Love is Not A Victory March

Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon, Fire Emblem: Monshou no Nazo, or any of the characters therein.

Warnings: Contains fantasy violence, death, swearing, and anti-dragon sentiments. There is, after all, a war going on.

***

Part Three: The Drawing Board

Egg Moon, 605

"The northwest corner of the keep is above the artillery closet. If we encounter enemy ballisticians, this is the most likely place for them." The high commander had his drawing board out again, and his audience saw their own lives marked out in the bold and graceful lines of his pen. The strange youth Xane had produced maps he claimed gave an accurate layout of Dolhr Keep, and Prince Marth based his battle plans on these maps for lack of anything else to go on. Thus spawned one of the most elaborate battle strategies Palla had seen devised. In place of elegance was a kind of clockwork mechanism, a battle composed of intricate sets of moves that would circle the tower.

Only sixteen warriors would comprise the initial assault on Dolhr Keep. Either they had mastery of the most powerful weapons in their class, like the Mercurius sword or the Excalibur tome, or they had proved themselves the strongest, the swiftest, the most hardy, the most agile. This time, the high commander violated his own rules and sent to battle a force consisting of the indispensable. He had reasons, of course; there was to be no holding back in this assault-- this time, the sixteen were chosen because they could not be kept in reserve. Prince Marth divided his forces further into four balanced groups, each strong in physical attacks, magical attacks, mobility, defense, and healing power. So Palla and Catria were separated; Catria, along with Linde the Light Sage, Sedgar of Aurelis, and Beck the artilleryman, was assigned to the northwest entrance. Palla would enter the keep from the south, along with Abel, Princess Elice, and Prince Marth himself.

"If all goes well to that point, Abel, Tiki and I will breach the inner chamber. Should one of us not be present by that time, Ogma, Wolf, or Princess Minerva will substitute. We want Medeus to have as few targets as possible." Only the legendary weapons of the continent could cause serious harm to Medeus; Palla's silver lance and dragonpike would be like feathers against the dragon king. "When the throne room is breached, we will need at least two sentinels at the doorway for the remainder of the battle. Any soldier with sufficient strength and defense can serve this purpose. That means no mages, Linde."

"Sages." Linde was proud of her recent promotion.

"No sages, no bishops."

Once Marth had finished his overview of the strategy to be used inside the Keep, he moved to the equally complex contingency plans. Duke Hardin would have charge of the remainder of the army. His duties included launching the second round of attack if he deemed it necessary, ordering retreat if he deemed that necessary, and protecting the Princess Nyna in either event. The Duke did not seem slighted to not be part of the Sixteen; rather, he showed pride that two of his own Knights of Aurelis were among the chosen. Wolf and Sedgar proved the supreme bowmen of the League, better even than the famed snipers of Archanea. Wolf rode as though he and his horse were one creature, and when she saw him fight, Palla found herself thinking of the heavenly Centaur, the immortal opponent of the Fire Dragon. If any bowman on the continent might ride into the lair of the most feared of all dragons, Wolf should be that man. That he had keeping of the sacred Parthia bow was natural.

Palla glanced from face to face-- at Wolf, impassive beneath his tousled hair, and his more expressive comrade Sedgar, who looked on the drawing board as though reading his own gravestone. Beside them were Barst and Ogma, mercenaries from Talys who sported hard faces since the death of their princess. Barst looked almost mutinous as he sat with his axe, dubbed Skullreaver, at his side. A far more relaxed pair were opposite them on the floor-- Merric and Linde, who both seemed attentive, even eager. For the sages, the defeat of Dark Pontifex Gharnef was the climax to the war. Their personal scores had been settled with Gharnef's fall, and neither appeared cowed by the idea of dealing with the Dragon King. Behind the sages, Bishop Lena and the newly promoted Bishop Elice sat; both bishops projected the serenity that Palla supposed was expected of clerics. Lena looked a little sad, perhaps, but that seemed to be her normal expression-- even in long-ago days at the Macedonian court, when King Michalis sought to marry her. Tiki sat at Elice's feet, resting happily against the "big sister" who'd given her life again. Past the bishops stood Beck of Grust, who displayed a total lack of concern over the battle plan and his role in it. Most of the Grustians of Palla's acquaintance were fatalists, and it seemed to her that Beck was no exception. Further down the tent were Cain and Abel; the former sat upright, with his hands clasped tight and a solemn look on his face, while the latter seemed entirely at ease if one didn't notice the steady drumming of his long fingers. In the middle of all this were the Macedonians-- Princess Minerva, pensive and unusually still, and Catria, whose eyes flickered from the lines of the drawing board to the prince's face and back again. Fourteen companions, making sixteen once Palla counted herself and the prince. The fate of Archanea rested upon their shoulders.

The Sixteen were not the only ones in the council, of course.

"Sire, I must again protest the inclusion of Princess Elice in this battle. To risk both the heirs of Anri--"

"Malledeus, if we destroy the Shadow Dragon, the bloodline of Anri becomes irrelevant. If we cannot defeat Medeus with everything at our disposal, then Anri's legacy counted for less than we thought."

"Sire, at least place yourself and the princess in different areas of the castle--"

"Elice and I stand together. Any other questions?"

They all had questions, Palla suspected, but the questions went unasked that evening. Prince Marth had covered all the essentials, down to a system of communication involving the mages and bishops sending up signals. Yet deeper questions, like how the high commander was coping with Caeda's death the day before, were not addressed.

"He's gone mad," she heard Sedgar say to Wolf as the Aurelians departed for their own tent. "Sixteen? Split four ways? We'll die." Palla strained to hear Wolf's reply, but couldn't make it out.

The men from Talys walked by next, their weapons gleaming as they passed Palla, deep in quiet conversation. Then came Beck, whistling tunelessly with his hands in his pockets. Palla waited for her sister, who was chatting with Abel and Cain. After several minutes she decided she might as well join them. Even as she approached, Cain was bidding the others goodnight.

"Well, Catria, I'll have my hands full with your princess tomorrow. In between her, Ogma, and Barst, I think we can put up a fair fight."

Palla murmured a goodnight as Cain left them. She then turned to Abel.

"How likely are we to succeed?" The bluntness of her question seemed to startle Abel, but he had a ready reply.

"Honestly? Medeus went down last time to a farm boy with an iron will and a holy sword. We've got the sword now, and I think our prince is a match for old Anri when it comes to nerve. And we've got Tiki, and we've got your princess and her Hauteclere, and we have Gradivus and all the other holy weapons. Even better, Medeus isn't strong enough to come out of his rat's hole, and without the Aum he never will be. It sounds like he was counting on the Aum to give him strength, and he doesn't have that as a fallback now. We won't lose the battle tomorrow. We may lose some good people."

Neither Palla nor Catria contradicted him there; the disasters yesterday were proof enough that no one was invincible. But the bearer of Gradivus, one of the cornerstones of Prince Marth's strategy, was satisfied with his role, so who were Palla and Catria to be hesitant? Neither of them were expected to go in and face Medeus personally, after all.

Abel shook his head.

"Ah, Palla. You know as well as I that the surest way to not come back from a battle is to make up your mind that you won't. Let's finish up this conversation tomorrow evening, then?"

"Cain says that Prince Marth's intuition and logic have gotten us all this far, and he's not about to start doubting his lord now," reported Catria once they wished Abel goodnight.

"I don't doubt him," said Palla. "I don't really see another way in besides flooding as many entrances as possible. And I do see his point that sending in anyone who isn't at the top of their class is definitely sending them to die." Take the master swordsman Navarre-- as good as he was, he came behind Ogma in physical strength. That earned Ogma a place on the Sixteen, and custody of Mercurius, and set Navarre on the first round of planned reinforcements. Ogma was more likely to sustain a mage-dragon's mauling, and mage-dragons were assuredly waiting for them, so Ogma went in first. As Cain said, there was logic in the prince's tactics.

***

In the gray light before dawn, the Sixteen made their way down from the encampment. Catria and Palla took a brief flight with their beloved commander; three soared as one in their familiar triangle. All too soon, Catria banked to the west, Princess Minerva to the east, and Palla continued south to scout out the gates and await the rest of her squad.

"Fare well, sister..." Palla whispered. If ever she'd imagined the final battle, she would have expected to be at Catria's side. Instead, Prince Marth set them at opposite ends of a vast labyrinth. If Catria fell, Palla might not witness it, would never be able to tell Est exactly what happened to their middle sister. There was a very real chance, too, that neither of them would survive this day, and that they might fall separately was a cruel and heartbreaking thing to contemplate. When Abel drew up beside her on Skylark, Palla had a request for him.

"Abel... if something should happen to me, will you be the one to tell Est?" His eyes, distinctly green even in the low light, widened noticeably, and Palla added, "I know it is properly Prince Marth's duty, or that of my princess, but I think Est would take the news best from you."

"Not Catria?"

"Catria may not be with me." Abel should understand what went unspoken, surely.

"I should hate to be the herald for that message," he said after several seconds. "And I think Est should hate me forever for it."

"Please, Abel. If you are with me, if you should see... just tell her."

"I will, Palla," he said at last. "And if I don't come out of that throne room alive, you make up a good story for Cain. Don't tell him Medeus gobbled me up in one go as a first course."

"I'll... try."

If you are with me... Small treacherous voices in her heart whispered, "If you die here, at least you will be at his side. If he falls, it will be at your side." Such a silly thing to waste a thought on, and there wasn't any time left for wasted thoughts. The high commander and his sister had arrived. They had both dressed splendidly for the battle; Princess Elice wore her coronet instead of a miter, and Prince Marth wore a gold-embroidered tunic and a cloak lined with violet silk. They looked like illustrations from an Altean romance, and Palla, in her faded headband and dented armor, wondered at them as she made her report.

"The southwest gate is open, but a large mage-dragon is lurking just beyond it, with more enemies to follow. The gate facing due south is locked."

The royal siblings exchanged glances.

"The other gates are open as well," the prince said with a tinge of exasperation. "It appears Medeus intends a trap."

"We await your direction, sire," Abel said quickly.

"We have a master key," Marth replied, and Elice jingled the collection of keys at her belt. "We'll take the south-facing gate. The other units will proceed according to plan."

Palla saluted in the Macedonian fashion. Her hands, her heart, her lance, and her will belonged to her commanding officer. Whether this was a trap or not, Palla would serve as ordered.

The southern gate was vast and solid, a breathtaking testament to the metalworking skill of the ancient race. Once opened, a squad of knights on horseback might have charged through, shoulder to shoulder. Of course, Palla thought, this was built by dragons, for dragons. Megaera could sail through the doorways with wings fully stretched. Deep in the realm of the dragon-kin, almost nothing was to scale for humans. The locks of this gate were high enough from the floor that Princess Elice, a tall woman, would have to stand a-tiptoe to reach them.

Even as Elice reached for her keys, something else happened that went outside the scope of Prince Marth's plans. The arrival of Gotoh, the legendary White Sage who created the Starlight tome, was a gift, but while Palla was grateful for the assistance she wished Lord Gotoh had decided to lend them help before now. One more on their side in the prior battle might have saved a life--

Megaera and Skylark nearly bolted. Princess Elice covered her ears. Palla, struggling to control her mount, thought her heart might stop. She never had heard anything as terrible as the roar of an earth dragon. It sent quakes through every bone in her body, set her teeth to chattering. Her reaction to Medeus' greeting was so overwhelming that she didn't truly hear the threats the Dragon King made.

"It seems we've lost the element of surprise."

Abel's lips quirked upward at his commander's dry humor. Palla smothered her own shaky smile behind her hand.

"Go on, Elice." And with this soft, understated command, Prince Marth initiated the final battle of the War of Darkness. Princess Elice unlocked the gate of the southern entrance to the keep. The ancient, massive gates creaked as Elice and the White Sage pulled them open; to Palla's ears, the creak was unbearably loud. But, as the prince had said, the element of surprise was already lost.

Skylark lunged forward, and the stones rang then with Abel's battle cry. Palla and Megaera followed him through in the space of a heartbeat, dragon and rider screaming as one. A third cry sounded behind them as Prince Marth let every fiend in left in Dolhr know where to find him.

The great mechanism of Marth's battle plan ground along as though each motion were foreordained. A paladin, a demon-wyrm, an enemy ballistician went down in a hail of strikes. Palla, Abel, and Marth took their own share of hits, but with Elice and the White Sage on hand to heal them, the trio carved a path northward up the keep. Palla heard, though could not see, the other squads fighting from different corners of the maze. She heard the sound of the Aura spell, the high-pitched roar of Tiki in her dragon-form, the whistle of ballista fire. Falchion shone with the blue-white dazzle of the brightest stars; with each blow, Marth illuminated the black corridors of the dragons' lair. The darkness was beyond anything Palla ever had seen or sensed-- not simply the absence of light, the darkness of Dolhr seemed a thing in itself. It practically had its own scent. Yet even this active, crawling darkness was subdued by the Blade of Light.

Beyond the darkness, the place was one of unspeakable filth. Human bones littered the floor, human skulls were literally incorporated into the walls as decoration. Tiki and old Bantu might seem almost human, but the dragons of Dolhr were turning out to be every bit as vile as the legends said. Palla felt no pity for the demon-wyrm that Abel speared through the throat, even as she was beyond feeling remorse over the human opponents-- a paladin and a dragoon-- that she killed in the corridor. Anyone who could take the side of Dolhr in this place, of all places, had given up their human birthright as far as Palla was concerned. She and Abel struck fast and struck hard, with hearts untroubled by mercy. They passed in tandem through the cavernous tunnel-- Palla and Megaera soaring above, Abel and Skylark galloping below. Silver lance and Gradivus landed blows in synchrony; for a moment, Palla almost imagined it a dance.

"Keep to the western wall!" It was the steel-edged voice of her princess, issuing from deeper in the labyrinth. "Snipers lurk in the inner chamber."

Palla banked to the left; the walls of the inner keep sported gaping holes through which arrows, javelins, or a hand axe might sail; they were arranged in a pattern that suggested jagged teeth. Palla was vulnerable to the snipers, while Minerva, protected by Iote's Shield, could draw close and fling her own weapons into the throne room.

"Medeus stands at the southern end of the chamber," the princess shouted down. "His back is to a solid wall. We have no choice but to enter from the north door."

"North door to north door." Sounds echoed strangely in the keep. Palla heard Prince Marth speak as clearly as though he stood next to her, while in fact he stood many feet below. She did not understand him, though, and took it for another strange piece of mid-battle humor.

If he falls, it will be at my side.

That guilty thought sustained her until the turning point of the battle-- Abel, Marth, and Tiki disappearing into the throne room, even as Catria came charging up the western corridor to the inner keep. Palla first thought she dreamed the sight-- dragon and rider, flying through the inside of a castle so vast that Alecto's wings cleared the walls on either side. She felt a moment of odd clarity, a sudden stillness and silence in the midst of this fantastic battle. And then Catria's voice ricocheted through the halls, vibrant and real and blessedly alive.

"Damn door locked me inside. Thank the Gods that Beck had a key on him." Her hair was singed and her headband askew, and some of the blood on her armor was Catria's own, but she had survived. Palla swallowed the urge to take her sister by the shoulders and kiss her. She offered instead a nod and a small smile as Catria dismounted. Catria said then, "Well, we all survived. Is everybody else all right?"

So it seemed; others were rounding the corners now-- Barst, his axe dipped in crimson, and Wolf, the sages, and Bishop Lena. Wolf galloped up to them; Palla thought again of the mythical Centaur at the sight of the horseman. He was impossibly handsome, even in the middle of the most filthy battle they had ever lived. Wolf gave his succinct report.

"The eastern chambers are cleared; we sealed the doors behind us."

"The southern gate is open," Palla said in return. "Catria, what of the west?"

"Bad." Catria exhaled in a puff, blowing a stray lock of hair away from her face. "We have Cain, Ogma, and Sedgar at the west gate, but mages keep coming in from below. Beck jammed up the ramp so the artillery can't get up here. They must all live somewhere in the dungeons."

"I think those four should be able to handle any problems...." Palla tallied the numbers in her head. Yes, seventeen, including the mysterious Gotoh. Catria was right-- so far, they all had survived. It occurred to Palla that she'd lost track of the minutes passed since Abel and the others breached the throne room. She looked from face to face and saw everyone, save perhaps the inscrutable Wolf, was on edge. The sense that something tremendous lay beyond those walls was inescapable. The ancient keep was so vast and solid that they didn't truly feel the shaking every time Medeus shifted his feet, but Palla's heart was aware of it nonetheless. The young Pegasus knight she'd once been would have been brought to her knees by the knowledge, but Palla the White held fast at the gate, with lance in steady hands.

"No one's going to get past us," Linde said through flashing teeth. They did indeed form a barrier across the entrance-- axes, lances, magic and the Parthia bow. Above them, Minerva circled the walls of the inner chamber, on guard against mage or sniper reinforcements.

The shriek of a young dragon echoed around them.

"Tiki," whispered Catria. "I hope she remembered not to use the Firestone."

"I think she's fine," replied Palla. "That's just the sound of her normal attack."

"Enemies to the south!" Minerva's voice rang out against the towering walls. "Dragoons and cavaliers. Barst, Wolf, intercept them before they can reach the mages."

"Sages," muttered Linde. She and Merric exchanged irritated glances as Wolf charged away, Parthia in hand.

"I can take down a dragoon as easily as any horseman," Merric said, a gleam of competition in his eyes.

"Let's give them a taste of Aura." Linde formed a light-orb at her finger tips. Catria snickered aloud as Palla bit back a smile. Then, a torrent of sound stopped them all in their places. If the warning roar of Medeus was terrible, his attack sent ice coursing through Palla's veins. A strange bronze light flickered through the windows of the inner keep, and a foul stench drifted over them. Palla thought she heard Abel's shout, thought she heard the unearthly song of Gradivus as the holy lance flew through the air. Medeus sounded again, and Palla realized that the bronze flames were indeed the deadly breath of the Earth Dragon.

"Abel..."

The windows of the keep flooded with a brilliant glow, as though the brightest star of the heavens had burst forth within the chamber. Palla saw her sister's features disappear in the light. Then a third roar as Medeus attacked again, followed seconds later by another flash of blue-white radiance. Palla had to close her eyes against the light, but even so, she couldn't shut it out. The light wasn't painful, but it was almost too beautiful to bear. As the light faded, sounds filled Palla's ears and vibrated through her breastbone. Not a roar this time, but a howl, followed by speech so deep and guttural that Palla couldn't understand it. Then, a still more terrible sound, like the earth itself was cracking open and crumbling around them.

"Dear gods, what's happening in there?" Catria's eyes seemed painfully wide.

"I don't know." Palla's response was so drowned out by the chaos that she couldn't hear her own words.

"Maybe we should-- Palla, get out of the way!"

The great black horse, decked in the colors of Altea, shot through the doorway like a Pachyderm ballista. Both horse and trappings were pale with dust, as was the rider. Pale with dust, and yet stained with red so dark it was nearly black.

"Victory," was all he could say, and he slipped to the ground, still graceful in spite of his dire wounds. The Gradivus clattered to the floor, leaving a foul arc of blood upon the stones. Palla and Catria ignored it; they both took hold of Abel, easing him into a better position. Abel coughed, bringing up a crimson froth. His eyes had already turned glassy. "Long... live... Altea."

It was just like her nightmares. Palla found herself unable to speak, even as Catria was calling out Abel's name to rouse him from stupor. There is nothing I can do, Palla thought. There was no action she might take to defend Abel, and no way to avenge him. The great calamity had already happened, there in the innermost chamber. Palla could only wipe the blood from Abel's cheek with her sleeve, could only press her fingers into the palm of Abel's hand, hoping for a response....

But Bishop Lena was there, Recover staff in hand. Palla sat motionless while Lena ministered to the paladin; even the vicious wounds of the Shadow Dragon were within Lena's power to heal. Within minutes, Abel was sitting up, breathing normally, a warm light back in his eyes. Palla had seen this magic many times, of course, but here in the palpable evil of Dolhr, Lena's divine gifts seemed especially holy, especially merciful.

"Thank you, Lena," she whispered. The bishop simply bowed her head in acknowledgment.

"Tiki?" Abel asked as he came back to himself.

"Palla," she corrected him.

"Palla?" He reached out to touch her hair, yet stopped midway. "Tiki? Prince Mar-- where are they?"

Palla and Catria exchanged glances. You tell him, Catria communicated with her eyes.

"You were the only one to come from the throne room," Palla said slowly. Even now, Barst and Merric worked to clear fallen rock from the doorway. And Abel turned pale, as though the remainder of his blood had run out of him. He pushed away Palla's hand-- gentle yet firm-- and rushed to join his brothers-at-arms in clearing the entrance to the throne room. With three sets of hands-- four, as Cain arrived at the scene-- they soon had the entrance free.

Abel plunged back into the inner sanctum of Medeus without hesitation. Cain followed, as did Elice. Palla, though, balked at the doorway. She felt as though her every hair stood on end with evil energy. This is how Enyo felt when she sensed archers, Palla thought. She steeled herself, and-- with Catria at her back-- stepped into the true dragons' lair. The tower now was topless; the ceiling above the throne of Medeus had caved in. The fallen lay in the sunlight, all of them as dolls compared with the mountainous shape of the dragon king. The light picked out some details in the billows of dust: dragon-blood and dragon-scales, the gleam of a silver bow, the jewel in the hilt of the Falchion blade. In the middle of it all stood a little manakete girl, staring openmouthed at the sudden appearance of the sky. Tiki, for once, was lost for words.

***

"Medeus went for me first," Abel explained to the company that evening, when the lances and staves were put away, replaced by skewers of meat and cups of wine. "He didn't even touch me, and I poked him good with the Gradivus. Then he struck at me again... ow." Abel rubbed theatrically at his chest and shoulder. Lena had healed him to the best of her abilities, but the scars of the Shadow Dragon's attack might be with Abel for life.

Palla forced a smile at Abel's jest; she had the strangest impulse to likewise run her fingers over Abel's dragon-burnt shoulder.

"His aim was horrible," Abel said of the greatest evil in Archanea. "I guess it was true about him not being completely resurrected. He only connected with us, what, one time in three? Tiki was better than that in her first battle." He ruffled the little dragon-girl's hair as he spoke. Tiki squealed with delight and turned her head so that Abel was scratching her strange pointed ears.

"Mar-Mar wasn't hurt by Mediuth until after Mediuth died," Tiki agreed once her ears were properly scratched. On top of her other strange ways of speaking, Tiki had a bit of a lisp. "His big tail went out like this." And they all had to scatter while Tiki transformed into her divine-dragon self to give them all a better idea of what damage a dragon's tail might do.

***

Medeus literally brought down the castle, or at least the center of it, in his death-agony. The prince of Altea lay in the rubble alongside his adversary, half-buried by the Shadow Dragon's tail. Abel and Cain both sprinted to the side of their lord; a sickened look crossed Abel's face.

"Uh-oh," said Catria.

Princess Elice picked up her trailing robes and dashed across the rock-strewn floor to aid her brother. Palla watched Elice apply the Recover staff, even as Cain and Abel began to grapple with the dragon's tail. It took long minutes and the addition of Merric to free the prince, whereupon Abel and Cain lifted Marth from the rubble. In spite of the great tension in their faces, Palla noticed their movements were surprisingly gentle. They laid Marth down in an uncluttered space on the floor; the prince's head rested in Elice's lap, leaving dark stains upon her skirt.

"He's not getting up."

Palla heard a note of hysteria in Catria's voice. Still, that was normal, as Catria always did need to vent after a battle. Palla herself felt oddly calm. This battle was over, and with it perhaps, at last, the war. If Prince Marth still lived, he was safest in his sister's care. If the prince were lost, his mission was at least fulfilled. Not wishing to stare at the scene like a voyeur, Palla let her attention wander from Abel and Elice and Cain. She looked up at the fragment of pure blue sky above them, and she gazed upon the walls, at the vast and barbarous murals across the walls of the throne room. The murals showed a dragon's ideal world, a nightmare for humans. Dragons rampant, dragons triumphant, with human limbs dangling from their mouths, human bodies crushed underfoot. Palla looked from the image of a great Earth Dragon with humans spilling from his jaws, to the open mouth and lolling tongue of Medeus. He was the same as any dead dragon left on a battlefield, thought Palla, just on an appalling scale. She'd seen that dumbstruck expression on the spent faces of many a dragoon's mount.

"Thank the gods," Catria breathed. Palla saw then that Prince Marth was sitting up. Cain helped the commander to his feet, and Abel handed the prince back the Falchion. The beautiful blade was coated in filth-- the greenish-black blood of an Earth Dragon. By now, the remainder of the Sixteen-- all of them thankfully standing-- and the White Sage and the reserve forces were flooding in to the throne room. Palla looked from face to face, at the stunned, the hopeful, the jubilant, and the weary. The last year... no, the last five years... no, far more than that-- had culminated in this. Every maneuver and exercise, every deal and rescue, every betrayal and sacrifice, came down to blood on a sword and the swollen tongue of a dead beast. Small wonder so many of them looked as though they walked in a dream.

The League of Archanea pressed around their commander in an ever-tighter circle of congratulations, yet no one seemed quite willing to actually approach the Starlord, the slayer of dragons. Prince Marth bridged the gap himself. Still unsteady on his feet, the prince placed one hand on Tiki's small head, and the other on Abel's shoulder. Not the Sixteen, then, but the Three: those who faced the Shadow Dragon and lived to celebrate the victory. Tiki shrieked in joy, but Palla studied Abel's face-- how his initial look of surprise gave way to a burst of pride, which in turn gave way to the awed realization of where he stood, and why. Palla felt herself on the other side of that gulf, and clapped and cheered all the louder to heal that sudden sense of separation.

"My friends," Prince Marth began, but his voice failed him. He managed a barely audible "thank you" before shaking his head and offering his arm to Elice, who stood radiant with pride beside her younger brother. The crowd of warriors parted so that the royal siblings could pass; the White Sage walked a pace behind them. Abel lifted Tiki onto his shoulders and followed them out.

Catria had both hands pressed to her chest as though she couldn't contain her joy.

"Oh..." she said, then her head snapped up, eyes blazing with something beyond battle-spirit. "It's over! Great gods, it's done and we can go home."

"We can join with Est and go home," agreed Palla. Home, wherever that was. She'd once stated her home was the sky around her commander; if Minerva returned to Macedon to rule, the Whitewings would follow.

"Fly to Pales, collect Est, and get the hell out of here!" The jubilation in Catria's voice turned to a curse before she finished the sentence. The hair-raising sensation of evil was taking over again, Palla thought. She glanced at Medeus to make sure that his half-closed eyes showed no life. She was not alone there; many of the warriors were now backing away from the dead dragon, weapons at the ready in case Medeus wasn't quite so dead. Few faces smiled now. Perhaps it was the absence of the Starlord, or perhaps the Falchion truly had kept shadows at bay. The sense of desolation that pervaded Dolhr was overpowering here.

A gust of wind howled across the hole in the tower roof. Palla stared up at the vast distance between herself at that patch of sky. They were all as ants in the eyes of the dragonkin, Palla thought. Nothing more than a swarm of mindless insects. This tower was built to last until the end of the world; its king expected his Dolhr empire to stand for all time. And there Medeus lay, slain at the hand of one of these small and fragile insects, whose seventeen years of life were a second in dragon-time. It was good, and it was necessary, and yet all Palla felt in that moment was the weight of millennia, the raging conflict between humans and dragonkin distilled into that instant and poured down the broken tower. Palla's soul felt as dirtied as her armor. She looked to her sister for support, but Catria's head was down now, and she seemed to be staring at the dark stains in the rubble.

"Let us leave this place." Cain's voice, amplified by the chamber walls, echoed back at them like the voice of a god.

"These people," Lena said, indicating the dead sniper and other humans who lay by the throne of their wyrm-lord. "Surely we cannot leave them here."

Prince Marth demanded that the League treat the corpses of their enemies with respect. The enemy dead were turned over to their own comrades if possible, and if not were buried properly by the League. They should do it, they must do it, and yet Palla wanted nothing more than to take Megaera and fly clear through the shattered roof and head as far away as possible.

Merric placed a hand on Lena's shoulder.

"We will do something," he said, and even his soft voice answered itself in an echo. "But for now, we all need a respite from this place and its... demons."

Linde summoned an orb of light to serve as a brave candle, and the remainder of the Archanean League fell in behind her in a solemn procession. Catria joined them, but Palla hung behind. She had no desire to take another trip through those dragon-sized halls; once the last straggler was out, she and Megaera would take to the skies. So it was that Palla witnessed the final blow struck in the War of Darkness. Wolf, stolid as ever, marked the occasion in his own way. The horseman waited until the crowd had passed him by, then drew the Parthia and fired one shot from the holy bow into the eye of Medeus.

"For Aurelis!" And he galloped away.

***

That night, when there was no meat left on the skewers nor wine in the cups, Abel stretched out on the tent cushions. From his long legs to the droop of his shaggy head, Abel radiated a sense of drowsy contentment, but beneath his eyelashes, Palla saw a flash of something keen and sharp.

"He screamed at me to go," Abel said, as casually as though this were a mundane conversation on their supper or the moonlight. "I was the closest one to the door, and of course I was mounted. Tiki had wings. When the tower caved in, I didn't think he had much of a chance."

"Ah." It was a meaningless response, intended simply to keep him talking.

"I'd like to say that was the hardest order I've ever had to follow, but...." Abel closed his eyes and tipped his head back; his serene expression gave way to something pained. "I wanted to live. I liked the idea of coming home. I want to go home."

"Mm." Palla felt her own head grow heavy; as battles went, the Battle of Dolhr Keep was not the longest Palla had endured, but its exhilaration and terror had drained her. She was slipping to the borders of sleep, and only half-noticed when Abel stood and walked to the doorflap of the tent. He held the flap open and stared outward, strange lights and colors playing across his features.

"You must see this, Palla."

She joined him at the door. The opening to the tent faced Dolhr Keep, but the ruined tower was almost unfamiliar to her now. Now, the tower seemed enchanted. Linde and Merric sent off blasts of Aura and Starlight respectively, cleansing the Shadow Dragon's citadel with pure, pure light.

"Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" Abel asked her softly. It was so good to hear his voice steady and strong again.

"Never," said Palla. Not the light displays when Princess Maria was born, not the spectacle for Michalis' coronation, not even the celebrations on the reclamation of Altea were as grand, as lovely, as painful as this moment.

"Victory," Abel whispered. Not the choked cry of a man expending his final breath, not this time. This was something inexpressibly sweet.

"Victory," echoed Palla. Light spilled forth from the shattered keep of Dolhr, reaching up to the stars, reaching out to her and Abel, filling in the space between them.

***End Chapter Three***

Author's Notes: Well, that was the longest chapter to date, and also the reason why this story is not presented in chronological order.

My take on minor characters, especially Barst and Sedgar, actually factors in to their post-Shadow Dragon fates and is not lol!random.

Skullreaver (Barst's pet axe) comes courtesy of Edgemaster025.

Stay tuned for the fourth and final installment, "Pieces of Glass."