It was only a day or so before the bulk of the combined army of Leicester and Faerghus were to move south, and Ashton was taking it easy. It was decided that if Edelgard did not respond to the parlay by the time they crossed the Great Bridge of Myrddin, then they would not be able to count on her for help, and they would need to find a way to defeat Adrestia and whatever forces the Agarthan machine god was able to amass. The one bit of silver-lining to an alliance being impossible was that the Empire and the Agarthans were no longer allies - at least, as far as could be gleaned.
Though it wasn't the best plan in the world, Ashton was confident that Edelgard would respond before long. After all, she wanted to conquer the continent, not destroy it. Whatever plans the changed Agarthans had, they ran antithetical to Edelgard's.
Before the army left Derdriu, however, Ashton wanted to set something right.
Marianne was still an anomaly to Ashton. He was surprised that Maurice's bloodline had lasted over a thousand years; the Elite as he had known him did not seem interested in sex. At least, from what Ashton had seen of him. He could feel something in his bones - something was going to happen, and soon. And there were more than a few loose ends that needed to be tied up.
And so, he sought her out. Derdriu was a mess, and would likely remain a mess until the end of the current crisis, but finding her was easy enough: she was near the stables. Her horse, Dorte, nuzzled her hand. Ashton had a sense of deja vu, looking at her in the moments before he made himself known. He also felt more than a little creepy, but he was able to suppress it to get to the heart of the matter.
"Good morning, Marianne."
Ashton had to keep himself from cringing. Why was it so hard to begin a conversation with her, he wondered? It was like he was an awkward teenager asking a girl out.
To her credit, Marianne didn't jump. Not like she did when Ashton first met her. She merely turned her steely gray gaze to him, her expression placid on her pale face.
"Good morning," She replied, "Can I help you with something?"
"I," Ashton began before sighing and leaning against the old wood of the stable with his arms crossed. "I wanted to apologize for last time. I admit that I am not well-versed in what is and is not acceptable in today's day and age. If I offended you, I am sorry. I just- I knew your ancestor, and I suppose I got ahead of myself."
"It's alright," Marianne replied, finishing with Dorte and turning to face Ashton fully.
"Really?" Ashton replied, raising a brow. "I… I don't suppose you would be able to answer any questions I have? I only have a few."
"Go on," Marianne said, her neutral expression not changing as she clasped her hands in front of her legs. "Ask what you want."
I get the feeling that she doesn't actually want me to ask anything.
Ashton sighed. "Well, you are the descendant of Maurice. That much I know for certain. I can feel him on you - that sounds really bad, but it's true. - but you do not have his sword. Do you know where it is?"
Marianne didn't respond for a moment, just long enough for Ashton to wonder if a single question was enough to break the facade of civility she was displaying, until finally she spoke.
"If he ever had one, it is long gone," Marianne replied stiffly, "I have never even heard of such a thing."
"I would not be surprised if he took it to his grave, wherever that is," Ashton said, his voice quiet and slow. "I can tell I am making you uncomfortable just by being here, so I will make this one brief: why did you walk away last time when I mentioned your Crest? What did I say to make you run?"
Marianne's lips thinned before she spoke. "My Crest should not be spoken of, and it should remain that way."
"Why?" Ashton pressed. "It is a Crest, not a poison that kills everyone it comes into contact with. I was under the impression that modern Fódlan coveted Crests."
"But not mine. Mine is a curse that should have been destroyed long ago," Marianne replied, "that was why I ran when we first met. It is not a trait that should be repeated. Doing so can only bring those around me down."
"That… that is ridiculous," Ashton said incredulously, pushing himself away from the stables. "A Crest is a Crest. Where did this superstition come from?"
"It doesn't matter. It's the truth," Marianne said, her voice raising slightly as her brows furrowed. "Every single one of my ancestors has been nothing but a curse to those they are around. And I will not let it stay that way. There is something I must do."
"How long has this gone on? By the goddess, I will never understand some of the things people do," Ashton groused, rubbing his forehead as he turned away. "What do you intend to do about it, then?"
"It is none of your concern," Marianne said. "I have answered your questions. Now you know why I ran last time. Good day."
Marianne turned and walked away. Ashton still stood around pacing, seething.
"Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous," he seethed. "Something needs to be done about this."
Ashton didn't know why his blood was boiling, specifically. It was like a fire had been set in his heart. He hadn't felt that way since the day of the Battle of Gronder Field, over a thousand years before. It was like he was standing in front of Maurice all over again.
"A part of you has survived until the present day," Ashton mumbled, "And I will help her in whatever way I can. And hopefully I will not be alone in that endeavor."
"How has that old axe served you?"
Ashton had been so preoccupied with his own thoughts, he had completely forgotten he was in a strategy meeting just a few minutes prior. Before him stood Byleth in his radiant glory. It was clear to Ashton that his great grandson was being groomed for the Archbishop position that Seiros once had. And although Ashton had no true compunctions about that, he couldn't help but wonder what a mercenary knew about leading one of the largest religions in the world.
But that wasn't his concern. His only concern was the knights, which had done an admirable job under his watch, if he said so himself.
"It is not my old hammer, but it works well enough. It could cleave through those machine horrors, at least, with the right amount of strength," Ashton replied finally, feeling the weapon in question weighing against his back.
Outside of the command tent, and with the sunset in the distance casting long shadows on the ground, the axe almost seemed to glimmer in the light. The Sword of the Creator at Byleth's side, though, glowed with malevolence. Or at least, Ashton saw it as malevolence. He would always see such a weapon as evil, especially considering who had used it.
"There is something else, though," Ashton continued, crossing his arms. "You know Marianne, right?"
Byleth tilted his head. "She was one of my students during my days as a professor. Why are you asking about her? Did something happen?"
Ashton waved a hand. "No, nothing. Nothing serious, at least. I just had a chat with her by the stables before we left Derdriu, and I was wondering - she has a Crest. You know which one?"
"I do not. She has not shared it with me," Byleth replied with a sigh, "there was a Crest scholar some time ago who accosted her and claimed she had 'The Crest of the Beast', but I do not put any stock in such claims."
Raising a brow, Ashton responded. "Crest of the Beast? It should not be called that. Maurice was a man, not a beast."
"I do not expect you to understand; even I do not fully understand the legends that surround Marianne's Crest. All I know is that it is said to bring misfortune, though what kind, I cannot say. It's all foolish talk to me."
"Understandably so," Ashton nodded. "There's just one more thing, the weapon. Maurice had a sword with him, but Marianne does not. Was that lost to time?"
"Most likely. I've never even heard of a Hero's Relic that responds to Marianne's Crest. Then again, I haven't done much research."
Ashton sighed. "Fair enough. I suppose I will-"
Stopping in his tracks, Ashton looked down to see Byleth's hand on his shoulder, and a pleading expression on his face.
"Can I ask a favor of you?" Byleth asked.
"It depends what the favor is," Ashton replied quickly.
"It's nothing terrible, I assure you," Byleth said, "I realize that you are busy with the Knights of Seiros, but if it isn't too much trouble, could you keep an eye on Marianne for me?"
"You want me? To keep an eye on her?" Ashton repeated incredulously. "My apologies, I think you might have me confused with someone who is her friend."
"I don't need someone who is her friend for this. In fact, the way you are now, it'd be less conspicuous. She doesn't expect you."
"You realize how crazy you sound right now, yes?" Ashton asked. "You are asking me to stalk someone."
"Not 'stalk'. Keep an eye on," Byleth reiterated.
"I am sure such a distinction would work in a court of law, Byleth," Ashton replied, completely deadpan.
"Listen, I know how it sounds, but I am worried for her," Byleth finally said, "she has been sneaking off in the middle of the night, wandering into the forests as if in search of something. I do not want to lose one of my former students when the end of this war seems so close."
"I," Ashton began, only to stop himself and sigh again. "Fine, then. I suppose she is acting suspicious, if what you say is true. How do you know that? Did you spy on her before?"
"No, she's just not as sneaky as she thinks she is," Byleth said, snorting. "Our watchmen have spotted her entering and leaving camp at the witching hour. Perhaps next time, you could follow her? Take anyone you can with you."
"Now you are asking for an armed escort," Ashton groused. "This is insanity."
"It is only insanity if you are caught," Byleth supplied.
Ashton was about to object further, but then he remembered what he promised himself before the army left Derdriu, and he grunted. Perhaps following Marianne out into the woods would help, though he rather doubted it. The girl had issues, clearly; adding a stalker to that seemed hardly like the right thing to do. Still, there was something about the situation that Byleth spoke of that piqued his interest.
"Alright, you have convinced me," Ashton said quietly. "I will round up some of the Knights and follow her into the woods. If anything happens, I will let you know."
"Good!" Byleth said, causing Ashton to take a step back. "What? Is something wrong?"
"I am… just not used to you raising your voice like that," Ashton admitted. "You do not even shout during combat. You must really care about your former students."
"Were it not for them, I would not be who I am today," Byleth replied. "I have them to thank for everything. Half of the reason I am fighting in this war is for them."
"And the other half?"
"To fulfill my duty of leading the continent to a new, bright future, of course," Byleth replied, as if it was the simplest answer in the world. "What else?"
"Be careful, Byleth, you sounded dreadfully charismatic there for a moment."
Byleth snorted, "You jest. Anyway, do we have an accord?"
Ashton sighed one more time. "I have things I need to do as well, you know? But yes, we are in agreement. As soon as the watchmen let me know, I will set out to follow her."
"Captain?"
"Yes, Shamir?"
The dark-haired former mercenary was knelt beside him, her bow slung over her shoulder as she looked out into the small, wet forest clearing. She turned to look at Ashton, her eyes narrowed and judging.
"There any reason we're stalking a young woman through the forest?" she asked quietly.
"Why, yes, I had thought, since you are courting my great grandson, that I would take you out to hunt the most dangerous game," Ashton replied.
"And you're as funny as he is, too," Shamir noted, "answer seriously, please."
"Well, it does involve Byleth, yes," Ashton answered, "but to be completely honest? I made a promise, and I intend to keep it."
Shamir turned to her left, where a faint rustling could be heard. "And your son? Arawn?"
Ashton shrugged. "He insisted he should come."
"He is a capable tracker, I'll give him that," Shamir replied, "what do you expect to see?"
"Marianne has been seen leaving camp in the middle of the night. Either she is meeting with a secret lover, or she is trying to find something. Or perhaps she is doing some sort of ritual. I only pray it is not anything foul," Ashton replied. "So, you know, I expect to see anything and everything. Here she comes."
A moment later, and Marianne walked past, her hands balled into fists as she moved past. She had no horse with her, and they were within the furthest reaches of the forest. Ashton narrowed his eyes as they moved past.
When Marianne was out of sight, Ashton stood up. "Trail her. The other knights are on alert nearby; we will be fine."
"Father, we are in the densest part of the forest," Arawn said, falling down from the tree tops. "There could be anything here."
"Besides a young woman?" Ashton replied.
"There may not be a young woman in here for long," Arawn replied grimly. "I can feel it, and I know you can, too. There is something within this forest that should be left well alone."
Ashton stopped. "No, it cannot be left alone. Not while I am here."
Arawn tilted his head as Shamir moved forward. "Father?"
"I cannot explain it, Arawn. There is something here. Something I can feel in the air. I have not felt this way since that final battle in Gronder, all those years ago," Ashton said quietly, as he could hear snapping tree branches nearby. "I suppose there is more here than a young woman after all."
Arawn stopped just beside Ashton, hand on the shaft of the Aurora Hammer.
Ashton looked through the underbrush until he saw them: dozens of eyes, belonging to creatures that reached above his head by a foot or more. So transformed were they, he couldn't tell if they looked more like dragons or wolves.
The Agarthans may have awakened a machine god, but it is not the only force at play here.
So fast that Ashton could barely see it, one of the creatures surged forward like a bullet. He barely swung fast enough to clip the beast as it roared past him, narrowly missing him by little more than a centimeter. Warm blood dripped onto his arm as the creature sailed past. It was a grievous wound to it, as Ashton could see the blood dripping to the ground, yet still the wolf moved.
Since it was in the moonlight, Ashton could finally get a good look at the creature. It was certainly more wolf than dragon, though it had draconic traits that Ashton could not ignore. Scales rattled beneath patches of dense black fur, and glowing red eyes pierced through the dark night.
Ashton heard the sound of metal striking flesh and turned briefly to see Arawn dealing with several of the giant wolves. Thankfully, he didn't allow himself to be distracted for long as the wolf he had struck pounced again, aiming directly for him. Ashton threw all of his strength into the next swing, and he struck the wolf right down the middle, cutting it cleanly in twain as its bisected body fell around him, a splattering of blood on his face as he watched Arawn smash one wolf's head beneath the Aurora Hammer.
An arrow sung through the night and struck a wolf in the eye, halting its progress. It was enough to know that Shamir was nearby.
Before long, the small clearing was littered with the bodies of demonic wolves. When the last one finally fell at the behest of Ashton's axe, he could hardly see the earth.
"Well," Ashton breathed out, wiping his brow. "Is anyone hurt? I know that Shamir went ahead, and I saw a few arrows."
"I am fine," the dark-haired mercenary said, moving out of the underbrush. "They were more focused on you."
"For good reason," Arawn said, snorting as he looked up to the moon. "It would not surprise me if they could smell the Crests on us. They are attracted to it like flies to dead flesh."
"And what of Marianne?" Ashton said, suddenly panicked. "We need to go after her!"
Arawn sighed. "We saw her go deeper into the forest. I think our presence may have agitated the beasts."
"All the more reason to go after her, then," Ashton said, "she may be a powerful mage or a well-trained swordsman, but she is still one woman. Let's go."
The trudge through the forest became much more frantic after that. Ashton could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he moved forward, almost forgetting that he had two other people with him. In the distance, he could hear a methodical rumbling, as if a mountain had grown a mouth and tried to speak.
Like a thunderstorm growing closer, it got louder until finally, Ashton could hear what it was saying.
"You are surrounded. There is no way through these beasts that follow me. I am afraid you made a mistake, little one."
There was something about the voice that Ashton couldn't quite place; there was a cadence to it, a lilt that was distinguishable from almost everyone he had ever listened to. Arawn noticed Ashton's trepidation, and stopped.
"It is him." Arawn stated.
"Who is 'him'?" Ashton asked, confused as Shamir stopped as well to look at the duo mumbling among themselves.
"You know who I mean, father. For mother, it was Nemesis. For you, it was him. Maurice."
Ashton's blood ran ice cold at those words, as if Arawn had poured liquid coolant into his veins. Marianne was living proof that a piece of Maurice had lived on through the centuries, the same way Ferdinand and Lorenz were pieces of Roland and Saladin. However, to even think that the man himself was still alive-
It wasn't out of the question. Ashton had no real Nabatean ancestry, and yet he had made it to the far future. It wasn't insanity to assume that somehow, some way, someone was able to replicate such a feat. But for it to be Maurice particularly…
Ashton didn't know what to think. For his own sake, he hoped Arawn was wrong. How his son was even able to divine such a thing, he would never know. Nabateans were strange, and Arawn was strange even among Nabateans.
At the deepest part of the wood, Ashton's eyes landed upon it. Moss grew atop its body as if it hadn't moved in centuries. It stood as still as a statue, its back toward the group as the gravelly voice continued to rumble through the air, though Ashton had long stopped paying attention to it. He finally knew how Maurice had survived well over a thousand years - turning oneself into a demonic beast, and Ashton had thought Maurice could not delve lower than he already had.
"Arawn," Ashton said, his voice low. "I need your hammer."
"My hammer? What for?" Arawn asked. "Are we not fighting this creature together?"
"I think he's finally losing it," Shamir said succinctly.
"This is my fight," Ashton growled. "And I will see it finished."
A moment of silence passed before Arawn held out the Aurora Hammer.
"I will be nearby, should anything go wrong. I will not lose you a second time."
"Guess I'll stay around the trees, then. Make sure no wolves get in your way," Shamir said.
Ashton nodded. "Thank you. Both of you. I will not forget this.
Truth be told, Ashton really had no idea what he was doing either. It was like something had taken hold of him, and he could not get it out of his system. He stood up after receiving the Aurora Hammer, the familiar and nostalgic thrum as it attuned to his Crest turned the ice in his veins into magma.
There was one thing Ashton was prepared to do, to ensure that he knew that the creature standing with its back turned to him was who Arawn said it was. Perhaps it was a stupid idea, but he honestly didn't care; it was only him he would suffer the consequences.
Ashton took a deep breath before shouting a name.
"Maurice!"
Before he had shouted, the forest had been alive with sound. Mostly crickets and the odd growl from a beast that prowled the land, and of course there was the gravelly voice of Maurice himself. When Ashton was done, the entire wood had become silent. An unnatural stillness had ensnared the place, becoming so quiet as his shout echoed through the trees that Ashton wondered if time itself had truly stopped.
The creature that had once been Maurice went completely silent and stock still, but before long, its massive form began to turn around. Ashton saw a bewildered Marianne just behind it before she was hidden behind the beast once again.
Maurice had become a beast entirely, it seemed, though unlike any demonic beast Ashton had seen. A single, forward facing horn jutted out from his forehead, with a giant, gaping maw filled with razor sharp teeth. The entirety of his body was green with algae and ancient rot. Ashton could not see where his eyes were, though there were two sets of vertical slits on either side of his face. Beyond that, the posture was like that of other demonic beasts; sprawling and four-legged.
Maurice stood silently there for a moment, looking upon him. Ashton could only wonder what was going on in his head.
"Impossible," Maurice said. "I saw you die. I carted off your body myself."
Ashton shrugged. "Could say the same for you. I didn't see you die, but no one can live this long through natural means."
"One thousand years, and your intellect is still subpar," Maurice replied, clicking his jaw. "Were I able, I would never have taken this form. It is not a natural shape, and yet it sustains me. Much like how the 'trophy device' must have kept you alive, yes?"
"Doesn't really matter, does it?" Ashton asked. "I am here now. And we have unfinished business, Maurice."
"Ha! You would welcome death so easily? I suppose you have brushed against it more than most," Maurice reflected. "Are you certain? Nobody is left. The only ones who understand are us."
"There's no other way this can end, Maurice," Ashton said, holding the Aurora Hammer in his right hand and the Axe of Ukonvasara in the other. "You know that."
"Indeed, I do. There are other beasts that might interfere."
"I have someone taking care of that. Now, are we gonna finish this, or what?"
Maurice raised himself onto his hind legs and let out a great bellow that shook the earth itself. Though it would not be the same as it had been, Ashton would have to be content with this much.
"I have awaited this day for a thousand years!" Maurice roared. "If anyone was to end my suffering, I would not have it be anyone else but you, Ashton of Adrestia! I wish you luck!"
Sorry if I haven't been saying a lot in these ANs. Just haven't had a lot to say these days.
Anyway, hope to see you guys next time!