((A little shameless character introduction here, I know, but it's for the greater good. Actually, I need all you reviewers to tell me this... I have a lemon planned for the future. Shall I post it here, and bump up the rating, or post it on keep the rating the same, and post it so that you only have to read it if you want to? o.o'' Meh, whatever. :p
Thanks to all my reviewers! And, without further ado...))
Ch. 7: Departure
Dear… Diary…Is this how Fa is supposed to write? Fa's handwriting is bad, but Fa will get better. Fa doesn't know what we're doing… but it looks like we're going to go again. Where are we going to go? Fa doesn't know… but at least Fa will get to see more of the outside world. It's very pretty.
…Now Roy says that we go to Frelia. What is 'Frelia'? Fa doesn't know… it sounds like funny food, though. Maybe you can see it… Can Diary see the outside world? Fa hasn't seen it very much, compared to others, but… Fa will see more. Fa doesn't want to be a bad dragon, though, so Fa will have to ask Igraine first.
…No, Igrene's kinda grumpy… Fa knows! Fa will ask Roy. And Fa will go grab some yummy fruit for Mr. Diary. Bai, bai!
-Fa
The campgrounds were instantly embroiled in groans of disdain and exhaustion as the now very large army gathered up their equipment and took down their tents, with each getting ready to leave as sleep dragged heavily in their eyes. Fa and Myrrh seemed to be the only ones immune to this harsh cycle of sleeping and waking… and, with their small stature, it was also not a surprise that their respective tent mates had to fold up the tents themselves. Fa had almost gotten lost in all the folds of cloth, with only her mutters of, "Fa is lost!" alerting Igrene of the precious cargo that had almost been tied up with the rest of the tent. Had the poor girl been thrown in Merlinus's wagon with the rest of the supplies, who knows what the poor little mamkute would have done… but she doubted very much that the caravan would still have been intact after an endeavor like that.
The poor woman couldn't tell for the life of her why the little mamkute had gone off to swipe a fig from Merlinus's cart, but didn't think twice before reprimanding her for ruining the pages of what looked to be quite the ornate diary.
Hawkeye had tied up Myrrh's tent before placing it in the wagon, since her tent mate Ellen was also too weak to quickly and effectively tie it up single-handedly. Those who had already completed their tasks had gone around to help the others, though Hugh, Farina, and Rennac had each charged a hefty sum for their services. Not surprisingly, these three were very well left alone as the others continued packing their things. Extra weapons were handed out in case of emergency, and the lords had already begun to pair up the units for the journey ahead. They planned a march to the Frelian capital to regroup, where they would then move as circumstances saw fit.
Eliwood sought council with Lyn, Hector, Innes, and Ephraim regarding the choice to leave, and found that he, too, found it to be for the best. Eirika was still unconscious, and L'Arachel had violently disagreed regarding their decision to move camp, insisting that they should stay and fight the beasts of evil with the power of righteousness. Needless to say, she was quickly overpowered by the almost-unanimous decision to leave in favor of conserving their resources, and was quite disgruntled about the arrangement. Volunteering to travel in the back when they began their march, L'Arachel had been granted the 'privilege' of guarding their backs against any monsters that might have otherwise caught them unawares.
However… as the rest of the army had been packing their respective items of interest, two of their number had gone off alone to seek a little bit of time to speak privately, with the one pulling the other away ignoring her spouse as she left.
Urgency and dread filled the air around the pair as a certain Ostian thief was pulled aside by the little green haired mage from Bern…
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Brushing back the dark magenta locks that brushed before her eyes, a woman lay in wait, staring in an almost predatory fashion at two lone bandits as she lay in complete silence. Normally, she'd never stoop so low as to spy on the likes of common street urchins turned warriors, but this was different. The circumstances were different, her employer was different… rather than serving under a Marquess, she now served unwillingly beneath the iron hand of a force she could not even consider defying. She had seen his power firsthand, and did not intend to join the ranks of those he had killed in cold blood. So now, she had no choice but to seek out the strong, and hope they were enough for her temporary master's thirst for power.
Having left her country of origin in favor of the bandit-ridden lands of Magvel, she had found herself faced with the most advantageous of scenarios as luck smiled upon her near Frelia's border.
Two men, each rippling with muscles as they hoisted their axes on to their shoulders, chatted to each other beneath her perch, feeling particularly strong while in the cover of the darkness. Each man had forged his own name in the darkness, had claimed countless lives and many gold pieces by sneaking about in this covering veil. Each man held a burlap sack, with the first man holding a bottle of wine in his while the other seemed to be carrying only currency with him. Turning to each other, the first spoke, chuckling a bit as he did.
"Eh, it ain't so bad, is it, Batta? The recent events, I mean." The first one smirked, slapping the second on the back. He responded in turn with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders, dismissing the rather painful gesture it as nothing special as he replied in turn.
"What, coming back to life and all? Damas, you know better than to ask me a stupid question like that. After that plains wench cut me in two, I thought I'd never see another burning village to loot again. Ah, it's good to be back in the business." Laughing heartily as the other joined him, the woman saw her chance to strike. Each man was overconfident, drunk on their own recent victory in a small village bordering the Border Mulan… and each was just as foolish to have put their axes in such a position as to render their defenses utterly nil.
"Yeah, you're right. 'Ere, I got some wine from the poor sap we ransacked. Let's drink to victor--… Batta!" It took Damas's slower mind a few moments to figure out what had just occurred as, with a groan of pain, Batta fell to the earth and was no more.
Having falling from her seat in the branches of a tree, all it had taken was the simple of pointing her daggers downward and letting gravity drive the blades to fell Batta the Beast. Having driven her knives to the hilt into the spine of the bulky, overconfident brigand, he stood no chance of survival as the stunned man could only gasp in shock before falling, just as he had all those years ago. Unlike his first and last encounter with Lyndis, he was not even offered the chance to speak one last time before death had enveloped him in its cold embrace once again. Damas, too shocked to truly fight back against the deadly woman, could only play defensively as she struck at him time and time again with her daggers outstretched.
Knowing it was she who would eventually tire first, Damas continued his tactic, watching as her pattern of flurried strikes against his mighty axe. After a few minutes, the girl's strikes slowed down momentarily, and left her left side quite vulnerable to a strike with his mightier weapon. Seeing this as a weak point in her offense, the man let a grin cross his face before, letting his defense drop momentarily in favor of offense, he swung his axe in an arc to strike the woman. He smiled as a thin spray of blood coated the air, but then realized that something was amiss when a blazing pain erupted in his abdomen.
The slowing strikes were but a ruse concocted by this silent killer, which clearly showed through the daggers that now lay buried within his abdomen. Blood seeped past her blades, but even more appealing to her was the slow but steady stream of emerald energy that erupted from his body. Unfortunately, the said flow stopped relatively quickly, leaving her to get up and move to the other corpse to harvest his energy, as well. However, to her dismay, he held with him less quintessence than the first. This just wouldn't do… how would she acquire enough in her set period of time to win her freedom from the blackheart who had supposedly slain Elbert?
Leila wiped the daggers on her side, sheathed them, and moved off to the more heavily forested areas around Border Mulan. She could hear hushed voices whispering, and could only hope they were more hapless victims that could help her win her freedom… smirking, she rushed there as quickly and quietly as they could, making sure she was virtually undetectable in the night.
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Once they had safely made it away from the rest of the troops, the sandy blonde thief could only look with fear and dread at the small and clearly distressed mage before him. It appeared that the girl had done all she could to prevent herself from breaking into a wave of tears before him, and he knew very well why. And yet… it was a tense few seconds that seemed like an eternity to them before she began to speak.
"M…Matthew… I… I…" Losing her reserve and beginning to lightly sob, Matthew reached out to lightly embrace her for support. However, the mage backed away slightly, shaking her head violently in response to his approach. She needed to be by herself for a few seconds… but she still needed someone to listen to her, to hear her out. Reading her easily, Matthew backed off, allowing her to speak again. "I… I don't know what to do… I'm… I'm so confused, Matthew!"
"Nino…" Hearing a rustle in the trees but dismissing it as a harmless animal, Matthew returned his attention towards her. She had gone through so much… and he felt so guilty for having put her through the vast majority of it. He could find no words to ease her pain, and yet found that silence hurt her almost as much as insincerity would. Wincing at the pain he knew she was going through, he asked slowly, "What… what do you want me to say, Nino?"
He could not feel the pair of suspicious and jealous eyes that were pointed at the emerald-haired mage as she made her response. How could he have known, after all, that his former lover now looked upon the girl with utmost scorn and suspicion? He had disregarded her presence once before, and it had been her death… would he do it again, but this time to her heart? Would he tear her apart, or would he profess that he cared for no one but her?
"Tell me what to do! I… I… he came back, Matthew! Don't you understand! He came back! After he left… he… he said he never truly left me, but… I died looking for him, Matthew!" Completely losing her composure, she let the tears flow freely down her cheeks now. The pain was as real as it was when the man she loved had left her, all those years ago, and old wounds had been painfully torn open once again just as they had healed. Now allowing him to embrace her, she shuddered from the tears as she sobbed quietly into his cloak.
"I… I know. But… what about Chad? What about us?" He didn't mean to make the scenario any worse than it already was, but it was a topic that needed to be addressed. All those years ago… she had turned to him when Jaffar left her. He had comforted her, told her of his pain when his own love had left him; at first, it became a tragic story of comforting support changing over time to become love, but as the years passed by… it had seemed as if the whole world had turned against them.
"I don't know! He's my husband, Matthew! I am bound to marriage by law … what am I supposed to do?" She choked out these words as sobs overtook her… past crimes returned to her mind in full force, and the guilt behind them also barraged her conscience. Holding her closer than ever, he whispered words similar to those he had whispered so long ago as he reminisced on events past…
"I'm sorry. I knew in my heart that it was wrong, but… even though you were his… I love you, Nino."
He never heard the rustle of the trees or the soft cry of shock and pain as the former Ostian spy left, her heart brutally torn asunder by those four last words.
-Flashback-
Tears had been streaming down her face then, too, as she had sat dumbfounded at the local Ostian pub that lay not ten minutes away from the castle where she knew Hector inhabited. She didn't care that well over half of the men in the bar leered at her now fully developed seventeen-year-old body, nor did she care that her sons had been left at home. She had hired a babysitter to care for her one-year-old twin sons, Lugh and Rei, and now saw no reason why she shouldn't have at least an afternoon to herself. Her children were too young to understand that their father had left them, disappearing for who knows what reason to leave her alone to care for their offspring. What was she to do but drown in her despair? She couldn't care less what happened to her at this point… she could have been raped, have her every possession stolen and be left an inch from death, and still she would have been no more miserable than she felt now.
"…Nino? Is that you?" Barely turning to address the soft voice that came from behind her, she weakly acknowledged him with a weak nod. She vaguely remembered his voice from three years past, but could not place his voice to a face in her memory. She didn't go through the effort of trying, either, remaining glued to her seat and nursing the shot of ale in her hands to her lips.
"…Yes. He left me, you know. I don't know why. What did I do wrong? Is it something wrong with me? My sons? My home? I don't get it." Letting her cares fall from her lips as she laughed bitterly at her own plight, she heard the mysterious greeter approach her, moving to take a seat in the wooden stool next to her. Ordering a round of his own, the kindhearted thief draped a supporting arm around her… not particularly caring about his close proximity at the moment but at least appreciating his good intentions, she allowed him to remain there as he tried to reassure her.
"I went through the same thing… true love, and all that… and watched it all fall apart. But, then again, I was never married, either… I was going to propose, but the next time I saw her, she was…" Unable to keep up his cheery demeanor as his memories went back to Leila, even an emotionally numb Nino could hear the heartfelt hurt in his voice at her mere mention. That's how she felt whenever she tried to bring up Jaffar, too… even cheery Rebecca hadn't known what to do when she had broken into tears upon telling her of his departure. Glad at least that someone understood but feeling slightly guilty for wishing understanding of this sort on someone else, she leaned gently into Matthew's embrace and allowed herself to be comforted by his presence.
"I just… I can't figure it out… why did he leave, Matthew? Am I not what he wanted?" Closing her eyes and letting the tears fall, she felt a reassuring hand move up to gently brush the tears away. He could feel the guilt well up inside of him at feeling this way towards her… ever since he saw her, he thought of her as a sort of little sister… but now, looking back, he saw that he had seen her for something else, as well. She was not truly seen to him as a sister, but as a kind, caring girl who could learn to cherish the things in life that most took for granted… and now, as he predicted, she was a kind mother, wife, and lover for a man who must have taken such things for granted. While it infuriated him to see her in pain at his account, as he had wounded his soul through Leila, as well, he knew that she needed him to be there more than he ever needed to slay the man that had flayed their hearts.
"Don't say that, Nino… he took you for granted. He was foolish… But then… we are all fools in love, aren't we…?" Sighing as he gently held her in his arms, she allowed herself to enjoy the comfort once again of being held in someone's embrace, whether it be lover or otherwise. Still shocked slightly at the news, however, she allowed herself one more question… and prayed it wouldn't send him away.
"…He killed her, Matthew. I know he killed Leila." She felt him flinch at her softly whispered words, but continued to speak. "Am I… I was associated with him, even before we joined the Black Fang. Are you… are you trying to hurt him through me?"
"Never… Never." Shaking his head fiercely as he hugged her closer, she could feel the strain he felt… sorrow, despair, anger, and guilt raged within him, but malice had no home in his heart. "I always… I've always envied him. I suppose it was just something else he took from me… my beloved, my heart, my soul… only after he married you did I notice that is was not Leila who had been lost… but you."
"M…Matthew?" She felt his grip loosen at this, as if he expected her to pull away. And he couldn't see why he hadn't already… he had said too much. His feelings were interfering with his judgment, and said attribute was already bruised as it was. He had fallen for a girl five years his junior, and had not even had the pretense to avoid her before this weakness soon tugged at his heart every time he saw her with his worst foe. Too many times had he gone spying on his own, seeing if there was anyone else who could distract him from the girl… Serra had not turned out to be the best girlfriend material, and Guy had proven to be a bit too… male for his tastes. He had danced with everyone in camp, attempted to woo every willing person, woman or otherwise, all the while carefully avoiding Nino… and yet, nothing could stop that dark, sinful thirst to see her only as his.
Every lover he took could only please him if he pictured the girl's face on him or her instead… a painful revelation, to be sure. Once, he had even cried out her name amidst his throes of passion, though Serra had been too encompassed in her bliss to care. He was a beast, he knew, but it took time to realize that what he felt was not lust, but loneliness… he yearned to see her, smiling by his side. He wished to hear her cheery voice, cordially chirping in the spring air as she had done so often for Jaffar. He wished for what he knew he couldn't get, and felt guiltier than ever to see her in pain because of what he had yearned for, despite the fact that he was in no way involved with the assassin's disappearance. And to think, he had even wished for this to happen; to have an opportunity to win her heart, even at the cost of her husband's life. Never before had he taken into account how much pain she would suffer, being torn away from him so brutally… and he knew her children would suffer, as well.
"I'm sorry. I knew in my heart that it was wrong, but… even though you were his… I want to make you happy, Nino. I… I can't bear to see you in pain… Not when I can stop it." Feeling her warmth never once moving away from him as he spoke, he felt her move closer, wrapping her arms around him to support him, as he had done for her. Scooping her into his embrace once again, each of them let their tears fall, never once caring about the fact that they were two people, crying in the publicity of a bar.
Despite this, Nino had been smiling contentedly, for she had not remembered being so blissful in so long… so long…
-End Flashback-
Knocking them brutally from their thoughts was a thunderous crash, followed quickly by a deafening bellow as a monstrous tower of green-tinged skin rushed forward to greet the two stragglers. Glaring at them through its one eye, the enormously large creature could easily determine the ease in which it could catch its prey today… a slim thief, who probably could not penetrate its leathery flesh, protecting a slim girl who looked more likely to throw a picnic basket at its head than to attack it with anything worthwhile.
As it began to flex its muscles to lift its large weapon from the earth, the Cyclops saw the strange, blonde human rush forward, dancing in an almost butterfly-like fashion in his favor for evasive action as he approached. Paying no heed to the small slices it took to its thick hid, the beast instead paid attention to the girl before it. Matthew, growing frustrated at his lack of effectiveness against such a beast, began to yell towards the girl, who had been frozen in place by fear. Though by now she should have overcome her fear of such things, her body was not as strong as it was when she had aged… as such, she felt frail, weak, and helpless, and was rooted to her spot.
"Nino! Run!" Determined to keep things within his power, Matthew began to try to ascend the Cyclops's pock-covered back, feeling the muscles ripple beneath its thick, leathery flesh as it reached up to remove the intrusive spy from its shoulders. Though its first few attempts were utterly futile, waving its arms about aimlessly, it managed to barely brush the thief's cape with its thick, stump-like fingers. With this information alone, it was all a matter of homing in on where he could have possibly moved in those few seconds before, with a roar of victory, the Cyclops grabbed the thief's cape and pulled him from its back.
Now being choked and gagged from the behemoth's hold in his collar, he couldn't even see the blaze of khaki rush before him… all he knew was that, in an instant, his vision erupted in red. His mind fell to thoughts of death, though the dying groans of the Cyclops quickly let him know otherwise. Blood from the beast, dark and vile, coated his cloak and would have splashed into his eyes, had he not been shielding them with his arm.
Driven through the beast's single eye was a set of twin daggers, pushed through the eyes and penetrating deep enough to easily reach the spy's elbow, had he reached his hand into the wound. Only after noticing the insignia on the daggers did he look up, only to meet the cold, gold eyes of the man he had dreaded to face the most for all the years he had shared his love for this man's wife.
Jaffar stood before them, just as strong and magnificent as the days he had been declared the Angel of Death.
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"…It appears that the monsters you sent out on them had not proved to be as effective as you said they would, Blood Beryl. Could it be… that you've lost your touch? Can you only control these simpletons, rather than the true beasts of destruction?" Formortiis paused, turning to face his excommunicated bishop with a disappointed look in his eyes that was underlain by a veil of anger that would not be completely hidden by any means. Riev hid the shudder that coursed its way through his spine, and paused momentarily before bowing in reverence and fear before his lord.
"My sincerest apologies, my lord… it appears that the Cyclops that I sent was enough to lay their army to rest… I wanted to send more, my lord, but it was all I could conjure with my current strength… but I could, perhaps, with your permission, unleash the full horrors of Darkling woods…" Riev trailed off at this point, allowing his unasked question to voice itself through his tone and comment. In order to harness control over the hordes that resided in the darkest depths of the murky wood, he would have to be lent powers from his lord and liege… otherwise, they would find no reason to obey the bishop, and thus would destroy him without a second thought. With the power of the Demon King temporarily bolstering his commands, however, even the fiercest of beasts would immediately bend to his will. Immediately pausing and retreating slightly with a raise of Lyon's hand, however, Riev heeded his master's next words.
"No… there's no need for that. I have a much more… effective idea in mind." Almost gliding towards one of the bookshelves that lined the walls of the corridor that lay just behind the throne room and out of the sight of prying eyes, the demonic force forced a smile of victory upon the defeated prince's features as he grasped a small, leather-bound book in his hand. Being especially mindful of his sharpened, almost claw like nails as he gingerly pulled the book free from its neighbors, he heard the wood almost sigh as some of the tension was released from the tightly-packed space. Gently blowing on the dust-encrusted diary that lay in his hand, he opened the black book posthaste, searching for one page in particular.
Within the bindings of the diary lay countless summoning spells… from the common phantom, which most summoners used, there rose various other incantations. There were those used to summon spirits, from the harmless but ornamental sylphs to the dangerous souls that had risen from the realms of death itself… and there were also spells to summon physical beings; men, women, warriors, kings, mercenaries, or even the ancient Heroes of lore. However, he knew well enough that most of these spells had dire consequences, leaving him to find one in particular. He had waited a long time to exercise its use, but having no body had delayed the event for quite some time. Smiling to the point where his fanglike teeth showed past his lips, Formortiis traced the spell gingerly with a finger, whispering the words as he went. Though the words were not in the Elibean tongue that Riev was used to hearing, he could recognize the words as a dead language, one that had not been spoken since the Demon King himself had walked the earth, all those years ago…
To you who hailed from Akaneia, to wield a sword of lore,
I call you now, warrior of Aritia…
The man who held Falchion, to stop a dragon's war…
Come now, brave soul, and bolster my militia!
From the depths of the darkness that drowned the room in its protective grasp came forth a brilliant rune, blazing in emerald light as it traced itself into the stones of the floor. An insignia, showing a dragon clutching a strange gemstone, began to literally scorch the stones as a strange wind shook the very foundations of the castle they now stood in. And yet, the Demon King was not afraid, and even had a sacrifice ready to offer. Quickly summoning a disposable phantom, he watched as the dead warrior turned to look inquisitively at him before quickly becoming engulfed in flames. Being mute, the summoned creature did not cry out, only disintegrating into a strange, pink ash that lightly surrounded the outside of the insignia. An almost blinding flash of emerald light flooded the room, resulting in Lyon having to shield his eyes from the harsh exposure.
When the harsh light cleared, the demonic prince tentatively opened his eyes, which were greeted by the very sight that he wanted to see. Before him, kneeling still within the rune, was the warrior he had summoned with surprisingly little effort… and, for such strength and prestige, that was a very good blessing, indeed.
Had the young man's eyes been open, the Demon King would have been greeted with the smoothest of gemstones, with their color matching the sky covered in a light veil of dark clouds. His hair was a deep blue, shaming the deepest of oceans in its hue while reaching down to barely grace his shoulders in the back. His bangs did not drape into his eyes, hovering above them instead as the small gold circlet on his head kept stray hair from causing too much trouble to his vision while simultaneously announcing his title to the ignorant. The incredibly dark dye used to create the cape that he wore was hard to come by, and thus accentuated his rank as the navy cloth draped around the front to be fastened with a ruby crest as the rest of the cape lay in its entirety against his back. The underside to this was a dark crimson, which also bled wealth in his world. Rather than valiantly catching the breeze as it usually did, however, it now served as a sort of cloak, to better hide him from this strange man as he continued to kneel before the demonic emperor.
It appeared not even the combat-ready side of this warrior did not somehow scream his title to citizens in his homeland; chain mail of extremely high quality lay under the fine obsidian breastplates he wore, though even the outlying border of said plates were coated with a gold sheen before the same metal filled the elegant designs were carved out on the dark metal that made up the majority of the work. Similarly ornate designs were donned on his shoulder guards, as well. The silk of the azure vest he wore was matched in quality only by the gold embroidery that was added to it, which made its way up to endow the high neck with an ornate design before trimming the inner edges of the outfit. The vest, as to be expected, bisects in the middle by his waist. A plain leather belt held this together, but even that had quite the fancy gold buckle to adorn it. The black pants that he wore beneath all this continued on nonchalantly until reaching his boots; another sapphire example of his wealth and prestige.
Strangely enough, his legendary blade Falchion was nowhere to be seen, for it had been hidden carefully from view by Grado's prince to decrease the chance of retaliation.
Heavy breathing wracked the teen's body as he continued to kneel on one knee, forced by the summoning to take on this position but lacking the strength to move himself from it. It scared him, in a way, how he was unable to move of his own accord… then again, his mentor had told him never to over-exert himself, correct? It appeared he had overdone it again… and he had paid the price. To exhaust himself so much had always left his mind somewhat susceptible to magic-based assaults, but this in itself proved to be quite the anomaly. Never before had he been summoned, and thus had not experienced this sort of ordeal before. With scarcely the strength to brush his sapphire hair from his eyes, the prince of Aritia had no idea that his lack of energy was completely normal, designed to almost always force the subject that had been summoned into submission.
Trying to push himself up, he found that even putting the slightest bit of effort on his gloved knuckles rendered the strength in his elbows useless… the navy gloves that stretched from his elbow to cut off at his knuckles seemed to have more strength in them than he; pitiful, really, considering that they had been constructed of a new fabric consisting of cotton and silk.
Stepping forward, the Demon King wasted no time. Harshly pulling the fatigued warrior up by the right wrist, he heard the fighter hiss and cry out in pain as he burned his mark into his hand. Though the wound healed extremely quickly and ceased to hurt after a short while, the scar left behind was to always be a painful reminder to him of the ordeal. Smiling in an almost mockingly gentle manner towards the young crown prince, Lyon met the defiant sapphire eyes of the swordsman before issuing to the man his first command. As he was bound to him now, he would not disobey unless death or unconsciousness prevented him from doing so…
"Stand up, valiant warrior. Step now towards Frelia, and crush the dogs that hound my every step. Son of Aritia, and wielder of the sacred blade, Falchion… go forth, Prince Marth of Aritia, and strike down those who oppose me."