Are you ready? It's the first Fire Emblem chapter! Yay!
This is also a good time to kind of explain where my story sits on the FE timeline. So, it pretty much takes place after FE 10, but it is as if the Goddess War never happened, which is also why Zelgius is alive. So basically, everything up to Part 3 in RD has taken place (except for the Endgame and most everything about Lehran's Medallion), but instead of the events of Part four, another war took place, but I'll explain that in later chapters. If any character mentions a war, it is the one of my creation, which I have yet to come up with an official name for...
I'm sorry if I confused people, but I promise that everything will be explained later.
Chapter 3: Along the River
The usually peaceful village was reduced to a blood-stained battlefield by the battle had been going since dawn, with both sides growing weary. The village had been invaded by bandits several months ago, forced to give up all of their resources to this band, and stand by as several elders were killed. They had been given restricted access to the nearby river and surrounding forest. The small Daein town had managed to send a messenger out to enlist the help of a group of local mercenaries to help rid themselves of the bloodthirsty monsters. However, the Dawn Brigade was far too small to handle such a large task, so they called in the help of their Crimean friends, the Greil mercenaries. Even with the two armies together, the bandits were still putting up a surprising fight, setting the houses of the village on fire and holding many villagers hostage. The small village was placed in the center of a great open field with a wide road running from the entrance in the south through the thick forest. The wood surrounded the small town on all sides with the river running less than a mile to the east past a wall of vegetation. The battle had started in the south where the rescuing army had entered and had slowly made its way north where the bandit's leader commanded his troops from a half-built structure that loomed menacingly over the rest of the village.
Rhys stood in the forest near the fighting, a great enough distance inside the protecting branches of the trees to keep the attacking bandits aware of his position. Laura and Michiah sat behind him, talking and giggling softly, seemingly unaware of the battle taking place just outside of the forest. Rhys sighed as he looked deeper into the woods and ran his fingers through his bright orange hair. It was hard to watch your comrades' fight when all you can do is watch from the sidelines, unable to lift a weapon. A small group of bandits surged to a house a small distance from the main battle, setting it aflame. Rhys leaned a little harder on his staff as he turned away and tried to ignore the desperate screams of the villagers. Rhys had never liked war, but being sick as often as he was, he was commonly left behind to worry about his fighting comrades. He preferred war to sitting in bed, not sure if his friends would return or not. Besides, Rhys hated being indoors all the time when he was sick, if war was a reason for him to free himself from the bed that he hated so much, so be it. Not only that, but being out in the field gave him a purpose; he could heal wounds.
In the distance, a small white speck broke free of the living mass of fighting men and women and into the healers' secret location Titania carefully made her way to the edge of the forest, weary of and enemies following her. Her pure whit horse was dotted with specks of scarlet blood. The two women behind Rhys turned to look at the approaching knight with dull interest. Titania brought her steed to a halt just in front of the waiting bishop, climbing clumsily off of her blood-stained horse, clutching her arm.
"What happened?" Rhys asked worriedly.
Titania smiled slightly. "Do you really want to know?" she asked.
Rhys knew that he probably didn't. Titania pulled back her hand, revealing a deep gash along her left forearm. Rhys held up his staff—a long cane of wood with an ornamental blue orb affixed at the top—and prayed to the Goddess, Ashera, willing her to heal the wound. Rhys was lost in concentration as he did this, and did not notice the large bandit making his way through the trees towards Rhys and the unarmed paladin. Luckily for them, however, Michiah did and she opened her tome quickly to a well-worn page. She barely had to read the incantation printed on the pages for the magic to take effect. A cloud of light formed over the bandit, who looked up at this enigma; blind to the danger. Several mumbled words later, jagged tendrils of light rained down from the cloud striking the man. No mark was left on his body as he crumpled to the ground—dead.
Rhys sighed and silently thanked the Goddess that Michiah was there as he realized how close he had been. By then, Titainia's cut was healed. She nodded in thanks before nimbly leaping back onto her horse, grapping her axe and galloping back to the fight, her long red braid trailing behind her like a tail. Turning back to the thick forest, Rhys noticed Michiah still keeping an eye out for more bandits.
"Thank you Michiah." Rhys said stepping up to her.
"No problem Rhys!" she said lightly, "Just be more careful, alright?"
Rhys smiled and went to reply, but something caught his eye. A bright flash of golden light shone through the trees in the direction of the river. Michiah did not seem to notice the flash, but did notice Rhys' puzzled gaze looking past her.
"What was it?" she asked.
"I...saw something." Rhys answered slowly.
"What was it?"
"A flash of light." Rhys answered, still confused. He had never seen anything like the mysterious flight before and was trying to decipher just what it was. "I'll be right back." he said, deciding to investigate the phenomenon. He walked passed Michiah.
"Wait!" Michiah shouted as Rhys walked past her, "Where are you going?"
"To the river," Rhys answered distractedly, "for a drink."
Michiah said something else, but Rhys didn't catch it, he continued to walk through the forest to investigate the mysterious light. If a battle wasn't raging nearby, the forest would have been a very relaxing place. Birds skipped lightly through the thick undergrowth and up in the bright green trees, a small squirrel scurried across Rhys' path and his staff made a soft tapping noise as he walked. Rhys—or any other healer for that matter—never went anywhere without a staff. Rhys noticed none of this however, as his mind was still going through the possible explanations for that flash. A small, almost non-existent force seemed to be pushing him towards the river, willing him to investigate the seemingly meaningless flash of golden light.
The soothing lapping of the river was finally louder than the clash of metal and Rhys knew that he was close to his goal. The trees seemed to suddenly pull away revealing the shore of the river and Rhys was disappointed to find that nothing was here.
The river was relatively thick, perhaps one or two hundred feet wide, running north to south a murky red color from the sand it collected from its trip through the Desert of Death. It flowed slowly and lapped gently against the small stones that blanketed its shores. Several larger rocks dotted the banks, casting menacing shadows into the murky waters. On the opposite side of the river, trees sat on a short hill overlooking the river and ran down the banks as far as the eye could see. On Rhys' side of the river, the trees bulged right up to the banks of the river to the west, but stayed far from the shoreline to the east.
Rhys moved further out from the protecting trunks of the trees and into the open, searching for any sort of sign that something strange had happened. To Rhys' slight disappointment, nothing seemed amiss, no strange marks on the ground, things floating in the water or other sort of signs as he had expected. Rhys turned back to the trees, but that small force pricked in the back of his mind again, willing him to keep looking around. He decided to let the force take him where it would, and let it take control of his legs.
Rhys walked closer to the river, bringing its banks for nearly a mile into view. The force stopped him here, and Rhys looked around. There was nothing along the opposite shore, and the southern bank was nothing but trees and other assorted plants. Turning his orange eyes to the northern bank, Rhys saw a dark form laying only a few feet from the moving waters and half-hidden by a large boulder. Though he was still not sure what it was, the frail bishop knew that it was what the force was pointing him to.
As Rhys ran to the figure, it came more into focus. He could see that it was a young man; no older than his commander, Ike. The man was lying motionless in his soaked green tunic. Rhys realized that he must have fallen into river and washed up here. He walked over quickly, his long white robes skirting along the surface of the water. As he drew even closer, Rhys noticed the bags and packs tied to the man and an empty scabbard strapped to his back, covered by a large blue shield with strange designs on it. Rhys wondered where this man had come from—all that was upriver from here were the Desert falls; a series of waterfalls that cascaded through the Desert of Death. It had long been believed that all land past that had been drowned by the Goddesses thousands of years ago.
Rhys ignored this fact and knelt down by the man, noticing that he did not appear to be breathing. Rhys held his head just above the man's mouth and heard—to his relief—a steady, but soft rush of air; the man was alive, but he wouldn't be for long. Rhys noticed two still bleeding wounds; one on the man's side, the other along his chest. Rhys held his staff tightly, closed his eyes, and prayed softly under his breath. The cuts slowly closed their gaping maws and the man's chest moved in a much more visible rhythm. Rhys opened his eyes to examine his work, knowing that he had to get the man to a safer place for his wounds to completely heal.
Rhys sighed and stood, looking around the clearing of the river. Perhaps he should have brought somebody with him; how was he so sure that the invisible force had not been luring him into a trap? Rhys sighed again. He dare not leave the man, not in his vulnerable state, but how else would Rhys get him to camp? Just as Rhys thought this, he could hear someone moving through the woods lining the river. He crouched down behind the nearby boulder and pulled his tome from an inner pocket of his ropes. It opened to a well worn page, and Rhys waited. He would wait to make sure that this individual was an enemy, for all her knew, it could just be one of his comrades, come for a quick rest and a drink.
Unfortunately, a wounded bandit had limped through the woods to the river. Rhys sat as still as he could, desperate for the man not to see him. The bandit staggered clumsily to the river and knelt down—a short axe in his hand—and drank deeply. All he had to do was turn his head and he would see Rhys. As the bandit drank, a soft breeze fluttered the pages of Rhys' book lightly.
That small sound was enough; the bandit pulled himself up and threw his axe in the direction of the noise. Rhys had no time to react, and the axe grazed across his arm, causing him to drop his only defense; his tome. Rhys fell to the ground, clutching at the deep cut in his arm. The bandit said nothing as he stood and unstrapped another axe from his back. He limped over to the helpless Rhys, a wicked smile on his face; he got to kill one more time before death swallowed him up.
Rhys closed his eyes and prayed silently; there was nowhere he could run. Even with the bandit's movement restricted, he still had another throw-able axe that he could toss at Rhys as he made his escape. He could hear the bandits forced breath now; he was within striking range. Rhys cringed as he waited for the axe to come down, to slice into his vulnerable flesh. However, the blow did not come. The bandit made a strange gasping noise and Rhys opened his eyes. The bandit stood—his eyes wide with surprise—with a single arrow piercing his chest.
He fell to the ground with a dull thud. Rhys looked around the clearing for the source of the arrow. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Rhys saw movement. He turned around to see the man he had healed propped up on his elbow, holding a bow. Rhys watched in shock as the man looked at him for a few seconds before collapsing into unconsciousness, the bow still in his hand. Rhys adjusted his position nervously, trying to stop the blood from leaking through his fingers. Then, more noises in the forest.
"Rhys?" A loud voice called.
Recognizing the voice immediately as Oscar's, Rhys sighed gratefully and carefully stood. The green-haired horseman wasn't alone; Soren walked silently just behind Oscar, scanning the area like a hawk. Soren spotted Rhys first, and said a few inaudible words to let Oscar know. The dark brown horse loped over to Rhys, and its rider looked down at him. Oscar's constant squint had often annoyed Rhys; though he never told anyone.
"Thank the goddess you're here!" Rhys said.
"What happened?" Soren asked, noticing Rhys' bloodied robes. He walked over quickly, his long black hair shifted slightly with each movement. He pulled a piece of fabric from his dark robe and wrapped it skillfully around Rhys' arm.
"We saw a bandit come this way." Oscar said, "Michiah had mentioned you had come to the river, so we decided to come and check on you."
"You were just a bit too late," Rhys said, motioning towards the dead bandit.
"What were you doing out here all by yourself?" Soren asked, now letting his red eyes settle on Rhys. Soren's eyes were always so cold, despite their warm color.
"I saw a flash of light," Rhys answered, "and I came to see what it was." Rhys decided that it was best to leave out the strange force encouraging him to this place.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Oscar asked, concerned
"I could have been worse." Rhys explained, "The man I found on the beach saved my life; he shot the bandit before he could kill me."
Soren's eyes flicked to the river briefly before resting on Rhys again. Rhys wanted to squirm; Soren's gaze was so unsettling.
"Where is he?" Oscar asked, freeing Rhys from the red glare.
Rhys nodded towards the rock where he had been hiding. Oscar looked down at Soren and nodded. Soren pulled out his dark green tome and Oscar took his lance and dismounted his horse. Both set out carefully towards the spot where Rhys had indicated. He knew that they were only being careful; weary of the man's intentions. Yet, Rhys knew that the unconscious man meant no harm to them, so he followed closely to keep them from hurting his savior.
"Are you sure that he is alive?" Soren asked, kneeling down. His long, black robes took a moment to settle after the sudden movement.
"Yes."
"How bad is he?" Oscar asked, lowering his lance.
"Too bad for us to leave him here." Rhys answered worriedly, "If he stays, he will surely die by nightfall."
"You want us to bring an unknown man into our camp?" Soren asked skeptically.
"Well," Rhys said hesitantly, "yes."
"Are you aware of the risk we would be taking?" Soren asked, standing to look at Rhys, "we do not know this man's origins, his affiliations, nothing! To bring him with us is more danger than it's worth."
Soren's deep gaze petrified Rhys and he stood stuttering for a few seconds before Oscar spoke.
"Soren, this man saved Rhys' life!" he asked looking down at Rhys.
Rhys broke free from Soren's gaze to look at the man at their feet. Soren looked down too.
"We do not know who he is." Soren said, his voice shaking slightly, "We know neither where he comes from, nor where his loyalties lie."
Oscar sighed. "We aren't in war anymore Soren. The only people we fight now are bandits. We don't need to know where they come from, or where their loyalties lie. Do you know why? Because it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because we aren't fighting a country; we are fighting the trash of our society. Think about it, Soren; would one of those monsters preserve a life?"
"We weren't fighting a country then either..." Soren muttered under his breath, to quiet for the knight or bishop to hear. "He could have been aiming for Rhys and missed." Soren said loud enough for the other tow men to hear him.
"You know that is not true."
"He has other weapons." Soren mumbled, knowing that he had lost.
"We can remove them before we get to camp." Oscar said.
Soren sighed and walked back into the woods. Oscar shook his head before handing his lance to Rhys and picking up the limp body of the man. Rhys followed as Oscar carried the man to his horse and carefully draped him above the saddle so he was laying face-down along the horse's neck. Oscar climbed on behind him and Rhys returned the heavy lance and followed as best he could as Oscar trotted through the forest.
The crackling of fire and clash of metal had faded away into nothingness and the battlefield sat as an ugly reminder of the bandit's stay at the small village. Rhys ignored the carnage around him, and rather dwelled on the fact that he had saved a life. However, none of the mercenaries trudging back to camp that day realized what a good decision that had been.
Look at that! Nearly six pages! My goodness! I hope you enjoyed this! Don't forget to review, even if you didn't like it!