I am excited to finally be writing for a game that had a lot of impact on me growing up.

This story is based on the question "What if Mark was like the newer tacticians and had supports with the characters?" I have been thinking about this for longer than is probably healthy, and finally decided to give it a try.

Mark is referred to with they/their pronouns in this fic.

EDIT: Since there's been a couple of comments on this topic, I made Mark's pronouns they/them to pay homage to the fact that Mark's gender is chosen by the player, and the fact that the default name is Mark either way. The idea is to mimic the game, so the readers here are able to think of Mark in whatever gender they like, or in none.

Support C

Sweat pouring down her brow, Lyn called it a day on her training, and sheathed her blade. She strode through the tents, the setting sun casting deep orange, dark yellow, and saccharine red hues across the canvas in a premature autumn. Strong wind pulled at the moorings of the tents, testing the resolve of the stakes pounded into the ground, and roared through the crevice in which they'd erected their camp for the night.

Her hand lingered on the hilt of her blade, even as she walked amongst friendly and familiar faces. Some of the soldiers greeted her as she walked past, and she gave them an answering nod in turn, accompanied by a smile for the ones that she knew on a more personal basis.

The command tent was situated in a strategically defensible spot within the camp, rocks hemming in on two sides. A steep, rocky incline blocked a third, and a dozen other tents prevented a direct approach from the remaining side. Eliwood and Hector's voices rose from within the tent, arguing over their next move.

Lyn would have joined them, but a flutter of green in the corner of her eyes drew her gaze away from the tent. She smiled at the sight of a tattered and discolored cloak, whipping fiercely in the wind, its owner sitting below the tent on an outcropping of rock in the sharp hillside.

"Mark!" she called out, drawing the attention of the tactician. "Do you mind if I join you?"

Her friend smiled up at her. "Your company is always welcome, Lyn." Their quiet voice, somehow not lost in the roar of the wind, was warm. "I am merely enjoying this moment of peace while it lasts."

She picked her way cautiously down to the rock upon which Mark sat. It was a dark grey, a mirror shade to the swollen clouds that had prompted an end to the day's traveling. It jutted out of the hill, providing a sweeping vantage point of the valley far below. Both tactically sound, and a breathtaking view, it was clear why Mark had chosen it.

"How goes your training?" Mark asked her, as she lowered herself to sit beside them. The wind had ruffled their hair into a brown, shaggy mess of strands.

Tucking an errant strand of her own hair behind her ear, Lyn replied, "It goes well. I trained every morning at Castle Caelin, so my skills would not become rusty. It helped me to feel… connected to everyone we journeyed with, even though we were spread far between."

Mark's expression turned pensive, though a smile still played at the corners of their mouth. "Is that so? I'm happy to hear it. Your skills with the Mani Katti have kept us both safe through many a bad scrape."

Lyn sighed, and turned her gaze out towards the valley. Purple and blue crept up the mountain's face, as the sun sank lower on the horizon. "I… I sometimes wonder if it isn't watching over us and keeping us safe," she confided in them. "Do you think that's strange?"

Their gaze followed hers, soaking in the richness of the vista laid out below them. A hawk cried out in the distance, hunting for their dinner. They remained silent for a moment as they thought through their answer. "Not at all," they finally said, their brown eyes returning to Lyn. "It was one of our first stops on our journey, wasn't it? I think it's as much a part of Lyndis's Legion as Wil is."

That made her smile, and she faced them with a new question. "How have you been this past year, Mark? I listened for word of you, but I did not catch even a hint of your trail."

"Oh, I've been here and there. Not much to speak of, really. I've been studying my craft, but mostly in the form of tactical tomes." They let out a soft laugh. "Nothing so exciting as what we went through during Lundgren's uprising."

After that, the conversation lapsed between them – the pair content to let the wind fill their ears instead. Scraggly mountain grass, clinging to the rock-strewn hill, rustled in the twilight. Petrichor soon filled their nostrils as the first droplets of rain fell not too far from their camp.

Then above them, the raised voices of Eliwood and Hector drifted down to their ears. Their voices were heated, though their words were rendered unintelligible by the distance and the approaching storm.

Duty called, and the peace of the moment between them was shattered.

Standing, Lyn ignored the way her limbs creaked. She bent to offer a hand to Mark, and when they took hold of it, she helped them to their feet. "I'm afraid we need to get going for now, but maybe sometime soon we can catch up properly?"

The offer hung in the air between them, their calloused hands still clasped together.

"I'd like that very much, Lyn," Mark said, their eyes crinkling at the corners as they smiled.

"As would I." Her words were heavy on her tongue. "It's good to travel with you again, Mark."