The journey back to Ylisstol felt much quicker than the journey from. After the tournament celebrations ended at Terminus, after Raimi had undergone the rites to Khanhood, and after everything settled down, Fairen and the Shepherds began the long trek back South. They once against passed through Ascer, traveling down the snow-bogged roads the empty white expanse filtered out of Fairen's mind almost completely. He did not think of the cold even once; none of the other Shepherds had. They had finally gotten used to the change in climate, and yet they were leaving. Regardless, exiting Ferox was more of a joy than entering it for Fairen.

Fairen was glad to be back on somewhat more familiar territory as they all headed south from the Longfort. The snow and pine trees turned to stalks of grass and wheat and great oak and elm tree trunks filled with leaves. The road became dirt once again, and as Fairen slowly shed his winter gear piece by piece he could feel the refreshing, light southern wind roll off his forehead and the back of his neck once again. He smiled and took a deep breath in, smelling warmth and comfort, the light sweetness of bee honey riding on the breeze. The sky seemed to welcome them back, showing blue with clarity, plump but tiny clouds dotted above the horizon. The troops seemed livelier too. The idle discussion between the Ylissian soldiers became louder, and the Shepherds got more active. Vaike and Sully were arm-wrestling again. Frederick had everyone working overtime in training. Chrom moved with better strength and grace, easily overcoming opponents in spars. And, once again, a certain princess was up to her old tricks.

"Damn it, Lissa," Fairen said, pulling out a frog by the leg from his bag of clothes, speaking loud enough for the girl watching behind the nearby crate to giggle and run away. Fairen peered from where she fled, shook his head, and smiled before letting the poor amphibian go.

Otherwise, on the week and a half back from the Longfort, Fairen had naught but his thoughts and surroundings to himself. Idle chatter kept him involved in the group's musings, but otherwise he had not much to say. He got a hold of an empty book from Stahl, who seemed to have brought one journal too many for the trip with him (to at this point Fairen learned Stahl recorded his thoughts in a journal). Fairen didn't keep a log of his day-to-day meanderings, but instead drew pictures (poorly), jotted down stray ideas, and recorded things he may forget later, as well as some other, less important text.

"Whatcha writing?" Lissa said, leaning over Fairen's shoulder with her hands behind her back as he sat on a box during a break at lunch. He gave her a sideways look, squinting while hunched over his work, his right foot crossing his lap with the open book in one hand and a quill in the other. The book had a thin strand of rope hanging limply beneath the book cover. His eyes met the eyepatch covering her left eye, and he turn away to hide his grimace.

"Poetry," Fairen answered in a murmur.

"Ooh, I didn't know you were a poet!" Lissa said excitedly. She leaned on Fairen and tried to get a better look. Fairen immediately closed the pages of his book. "Hey!"

"I'm not very good. And it's quite personal," he explained.

"Oh, come on," Lissa said, sliding to his other shoulder. "It can't be that bad."

"Lissa," Fairen said patiently, turning away from her.

"Fine then!" Lissa declared, pouting and putting her hands on her hips. "But one day I'll find out what's in the journal of yours! Just you wait and see!"

Fairen signed. Then, he straightened, wrapped the rope around the book, and waved it at her, smiling. "Sure. Maybe one day I'll feel ready to show you. Then you can take as much of a look as you want."

Not like you could read any of it properly anyway, he thought.

Lissa blinked, startled. "I... I would like that." For some reason, she was blushing.

The other activity that held Fairen's attention was his training. He no longer found Frederick's training regimen to exhaust him—much to his own pride and satisfaction, as not even Frederick's double training could severely weaken him—but Vaike's insistence to spar got on Fairen's nerves. They dueled on the daily, and Vaike often asked to go at it twice in a few hours. Their bouts were close, but Fairen seemed to find victory every time, even only slimly. He was at wit's end, however, after Vaike asked him to spar for the third time one day, having to firmly tell Vaike "No" despite Vaike's insistence that Fairen should "Continue to learn from the Teach himself and get a leg up on the competition".

It didn't help that the challenger from the Tournament was challenging Fairen as well.

Fairen learned his name to be Lon'qu, a name that Fairen committed to memory if not for its uniqueness within the realm of Ylisse and Ferox. His appearance looked different too, Fairen realized after Basillio, the leader that Flavia replaced, introduced Lon'qu to the group, asking Chrom to take the stoic swordsman with them back to Ylisse. At first, Fairen didn't know what to feel about Lon'qu. He'd had other previous enemies join him in his own past, enemies who turned out to be no more hostile than the situations in which he fought against them, and Lon'qu had the potential to be another friendly character. Yet, every time he met Lon'qu's eyes he thought about Lissa bleeding and unconscious on the ground in the Colossus.

He wrote seven times in his book in bold to do "research in Ylisstol".

Regardless of his thoughts, Lon'qu's adamancy to train with Fairen caught him off guard. It started while they were still in Ferox a day after they left Terminus. At sunset, Lon'qu confronted Fairen alone. Fairen initially believed he wanted revenge for his defeat, but when Lon'qu only expressed a desire to become a better warrior, Fairen relaxed. Still, Fairen declined, not fully comfortable with the myrmidon's presence within the Shepherds yet. From that point forward, Lon'qu confronted Fairen almost every single day with the same request: to duel with him. Fairen's answer was the same every time. However, once Vaike had started asking Fairen of the same after leaving the Longfort and Fairen obliged for Vaike's musings, he could no longer ignore Lon'qu's request without looking like he was discriminatory.

Fairen proved himself to be very patient. But he had reached his end, and could hold out no longer.

"This is gonna be great!" Vaike said excitedly, holding his training axe over his shoulder. "The three best warriors in the camp all dueling each other and training to be the best, from the best!" He pointed a thumb at himself. Fairen scowled at Vaike's large ego. "We even cover the whole triangle too!"

"You got spears," he pointed at Fairen, "you got swords," then at Lon'qu, "and I've got axes! We cover each other's strengths and weaknesses! With enough time, there'll be nothing that can stop us!"

Fairen briefly considered the weapon match-up theory that Frederick briefly discussed with him during their first days traveling to Ferox. Then, Fairen found himself begrudgingly agreeing with Vaike's assessment that covering the triangle would help greatly in their training.

Lon'qu stared at Vaike, then harrumphed. He drew his sword and took a battle stance towards Fairen with the same stance Fairen saw at the tournament.

"Defend yourself," Lon'qu said. Fairen drew his own weapon, then the two engaged.

The three would train as so, trading places with one another constantly. Chrom would join them on occasion when he wasn't needed at the front leading the group and lay them all to the ground. At some point the three would gather a crowd of Ylissians to all watch their bouts.

Much to Fairen's exhaustion, this training went on into arriving back at Ylisstol, and even past arrival.


The Shepherd's return at the capital came with moderate fanfare. The general populace were ecstatic to see their prince and princess again after a long month and a little bit, greeting the group as they walked through the streets. Chrom waved humbly at those who approached, Lissa was happy to see the common folk again, and Frederick kept a wary eye out for anything suspicious. The other Shepherds, too, found themselves with some amount of attention despite not being as auspicious. Fairen figured the Shepherds had at least an amount of fame, and watched with folded arms as the likes of Virion and Vaike soaked up the praise while others such as Lon'qu and Sumia try and stay out of the spotlight (especially when women approached Lon'qu). Fairen found himself to be a part of the latter, only able to give awkward waves and a crooked smile whenever someone stood at awe by the simple fact that Fairen was a part of the Shepherds.

News quickly spread around town, and by the time the Shepherds and the Ylissian regiment with them had reached the castle there was already talk of holding a festival amongst the public. Upon entering the Castle courtyard safe behind the large outside walls Chrom immediately left to meet with his older sister and left Frederick to organize the rest of the forces. Frederick dismissed the Ylissian forces back to the soldier barracks and told the rest of the Shepherds they were relieved. Lissa went to follow Chrom just so she could see Emmeryn, the riders went to house their steeds and take care of their needs, and the others either left for food, rest, or peaceful pleasure in the afternoon sun.

As Fairen turned to head towards the Shepherd barracks, Frederick grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Hold, Fairen," Frederick said. Fairen turned to his speaker, complaining in his head that he wanted to sit and let his sore feet take a break already. "Has prince Chrom spoken to you about becoming the Shepherd's tactician?"

"Uh," Fairen said. He shook his head, feeling slightly caught off guard. "No. He got me to help him plan for the tournament, but you already knew that."

"I do."

"That was about it."

"His lordship may have unofficially made you the tactician," Frederick said, not taking his hand off of Fairen. "After your performance at Ferox, as well as your deeds at the Longfort, it may be only a matter of time before Chrom approaches you with the subject."

"Okay..." Fairen uttered slowly.

"This is pertinent to our current matter because it is the duty of tactician to help write post-operation reports. As the tactician position has not been filled out thus yet within the Shepherds, the duty has fallen upon me. However, if you were to officially be instated into the tactician you would need to make a report on our successes at Ferox."

Fairen scratched the back of his neck, trying to hide his grimace and failing. "Aww, smokes."

"I will write the report this time," Frederick continued, letting his hand drop. "And I will assist you in learning how to write reports if you so choose to become the tactician. But I found it necessary to inform you of future responsibility in case of you changing positions."

"Ah, I understand." Fairen said, nodding. "Thank you, Frederick."

Frederick returned the gesture, then walked away, leading Daisy to the stables.

Fairen folded his arms, his vision blurring as he began to think.

That wasn't just a note, Fairen said to himself. Frederick found it important enough to tell me ahead of time, so it must be really something I need to consider. Chrom seems like he's willing to let me go at any moment, but after stepping up like I did at the Longfort and past the border I'm not sure how willing he'd be to not make me the tactician. He's pretty stubborn, after all. Even if I said no, how long would he drag it out with me? Fairen shook his head. I didn't even want to become tactician in the first place. I still don't!

He started making his way to the Shepherds barracks at a fast pace. If anything, I need to at least do a better job organizing the troops so we don't have trouble like we did at Ferox. Yeah, if I'm going to become the tactician anyway, I need to at least do a good job of it!

Once again, the image of Lissa's still and bloody body flashed before him, and he audibly growled.

He shoved the barracks door open, the wood smacking against the wall loudly, and he stomped in.

"What's got your underwear in a knot?" Sully asked as she sat on a crate wiping her lance. Stahl and Virion also stood and stared at Fairen's rather violent entrance.

Fairen only blinked in mild surprise.


The next week was a blur for Fairen. He got a good amount of sleep the day after returning, not from the familiarity and comfort of his new home in the barracks but simply from exhaustion. Over the next few days he split his time between continuing his sparring with Vaike and Lon'qu (almost on a daily basis), his physical training with Frederick (which was easier as they were not traveling at the same time), and walking around Yllistol, taking notes of its various districts and places of interest. He received a map from Lissa after asking, and he took his time over the days visiting areas like the market, the middle-class citizens of the eastern Highhills, the bluebloods of the North End, and the slums of the west. Fairen knew that there were always poor folk in every city, no matter how rich or generous the ruling lords were. He could only assume Emmeryn and her advisors were trying their best to make the situation better for those in the slums.

But as he explored, he would cross off several different locations after returning to the barracks. He kept visiting different churches within the city. There was the main church, the Church of Naga, which was perhaps the largest church of them all. It was the most popular, and as Fairen visited it again and again and again, he realized in the crowd of people flowing in and out of its large wooden doors that this was not the place. Then, there was the church of Saint St. It was middling in size and presence, yet still not what he was looking for. The small church of Polo. The ancient house of Norbaire. And the North End Church. All dead ends. At the end of his trail, Fairen screwed his expression into a scowl, realizing he ran out of churches to check. All of them were duds. As he looked over the cross-covered map before him, he came to the conclusion he'd have to go beyond the borders of Ylisse to find what he sought.

The days after, with no other churches to search, he recalled his promise to Miriel. Visiting the University of Ylisse, Fairen found her in the Library of Linde going over books of magic theory and research. The two convened, with Miriel drilling the exact details of their agreement before guiding Fairen to an empty classroom. He took a seat at one of the old wooden desks as Miriel brought out a hardcover from the bookbag she had.

"This is a textbook specially curated by myself," Miriel explained. "It is not complete or all-encompassing, but it is still sufficient to act as your work material until you achieve more than a basic understanding of magic. I had my assistant Ricken record in it in my stead, so if you cannot read its handwriting please do not be afraid to inquire."

Fairen stared at the front cover. The book was brown and slightly worn. "Alright."

"I will admit I am slightly disappointed in your lack of notetaking materials," Miriel said as she approached the blackboard, picking up a tooth of chalk with her left hand. "Although I assume it is due to the lack of necessity to do as such with Frederick's training."

"That wasn't Frederick's doing," Fairen said. He tapped at his temple with a finger, giving a cocky, knowing look. "Don't need one. It all goes in here anyway."

Miriel looked at him over her shoulder and blinked. "I still recommend you bring a journal with you next time. I highly doubt you will retain absolutely everything in your cranium. It will be inefficient to have to re-teach you material every week."

"Miriel, give me more credit," Fairen said, leaning back and gesturing wide to himself. "I didn't become the Grand Mage of my own place of learning for nothing."

Miriel only hummed in response. She began scratching on the board with her chalk. "I must apologize in advance for my poor print. I have not yet adjusted to the intricacies of ambidextrous muscle precision."

He didn't say anything, and she opted to fill the rest of the blackboard with her writing.

"We shall start at the very basics with beginner magic theory." She turned to face Fairen. "Please turn to page forty-two-"

She paused. Fairen was halfway across the one-hundred-and-fifty-page book already, scanning the pages way too fast for a normal human to comprehend content and retain information.

"What are you doing?" Miriel asked, watching him flip through the material.

He stopped near where they were supposed to explore incantations, Miriel observed. He looked at her from a low angle.

"I may have gotten ahead of myself," he said quietly, slamming the book shut, cheeks growing rosy.

Miriel scoffed. "Not only did I expect as much, but I also had the cognizance to warn you. It is no issue, if you won't be able to recall." Smirking, she approached her bookbag. "I have spare parchment with me that I'll let you borrow. It has some important research notes, so I must ask you use the blank side—"

"The issue isn't my lack of recording materials," Fairen interrupted loudly, wincing as he massaged the bridge of his nose. "It's the fact that I can't read any of this."

Miriel blinked, and lowered her hand. "Oh."

"Yep," Fairen grunted, furiously scratching the back of his head, looking off to the side.

"But you speak Ylissian perfectly fine," Miriel pointed out. "Were you not taught our written language when you learned how to speak it?"

Fairen lifted a finger. "Ah, that's the thing. I never learned anything about your language. I've got a universal translation spell running to help me communicate with everyone."

Miriel's jaw dropped. "I... I..." she squeaked out. "Preposterous! Is there such a thing?"

Fairen shrugged. "With my magic, yes."

"But, as I recall Lissa telling me, your magic ran out months ago," Miriel said.

"Look, I don't want to toot my own horn anymore than I have," Fairen scoffed, pointing to himself with a smirk. "But I'm just using a basic translation spell I know from my homeland, albeit slightly altered, of course. It's directly connected to my soul, spellbound to my life essence."

He leaned forward on the desk, enjoying Miriel's undivided attention. "It's a little fancy thing I made when I started doing a lot of travel. Translates any language between the caster and intended recipients, which includes anyone that listens to me yammering. And it uses so little energy and is so ingrained into my soul that the only way it would dissipate is if I truly died."

"And you lived," Miriel softly stated, recalling Lissa's story to her.

"I lived, that fateful day," Fairen said. "Although, it was quite close. And I wouldn't have made it without Lissa's help, but I did. But there is one little problem with my translation spell that I can't easily fix. Not without draining myself of a lot more energy, anyway."

"The spell does not translate text?"

"Nope," Fairen said. "You see," he began, his desk chair scraping behind him as he suddenly got up. "The way the spell works is that it captures intent with spoken language and directs the meaning between recipients. I want to talk about apples, so I say the word 'apple', the spell grabs the words, then shuffles them around so that you'll understand and throws it right at you. It captures intent and less the direct sounds of speech, so it'll always translate properly what I say or what I hear."

"Fascinating. Truly fascinating," Miriel said, grabbing her own parchment from her bag. She was looking for a quill and inkpot as well. "And is that how a majority of spells work? Can you set predetermined conditions for a spell to follow? Does a spell and a specific system of instruction and execution exist besides caster intent?"

"It's, uh," Fairen faltered. His voice got quieter. "No. That's only for illusions. But," he returned to normal volume, "we won't cover illusions in your first lesson. We probably won't get to illusions for a long time, if ever."

Fairen blinked and found Miriel staring intently at him, leaning uncomfortably over the lecturer's desk at the from, all of her attention solely on him, her eyes appearing big from behind her glasses framed beneath her witch's hat.

"Hah," Fairen laughed, putting his hands on his hips, shooting Miriel a smug look. "Now who's the teacher and student in this situation? I thought I was here to learn about Ylissian magic, not the other way around."

Miriel straightened and blushed. "M-My apologies. I am but intensely interested in the machinations of your magic and eager to attempt it myself. I forgot my position for the moment."

Fairen waved his hands with a big smile. "It's fine, it's fine."

Just then, Fairen skimmed over Miriel's notes. He noticed her holding the quill in her left hand a bit awkwardly, her fingers shifting over the end as if they didn't know how to exactly hold the quill. The letters on the page itself, although Fairen could not read them, were murdered in squiggles and waves that did not stay parallel to each other. He frowned.

"Then, I-I'm not certain how to approach our lessons from here," Miriel said, adjusting her glasses. "I built the lesson plan around the assumption of your ability to read. I apologize for doing so, but until I make another one, I am unsure what I can do to teach you at the moment.

"Hey," Fairen said, moving around the student desks and approaching Miriel. "You don't have to apologize for anything. I don't think it's unreasonable to assume someone like me, a fellow mage, can read as well as they can speak. And we can go over the basics later. Just some simple spells or something."

"But we must go over theory first!" Miriel objected as Fairen reached her table. "I do not wish for you to get hurt by, as they say, jumping over the deep end."

Fairen chuckled and shook his head at her mistake at the saying. "I'm a fast learner, trust me. But right now, I think you're more interested in learning about my magic then teaching me about yours."

"That's not true," Miriel said, eyebrows furrowing.

Fairen gave her a questioning look.

"...Not completely true. I am interested in both. In equal proportions."

"Sure," Fairen replied flatly. "Can I have your hand?"

"W-What?" Miriel said. "What for?"

"I want to show you something. Do you trust me?"

Miriel took in a breath, and then swallowed. Without turning away, she offered Fairen her left hand.

"Your other hand, if you don't mind."

"My..." Miriel began. She looked down at the nub at the end of her right wrist. Fairen read the pained look on her face.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," he said softly.

She looked back at him with a grimace. There was a beat, and Miriel rolled her eyes as she offered him her right hand. "Fine."

Fairen gently took it, his right hand below and left over top. Miriel's thoughts raced around the way he seemed to stare at the end of it. His fingers were warm, however, and he handled her with care. Suddenly, she was aware of their close proximity.

Fairen dipped his head down below hers. She watched him, biting her lip. "Now, watch closely."

There was a tinge through her right arm that started from somewhere behind her shoulder that shot straight through the limb. It was almost painful, like lightning struck from beneath her skin. But she blinked and suddenly there was a single burning flame floating above where her right wrist ended. Her mouth opened wordlessly. The fire was a startling green.

Fairen slowly backed away, his eyes darting from the flame to Miriel's face. A wide grin spread across between both his cheeks. "That's my favourite part," he said, bouncing excitedly on his toes. "Finding out what the colour of your magic is. Absolutely awesome!"

"This," Miriel managed to say, gasping as if she was out of breath. "This is my magic?"

Fairen leaned forward, a glimmer in his eyes. "Yep. All yours. Beyond the material. You don't need ability or physicality. You only need the knowledge and a soul."

Miriel went back to the flame floating off of her. The tip flickered to and fro as it ended in embers off the top.

"Well?" Fairen said. "Want to learn more?"


Alongside Fairen's meetings with Miriel, he had consulted Sumia for a few books he could read, although he did not reveal to her his lack of literacy. He balanced his free time in the evenings between reading children's novels he borrowed from a library and the books he was borrowing from Sumia. He was swiftly learning the Ylissian alphabet over the days, although not as quickly as learning tome magic. He still wrote in his own language in his journal, if for nothing else except the security in his mind that his musings would stay private.

Virion got Fairen back into playing the strategy game that Virion played with Fairen while he was stuck in bed during his first visit to Ylisse. They would play quite often, either in the barracks after dinner or at various cafes Virion would invite Fairen to over tea and discussion. Fairen got accustomed to Virion's views in life; of politics and beauty and women. Although he never agreed much with Virion, he at least appreciated the archer's laid-back outlook and his ability to stay calm when under pressure. He never beat Virion in the game, though. He was always one or two steps behind and then victory was swept from his grasp.

"Wonderful! You are improving quickly, my friend." Virion said, raising his arms in congratulations one late evening at the castle. They sat in a crook of the castle hallways overlooking the fine town below, the view of the last lights in the buildings a startling yet wonderful sight to behold.

Fairen bent over his knees and rubbed his hand over his face. "Yet I never seem to win."

"It is a part of the process, no? Through rain doth the rose bloom. You learn best after hardship."

"Yeah, but I can't make mistakes like this out in the battlefield. People will count on me to direct them properly." Virion opened his mouth, but Fairen kept on going, leaning back into his seat and turning to the town below. "I know this is just a game, but I've also realized how you've been subtly directing me to play this game to improve my tactics in real-life."

Virion tilted his head with a sly smile. "I do not know what you are talking about. I do no such thing."

"Regardless," Fairen stated.

"You may make mistakes, my friend," Virion said, "But you are careful and precise. I must play with caution against you, as navigating through your strategies is like maneuvering through a deep maze. Your wit is razor sharp, and I find myself against its blade time after time. Bringing that wit with us to the grand fields of battle is sure to bring us victory."

"Why don't you be the army's tactician?" Fairen offered. "You're obviously better at this between of the two of us."

"I would not," Virion said, shaking his head and holding out his hands in denial. "There are three points I would like to provide. First, I invite you to take a glance at the board."

With a frown, Fairen looked down at the table.

"What do you see?"

"There's more of my pieces on the board." Fairen responded.

"You are correct," Virion said with his signature grin. "And thus, more of your men live to fight again. With the moves I make, my men would have my head on a pike by the end of the day."

"But it's not by much," Fairen said. "Only by a couple of pieces."

"Five or six pieces is five or six more than none," Virion pointed out. "But as well, consider this: How close were you to witnessing the end of your gambit? Or rather, how close was I to failure and my demise?"

Fairen took another look at the board. Virion's side was swamped with Fairen's units swarming his leader at the flank.

"I only needed one more turn," Fairen said.

"Precisely. Although ultimately your leader was lost in battle, your units assure, ah, as they say, mutual destruction."

"An army's no good without a leader," Fairen said from experience.

Virion bent low on the table, catching the edge of Fairen's gaze with a knowing smile. "That is true. But consider how close you were to snatching the golden crown away from moi." He straightened and looked Fairen straight in the eye. "Once again, I must stress your speed of improvement. A month ago you were like a baby blue jay, flapping its wings trying to leave the nest. Now you are an eagle, proud and deadly, swooping down to catch your prey. But you still make mistakes. I am only an owl, wise but frozen as I watch all around me."

Fairen squinted in confusion. "What's your point?"

Virion picked up a teacup and closed his eyes. "You will grow further beyond an eagle, and fly higher than any of us have ever before."

There was a beat as Virion sipped his tea. Fairen gave the man a weathered look, then turned to look back out to the town.

"What do you think's better than an eagle, Virion?"

Virion smiled.

"Only but a great and mighty dragon."

At some point Stahl learned of Fairen and Virion's strategy sessions, then asked if he could play one day in the Shepherd barracks. Virion excused himself and let Stahl take his place, Fairen knew Virion was just letting Fairen square up against someone else for a change. Although Stahl was familiar with the game, Fairen wiped the floor with him, catching Fairen off-guard. He was surprised how easy it was. He turned, stunned, to Virion, who leaned against the wall and gave him a knowing nod. Then, Stahl asked if Fairen wanted to join him and some of his friends for a gaming night.

And thus was the life of Fairen for the mean while in the Shepherds. Between gaming night every Friday, sparring with Lon'qu and Vaike, training under Frederick's eye, practicing magic with Miriel and teaching her his own, and spending evenings indulging himself in Ylissian literature, Fairen's life was never a dull moment. Although he thought of his old home from time to time, the strategies he made to fill his time with meaning did well in keeping his mind occupied. On occasion he checked the status of his own magic, finding the red static that plagued his spellcasting to lessen and lessen with each passing day. He could manage a small flame from his right hand, but no more. He had no doubts he would fully recover within the next eight months.

And, by then, he hoped he would be able to find the strength to say goodbye to everyone.

Although he enjoyed the relative peace of his life, Fairen knew it would not last, and there would be change. A month and a week after returning from Ferox, Chrom called all the Shepherds to the barracks in order to brief them on the further increasing trend of bandit attacks in north and south Ylisse, as well as the worrying number of Risen sightings.


The walls were on fire.

The tiny village of Greenwell was built around an abandoned fort surrounded by swampy, muddy land. Outside the fort were seemingly endless marsh, where cattails and marsh stocks hid murky depths. There was also a large amount of bountiful, fertile land where the mud hardened to dirt, and that is where the villagers ended up. Fairen surmised that only generations upon generations of simple farmers must have made up the population, because only those who have lived there for a long period of time could to stand the hot weather, terrible roads, overall muck, and biting bugs.

And yet, the fort's walls were on fire.

The barbarians saw fit to do so. Their attack on Greenwell was initially a sack, but when they heard the Shepherds were coming, they somehow found it better to attempt to roast everyone alive and capture whatever remaining villagers to make a hostage situation. As Fairen hugged near one of the fort's eastern walls, he couldn't help but grit his teeth in frustration and the bandits' stupidity. He was baffled as to how the leader thought setting the village buildings aflame and trapping themselves in the fire inside the fort was a better idea than leaving with their lives.

He also thought it was almost more stupid that Chrom insisted they all charge in to try and save the villagers. Fairen prayed to the moon to bless Chrom's heart, but even Frederick thought it was a horrible idea, and Fairen knew Frederick for a suck-up, especially considering after all those strange posters of shirtless Chrom good ol' Fred put up in order to "raise morale." Fairen agreed with Lissa that Chrom would never live that down.

He jumped as a piece of fallen wood from some far-off building fell to a crash. The fire, although not immediate to Fairen's location, was still an issue just from its sheer presence and immediate effect to the local climate. The hot, hot heat of a dying summer was amplified by the way the village was going up in smoke. Fairen was practically soaking under his armour and leather jacket from sweat, and he couldn't keep the droplets of salt and liquid from rolling down his forehead into his eyes and blocking his vision. Despite the time he took to rest his soul, he could not muster the magical energies to at least perform a cooling spell native to his magic.

So, he trudged on, one hand holding his spear diligently and the other wiping his forehead every ten seconds as he tried to keep quiet and pay attention to his front, thick clumps of mud sticking to his boots. His feet partially sunk with every step he took. From the moment the Shepherds got into battle he knew it was a fruitless effort to try and clean the gunk from his footwear. He accepted his fate and creeped along the side of the wall which was thankfully one of the parts of the fort that was not aflame. He tried not think too much about how a bunch of imbecilic bandits could set a stone wall on fire. His best guess was the swamp life that lined the stone foundations gave the fire access and the volatile marsh liquids and gasses gave fuel.

He stopped at a corner, stuck between two thick walls at an intersection. He leaned forward to peek only for something to bump into his rear and almost push him out of cover. He wavered in balance when he grounded his weight and looked over his shoulder to glare that the offender. A teenager with a bronze cooking pot over his head wearing a thin shirt and long, dirtied pants lay flat on the ground having fallen over after ramming into Fairen. His weapon, a pitchfork useful as a makeshift spear, was astray on the ground. The boy had to reach up to adjust his "helmet" after it had fallen over his eyes. His gaze rolled up to reach Fairen's and all the boy could offer was an awkward chuckle and apologetic grin.

This was Donnel, a young villager who was fighting to get his mother back. Fairen was with Chrom when the boy came running out of nowhere screaming for help to fight the bandits that took his village and his mother. Fairen watched in stupefied shock as Chrom basically recruited the farmhand into the ranks of the Shepherds after Donnel insisted that he could help, that he was useful and couldn't just stand around waiting for the Shepherds to go to work. Fairen admired Donnel's drive, could relate to it in some points, and acknowledged that Chrom had simply extended the same hand to Donnel that he did for Fairen, but...

Fairen stared as Donnel got up unsteadily then reached down and grabbed his 'spear'. His grip was too loose. Even as he stood there practically unmoving, Fairen could see the slight shake of Donnel's hands.

Donnel was the only one with Fairen. The two had gotten split up after assaulting the fort grounds. The plan Fairen discussed with Chrom was simple. He had to cook it up in five minutes only with scouting information from Donnel—which was undescriptive at best and useless at worst—and thus it was rough around the edges, but it was simple and easy to execute. Chrom would take one half of their forces and Fairen would take the other, and the two groups would press on to the eastern gate. The first group to get inside the deeper compound could open the gate for the other to follow. Then it was kill on sight, rescue the hostages and liberate the village hopefully before it burnt to a crisp.

And then a building collapsed on itself and the roof scattered flaming pieces of wood everywhere, splitting up the Shepherds. They tried to avoid the burning buildings but Fairen considered it to be logistically impossible. The last Fairen heard of Chrom was when he was trying to get help to unpin Sully, for it seemed she and her steed got trapped in some rubble. Fairen was unsure of the details, as he had to engage and then run from a group of bandits who closed him on him and the one ally who was with him. There was too much chaos for Fairen to be able to coordinate with his fellow soldiers. He could only hope that Chrom and the others were ok and that they too were trying to meet up just as he was.

"S-Sir?" Donnel squeaked out. Fairen blinked. He was still staring at the boy. Turning away, he properly peeked around the corner (although finding it frivolous at this point after Donnel's distraction).

The two crept quietly along the wall, weapons at the ready, until they reached a set of large doors leading inside the fort. The doors were ajar. Nobody was around outside save for a couple of hay bales. The mud at the foot of the entrance was scuffed with imprinted wheel tracks, but there were no signs of battle. Fairen bit his lip. They were away from the fire but it was still not a good idea to go inside near a blaze such as the one they were next to, he measured.

"Stick close," Fairen said to Donnel, leaning over to him so Fairen could speak quietly. Donnel nodded, and Fairen carefully put his hand on the door before he leaned in and entered.

The space suggested to Fairen it was a barracks a long time ago, but it was currently being used for storage. Various farm tools lay aside on the north wall having been knocked down from their stands. Crates sat on the other side, some of which were stacked. The torches at the sides of the room were dead. A darkness encompassed all corners of the room, and it was difficult to see due to the difference in light between outside and in.

At the opposite end of the room from Fairen there was clearly another set of doors.

"Sir Fairen! Look!" Donnel cried out with an accented twang, pointing towards the doors. "An exit!"

Fairen quickly shushed him, his scowl displaying his frustration. "Do you want the whole base to know we're here? Keep quiet, keep your weapon up, and check your corners."

Fairen began to stalk around the room, staying near the rightmost wall as his eyes searched around the perimeter, both hands firmly grasping his spear. He could hear Donnel's frightened shuffling behind him. He tried to listen to the sounds of breathing, of any sign of life besides his and the one behind him. His gaze could not leave the pile of crates save for the two times he double-checked the room corners to make sure nothing was hiding in the shadows. He almost jumped when something kicked one of the farm tools, causing the of a shovel to loudly scraped against the cobblestone floor. Fairen checked behind his shoulder only to see Donnel flinching. Fairen couldn't tell if it was at him or at the shovel, and he didn't bother glaring at the poor boy once again and focused on his task.

As they were approaching the exit doors, one of them suddenly opened inward.

Fairen froze with Donnel following suit. In came four bandits: three men and a woman, all wearing rough fur clothing, all pained in patterns of red, and all wielding swords. One of the men was bleeding bad from a wound beside his stomach and got help limping indoors from his comrade. Their attention was towards outside, with the injured man being led against the wall next to the door.

"Damn Shepherds!" The woman shouted with a grunt as she pushed the heavy door closed. "Them and their damned meddling and their damned prince!"

As soon as the door shut with a loud bang, one of the bandits cried out in pain. Blood splashed against the wall where the injured bandit was sitting as a spear stuck out of the helper bandit's stomach. Fairen quickly pulled out his spear and knocked down his target with a swift strike to the throat. Shocked, the woman and the other man charged at Fairen and Donnel with the injured one getting to his feet, gritting his teeth as he held his sword.

Fairen immediately knew what to do. Using the blunt end of his spear, he butted the woman in the stomach, leaving her breathless. The injured one lunched clumsily forward with a shout, still trying to hold in his blood against his torso. Fairen simply backed up and tripped the offender then stabbed him in the back. The woman let out a cry of utter rage and ran at Fairen again. Fairen sidestepped the first strike, then blocked the second, landing a heavy, steel-soled and muddy boot to her core. She bent forward in pain having taken a second shot to the stomach. Fairen flicked up his spearhead, vertically slashing the woman's face and sending her standing straight. With a spin and a flourish, Fairen slashed across the woman's torso, disemboweling her. She dropped to the ground wheezing in pain and Fairen delivered a merciful, killing blow.

After all that training with that goofball and Lon'qu, these bandits aren't anything at all, Fairen mused to himself.

Fairen caught Donnel's position just as the farm boy shouted in panic. The bandit bore down on him and all Donnel could do was back up and avoid attacks. The bandit growled then tried bashing Donnel over the head. Donnel closed his eyes and raised his pitchfork in alarm as he blocked the bandit's next attack, a move born out of pure luck.

Fairen dashed in, first sweeping low with his spearhead, cutting into the bandit's ankles and sending him to the floor. The bandit yowled, his weapon falling from his hands to a clatter. Just as Fairen was about to send his spear into the bandit's spine, a thought occurred to him. He stood, posing over the bandit and stared at Donnel. The boy was almost paralyzed watching the bandit's face contort in agony. A beat passed and Donnel matched Fairen's eyes. The man tried to get up and reach for his weapon, but Fairen revered his grip on his spear and wacked the bandit, sending him back to the ground. Fairen silently motioned towards the man on the ground then made a stabbing motion with his spear. Donnel got the gist of the message, but only squeaked and skittered back, his hands sliding closer to each other on the spear as he tried to shrink himself.

Fairen sighed, successfully avoiding rolling his eyes, and finished the bandit. Donnel gaped at where the spearhead entered the fleshy, squishy body, and winced when Fairen withdrew his spear with a shink, blood dripping off the end. Scared eyes met Fairen's glare as the latter stomped up to Donnel. Fairen threw his hand towards Donnel, causing a flinch.

"Give me your weapon," Fairen said.

Donnel's eyebrows rose. "B-B-But—"

Fairen loudly cleared his throat, then closed and opened his hand in a "give me" motion. Reluctantly, Donnel handed over his pitchfork. He wilted in the shadows of the room, not noticing Fairen was shuffling around the pile of scattered farm tools on the ground. Grabbing his pot-helmet with both hands, he tried to put on a brave face.

"Here," Fairen suddenly said, holding out something in front of Donnel. Donnel stared at it, shocked, then glanced up at Fairen who held a solemn expression. Donnel gingerly took it.

It was a bronze spear!

"I knew I spotted something that didn't belong in those farm tools," Fairen said, putting his fists on his hips. "Your pitchfork's shaft would have broken in two with another good swing. This weapon will serve you much, much better."

"S-Sir Fairen..." Donnel stammered. "Thank you!"

"Don't thank me yet," Fairen said, waving his hand in dismissal. "We're not out of this yet. Now listen close and listen carefully." Donnel leaned in. "The next time we meet with the enemy you need to make an important choice. You need to either commit yourself to killing your opponent or run away."

"Kill!?" Donnel shouted.

Fairen grasped the handle of Donnel's new spear and tugged a little. "These are your enemies, Donnel!" he growled. "They're the ones who raided your village, burned down half the buildings, and took your friends and family hostage! Your mother, hostage!"

Donnel's stare seemed to harden ever so slightly at those words.

"You need to find resolution in fighting for your town and people! If you can't find the strength or passion in you to look these bastards straight in the eye, stab them through the throat, and keep moving on, then you need to retreat and think about what you're exactly doing here. I can handle two or three bandits that attack us and still help you out, but I can't guarantee you won't get badly hurt if you aren't willing to defend yourself."

Fairen gave Donnel a moment to consider that. Then, he stepped away, Donnel opening his mouth and reaching out to him, but no words came out.

"I'm not telling you to fight or flee right now," Fairen said, looking over his shoulder as he approached the doors to the exit. "But you need to make a decision soon."

The door behind Fairen to outside suddenly burst clear open, throwing the wood off its hinges as it slammed to the ground, causing Fairen to scramble away. A blinding light filled the room.

What now? Fairen thought.

A large armoured figure lumbered into the room, shield and spear out and ready. Almost immediately the person relaxed and stood straight.

Fairen's eyes adjusted to the light and he thanked the moon.

"Hi, Fairen," Kellam stated. Chrom peeked around from behind.


The heavy body of a Risen bandit wearing a shaggy fur coat collapsed as Fairen pulled out his spear, the fresh wound over the bandit's heart spilling fresh blood onto the village streets. He took his eyes off his dead target for the moment and observed his surroundings.

It was a disaster.

Parts of the village were smoldering in the distance with dead commoners scattered around the streets. It was like Southtown all over again, except this time Fairen didn't have the excuse of not knowing what was going on. Blood and mud caked the stone road. Houses had ruined or caved-in entrances. Carriages lay strewn by the roadside, some with dead horses attached to their reigns. Market stall parts were scattered in the center of town, ruined produce littered everywhere.

The bodies of Risen and townspeople alike shared the bloodbath that was the village. Fairen was in a band of Shepherds that temporarily split from Chrom in order to deal with a dual threat. In the West, Chrom and most of the others were trying to escort a group of travelers in the midst of a wave of Risen. When the Shepherds had finally made their way near to the Feroxi border because of Risen reports, they came across a sizable village named Mordencross in order to fetch information. Fairen was utterly furious at the village mayor's admission that they turned away a large party of travelers away in fear of the new party leading the Risen right to the town and eating up precious resources. As well, the mayor was concerned the spreading rumour that when someone is attacked by a Risen, they would eventually become one as well and didn't want an injured traveller eating the town inside out. Fairen didn't know if it was true or not, but it took Chrom's swift and decisive action—as well as his and Vaike's strength—to pull Fairen away from the mayor so he wouldn't beat the mayor to a pulp.

The two had an argument about how the mayor left people out to die when they had the chance to save lives. Although Chrom was far from happy about the mayor's decisions, he still tried to get Fairen to understand his countryman's position: that they were in the middle of a snowy season with limited food supplies that grew smaller with the lack of merchants from the Risen-infested roads. Fairen still thought the mayor could have done better, but Chrom decided that discussing the mayor's morality was for later and that they needed to see if they could still find those travelers and save them.

Before they could get far, however, a girl on horseback reached Mordencross looking for any sort of help. She told the Shepherds that her home town was under attack and she had ridden for her life to see if anybody was willing to help. With no better options, Chrom ordered Fairen to take a handful of Shepherds to the girl's town and see if they could deal with the situation. Fairen thought it was a stupid idea to split the Shepherd forces and that separating will weaken both halves in a situation where failure by demise wasn't an option. Fairen tried to pull his status as tactician to get Chrom to listen. Even Frederick stepped in, also trying to dissuade Chrom. But Chrom told him to at least try, and to retread back to the main force if the Risen appeared to be too strong or the situation had gone too far south.

"What," Vaike grunted as he pulled his axe out of a fallen Risen across the street, the blade stained with dark ichor. He huffed, small cuts covering him. "Getting tired yet, Fairen?"

Fairen wiped sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. "Not even close. Just considering how we fix the mess we've gotten ourselves into."

"It's not all bad," Vaike said, walking up to Fairen's side. "It's not like the whole village is destroyed."

"Yeah, not all destroyed yet," Fairen agreed through grit teeth, charging forward.

Vaike kept close behind as the two navigated the streets. There seemed to be no end to the Risen as they turned a right and faced a soldier with a sword and another with a lance. The two engaged, Fairen taking former and Vaike the latter. They made quick work of their opponents, then ran to the end of the road where it opened to a wide avenue.

The destruction was palpable. Upturned stones littered the pavement with the bodies of the dead and still undead. A house was on fire on the west side, its inferno swiftly spreading under the freezing blowing winds.

A chilling scream rang nearby. Fairen and Vaike dashed to the closest alley between two large stone brick buildings. A girl in a dress with battered knees lied against a wall, cowering as a risen quickly approached her with an axe. A wave of Risen could be seen behind her approaching down the path.

With little time to lose, Fairen surged forward and swept the Risen off its feet, then bisected it with agility. The Risen fell to the ground with a sickening squelch in two pieces before its grey flesh began to dissipate into a sickly haze. He crouched before the girl, Vaike staring with a scowl at the oncoming force of warriors.

"Are you ok? Can you walk?" Fairen asked softly but with urgency.

The girl was sobbing. Through tears, she pointed to a large imposing building down the alley and said "Please, help the nice lady in the building!" The girl pointed to a sizable structure a distance down the alley from where Fairen and Vaike came from. "S-She helped me escape but she's still there trying to get others out!"

"Ok, ok, it's ok," Fairen said, leaning his weapon against the wall. "We got to get you out of here first. Can you get up?"

Fairen offered both of his hands. Crying, the girl grabbed onto him and he pulled her up. She stumbled into Fairen and yelped in pain as her legs failed to support her weight. Fairen picked her up and let her rest against his chest, letting her lean against his shoulder. He took one look at the Risen getting closer and turned to Vaike.

"Take her and get out of here," Fairen said, stepping towards Vaike. "I've gotta see if I can save this 'Anna'."

"What, you gonna steal all the glory for yourself?" Vaike joked, although his brows were furrowed in worry for the girl.

"If there's others still inside, someone's gotta try and get them out," Fairen glanced at the girl leaning against him, "If we both go we're gonna draw all the Risen into the building and trap ourselves. You're injured, so if you go in and get hurt you're not coming out. It has to be me."

Vaike grimaced, then nodded with a grunt. He held his arms out and Fairen lent the girl to him, the girl surrendering to the movement, her eyes closing at the sight of the Risen. One of the Risen roared in anger, making the two warriors jump to attention. They were getting way too close.

"Go!" Fairen said, picking up his spear from the wall. The two sprinted away and split up, Fairen heading towards the large building and Vaike racing towards the street. Fairen hopped over a collapsed fence and raced across a back yard, the two stories worth of wooden walls staring down at him. Reaching dual back doors, he forced all his weight forward and burst through.

He found himself in an empty hall. There were signs of a swift exit with toys and clothes strewn about along the corners of the floor. The outside noise was suddenly muted as the doors swung shut, and Fairen's hairs stood on end at the sudden, eerie silence. The air smelt of dust and decay, and Fairen crept forward holding his spear tight, his eyes darting to the ends of the passage. His heavy boot footsteps painfully made the floorboards creek.

He reached the end of the hall and turned the corner, entering a dining room. Chairs, most small but a couple large, were scattered between old wooden tables, two of which were flipped to their sides. There was a window with a counter to the kitchen on one side of the space. The other end had a broken window, shattered glass spread all over the floor. There was a large smear of blood in front of the broken window, someone seemingly dragged away from one of the tables, but the body was nowhere to be found.

Suddenly, Fairen heard low moaning from the next room. Fairen made a careful jog to the adjacent room and emerged in the living quarters. An empty fireplace sat against the wall. In the corner was a green reading chair with its back torn up in thick lines.

To Fairen's right were two Risen, both with axes, moaning in rage as they slammed their weapons repeatedly against the wall, a slumped figure beneath them. Fairen was slightly shocked to see different Risen weapons scattered with no present owners at that part of the room, dark Risen blood splattered against the paint and floorboards. One of the Risen drove their axe into the slumped figure, drawing a sickening squelch.

"Hey! Cut it out!" Fairen said, rushing forward. The Risen turned to meet him only for the right one's neck to be severed from the spear's blade. The other one made a sluggish cross-slash that missed while Fairen dodged and kicked in it's kneecap, following up with a strike back and forth against it's head, mashing the Risen's cranium to a pulp.

Gathering his breath, Fairen took a look at the figure that the Risen were attacking. It was a young woman, only she wasn't slumped against a wall but actually a bookcase with broken shelves, its books scattered beneath her. She wore a beautiful crimson cloak around a rich, velvet red pants and top, a daisy shade of material splitting against her chest. Her metal boots ran up and down her legs ending at well-worn heels. But there was a nasty gash across her front. Her clavicle was broken in vertically. Blood ran freely down her left arm where a well-used iron sword lay inches away from her loose fingers. Her skin was pale, and there was a cut across her cheek, but her face was peaceful. Almost all too peaceful, with her eyes closed and her lips shut as if she let out a sigh.

Fairen knelt down and gave her an odd look. He tried speaking to her, then pressed his fingers against her neck for a pulse and tentatively reached out with his magical senses to try and pick up her life force. Still staring, he pulled away and shook his head. He figured even if Lissa came over there would be nothing to restore.

There was a rattle behind the bookshelf the woman was against. Fairen hummed in curiosity and got to his feet. At first, he examined the corner where the bookshelf met the wall. The colour of the paint was slightly different. He pushed lightly against the side of the shelf and with some effort it moved. A darkened compartment revealed itself before Fairen jumped in alarm as high-pitched squeals rang out. Fairen moved to let some light in to the passage and found tiny eyes stare back at him reflecting in the shadows.

A gaggle of children huddled against the wall away from Fairen, all shaking in fright and staring at him with a wild, wide expression.

Fairen took a step back, then looked in shock between the kids and their guardian angel lying peacefully against the bookcase.

He began to feel sick.

Chrom, with a frustrated shout, drove the length of Falchion into the Risen barbarian, the undead collapsing under the holy might of the weapon, falling, then moving no more.

He withdrew his blade from the corpse, the blood on the metal naturally disappearing as if it was draining from its tip. Chrom huffed in large breaths, sweat dotting his brow amidst the cool mountain air, a thin layer of snow all around him on the ground.

While catching his breath he drew his attention to the man lying on the ground a few feet away looking up at the sky. His neck was half-severed from his body, and blood was still trickling out of the veins surrounding his esophagus and the path to his lungs, a hot steam rising from the deep red puddle forming. The man's expression was stuck in pure horror, mouth open but no sound escaping, face white, eyes wide open.

Chrom could feel his heart racing in his chest. Still trying to let his cardio catch up, he tried to wipe some of the sweat on his face off. His outfit was covered in blood, but most of it wasn't his. He took a few heavy, tired steps away to a dead, fallen tree off on the wayside and sat down, taking care not to stab himself with Falchion.

Finally, after a few moments, his breathing slowed down. But he could not release the tension in his chest. He shook his head, then looked at the body of the villager still stuck looking towards the heavens, to which Chrom followed his gaze. He swallowed.

There was the beating of hoofs to Chrom's side that quickly approached him. Chrom turned to find Frederick riding up to him, a gash on the right side of his armour. He briefly spotted the villager before putting all of his attention on Chrom.

"Milord," Frederick began. "We unfortunately were unable to protect the other villagers. Sumia and Sully were overrun by Risen pegasus riders, and Miriel and myself were caught off guard by an archer. It was my fault, and I take full responsibility." Frederick bowed in his saddle. "I apologize."

"Gods," Chrom swore, shuddering. He drove Falchion into the frozen dirt, putting his weight on it and leaning forward as if he was about to hurl. He clenched his eyes and grit his teeth, drips of perspiration falling from his nose and forehead onto the snow.

Fairen was right. He was completely right. I hope that things went better on Fairen's end, Chrom thought to himself.


AN: I have recently graduated university with a Bachelor of Arts in English, specializing in creative writing. For the 29 of you following and 17 that have favourited, thank you for sticking with me.

I will continue to try and update when I can. Thank you for your patience and understanding.


LEVEL UP!

Fairen

Class: Recruit

Level: 3 + 1 = 4

HP: 23 + 1 = 24

SRT: 10 + 1 = 11

MAG: 2

SKIL: 11

SPD: 12 + 1 = 13

LCK: 3

DEF: 8 + 1 = 9

RES: 1

MOV: 5

Level-up Quote: "The others are counting on me. I have to grow even stronger."

WEAP. Level: Lance = D C

Skills Equipped:

- Beginner's Luck: Double Skl and Str. Activation %: 5 + (Lck *2). Unusable at Lvl 10+ or when in a second-tier class.