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Potential spoilers ahead. Please read at your own discretion.

"Marth? What are you doing here?"

The young, red-haired lord gave an exasperated greeting to the masked, and rather shoddily dressed, swordsman that stumbled about before him. Streams of sweat lined the masked hero's cheeks, his breathing heavy. It wouldn't take a master tactician or a trained healer to know that Marth was utterly exhausted. As a matter of fact, although Roy had heard that Marth was on the road to recovery, he did not expect him to be awake and moving about already. Even sister Genny had estimated that it would have taken at least several more day until Marth would have even regained consciousness, let alone walk.

Roy himself had seen the injuries Marth had subsequently sustained in at the Field of Fire, which all the other soldiers began to call it after hearing accounts of the inferno-like flames that swept the vast grassland. Roy saw the severe burns that lined Marth's arms and legs, cleanly burning away at most of the light armor Marth had been wearing during the skirmish. Perhaps the most perplexing was the state Marth's body was in when they had reached her. It was rigid, giving the impression that it had frozen in place, as if time had stopped for the warrior's body. His muscles were all tensed up and his body immovable from its pose as it lay on the charred ground. Nobody, not even the usually quippy Jeorge nor Genny herself, could explain what had occurred to Marth. But maybe the answer was much simpler. Even the many of the most battle- hardened fighters would be caught off guard and thrown into shock if they had been suddenly swarmed by wyvern riders and cavaliers and about to stampeded.

Roy knew he would have.

Despite his many training sessions with uncle Hector and Fir, battle meditation with Karel, and situational analysis with Jeorge, Roy couldn't have helped but feel shaken when he saw the vast swarm of enemies raining down on them. Even with uncle Hector and the rest of the strike force, they would not have been able to emerge from the sudden attack unscathed had not been for Lord Ephraim, or the Scourge as others referred to him as.

He really was as fearsome as Genny had once told him.

"Haa… I… Funeral… Need to find… the… hnnh…"

Marth had a hard time getting an entire sentence across but Roy had heard enough to understand. Roy pondered briefly as to where Marth could have found out about the grand funeral but quickly realized that Karel must have been the one to tell him. After all, the swordmaster refused to attend despite Fir's best efforts and went back to his fire by the intensive care tent. Maybe Roy should have also tried to persuade Karel with Fir but how could he have? Roy knew from both serving alongside the Sword Demon and sparring with his niece that the man rarely ever went back on his word or changed his mind once it was set on something. To make matters difficult, Prince Alfonse had ordered him to guard Marth's tent while he recovered. There was no way he could refuse a direct command from the crown prince. He would apologize to Fir when he got the chance.

"You're almost there." Roy replied, offering his shoulder to the weary warrior. "You've nearly reached Capital Square. But are you sure you want to attend? It isn't mandatory and given your current well-being."

Marth gritted his teeth. "I… I have to…"

Against his better judgment, Roy obliged. Genny would most likely scold him for allowing one of her patients to go about as they pleased but Roy could feel Marth's determination in spite of the man's weak steps. One way or another, the masked man was going to get to the funeral whether Roy tried stopping him or not. He silently apologized to his acting older sister under his breath.

"You… You guarded my tent last night…"

Roy nodded.

"Did anyone… enter?" Marth weakly said.

Roy was quiet for a moment. The night before was as quiet as could be save for the occasional animal in the distance. Nobody unknown came by the tent, he and Karel made sure of that. But there was something however. Karel had alerted him to a shadow-like figure that was roaming nearby and the two briefly left to investigate. Nobody turned up and the night resumed. Roy, while wanting to tell him, had no desire of needlessly worrying Marth.

He simply shook his head no.

The two slowly marched into the silent city. Many of its inhabitants had closed their shops and livelihoods today to mourn. The usually bustling capital was as quiet as the aftermath on a battlefield. Roy could feel the somber aura that had enveloped the city. He was sure Marth could too. This wasn't Roy's first grand funeral. But the melancholy affected him all the same.

The first one he attended was held after the Siege of Vaskrheim. It was an ancient temple that rested in the middle of the continent and was decreed as a demilitarized zone for both kingdoms since long ages past. Embla broke their end of the pact and attacked an Askrian expedition party that was sent to investigate the secrets and history of the temple. Legends had it that secrets of the divine weapon Breidablik were stored there, secrets that were too valuable to lose. His father rode with the vanguard assigned to protect the leaders of the expedition which included Kiran himself.

Out of a band of fifty, only nine returned.

Embla ambushed the unwary Askrian forces while they explored the ruins of the ancient temple. It wasn't a simple attack either. While the expedition team was trapped within the ruins, Embla wasted no time in fortifying their position, The Emblian forces had previously dug trenches to the south side of the temple among the thickets of trees and nestled wooden spikes along the outside perimeter to prevent outside forces from reaching the vast temple. Sentry nests were quickly raised to keep fliers at bay in the sky. Nobody would be able to reach the temple and nobody would be able to escape.

Askrian reinforcements tried their damnedest to break through the Emblian defensive line but their forces were spread out far too thinly. Uncle Hector was fighting a campaign on the Archanean Front and was too far away to contact or be of any help. Aunt Lyn was part of an envoy, which still remained missing to this day, that was sent to a distant world and beyond reaching. Had any of them heard that Roy's father was in danger, they would have wasted no time in swinging their entire battalions on the Emblian army in order to reach him.

With many of their strongest divisions fighting on different fronts, Commander Anna gathered what available forces she had to free their trapped allies once they had heard the news of Embla's treachery. Roy had been off training with Karel and Fir at the time in the enchanted woods of Baard, far from the front.

Three days had passed while the siege was well underway. There was no progress. Embla had repelled Askr's every attempt at breaking through their defensive line. The nearest band of reinforcements was a day's ride away. Askrian morale was dropping fast. Without Kiran, the war would inevitably be lost.

Then, when the battle was at its darkest hour, a surge of hope was ignited. Reports from Embla had detailed that a red-haired noble leading a band of fierce warriors rushed from the temple and stormed the Emblian forces from the inside. Taking advantage of the sudden attack, the Askrian army put forth all their possible might in one final push and broke through the walls of Embla's defense. Fighting from such a disadvantageous position, the Emblian forces inevitably withdrew from Vaskrheim. The survivors that remained in the temple were rescued but Lord Eliwood, Kiran, and many others remained missing. Scouts reported that while the main Emblian forces were pulling back, a sizeable riding division broke away from the main unit, chasing an unknown target. None of the riders returned to Embla but there were no survivors.

None besides Kiran who rode back to Vaskrheim, gaunt, bloodied, and unconscious.

The army would later find out from the spies that the riders weren't chasing a target.

They were on their way back to Vaskrheim to take down as many of the Order's forces as possible.

Kiran and Eliwood lead the counter attack in halting the Emblian strike force.

Roy later found out that his father did so knowing full well that he would not come back alive.

Eliwood's sword was returned to his next of kin and was delivered to Roy.

Eliwood's body was never found.

It was a failed expedition that cost countless lives of the Order.

A grand funeral was held in lieu to honor the fallen. Dark rain clouds had gathered that day. It rained with no end in sight. Uncle Hector cursed himself to no end. The funeral pyre's blue flames did not yield to the sky's rain.

Roy swore to do the same.

Roy snapped out of his revery as he saw that Marth's feet had begun to drag. Gently unwrapping the masked warriors arm off of his shoulder, he set him down by the Great Fountain that lied in the middle of Capital Square. They had reached the funeral.

A giant crowd of people had gathered in the square. The funeral had begun. A great many rows of wrapped bodies lined the funeral pyre. The blue flames quickly caught everything ablaze within. Roy was reminded yet again of the vast amount of lives lost in the fight. He had lamented his powerlessness at the magnitude of the dead but when he saw the faces of his allies and friends, of Hector, of Jeorge, of Genny, of Fir, he knew that their faces could have been the ones to rest atop the blue flames had it not been for the sacrifice of the many soldiers that lay before him. Silently, he prayed that their deaths be not in vain and be avenged.

Busy with quiet contemplation, Roy would later find out that Marth disappeared from the grand funeral.

Marth had quietly slipped out of the funeral procession. It pained her to dishonor the dead like so but she had much more urgent matters to attend to. While, with Roy's aid, she made it to the funeral, she caught a glimpse of a figure moving seamlessly away from the gathered crowd. It wasn't an intruder. She saw locks of sea-green hair peer from beyond the figures hooded visage. Along with swift movements that made it appear that the figure was drifting away and the cold aura it emanated, Marth was sure of who it was.

She just had to find him.

She saw him moving back towards the Front Gate. She ran as fast as her weary legs could carry her drained body. She soon reached the underpass of the great arch.

She dodged out of public sight as best she could. Her exhaustion was real but her fatigue before Roy was a feint to leave him unsuspecting of her true motives. Something inside her compelled to find the man, the man that saved her that day, the one who wielded the fearsome lance.

"Why are you here…?"

Marth jumped back, as much as her legs could. She was now deep within the Front Gate's passage. She quickly searched for the owner of the voice, her eyes darting from every corner of the wide underpass looking for the hooded figure. All she could see were the busts and statues that adorned the marble walls. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her heart and mind racing. She wanted to make the tea Karel had given her before do its work.

A familiarly cold hand rested on her shoulder but she anticipated this. Gripping the gloved hand with her left, she swung her right fist backwards, dagger in hand. She had unnoticeably pilfered it off the unwary Roy. She would return it to him later. She tried halting the charcoal blade by the hooded man's neck but her hands couldn't act in time. The tip of the dagger grazed the man's cheek, a narrow stream of blood flowing from the cut. The hood and hair hid his eyes but Marth could see a slow smile on the man's face.

"For a hero, you're quick to turn on your allies."

"I'm no he—" Marth began to say.

The man suddenly reeled back, swinging his elbow out against Marth's extended arm. A sharp pain erupted across her right arm, enough for her to loosen her grip on the knife. The knife's grip escaped her fingers. Marth tried spinning her body to the left to face the man.

Then, a powerful hand charged against her chest and pushed her towards the wall, knocking the air out of her, and pinning her against it.

She hit the wall so fast and with such force that her cloak tore from her shoulders and her mask tumbled off from her, freeing her face and her flowing hair from its grip.

She tried to gasp in pain but her throat wouldn't comply.

The knife she once held now rested a mere hairbreadth away from her bare neck.

She did not even have time to react.

She felt her heart stop.

But the man proceeded no further. The knife did not retreat from her neck but Marth could feel the malice that was previously in his movements fading away. His hard gaze had started to weaken. He slowly pulled back his vise-like grip on her, leaving her against the wall. Marth's legs refused to hold her up and she slid down against the marble wall. She couldn't hide her fear at her close brush with death. She wasn't sure if the man would have actually slit her throat but she felt that she shouldn't test that idea any further.

The man turned away, his hood abandoning its previous task of hiding his face.

Marth, with shaky hands, instinctively gripped her sides, trying to shield herself from the invading cold. If someone were to see her right now, her secret would be made known. Even still, her bewildered body refused to cover herself up. Her meager attempts of keep the cold away were futile. She began to shiver.

"You shouldn't be here."

The man now stood in front of her, towering above her. All Marth could do was silently look at him, her weakened body succumbing to the cold. The man tried to turn away but he hesitated briefly.

Looking back down at Marth, he unfastened his outer garb and put it over Marth's shivering shoulders. Instantly, warmth began to return to Marth's bones, the cold no longer seeping into her body. She tightly embraced the fabric around her body as if searching for more warmth.

"Th-thank you…" She barely whispered, her voice as thin as air.

The man was too busy fixing the cloak for her and did not reply. He straightened out the hood and evenly spread the cloak down the middle, adjusting it to fit properly on Marth's smaller frame. He was much bigger than she was.

He began to speak.

"Why are you following me?" He asked, his eyes staring straight into hers, demanding answers. Marth felt as if the gaze was peering into her soul.

She gulped, her throat dry. She had no answer. The only truth to her actions were that she felt the need—nay, she had to—follow after him. Something about this man kept scratching her at the edge of her mind. She had nothing to say.

She shook her head, her intent unclear.

"If you think I'm like the rest of these heroes, forget the very idea."

Marth raised her head to protest.

"What? Speak up."

"Y-you saved me…" Marth said, voice trembling.

He scoffed. "You think that makes me some sort of hero? A savior?"

"You're here, aren't you?" Marth reasoned. "In the Order of Heroes?"

"Then what about you?" The man shot back. "You claim you're no hero and you wholeheartedly believe that. Why are you here?"

Marth could not respond.

The man looked away, his gaze distant down towards end of the underpass. "One good deed does not wash away the bad." He stood up, away from Marth, and approached a particular statue. He placed his hand on the statue's own before closing his eyes. Marth could see that the man was muttering something inaudibly to himself.

Feeling some strength back in her limbs, Marth forcefully brought herself back to her feet. She still felt off-balance but she would bear it. She slowly limped her way to the man who paid her no mind. He seemed miles away.

"Then why?" Marth called out. "Why did you save me?"

The man did not look at her.

"Why did you go out of your way to save someone like me?"

The faint smile she had seen before slowly grew on his face as he looked up at the statue's own.

"Because you're something I'm not."

"But—"

"If you still think I'm a hero after all I've done," the man interrupted. "You're perhaps crazier than I am."

He took his hand off of the marble statue. Turning away, he walked away from Marth.

He was going to disappear from her again.

Marth had to stop him from leaving.

Her mind raced. There was no way she could reach him in her current state. He was already too far away.

What could she do?

…

"Ephraim!"

The man suddenly stopped. Marth could tell that he was shaken at his name being called.

How did she remember it?

"You… you said that you weren't a hero… and how a good act doesn't wash away the bad…"

Ephraim didn't respond.

"But neither does the bad smear aside the good…"

"…"

"You said… you said I'm something you're not…" She said, slowly inching her way to the distanced lord. "Then prove it…"

Ephraim had turned to face her.

"Prove to me..." She said, her lungs strained from her outbursts. "Prove to me that you're right..."

Before she knew it, she had miraculously reached him. She leaned against the statue he had previously touched.

"Make me a hero." Marth finally said. "Show me that you're right…"

She stared at Ephraim with eyes filled with fire.

"Show me… that I was worth saving…"

Her hand slipped away from the marble of the statue. Her feet buckled. She would have fallen had it not been for the silent lord that caught her in his arms. Despite his cold hands, Marth felt a certain warmth in his grasp.

He helped her back to her feet.

She looked up at him.

He leaned his head next to hers, his breath wrapping around her ear.

"Northwest. Edge of Askr."

"I—"

"Marth!"

Before Marth had a chance to reply, she heard a familiar voice calling out to her from the opposite side of the underpass. Turning around, she saw two figures running down to her. The light at the end of the passageway hid their identities but Marth recognized the voices. She slowly began to walk to them before she turned to face Ephraim again.

But the man that held her was gone.

Like the wind, he had disappeared without a trace.

But it didn't matter. She knew where to find him next. She turned back to the voices and began to walk towards them.

She then realized that she was no longer wearing her mask.

Almost in a panic, Marth frantically searched the area for her precious disguise.

… Precious…

When all seemed lost, she nearly collapsed before the statue. But as she did, her hand grazed against something that wasn't the smooth marbling of the sculpture.

It was steel.

Looking up, in the hand of the statue before her, her butterfly mask lay waiting, similarly to how the winged creature would rest atop a flower. She quickly put on her disguise but not before she realized that this was the very statue Ephraim was staring at before. It was that of a beautiful woman, her long hair to the side as if blown by the wind, one hand armed with a fierce sword, and the other extended forward, as if to help all those that had fallen and were in need. Despite being carved from lifeless stone, Marth could feel an aura of strength and grace radiate from the statue.

Why had Ephraim stopped by her, Marth wondered as she quickly looked over the name that had been etched beside the graceful lady.

She trudged onward towards her allies.

But a thought still lingered on.

...

Who was the Restoration Lady?

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