Fear. Defined as an emotional response to threats and danger, it is the precursor to courage; only by understanding where the shadows come from can one steadfastly face them. This "foe of many forms", so to speak, exists only as one's reminder of living; after all, the dead cannot be afraid.
Since psychological warfare still qualifies as warfare in the eyes of the organization, students are trained quite rigorously, their minds being honed to endure anything that could impede their judgment- torture, animals, heights, drowning, darkness, and whatever other phobias they might have harbored. Believe me when I say it had not been fun- not in the slightest. Then again, this is coming from the guy who had aided the Sisters, so take that as you will.
Yet another short intro. My mind isn't what it used to be, considering... actually, never mind. It's only senility at work here again. At least the ratio's a bit more respectable.
Dispel Thy Shroud
Ohhh, my head... I feel like I've gone down a cliff- wait, make that three... He tried to suppress the throbbing with his fingers, but felt his hands being restrained. What the...? Opening his eyes, he found himself seated on a wooden chair, his wrists and ankles restrained by ropes. This chair... these bindings... It can't be! Looking around, he saw nothing but darkness, save for a strong ray of light staring down on him from above.
That is, until the needle of a syringe flew right into his left eye.
Seeing the clear liquid inside it dwindle, he flailed about, realizing that the equipment were the exact same items he had maintained for so long.
"I see you've awoken..." a female voice spoke from the void.
He looked towards the source- the general direction of it, at the very least. "That voice..."
"I'm glad you still remember... 'Mark'." Blue hair emerged from the shadows.
"Lady Eria?" the tactician asked, surprised. "To what do I owe the pleasure? More importantly, where in Elibe are we?"
"None of that is important now. Besides-" her tone suddenly became more sultry as she swiftly closed the distance between them- "you won't need that info when I'm done with you..."
The reply only confused him even more. "Run that by-" He froze mid-sentence as the dutiful researcher sat on his lap and wrapped her arms around him. "M-m-milady!" he stuttered, his body now rigid as stone. "W-w-what is the m-m-meaning of-!?"
Two fingers pressed onto his lips, cutting him off. "Shhh..." she uttered as her head leaned on his.
A moment of relative silence passed as many thoughts raced across Mark's head, the most frequent ones being Eria's chest, her unusually light weight on his thighs, celibacy, the looks on her sisters' faces if they find her stealing an intimate moment with their guinea pig, the look on Sain's face if he sees this occurrence... and the softness of his feather quill, oddly enough. The chain of thoughts rattled to the point of breaking as he felt her breath tickle his ear.
"Speak no evil..." she whispered.
He was going to respond, but having his own lips sealed by hers made answering pretty much impossible. Other than a light push on his mouth, he couldn't sense anything to register this event in his mind- the scent of her breath, the touch of her hands, the taste of her lips... His curiosity tempted him to close his eyes and stick out his tongue, as if goading him into surrendering to his lust.
Only when he released himself from his doubts did a sudden jolt emerged from his mouth, making him instinctively flinch.
He tried to yelp in pain... but couldn't make a sound. Opening his eyes, he saw Eria's face, a reddish snake squirming in her mouth. Is that my tongue?
"Mmm..." she moaned as she swallowed the snake, which made the tactician open his mouth in absolute shock. "Delicious."
"Was it really, dear sister?" a second female voice spoke from nowhere. "Maybe I should've smooched him instead..."
Turning his head to his right, Mark saw what he assumed to be Hiita standing before him.
"Hello, dear lab rat. What's wrong?" She tilted her head to the side. "Cat got your tongue?"
His expression went blank as he saw her laugh haughtily. Not. Funny.
Walking towards him, she responded, "Oh, don't be such a killjoy, Mr. Frumpy-Face," as if she could read his thoughts. "Besides, you won't be hearing from me- from us- for a long time..."
He tensed his right arm as she was about to sit on it, but it felt nothing when she actually did.
Touching his chin with her fingers and turning his face towards hers, the fiery researcher gave him a look of smugness as ruby eyes met brown before leaning into his ear and whispering, "Hear no evil..."
What the-!? was all he could think up before he felt what he assumed to be her tongue burrowing into his ear and making its way out the other side. Ewww! Gross! His head shook violently in disgust.
When the slimy feeling disappeared, Eria and Hiita redirected his gaze, making him look straight forward.
Emerging from the darkness was a green-haired woman. Her hands gripped a white square, the words written on it stained in red:
Hello 'Mark'
Wynn? He saw the timid researcher's mouth move, as if she was saying something, but found himself unable to hear her words.
Seeing his confused expression, Eria and Hiita gave their sister a thumbs-up, which prompted her to turn around and trace more words onto both sides of the huge paper with her hand.
Is that blood? he thought to himself as he noticed the red on her right index finger.
When she turned back to the three on the chair, she held out the paper once more, which now had something written under the greeting:
This will be the last time we'll see each other
What do you mean 'the last time'!? He looked at Wynn with a scared expression, as if trying to convey those words to her.
Noticing his eyes peering into hers, she flipped the paper, revealing three words:
See no evil
Suddenly, Eria secured his head in place and Hiita held his eyelids open as Wynn dropped the paper and pulled out two thin knives.
Seeing their luster glistening in the light, Mark desperately tried to shake off his restraints, to no avail. Wait! he tried to mouth out, begging not to be subjected to this insanity. Hold on! Let's talk about this! Ladies, please!!!
His defiance fell on deaf ears as the knives' edges loomed closer and closer...
"Gah!" Jolting upright, he pushed his forest-green cloak- which he had used as a supplementary cover over himself- aside as he shielded his face with his hands, bracing himself for an attack. "No, not the... eyes?" Peeking though his hands, he only saw moonlight shining through a nearby window. A brief moment passed before he lied back down, covered his face with his cloak, and screamed through it. "Damn it! Damn it all!"
It was the evening after the formation of "Lyndis's Legion". One glimpse of failure, one baseless promise of revenge, one diplomatic breakdown, one escalation of hostility, one failed apology, and one brutal thrashing later, the battle-weary sextet had decided to rest at the one of the liberated villages' inns. Now, as his comrades frolicked in the land of dreams, the tactician found himself forcibly ejected from it for the sixth straight night.
Another moment of respite wasted... he thought after finishing up the muffling of his curses.
Indeed, the room he had rented was too comfortable to disrespect its purpose: two homely beds sat at the far corners of the room, away from the hallway door, and a wooden table supporting a candlestand, which in turn was supporting a fizzled-out candle, sat at the center. Oak drawers to the left of the door doubled as support for a medium-sized mirror, and the window located between the beds gave a pleasant view of the other village. Though there wasn't much in here, the furniture complemented each other in giving off an aura of quaintness.
Pulling down his makeshift blanket, he stared at the wooden ceiling, trying to blank himself out in the endless abyss- and managed to get dust in his eye. Jumping into a sitting position, he brushed off the inconvenience. It's no use. Maybe I should get some fresh air... Moving his legs to the side, he donned his cloak and shoes and pulled his hood over his head, being careful not to awaken the red-haired cavalier snoozing on the bed opposite him.
Their "budding relationship" had been built on a shaky foundation; ever since the incident at the shrine of the Mani Katti, Kent had actually not divulged his "findings" to the others despite their importance- but he had also chosen to keep the warp powder on himself and stick close to Mark as precautionary measures. His steadfast evaluation of the tactician had been admirable, to say the least, but the many less-than-ideal nights that had occurred since then had made the latter wonder if it had been because of that event or the presence of his new shadow.
Stepping outside, Mark noticed the area where negotiations earlier had broken down; dried bloodstains still fed the barren soil and withered grass. The Ganelon... What a simple-minded bunch. Surely there were more productive solutions, but since the bandits couldn't let bygones be bygones and had thrown their lives away for shallow pride, he couldn't help but pity the fools. Is admitting one's faults all that hard? Has the label of 'bandit' robbed the afflicted of their humility? Does it involve a special recipe of 'humble p-'?
"...ark? Mark?" a voice kept inquiring from behind him.
Breaking from his stupor, he turned around and found himself face-to-face with the newly-recruited pegasus knight. "Oh, sorry about that. Good evening, Lady Florina."
"Good evening... Mark." Her tone still wavered. "What are you... doing here?"
"I couldn't sleep..." Again. "And you, milady?"
"I was going to... check up on my pegasus," she shakily replied.
He could sense her apprehension from the other side of the continent. "I see... In any case, I've been wanting to talk to you for a while now. May I join you in seeing her?"
"Ah, my mount's actually a he..." she corrected him.
"Forgive my ignorance," he quipped, making sure not to add sarcasm. "May I join you in seeing him, then?"
"Er... alright."
As they headed for the stables nearby, the tactician noticed the lavender-haired woman maintaining the distance between them.
When they reached the area, he opened the door and bowed. "After you, milady."
"Thank you..." she replied before walking inside.
"The pleasure's all mine." Following her, he closed the door behind him and scanned the interior. Spaces sectioned off by wooden fencing, hay strewn across the floor and piled in corners, a row of pitchforks aligned at the far wall, rope wound in loops near said rack... nothing out of the ordinary- aside from the white pegasus wide awake amongst the napping horses and mules.
"Hey there, Huey..." Mark heard Florina speak as she approached her mount. When the addressed neighed in a friendly tone, she started brushing him as she conversed with him, her words outside the tactician's earshot.
The sight before him- a companionship between a rider and her mount- gave him an odd feeling of warmth. "Forgive me for interrupting this tender moment, Lady Florina-" again, he tried to drain out any trace of sarcasm- "but is it alright if I speak with you here? After all, I think 'Master Huey' deserves to hear this as well."
"Sure..." she spoke as she groomed the winged horse's mane.
With that, he cleared his throat- not because he had wanted to sound important, but only because his saliva at that exact moment had "gone down the wrong pipe", so to speak. "Thank you. First off... you know what my occupation is, correct?"
"A tactician," she replied.
"Apprentice tactician, but yes. My mission is to guide Lady Lyn and her cadre- 'Lyndis's Legion' as Master Wil had aptly named it earlier- safely to Marquess Caelin's presence. Next question: how much risk do you think I'm willing to take?"
That question made her think on her answer a bit. Basing her response on the policy she had learned from Ilia, she answered, "Whatever amount is necessary to complete the mission."
"That's technically correct, according to my organization's protocol," Mark said as he tilted head to and fro, "but I don't take risks. My duty is to keep everyone under my command alive and able. If necessary, I would devise five hundred contingency plans over one single night, stand night watch over an entire week- hell, I would even shield someone from a rain of arrows with my own flesh, all to keep everyone intact; that's how much I care about the lives of everyone here. I only ask one thing in return: my comrades' trust." He made sure emphasis bled out of that last line.
"I cannot feign understanding your fear of men- me in particular- Lady Florina. I cannot force you to tell me its origin, thereby making you relive those horrific moments. I also cannot ask you to 'toughen up', 'stop being a chicken', 'live with it', or give you any other advice of such moronic nature." He pointed towards Florina's chest. "That shroud which surrounds your heart is something I, a lowly being, cannot dispel..." He turned around, opened the stable door slightly, and looked towards her while his back faced her. "But as your tactician, as your 'guardian angel', and as an acquaintance who wants to be your friend, I humbly ask you to lead me through that dense fog, to repel the shadows for a short while... to trust me. I'm gonna stand outside for a moment... Thank you kindly for listening to my ramblings, milady." With that, he stepped out and gently closed the door, leaving her alone with Huey.
Moments passed in relative silence as the tactician leaned on the other stable door, reading the "Advisors' Code" for amusement.
'Do what is required'... how plain, he thought as he stared at the lines of the poem. What was the meaning of 'required', anyway? Was it limited to the core objectives? Were there any 'hidden' meanings? Could it actually be an odd way of asking the reader to overachieve? Maybe I'm looking too much into-
"Mark?"
Stopping his flow of thoughts, he looked to his right and saw the pegasus knight standing beside him.
"Oh, Lady Florina! Sorry about that... again. Have you finished your business here?"
"Yes, I have," she replied.
"Great!" He began his march back to glorious- though still futile- rest. "Let's head back to the inn-"
"I trust you."
He froze mid-step. Turning around, he found himself locking eyes with hers. "I'm sorry?"
"I trust you," she repeated. "Please protect 'Lyndis's Legion' with your wisdom, Mark... as you have promised."
He couldn't help but smile at that simple statement, at that earnest request, at her fearless expression. "Yes, milady," he responded.
"I can't believe it," Lyn stated to the tactician the next day as the group continued their travels. "Florina seems much less timid around you now. How did you do it?"
Mark rubbed his chin with his finger, thinking of a proper reply. "I blame Master Kent," he decided to say.
I thought that damn powder would stop messing with me if it wasn't in my possession! I should blame Master Kent!
Yes: I've noticed that when I need to write dreams, the chapter gets delayed. I should cut that out (the habit, not the dream itself, per se)!