd seen him flinch the moment he set foot in the throne room. He saw his grip tighten on his sword. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gerik slam a loud dent into one of the last armored knights, barely noticing it as he marches across the hall, towards the seat of power.
"You…" the aging brunette frowns, not quite believing what he sees. "…could it be?"
The other man grits his jaw and does not bother hiding his ice-hot rage. Halting in the middle of the room, he quietly demands, "Carlyle…how did this happen? You taught me how to wield a blade. You of all people…" He trails off, words failing him, as he begins to lose himself to the anger betrayal rouses from within.
"You've returned," Jehanna's most decorated general idly notes. "But now…" Gesturing to the dead knights and mages before him, he continues, "It's too late. You're far too late…" Shaking his head in resigned exhaustion, Carlyle readied his grip on his Wind Sword.
"You're wrong."
The self-exiled prince's words catch his attention, and Carlyle raises his head to gaze into Joshua's crimson eyes, which now burn with unforgiving wrath.
"I'm not too late…to kill you for your betrayal."
Snapping into a one-armed salute-guard, the general replies, "We shall see."
Joshua brings his blade into a one-handed low guard and drags it across the throne room floor, kicking up sparks as he screams incoherently and charges his former mentor. Carlyle raises his sword to ready a sickle of compressed air from the magic in the Wind Sword, but is interrupted by the need to dodge a bolt of fire. Diving out of the way, he only has enough time to spare the source of the magical attack – a gray-haired mage who looked no older than Joshua – before the prince is upon him.
Ten years of field experience and the extensive lessons of his father and Carlyle meld the rage smoldering within Joshua into a terrifyingly powerful fuel. He does not swing with furious abandon – that is Ross's style, the way axemen do battle, how youngsters enter combat when their emotions rouse. It is not how swordsmen are taught to fight. He strikes with every bit of precision that he always fights with – just harder and faster. The battle reaches such a fever pitch that the mage and the gray-haired archer cannot find openings for their ranged attacks, and neither the woman nor the burly viridian-haired…mercenary? Yes, that dress must a mercenary's…have an opportunity to step in and assist their fellow swordsman. Joshua's Killing Edge (which he has reforged whenever possible, unbeknownst to the general) and Carlyle's magical blade morph into mere blurs, and the two fighters move incomprehensibly quickly, blades and feet flashing left, right, every direction.
Three minutes pass, and Joshua finally finds purchase on the general's blade long enough to sweep it aside, and he goes for a killing vertical strike straight down the middle. Carlyle snaps his sword back into a horizontal guard, and they lock blades for a few moments. The bearded man's eyes seemed almost devoid of emotion, as always – the redhead, once he would come to a more lucid moment, would judge it to carry traces of a resigned determination. The desert prince's gaze burns red-hot, and he grits his teeth before screaming and shoving his own sword upward. Carlyle's blade catches on the hilt of the Killing Edge, and his arms are forced up and he stumbles backwards from the push. Joshua sees this opening, he always sees openings – it's what the swordplay of Jehanna teaches. This window to strike is no different. From its position over his head, he gathers his sword and takes another mighty downward swing, leaning forward to generate momentum, his training shuffling his right foot backwards to provide balance and power.
The Killing Edge slices a gash into the floor about six inches long before it snaps in two from the sheer force of the blow. Carlyle is smote from his right shoulder to his left hip with a deep wound, one that splatters blood in the same direction as Joshua's deathblow. The older man stumbles backward, reflexively pushing his blade behind him to hold him up as he bites back a scream. It would not be very becoming of a general, he decides, to simply collapse under the force of any blow. Eventually, though, with his strength fading, he loses his grip on the Wind Blade and begins to fall backward. Joshua snares a fistful of his onyx military tunic, and Carlyle can clearly see the desperation, the anger, the hate in the younger man's red eyes, the same red eyes as the woman he should never have fallen in love with, but did anyways.
Ismaire. He realizes that she will be overjoyed to see her son return. He realizes that this boy…no, man, will give her a happiness that Carlyle cannot provide her with. This blow to his psyche does not damage his dwindling sanity – it recovers it. His eyes widen with realization. He was a fool, a damned fool. A weakling. He turned his nation over to the Tiger's Eye so he could claim the hand of the woman he desired, and he somehow forgot that she was the Queen of the White Dunes. Loyalty to her nation was in her blood, it swam in her veins – this betrayal would turn her against him, yet he never realized it, blinded by some damned unholy attraction. When Caellach arrived, he did not even receive the prize he'd hoped for – it was taken from him, and he wasn't even strong enough to protect her. He'd forced open an opportunity to be with her, and he had forfeited it. He realizes now, that he had been a miserable, blind slime these twenty years.
Love at first sight is for fools, he decides, as Joshua angrily shakes the dying man and loudly demands, "Why!"
Carlyle grimaces, managing, "I…I just wanted…the two of us…" The redhead stiffens, and the shock very nearly removes his grip from his teacher.
"Queen Ismaire…I'm…so…rry…"
Finally heeding Eirika's pleading screams to let him go, Joshua shuts his eyes and averts his gaze in disgust. His teacher loved his mother? That was why he'd betrayed Jehanna, betrayed her? What could drive him to such depravity? Opening his fist, he cracks one eye open and watches the man who taught him his craft of war, the man who'd patted him on the head, encouraged him, scolded him for his (endearing) impudence, the one who'd been his second father between his true father's death and his own departure collapse to the ground.
With a small smile to his face. Joshua can clearly see the recognition in Carlyle's face. Does he see the error of his ways? Yes, he does, the prince realizes, as he remembers that Carlyle would smile the exact same way when Joshua showed him his mastery of another swordplay form. Joshua grimaces, the mental anguish pressing powerfully against his heart and his mind. If anything more happens this day, he figures, he'll start crying, and he can't have that. He'd pull out a coin and flip it to test his luck concerning his hypothesis, but he's busy repressing his sorrow, his pain.
He wouldn't dare cry.
He's the itinerant cavalier, the rakish rogue, the devil-may-cry gambling addict who has an affinity for pretty women and sleight-of-hand. He's not some bawling, babbling dimwit who can't stand up to some emotional crisis. Someone as shameless as himself should never cry, he believes. Men fight, right? They pick up their weapons and stand up to their problems, their fights, and do battle until it ends or they end, right? They don't turn into introverted, angsty messes that are crippled by their sorrow, right?
His masculinity conveniently ignores the fact that crying is the way to heal emotional wounds such as these, especially wounds such as this one, because he's a man and he can't cry, damnit. Men aren't supposed to show weakness, he thinks.
Sometimes, women have it easy. Ego is a terrible thing, even worse when the egotist sees it as strength.
Your Highness…King Jeremiah…forgive me…. Carlyle can hear the archer angrily demanding how some common mercenary learned the sword from Jehanna's highest general, and his dying breath is spent on the mental efforts necessary to realize what Joshua had done these past ten years.
Joshua likes silences. He finds them comforting, which is why he does not respond to Innes' suspicious questioning.
Ten years wandering the entirety of Magvel everyday has taught Joshua that you learn something new everyday.
Daily Lesson #1: Wall-running acrobatics work great against horses if you don't land on the horse's rear.
Gingerly rubbing at the pain in his chest, he decides that such a stunt is not conducive to health, especially if the horse kicks out in response (thankfully, the horse didn't actually hit him). Still, his likely broken rib won't stop him, and he rises to his feet with a pained grunt. He sees that purple-haired woman Marisa finish off another axe-waving bandit, and shakily makes his way over to the gates of the city they've finally reached.
Weakly chuckling, Joshua slumps against a wall, trying to gather his absent reserves for the last wave of soldiers. "Some rescue, huh?"
"Hey, now, the end's in sight," the burly viridian-haired man – Gerik, a famous mercenary troop leader – replies. "You gonna choke on the home stretch?"
Another tired chuckle. "Nah. Never did. Don't plan to start that now. Here's hoping my luck doesn't run dry…"
"Enough chatter," the terse voice of Prince Innes calls from above. "The last wave comes."
Taking on an army is only a sound idea when you have the advantage, be it in numbers, skill, or tactical matters. Mounting a rescue operation is tricky, and retreat is usually what follows the rescuing – unless you have overwhelming numbers or the ability to cut down entire armies with a single sword-stroke. Which is why Joshua curses under his breath as he shakes the cobwebs away and readies his sword. He, Eirika and Tana had none of those advantages over Pablo's mercenary army when they charged, wound up digging into a fortress after reaching Innes, and right now would trade all their collective luck for a Sacred Twin. It would certainly save them so much effort after having weathered out five waves of mercenaries, one of them being composed entirely of horse and Pegasus riders – which was the reason as to why Joshua broke his rib over anti-cavalry acrobatics. I hate improvising, Joshua mentally groans.
To his right, Princess Eirika inquires, "Are you sure you can still fight?" but he only faintly registers that. His pulse thuds in his ears as he sees the last wave of soldiers, a bunch of bandits (easy), a few swordsmen (damnit, why did I go and break my rib!) and a mage (best leave him to Innes). The magician is perched before the entrance to what looks like some kind of important building – the Carcino Council Hall, perhaps? His self-satisfied smirk contrasts sharply with the incoherent hollering and rampaging of the burly, ugly axemen, and if the redhead doesn't know any better, he'd say that the bastard thinks they're all dead or dying. Joshua spares a thankful thought that he didn't turn out to be like them, and takes a deep breath. To his left, he sees Gerik shift his sword on his shoulder, and Marisa ready her curved Shamshir – hopefully, it won't break in the middle of the fighting because that would be disastrous. Not that their current situation isn't, but Joshua doesn't like stacking the odds against himself. He doesn't consider himself that lucky.
His breath is ragged, his hair is matted with sweat and some small splotches of blood from his foes, and he grimaces at the pain in his chest that spikes each time he inhales. Again, he hears Eirika pleading with him to rest and leave the fight to the others, but he won't. He couldn't possibly sit down and tend to himself when everybody else is fighting injured like he is. Eirika has ugly-looking slashes on her temple and left arm, Innes has a few burns from narrow scrapes with blasts of Thunder and Fire, Tana's mount has its share of scratches, and everybody else is looking worse for the wear. Even the dancer Tethys is not unscathed, though she only has a few simple arrow wounds.
The bandits eventually converge on them, their ranks dwindling as fast as Innes can line up shots at the head and neck. Eirika swats a hurtling hand axe aside, Marisa sprints forward into their ranks, and Gerik and Joshua hold their ground. One of the bandits takes a powerful swing at Joshua that is so wild and wide he can sidestep it easily in his injured state. Swatting the axe into the ground, he takes a swift upswing at the bandit's throat and moves onto the next one. Ducking under the horizontal swing and countering with a stab into the gut, he spins as he yanks his Killing Edge out and takes a heavy downward swing at another axefighter trying to surround Eirika. The blow cleaves a clean diagonal slash across the brigand's back, and he instantly flails to the ground. Staggering to the side and out of the melee, Joshua collects his breath, trying to ignore the pain in his chest. Gerik is dealing deathblows left and right, and Marisa dances out of the way of swings and into slices at the knees and necks of her foes. With her disadvantage in wielding spears against the bandits, Tana swoops down on the swordsmen, darting in with a stab and dashing out before they can retaliate. Tethys does what she can to re-energize Innes with her dancing, but the strain of quickly launching precision shots is visible in how the gray-haired archer's gaze narrows and how his jaw clenches each time he unleashes another feathered shaft.
The bandits and swordsmen are vanquished in short order, and Joshua collapses against the wall of an arena, breathing heavily in exhaustion and pain, trying to summon the last of his energy to ready for combat with the mage. Eirika rushes to his side, Tana hot on her heels, and she kneels before him and inquires in a panicked voice, "Sir Joshua, are you all right?"
He grunts, offers an expression torn between a smirk and a wince, and manages to reply, "No."
"Tana, take him to back to where Innes is. Do you know where you are injured, Sir Joshua?"
"I…think I cracked a rib," he softly replies, each breath becoming more pained.
Daily Lesson #2: Never fight on a broken rib if you have the room to recover.
He sighs, realizing that hindsight is 20/20, and mentally notes to never fight with injuries that affect his breathing.
"Lady Tethys! Treat Sir Joshua's wounds – Tana will bring him over!"
Tethys' reply is drowned out by a bolt of fire rocketing into their midst, at the bunch of fighters surrounding the injured Joshua. Gerik shouts out a warning, Marisa moves to close the distance to the mage, and Tana spurs her mount to evade the magic projectile. Eirika, however, turns around too late.
Pushing himself off the ground with a pained grunt, Joshua rises and shoves Eirika out of the way and collapses after her weakly. The Elfire charge only nicks him, but the projectile's explosion sends him careening into the wall of the coliseum with a loud scream of pain. Exhausted and injured as he is, he cannot rise, and simply slumps against the building, his breath weak with pain and fatigue.
"Never trust another to do a job right," the mage announces aloud. "My mercenaries have proven inadequate, but I shall finish you stragglers off all the same. They've done their job – weakened as you all are, you stand no chance.
"I'll start with the wounded over there," he adds, weaving together a rune. Chuckling darkly, he says, "How noble, taking a magic bolt for the princess of Renais. Pity you-urgh!"
An arrow to the knee silences Pablo's arrogance, and the aging councilman winces and looks up.
"Your trap has failed, Pablo. Failure to trap me is expensive, and I have a debt to collect from you," Innes coldly interjects, and notches another arrow into his bow. Before the politician can dodge, he looses it and it connects with Pablo's gut. He readies another arrow, but the old man has weaved together a rune, and Innes dives for cover. Looking back at his foe, he sees that Pablo was not readying another shot of Elfire, but instead chose to craft a teleport rune. By the time he readies another arrow, Pablo vanishes, shouting, "Grado's might is unmatched, fools! You will fall before them, and I will rise to power!" Innes averts his gaze from the brilliant flash, and, upon seeing the councilman's absence, sighs and flops onto his seat.
"Sir Joshua! By Saint Latona, you're-"
The redhead grimaces, and waves away Eirika's concerns. "I'm not dead yet…this isn't too bad…" He flinched at another jolt of pain in his scorched side, and continues, "You got a mission to finish, don'tcha? …Skedaddle. I'll catch up…once I heal," he weakly whispers.
"I am at fault for your injury, Sir Joshua," the princess of Renais protests. "Please, let me tend to it." She motions for Tethys to bring an Elixir down, and the redheaded woman hurries over.
"You gonna botch yer mission…over a silly mercenary's wound…" he admonished, even as Eirika took the magical potion from the dancer. "Get outta here…get goin'…to Jehanna…the mission…takes priority…"
Gerik shuts his eyes. "Part of the unofficial merc creed, milady," the tall swordsman explains. "Mercenaries aim to accomplish the goals of their employers. They'll try to remove themselves and tend to their own wounds if they get injured badly, and will refuse to become deadweights. That's what no mercenary wants – to be helpless. They are hired to be boons, not burdens."
Eirika grew silent, instead focusing on soaking a bandage in the medicine.
"…But…" the green-haired mercenary smiles, and opens his eyes. He continues, "I already said I'm a sucker for melodrama. We'll get you fixed up, then we'll move. If I'm not mistaken, we need an explanation from Carcino's Council of Elders, don't we, Prince?"
"Yes, we do," Innes replies as he marched down the stairs. "We'll spend the night here and tend to the wounded, then march on the Councilman Hall tomorrow. And abandoning you here would be akin to killing you with my own hands. I'll have none of that, not with someone as skilled as you are."
"Exactly, so don't be so stubborn, Sir Joshua," his sister admonishes, shaking a finger.
"We need all the help we can get on this journey, now that Carcino has betrayed Frelia," the archer prince adds. "Your contract of service is not over yet, Joshua."
Despite the sharp pains in his chest and the still-smoking burn in his left back, Joshua settles back onto the arena and grins.
Daily Lesson #3: True friends are a nice thing to have.
Daily Lesson #4: Drinking buddy, coworker, true friend. Pick two.
Eirika ignores his weak half-protests and removes his tunic, and Joshua falls asleep under the soft touch of the fair princess and the soothing effect of the Elixir-soaked bandage.
"What's your name, boy?"
"Who, me?"
"Yeah, you, kid. What's your name? And where'd you learn how to fight with a sword like that?"
"I'm Joshua, and you don't need to know."
"Oh…a secret, is it? Well, either way, you're damned good. A lad like you isn't this good normally."
"Yeah, well who the hell are you?"
"I'm Caellach, kiddo. …What say you and I start workin' together? Sword and axe…I can already see us as legends. Two of the finest mercenaries Magvel has ever seen. Joshua and Caellach…I already like the sound of that…"
"…I'm making my own name. I don't need any help, old guy."
A humored chuckle. "I'm only…what, five, six years older…? …I like your guts, kiddo. But don't be dumb – mercenaries survive a lot less frequently without lending each other a hand. In fact, I killed at least three lancemen trying to kebab your ass just in this mission."
"……"
"See? Nobody said a mercenary always gotta be alone. Drinks taste better with a buddy, too."
"…Whatever, old guy."
"Hey, Joshua. Use my real name."
"…Fine, Caellach."
"Now, let's go fetch us some drinks.
"And tell me something else. Joshua, you like gambling?"
If you could piece together Pulp Fiction's jumbled perspectives together and figure out what was going on, you'll know what all this amounts to.
Kudos to Geno Calamari for inspiring the perspective to this chapter. He's one of the Naruto fandom's best writers, a terrific mix of brutal, wry, and smart. We'll never agree about Shikamaru, but he's still one of the best writers I've ever seen. Hope you aren't offended by my shameless aping, Mr. Mollusk.
I'll write some more of these kinds of chapters, for both more of Joshua-centric events and those of Ephraim and perhaps other characters.
I hope you're enjoying this fic. I'm having a lot of fun writing it, that's for sure.
Reviewer responses:
Ljusets Korsriddare: Fuck fluff. I already said that royal feudalism isn't happy flying pink bunnies.
Kazekage26: Marisa fanboy much? She isn't that critical to the plot yet, though Jehanna's military may soon receive focus once I return all the characters to their homelands.
Phantom Kensai: Read the Innes/L'Arachel conversations – the innuendo was so heavy I expected them to go at it like bunnies at any point in the conversations. And what the hell are you, psychic? I'm considering Eirika/Saleh even as we speak.
