Genre: Adventure/friendship
Words: 8,650+
Rating:T for teen
Main Characters:Ike and Nailah
Summary:Post RD. Several months after Ashera's defeat, Ike, Soren, and Ranulf leave for Hatari. Nailah decides she wants to reunite her lost nation with the rest of Tellius, but fate has a different idea in mind.
(A/N): Hey there~ I'd like to apologize for the late chapter. I've had a lot of things going on in my life, and working on this had been put on the back burner for a little while, so I'm sorry about that. Also sorry to say that I won't have access to a computer till after spring break (April 6th for me) so the next chapter may be a bit slow coming again. I've started on it, but I've got the flu, and working on it is just horribly exhausting. Same goes with this author note. -.-' Anyways, I hope this is an enjoyable chapter. It was a bit awkward for me to write in some parts, but hopefully that isn't too noticeable. I'm happy to say though that we've got some plot progression in this one! Woo-hoo~
0o0o0o0
Travels of the East –barefootbean
Chapter II: Unexpected Occurrences
Crimea- Melior/Fort Pinell outskirts
The year 649, early autumn
0o0o0o0
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Elincia slowly brought her hands to her slept on hair, carefully using a small silk ribbon to tie a handful of the feisty emerald strands in a delicate knot to at the nape of her neck. With an un-ladylike yawn, she viewed herself in the mirror, taking in the soft, exhausted lines under her eyes, the rumpled sleepwear, how she looked so childlike when she wasn't in her royal attire. While Elincia knew she would have to change later into her royal Crimean garments for proper standing purposes, it was only the early morning, and the complexity of anything more challenging or involved than that of simple hygiene would have to wait.
Elincia blinked and wiped the sleep from her eyes, scowling exhaustedly as the previous days' events ran through her mind. They weren't entirely as pleasant as she wished they had been.
This is what the citizens deserve to hear. I will not hide the truth from my people, whether the nobles wish it or not. This bigotry must end at some point.
She knew she was making the right decision. The lies that had shaped Tellius's future had been nothing but the beginning of a long chain of corruption in the people for the last one-thousand years, and she'd be damned if she was going to allow it to go on any longer. The nobles had thought it best to simply sweep everything under the rug, put the matter off until a later date, when Crimea was fully restored to its former glory before revealing the truth behind everything to the general public. For a while, Elincia had gone along with it, simply to appease them, but as the days, weeks, and then months began to pass her by, and her citizens' rallying cries for answers increased, she knew she couldn't ignore it anymore. She was merely recommencing the endless cycle, laying out the path for Crimea's destruction.
She had enough of it.
The truth is part of Crimea's restoration! How can they not see that? This has to be done! I can't keep my people in the dark any longer… I refuse to.
Lightly, Elincia stood from her dresser and pulled on a pair of soft leather shoes before stumbling her way to the far entrance of her royal quarters, dragging her feet on the gray stone beneath her. Her frustration continued to rise from the previous nights' disastrous court meeting debates, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from voicing it to the walls that surrounded her-not that they would ever understand what she was feeling, in any case.
Lucia would, but she's been occupied at Delbray with Uncle Renning… I shouldn't have to rely on her when I'm upset…
She grimaced at the tapestries that hung upon the walls, stories being told through the colorful needlework that ranged from tapestry to tapestry; Crimean royals in some and traditions and stories displayed in others. Elincia found herself wondering if one day she would be the one stitched into tapestries, her story being told through the meticulous strands of thread.
Heh, it would be a huge tapestry. …That is, if nothing was ever withheld. I would hope that that wouldn't ever be the case…
The fire had long ago died out, and with it the warmth and friendly colors of the room had also gone, leaving nothing but the pouring and pounding rain outside to keep her company- and poor company at that. Elincia shivered as she made her way to the door, reaching out with frozen fingertips to grasp the handle and stumble out into the quiet labyrinth of her castle.
She began her walk down the hallway silently, passing several armed guards and armored palace knights getting ready for their upcoming shifts. They loyally bowed before her, white and blue and silver armor shining, and Elincia acknowledged them with a tired nod, attempting to retain her dignity while in her simple sleeping robes and her hair a wild mess, believing she to be looking as un-queenly as possible to the extreme. It seemed like only yesterday that her citizens had actually agreed with that sentiment, but she knew that time had long come and gone. They displayed nothing but the utmost loyalty now, but Elincia still found herself occasionally wondering what they thought behind those helms, what they saw in her ideals, her quirks, if she had the potential and iron fist to rule or not.
Hopefully they see what is important, that I want nothing more than what is best for Crimea. Everything I have done has been for them.
She paused when one of them men strode forward from the small group of palace knights in the hallway, his face grinning shrewdly as he walked in her general direction. She tried not to laugh at the knights' perplexed expressions at the man's back as they stumbled over themselves to sneak away, being all but quiet at their endeavors with their Crimean armor clanking noisily. Elincia smiled, her fretfulness abandoned.
Oh dear, Bastian must be scaring the new recruits again with his speech. I should tell Geoffrey about that…
"Count Bastian, good morning," she greeted warmly. The curly haired man turned his sights upon her immediately, his mustache turning up by the corners in surprise while he made his way over to her, his royal robes trailing behind him gracefully.
"Ah, the shining Queen wakes from her slumber at last! Joy to those who look upon that lovely face—but wait, those foul, dark lines do show; they quake beneath those heavy lidded eyes. Perhaps Her Majesty should still be quiescent? A cup of tea and then some friendly company to make thee well?" Elincia startled slightly at Bastian's spontaneous proposal, even though she had long ago become familiar with it.
"You know me too well, though I shouldn't be surprised by now. I'll take you up on that offer, since it's still early. ...I should note that you also look sleepless, though frankly, I'm not surprised to hear your silver tongue this early in the morning," Elincia shifted her position, balancing on a single leg to keep her feet from falling asleep.
Bastian frowned. "…It's not without effort, admittedly. After a small meal, you'll have never noticed the difference." She attempted to smile, but it didn't reach her face.
Bastian…your much too kind to me. I wish I could return the favor… Well, maybe I can…
She started out slowly. "You know…this…decision…that's been keeping everyone so busy lately, has been…stressful, and I know that it's hard for you—for all of us—to work under these conditions. I got to thinking about it last night, and how much you've been helping me lately with the court officials and Lucia being absent, and what I've wanted to say is, if you wish to take some time off, just to relax and take care of your own business… I wouldn't say a word about your disappearance." Elincia wrapped her arms around herself, feeling embarrassed at her suggestion when Bastian gave her a surprised look.
He stroked his beard for a second, before breaking into a smile. "Ah, Your Majesty, looking out for me so. The praises we sing you shall never be enough. Sadly, I shall have to decline your offer. I am still needed here, whether you believe it or not."
"…Are you sure? It wouldn't be a probl–"
"I'm sure. Giving me these hospitalities anyway would more than likely cause an uproar. …If things were different, I would most graciously accept your terms." Bastian cut her off gently, before silently extending out his arm to her. "For the time being, I suppose we'll have to find another way to survive. I'd say, if we are to chase away these ailments of ours, a trip to the mess hall is in store for us! I'm sure that Oscar has something prepared. He's quite good for being a mercenary, you agree?"
"Quite." Elincia giggled delicately and slipped her arm into her friend's as he led her down the wide corridors of the palace, her bothers forgotten.
.
0o0o0o
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"No! Kieran, you're holding that knife wrong! Please don't swing it around like that, you're going to stab someone's eye out!" Oscar watched in unmasked terror as Kieran 'attempted' to assist him in his morning cooking for Queen Elincia, his idea of dicing tomatoes for a stew related to the direct action of swinging an axe.
Oscar sat in disheveled silence as the bold, red-headed Crimean palace knight raced from the kitchen to the nearby pantry, coming back with a spatula and a basket of vegetables in his arms and swearing up and down that no vegetable could best Commander Kieran in battle.
Does he intend to slay them with the spatula? Ohhhh dear, there he goes… He's never going to learn, is he?
Oscar rubbed his temple and cleared his throat, interrupting Kieran's on going rant about how dastardly and arrogantly squishy tomatoes were. "Kieran, please let me show you how to do this properly. First of all, you don't use a spat—"
"I know how to cook, thank you very much! How do you think I survived three years ago, when those Daein curs threw me in a prison cell? Certainly not be eating their food, I'll tell you that! They're all a bunch of cannibals!" Kieran stomped to the other side of the room, his armored boots clacking against the stone floor. He eyed a bubbling pot of water, and sniffed at suspiciously. Oscar tried not to roll his eyes.
"It's just water, Kieran. You're too paranoid. Shouldn't I be the suspicious one, considering you're here with me? The last time you tried to help, Marcia ended up in bed for two weeks with food poisoning, and even later, she could hardly hold anything down after what you fed her."
"Oh, come on," Kieran started indignantly with a pout, stabbing at another tomato with the handle of his spatula and moving over to the nearby stew pot, "we both know that that was a complete accident. Besides, she had it coming! Call it karma."
Oscar scowled and hmmed, unmerciful in even the slightest. "Marcia didn't think so."
"She'd go against me any day of the week if she could. She hates me!" Kieran vented, flabbergasted, into the pot of stew that hung above the old, brick fireplace by a solitary, steel hook. Aromas filtered out as he lifted the lid and stirred it with the spatula, and he automatically inhaled it, instantly trying to deny the fact that Oscar's cooking actually had some serious potential.
"I doubt it. If you two weren't so stubborn about everything, I'm sure you would get along jus—"
"Fine? Is that what you were going to say? Fine? She tried to kill me by strangulation when she recovered. You have a poor memory, rival." Kieran shook his head at Oscar.
"No, your just immune to any problems on your part," Oscar muttered, trudging away to attend the sweetbread he was baking in the nearby furnace. Its aroma was making his mouth water, which he sadly and dutifully ignored.
"What was that?"
Oscar ignored the childish urge to roll his eyes once more. "Nothing, nothing at all."
He disregarded Kieran's eyes boring holes into his back and occupied himself with the abandoned vegetables instead, attempting to chop them accordingly with a knife, but scowling upon realizing it was the one the Kieran had used for his axe-styled way of dicing vegetables, its blade broken. Oscar sighed. Kieran began to talk about something inconsequential by the fireplace, telling tales of his 'valor' and 'honor' as a knight years ago, leading Oscar to believe that the man just loved to hear himself talk. Oscar didn't mind too much, as long as he didn't have to form a response.
Oscar exhaled and resigned himself to staying quiet. Arguing with Kieran was stressful, and he had had enough of that for the past week, with the royal court officials pestering Elincia about his cooking, and how she could hire a mercenary of low social standing and trust him not to kill her in her sleep at night. It was ironic, Oscar believed, that they would fear for her life, when they were the ones who had publicly and forcibly moved to usurp her ruling the year before, going so far as to attempt to hang Lucia.
They would deny any wrongdoing, of course. They say mercenaries lack morals, but it doesn't seem that they're any better. I wonder how Queen Elincia can deal with it all and still wake up with a smile on her face in the morning…
It was true, when the Greil Mercenaries had first discovered her, she was an emotional disaster. Her parents brutally murdered by the Mad King Ashnard in front of her eyes, her friends laying down their lives for her, her knowledge on the outside world slim to none—suffice to say, Elincia had come a long ways from what she used to be, having traveled Tellius to save her nation and witnessing just exactly what life was like for those who didn't have it as easy as she did, those who like Oscar, had to fight to survive. Her experiences sobered her up quickly, and as far as he could tell, she had learned from it.
Now with her throne and nation in the process of recovering from the last two wars, Elincia had taken over Crimea as Queen with her loyal retainers at her side to guide her properly, but even with so much accomplished in such a short period of time, Oscar still on the occasion would notice her far away gazes when he saw her, or the way she spoke when they talked, her voice lacking the confidence to do what needed to be done for her country and take action. If she didn't want the nobles taking advantage of her emotions, she had to become stronger.
And that, she was.
As much as he didn't want to admit it, Oscar's nightmarish week with the nobles was a result of that streak of boldness Queen Elincia had picked up, from whom exactly he had not the slightest idea—he only hoped that her behavior wouldn't get too far out of control, as even though her new actions in revealing the truth of the past war to the general public was a good thing, if she handled the situation wrong, the tables would turn quickly on her, and her attempts for the betterment of her people would backfire immensely…
"—and then, when I used my supreme skills, I brought down that hideous Daein scum! Allow me to demonstrate on this vegetable here!" Oscar snapped back to reality and attempted to intervene Kieran, only noticing seconds too late what he was about to do.
"Kieran! No, you're going to-! "
There was a loud snap, and Oscar sighed as the sharp end of the knife slammed down on the vegetable and on to the hard, marble counter top beneath it, breaking the metal from the handle instantly with Kieran's profound strength. Oscar sighed again and gave the remaining hilt a tug and removed it from Kieran's hands, laying it on the counter across from him.
"Look, I know you want to help, but—"
"Help you? Are you mad? What are you talking about, rival?" He laughed hysterically.
Denial.
"Kieran, just shut up and listen." Kieran shut his mouth. "Look, it's not that I don't appreciate it, but you don't know very much about…cooking…and I think it would be…safer…for everyone…if you allowed me to remain in charge of this."
Kieran didn't even look fazed. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Oscar?" Oscar strived not to burst out screaming, yes!
"No, no! Not at all! What could possibly make you think that?"
"Then you won't mind if I stay?" Oscar tried not to cringe. Had the man even been listening?
"Um, Kieran—"
"Great! I'll just go back to what I was doing then—"
"Kieran!"
"Whaattt? Can't you see you're interrupting me? This takes extreme concentration, I'll have you know!" Kieran picked up the nearby spatula and waved it around like he did his arms, flinging tomato juices from it all over the kitchen and into Oscar's green hair.
Oscar glared, just on the verge of losing it.
"If you're going to stay, you're going to do what I say. Period. No whining, no qualms. End of story. You're just an accident waiting to happen in here, and I doubt Queen Elincia would appreciate it if you continued to break everything, and I hope—no, I know she would be more than happy to take it out of your paycheck! Now, let me show yo—" Oscar reached for the spatula.
"I think not! I will never accept charity from anyone, much less my archrival!" Kieran waved the spatula at him wildly once more, his voice verging on fanatical as he stabbed the tomatoes bluntly with a vengeance, finally reaching his own snapping point for the day. "You! You cur! You always intend to best me in everything! Too bad! I shall rule supreme in the culinary arts!" Kieran puffed out his chest indignantly, his green cooking apron looking supremely out of place on his well-defined figure.
Oscar, calm down! Relax. Breathe in….breath out. Breathe in…breathe out. Repeat… Think of Rolf. Kieran's like Rolf… eh, no he's not.
Oscar sighed and forced himself to walk away from Kieran, tending to the nearby pile of dishes that sat nearby.
Kieran's just being an idiot… nothing out of the usual. Just go about it calmly. No more snapping. …Heh, and here I was thinking Boyd was the biggest idiot. He'd hate to hear that he has a competitor…
"Fine; let me rephrase my proposition then: Instead of you thinking about our…erm, pleasant rivalry, be more concerned about how the nobles will take it. If they get poisoned by a bad meal, who do you think they'll blame for it? Think they'll blame me or you? Nope, they'll point fingers at Queen Elincia, since she's the one who gave us the duty. Well, technically, she hired me—so shouldn't you be helping General Geoffrey with training the new recruits?"
Oscar watched as Kieran stopped mid-slice and proceed to stab his new knife into the cutting board. He kept his back turned, and clenched the marble counter in a vice grip, his knuckles turning white. Oscar couldn't tell whether he was furious or not; he could hardly ever tell anything with Kieran—except for the fact that he was an idiot, though while that may be, he was a good soldier.
"…Are you insulting my cooking skills?" Oscar didn't miss the challenge in his voice.
"Nope. I'm just stating it as I see it."
"So you are insulting me."
"Do you think I'm insulting you?"
"I do."
"Well then, I guess if telling the truth is insulting, than that's exactly what I'm doing."
"Oh-ho, you admit to it! Dastard, trying to ruin me still!" Kieran turned away from the counter, his expression of that of a hunter looking for its prey. Oscar's green squinty eyebrows twitched in irritation, and he was sure he was beginning to understand the phrase of 'pulling one's own hair out.' He was longing to do so.
"Um, Kieran—"
"Silence! I shall listen no longer! The only fair way to resolve this conversation is… through a duel! The winner reigns supreme, and shall cook in whatever fashion he so desires! Shall we take this outside then? I certainly wouldn't want to…make a mess of things." Kieran raised a sharp, red eyebrow, already beginning to roll up his sleeves for the fight to come.
Oscar simply scowled and turned to eye the bubbling pot of stew at his side, his previous anger replace with the beginnings of exhaustion. The stew was much more agreeable, he believed, bubbling away. "Really? Do we seriously have to do this now? Its morning and I have to prepare Queen Elincia's breakfast. If you're not going to help, then go do something else. You're Commander Kieran of the Fifth Platoon, under General Geoffrey, and I don't need you here, antagonizing me, out of your own sheer desire for our rivalry, when you could be doing something much more productive. While typically I don't mind and I honestly enjoy your company, I had a really bad night yesterday, and I seriously don—"
A tomato flew towards Oscar's face seemingly out of nowhere, and he only just managed to drop to the ground in time reflexively from years of death-defying experiences kicking in, knowing he successfully dodged it when the sickening sound of a juicy, wasted vegetable splattered something solid and fleshy behind him. Oscar took a moment to process his racing thoughts before he stood from where he crouched on the cold cobblestone floor, glaring at Kieran, who positioned himself in the center of the un-godly large kitchen with a look of horror etched upon his face, his eyes wide as the dinner plates Oscar served to the nobles, staring at something he couldn't quite see.
He turned around to investigate Kieran's new-found interest and jumped, immediately remorseful to see the annoyed face of the loved General Geoffrey of Crimea's Royal Knights, undoubtedly visiting the kitchens just to take Kieran off Oscar's hands -for which he was extremely grateful- and to grab a light breakfast, instead receiving a face full of it instead.
"G-ge-general Geoffrey! I-I can explain myself, sir! Blame this hooligan here!" On queue, Kieran pointed his shaking finger at Oscar, who simply settled for an annoyed eye squinting and sigh in response. The General silenced Kieran with a single look, and began the slow process of removing the splattered tomato from his armor wordlessly.
Geoffrey was a tall man, almost always impeccably dressed in his royal Crimean battle attire, his azure hair short and trimmed as to keep it out of his eyes during battles, dark blue armor shined but scratched, and his Brave Lance strapped to his back no matter the circumstances of where he may be found in the castle. Oddly enough, for once though, Geoffrey was without his usual weapon, and Oscar found himself wondering whether that had just saved Kieran's life from forfeit or not.
Geoffrey rubbed the tomato from his face with a taken a back look, staring in befuddlement at the translucent juices in his hand. Oscar quickly reached for a cloth from the dish covered counter, feeling moronic for not having helped Geoffrey sooner.
"My apologies, sir. Kieran and I got in a bit of an argument, and this is my fault for letting it get out of control. I will take full responsibility for his ac—"
"MY actions? What are you trying to pull, making me out as the instigator? You're the one who accused ME of being unhelpful, you squinty-eyed dast—"
"Enough!" Geoffrey bellowed, his eyes narrowed and a look of exhaustion written on his face. He closed his eyes and leaned against the northern side of the kitchen's wall, Oscar's unhelpful rag dangling from his hands. He sighed, "Look, I know we've all been through a lot these past couple of nights, and I understand, but even then, it does not excuse this kind of childish behavior." Geoffrey gathered the rag in his hands into a small ball, and turned to his sub-ordinate, who trembled. "Kieran, respect Oscar and let him do his duties the way he sees fit. And Oscar, if he bothers you again, please feel free to retrieve me. I don't want this to become a permanent issue with you two. Understood?"
Oscar nodded his head in respect to the younger general, "Yes sir!"
"Good." Geoffrey sighed. "Now that we have that settled, go get yourselves cleaned up and meet me in the mess hall as soon as you can—with some food, if possible. We have a special guest, an old friend with an important treaty, which after last night I'm sure you already know about."
Kieran looked noticeably puzzled, and Oscar smiled, already having a good idea who it was. "Who would travel to the royal palace this early in the morning?" Kieran asked. "It's ungodly! They must be insane."
Geoffrey grinned and tossed the now dirtied rag onto the counter, crossing his armored arms. "Who do you think it is? It's Sir Ranulf, of course."
.
0o0o0o0
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Ranulf grinned amiably across the table at Queen Elincia, a bread role in his left hand and Crimea's proposed treaty in the other. He had been escorted by General Geoffrey only moments earlier into the mess hall, and got the pleasurable surprise of witnessing the queen in her royal sleepwear. She had jumped from her chair upon his entrance, curtsied in embarrassment, and dashed from the room faster than Ranulf had seen anyone run in a while. Geoffrey and he simply stared after her with confused looks, cluelessly pining as to what would cause her to react in the flustered manner that she had. The two men simply shrugged at one another and sat down at the long, oaken table which filled the majority of the mess hall, making idle chit-chat back and forth between themselves pleasantly.
It didn't take very long before the queen returned, dressed in her royal, silken attire with the golden chaplet placed upon her brow, and took a seat at the head of the table, giving Ranulf a friendly smile. He threw a quick glance around the room, taking in the inhibitors' reactions, unsurprised to notice how their expressions viewed their queen's own; Elincia had a friendly air about her, and certainly her people would mirror their ruler's moods.
Elincia sat across from him at the head of the table, her head currently bent over the paperwork in front of her, assessing it. A couple of Crimean officials stood around her, talking in whispers. Ranulf politely kept his attention focused elsewhere, attempting to ignore the comments of which they spoke, so easy for his laguz ears to hear their every complaint towards the treaty.
"…I do not agree with this. Your Highness, I'm imploring you to reconsi—"
"Hush. We've gone over this already. I've heard your views, and I will not change my decision after everything we've gone through to get where we are now. I'm sorry to hear that you don't agree with this, but I will not stop what is best for Crimea out of your own unhappiness. You will have to accept it as the way it is. Change is coming for the Crimean citizens, and I will see that we all pass through this trial accordingly. I will not deny the truth to them any longer. This will be good for both our countries to carry out." Her voice was nothing more than a whisper, softly spoken, though even then, Ranulf could sense the resolve that stood beneath her sentiments. She was becoming stronger, no longer the naïve woman she had once been, constantly putting matters aside and relying on others for help.
If only all the nobles were like you, than we'd all be that much better off. You'll go far with Crimea, Elincia; Ike and Nasir were right about you.
Ranulf discreetly eyed the noble that had spoken out against Gallia and Crimea's secret treaty, taking in his appearance. His fancy attire practically screamed wealth in Ranulf's mind, the man dressed in long, white, tumultuous robes, fastened with a single, silver brooch just below his droopy face. His eyes were partly sunken in, little beads of jet black reflecting nothing, it seemed, above a hawk-like nose. The graying hair upon his head had been combed to one side, showing the shiny bald spot that rested just upon his brow, wrinkles beneath that and so on. Ranulf doubted he'd ever physically worked a day in his life—
These beorc males would be like chickens on a battlefield. They wouldn't last long.
Heh, Ashera forbid that aristocrats should ever have to sweat a little… what a bunch of cretins… Ranulf thought dismally.
"Well said, Your Majesty! I applaud you…a pleasant and inspiring speech." Ranulf tore his sly gaze away from the group of beorc and rolled his eyes, reaching for the glass of water that sat in front of him and taking a much needed swallow.
"We will abide by your decision," another noble spoke up. "You know what is best as our queen. We wholly support your notions and will continue to do so! May fortunes always smile on your endeavors…"
Ranulf choked in disbelief, spitting out his water across the table at the unfortunate General Geoffrey, who regrettably didn't move quite as fast as he should have.
Since when have you upperclassmen ever supported her? You tried to remove her from the throne just a year ago! And now you're going to lie and say that you're all in agreement? You're all disgusting! You're just toying with her! This isn't some game! This is beyond important–
"Ranulf? Ranulf! Are you all right?" Elincia was peering at him in concern, halfway standing from her chair, prepared to help on a moment's notice.
He waved her away, and hastily took another drink of water to quell his cough. "I-I'm g-good, gre-eat, fabulous... J-just a hairball, Your Majesty; they're rather ticklish, you know? A real pain for us b-beast tribe laguz," Ranulf choked out, cluing in Elincia with a discreet wink. She blinked in surprise, then smiled covertly and returned to her seat, attempting casual converse with several noble officials nearby, who all eyed Ranulf with open disbelief showing on their faces. Ranulf gave a little wave when they looked his way, having fun putting on a show for them. They had no idea that he was insulting them.
This is blasphemy. It's only fair that they get a bit of it.
Ranulf winked his purple eye at the hawk-eyed noble that had spoke up earlier, and gave him a fake smile. The man snorted and turned his back on him.
…I love the maturity around here. Ha! And to think that Lethe complains about me…I have nothing on these beorc.
Ranulf shook his head in disbelief and redirected his attention to something more interesting, something to help pass the waiting time more quickly, his eyes landing on the distressed palace knight in front of him. Ranulf raised a skeptical eyebrow at the general's weary appearance, and wordlessly reached for a cloth napkin nearby, offering it to him innocently with a single, bandaged finger.
"…What happened to you?"
.
0o0o0o
.
"I apologize for the long wait. Things were a bit… difficult."
Ranulf glanced up from his seat in the royal gardens of Melior, where he had been sitting since the queen's officials had requested to meet in private with her. He was sure it was merely a way for them to express their distress over their queen's decision, to tell her how much they couldn't support her. While Ranulf would have loved to have stayed and have voiced an opinion of his own, he was sure his presence wouldn't help the situation, and suffice to say, being as far away from them as possible would hopefully have cleared their minds—as well as his own.
Besides, he liked looking at the dead flowers in the pouring rain.
"Don't apologize, I'm fine," Ranulf replied, straightening up from his seat in the small gazebo that he decided to occupy. It wasn't much to look at, though it certainly kept the rain from touching him. "I trust that things went well? They didn't give you too much trouble, did they?"
Queen Elincia gave him a small laugh and smiled grimly; brushing back a small emerald curl that had slipped from it's usual up do. She looked tired, and took a seat across from him, tucking her legs beneath her. "Far better than what it had once been or I had expected, to say the least. Admittedly, there were a few officials who spoke out, but no objections after I laid my final decision before them. I'm glad to say that the treaty has been signed, and within a week, I will reveal the truth to the public. I trust that Skrimir will be doing so as well?"
Ranulf nodded his head. "Yep."
"Good, otherwise I would have been forced to do it without him. It seems Daein will be the last one to speak publicly about the war's events…"
'…been forced to do it without him?' That's bold of you…
Ranulf stared silently for a few moments, contemplating. "…Since when did you develop such a backbone?"
"E-excuse me?" Elincia sputtered, her mouth agape.
Woops, that came out wrong.
"Wait– don't be insulted. What I meant to say is, I don't thing I've ever seen you so…so… self-assured in your decisions before." Ranulf paused. "…Well of course you had to be strong during the war, but this behavior… you've just surprised me, that's all. It's not a bad thing. In fact, I think it's great." He shrugged nonchalantly, immediately regretting his words; it wasn't his place to judge her.
"I…I am…very glad to hear that." Elincia beamed.
"You are?" Ranulf asked in surprise.
"I am. Nobody's said anything about it—it seems you're the first that's actually said something! Heh!" She giggled and covered her mouth, and Ranulf simply grinned at her.
"What? Do I have stubble on my face?"
"N-no! It's not that! It's- it's just… heh, if you only knew the reason why I act the way I do now, you'd laugh at me!"
"…Really? Now you piqued my interest. Try me."
"Ah, no," The queen shook her head. "I don't want to take up anymore of your ti–"
"I've got plenty," he intervened. "I'm a free man– er, cat, that is. If this was seriously going to interrupt my day I would say something."
"Ah, well, if you really want to hear…"
"Your Majesty, am I not inquiring enough all ready?" Ranulf gave her a grin.
It's too much fun making her flustered.
Elincia looked taken aback, but nodded her head with a small smile gracing her features. "I-I see. …Well, I shall tell you than. Several months after the war ended… after Ashera's defeat, I received a particular visitor, one I hadn't seen since then… it was completely unexpected, her arrival… the Queen of Hatari."
Ranulf's eyebrows rose involuntarily, unable to feign his surprise. "Queen Nailah? She came to Crimea?"
I thought she had returned home… she couldn't have stayed here without first having plans. That would be the same as abandoning her position as ruler…
"More specifically, she came to speak with me," Elincia continued.
"Oh?"
"…She spoke to me about emigrating her people across the Desert of Death. She was wondering if there would be room for her people here, if she had the desire or need to keep the citizens together."
"She's migrating her people?" Ranulf asked incredulously.
First time I've heard anything about this! I'm surprised that she's never visited Gallia to ask us that… after all, the wolves are part of the beast tribe as well.
"Well, she said that's what she hoped to do. How she could accomplish a feat such as that, I have no idea… it's one thing to rule over a country, but another to have the people voyage to someplace they've never been before, and much less cross the desert!"
All right, Nailah definitely has something planned if she's going along with this.
"…What did you tell her?" he asked quietly.
"I simply told her that I would see what I could do." Elincia responded firmly, looking out at the royal gardens, her eyes wandering. Ranulf wasn't sure whether she was avoiding his gaze intentionally or not. "…Crimea is still undergoing reconstruction, as well as new laws and officials being discussed at length everyday." Elincia smiled resignedly. "The new treaty that we just signed with you is one we've been debating over for several weeks. It's taken a lot of energy and effort out of everyone around here. As a result, it goes to say that we haven't been as… diligent and up-to-speed, as we usually are. I told Nailah that, and she said it didn't matter. She just wanted a straight answer, I'm assuming, because she left so abruptly afterwards. I was afraid I might have said something to offend her, or perhaps said something she didn't want to hear..." Ranulf shook his head as she finished.
"I highly doubt it. Nailah may be headstrong and a bit… direct at times, though she's incredibly sharp too. I'd say she had already come to a conclusion just upon speaking with you."
Elincia bit her lip, wringing her hands together slightly. "And what do you think that would be?"
Ranulf tapped his fingers on the table in front of him, smiling. "She's looking for your assistance."
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0o0o0o
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Rain poured freely from the sky, clogging the air with sweet and heavy mist. The ground was soft and easily overturned underfoot, mushy from the precipitation that hadn't yielded at all during the daylight hours. Tracks and prints of all kinds stood out in the path that Ike walked, though only one kept him on his toes, and his senses sharp.
Quietly, as to not disturb their followers, Ike snuck as stealthily as possible over the murky grounds to the nearest tree and ducked beneath its low, overhanging branches, tossing a brief glance around the darkening forest for his other companion. When no sign of Soren appeared, he drew Ettard from its sheath on his back, and pressed his body tightly against the tree, reducing his visibility; it wouldn't do him any good to get caught by the bandits before he even made his first move.
I hate ambushes; they're so dishonorable. Sneaking around behind the trees, lying in wait… I might as well be a bandit myself.
Ike blinked and shoved his blue hair out of his face in annoyance, damp from the rain, keeping his eyes peeled for Soren's signal. He was feeling a bit uneasy, leaving Soren vulnerable for the bandits to attack, and using him to draw them in. While Ike knew Soren was quick and had reasonably good reflexes for an archsage, the feeling wouldn't fade.
There were only two of them as it was, and taking on a group of bandits was just asking for trouble. A mercenary could have all the skill and strength in the world, but even the smallest lapse would invite death. Greil's demise saw proof in that theory, and he was the most resilient man Ike had ever known. In Soren's case, despite his tactical prowess, a single blow from a bandit's axe would be damn near fatal if not kill him immediately.
…No, his stubbornness would keep him alive.
Splashing recaptured Ike's attention, and he turned his head to the right of the tree just in time to see a disheveled Soren sprinting down the puddle covered road, the loud jesting after him revealing that the bandits were not far behind. Ike stayed put and watched silently, waiting for the appropriate time to make his move.
Soren knew where he was, and would give him a signal when it was time. He would have rather charged in for a straight up fight, but as Soren had adopted as a habit to tell him frequently, his recklessness would get him killed eventually—both of them if he kept at it. Soren was right of course, so Ike attempted to be more agreeable and think before he acted, but even then, there were still plenty of occasions where instinct would take over, and before he would even realize what he was doing, he was out in the midst of battle without a thought fairing for the aftermath.
Battles end quicker that way, Ike thought simply.
Soren stopped only several yards past Ike's position and doubled over his knees, his chest heaving and his wet robes clinging to him. Though while Soren was definitely not skilled in high physical stamina of any kind really, his iron-nerves made up for the endurance he lacked, making him a difficult opponent for anyone. Ike couldn't tell from his position whether Soren was faking his condition for a show or not. He sincerely hoped it the first option. Soren could be a bit dramatic at times when he wanted to.
"Well, well, well. Look at this, boys; little minx is running out of energy," Ike stiffened as the bandits' voices came into range, the splashing and their heavy footsteps all the evidence Ike needed of their identity. The speaker had to be the leader, he was sure.
"Ah-! Sure moved fast for a kid so small!" Another bandit.
"—Boney little thing too," a third bandit cut in, "look at those scrawny arms; won't stand a chance against u—"
"Shut up! Don't forget about the boy's companion; he was a rather strong-looking pup, and he's probably lurking nearby, boys. Better not let y'er guard down unless ya want'a get skinned. Stupid sell-swords like 'im don't abandon their fellow comrades…no matter how apparently useless they are." The bandits chortled in response to their leader, and Ike bit his lip firmly to keep himself from replying with a foul retort, hearing more responses then he had originally thought there would be. There had to be more than ten of them, at the least.
"Useless? I'd think twice about that sentiment. Are you ready to die now?" Soren's calm voice was a relief, and Ike readied himself. He wiped his sweaty fingers dry, slick from feeling so antsy, and raised his blade slightly. It'd be any moment, he was sure.
Hurry it up, Sor–
"Look! 'He's reachin' for somethi—agh, it's a sage! Kill 'im quick! Don't let him get a'old th–"
Ike took that as his queue and launched himself from behind the tree, his blade ready at his side and eyes quickly locking on his enemies.
They didn't even have a chance.
Ettard bit into the back of the closest brawly bandit's neck, cleaving the man's head from his shoulders easily before he could even pick up his axe. Ike used the momentum to follow through with a low blow upon the man to his right with a grunt, faking for a sweep with his blade and tripping him with a foot instead, and stabbed him in the chest quickly, ending the struggle. Blood frothed from the man's lips in small bubbles and Ike looked away from the disturbing sight, setting his eyes in the direction of wind spells and screams of agony; Soren had to be over there.
Looks like he's managing just fin–
"Ike! Look out!" He turned to his right in mild surprise and neatly dodged an arrow launched at his face, watching as it embedded itself in the tree's trunk just a mere couple inches from its target.
Obviously I should be more concerned about myself…
Ike kept his eye on the archer and cleaved the next arrow shot at him in half quickly before dodging around several more bandits and standing by almost idly as the foolhardy archer brought down his own men.
It was a given that the man was a moron. Ike didn't mind taking advantage of that.
He dodged along the side of the road, making his way to the archer and dodging arrows as nimbly as possible as they were shot towards him with poor accuracy. Before the man could even nock another arrow, Ike jumped and brought Ettard down in an arc, slashing the man in the chest and ending him quickly with a smooth slice of the throat. Before he could even touch the ground he was already dead.
Soren appeared to be doing well, untouched and unscathed and decimating the bandits in greater numbers than Ike was doing, using a wide-range wind spell. With a snap of his arm and a page hastily ripped from his tome, a large wind blade shot forth and several bandits flew backwards and into their allies, causing some of them to impale themselves on their own weapons as they crashed into the undergrowth behind them. Ike hurriedly made his way over to his companion, killing any man that dared cross his path to block him.
"This is the most pathetic bunch of bandits I've ever seen before," Soren greeted Ike as he came close and turned back-to-back against him. He frowned and ripped out another page from his tome, muttering the words under his breath quickly and efficiently, resulting in more bandits being tossed backwards by the wind.
I agree with you. It's as though they aren't even really trying to survive...
"They're terrible," Ike replied, decapitating an axe man that came too close for comfort. "There's some power in numbers though," he grunted, swinging his blade as another bandit came back for seconds; he died on the end of Ettard before being slung off into the slow growing pile of corpses, "if they actually utilized it, that is."
"Not if their ranks are as disorganized as this; they might as well be committing suicide." Soren grimaced and ducked nimbly as another archer shot at him, though retaliated adroitly with a highly efficient spell that killed the man instantly, sending his mangled and twisted body crashing into the tree branches behind him.
Suicidal bandits? That would be a first. They can do all the work for us.
"That's what it feels like though, doesn't it? This is too easy…" Ike turned around cautiously in a circle with Soren, checking the shadows and the corpses for anymore bandits in hiding, and a certain face, frowning when he didn't see it. The battle had progressed much too quickly. "The leader's corpse isn't here," he said quietly.
Soren grimaced and rubbed several speckles of blood from his face, turning to face Ike. "That's what they want us to think. They want us to let down our guard, wait till we're vulnerable. Then they'll strike and finish us off when we least expect it. I know it," he finished disagreeably. Ike frowned and stared at the trunk of the tree closest to him, trying to think their situation through for once.
It won't come to that. We've already decimated most of them, and there can't be too many more…
"…They're going to play our own plan against us–"
A war cry echoed all around them, and Ike readied Ettard and his stance for combat, standing back-to-back with Soren.
"For a mercenary, you figured it out faster than I thought! Nicely done! Too bad your victory's short lived! Get 'em boys!"
Ike threw his head up in shock as bandits leapt from the trees around them, their weapons polished and eyes gleaming in the rain as it poured from above. He didn't even have time to raise his blade to defend for the oncoming onslaught before the bandit leader collided with him head on, his axe sinking deep into Ike's unprotected right shoulder; he yelled in pain as Ettard fell uselessly from his fingers and he along with it to the rain soaked ground beneath.
Damn it! My sword arm! Ah– hell that hurts! Dammit!
"Ike?" Soren yelled.
"I'm fine!" he roared and rolled to his left as the leader pulled out another steel axe from his side and slammed it down where his head had been mere moments before, leaving ruts the length of his forearm in the damp earth. Ike attempted to scramble to his feet, the axe still lodged in his shoulder. He stumbled back and tripped up against the roots of the tree the leader had leapt from, his breath coming out in hisses as warms liquids seeped down his body, something he hadn't witnessed or felt in a while. He gripped his shoulder in pain, wincing as blood surged over his fingers, his nails biting into his skin.
It feels so heavy… damn it! They knew what we were planning! …Soren was right when he said we shouldn't have taken on this job! There's way too many!
"…That's a nice accessory you got there; a common one these days for sell-swords like yourself. Mind telling me where I could get one?" Ike couldn't turn around to look, though he didn't need to see to know the bandit leader wore a smug look.
"Come over here, and you can have one too. I don't mind sharing," Ike launched back quickly, his chest heaving from the pain; the bandit leader's smile faded. Ike clenched his teeth and reached for the axe in his shoulder, his body aching to be released from the pain. He could vaguely hear screaming in the background, though he couldn't tell whether it was himself or Soren removing the other bandits from play. He hoped it was the latter.
Dam– Ah!
The leader lunged at him once more, and Ike barely managed to scrabble across the roots out of the way, hooking and ripping the axe from his flesh in the process; he let out another ragged yell and fell to the ground once more.
"Ike? IKE!" Soren's panicked voice barely registered in his mind.
"Time to die!" Ike staggered and collapsed, weaponless, out of breath, and running out of options much too quickly. His shoulder was bleeding rapidly, and he was sure something was piercing him in the backsid–
Ragnell!
With fumbling fingers, Ike reached around with his good arm, scrambling for the hilt of the ancient blade, thinking, just maybe, if time was on his side–
His head was ripped cleanly from his shoulders faster than he had expected.
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0o0o0o0
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(A/N): Ah, forgive me for the cliffy. I'm sure you can take a guess at what happened though, yes? *Ahem* Anyways, I hope this was enjoyable to read. This was my first time ever writing a fight scene, and I'm pleased with how it turned out, though I felt like I overdid it a bit… Ah, well. How was the Oscar and Kieran scene? It probably wasn't necessary, but it was fun to write, just because Kieran's such a goof… so yeah… um, review and share some thoughts if you have the time? Feedback is always a pleasure to read. :)