Fairen was stewing in thought.
After Raimi briefed Chrom on the tournament, the Shepherds all went to bed within Castle Sylvestris only to find on the next day that the tournament was actually in a week, and that it would take at least three days to get to Terminus, the city hosting the tournament. Chrom granted the Shepherds and their small army two days of reprieve before heading out west following a Feroxian escort, Flavia and her group leading. Fairen thought about the Feroxi and their harsh, forward culture, and of how the morale of the Ylissians was faring. They hadn't gotten a lot of time to mourn the dead Ylissian soldiers at the base of the wall, and instead it was all go, go, go. He couldn't make himself ask what actually happened to the fallen, but it was obvious to him that Chrom and the others wouldn't bury their own on foreign soil. He wondered if any of the Shepherds knew some of the soldiers assigned to them personally, and considered how they would feel if someone they knew died. The time spent recuperating in Castle Sylvestris was barely spent in peace. Everyone was on edge in a realm none were familiar surrounded by a culture none took kind to in particular. Of course, the Ylissians were very respectful, and made sure not to be rude, but Fairen saw the unfamiliarity the Ylissians had in the food and culture the Feroxians served.
Well on the road, Fairen shook his head and rubbed his arms, hugging himself, dipping his head to breathe through a wool scarf wrapped around his neck and feeling the heat from his lungs transfer to a palpable, formulating moisture between the wool. His shuffling feet scuffed against the frost-covered path. Once again, he was surrounded by horses, carts, and fellow warriors of the Shepherds, although no one was as sociable or lively as they were on the way to the Longfort. He chalked it up to a combination of the freeze draining everyone and the uncomfortable cultural environment. Personally, he welcomed the familiar sensation of northern winds and falling snowflakes in a constant white landscape, but nostalgia didn't diminish the pains of waking up in freezing morning condition underneath tents that barely kept the elements at bay.
The Shepherds walked down a long straight road along frozen fields, surrounded by inches upon inches of snow on either side. It seemed like they were in the middle of nowhere, a border of pine trees far off in the south and mountains in the direction they were headed. They had put all their trust in Flavia that she would lead them in the right direction.
Although the Shepherds themselves seemed to keep in high spirits within the party, the same couldn't be said for the Ylissian army, who Fairen heard mutterings about why they needed to fight for an ally that attacked them at the border. Fairen didn't see their loyalty to Chrom wavering at any rate, but witnessed the growing tension between the Feroxian grunts and the Ylissian warriors. He could only watch, sigh, and carry on with everyone else as to not be left behind.
He had a couple of chats with the others before they left. Lissa seemed excited to explore this part of the continent despite her exhaustion from the travel and all the healing she had to supervise after the battle at the border. Sully was all business, Virion appeared peppy as ever although complained about how the cold affected his fashion, to which Maribelle joined him, and Vaike was eager to forge more tales of glory for himself. Fairen noted, however, the slight glare Vaike held whenever he interacted with a Feroxian. He found himself shaking his head at the thought. All the Shepherds were a friendly folk, but it would take a while for them to forgive and forget what happened, including himself.
Although he had calmed substantially since meeting Flavia for the first time at the castle, turning his anger and frustration into a calm soldier's acceptance, he still couldn't help but feel some resentment towards the warrior folk. When he had to speak with one when helping Chrom and Frederick coordinate efforts between the two forces, he found the Feroxians to be blunt and terse, garnering the sensation that he was constantly being talked down to. The Feroxians wore wide, toothy smiles, and seemed like they knew how to bask in the simple things in life, but it was perfectly clear they valued personal strength over everything else. If someone couldn't hold their own within Feroxian territory, they would be cast to the wolves, or at least that's what Fairen felt based on behaviour he had seen. Although he knew not to judge, he still held reservations on Flavia's behaviour as a leader.
Fairen looked up from his thoughts. He could see his breath hover before him in a light mist. The road seemed to stretch forever, the sky a shadow of grey, the sunlight missing.
The Feroxian city of Terminus was imposing as it was important as the border between two sides of the kingdom. In the evening at the end of the week approaching the tournament, Fairen and company passed many traveling to Terminus along the main road. From a distance, Fairen could see the lights of large fires lit at the tops of stone towers, along with torches perched outside the city walls. Their glow shined over the mass of tents that covered the fields outside Terminus, which Fairen easily guessed where all the spectators who could not fit within the city. Behind the city walls in a backdrop sat snowy mountains covered in northern trees; the physical marker of the border.
The Shepherds met no hassle with the guard at the wall gates due to Flavia's official company. Inside the city, Fairen found the citizens to be in a state of great celebration: crowds were abundant and tightly packed between thin streets, hardy wooden buildings looming over the countrymen. In plazas and squares were vendors selling food and supplies at stands, every block a part of a never-ending night market. Strings of folk music could be heard from street to street, blending into a joyful splendor that only the Feroxian people had the spirit to pull off. Traditional Feroxian dancers jumped and swayed at stages, drawing folks by the masses with precise choreography. Most notable, however, was the utter heat the crowd had gathered. The collection of close bodies along with the wind shielding capabilities of the city walls and the fires from the feasting and torches made the difference between within Terminus night and day. The raw energy from the environment almost invigorated Fairen, and it barely fell short of clearing his annoyance at trying to help keep an army of seventy together in a river of bodies.
Approaching the city center, Fairen saw it: the tournament's arena. The whole party stood still to admire the sight at the peak of the street that rolled down towards an enormous round building at least seven stories tall made entirely of stone. The walls cracked with wear and age, the top edges caked with snow. Large bronze statues of warriors from past times stood guarding the round arch entrances at ground level from every angle. The arena seemed to glow in the dark, the torch fires around the base reflecting off its cool, rocky exterior.
"Enjoying the view?" Flavia suddenly said, coming up behind Fairen and slapping his back, her guards following closely. "It's certainly a grand sight, courtesy of my ancestors. I'm not one for history, but I'll admit that every time I set sight on that big dumb circle of stone, I feel a little pride and satisfaction."
"What's it called?" Fairen asked.
Flavia grinned and leaned over. "The Colossus."
From there, the Shepherds were directed to the holdings in which they could stay for the tournament, which was a few blocks away from the Colossus. It was a large, ancient homestay that held the eastern Khan and their champions for generations during countless visits for tournaments. A multilevel stronghold inside a stone fence with a metal gate contained all the amendments a Khan and their party would need to rest and prepare for a long, hard fight: barracks, stables, a mess hall, and enough room for three-hundred soldiers. Fairen learned further from Flavia that the building never actually got to full capacity in its history, but it could potentially hold that many people.
The Shepherds had arrived three days early for the tournament (not too early and not too late, standard for Feroxian time-keeping), and as such everyone got a bit of rest after their long travels. Early on, Fairen got pulled aside by Chrom so they could speak alone within the grey halls of the stronghold, daylight flooding in from windows.
"I was wondering if I could have you help plan our strategy for the tournament," Chrom said. "I would also like to apologize for putting you on the spot at the Longfort earlier."
Fairen blinked. "Of course I'll help you plan!" he said, surprised. "And you don't have to apologize for anything. You gave an order and I followed it to the best of my ability."
Chrom shook his head. "That's not what I was trying to do. I was asking honestly if you had any sort of plan to help us out. If we had more time, I would have pulled you aside to ask you privately instead of in front of everyone. I want you to understand that when I ask these things of you, they're not demands. They're requests."
Fairen furrowed his eyebrows. "But doesn't that defeat the purpose of a chain of command?"
Chrom sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm afraid I'm not explaining myself properly. There is a difference between me ordering a soldier or Shepherd to do something and me asking them. I want the Shepherds, including you, to know that they have more say than being in a regular army, and that if I ask them something they can say no. I may be your commander, Fairen, but I also want to be your friend."
"That's quite a kind and oddly anti-militaristic proposition," Fairen said slowly, treading carefully. "Why?"
"I don't want you to feel cornered as if I'm some kind of tyrant captain that orders his troops too much. The Shepherds are a sect of the Ylissian army, as we're partially sponsored by then, but we are not them and we do not have the same rules. So, I want to make clear that although I may ask things of you, you don't need always treat them like orders. I will make clear when my requests are an order or not. Do you understand?"
"I think," Fairen said after a short beat where he bit the corner of his lip in thought. "It's a little different from army protocol that I'm familiar with, but I get it. It's just going to take time for me to get used to it."
"Good," Chrom said, smiling. He put his hand on Fairen's shoulder again. "Remember, I mentioned to everyone that this mission was voluntary. I want to treat as many missions as I can that way, and treat everyone with equal respect and opportunity."
Fairen grinned back. Now that was an idea he could get behind. "Well, I'm happy to help you make a strategy, but I was wondering if you planned on getting Frederick's opinion on all this? He seems like the guy you talk to the most about managing the army."
"I'm planning to get his opinion later," Chrom said, "but right now he's out with the quartermaster taking stock."
Fairen nodded. "Let's get to it then." And hopefully think of something a lot better than the garbled mess I called a plan back at the Longfort.
The day of the tournament was upon the Shepherds.
Fairen, within The Colossus, observed the arena from above. Leaning against the wall on a balcony, hidden in shadows, Fairen took account of all the spectators sitting in the stands below him, a wave of colours and faces too numerous to count. Hardened warriors, mercenaries, leaders, and commoner families all attended the tournament, children hopping in their seats with excitement. The air was immersed in a roar of sound, voices clashing, patrons shifting, weapons clanking. A great heat enveloped the space, from the people but also from an enormous raging flame that danced below ground across the span of the whole Colossus. The fire was contained beneath steel grates along the arena wall, smote filtered to a separate vent directed outside by ingenious Feroxi engineering. Torches granted light along the rim of the fighting area, as well as the walls that sat above the viewing booths. The bronze-shaded stone rim of The Colossus' roof ran around the ceiling until it gave way to a large hole in the center revealing the night sky above, many stars invisible from fire light.
Fairen shifted, his arms crossed. He thought about the tournament rules Chrom had explained during their planning. It was troubling that Flavia was not allowed to know the identities of the opposition, and therefore the Shepherds were also left in the dark. Thick emotion welled in his throat, and he resorted to deep breathing to calm his racing mind as it tried to account for all the possible paths the battle would take.
A hand grabbed his shoulder. Fairen found Chrom behind him, a serious glint in his eye, but also wearing a smile. "It's time."
Minutes later, Fairen stood at one of the tunnel arena entrances on ground level at the behest of an arena organizer who gave them the go from the preparations room the Shepherds were given. Fairen stood in the back, hidden in view again from the shroud of darkness the passage gave, Chrom in front leading Frederick, Virion, Lissa, and Kellam.
Peering from the tunnel, Fairen spotted a man with a large stature and a long beard sauntering up to a podium above the arena overlooking the audience. A Feroxian war cleric wearing a long, red flowing robe approached the bearded man from the side and waved a staff over his body, a shining glitter appearing in the air for a moment. The two met eyes and nodded, then the cleric backed off from the bearded man as the latter faced the roaring crowd. He took a deep breath and leaned forward.
"Feroxians! Fellow warriors of the north! I bid you welcome!" The audience cried out in jubilation. "Today we are here to witness the eighty-seventh session of one of our most cherished traditions! This year, we shall bear witness to the mightiest fighters this side of the continental divide! Six for the east, and six for the west. They fight not only for honour and glory, but for their leader to be granted the title of Great Khan!"
The crowd's uproar shook the ground. Fairen spotted a wave of arms dance like field grass.
"First are the challengers of the title! Feast your eyes on the warriors representing the east, the Ylissian Shepherds!"
"Oh, gods," Lissa bemoaned, facepalming. "Our group name doesn't sound as nearly as good in a place like this."
Fairen gave a glance to Lissa before following right behind Chrom out of the entrance tunnel. The spectators continued in their fervor and Fairen's ears were blasted by a wave of sound. He gave salutes to the people around him, a large grin on his face.
"And defending the title of Great Khan, representing the East, the Soothsire Slayers!"
An opposing group of battle-hardened fighters emerged from the tunnel across the Shepherds at the other end of the arena. The crowd somehow grew even louder for them, and six Soothsires, a axe-wielding warrior, a mage with night-black robes, a rider mounted on a large winged lizard, a mysterious figure wearing a large animal-like helmet above his bare torso, a swordman with a cross look under his eye, and...
"Fairen," Chrom said, leaning towards Fairen and speaking over the call of the audience. "That's —"
"Right, the masked swordsman." Fairen said, folding his arms and nodding. He gave their opponents another quick eye-over. "Who's that fool riding the scaly-thing?"
"A wyvern rider," Frederick chimed in, riding in close to Fairen's flank, also judging the opponent.
"And a dark mage," Lissa said nervously, wringing her hands over her healing staff.
Fairen blinked and looked at the man in black robes. "Dark mage? As in, dark magic?" He rubbed his chin in thought. "Interesting."
"Now, the turn of the century is upon us," the announcer bellowed, grabbing Fairen's attention. "And these warriors rise! One side shall stand, and one shall fall, either be it by incapacitation, forfeit, or death!" Faired tsked, and shook his head. The announcer rose his hand up in the air. "May the best fighters find victory!"
The crowd's voices came down in a crashing crescendo. Fairen felt his whole body rattle at the noise and he winced, his ears ringing slightly. The two groups took a couple steps forward, eyeing each other up some more.
"Any last-minute thoughts?" Chrom prodded Fairen, not taking his eyes off the masked swordsman. Fairen bore gritted teeth, his mind searching. He knew he didn't have much time. Suddenly, Chrom took another bold step forward "Marth! One question, before we begin?"
Nothing but the deafening crowd rose to answer Chrom, the masked swordsman's gaze hidden behind his mask. Fairen sectioned off the name of the swordsman to the back of his head for later.
"Fine then," Chrom said, drawing his sword. The other Shepherds, save Fairen and Lissa, did the same. "Our swords can speak for us!"
Marth drew his own swords as well, the blade glimmering in the light of the arena as it emerged from its sheathe.
"What?" Chrom uttered, faltering. Fairen's eyes flicked to him for but an instant, then down to Chrom's sword. He put two-and-two together when he gazed back at Marth and his sword. "There's no way..."
Fairen began to slowly pull out his weapon.
"Scatter!" Marth called out, pointing forward with her non-sword hand. The Soothsires launched forth, the wyvern-rider taking to the skies with the fighter and dark-eyed swordsman dashing to meet the Shepherds.
"Stick to the plan, everyone!" Fairen shouted, taking a step aside, his gaze not leaving the enemy. Kellam lumbered forward as fast as he could in his large blue armour, his shield and spear out. He took point, standing firmly in the center of their side of arena, waiting for the enemy to come. Frederick directed Daisy to trot to Kellam's side, paused for a second, then ran off towards the western edge of the battle space. Virion immediately began pulling arrows from his quiver and let loose an array of projectiles.
The enemy was quickly upon them. Marth attempted to rush Chrom, who stood fast next to Fairen. Suddenly, Kellam almost trampled Marth, making the swordsman jump back at the last moment, grunting in surprise.
"Ha!" Kellam cried. He barely had enough time to absorb the hit from the fighter that attacked his right side. Kellam let out a breath of effort before raising his spear and meeting the fighter's next strike.
Chrom grit his teeth and let out a growl of frustration before surging forward at Marth.
"Chrom!" Fairen called after him, having to keep his eye on the battlefield as a whole. Kellam coughed in pain as he took another axe blow, then swung and barely missed his opponent. An arrow embedded in Kellam's shoulders, causing him to take a step back. Fairen spotted the helmeted warrior standing far in the back holding his own bow before having to duck at Frederick quickly flanking from the side.
Kellam stood up straighter after Lissa chanted a note and pointed her stave. A visible green glow emitted from the armour knight's figure, then he let out a battle cry and ran at the enemy fighter.
Lissa yelped, and Fairen's head whipped around to the source. The wyvern rider was approaching the Shepherd's back line with speed, swooping in from above, the crowd's cries weaving with the screaming air of the wyvern's wings. Fairen dashed to Lissa and Virion, getting between them and the flying lizard. The rider rode low, raising his spear in preparation. Daring, Fairen ran at the wyvern then jumped to the side of the rider where his weapon wasn't. Fairen held his spear close and, ducking below the wing of the wyvern, cut deeply along the wyvern's side, causing it to cry out in pain. The wyvern rider backed off, arrows flying at its back with one or two embedding themselves between the monster's scales.
Fairen barely had a moment to breathe before he had to block a sword strike directed at his heart. The enemy swordsman engaged Fairen in a flurry of blows, one after the other, not stopping as Fairen was forced back with every strike. Fairen could barely keep up, the slashes of his opponent causing his hands to shake with every block, feeling a murderous glare from beneath the swordsman's short, shaggy black hair.
Shit! Fairen thought to himself as he clumsily took a slash to the upper arm, drawing blood. He waved his spear in a wide arc as Frederick taught him, causing the swordsman to retreat. Just then, Fairen felt reinvigorated, and the burning sensation on his arm quickly faded away. His vision briefly tinted green as he felt Lissa's presence behind him. He poked at the swordsman, who nimbly dodged Fairen's strikes. Before the swordsman could counterattack, he hopped back from one of Virion's arrows.
Fairen took a moment to gauge the battlefield. He spotted the enemy fighter taking Kellam on the defensive, a wound in his axe arm, forcing him to hold his weapon awkwardly in his other hand. The wyvern rider could not get the speed like it had before, having an arrow in one of its wings, its flight wobbly. Frederick and the helmeted warrior were trading blows in the back area. Fairen caught Chrom gaining the positional upper hand against Marth, Marth forced to block with a wound on her torso. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lissa heal Kellam once again. Things were progressing smoothly.
Then, a thought occurred to him. He got a sick feeling that he was missing something.
"Now!" the swordsman called out. Fairen looked at him with wild confusion, and the swordsman could only return a smirk as he jumped away. Fairen's heart leaped up his throat.
Near Chrom, Marth drew his attention away from his opponent for a split second, sharing Fairen's intense bewilderment.
A glow formed from a corner of the arena. Between the Feroxian dark mage's hands was a great glowing ball of fire as he channeled his spell, a red tome open before him, the pages turning as a mysterious wind whipped around the mage. There was a black powdery line on the ground extending out from the mage and scattered across the whole arena. Fairen scanned the area and found the wyvern rider closing a previously open pouch hanging below the saddle, black dust all along the ground beneath the beast as it flew back and forth.
Fairen didn't have enough time to give a cry of warning. The dark mage threw the flames he held onto the marked ground and fire chased the powder within the blink of an eye. The heat split at intersections of the flammable substance, quickly multiplying seeking embers. Walls of fire ignited everywhere, turning the combat area into an inferno.
Marth swore under his breath, diving to the side and narrowly avoiding catching aflame himself as a gout combusted at his feet. Frustration mounted in Marth as his realization of the Feroxian's plans – which they conveniently left Marth out of – came to a head.
Fairen was thrown forcefully from his feet as a heated blaze explosively rose next to him. He registered Lissa's scream in the background as his ears rang. His instincts demanded him to get up over and over again as his body slowly followed, Fairen dazed.
When he got back up, he found himself surrounded submerged in a thick pool of mist. He could barely make out ten feet in front of him besides the figures of the crowd in the rafters and the flickering fire trap blocking his escape. He gripped his spear tight.
"Lissa!" he called out to the fog. "Liss—"
Fairen's words ended in a choked gasp as he barely blocked a sword strike on time. Once more he was face-to-face with the swordsman, brown slanted eyes glaring at Fairen from a crouch. Fairen backed up in a dance of steel as he blocked, deflected, and reacted, directing center stabs away from him. He backpedaled until he felt a heat at his back, then shifted his footwork to quickly gallop perpendicular to the wall of fire behind him, cutting his angle of movement. There was a glint in the swordman's eyes and he suddenly struck upward. Fairen stumbled in shock as the swordsman struck at the base of the spear's shaft, then twisted and flicked. Fairen's spear abruptly left his grasp and flew off over Fairen's shoulder, getting lost somewhere in the pool of fog.
Fairen briefly caught the swordman's smirk fade as his eyebrows took a serious scowl and he dived in low for the kill.
A clang of metal rang out as Fairen diverted the stab with his knuckles, sending the blade wide. The swordman's eyebrows soared as Fairen let out a shout and delivered a harsh blow to the swordsman's chest.
The swordsman felt his breath leave his chest, then tried to retreat only for his shoulder to flare in pain as a fist connected. The swordsman grit his teeth and rose his sword to try and swat at Fairen, having lost all momentum and poise. His blade deflected against Fairen once again, and the swordsman spotted aquamarine metal surrounding Fairen's hands.
The two traded blows, the swordsman taking the blunt of the damage with Fairen getting small cuts up his forearm as he blocked and deflected, his speed gathering. The swordsman could feel a rolling force behind Fairen as Fairen locked in on his target firing punch after punch, his feet a blur under him. Sparks flew between gauntlet and blade edge, the movement of the combatants slowly dissipating the fog around them.
The swordsman took a brutal body blow, pain erupting from his stomach as his body refused his command to take a breath. Fairen's next punch met open air as he tried to cripple the swordsman across the back, his fist meeting the ground, scattering dirt. The force from his punch dismissed more fog, leaving the view clear a good twenty feet around him. He found the swordsman a bit farther back flat on his rear after jumping from pure instinct.
Fairen raised his fists once more and approached as the swordsman got up, a feral look in his eye. Fairen's punch met blade as the swordsman smacked Fairen's hand away. Fairen put on a burst of speed and threw a left, only for the swordsman to match him with another swipe. Fairen became confused as his next trade was met equally with precision and pure agility. He gave the swordsman another look and found the swordsman huffing for breath, bent low to the ground, his weapon up in a defensive stance. In the pause, the swordsman took no time to approach or attack Fairen, simply watching Fairen and waiting to defend his next strike.
Fairen grit his teeth in frustration. Then, Frederick's words rang out in his head. Fairen whipped his head around, quickly finding his weapon lying a couple meters away. He reached out and called to a power well known to him. The spear gave a tiny hop towards Fairen, skittering along the ground before a band of red static jumped between his fingers and up his wrist. The weapon slid to a stop as he hissed in pain, then cursed under his breath. He gave a quick look at the swordsman to make sure he wasn't going to attack, then turned and made a mad dash towards his spear.
He could hear the swordsman's delayed reaction behind him as he got up to his spear. With a smooth roll, he scooped up the shaft of bronze and stood up facing his opponent as his opponent reached him. Like last time, the swordsman struck at Fairen with the wind behind his back, but Fairen was ready. He swiftly moved to the side, using his footwork from his hand-to-hand knowledge. He felt the utter Adrenis energy flowing through his body as he let his senses guide his movement.
The swordsman brought his blade around for a side cut only for Fairen to spin away, bringing his spear under his arms and behind his back. His spin in combination with his weapon made the swordsman hop away, wary of the spearhead's reach. Fairen landed low, one leg outstretched as he carried the remaining momentum of the spear into a standard grip, the spearhead pointed low. He let out a deep, calming breath.
The swordsman found chills rolling down his spine at Fairen's suddenly furious, glowing red eyes.
Fairen met the swordsman with a surge of speed, his body filling with energy. He did not poke but instead swept with the pole, keeping the center of the weapon's weight close to his chest to stay in control. He swung left and right, the swordsman's attack disrupted by each counter-swing. The swordsman tried to block, only for his blade to get deflected and the spear head swinging dangerously close to his sternum. Fairen trotted forward on the tips of his feet, swerving into a twirl with his spear following him, easily outranging the swordsman.
The swordsman could not get a moment to gather his balance and turn coat. Every step he made was in effort to dodge Fairen's next strike. Fairen began to rotate in full earnest, his spear griplessly spinning above him in a fighting style completely unfamiliar to the swordsman. Fairen could feel the swordman's fear as he continued to surrender himself to his battle instincts, letting his arms direct his weapon to the flow of his movement.
Suddenly, Fairen flipped his spear over his head in a horizontal strike, shouting, letting the length of the spear extend fully as he grabbed near the spearhead. The swordsman took one last desperate jump back to avoid the strike, teetering on the edge of his feet. With extreme dexterity, Fairen tilted the spear off the ground and slammed the butt of the shaft into the swordsman's forehead. The swordsman's head shot back, a crimson line fleeing from the top of his face. The swordsman took one last uneasy step, his eyes going cross before Fairen smacked his opponent across the jaw with an alight fury.
The swordsman spun and tumbled to the ground, somehow still holding on to his weapon. The wave of fog around the two had dissipated and the walls of fire was nowhere to be seen. Fairen quickly followed up, crushing the swordsman's sword hand, releasing the weapon. Then, Fairen flicked his foot and the sword slid away across the ground. He continued by stepping over the swordsman and holding the spearhead above the swordsman's neck.
"Surrender," Fairen commanded through teeth he bore, sweat falling down his cheeks and dripping off his chin and nose. The swordsman gave him a confused look. Fairen jabbed at the swordsman's neck, almost penetrating. "Surrender, motherfucker!"
"Lissa!" Fairen heard a voice call. He looked up, his gaze meeting Chrom, who was standing much farther away than previously, towards the far end of the arena where Frederick had been fighting. Fairen's battle rage lifted over his eyes, and he took a quick look where Lissa should have been.
He felt his veins freeze up and all the Adrenis magic he stored dispelled. He found Lissa's yellow figure lying harshly on the cold stone floor, her arms cast above her towards her dropped healing staff. Fairen registered at some level Chrom racing toward his sister in the corner of his eye. Above Lissa's body, he found the wyvern shooting down once again, spear out and ready to finish off the princess. Fairen ran away from the swordsman and towards Lissa, rose his spear, and threw it with all his might, shouting at the top of his lungs in the process. His spear wobbled in the air before landing eight feet away from him.
He watched in horror as the wyvern closed the distance between it and Lissa. Just before wyvern and rider got there, an arrow struck deep and true between the wyvern's eyes, and the wyvern's trajectory tilted dangerously to the side. The wyvern rider let out a mangled, scornful scream as the flying beast lurched away, crash landing in a dusty heap a moment later. The rider was torn apart as the body of the lizard rolled across the ground, the sickening sound of the joints in its wings snapping as it continued until it lay unmoving near the eastern wall.
Fairen brought his focus back on Lissa. He observed her complete and utter stillness, his being going numb. Paralyzed, he then spotted the large splatter of blood that trailed from her face.
Suddenly he was seeing red, his body charging with a furor. Fairen spread his feet under him and threw his fists to his sides as he howled to the crowd above, to the sky outside the open ceiling, to the world in the sky and to everything he ever doubted or hated since arriving on that roadside a month and a half ago. His being was surrounded by a visible red energy, a fire with no heat as it enveloped him and flickered upward with animosity and the yearning to utterly massacre. His eyes glowed a deep crimson.
As Fairen caught his breath, static jumping all around him, he heard a harsh gallop rise from behind. He barely had a moment to turn his head and recognize Daisy's armour as his vision met the bottom end of a silver lance.
He lost himself to the following darkness.
The echoes of the post-tournament celebration could be heard all throughout Terminus. Warriors, spectators, and citizens filled the streets with mirth and cheer after Flavia was pronounced Khan of the Feroxian people. Dancers and drink were at every intersection. The joyous tunes of string and wind instruments flowed through the heat between the partying mass of bodies, the northern weather unable to pierce a single inch of the famous spiritual fire the warrior race was known for. Bowl torches were alit above the pavement, casting the singing and shouting in an orange glow. Hot food was served at every market stall, fresh from the pan and skillet, and simple rings of archery and swordplay games could be found between the jam-packed dance stages and taverns. Terminus shined upon Ferox all the way to the Longfort at the border.
Down a secluded alley, where the firelight bled off to a dark night blue, a faded red blanket flapped in an open entrance, the passing chill of a wintery wind crossing through a stone corridor. The wind glanced a lone seat beside a set of arch doors with a meager torch burning down at the opposite side of the doorway.
Fairen silently sat in the chair, vaguely listening to the remnants of festival music off in the background. He hunched over, leaning on an elbow which lay at the end of his thighs as he picked at bandages wrapped around his head, his other hand curled into a fist against his hip. The number of cobblestone pieces beneath his feet repeated over and over in his head as his eyes trailed from leftmost of his vision to rightmost, and when he would reach one end he would restart counting at the other, silently mouthing the numbers in a mutter as he went over them.
The wound beneath his bandages itched terribly. His breath hitched and he winced at the memory that interrupted his counting. Frederick appeared before Fairen as he shouted at the royal retainer, stuck to a seat within the infirmary at the arena as a healer stitched up his head. A trade of words occurred, Fairen's rude and Frederick's frustratingly rational. The former spoke with rage, passion, and some sense of justice, and the latter spoke with sternness, reason, and clarity. Frederick made the point that the Shepherds had already won, with the dark mage and berserker been taken care of by Frederick, the warrior done in by Kellam, and Marth forfeiting to Chrom, and that Fairen's uncontrolled ire could only serve to damage Ylissian-Feroxian relations. Fairen accused back at Frederick of not caring what happened to their princess, to which Frederick ignited with barely-restrained fury.
"You have no idea, no inkling as to how much I care for her highness," Frederick growled, holding Fairen by his shirt as Fairen had been pulled up from his seat, the medic behind him gasping in shock.
Fairen slapped Frederick's grip away and gave a forceful push, sending the paladin stumbling back. "Do you really care for her? Or would Lissa have died with the truth back in the arena?!"
Frederick only glared at Fairen, dusting off where Fairen had hit him. After a tense moment, Frederick turned to walk away.
"If Lissa had fallen in battle, she still would not have wanted for you to make others suffer."
In the cold, cold hallway, Fairen rubbed his face and sighed at the thought. Despite his fighting, despite his stubbornness, and despite his exasperation towards Frederick, he admitted that the paladin was right.
A set of white boots came up before him, and he lifted his head.
"This is no place for a victor," Chrom said, giving Fairen a friendly smile with a hand on his belt. He adorned clothes more relaxed than his normal armour; a royal white coat and pants with a rich, silvery cloak befitting of a prince. His ornate sword still rested at his hip. "Why don't you go join the others at the festivities? I know Vaike and Virion have been wondering where you went."
Fairen looked away and shifted in his seat. Wordlessly, Chrom left down the corridor and returned with another shabby stool, placing it in front of Fairen and sitting down.
"Fairen. Please." Chrom said. "Talk to me."
"What can I say?" Fairen almost whispered, shrugging.
"I see you feel guilty. And, I know how it feels to see a comrade wounded in battle, or even die. I understand what you're going through."
Fairen rolled his whole body along with his eyes, his gaze going from Chrom's right to his left. "I know you know. I don't need any sort of talk. It just never gets easier, seeing them almost die like that."
Chrom let out a tired, single laugh, tilting down and shaking his head. Fairen gave him an odd, confused look.
"It's like I'm looking in a mirror," Chrom said, an empathetic smirk matching his apologetic eyes. "I couldn't bare to see Frederick fall in battle either, or Sully, or Stahl, or Sumia or any of the others." his gaze shifted, unfocused, and his smile faded. "Or even my little sister."
His eyebrows narrowed, giving Fairen pause. "Every single Shepherd, fights under my command. I'd never ask any of them to intentionally put their lives on the line just for me. They're not just soldiers who work under the crown. They're my friends. I've lived my entire life with castle servants who swore loyalty to my family, and convened with farmers and merchants who see me as some sort of glowing symbol of a new generation after my father."
Chrom gave a beat, leaning low and meeting Fairen's stare. "Yet, the Shepherds still fight for me, fight under my name, because of me. I will never know the exact reasons why they fight, but they do, and all I can do as their prince, their leader, is to honour their wishes and try and guide them as a true leader and friend should.
"Even if that means letting my sister come to battle with me, if that is her wish."
The cold of the hall could not touch Fairen, as deep in his musings as he was. He dully noted that Chrom's face, at that moment, appeared as tired as Fairen felt, showing that Chrom was the only one who could maybe, quite possibly, garner the truth of his feelings within the situation he found himself in.
Chrom's seat croaked as he leaned back against the frost-covered wall. "Well," he grunted, "you probably have enough experience to understand what I'm trying to say. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you've heard something like this before, right?"
Fairen stiffly nodded.
"I know it doesn't get easier, Fairen. And I know that you know," Chrom offered. "The only thing you and I can do is keep moving forward and try our best at what we do. Be the best at what we do."
Chrom put a hand on Fairen's shoulder. "But I bet you knew that too."
Fairen tried to give Chrom a smile.
With a grunt, Chrom got up. "Welp, I'm going to get something to eat. Haven't had a chance since the tournament ended. Want to come with me?"
Fairen looked up. He saw Chrom's offered hand and snorted, lightly pushing it away. "What, you want to give me a lift that badly? I'm not even flat on my ass this time."
Chrom's grin widened.
"Thanks, but I'm covered. Ate something earlier. I'll catch up to you later. Haven't had dessert yet. Maybe go and see if there's something sweet for me."
Chrom nodded. "Alright. I'll let you know, Fairen."
Fairen tilted his head back in affirmation and watched Chrom cross the hall, sweep aside the red blanket cascading over the doorway, and exit. Fairen shifted towards the doors beside him and examined the aged wood paneling and how it was covered in a fine, dry coat of ice and frost. After a beat, he closed shut his eyes, huffed and got up from his chair.
"And when he turned around... the only thing left was a pie tin!"
Fairen could hear the following rambunctious laughter of three women from around the corner. Biting the corner of his lip, he peered into a small grey stone room that made up one corner of the medical house, breath tucked into his chest. Sumia was there, sitting on a chair next to Miriel's bed with her brown winter coat hanging over the back of the seat, a wide smile on her face. Then, there was Miriel herself, who was missing her signature witch's hat but still had her glasses on, her bright expression framed under red hair. Her right arm ended abruptly around the wrist as a handless appendage wrapped in fresh bandages. Fairen bit down a shiver of mental pain at the sight.
And then, sitting on the bed next to Miriel's, was her.
Adorned in a pale, beige gown that went down her torso and arms, Lissa laughed along with her friends after the end of her confectionary tale. Her bright blonde hair wasn't held up in pig tails but hung loose, curtaining over her shoulders, shining in torchlight. Bandages wrapped around her arms, dry and secure. There wasn't a single sign of worry from her.
But Fairen fixated on her eye.
But the one thing Fairen fixated on and could not pry himself away from was her eye.
Her left eye.
A bandage twisted around her skull, winding from front to back and tucking beneath her bangs, covering that one eye.
Fairen took a sharp breath in, fear and horror seated in his chest.
"Fairen!"
He almost jumped; his eyes met Miriel's gaze halfway. The other two women turned toward him in the doorway.
"It is quite a pleasant surprise to see you!" Miriel said honestly.
Fairen stepped into the room, unable to hide any longer. He brought on a smile, one that was genuine this time. "It's nice to see you too. All of you. I came to check up on how you girls were doing."
"I conclude that I am doing quite well," Miriel said, holding up what used to be her right hand, "all things considered." Fairen tried not to wince. "It will take some time adjusting to holding and turning the contents of my books with my left hand, but I hypothesize that I can still spellcast with my, for lack of a better term, stump."
"That's great," Fairen said, perking up at the mention of magical mechanics.
"Magic is cast from within the focus, or the self if the focus is personal. Theoretically, as long as magic casts from a direct extension of the focus, then any spell will succeed. As soon as I am no longer bedridden, I must experiment by spellcasting through my lower extremities."
Miriel gestured to her feet.
"That's a good idea," Fairen said.
"Yes! Miriel was telling us about it earlier. I support whatever she has planned one-hundred percent!" Sumia added in.
Fairen nodded. "Make sure you start with something simple. You don't need to burn your toes because you started with fire. I'm assuming you have a good idea of what I'm talking about?"
Miriel nodded. "I precisely understand. Wind magic will be the primary component of my experiment."
Next, Fairen hunched over and, perhaps slowly, turned to the other patient. "And... How are you doing, Lissa?"
Lissa looked downcast and took a deep breath, gathering up her blankets in a ball in her lap. Fairen's heart turned to a ball of ice.
"I'm..." Lissa began before peering back up at Fairen and giving him the biggest smile she could manage. "I'm managing. It still kind of hurts, but other than that, it's... ok."
Fairen looked off to the side, somewhere towards the hard cold floor, his shoulders hooked up, stiff and ridged. "I'm sorry."
Lissa was confused. "Huh? Sorry for what?"
"Well," Fairen began, trailing off, not having the courage to look further in what he wanted to express. "I could have put you in a better position. Maybe assigned Kellam to watch you. Or have you ride with Frederick so he could cover you. Stuff like that."
Fairen peeked at Lissa from beneath his brow, unable to read her, his heart breaking in two at his admittance.
Lissa sniffed. "It's ok."
His eyebrows rose.
"You tried your best, I know," she said. "It wasn't your fault, and what's done is done. I didn't sign up for this, not knowing what might happen. It was simply," a beat, "a matter of time. You know, before something like this," she gestured to herself, "happened."
Fairen scratched the back of his head, his eyes slightly burning as he tried to control his breathing. Sumia and Miriel shared an uncertain look.
What in the wide, blue moon am I doing? What am I even doing here, floundering like this? Fairen thought to himself. I need to be a better Tactician. I must be.
"Seriously, Fairen," Lissa continued, giving him a more serious expression. "It's not your fault that the wyvern got me. You don't have to worry about it so much."
Fairen shifted his jaw around, fiddling with his fingers in his palms. Despite the thin line Lissa's lips drew, hiding all her immediate emotions, he could still see the fear and pain of a teenaged girl behind her surviving garden green eye. He took a step back, sucked in a deep breath, and turned away.
"Well, if I'm forgiven," he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could muster. "Then maybe you don't want something like this as penance?"
He pulled from behind his back a leather water skin.
"What's this?" she asked, taking the waterskin. The sack was warm, and the insides sloshed around with some kind of liquid.
"Open it up."
She popped the top open, letting out a wave of meaty fragrance. She took a look inside then sniffed.
"It's soup?"
"Yeah," Fairen said, scratching the back of his head. "Seeing as you're stuck in here and all, you can't enjoy the festivities outside. I thought of at least bringing you something to eat."
Lissa scoffed. "How the heck am I supposed to eat this?"
"Just slurp at it," Fairen said. "You know..." He made a drinking gesture with pursed lips sucking at an invisible bowl and making a dumb sipping sound.
Lissa snorted, then giggled. "Stop that."
"What?" he asked. "Isn't that how all princesses drink their soup? They do the sippy sip? Sip sip sippy?" He proceeded to make more slurping sounds.
"Stop!" Lissa laughed. "You're such a goofball!"
Fairen couldn't help but grin. "I got one for you too, Miriel," Fairen said, pulling out a second waterskin and handing it to the mage in the other bed.
"Why," Miriel started, staring at the soup in her hand. "Thank you."
Fairen awkwardly turned to Sumia, who stared at him with wide eyes. "Sorry. I didn't know you'd be here too."
She smiled and waved it off. "It's fine. I can get myself some later anyway."
"How do I know this isn't poisoned?" Lissa said after a moment, giving Fairen a sideways smirk. "A princess must always be careful of potential concoctions mixed in her meals."
"Hey, don't look at me," he said, holding out his hands. "Royal assassinations aren't on my agenda."
"Couldn't you have gotten a bowl for this or something?"
"Now how the heck would I carry a bowl? Can't fit something like that in my back pocket. Unless, you know, maybe if I shoved it somewhere reeeal deep," he said, pretending to reach down the back of his pants and pull an object out, grunting.
"Gods, Fairen!" Lissa choaked out, the three women giggling.
"And if I got those meat sticks instead it'd just smear across the back of my pants. That'd look pretty bad."
"Enough!" Lissa yelped, her cheeks starting to get sore from her laughing. "You're gonna make me lose my appetite!"
"Try it. It's good," Fairen said with a smug grin.
Lissa traded a glance with the others, then put her lips to the leather and took a tentative slurp.
"Hmm." She daintily smacked her lips together. "You're right. That is pretty good."
"I concur," Miriel agreed after having taken her own sip. "The mixture of Feroxian meat and spices creates a potent stock."
"Told you," Fairen said with a grin.
Lissa took another sip. She ended up making a bunch of noise.
"You know, I was joking about the whole slurping thing before," Fairen teased her.
Lissa glared at him. "Shut up! I hardly get to eat without table manners at home! Cut me some slack!"
"It's quite unbecoming of you," Fairen said, approaching her bed and adoring a faux regal accent.
Lissa swatted at Fairen as he jumped away. "You better quit it before I get Chrom or Frederick on your case!"
He let out a bellowing laugh, and the rest of the room followed. The warmth in everyone returned with well-made soup and the reassurance of recovery.
LEVEL UP!
Fairen
Class: Recruit
Level: 2 + 1 = 3
HP: 23 + 1 = 24
STR: 9 + 1 = 10
MAG: 2
SKL: 10 + 1 = 11
SPD: 11 + 1 = 12
LCK: 3
DEF: 8
RES: 1
MOV: 5
Level-up Quote: "Good. But I can do better."
WEAP. LVL: Lance = D
Skills Equipped:
- Beginner's Luck: Double Skl and Str. Activation %: 5 + (Lck * 2). Unusable at Lvl 10+ or when in a second-tier class.
