This story is rated (NC-17) M for violence, language and sexual content.

Disclaimer: Nintendo owns Fire Emblem. I own this fanfic.

Fire Emblem: Legend Of The Chaos Hero

Book One: In The Grip Of Hatred

By Chaos Hero Mark

Chapter III - X: Infiltration

"Two months passed since my return to Olympia and to my home nation. It's been seven years since I've left. In theory; my plan was simple, executing it flawlessly, was the hardest part. I had to make sure that no-one beyond my family, Edgar and Cassandra knew of this. It has to be quick, flawless and without hindrance."

Deep within castle Trivalon, Mark resided alone in the royal library. Donning a brown cloak instead of his favorite green one; he still wore his usual attire, except for the black boots and dark turquoise library had five shelves, filled with different books spaced apart seven feet from each other; surrounding the walls were built-in shelves filled with endless rows of books. The books themselves were shifted in different categories for easier findings. Cassandra walked up to him as he was reading a particular book. Mark shut the book in order to give her his full attention.

"I heard you're going to take Edgar's place in the council." She asked.

"Yes. I thought it would be better. I can't risk Edgar losing it by going there. Thankfully, they haven't met him yet." He looked into her eyes as he assured her. "Edgar and I will have other identities. No one else except you, Father and Uncle will know who we are. You've nothing to worry about."

Cassandra wasn't convinced as she became deeply worried for Mark's safety. "Nothing to worry about? My father's going to be there; if he finds out about you, it won't be long before he learns about Edgar."

Mark didn't want to reveal everything to her, but he also couldn't lie to her. His expression became serious as he addressed her. "Your father believed we died seven years ago. I'm risking my identity and life on this meeting. If all goes well, I'll gain footing in the council. If not, take Edgar and leave Olympia."

Cassandra saw how serious he was about going through with his plan. She saw a dark look in his eyes. Eyes that carried a hatred for her father. Above all, he will not allow anyone to sway him from his vengeful path.

He spoke again, snapping her out of her thoughts. "How much do you know about poison?"

"I have some knowledge about it. What kind are you looking for?" She asked waving her hand passively, but her tone carried fear, knowing where this is heading.

"I heard a rumor once, that there is a particular kind that hasn't got a known cure. I've also heard that once it gets into your blood; the poison takes, at least three days to kill the person." He took out a pouch full of gold coins and added "The poison is said to slowly paralyze the body, break the system down and make that person suffer, three days of pure Hell."

"That's the Pale Horse you're talking about!" She exaggerated "It's nearly impossible to get that stuff, even in the black market."

"You're gonna take Edgar with you."

Cassandra was shocked at this statement. "What? You want me to find it?"

"I can trust you with this. Besides, you know where to find the black market and Edgar will be there to protect you." He replied as he took her hand and placed the pouch in it.

"Mark." She mumbled nervously. "Even if we can get our hands on it; do you have any idea how long it's gonna take? You can't guarantee that this plan will work."

The tactician placed the book back in its place in between the others and once again assured her. "I can make this work. If anyone can get it, you can." He smiled at her and added,"Have faith in me Cassy."

Once he saw how convinced she was by those words, he made his way to the door when Cassandra remembered a message she was suppose to give him. "Mark! I forgot to tell you!" She called after him as she ran to him near the door.

He noticed Cassandra's nervous smile as she spoke. "Uncle Nathyn just got back yesterday. Why don't you go and surprise him?"

"Perhaps I will, thank you." He whispered, returning her smile as he opened the door and left.

- X -

Mark took a slow walk in the hallway; lost in his thoughts, he wondered what he would say to his uncle whom he also hasn't seen in seven years. A pager and three milkmaids walked by and greeted Mark. He passively nodded in acknowledgment as he went pass them. After a while, he came to the one room he will find his uncle in most of the time: The Music Ballroom. He slowly took the handle and turned it; he pushed the door open, slowly.

Inside the room; on his left side, at the corner, there was a large stage with red curtains; in the center of the stage, stood a small podium and on top of it, a musical notebook stood open. In front of the book lay a thin stick that conductors use in concerts. To his right side; there were two large shelves that covered most of the wall; tucked neatly with all sorts of musical instruments. The floor was covered with fine, varnished, bright wood. The walls themselves were coated in pure white with a large eight-point transparent window, shining high above the practice stage. In front of him, three small shelves at his left, near the stage. The first was filled with notebooks and musical sheets and the other two had smaller instruments arranged neatly. On the right side was a double door. The tactician closed the door behind him and slowly stepped into the center, where the sun's rays shined. He took a good look around the large room; it was a little different from what he remembered.

He was soon, snapped out of his thoughts as he heard a man speaking behind the double doors. The slot was turned; the right door opened, a man stepped inside and locked the door behind him. He was a plump looking man, about sixty-six years old. He wore a buttoned-up brown and black vest; a white shirt underneath and a green-turquoise-ish coat. His pants were a deep magenta color with rolled up cream-colored socks, and brown shoes. The elder man's hair was a mixture of white and light grey. His short hair stood up, spread out and his eye color was black. He noticed Mark standing; took a few steps closer with his cane as support and curiously asked.

"And how did you get in here, young man?"

Mark stuttered for a moment before replying. "The door was unlocked sir." He said as he pointed to the door he came from.

"The door was unlocked, you say?" He ranted. "Bah! That useless cad! He can't even remember to lock the door!" His expression softened, when he saw Mark staring at him with an amused look on his face. The senior squinted his eyes at him and wagged his finger at him, while gripping his cane with the same hand "Are you lost, young man?"

"Uhm, no. No I'm not sir." Mark said, smiling at the senior.

"Hold on, let me just get my glasses." He mumbled, dropping his cane as he fumbled around with his right hand. Mark walked forward to the man, and bent forward to pick up his cane as the senior struggled with his good, right hand to open his glasses.

"Please, allow me." Mark said as he helped open the man's glasses. He slid it carefully on the man's face so that he could see better. The senior soon recognized the youth towering above him; he gave a warm smile as he wasted no time in embracing the younger man. Mark returned his embrace and whispered. "Uncle Nathyn, how have you been?"

"I'm rather well, thank you." They released their embrace as he continued. "Even better, now that your here."

Mark handed the cane to his uncle as they walked to the single door. Nathyn took the initiative and spoke. "You know, my last trip has left me rather hungry, and you have much to tell me; care to join me as we catch up on lost times?"

"I'd be more than happy to." Mark replied with a warm smile. They soon found themselves walking in the hallways. Mark called for a pager's attention as they walked by, and told him to bring some food and tea to the dining room, where they were heading to. Inside the large, dining room, the floor was covered with marble tiles; in the centre was a red carpet with yellow sides and a large table further down. The table was covered with a white cloth and three triple candle-holders were placed, spaciously from each other. Mark and Nathyn took their seats one chair away from each other, and while waiting for the food, they began to catch up on many things. They had many discussions; such as court affairs, Mark's journey and Nathyn's trip. Three pagers arrived with the tray of two plates, consisting of meat and vegetables, with two cups of tea; placed it in front of them, and left. As Mark and Nathyn ate of their food, his uncle asked him a question he didn't see coming.

"Mark." He began, staring at his nephew with a wide smile. "Are there any women that have caught your eye?"

At hearing this, Mark had put down his utensils, took a sip of his tea and calmly feigned innocence. "I don't know what you speak of, uncle."

His uncle, however pressed the issue. "Oh, come on! Most youngsters your age are already trying to woo ladies of every kind; milkmaids, nobles, even the prostitutes are not spared from the courting frenzy."

Mark rolled his eyes; forcing himself to listen to his uncle's ramblings, he thought to himself. "Great. First Edgar, and now my uncle. Does it ever stop?" He passively said as he sipped on his tea. "They sound like a bunch of adolescents who can't control themselves."

"That may be true, but... Bah! We are getting off the subject here." He refuted. "I still want to know who the lucky lady that stole your heart is."

Mark was silently, devouring his food at that point. He didn't wish to be reminded of love, or of her. After some time, Nathyn saw how silent his nephew was and asked. "Do you want to talk about it?"

A prompt 'No' was all Mark said, Nathyn asked a different question; changing the subject. "How did things go with your father?"

He took a cloth, laying next to his plate, cleaned his lips and muttered. "Terrible."

Nathyn saw how depressed his nephew was, and decided not to press the issue any further. When they finished their meal, Mark looked at him with a straight face and said. "I'm sorry, uncle."

"For what?" The plump man asked curiously. He wondered what was on the tactician's mind.

He closed his eyes, bowed his head and mumbled. "Aunt Bera."

The older man placed his right hand on his shoulder and stared at Mark with a sad look and began. "That was four years after I sent you away. There's nothing to gain by being depressed." He then flashed a smile and said. "I was very fortunate to have met her." He opened his eyes as his uncle finished. "I never once regretted having her as my wife."

Mark remained silent at that point. When they finished, they got up from their seats and proceeded to the door. As Mark escorted Nathyn to his quarters, he asked. "Your bags -"

"Gahh, don't worry about such trivial things." He mumbled "It's been taken care of."

The tactician asked his uncle a question, concerning The Concert.

"Ahh... you must be speaking of The Royal Concert of the Heavens." He mused, before coughing. He held out his good hand to indicate that he's okay, before continuing. "I have been the conductor of that concert for forty-one years, and no one is going to stop me from going for forty-two."

"Of course they wouldn't." The tactician, grinned. "Music has been your life's work. I've seen very few people that could match you, sir."

As they got nearer to his quarters, they slowed their walking pace. The pair saw they were alone in the hallway, when Nathyn whispered to him. "You've grown into a fine man Mark. I wish I had you for a son."

Knowing what his uncle is trying to say, he carelessly responded by asking. "What about Avenfrite?"

"Avenfrite..." He grimaced. "Avenfrite has no respect for me or anyone else. He's a drunken fornicator and he throws feasts like there's no tomorrow. That pompous excrement abuses his power, treats his servants like trash and he thinks he's God's gift to the world! As his father, I am ashamed to call him my son!"

Mark realized he shouldn't have asked about his cousin. A moment later, the short man's angry features change to that of sorrow. Mark drew him closer and embraced him as he got on his knees, to match his uncles height. He wasn't paying any mind towards time itself, as he allowed his uncle to let his grief run its course. After what seemed like an eternity, they released their embrace as Mark got to his feet. He was about to say something, but his uncle had cut him off.

"My quarters is nearby. I can walk the rest of the way myself."

"I'm sorry for -"

"Don't trouble yourself about it, my boy." He said, regaining his composure. "You should go back to your room. I will send someone to meet you there."

As he left, Mark thought of what he had learned over these past two months. In their youth; his cousin Avenfrite, had always picked on those he deemed inferior. His uncle tried in vain, to correct his wrongdoings. Cassandra even told him how Avenfrite had disrespected his stepmother at her deathbed. After the funeral, Nathyn had disowned and severed all ties to his son, who then moved in with his mother. Mark wasn't too worried of having to deal with an airhead such as Avenfrite, but his subconscious felt differently. The tired tactician arrived at his quarters as night fall.

- X -

Inside Mark's quarters, there was a bed on his left corner in front of him. Above the bed was a transparent window with a turquoise curtain and the carpet was a deep orange color. Opposite his bed was a cupboard, and next to the cupboard was a small room where he could bathe. In the center stood two sofa-like chairs, with magenta colored cushions. He made sure that the door was locked before he shed his cloak near his green one, threw his vest on the bed and sat on the bed and removed his boots. Many thoughts were running through his mind. In the two months he returned, he had learned that Edgar told his father about what happened. Rugal swore to help Mark get into the council, so he can win Gathian's trust and then slay him. The former prince didn't like the idea of working with a man who ignored and neglected him for many years, but he hadn't much heard a knock on the door. When he gave the person permission to enter, the door open and the man entered. To his dismay, it was his father. Rugal motioned for a seat, which he complied.

When he was seated, the king looked around to make sure that the door was closed. When he was assured, Rugal reached inside his chain mail, took out an envelope and said "Three days from now, the council will meet. I will introduce you as my apprentice."

"I see..." Mark's voice trailed off.

"Mark." He began. "If anyone outside our operatives learn of this plan, it's not just you that -"

"I know!" Mark shouted, cutting him off. A moment later, he calmed himself and said. "A lot of our people stand to lose everything, even their lives." He glared at his father, motioning to him that he understood the consequences of failure. Rugal continued explaining to him how they worked and operate. When he were finished, he gave his son the envelope and said. "It took us about five, six years to acquire all those names." His face darkened as he continued. "Names of all the people who profited from what happened that black day. Are you going to include them in your plan?"

"Yes." Mark muttered. He found himself trying to contain his anger. "The real challenge is: how do we get them all in one place?"

Rugal answered his question for him. "Only Gathian or his Four Cornerstones have that authority, which is why I will introduce you to him. He's always looking for new talent."

He got up from his seat and went to the door. Before he left, he told Mark. "At dawn, I want you to head for the dungeon. I will have a servant guide you."

The door closed behind as he left. Mark thought it would be best to get some rest as he undressed himself. Many things were running through his mind. He learned from Edgar how difficult it was for his father to maintain a neutral stance, despite Trivalon being more powerful than Regallas. For the time being, he would have to be prepared for anything. At the crack of dawn, fully dressed in his attire from yesterday, without the vest and glasses, Mark stood in the hallway. He saw the servant that his father sent and passively asked for his name.

"Arel, my lord." The young servant replied. As the servant guided Mark to the dungeon, the tactician made sure that no one was following them. He took a fresh torch as they went to the deepest part of the cold, stanching dungeon. Mark saw how Arel was trying to refrain himself from throwing up and shook his head. The servant saw how Mark was measuring him with his dark look and, with some struggle, he got a grip on himself. They walked through the corridor, with nothing but the torches and the black walls before them. As they walked past the rows of cells, they could hear the wails of the prisoners. Some were soft, others were loud. The pair ignored their cries as they stopped at a particular cell. It had a steel door and a blank slab on top, unlike the others with all their names written on it. The servant handed Mark the key to the cell and nervously said. "Is there anything else milord?"

"No." Mark replied. He stared at the young man with a much darker look in his eyes than the one he had earlier. The servant became frightened when he saw the assorted, torture devices on a table next to the door. He hastily bowed before he left. Once Mark saw he was alone, he unlocked the door and entered the cell, closing the steel door behind him.

- X -

Inside the cell, the floor and walls were dark grey with patches of dried blood and urine. The stench in the cell was nauseating, even Mark had to cover his nose for a while. High above the wall was a window which was the only source of sunlight. In the center, a man who was half naked had both arms in the air with his wrists in chains. His feet were bound in chain as well, anchored by two cannon balls. The half naked man wore tattered brown pants with a missing boot. He was of thin build, had a goatee with long messed up hair. His torso was riddled with scars, whip marks and torn flesh. Mark was thankful that his father didn't kill this man. It was like everything was prepared for him as he got closer to the man, torch in hand. He saw the man was unconscious and moved the torch closer to his face. The flames licked and seared the prisoner's face, which caused the man to wake up screaming. Seeing the man awake, Mark removed the torch from his face.

The prisoner looked around frantically as Mark slowly walked around him. He took a good look at the former, finance minister.

"Please sir, let me be! I have suffered enough!" The man cried.

Mark ignored the man's cry as he calmly, flashed a smile. "Finance Minister, Knon Merces. We meet again." He gestured his left hand towards the man and added. "These last seven years haven't been kind to you, I see."

Knon, the prisoner couldn't see him clearly, but was confused by what he said. Mark stared at him, waiting for the man to recognize him. Knon took another look at Mark with his good eye and shrank back in shock. The tactician saw his chance to continue.

"By that look on your face, I take it you finally recognize me minister." He stopped in front of the man as he tried to shake desperately to free himself.

"You! Why the Hell are you still alive?!" The man spat. Mark held the torch near enough for both men to see each other properly and retorted. "Good question. I'm sure you can figure it out on your own."

A moment later, he saw Knon's fearful expression. The Former minister knew that he was in for the worst. Mark began to interrogate him with a cold tone and a dark look.

"Seven years ago, you betrayed us. You have no idea how many lives you destroyed in your attempt to win the Emperor's favor, nor the Hell my companions were put through."

"Please! I didn't have a choice!" Knon begged.

"We always have choices. And yours came at the cost of innocent lives. And Edgar's dignity." He said that last sentence with much anger behind it.

Mark reached his left hand into his pocket, took out an Elixir as Knon retorted. "How dare you speak down to me as if you know everything whelp?! You should have died in Hells Gate, you illegitimate shit!!"

At hearing this, Mark held the torch closer to the man's chest, causing him to let out a deafening scream. The flames burned at his torso flesh, causing parts of his chest skin to deform. Every vain struggle Knon made, Mark simply had the torch moved closer to him.

"Because of you, I had to see the horrors of Hells Gate!!" Mark screamed as he burned the former minister.

"I didn't know!!! I didn't know!!!" The man screamed in his anguish. Mark had eventually took the torch away from the man's chest. After a moment or two, his screams became a series of whimpers.

"You're not in a position to be talking tough with me, you lying bastard." Mark stated in a venomous tone. He brought the pouch close and used his teeth to loosen the strings.

"What are you doing?!" Knon screamed. "You know I would never talk!"

"Of course you won't." He began in a dark tone even though his expression was calm and unmoving. "But I'll get what I need. You're useless to me anyway."

Before Mark could go any further, Knon gave a coarse laughter as the prisoner started taunting him. "I'm useless? Have you forgotten who I am, you bastard son of a whoring goat?!!"

At this point, he saw it was pointless talking to a man, whom Mark felt, had no remorse for his past actions. Mark decided to bring their conversation to an end.

"It seems a beating from my father wasn't enough, so I'll tell you this. Next month from now, I'll come back and make sure you get a 'special treatment' of every device we have."

"Why are you holding an Elixir in your hand, whelp?" Knon muttered wearily, ignoring what Mark said.

"Oh, this. Here." He said, before throwing the contents onto his body. When he was done, Mark threw the bag aside and headed for the door. Using the key Arel gave him, he unlocked the door and made his way outside the cell. He closed it behind him and locked it again. As he started his way out, Mark heard a scream from Knon's cell. There were a lot of things Knon didn't know about Mark. The Elixir Mark gave him was mixed with some other tonic in order to make the healing process excruciatingly painful and to slow the healing dramatically. The tactician knew he wouldn't die from that, but he wishes to prolong Knon's suffering. He had similar fates in mind for many of his enemies.

After making his way out of the dark dungeon, he took a stroll into the outer courtyard for some air. The outer courtyard had high burnt sienna walls. The grass was short and well grazed. In the center stood a fountain and further back near the walls were thickets. Mark saw patches of light and dark, grey clouds covered the sky. He was about to return inside when he felt a warm breeze moving past him. He stopped in his tracks to remember this familiar breeze. He closed his eyes and saw himself, back in Sacae. The oceans of green grass, the yellow, reddish sunset. He saw a small white and red ger, and in front of the ger, stood a young woman. He snapped out of his thoughts at that point, not wanting to lament any further, over something that could never be. Tomorrow was the day he would infiltrate the council, and after seven years he would finally meet Emperor Gathian. As he went back, his heart began to question him. The question simply was: How far into the darkness, are you prepared to fall, to avenge the unforgivable wrong inflicted upon another.

Pale Horse - One of the four horsemen of the apocolypse. It is briefly mentioned, but you'll find it in the Book Of Revelation, of the Holy Bible