Well, I know I gave fair warning about this chapter being delayed, but I still feel the need to say sorry. Really sorry.
... Really, really sorry? Honestly, I lost all drive to write this for a while. If that wasn't obvious enough by now.
Anyway, I won't dwell on the groveling – if people request more groveling later than grovel I shall, but until then I shall refrain. Rather, I will address a recent review (and, quite frankly, the reason I got my drive to write again) from Dr. Mancusio. Because, at risk of being frank again, his review was absolutely wonderful. Gave me a strong self-consciousness while writing this, but that was probably a good thing. More importantly, a very important issue was addressed, and one I really am guilty of: giving Ike as much focus as I have. Granted this was due to change soon, but that is neither here nor there. And so I scrapped everything I had written for this chapter and rewrote it. I will continue to take a Crimean-Ike-Daein perspective to better tie parts one and two together, but hopefully this chapter will grant better focus on Micaiah and the Dawn Brigade, as I realize I have been lacking in that. The story will remain unchanged, if anyone is worried about that, but... well I've already gone over what is pending to be changed.
While I'm at it, I'll contest your criticism (if that is the right term for it) of the way I have characterized Edward. Among other things, I have drawn his personality from the fact that Edward is in fact still very young, and I have thus given him a personality reminiscent of the average young soldier, eager for a good fight – all those good things, and many more. I won't say what I have planned for him, but I will say that I absolutely love Edward and (Ike and Micaiah aside) he is due to quite possibly more development than any other character. I have no intentions to pair him off (mostly because I think it is better left otherwise; that and the fact that a break has given me enough time to fully plan for other pairings), but then there's also the fact that I have no intentions to make romance the be all and end all of this fic.
So if it isn't too much of me to ask, I would love to see another review from you, if only to tell me where I stand after this attempt at repairing that issue.
And lastly, I gave a name to the small outpost that Micaiah's group is at in the beginning of this chapter – if you're careful you will notice it's closeness to Yied, the name of the desert in Seisen no Keifu. This was done on purpose, as I drew much of the more despairing aspects of the desert from that desert.
The Desert of Death proves to be every bit as taxing as rumors speak. The Dawn Brigade fights a battle against their own selves as they try to cross the dreadful desert, forced into conditions more harsh than ever before. They abandon the safety of refuge and press on. With each day the threat upon their lives grows stronger still, until their movement is as a snail's pace, each step into the soft sand labored.
Even so, they push on. Micaiah's foresight is their only ally against the desert that had taken the lives of so many others. But as is it's wont, Micaiah's foresight once again draws them toward battle...
The Greil Mercenaries, meanwhile, are given a new mission. Although with great reluctance, they take upon the task of aiding in the restoration of the kingdom they themselves brought to kneel. They descend the sloping landscape of the Talrega region and pass through the same land they fought for, retracing their steps toward the fabled defensive position at Tor Garen. A natural fortress, it is believed that they would be able to withstand the onslaught of Begnion's growing attempts to suppress the Dawn Brigade by fortifying that position. It is their hope that they can bide time for a liberation army to rise with enough force to fight on equal terms with Begnion, and they place this hope unknowingly upon the shoulders of the young Silver Haired Maiden...
Simple child games such as Hide and Seek weren't that different from some of his duties were as of late, Geoffrey had come to realize.
It wasn't enough that he'd cast aside his dignity for the mission. Oh no. Skipping out on a meeting because he was 'drilling soldiers' as a front to gather information? Spending a day with Duke Felirae as his almost too willing servant? Having Lucia dress him up – quite successfully – as a woman so he could casually invade conversations between the duke's maids? No, those sacrifices weren't enough. Which was why he was now dressed as a common thief would be dressed, carefully moving through the shadows of Castle Felirae in search of information. This wasn't an act befitting of the commander of the Royal Knights – not at all. But this was what he would need to do if he were to protect his country, which was his duty as commander of the Royal Knights.
Granted, Lucia had offered to assist with her far more... intrusive methods at gathering information. And initially Geoffrey had agreed, but they continued to come up dry. If the Duke was indeed planning rebellion, he was doing a very good job of hiding it. In all honesty, Geoffrey was beginning to doubt that any of his snooping around would find anything he could truly use against the Duke. Sure, there was the occasional rumor that his administration as the Duke of Felirae was one of questionable worth, and that he did little to actually help the public beyond providing all the basic necessities and protection. But that was no crime against the crown. That was no more than a small ripple into the waters. And it was not something Geoffrey could use against the man. If anything it was a sign that he was not inept, and thus worthy of the office he held. Subsequently, that bit of information was rather counter-productive.
The thought had crossed Geoffrey's mind that Soren had been lying – that Ludveck's rebellious intent was a fabrication on their part to escape the grip of Crimea long enough to escape. And he had to admit that if there was anyone he knew that would be willing to make use of such a plot, it would be Soren. But as self-indulgent as the Greil Mercenaries were in matters of self preservation, turning their backs on a friend nation – their home, no less – was simply not something they would do to save their lives. They'd always been ones to stand and fight to the end for their lives, no matter how beneficial other means may have been. Even on the odd occasion that Soren had suggested otherwise during the war, Ike always took the more honorable route when it presented itself. There was simply no other way he could live, which Geoffrey could only assume he owed to the influence Ike's father had on his life.
Which meant the odds of them lying were slim. Which meant dressing as a woman and other such degrading acts had purpose. Which, even for someone as courageous and loyal as Geoffrey, terrified him to the core. No man should take dressing up as a woman in stride, after all.
At long last he came across a door lined with golden embroidery and other pretty little details, extravagant work that stated the room belonged to the Duke. It was made of wood no better than any of the other doors in the castle and was thus just as easy to eavesdrop through, and it was unguarded to boot – much to Geoffrey's surprise, though reason made itself known when he considered how suspicious placing guards outside the door to your room would be. Pressing his ear to the door he listened closely for any sort of sound and, upon hearing none, slowly opened the door, stepping through and pressing it to a close behind him. The room was empty and unlit, the bed along the far wall unoccupied. Paintings lined the two side walls, and a door in the nearby corner immediately occupied Geoffrey's attention. Mainly because there was a faint light poking out from beneath the door.
"... Should have known Geoffrey would be in league with them," somebody's voice was faintly heard through the door as Geoffrey pressed his ear ever so lightly to it. Ludveck's, Geoffrey determined immediately.
"If they are alive," A pause, in which the voice of the new speaker was too low for Geoffrey to pick up, "... And kill them?"
"No, we'd... without her support," Ludveck replied, his voice suddenly considerably lower, though still loud enough to be mostly heard from Geoffrey's position.
Suspicious.
"We need her support," Ludveck went on, and Geoffrey knew fully well what they were talking about now. Not that it had been hard to figure out before. "From where they are... will be hard."
As suddenly as Ludveck's voice had dropped, the other person's voice fell to an impossibly low whisper and from there so did Ludveck's, making hearing them further quite impossible. Almost as if they... 'Oh, no...' Geoffrey shuffled back away from the door before turning on his heel and making a silent dash for the door leading back out into the hallway, throwing it open as quickly as he could without making noise. He shut it closed behind him before dashing down the hall back the way he came, stealth all but forgotten in his haste to escape what could potentially be a really bad situation. His lack of regard for stealth seemed to mean little as he rounded a corner, coming face to face with a line of Crimean soldiers, lances held outward in a very effective blockade.
"Isn't it degrading of a knight to sneak around?" a better armed soldier, presumably the leader of this particular squad, asked mockingly.
"Isn't it degrading of a soldier to follow a rebellious Duke?" Geoffrey countered, idly gripping at the handle of the short sword at his side. The handle felt cold against his fingers and he longed to tighten his grip, swing it through a few soldiers and be blessed with the searing fire that would surely course through him afterwards. But acting so rashly would be foolish, and of all the things Geoffrey was, foolish was not one of them. Swift to judge when emotion became a factor perhaps – he would not hesitate to act so rashly were it his queen threatened in such a manner as he – but not foolish.
"What is degrading about showing loyalty? We soldiers don't need to worry about what the higher ups want; we get all we need by showing our devotion to them regardless."
Geoffrey slowly began to edge his sword from its sheath, carefully eyeing the soldiers before him as they tightened their grips on their lances, ready for any sudden movement. With a sudden twist he leaped at the wall, kicking off of it and propelling himself toward the leader of the group, sword poised for a lethal thrust. No lances could move fast enough to prevent the assault. The man's eyes went wide with terror as the sword pierced the armor over his heart, through the thin mail beneath and piercing the flesh beyond. His teeth nearly shattered from the force of his grinding, determined not to show weakness even as life began to fade from his body. With one final, shaky breath, he collapsed to the ground, taking Geoffrey's sword with him.
"C-captain!" A soldier threw off his helm to review the face of a boy no older than sixteen, face contorted into unspeakable rage as he glowered at Geoffrey. The thought briefly occurred to Geoffrey that the boy was young enough that it was possible that he had been a role model to the boy, but he swiftly dismissed the thought.
Geoffrey pulled his sword from the captain's corpse, shaking off any blood that would come free, and took a fighting stance. "As Commander of the Crimean Royal Knights, I will be your opponent."
The Yie Outpost was hardly abuzz, as most settlements of its large size would be. The streets were empty, devoid of even the slightest movement. It would have been surprising to see anyone, indeed. But that didn't help stave off the sense of foreboding that crept up Micaiah's spine as she beheld the empty streets, the sand settling upon the ground and the signs blowing in a wind most eerie. If she were willing to succumb to childish thoughts, she would have compared this settlement to a ghost town. And as it was, that wasn't far from the truth.
Sothe had already led everyone else off in search of a place to stay. It had quickly grown apparent that the heat grew only stronger as they pushed further into the desert, and it had been a growing fear that the heat may eventually sap them of both the strength and will to go on. Even now the heat made Micaiah's knees quiver. Sweat poured over her body without relent, and the knowledge that water was nigh on impossible to find – only the group's quickly exhausting water reserve was accessible – thus making bathing not an option didn't help. Her skin was sticky from previously dried sweat and her hair was matted to her on all sides, no longer the silky tresses she normally was known for. Filthy was an apt description, and her only comfort was that everyone else was as bad off as she was.
Micaiah suddenly felt the familiar sensation of her fabled powers coming forth. Her mind's eye showed her a large fortress. On the horizon flew the flags of Begnion, the blaring of horns signaling their swift advance on the fortress. There were no signs of any actual fortifications at the fortress; no soldiers were visible, and the fortress itself wasn't entirely whole either. Of her visions, this was certainly a rather vague one. But the sense of dread that followed that vision was not lost upon her. Following that vague vision were a series of different ones: a soldier and a bulky knight clashing blades, a man bearing raven hair and mage-like robes standing before a small crowd of people, and countless other increasingly vague images. Beyond the raw emotion felt by those in her visions, it was impossible to tell just what each one meant. But the hope felt in every one filled her with such a renewed resolve that it was hard to imagine those images foretelling tragedy.
"To the south..." she murmured, spining on her heel to face the desert beyond their secure haven. The distance was blocked from sight by what seemed to be a scorching sandstorm, the sand itself a bloody red, creating a flaring sandstorm that appeared capable of burning through any foolish trespassers. "Our destiny lies to the south."
Her foresight had long been a powerful ally to them. When they needed despair most it was always there, alerting them of impending danger and granting them the opportunity to avert it. It was only due to this power that they hadn't been caught by Begnion long ago, in fact. They owed much to this power, Micaiah herself most of all. And so the concept that their greatest ally was now directing them into the desert once more, where they would surely come to the brink of death in their search for salvation, did not bother her in the slightest. Her newfound determination diminished not before this fact. Whatever the cost, they had to finish their journey. There was no turning back, of course.
"Micaiah?" It was Sothe, naturally. Nobody else ever dared intrude upon her more solemn moments, as he certainly had just done. The soft footsteps of her friend were heard as he approached her from behind, resting a hand upon her shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"We have to move on," Micaiah said, as if speaking to herself. Were he not used to this happening occasionally, Sothe would have thought she'd not even noticed his presence. "Back out into the desert," Micaiah added as an afterthought, looking now over her shoulder at Sothe.
"Did you see something?" Sothe asked, idly moving his hand in a back and forth motion over Micaiah's shoulder. Her posture relaxed as his idle movements aided in the removal of months' worth of pent up stress. The feeling was borderline maddening.
"... Yeah," Micaiah replied, finding it more than a little difficult given the sensation running through her tensed muscles. "Far to the south. Begnion is marching."
"They'd come out this far to get us, huh..." Sothe sighed, shaking his head. "But why so far out? Surely they know that we wouldn't have gotten that far."
"It isn't us they point their weapons at."
"Who is it, then?"
"I don't know. I saw a small group of people, a man in thick silver armor, and a boy no older than you. It is safe to assume they were part of this group."
Sothe tapped a finger to his chin, "Silver armor... only a handful of people have armor like what you're talking about. A number of them served Daein. Do you think we should check this out?"
Micaiah nodded, "Regardless, we gain nothing by staying here. In the morning we leave, and we will see where we should go next after that."
And sure enough, they left by morning's first light – although it was rather hard to find that first light in the midst of a furious sandstorm. Nailah and Volug led the way, guiding the group through the narrow passageways of sand dune-made valleys that seemed to expand far into the horizon. Traveling was slow, but the shade provided by the sand dunes' massive sizes – something accounted for by Nailah, Micaiah presumed – made surviving the desert much easier. Not having a sun blazing down on your back the entire way was a blessing. Sand continued to billow around them and cloud their vision dangerously, but that did little to damper the possitive outlook everyone had on this considerably cooler day of travel.
By mid-day Yie was a small blip far off in the distance, nearly out of sight entirely. Micaiah directed the brigade to a pause beneath the shade of a particularly large sand dune, relishing in the comfort it provided. The sandstorms that plague the desert had died to a minor annoyance, and for the first time since they stepped foot on the sandy terrain the brigade could feel truly at ease. Only Nailah and Volug refused to relax, bounding to and fro and keeping a watch most tight, as if fearing that not doing so would put the safety of the entire brigade at risk. While that technically was a possibility, Micaiah could tell simply by their surroundings that they were in no immediate danger. But if only to prevent the risk of insulting their newfound companions, she refrained from saying anything of the sort. As friendly as Nailah was – and subsequently, how unlikely it was that she would take any offense to such a remark – the mere prospect of running that risk and putting herself on bad terms with two very powerful wolves was hardly appealing.
"We've made good distance," she heard Nolan muse. He was looking toward the sky, staring almost mockingly at the sun that was helpless against his hatred. He then looks toward Sothe, who was in the process of unpacking a small amount of food and two small canteens of water, both looking rather low. Nolan accepted one of the small canteens offered, taking a tiny sip. He stared in mild shock at the canteen and turned it upside down, shaking it for extra emphasis when nothing came out. "We'd better not have much farther to go," he said grimly, tossing the canteen aside.
"We don't," Nailah responded, taking a seat next to Micaiah and giving a hardened stare to Nolan, who fidgets nervously under the unintentionally feral eyes. "The smell of iron is in the air; there is fighting just due south of here." Nolan sniffed at the air, well aware that the scent was something only a Laguz could hope to pick up on, and Nailah chuckled. "Enjoy your meal. Those soldiers aren't going anywhere."
Sothe glanced at Nailah warily, still digging through the small pack on the ground in front of him. "They aren't?"
"Whoever they are fighting is very strong. The smell of death in that area is strong, and theres no way that much death is their enemy," Nailah explained.
"That man in the silver armor," Micaiah says suddenly to herself. Catching Nailah's confused glance, Micaiah asks, "I don't imagine you got close enough to see anyone?"
Nailah laughed richly, throwing her head back as it became especially loud. "Heavens no! I am strong, even amongst my people, but to get so recklessly close to an entire army? Not even I could hope to escape with my life."
Micaiah nodded and turned to Sothe, continuing her questioning, "Was there anyone in Daein with enough strength to hold off an entire army with ease that fits the description?"
Sothe nodded eagerly, "As I said, only a handful in Tellius had armor like that. Amongst those in Daein, only the strongest did. One of them was General Tauroneo, a friend of mine."
"Do you think this is him?"
"If Ashnard's son is out here and Begnion is attacking him, I can safely say that Tauroneo would be amongst those fighting for Daein's liberation. Its a good shot."
Micaiah jumped to her feet suddenly, glancing all around their makeshift encampment, devoid of anything that would actually make it an encampment. "Sothe, get everyone fed quickly – we leave as soon as possible. I have a bad feeling about that battle, and something tells me we will find what we are looking for there."
"Take this!" Tauroneo cried, driving his lance into yet another unlucky soldier. Nearby another corpse dropped to the ground, having been lifted and carried off by Jill, only to be dropped in a bloody heap. Jill's victorious cry was enough to make any soldiers in the immediate vicinity flinch, and Tauroneo seized that opening to drive his lance into the gut of another soldier, pleased with the lack of effort it took to breach their armor. With a strangled cry that soldier fell as well. "Jill, what can you see?" he called, bringing up his shield just in time to deflect an arrow. The offending projectile clanged off his shield and fell to the ground harmlessly.
"A group approaches from the north!" she called in reply. Her wyvern began a sharp descent, the shining green scales of its long tail momentarily blinding many, and swings her axe in a carefully calculated motion. Despite the seeming difficulty of the assault, she cleanly rendered a soldier headless with what seemed to be no effort at all. Before she could fall under attack – for all of its ferocity, her wyvern was hardly the most durable of their motley crew – she began a rapid ascent, bringing herself to rest safely beyond the reach of even the best archers. From there she called down to Tauroneo once more, "They fly no flags! They don't belong to Begnion! What do you think Tauroneo, Zihark?"
Zihark was in the midst of dancing amongst a group of soldiers, fighting with both his sword and its sheath in a skilled synchronization. His hair flew every which way and he looked only more elegant for it. His leather garments were hardly any more protective than the hide of Jill's wyvern, and there were splotches of blood where a soldier had gotten a lucky hit or an arrow had struck home. He didn't seem to notice these minor wounds, moving with the same graceful speed he had all along. Soldiers fell like flies around him, struck down by his blade while his sheath worked on staving off attacks from his unprotected side. It was a makeshift defense at best, but when his blinding speed was a factor defense was a secondary issue.
"Keep an eye on them," Zihark said at last, cutting himself off with a rather dramatic grunt as his sword dug into another foe. "It could be a trap."
Tauroneo roared as he swiped his lance from left to right, knocking down soldiers in a well placed line and systematically slaughtering them by way of a definitive thrust through their stomach. "Zihark's right; keep an eye on them, and go identify them if you have an opening."
Everything grew painfully silent. Only the sounds of clashing weapons and a roaring wyvern remained. The cries of soldiers as they fell were heard, but they were brief and growing fewer and farther between. Rather than taking on the blitzing tactic they had been using, they backed off and spread themselves out, making their advances more concentrated and cautious. It did nothing to help them offensively, but the defense they formed was formidable indeed. The soldiers that did advance had enough room to do so with their shields raised, and when they attacked they struck their lances out and around their shields. Zihark inevitably pulled back, realizing the disadvantage he faced, leaving the advancing soldiers to move solely on Tauroneo, who was more than ready to meet them.
From there, everything happened so fast it was a blur. The soldiers all attacked at once and Tauroneo struggled to fend off seven lances with his own and his shield. With a calculated swing of his shield he broke the head off one lance, and another was removed from a soldier's grasp as he smacked it hard with the butt of his lance. The two unfortunate soldiers turned tail and ran immediately. Meanwhile, amidst all the chaos taking place around Tauroneo, a whole other chaos formed to the north. Cries broke out in quick succession, steel clanging was heard and claws rending made themselves known. From Jill's literal bird's eye view, it seemed as though the recent arrivals had taken the theoretical form of a large knife, cleaving their way through the Begnion ranks like butter. How they did that, given their numbers, was a mystery.
Volug was leading the charge through the Begnion ranks, dipping and lunging at any foe foolish enough to be caught in his sight. This left many soldiers on either side of him that were swept up in the following charge; Aran, Nolan and Edward cut their way through at a much slower pace, aided by the magical aid provided by Ilyana and Micaiah and the archery of Leonardo. There was no rhyme to the destruction wrought by their assault; each soldier was taken by surprise just as much as the one before and fell before they could properly defend themselves. The occasional soldier was able to put up a sound defense, but there was simply no resisting the momentum with which the Dawn Brigade moved.
"Drive toward the fortress!" Micaiah was bellowing. She threw her arm in the air, allowing a large globe of energy to form over her enemies. Slowly it descended and then exploded, catching several soldiers in its oddly destructive power. Screams of sheer agony drowned any other noises. Undisturbed by the agony she had just brought upon no less than six soldiers, Micaiah picked up the pace with which she ran. The vanguard of their small group had already nearly cleaved through the entirety of the enemy's left flank, leaving just the stragglers for Micaiah, Ilyana and Sothe – Laura kept her distance from the fighting as a whole, and the rest were far ahead.
"Micaiah, I can see the knight you spoke of!" Sothe called, Rounding a particularly large piece of rubble, the entrance to the run down fortress came into view and, sure enough, there stood the knight, crying out in outrage as he swung and defended himself in simultaneous movements. Even without the armor Micaiah surmised the man beneath to be rather bulky; even with the armor, he was far too large for the case to be otherwise. She was pleased to find that his cries were not the normal ones of exhilaration, from the thrill of the kill. Rather they seemed to be ragged, lacking any emphasis whatsoever. His cries were of despair, of having to partake in such heartless acts of violence. Beyond those noises he made he showed no signs of being bothered, as is the wont of any good soldier. Showing telltale emotion toward killing was simply unforgivable.
"Can you make out who it is?" Micaiah asked. Sothe didn't answer immediately, throwing a knife that impaled itself in the throat of a nearing soldier.
"I can't be sure, but again, I have a good idea. Lets not worry about that though – he is our ally, at least for now. Whether he is or isn't who I'm thinking, he requires our aid."
"True enough," Micaiah conceded. A roar echoed overhead suddenly, bringing Micaiah out of her thoughtful trance. She quickly threw open her tome and readied herself for a brutal – if strange – fight with a wyvern. Sothe stopped her with a single glance.
"She is on our side," he said quietly. Taking Micaiah's hand he led her quickly toward the fortress, protected overhead by the wyvern rider's watchful eyes.
"You know her?" Micaiah asked, allowing herself to be dragged, if only for the moment.
"Only one person has a rare green wyvern like that. Thats Jill, I'm sure of it," Sothe answered. He suddenly tossed Micaiah lightly to the side and brought a knife up in defense, narrowly saving himself from what would have been a very dangerous slash to the chest, possibly fatal. In what seemed to be an impossibly fast movement he lunged forward, driving his knife into the swordsman's chest. When the man's muscles went lax Sothe pressed the attack, driving his knife in at three different places, resulting in the man collapsing in a pool of his own blood. "Let's clean things up here, eh, Micaiah?"
Similarly, Micaiah spun around Sothe before coming face to face with a massively armored knight – for lack of a better term. The knight in question was covered from head to toe in armor that put Meg's defenses to shame, making the knight seem well over seven feet tall. He was holding a large axe that he spun in his grip every so often so as not to numb his grip while slowly advancing on Micaiah. As a rather crude defense Micaiah threw her arm up, mumbling enchantments rather hastily under her breath. A familiar ball of light energy formed over the knight, slowly descending upon him. On contact it viciously exploded, sending light rending through his armor, leaving all the thick armor that would have blunted any weapon set against it useless. The knight collapsed with a resounding thud.
Micaiah grinned at Sothe's surprised expression, "Alright, let's clean up."
It had been a thoughtful gesture on the part of Begnion to leave small Daein settlements like Amel intact, given their otherwise harsh occupation, Ike decided. A confusing gesture that went against just about everything the Occupation Army stood for, but thoughtful all the same.
Amel was a small town with little to it's name, save for the aforementioned independence. It was little more than the size of the marketplace at Melior, but it had a quaint feel of sheer poverty – though not the bad sort of the word – that had Ike at ease. The stuffy, upper class locales always had him on edge, like a dog eating from fine silver dishes. As lavish as they were and as deserving as Ike was of the land's kindness, it just wasn't for him – he had learned that the hard way when he left Crimea's Royal Court. It was for that reason that settling down for a night of rest in Amel made him feel like he was home, even if this particular home was amongst people who probably hated him far more than he hated them.
Of course, this independent village had it's faults, of course. If Begnion felt so inclined, it would be no surprise to Ike if they were willing to raze the village to the ground on a whim, simply to satisfy themselves. This was human nature, Ike had learned – rather harshly at that. If Begnion felt truly threatened, a few Daein citizens, who were clearly below them in every way, would mean nothing to them. They would destroy Amel without remorse if it was for what they deemed to be the right reasons.
In a small tavern rooted deeply in the village – though this may have been because it was the only tavern Amel had been blessed with – Ike waited. He sat with his feet resting along the wooden table before him, watching passers-by outside the window with a detatched sort of interest. People noticed his stares and would often grace him with a look in return, but all sped up their pace as soon as they recognized him. They all did. Even the patrons dared no approach him, fearing him to be some sort of foul demon sent by the Goddesses to rain terror upon them. Ike felt a slight twinge of insult at that, though he couldn't deny the possibility of those words three years ago. And wounds like that were not easily healed.
Ike idly began running his finger along the shoulder plate extending from the crook of his neck to beyond his shoulder, looking more like a potential weapon than a piece of armor when it came to a sharp point. He probably wouldn't be so feared if he actually looked normal, he mused. But even if people could get over the sheer size of his body – nobody that hadn't grown up fighting could have a body like his, he figured – the fact that he was armored at all times was probably more than a little daunting. And then there was the swords he used, though he was unarmed at the moment, that put just about any weapon in existance to shame. Who could reasonably carry a sword bigger than half of an average person's body, with a single hand no less, anyway?
Only Ike. Well, perhaps the Black Knight, but everyone knew what had become of him, for his folly in challenging Ike.
Ike perked up when he caught sight of what had clearly been what he was waiting for. The wooden table cried out in protest as he lifted himself onto it, crouching low and watching intently. Like a predator stalking it's pray he remained still, eyes scanning the streets with renewed purpose. Patrons and customers alike followed his gaze with interest, only to go rigidly to attention when they caught sight of the white armor, complete with the golden embroidery that they both knew and trembled before. A small red gem was planted in the chest of the white suit of armor, and the soldier beneath the suit of armor looked to be rather annoyed as he paced about, eyes scanning from side to side every so often, looking.
When his gaze locked with Ike's, he pounced. Glass shattered loudly as Ike leaped through it, reaching and tackling the soldier to the ground before he could react. In a matter of seconds Ike had him pinned beneath him, and Shinon stood over Ike, pointing an arrow in the soldier's face. Ike grunted and rolled to the side, jumping to his feet a moment later and taking his place beside Shinon. Keeping his eye on the soldier at all times, Shinon carefully kept his bow strung as it was lifted over his head, granting a few fingers the opportunity to release the ponytail holding his hair together. The long strands of auburn hair flowed over his back with an elegance unfitting of the brusque man, looking wholly unkempt and messy from lengthy periods of time contained within a ponytail.
"This the one?" Shinon asked, glowering at the still stunned soldier beneath him.
"Duke Ludveck is getting more eager," Ike noted wryly, kicking a small bit of dirt into the soldier's face. "We can expect to see more like this guy crossing the border soon."
Shinon nodded, "So what do we do with this idiot?"
Ike smirked as he looked at Shinon. Despite the fragility of their relationship, both had a sort of unspoken like for one thing. Ike grabbed the soldier harshly and pulled him to his feet, tossng him toward Shinon dismissively. "We can get answers from him. You need an outlet, so you take care of him."
Shinon wasn't about to deny that opportunity, nodding, trying to look as detached as possible. Wordlessly he grabbed the soldier's helmet and tore it from his head, revealing a man not much older than Shinon himself, with short cut brown hair and dull eyes befitting of a soldier. The soldier's eyes widened as his hair was grabbed harshly, and then he was off, dragged down the street behind Shinon. Ike watched them for a moment before turning toward the tavern, sending a look toward one of the men working behind the bar. Shaking with fear the man rushed out to Ike's side, fearing a rather harsh assault, Ike assumed. Instead all he got was a small pouch placed in his hand, the weight of a ripe apple at most.
"For the window," Ike said by way explanation, turning on his heel and walking away. Calling over his shoulder, he added, "I'm not a demon sent by the Goddesses, and I'm not going to hurt Daeins by instinct. Take care."
The tavern fell into a very awkward silence as each person individually weighed the words of their mortal enemy, the commander of the army that had subjugated them with an ease that seemed nearly impossible at the time. Granted they now saw the true strength of the man who had subjugated them, and despite their better wishes saw just why he was able to lay waste to their armies and conquer their land in so short a time. And they now had another face to plant on the feared mercenary: a strangely kind individual, even if the way he showed that kindness was strange in nature.
Ike took his time strolling through the rather empty streets of the run down town, eyes scanning from side to side every now and then. Luckily, save for that one case the streets had been refreshingly devoid of Crimean soldiers. Even so, he knew it wouldn't be long before they arrived. A scout was often a clear sign of that, and Soren's suspicion that they were being followed – which had, coincidentally, been why they stopped in Amel in the first place – didn't help the situation any. In the distance he could see the slightly higher roof of the small town inn where they had opted to stay. He pushed his way through the doorway and climbed the stairs extending to the second floor, taking passing notice of the lack of furnishings or even decoration in the stone-built inn.
The door to his immediate right upon reaching the second floor was his own. The room beyond was hardly big enough for him alone, with a small bed in the corner, a desk in the opposite corner, and a small bookshelf beside the door. Laying on the bed was his sword, all but jumping with anxiety for it's wielder's touch. Ike slung the sword onto his shoulder with a soft grunt, oddly relieved to feel his fingers around it once again. He gave it a few practise swings, narrowly missing the desk and bookshelf as he did, before setting it on the ground. The sword remained upright when he removed his hand and, satisfied that his sword would wait for him, Ike fell back on his bed. Now, all there was left to do was wait...
"Ike." So much for that idea.
"What is it, Soren?" Ike asked. His eyes opened ever so slightly and his brow creased in frustration, but he kept his voice even and toneless. "I took care of the scout. Shinon is interrogating him now."
Soren snorted, tapping his foot impatiently, "So you are going to lie here and do nothing?"
Ike shrugged, "I'd rather relax and be able to fight later than be on my feet doing nothing."
"Gatrie and Mist are tending to searching the city for more scouts. Couldn't you at least do that?"
"I ---"
"Ike!" The door was thrown aside as Boyd charged in, axe slung on his shoulder and panic evident in his features. "The city is burning! Crimean soldiers have the perimeter surrounded!"
As though struck with a sudden jolt of energy, Ike jumped to his feet, eyes hardening into a contemptuous glare. "Get Rhys and Mia, and tell them to find somewhere to evacuate the citizens to."
"Gotcha," Boyd nodded, taking off.
"Soren," Ike started, turning toward his advisor. Without even needing to be told, Soren nodded.
"Our mercenaries are too spread out to gather together, but we can at least worry about an escape route. I'll tend to that."
As soon as Soren had left, Ike hefted his sword out of the ground and onto his shoulder. As he descended the stairs and made his way toward the foyer, tenants gave him frightened glances, eyeing his sword warily. He ignored them until he was out on the streets once again – and far too soon for his liking. Thick smoke rose from burning rooftops, and agonized cries filled the air. Ike tuned them out as best he could while he tore off down the street, keeping an eye out for any overextended soldiers. His legs felt like feathers beneath him while he ran, unencumbered by the armor clinging tightly to his shins and thighs. As a soldier struck out from around a corner, Ike was able to lithely dance around the poised lance and decapitate the poor man with a clean swing across the chest.
Soren wasn't far behind, much to Ike's bemusement. A funnel of wind swung past his face and tore an offending soldier from the ground, ripping the very armor from his body and digging into his flesh before tossing him aside. Ike followed Soren's attack with one of his own, charging into the fray of a rather large group of soldiers and mercilessly cutting through them, one after the other. He ducked under a spear flying at him from the left and spun around a thrusting lance from the right, swinging all the while. His arms felt lighter than ever as the adrenaline of a good battle overtook any possible exhaustion, giving him a sense of fulfillment every time he was sprayed with the blood of a dying soldier. Just lovely.
Reality began to blur for Ike, who saw only the next foe to be rended by his sword. The only thing that mattered was the feel of his sword digging it's way into flesh and steel, to rob soldiers of their life with heartless ease. Was he finally going mad? Was his constant fighting finally beginning to try his sanity? Ike had pondered this before, but never at length. He did have some measure of sanity, he knew, but he was beginning to wonder how long that would last. This worry became all the more relevant, now that he was painfully aware of the fact that he longed to feel the numbing sensation of a good kill. There truly was no going back to a peaceful life. Not now.
"Ike, control yourself!" he heard Soren cry, reprimanding, but he heeded him not. He feared the consequences of not obeying this bloodlust far too greatly. He gritted his teeth in rage as his sword came to clash with another, and with an effortless display of strength he tossed the man aside and stomped hard on his skull, killing him instantly. Soldiers continued to crowd around, numbering at least twenty – far more than Soren had initially anticipated, given how many already lay dead throughout the small town. Each soldier held strong despite quivering visibly in fear. That fear brought Ike back to his senses harshly and he stopped, ducking low just in time to avoid a thrust that otherwise would have impaled him through the chest or worse.
"Soren, are there any openings to escape?" Ike asked raggedly, fighting to catch his breath.
"Our best bet is to break through here and escape north. We will die if we try to fight for much longer," was Soren's detached response, as though the possibility of impending doom were nothing more than a small unexpected development.
Ike nodded as he ducked under another thrust. With his free hand he grabbed the shaft of the lance and reeled the soldier in, decapitating him with a swift slash across the neck. "Where are everyone else?"
"I imagine they came to the same conclusion we have. Let's just worry about getting out of here, then look for everyone else."
Ike nodded as he took up arms once again, cleaving through the wall of soldiers before him. But they were resilient, replacing each of their fallen with another. Even the aid of Soren's incantations and searing magic didn't alleviate the situation any, and Ike soon found that hopes of moving in any direction would soon be lost. If they didn't break through soon, they would be...
"Ike, move!" Ike ducked just in time, watching as many blade-shaped gusts of wind tore at the enemy, cleaving through them like butter. Ike seized the moment presented and pressed the attack, searching for the other side of the blockade like a diver would search for the water's surface. Even fueled by adrenaline Ike couldn't shake off the growing ache now present in his arms, crying out to him for rest. But he knew better. His arms would never have rest. So long as there was conflict, his blade would be needed. This, at least, would never change. He had been born and raised with a sword in his hand, and so it was natural that he was cursed to die the same way. It was the only way a man such as him could live.
Right?
Sothe grunted with effort as he pulled a small knife from the neck of a disembodied soldier. Blood poured from the opening left in the knife's wake and stained the ground below it. The unfortunate soldier was none the wiser, having already been done in by a brutal smash to the side of the head via Nolan's axe. Next to Sothe, Ilyana was ravenously devouring an apple, and Sothe found himself envying her ability to do so in the middle of a bloodied battlefield. Something about having a snack while surrounded by the still bleeding corpses of countless enemies had Sothe at odds, though there was no denying the convenience in being capable of doing so. Or maybe Ilyana's abnormal appetite overcame any ill feelings toward her surroundings.
Around him, people ran about frantically, gathering any supplies that could be salvaged from the Begnion soldiers and mages that lay around. It was a dishonorable thing to do, Sothe knew, but given their situation he could not find it in him to be disgusted by the necessity to do so. Any weapons, be they refined spears or dulled bladed, were taken in, as were any tomes and medicine that could be secured. Much of the medicine was immediately spent on the wounds accumulated over the course of the brutal battle, with Laura doing her fair share as well. Micaiah had expressed a desire to aid as well, but Sothe hadn't been alone in forcing her to abandon the idea. Nobody had the energy to do much more than drag their feet, and Micaiah's Sacrifice was rather counterproductive in her own resting.
Such thoughts were not easy on Sothe's mind, however, and he eagerly dismissed them. With his knife he drew a small design into the exposed chest of the dead soldier beneath him; an arrowhead pointing upward, and a small cross. To anyone who may have looked, it would seem to be little more than a random drawing, a strange prayer to some unspoken God.
"What is that?" Ilyana asked, startling Sothe with her presence, her head visible from the corner of his eye, hovering a couple inches over his shoulder.
"A curse," Sothe answered, gritting his teeth as he spat to the side, taking care to miss both the man's body and his blood. "It is a prayer as well though, I suppose."
"What does it mean?" she asked in turn. Her curiosity surprised Sothe, though he opted not to show it.
"It is a request that the Goddesses pass judgment on him for his crimes. I put it on anyone I kill, time providing." Sothe sighed and stood, turning toward Ilyana slowly. "Begnion has been cruel in their occupation for three years. Rather than blame just their highest ups, I like to believe that every one of their soldiers is to blame as well, for accepting it all. They all need the opportunity to repent, in this world or elsewhere."
Were Sothe any more sure of his ability to read Ilyana's expressions from one pitiful gaze to another, he would have claimed that he saw a hint of sadness directed toward him in her lidded eyes. As it was he was hardly sure of what could be considered emotion with Ilyana, save for the frown cutely forming on her face. "Do you not hate Begnion? For doing what they have done?"
"Why should I?" Sothe asked, crossing his arms. With his hands he twirled the knives held in each, always catching them expertly by the handle once again. "Three years ago, Daein was no better than Begnion is now. Back then, we both fought alongside Begnion to crush Daein. I do not approve of their treatment of Daeins, but I do not hate them for it. If I did, I would have to hate myself as well."
Ilyana's lips flipped upward into a tiny smile, though despite that her words were no more than a simple, "I see." Nonplussed and not entirely pleased Sothe raised an eyebrow, prompting her to say something else. This proved to be a bad idea however, when she chirped rather happily, "Do you have food?"
Despite himself Sothe chuckled, but rather than answer he turned and made to walk away. Ilyana's footsteps resounded against stone behind him, loud enough to be heard but soft enough to elaborate on just how weak of body the frail woman truly was. Sothe reached into a pouch tied to his side and pulled out a small loaf of bread. Giving it a once over he knew at once he was still in no mood to eat, and with a sigh of regret he tossed it over his shoulder, listening with amusement to Ilyana's shocked cry, followed by a second cry portraying something akin to complete bliss. And then the trailing footsteps ceased, Ilyana occupied as she was with her new meal. Not unlike a pet, Sothe thought, immediately regretting the correlation.
Against the wall by the small fort's sole entrance was Tauroneo, fraught with cuts across his face and dents in his armor. It had been surprising enough for him to come out alive at all, but to see him so relatively unharmed reminded Sothe swiftly just how strong the many people whom had fought by his side three years ago were. Among them, Tauroneo had been one of the best. A master of just about any weapon placed in his hands, and almost unaffected by the lack of mobility his bulky armor provided. Had he not seen it with his own eyes in the Daein Keep, Sothe would have been unable to believe that anyone was capable of matching Ike in terms of raw speed and swordplay, and yet, Tauroneo had done so easily, fighting Ike to a draw. Few were so frightening as he.
"Tauroneo," Sothe acknowledged with a tilt of the head. Tauroneo's war scarred eyes were drawn to Sothe slowly, and they widened before masking any surprise.
"You've grown," Tauroneo stated. He pushed away from the wall and clapped a hand on Sothe's shoulder, smiling fondly. "Jill told us that the Silver Haired Maiden had come and that Little Sothe was with her, but when I saw you, I just couldn't believe it – you were unrecognizable, to say the least. You are not the same tiny boy you were but three years ago."
"You aren't the first to say that," Sothe muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and fore finger.
"And he won't be the last," a voice chimed from behind. Sothe turned on his heel as Tauroneo chuckled, watching Zihark wrap an arm around Sothe's shoulder, a gesture that would have been far less awkward had it been from the back as intended. "You've grown."
"Great to see you again too, Zihark," Sothe seethed, shaking Zihark's arm from him violently. Then, composing himself into an indifferent mask, he asked, "Why are you here?"
"Daein is my home, too," Zihark defended.
"I pegged you to prioritize your love for Laguz," Sothe stated, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, yeah," Zihark chuckled, "but Tauroneo here wanted to gather helpers in starting up an army to reclaim Daein, and asked me. He may be able to take a beating, but I don't think Tauroneo would be able to revive Daein alone, y'know?"
"If anyone could, it would be him," Sothe laughed. Tauroneo's booming laughter cut off their worship of his defensive prowess, and Sothe was jerked forward by a violent – unintentionally so – pat on the back. Breaking through an impending coughing fit, Sothe carefully asked, "So why are you guys here anyway?"
"Defending the Mad King's son," Zihark said, with no small amount of disdain at the mention of Daein's fallen king.
"Language, Zihark," Tauroneo chided. "But yes, Prince Pelleas is within these walls."
"So he is here, then..." All eyes fell promptly on the latest addition to their small party: Micaiah. Her hair was tousled and blood dried in small splotches along her face, but by comparison to her comrades she was relatively well off. Sothe couldn't help noticing how her breathing was heavy and how it came in short pants, however hard she may have tried to hide it. "What sort of man is he?"
"I imagine you are here for that purpose, maiden, so you shall learn for yourself before long," Tauroneo answered cryptically. "Provided you would be willing to fight with us, of course."
"I would have it no other way. I am Micaiah, and I would rather be referred to as such, rather than some Silver Haired Maiden." Micaiah held a hand out in offering that Tauroneo grasped immediately.
"And I am Tauroneo, a former General of Daein. I must have you know, however, that I am ashamed to admit my part in Daein being as it is now," Tauroneo responded in kind.
"Tauroneo, are you sure you should be making this decision?" Zihark asked warilly. "After all, our tactician is..."
"--- Right here. Now what has Tauroneo gone and done without sending word?" Sothe was unable to keep a growl from escaping his throat as he turned toward the supposed tactician. The tactician in question, an old man with a countenance that was unmistakable sinister, with wrinkled skin and a scowl that seemed permanantly plastered on his face. He walked with a slight limp and remained hunched over at all times. "And who are you two?"
Rather than answer, Sothe grabbed the old man by the collar of his dark colored, loose fitting robes and pressed him hard against the stone wall of the fort, growling dangerously, "Why are you here, Izuka?"
"Sothe!" Micaiah cried exasperatedly. "Stop it!"
"I won't!" Sothe shouted back, tightening his grip on Izuka's collar. "This man experimented on Laguz! He created the Feral Ones! He is scum!"
"To know all that," Izuka growled, "You must be a Begnion spy! Aren't you?!"
"I am not," Sothe responded, suspiciously calmly. "But I fought alongside them in the Liberation Army at Gritnea Tower, three years ago. The things you did there, the horrors you committed, were disgusting!"
"Sothe, stop it," Tauroneo pleaded, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I know how you feel, but Izuka is a wise man. While I feel no better than you about the past, we must accept that he is a wise tactician and can help us."
"Do so if you will, but I refuse," Sothe stated defiantly. "I will not work with a man such as him."
"Hmph, as if I care," Izuka spat, wiggling out of Sothe's grasp. "I care not if we have the aid of a few children. Children who associate themselves with their country's enemy, no less!"
"Associate ourselves with Begnion?" Sothe raised an eyebrow questioningly. "We are the Dawn Brigade. And we would sooner die than work with them, worm."
As could have been expected of such a man as Izuka, his personality did a quick roundabout and suddenly he was standing within inches of Micaiah, studying her critically despite her outraged cry of disgust. "The Dawn Brigade, hmm? Then you would be the Silver Haired Maiden... the healing touch of Sacrifice and... yes! Prince Pelleas can use you! You should be honored."
"... Excuse me?" Micaiah muttered, frowning. "He can use us?"
"And we should be honored by you telling us so?" Sothe added.
"But of course!" Izuka cried, as though the concept were one so obvious it was deserving of his clearly condescending attitude. To him, it probably was. "I dare say it was fate! Nay, perhaps my unrivaled skill in all things revolutionary and organized? Having the Silver Haired Maiden is a wonderful boon! We can win over the populace, and then... incite rebellion... topple the country... bring change, revolution... reconstruction... yes! I can make all this possible!"
"Sothe?" Micaiah asked softly, timidly. "Is he... sane?"
"I'd be all the more insulted if he was. No sane man can do what he has done."
Meanwhile, Izuka had taken to proving Sothe's point rather well. "Why, it's perfect! I will beckon – no, demand – that the foolish Senators surrender! It would be all so simple!" Suddenly he turned toward Micaiah, his eyes brimming with unrelenting glee. "Come, maiden! Meet your Royal Highness! This way, now!" And then he was off, scurrying back into the fort with a speed hardly possible of a man his age.
"Goddesses help us all," Tauroneo muttered, turning to follow after Izuka, waving a hand beckoning the others to do the same. "That man could try the patience of a stone, he could. Were he not so damned brilliant – if a little harsh – I would not be able to stand him."
"Why has he been accepted as an advisor?" Sothe asked, only barely capable of keeping his anger in check. "Surely you would have sufficed, with all your skill as a commander, Tauroneo? Was employing that madman necessary?"
"I know not of necessity, Sothe, but our prince favors him for his tallents. I doubt he knows of Izuka's past with Ashnard, however."
"I'll give my thanks for that," Sothe said through gritted teeth. "As much as I hate the man, nobody needs to be aware of such horrors."
"Indeed, but I can't help fearing the possibility of him trying such things again," Tauroneo sighed.
"What was it Izuka did?" Micaiah asked, finally overcoming her nerves and allowing curiosity to come forth.
"Izuka worked for King Ashnard directly," Sothe explained, and Micaiah couldn't help but notice the way his eyes narrowed and his lips twitched when he spoke of Izuka. "He created a drug that, when used, brought out the best of a Laguz's strength. But it also drove them insane. They were bound to their transformed states, insane and cursed with an eternal bloodlust. The perfect killing machines, but a sin to all Laguz. It was disgusting, especially given how many we had to fight late in the war."
"During your absence, I heard rumors of such horrors. How the Sub-Humans could finally be tamed, how the feral beasts of the south were no longer anything to be feared. The populace rejoiced with this knowledge." Micaiah sighed deeply, shaking her head. "I thought it was all a disgusting, unbelievable rumor. But to hear truth in those words..."
"It was difficult, but with help from our finest healers and Prince Reyson, we were able to save some of them. One of which was Goldoa's Prince Rajaion, whom had up until then been Ashnard's mount. All the same, it is a horrific moment in Laguz history, where countless of their own were lost to experiments and corruption – even now, Gallia is not yet at full strength. Such is the damage these experiments did."
Sothe's cold words cast an uneasy silence on the small group, all shaking with brimming rage. The winding hallways of the small fort seemed to blend together as they all lost themselves to their own respective thoughts on the matter. Sothe himself remained carefully indifferent, masking his emotions once again so as to not draw attention to himself later. Deep down the memory of those sights haunted him still, though he loathed to show it. Proud as he was of Daein and it's people for surviving the hardships placed upon it in the last three years, it was events like those that made the reality of what Daein had been unmistakable.
Before long, a large chamber revealed itself at the end of an exceptionally long hallway. Torches lit either side of the hallway, casting eerie shadows behind them as they went. Beyond the eerily lit hallway was a chamber far more eerie. The overall look reminded Sothe of a suitable home for a mage of the darkest sort; torches were in groups of three in either corner, and a statue depicting a God that Sothe couldn't recognize was embedded into the far wall. In the center stood a man fitting of the room's appeal, were it not for the timid expression his face wore and the obvious kindness radiating from him. In contrast to that was Izuka standing next to him, reflecting the opposite of everything kind and benevolent of the young prince. Behind them was a third person, entirely obscured by either the shadows or the dress worn, hiding their identity entirely. A passing glance from Sothe revealed her to be a woman, if only by the way the dress pushed out slightly in the chest.
Izuka eagerly rushed forward as soon as he noticed them, grabbing Micaiah by the arm and pulling her away from the group, ignoring or simply unaware of her soft grunt of surprise. "Now then," he said suddenly, as though he hadn't just rudely pulled Micaiah into the presence of himself and the prince next to him, "may I introduce to you, your esteemed Prince Pelleas, true blood son of our late King Ashnard!" Then with a hand he waved over the women. Sothe felt a familiarity he couldn't quite place as he caught sight of the green locks of hair running down her chest, though he didn't have time to try to figure it out. "And this is the royal consort of His Majesty and mother of our Prince Pelleas, the Lady Almedha."
"It is an honor, Prince Pelleas, Lady Almedha," Micaiah said politely, glancing to each in turn.
"Look at you!" Izuka gasped, his face contorted in disgust. "You are in the presence of your future King and the consort of our late King, and yet you do not bow? What kind of insolence is this? Kneel for your royalty at once, both of you!"
"Please, Izuka, that is quite enough," Pelleas chided gently. With both hands he reached out and pulled Micaiah and Sothe from mid-bow, smiling tentatively all the while. "Do not stand on ceremony with me, maiden, or maiden's sword. Up until recently I knew not I was a prince. Truth is, I am not used to nor am I deserving of such reverence."
Nonplussed, Micaiah asked, "What do you mean?"
"Until just half a year ago, I had been raised as a commoner. As such, none of this seems real to me, you know? Kings, crowns, overbearing responsibilities... I simply wasn't raised with an affinity for such things."
Modest though it may have been, Sothe couldn't help but notice the look of outrage that crossed Almedha's face, however briefly it had remained. "Don't speak of such things, my son. You are my Prince Pelleas, and you will be King – as is your birthright. Yes, mother shall protect you..." She stepped forward, pulling Pelleas into a warm embrace, "Mother shall ensure you do a fine job. None shall have your birthright, dear."
"If we're done with the pleasantries, may we get down to business, Your Highness?" Izuka coughed irritably, narrowing his eyes at Pelleas who reluctantly pulled away from his mother, nodding. "Wonderful! Now then, Micaiah of the Dawn Brigade, before your prince, I name you Vice-General of the Daein Liberation Army! You will accept, will you not?"
"Excuse me," Sothe growled, crossing so that he stood between Izuka and Micaiah, "but what exactly do you mean by that?"
"Moreover, I have no experience!" Micaiah cried. "I am honored to have such a offer placed before me, but I must decline it. Daein will need someone who can lead people, someone who has experience in matters of war and tactics. I have none of these things."
"Why does that matter?" Izuka asked, his voice icy and low with poorly hidden contempt. "You are a member of the legendary Dawn Brigade, who's every exploit precedes them, are you not? That being said, to take this offer should be an opportunity sent from the Goddesses themselves! To leave the shadows, face your foes boldly and without fear, is that not what you would wish of yourselves?"
Sothe scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, "Are we to be oblivious to such a thinly veiled plot? You wish to use Micaiah's fame to make her your mantelpiece! All hope would be drawn to us, yes, but at what cost?!"
"Must you be so selfish?" Izuka asked coldly.
"I must," Sothe declared defiantly. "Micaiah is not some tool for you to use for your gain! And if you would see her used in such a manner, than I will have nothing to do with this army."
"Sothe is right. I will not be made a tool of," Micaiah added. With a brief nod to one another they turned around, walking toward the long hallway that would lead them through adjoined hallway after adjoined hallway, back out into the unyielding climates of the desert where they would inevitably have to tell their friends that they came all this way for nothing, that their only hope of putting up a solid fight was worthless and that they – a group of well trained but otherwise outmatched fighters – would be fighting Begnion's occupation in a do-or-die suicidal confrontation. Micaiah winced at the mere thought of how well that would go over with their allies.
"Micaiah, please, hear me out!" Pelleas cried. Sothe gave Micaiah a carefully calculating look as she slowly came to a stop, cursing under his breath as she turned to face Pelleas. "You aren't alone in this Micaiah. I know nothing either! Yet if I do nothing, Daein will suffer all the more! I cannot be frightened, and I cannot hide. Despite my worry, I have to be brave. So, if only for Daein's future, may I ask the same of you?"
Micaiah's hardened stare didn't waver once during his emotional speech. Carefully choosing her words, she asked, "Will you be able to promise me that, no matter what, Daein will be restored?"
"To the best of my abilities, I shall."
"In that case, I will lend you my strength, Prince Pelleas. I pray my trust is not misplaced."
Gritting his teeth was the only thing Sothe could do to avoid crying out his vehement objections to the idea. Instead he looked toward Pelleas and, keeping his voice as level as possible, asked, "May I have a moment with her?"
"I am in no position to keep you from speaking, friend," Pelleas responded pleasantly, which served only to enrage Sothe all the more. But he managed to keep his emotions in check while he pulled Micaiah into the hallway where, out of the view of everyone else, he pressed her to the wall, pinning her in place with his arms.
"Sothe?" Micaiah asked, seemingly unbothered by the situation.
"What are you thinking?" he demanded in a hushed whisper.
"We need to do this, Sothe. I thought that was why we were coming all the way out here," Micaiah responded evenly.
"But you..." Sothe cried out in quiet rage and slammed his fist against the wall, his entire body quivering with anger. "I can't believe you would be so careless!"
"I fail to see why you are so angry, Sothe!" Micaiah shot back hotly.
"You know exactly why I am angry! We cannot live in the public eye and yet you, for whatever Goddess forsaken reason, see fit to throw yourself right into the open!" Sothe's breathing slowed and his face faded into indifference. He pressed his forehead to Micaiah's, saying quietly, "It isn't like you, Micaiah. I'm just looking out for you."
"These past three years, Sothe," Micaiah said, just as quietly, "they changed me as well. If Daein can be protected, I will protect it. Is that unreasonable?"
"You would do so even if it means risking everything?"
"I would." Micaiah's face showed a determination that took Sothe by surprise, and he slowly backed off. "That isn't all there is, Sothe. We aren't alone in this, Sothe. Prince Pelleas wants the same thing we do, I can feel it. With his help, I know we can do it."
"Prince Pelleas is kind, Micaiah, but he is not strong. We cannot expect so much from him." Sothe sighed, running a hand through his hair swiftly. "And what of that voice you spoke of? Does it not warn you of impending danger?"
"It cries out to me of the danger before us, Sothe, but it is also brimming with hope. Our future is not completely clear, Sothe, but we can do this. Perhaps it is better that we not know what is to come, though."
Sothe nodded, "I won't try to believe in this decision. But I won't fight it anymore either. I trust your decision in this matter, however. More importantly, I believe in you." Before Micaiah could react, Sothe had her enveloped in a comforting hug. "But remember, Micaiah. I will protect you, okay?"
"I know that, Sothe!" Micaiah cried exasperatedly.
"So long as you remember, Micaiah." And with that Sothe was gone, looking far too solemn for Micaiah's liking.
"... Thank you, Sothe."
Acclimating one's self to the natural selfishness of advisors, politicians and nobles was something Elincia had never quite gotten used to. Try as she might, she just couldn't understand them. Why was their greed more important than the country? Why did their decisions benefit themselves and not the country? Why did the civilians, the people who actually suffered when the country was in disarray, not get what they deserved? Elincia wanted nothing more than to devote all her efforts to appeasing the people, to fostering a country so strong internally and externally that it would be a model for centuries to come. But those around her – the damned advisors, politicians and nobility – made this a hopeless endeavor.
Granted, it didn't help that Elincia's aides were widespread and engaging in a variety of tasks. And it went without saying that internal stability was out of the question when the commander of your Royal Knights is not only accusing one of the regional Dukes of treason, but also rather openly trying to dig up information supporting such a claim. Indeed, Queen Elincia was not one to be deterred from a difficult task – she'd not be queen at the moment if she did. But this particular task, one that was quite possibly the epitome of her ideals, was akin to the task of swallowing Begnion whole with just those same Royal Knights.
"Your Majesty, may I suggest the possibility of you getting married?" A rather pompous noble, frail and pale skinned with large pockets in which the amount of his skin exceeded the amount of room for said skin. His skin looked like he was well over one hundred – daunting indeed, in and of itself – despite the fact that he was little over eighty.
"Why," Elincia started evenly, her voice devoid of anything that could possibly be used to trace how she truly felt about the matter, "would that be a good idea? Enlighten us, Sir Ophalt."
Ophalt nodded immediately, undeterred by the edge in Elincia's voice, "At this time, Your Majesty, our country needs something to cling to. There is the potential threat of civil war – which is no secret amongst the populace, I assure you – and there is the deal with the Greil Mercenaries, our heroes, and their treason. The country desperately needs that small bit of happiness; a ray of light in these dark days, you could say."
Elincia's expression remained impassive, even as she said venomously, "And I take it that, in making this suggestion, you already have a suitor in mind you would like to propose."
"Your Majesty is no slouch with her wit," Ophalt remarked, drumming his unmanicured nails against the polished wood of the round table. "I have a grandson not five years your senior. I propose him not out of greed, but rather for his merits. He is a prodigy of anything pertaining to academics, and has already displayed a great potency for leadership. He is as fine a suitor as any, and considering him is in all of our better interest."
"I see," Elincia acknowledged wryly. "However, if I were to consent to this proposal – and I have said no such thing – the suitor will be of my own choosing. I will not succumb to the will of an arranged marriage, nor will I allow such a thing to become custom in this country. I will wed of my own will. Does anyone have objections to that?"
"Within reason, Your Majesty ---"
"--- Not within reason!" Elincia shot back hotly. "If it were my decision to do so, I would wed a commoner. Crimea will not become a country centered around it's nobility; it's people are it's heart, and they shall thus receive the attention they are due! Have you any objections?!"
"... Yes, Your Majesty," Ophalt muttered shakily. As soon as the bout of nervousness had passed he composed himself once again, reverting to the pompous attitude he had displayed all along, "But will you give my suitor the time of day, at least? You owe your country that much."
Elincia snorted, "You speak as though I have agreed to this proposal."
"Will you not?"
"I have not yet decided," Elincia admitted, shaking her head slowly. "I will acknowledge the merit of your suggestion, Sir Ophalt, but the fact remains that there are other pressing matters, and tying myself down with preparations for a wedding is not the best thing to do at the moment."
"If it would ease Her Majesty," Ophalt now spoke with a highly subdued tone, full of respect that Elincia knew was used simply to the end of her persuasion, "I am sure we could take care of the details while you busied yourself with Crimea and finding a suitor. Surely you could do both?"
Elincia nodded slowly, weighing the options in her mind. On one hand she could accept this proposal, go into talks of marriage as she was, despite not really being ready for such things. On the other she could turn them down, which would likely serve only to alienate herself further from the members of her court. Neither particularly appealed to her, although the latter was clearly the more threatening of the two prospects. Finally she said, her voice dripping with contempt, "I will consider marriage, if it would please you so. However, for the time being I shall do so of my own volition. If I have not found a suitor in five months' time, you may begin to present suitors to me. Is that acceptable?"
Ophalt nodded almost too eagerly, unable to keep his glee in check any longer. "That would be more acceptable indeed, Your Majesty. Surely nobody is of a different opinion?"
And of course, nobody was. Pompous nobles indeed – selfish, every last one of them.
The tall oak doors behind Elincia opened, and dramatic clapping filled the tense air. Elincia watched her peripherals warily as Ludveck came into view, grinning like an idiot. "You have a strong head on your shoulders, Your Majesty. If only you dedicated that strong head of your's to things that mattered, instead of conversing about frilly white dresses and knights in shining armor."
"I am to believe," Elincia started, not turning her head as she spoke, gracing the round table in front of her with her utmost attention, "that you have a topic of such import to discuss, then?"
"I do indeed. One of great import, if I may be so bold," Ludveck boasted. His grin faded as soon as he had come fully into Elincia's view. He sat along the edge of the table, staring down at Elincia with cold contempt, "Because if you had actually spared a thought for these important matters and had been doing your job as our sovereign, I would not have lost almost half of Felirae's forces in Daein two days ago."
"And why were your forces in Daein to begin with?" Elincia asked, all the while berating herself for her lack of care for the death of all those men.
Ludveck shrugged nonchalantly, "Pursuing rumors you dismissed without any regard for their truth. And now I have lost another large force to the great mercenary Ike. The same Ike that we were led to believe was slain by your Royal Knights."
A disturbed silence fell over the court. Low murmurs broke out amongst the various nobles, advisors and politicians, all weighing the value of Ludveck's words. Ludveck deprived them of the chance, continuing, "As it stands, our nation's heroes are guilty of treason on two separate accounts. I believe I have the right, now, to request the deployment of an official army to drag the Greil Mercenaries back to Crimea, so that they may face their crimes. Surely that is not unreasonable."
"Your Majesty, if I may," a man seated next to Ophalt said, dressed regally in white robes and a cap, golden embroidery stitched into the fabric. He was one of Elincia's personal advisors, and he was clearly not afraid to flaunt his position. "Duke Ludveck is right. While we cannot be certain that Sir Ike is actually guilty of any of the crimes the Duke has placed on him, we at least need to bring him in to hear his account."
"Your Majesty," Lucia spoke up for the first time, leaving her place leaning against the wall to come around to Elincia's side. "I believe we should gather more evidence before we risk provoking not only Begnion, but also the Daein resistance forces situated throughout the country."
"This is coming from the woman," sneered Ludveck, all pretense of kindness gone as he regarded Lucia, "who's brother has been snooping around my manor for days now." Lucia let out a strangled cry and shifted her attention to Ludveck, who only grinned all the wider at Lucia's shock. "Why, may I ask, is that?"
"Nothing sinister," Lucia quickly stated, conjuring a believable excuse in her mind in a matter of seconds. "But since you were the one victimized by Sir Ike, is it not reasonable to assume there may be incentive found in your manor?"
"Like what?"
"It goes without saying that your soldiers went to the Greil Mercenaries' hideout of their own accord; they were not provoked by Sir Ike in that regard. Would you care to tell us the reason for that?"
It was a longstanding battle of wits that the two frequently engaged in. On just about every encounter, Lucia's wit fought with Ludveck's over one matter or another. And this was no different. This time, Ludveck decided, he wouldn't lose. He wouldn't succumb to defeat of their ethereal plane, as he had on several occasions before. No, he would back Lucia into a corner and drive his point home. "I hoped to convince the Greil Mercenaries to return to court, especially with the growing extremities in Daein. We could use his strength now more than ever. Or are you not in agreement, Lady Lucia?"
Lucia scowled, mentally congratulating Ludveck – albeit bitterly – for worming his way out of her trap. "I will not disagree. However, if the threat in Daein rises, shouldn't it be us, and not the Greil Mercenaries, who settle it?"
"If the Greil Mercenaries returned to court, their achievements would be our own, would they not?" Ludveck countered.
"Sir Ike is a man with a price tag. You cannot say things such as that lightly. And moreover, we would be looked down upon if we were to be reliant on his strength. We need to develop our own strength, internally and externally." Much to Lucia's satisfaction, she could feel the blood boiling beneath Ludveck's skin as she drove him back further. Everyone else watched in dazed silence, more than eager to allow the matter to remain between Crimea's greatest minds, Count Bastian aside.
Ludveck nodded sagely, as if considering Lucia's words for a brief moment – everyone knew this was a condescending act, and act which could only be seen as insulting between the two of them. Ludveck watched Lucia for any signs of her wanting to speak before he said, an air of triumph lacing his words, "And will we be fostering internal strength by letting this blow over? The fact remains that the Greil Mercenaries have attacked Crimea's forces on numerous occasions, some with and some without provocation." Lucia's eyes widened as she realized the trap that had just been sprung, but by the time she had realized it, it was far too late. In a battle only they truly understood, Ludveck delivered the finishing blow by saying, "We need to at least threaten them, else we shall never have the respect of the people."
The silence that followed was so tense that one could almost hear the sweat dripping from another's nape, splashing almost inaudibly to the ground or onto their chair. Looks were exchanged nervously, and everyone was anxious to hear their queen's verdict on the matter. Only Ludveck remained composed, convinced as he was that his appeal would be heeded. Finally, Elincia dashed the hopes of not only Lucia, but several others as well, when she said, "Mobilize our forces." Those simple words sent a cold chill through many. Elincia's friendship with Sir Ike was no secret amongst the court, and subsequently it was quite a surprise to hear her warranting their capture, or worse, so evenly.
The days to come would be long indeed. And they would try Crimea to it's fullest.
And there is the end of a chapter that was long overdue. I particularly disliked the fighting in this chapter, to be honest, but I let it slide. More importantly, though, is that I am truly confident that my writing was otherwise satisfactory. Beg to disagree? Want to leave me a word of two of agreement? I'd love either, really.