Bouquet
(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo
(Rated T for scenes of violence and mature themes)
-0-
As If Entangled By Ivy: Dogsbane, Cypress and Marigold, Hundred-Leaved Rose, Water Willow
(the deception that binds him here is despair itself, and only his dignity of mind can free him)
Once upon a time, Pent wasn't needed around Reglay and so he was sent to live with his mother's relatives in the northern county of Peranee. Because children have a way of understanding the truth underneath the lies adults give them, he quickly understood that he was not any more welcome here in this cold land than he was in his father's home. Everyone was so kind to him that there was no other conclusion he could come up with; he could plainly see the difference in which he was treated compared to the familial closeness of his mother's brother's children. Everyone kept him at an arm's distance.
"Why?" his child's heart asked plaintively. "Why don't people like me?"
He couldn't understand it. He treated everyone with decency and politeness and with a smile, but everyone seemed to lower their eyes from his expectant gaze and give him few words in response. Things changed after he returned to Reglay and then sent to Aquleia for schooling; people wanted to be around him because of his talents, because he was polite and decent and greeted people with a smile. Yet, sometimes when all is quiet and there isn't anything to worry about, that same childish fear comes to mind: that he isn't really wanted around, that for all his decency and politeness and faint smiles he really doesn't matter at all to the people around him.
Louise said differently, but she is gone now through no fault of her own. He knows that intellectually-and what else does he have if not his intellect?-but sometimes he feels a little annoyed at her all the same. He would like to blame her for being so earnest and wonderful and believable when he didn't think there would ever be anyone as such, but he knows better than to do such a thing. It was never her fault he was such a convenient target.
Humans really are self-centered, he thinks at these times and chuckles a little, but the feeling that reverberates in his chest feels a lot like a child's emptiness and he isn't sure what to make of that.
-0-
"No!"
"Ahh! Ahhhgh!"
"Die! Die, you Etruriarrgh!"
Pent lowered his hand after the last man fell, smoke still steaming from the dead man's chest. That resistance fighter had been running at him with his axe held high, apparently unconscious of the both the pain and the blood streaming from the gashes laid into him by Kellis' twirling daggers, when Pent had cast the spell that had sent fire streaking through the air and straight into his chest, ending his life. Around Pent, the cries of the battle were still overwhelming in their intensity, and he supposed there was a lot left for him to do before this one ended.
His fingers trembled, but not with the power he had under his command as a mage. No, the awe he once had towards magic as a weapon had died away too many battles ago.
-0-
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
The man sitting across from Pent took a long pull from his polished wood pipe before exhaling a stream of blue-gray smoke into a room already choking with it. Were this Reglay Castle Pent would have stopped the man from pulling out his pipe long ago; here in the Western Isles Lord Absley was one of the original colonizers who had put the men of the country to work in the jewel-rich mines, making a fortune off the backs of honest men. Here, as far away from Etruria as possible while still being part of Etruria's land claim, the minor noble was as a king and Pent knew better than to offend the man, even though his throat ached from all the smoke he'd inhaled throughout the meeting.
Another inhale from the pipe, and with the smoke that gusted out of the minor noble's nostrils and mouth came these words: "Well, Captain, you have to understand. I run a business. Before, when the kingdom was funding their interests here, I would have been delighted to help out our boys, get them all the weapons they need. But now we're providing Etruria with its profits, we fund the kingdom...and, well, I should think that the military could provide for its soldiers more than we're able."
Pent frowned. "We're here to protect your interests. That should mean something to you."
"Yes, well, you do provide a convenient target for those ruffians. However, I do have my own personal guards and they are certainly more prepared than a group of Etrurian criminals masquerading as soldiers."
"We have all been conscripted into the Etrurian army. We are every bit the soldier as any other man, regardless of our freedom when we joined," Pent stated, all the while attempting to remember the noble calm, noble disdain he had once learned to master in order to withstand the other nobles of Reglay County. It had been too long since he last needed it; perhaps he had been too long with normal people. It was becoming too difficult to remember that vital skill though, especially when Lord Absley began waving one fat hand in dismissal.
"All that is beyond me. I've graciously agreed to meet with you, so it really is too bad we couldn't come to an agreement. I can't say that the other Etrurian nobles here would even be so kind..." The minor noble began stroking the thin mustache he had somehow cultivated, perhaps with help from the smoke as it was a rather interesting shade of yellowing white. "Your name was Pent, correct?"
"It is."
"I don't suppose that is a very common name on the mainland."
Pent raised an eyebrow at this, understanding where the other man was going. However, he had done very well up to this point without having to bring attention to his title...if it was still his, which he was beginning to wonder. "There are others with the name, I'm sure. Greater men than myself."
"Hm, it must be so." Lord Absley leaned back in his chair, then gave Pent an odd look. "Well? You're dismissed."
"...Yes, of course." Rising to his feet, Pent took one last look around the office. It was nowhere near as ornate as his office in Castle Reglay, but it did give him a measure of nostalgia to have sat within it, never mind that he was on the wrong side of the desk. "I thank you for your time. Should you come to change your mind, you are aware of our location."
The minor noble scoffed. "Yes, quite so. Good day, Captain."
-0-
"Protect him! Protect the captain!"
"Is he going to be all right, Simon?"
"The welt is worse than it looks, I think...hm? Is he waking up?"
The ache pounding inside Pent's head was still secondary to the rush of nausea swelling in his throat, and he had to admit it was far from his proudest moment in his life when he vomited on someone's boots not even a few moments later.
"Merde! I thought you said he was okay!"
"No, that's not what I said. I didn't know he had a concussion, Henri!"
"I-isn't that something he could die from? Can't you heal him?"
"You can't heal concussions with healing magic. Now, I can heal the residual damage to his head, but that isn't everything. All you can do is make sure he doesn't fall asleep."
Pent groaned, eyes squinched shut. "Who could? I was trying to save Benjamin...how is he?"
There was silence, and then the sound of a throat being cleared. "Uh, Captain," said Henri, his accent always familiar because of how similar it was to Louise's father's. "Sorry, but after the enemy knocked you down, he continued to...but Adel did finish your charge and killed the enemy. Are...are you all right, sir?"
Keeping his eyes closed, Pent said, "No...no, I'm not."
-0-
Once the pegasus knights had left there was a strong need to become mobile as a way to prevent more ambushes, although their movement would be limited due to factors such as the logistics of moving sixty-plus men, able-bodied and injured, as well as the fact that there simply weren't many places for them to go. Then Pent realized something as he drew anima magic circle arrays in the dirt, a habit of his when stressed: What if only part of the camp was mobile at any given time? Yes, that would mean there would be more bases to attack, but the satellite camps could serve as an alarm system.
One refinement after another followed, and eventually a better idea took hold: sub-leaders.
Etruria being Etruria, army rankings tended to be very linear within each of the three branches. There was one lieutenant-general for each general, one or two commanders below the lieutenant-general, one or two captains under each commander. In other words, advancement tended to be rare and very contested when an opening became available. Pent had still been attending school when the last great general retired and had the opportunity to witness controlled pandemonium as each of the eligible candidates for the position were supported by various nobles, being nobles themselves. A fistfight even started in his academy over it. When Douglas Jouser, a young commander in the armored knights legion, was named as the new Great General of Etruria in what would be the old king's last real edict before his death, Pent had been sufficiently surprised by the disparaging reaction that he had wondered how the kingdom could have functioned for so long if this was what happened every time a new general was chosen.
Years later, he would believe that a diffusion of power was necessary to prevent the gazes from below to be filled with opportunistic hunger. With that in mind, he selected three of the most trustworthy men who also seemed to have some leadership ability, sectioned off the rest of the men accordingly, and then hoped for the best. Adel in particular had been so pleased that he immediately went to work in making sure the men under his command were battle-ready, if not of knightly caliber.
Pent had almost chosen Nestor to become one of the leaders, but after a few days of observation he noticed how everyone seemed to give him a wide berth that had not been there when Thomas had still been alive. Someone in the darkness of the fog had called Nestor a murderer, and it was apparent that everyone was aware of this fact.
Pent wasn't, and he didn't want to pry. He put Nestor in Adel's group and went to work on fortifying the camp.
-0-
Surveying the scene after the battle, Pent found that everything was satisfactory, or at least as satisfactory as it could be considering that they had been attacked in the first place. The amount of injuries was minimal, which meant that Simon would not be overburdened with the addition of freshly injured soldiers to the ones still recovering in the healing tents. Yes, Pent decided, this was a perfectly acceptable result.
"I'm going to kill you, you stupid bastard!"
Pent turned just in time to see one soldier throw down a broken sword and aim a punch at another man. The solid sound of a fist connecting against the other soldier's face seemed to reach the overcast skies. He didn't realize he was already striding towards them until he realized that the fight was now much closer than it had been before, the scene of both soldiers beating each other taking on a visceral quality that had not been so evident from even thirty paces away. By the time he had reached the combatants, however, others had taken the matter into their own hands and pulled the two away from each other. With the stress that had understandably seeped into the force, Pent could understand the ease with which a fight erupted and was intending to leave well enough alone until the man who had been originally attacked suddenly broke free from the hands that kept him back and rushed his attacker. Being in the way, Pent suffered the blow as it glanced off of his shoulder before he pushed the other man away solely by instinct.
"Calm down!" Pent exclaimed, more out of surprise than pain. The men who had been holding back the soldier before now did it with a vengeance, pulling him away with more force than it entailed for multiple men to exert. Glancing at the both of them, who had been fighting over something as ridiculous as a broken sword, Pent could not help but feel a little vengeful himself, but he held back as best he could, saying only this: "If you have that much energy to work off, then it would be helpful if one of you would go on hunting duty while the other can perform medic duty. Is this understandable, or shall I choose that as well?"
The two managed to come to a consensus about what work they would do as punishment, although that did not stop one of them from muttering that he was a 'power-hungry bastard' and a 'stupid fool of a kid'. Being that this was not the first time he heard this, nor would it be the last by his estimation, Pent gave everyone else their orders and walked to his tent, nursing his shoulder all the while.
-0-
Because Pent had been suspicious after a week went by without a word from the mainland, he had asked two men to station themselves down by the shore for a week and report back what they had seen. He wasn't happy with what he had heard, and selected two more men. Soon the shoreside service was being called 'vacation duty' and Pent had to face the answer in front of him.
There was no boat of supplies from the mainland. There was nothing except halfway-decent fishing, which was now a necessity because of said lack of supplies.
It took until March to properly understand the situation, and by then weapons had been breaking and fights, both with the Western Isles resistance and among themselves, were increasing in intensity.
Leto had shrugged when he came to her, seeking advice. "We're paid until the annual contract in June," she said. "If the Etrurians don't renegotiate it and instead let it lapse, my general will recall us. That's when you worry. Right now it seems you have enough things to deal with, so focus on that."
Pent had taken her advice and applied himself towards securing new weapons from the Etrurian lords in the area...except, they would only go so far as to give him a discount that he couldn't afford anyway. Morale plummeted.
The official order for the pegasus knights to return to Ilia came in June in the hands of a still pubescent trainee knight with teal hair and sharp blue eyes that scanned the joined Ilia-Etruria camp with suppressed curiosity. Leto left the next day with a shrug. "Try not to die," she advised him. "I wouldn't mind sending pegasus knights to Etruria if I knew there was someone like yourself in command."
"I'm not sure I'm meant for higher command in the military," Pent said, rubbing his arm. He had broken up yet another fight earlier, though someone had landed a punch on him before it had ended, and it still throbbed.
Leto smiled. "I don't care about what you want, I care about the safety of my girls. So for their sake, try not to die." Those were her last words before the pegasus knights flew off, homeward bound. Pent had mixed feelings about it, but Leto in particular hadn't seen her home in three years and so he couldn't help but be happy for her, despite the fact that it may well have crippled the offensive output his forces could muster.
Morale plummeted.
-0-
Pent hates fights. He knows how ridiculous this is when he is a military officer, but it has been ingrained in him since the earliest years to abhor interpersonal conflicts. He can think of a thousand rationalizations why it is necessary to go into battle, but not a one for why friends or family or lovers ever should with each other. This is why he is so inordinately pleased with Louise, because nothing has ever shown him in any of their interactions, face-to-face or epistolary, that they would ever need to debase each other in such a way.
He wonders if this appeals to her as well, the idea that they could have an easy, pleasant life together. God only knows they should be allowed to have that after all of this.
Pent hates fights, and later he thinks that this trait of his is the reason why everything came to head as it did.
-0-
"We don't have enough weapons to keep this up much longer."
"We don't have enough people, you mean."
"Poor Simon can't keep up with the injured. That overstock should have lasted until the end of this year at least, but now..."
"Captain, what should we do?"
Pent sighed mentally. The situation with the weapon stock had always been bad since the Western Islanders seemed to figure out that they were no longer receiving supplies from Etruria, forcing battles multiple times a week, sometimes even daily. They had taken what they could from those they had felled, but Etrurian soldiers of their particular caliber were mainly taught to wield either a sword or a lance, and the resistance preferred basic axes taken from their homes. Pent, being the only mage, had a special store of tomes set up for him after he had been transferred to the Western Isles, but even that was being depleted through the growing intensity of battles. Simon, the lone priest, had more staves due to the fact that the military supply was once equipping for three rather than one, but with all the injuries he had to burn through them even faster than Pent used his magic tomes.
Injuries-there were too many of them. Combat injuries, injuries from fighting with fellow soldiers, and then there were the self-inflicted ones, either to avoid deployment into more battles...or to avoid the burden of living altogether. There wasn't much more than that as far as Pent could tell, and in some sad way he could understand why. Fighting in constant armed battles was stressful; being abandoned by one's own country without a possible way of contacting family or friends was a cruelty unimaginable in normal circumstances.
But what was normal anymore?
"Let's take each situation as a separate issue," Pent began. He dearly wanted to write and make notes, but ink was so limited that there was no point. The last time he had written anything substantial was a letter for Leto to take to Aquleia, but she had returned with nothing but annoyance on her face and an uncomfortable silence whenever he had ventured to ask what had happened there.
That had convinced him that they had been well and truly abandoned.
"All right then," said Henri, one of the sub-leaders, "I think the most important is the matter of injuries-"
There was a loud clamor outside the tent where Pent and the sub-leaders had gathered, and now he couldn't stifle the second sigh escaping his mouth-there was always something going wrong. It was as if it were a natural law as immutable as certain anima theories. "We'd better go see what that was," he said after a moment, a moment in which no one had reacted. Adel was the first to stand after the suggestion, already out of the tent by the time the others were rising, and that worried Pent slightly; Adel's law-abiding nature tended to manifest as something of a condescending irritation that in turn needled the people he was warning. The two other sub-leaders, Henri and Kellis, seemed to think similarly by the tension already set on their faces.
The disturbance was in the center of camp, not too far away from the meeting tent. It seemed to have evolved from a common fistfight to a brawl, or rather it could have if not for Nestor. Pent found himself bemused as he came across the sight of the former mercenary simply grabbing one man away from his apparent victim and throwing him onto the ground, not even sparing that man a glance before he forcibly yanked down the other participant down into something of a sitting position. This caught the attention of everyone else involved and they thankfully elected to stop their actions rather than incur what promised to be a painful punishment.
Nestor looked around for a moment before he crossed his arms. "Are we calm?" Mumbled assent from all involved answered his question, and he nodded in acceptance. "We're all adults. In all situations we must act with dignity."
It seemed to Pent as if the lessening of tension in the area could almost be felt in the air, his own stance relaxing as a reaction. If Nestor could handle all situations as easily, he should really consider the man as another sub-leader, even if there seemed to be a disconnect between Nestor and the rest of the soldiers now that Thomas was gone. At any rate, Pent couldn't say that he was thought of any more fondly by everyone else. All that mattered was ensuring some sort of peace during the downtime moments, few as they were.
Then Adel entered the scene, sternly reprimanding each of the soldiers involved in the fight by name with one hand up and index finger pointing upward in the same way as a professor at Pére Magie who Pent recalled no one was very fond of. The longer he lectured, the more the subtle strain of tension in the atmosphere began to increase.
"There he goes again," Kellis whispered to Henri from behind Pent. "As if someone like him should be lecturing others about taking things too far."
What does that mean? Pent wondered. Caught between his indecision of inquiring further or interceding with Adel's reprimand, he wavered...and then the decision was made for him, as one of the soldiers being personally confronted yelled, "Why don't you shut the hell up already! Like hell I'm going to hear this from either that murderer or some sick rapist like you!"
Dumbfounded, Pent glanced at Nestor, who he already knew as the so-called murderer; there was no discernible reaction on the older man's face, nor was there apparent surprise or even tension in the way the mercenary held himself. He looked rather as if someone told him what the weather would be later that day for all the emotion he was showing. Then, Pent looked at Adel, whose crime was apparently something else entirely. Amid the jeering of the soldiers, Adel stood as still as any of the statues found in Aquleia's nicer districts, his face as white as the stone used to build the royal palace.
And then he turned on his heel and walked away.
-0-
"You didn't know, did you?"
Pent shook his head. "Is there something I can do for you, Nestor?"
"Why are you here?"
The waves lapped at the shoreline where, once, a boat would arrive weekly from Etruria with supplies and mail. While every week there was a letter from Raike, every other week added to what was now one of his few treasures...his few possessions after the commander had set fire to his tent. It was too warm to wear the scarf Louise had made for him, but he made sure to carry her letters with him in the pocket of his coat, just in case something happened.
He didn't consider himself superstitious, only practical.
"I was thinking," Pent responded after a time, never turning away from the repetitive movements of the sea, "about what I should do."
"With Adel?"
Pent couldn't help but sigh at the name. No, he hadn't known; he had never been informed about the details of every crime each soldier had committed to be conscripted and sent to this place, and he had never thought it was important. Yes, they were all criminals being punished, and he was no different. As he did not want or need anyone to know about why he had been sent to the Western Isles, he saw no need to discover it about the others. That was why he was so surprised now, because in hindsight Adel's particular crime was the perfect one for a place like this; there was too little of a chance for him to re-offend, even while the pegasus knights had been around, and it kept him far away as possible from the region where he had once served as a knight.
But of course, in a sense murder was the more sympathetic crime. After all, every man here had at least a mother, if not sisters or girlfriends or wives. Had Pent known beforehand, he never would have assigned Adel as a sub-leader because of that crucial factor, which could only lead to disrespect the likes of which was still to come. And anyway, it seemed that Adel was going every bit as mad as many of the other soldiers and that was the last thing Pent needed at the moment.
He ran a hand through his longish hair, wondering not for the first time if he should just take a knife to it. As soon as the thought crossed his mind he grimaced. "We're all going mad," he said aloud, or realized, or perhaps had always known.
"Yes," Nestor said from behind him. "And you may be the most mad of all, Captain."
I appreciate the vote of confidence, Pent did not say. Instead, he asked, "May I hear your reasoning?"
"You are trying to establish order upon chaos without enough support on your side."
"A mutiny, then?"
Nestor did not answer. With some effort, Pent rose from his place on the beach and brushed sand off his pants. "Kellis will be annoyed if I don't return soon, I'm sure. He can't stand guard at Adel's tent all day."
Nestor coughed. "He'll stand there as long as it takes because you ordered it."
"Would you?" Pent asked, genuinely curious. In response, a half-smile, slanted and slightly roguish, tilted one corner of Nestor's lips upward.
"That much hasn't changed, for his sake."
Smiling, Pent replied, "Yes. I'm trying to live up to Thomas' expectations, too."
-0-
The reason why Pent had placed a guard in front of Adel's tent was entirely for the knight's safety; as much as he was worried that someone with enough hatred and a sturdy dagger might do something to Adel, he was equally worried about Adel harming himself in a fit of shame and self-loathing. When he arrived at the tent in question, Pent found himself staring at the sight of Kellis playing a game of cards by himself. "Is that your definition of keeping guard?" he had to ask.
"Oh, Captain." In one fluid movement Kellis had snapped up all the cards into his right hand. "Hey, he's still fine. You worry too much, you know? Gonna have wrinkles to match your hair if you keep it up."
"Someone has to worry," Pent said, somewhat amused. Kellis was almost preternaturally laid back, his dark green eyes often reflecting some hidden amusement he seemed to carry with the world in general, which was unnerving given the stressful situation they were in, but Pent thought it was because of this personality trait that he was well-liked around the camp. This was the same man who had breezily told him, without any prompting, that he was convicted of theft. Or, as he put it, "How was I supposed to know she needed that necklace for her wedding? She had so many of them, anyway."
Keeping in mind that the woman Kellis had referred to was the daughter of the master of the house he had been working for, Pent considered more stringent employment requirements if he ever returned to Reglay.
"Maybe, maybe," Kellis murmured as he tucked his cards into some hidden place in his tunic. "That guy's not doing anything. He's not going to."
Unsure of what to make of that odd assurance, Pent turned his attention to the entrance of the tent, which was covered by a pinned-up flap. "Is that so? That would be best. In the meanwhile, please see what you can do to help Simon. I'm afraid the number of injured is overcoming his best efforts."
"Sure, Captain."
After the other man left, Pent looked at the closed flap with some trepidation before calling out, "Adel, may I speak with you?"
"...As you like, Captain."
Pent entered the tent and was perhaps more startled by the fact that Adel looked as he always did, though perhaps there was a strain about his eyes that wasn't apparent before. The tent was clean and rather spartan, Pent couldn't help but notice as he sat down across from the other man. Before his tent had been burned down, Pent was certain that he had at least some clutter, even if it was only a matter of a couple tomes and remnants of letter-writing. "Well," he said as he crossed his legs, "perhaps we should discuss the reason why you were originally sent here. Is it tr-no, what were you convicted of?"
Lowering his eyes, Adel answered, "Compromising the virtue of a lady of marriageable age. But..."
"But?"
"She was...she is still my fiancée."
There seemed to be a story here that Pent did not want to touch. "...May I ask the lady's identity?"
"The second daughter of Viscount Gissing." Adel was gripping his knees so tightly Pent could see his knuckles whiten with the pressure. "I was her personal bodyguard."
"Did her father approve of it?"
"No, no, he hadn't, but..." The stricken look on Adel's face was enough to silence any further reasoning from Pent in regards to the whole situation, and he sat in agitated silence as Adel began to speak, his words now tumbling from his lips as if he would never have the chance to explain himself again. "But you must understand, my orders were to protect and serve her with my life. I was charged to be with her nearly every waking moment, and yet I was not supposed to feel anything for her? How was I...how is any man, knight though he may be, supposed to feel only distance between himself and his lady liege? How is it wrong to love her when everything about our relationship encourages that very emotion? How was she not supposed to feel the same? Were I given the chance, I would have married her before anything had happened, but because I'm to be seen as lesser than her simply because of my birth, how else could we..."
Uncomfortable now, Pent looked away. "I don't know, but-"
"And now, and now this," Adel rambled on, "my sentence was completed months ago, but I'm still stuck on this island. There's no way to receive word from her anymore, no way to know if her father has decided to marry her off despite my claim, no way to stop it. Without anything from her, it's as if our relationship were but a passing dream, and as life continues in the kingdom I'm...I'm not a part of it anymore. I would endure any slight, I have endured that much, and yet this is too much..."
The only words Pent had were trapped in his heart, unwilling to be unleashed. Adel was looking at him as if Pent should understand, and perhaps he did, only-
"Captain, it's the same for you as well, isn't it? Everyone knows about your fiancée, so you surely understand-"
"Adel," Pent interrupted. "I'm relieving you of your command."
"...What?"
Pent hated that he had to do this, but he couldn't see any other way. Clearly the madness of the long months had taken hold of the knight, and he could no longer assure himself that the soldiers once under Adel's command would stay as safe as the circumstances would allow. "I don't believe it would be a good idea to allow you to continue your leadership at this time," he said as kindly as the words would allow. "You're overstressed as it is, and that is showing in the way you regard others."
A strange flicker of something hostile glittered in Adel's narrowed eyes. "So you intend to give it to Nestor instead?"
"I haven't really considered," Pent hedged, not liking the sudden inquiry.
"My crime sounds reprehensible, but can't you see that the truth behind it is no different from those songs the bards like to sing? Do you think it's any different from your own feelings for your intended?"
Pent frowned. "Please do not presume to know or understand my feelings."
"Why shouldn't I?" Adel pressed. "We're both men, so let's be honest here, Captain. The feelings we have are more natural than murder, don't you think? Besides, you shouldn't even trust that man. He murdered a noble, do you realize that? He came here to avoid execution!"
"We're done with this conversation," Pent said as he rose to his feet. "As a knight, you should know better than to use others in order to avoid responsibility for your actions. I don't feel comfortable having you continue in a leadership position at this point in time. Perhaps later, but not right now. If you desire the position that much, then show me that you understand your faults and correct them. Everyone is too stressed right now to endure needless anger; a calm and steady mind is what I value most at this time."
Slanting his gaze away from Pent, Adel said, "The commander was a more pragmatic leader than you, Captain. I, and many others, would never have aided a mutiny against him. Indeed, we would have fought it off as best we could. People like Thomas or Nestor or Henri don't understand that Etruria is strong because we always stand for order at all times, even when it appears that chaos would benefit us more. That could never be true, for Saint Elimine put the lie to that."
"If I understand this correctly, if there were a mutiny against me, you would fight it off?" Pent questioned. Adel nodded.
"But not for you, Captain. Only because you represent what is left of order, though you do not wield it well. I can only trust in that, if nothing else."
There was something truly horrible Pent thought to mention, something that he hoped would be beyond him to even conceive during better times, but after a struggle he only nodded curtly and left Adel's tent.
It took a lot to do that. A lot, and the thought of what Louise's eyes would surely look like if he did not prove himself to be the better man at even the worst of times.
-0-
Despite Adel's words, Pent doesn't completely understand the other man's feelings. It is true that he has had thoughts about Louise that he would be beyond mortified were anyone able to extract it from the depths of his mind. These are the things that he can only admit to himself in the darkest hours of the night, with only old images of happier times flickering through his mind like the slow death of nostalgia.
What he doesn't understand is the certainty Adel had that he would act in the very same way simply because he 'has' someone. The very insinuation disturbs him for days, because while he certainly has the same urges as any other man, he also has values instilled in him that tell him in no uncertain terms not to ever try. They also tell him that in Lady Catherine's voice, using her rather specific instructions on what she would do to him were he to ever ignore her warnings, and, as it were, it's fine. He's not ready.
A kiss would be fine. He had been working his way to that. Slowly, perhaps, but these things are as new to him as they must be for Louise. Had life not interceded in its own way, he surely would have kissed her by now...a proper kiss.
It is the summer of her sixteenth year. They would have been married by now.
Thinking this is the first time he truly realizes that he may never see her again. He might live and die on Fibernia without ever knowing why it was decided that he and so many others were abandoned here. Were he slightly more paranoid, he might suspect that this was a ploy executed by his enemies in Reglay in order to rid House Reglay of its last direct descendant, placing one of their own on the throne. If that truly were the reason...God, they could have it. They could take away all of his birthrights if only it meant that these nearly sixty men could be returned to their homes and families in Etruria. They did nothing to deserve this.
No, not even if they murdered a noble. For, if his paranoia was correct, Pent could certainly forgive the impulse.
-0-
"No!"
Pent didn't think, only react as he ran towards Henri and a charging resistance fighter, muttering a spell under his breath all the while. Power pulsed inside him; his right hand felt as if it had its own heartbeat as he raised it in the air. He was compelled to make the three seals of anima magic, those of fire, lightning, and wind, his eyes widening as a great sigil formed in front of him. This was the first time he had delved so deeply into the heart of anima, and his control was shaky as he released the full force of its might towards the enemy. The resulting fireball engulfed the man within the flames of pure magical fire, extinguishing his life as instantly as it changed flesh into ash. His heart beating wildly, he turned to the kneeling soldier, whose leg was still bleeding profusely. When standing, Henri was a veritable mountain of a man, short hair golden with his Etruscan heritage and his demeanor as straightforward as Pent supposed a poor farmhand's should be; when kneeling, even in pain, he seemed no less sure of his strength.
Approaching him, Pent offered, "Shall I find Simon for you? Or would you prefer I help you over to him?"
"You...saved my life," Henri mumbled. "Thank you, Captain."
"You saved mine once before, remember? Also," Pent continued with a smile, "don't you have someone waiting for you? Your daughter, I believe? I would like for everyone to return to their loved ones."
Henri smiled. Once, Thomas had told Pent that Henri had been sent to the Isles for conspiracy to burglarize Count Utica's summer manor for the sake of providing for his daughter during the lean winter; even today, Pent knew that the other man kept a packet of his daughter's letters on him, just like Pent did with Louise's letters.
Not every crime was selfish, and some were worth doing. The more he came to understand his fellow 'criminals', the more Pent found his worldview altering...perhaps for the better.
-0-
"Nestor. Did you truly murder a nobleman?"
Actually, that had not been how Pent had intended to introduce the subject. He had agonized over it for a week, after a fashion, before deciding that he even needed to ask the question at all. But with Nestor alone on the seashore following another fight he had quelled that very morning, Pent decided to throw caution to the wind. The declining mood of the force as a whole made him wonder if there might be any other opportunity after this.
The look Nestor gave him was not hostile as such, though the way he pursed his lips together indicated a certain amount of annoyance. "That is what I was convicted for," he answered after a long moment of silence.
Pent nodded once. "I see. In that case, did he deserve it?"
Nestor's expression, never truly open during the best of times, showed a flash of surprise before all emotion fled from his face. "Yes, Captain."
"All right," Pent said. "I believe you." He made to leave, a little embarrassed at his impertinence, before Nestor's voice called him back.
"It happened in late AS 967."
Glancing over his shoulder, Pent inquired, "Will you tell me?"
"Yes," Nestor said, and this was the story he told:
"I was a mercenary, a good one, in those days. I had partnered with a good friend from my home village, and when he was killed I decided to take care of his younger sister in his stead. She was a very gentle girl, a storyteller. The saint would have wanted that girl to tell stories from The Journey all her life. She should have.
In nine sixty-seven, the taxes had been raised all throughout the county, and the noble family in our area took care to get all the money they could from us. They dispatched their sons directly. Had I been home at the time, nothing would have happened. I wasn't, and the youngest son came across her instead." Nestor paused here, and Pent could see something he had never witnessed on the stoic mercenary's face before: anger. "His family was of a mind to take from us every last piece of gold they could. He followed their example to other ends."
Covering his lower face with one hand, Pent looked away.
"I returned shortly after from a mission to find her. Once she had told me what happened, I intended to end him myself, but she convinced me to wait. I...did not want to upset her further, and I felt unusually tired as it was. It turned out that she had drugged me during supper, and afterward she took my dagger and did the job herself. My only regret is that she felt she had to kill herself later, in another place. I had been arrested by then, because my dagger had been a gift from her brother, and he had thought to have my name carved into it." Something of a smile curved Nestor's lips slightly. "It would have to be something like that."
"But the murder of a noble is a very serious crime," Pent remarked, rubbing his jaw and the first hints of stubble. "I can't imagine you would have been able to escape execution, even if you could be put to more use here."
"Yes," Nestor said, no longer with any hint of mirth. "But I was very lucky. He hadn't been well-liked even within his own family, and they did not pursue execution instantly. There was a new count at the time my execution date was finally settled, and one of his first acts was to commute every sentence into lighter punishments."
Pent raised an eyebrow at that; though he couldn't place why, something about the narrative bothered him. "Very generous of him." Nestor shrugged.
"I have to be grateful all the same. Instead of death, I was sent here as one of the first soldiers, and I have been here ever since."
"Hm. Some here would say this was worse than death."
"Most of the men here have been convicted for petty things, such as theft or assault. Any shadow of death is too much for them."
Pent looked out to the water. It was clear, as was the sky, but all the same he could not see the other side of the strait. "I would think that living after being abandoned like this would be worse."
"So you're going to give up?"
"No," Pent said, now looking at the ground, one hand on his hip. "Commander Leto promised to bring back whatever information she could, so there is that. Also, there are people waiting for me at home."
Nestor looked at him. "What county are you from?"
"Reglay."
"You too? I hope you weren't allied with that family."
Delayed realization hit Pent like a fist, a sensation he was unfortunately acquainted with. How could he have not...but then, he consoled himself, he couldn't remember signing an edict such as the one described. Could it have been something Borenze had slipped within the pages and pages of paperwork that had awaited him after his father's death?
He wasn't sure he appreciated having to be grateful to Borenze after everything the man had done, but Pent decided to magnanimous. Though he may well pay for Borenze's share of the crime with his life, his former steward had not been a terrible man in all aspects of his life.
"No," Pent said after a while. "Not that noble house."
-0-
The soldier was screaming in rage as he threw down his sword. "I'm sick of this! I don't want to fight anymore!"
Everyone let him be, even Pent. This was not the first time someone broke down publicly as spring gave way to the shining heat of summertime, and Pent knew it would not be the last.
After some time of ranting and raging, some of the soldier's friends came up to him and lead him away, all of them talking in low, calming tones.
Pent hoped it would help, at least for some time.
-0-
"We're not going to take this any longer!"
"Ah," Pent murmured, turning to Simon, the lone company priest. "I take it this is what requires my attention?"
The young man, whose dark-ringed eyes and nervous tics were more of a testament to how hard he worked rather than an impending breakdown-so Pent hoped-sighed in resignation. "Please limit the amount of bloodshed, if you can."
Pent winced. "I don't intend to kill anyone. If they wish to talk, I will listen."
Simon only sighed again. Pent could understand it if he didn't inspire confidence in his fellow men, but he had to admit that the reaction was highly demoralizing. He could do nothing else but gesture for the priest to stand back before he strode forward to meet with the group of men loudly agitating in the center of the camp. They numbered about ten, but who knew how many others would be inspired by their rhetoric, if not their actions, by the end of this confrontation? Even seeing this proved the weakness of his command without even a word from him; that could be inspiration enough, so far as Pent was concerned.
Even though he knew that all he had done-all he could do-was to make the most of a bad situation, he had always known in the depths of his heart that it was not nearly enough.
He had never been enough.
Stepping up to the group of men, he inquired, "What can I do for you?"
"You!" One of the men jabbed a finger in his direction. "What the hell are you doing? Get us off this island now!"
"If I could do that, we would already have returned to Etruria," Pent stated, a pinprick of annoyance already digging into him. Being yelled at was no longer a novelty.
"You don't know how to lead," said another man as he stepped up to Pent. There was a dagger in his hand that Pent deemed would be fatal to discount. "That's why we're taking over."
This is escalating too fast, Pent thought. A quick glance to the side revealed that other soldiers were surrounding them, though he recognized most of them as being at least fairly neutral; good men who could understand the larger ramifications of what had happened to them and resented the situation more than each other. In other words, they were probably not going to intervene unless things took a turn for the murderous, and at that point the mutinous soldiers would be too bloodthirsty to stop.
This had to be stopped now.
"No," Pent said, "you're not. But you are welcome to leave the camp, if you so wish."
The man with the dagger cursed as he stabbed at Pent, who stepped out of the way easily. His fingers twitched towards the Fire tome he carried with him, but he stopped himself; he wanted no casualties if he could help it. They may have hated him, but they were still Etrurian soldiers. He could understand their frustrations, even if he couldn't solve the problems that surrounded the camp. Simply put, he could not harm his own.
Now, if only they had the same inclination.
The man lunged at him again; Pent dodged one, two, three times, nearly stumbling over his own feet as the man's frenzied strikes became less predictable to avoid. "What do you think you're doing?" he bit out, his heart pounding in fierce desperation as the realization that he just might die if he didn't do something, anything ensnared his heart. Yet what was he supposed to do? Attack them? Kill them?
What would that solve?
There was movement to his left, different from the man in front of him. He turned, hoping to keep both of them in his sight, but he wasn't fast enough. Searing agony burned along his bicep as a blade ripped through sleeve and flesh. Swallowing the cry that erupted from his throat was too difficult as he gripped his arm with his right hand, feeling a momentary dizziness as he felt the warmth of his blood flow between his fingers. He breathed hard as he righted himself, staring hard at his opponents. They were all brandishing weapons now.
"Hey, Captain, don't worry. You're not fighting this alone."
The sounds of swords being unsheathed behind him did not console Pent, nor did the footsteps of the men coming to stand behind him and at his side. He glanced at them, their grim faces and old, worn swords, then at the mutinous soldiers in front of him with their grim faces and old, worn swords.
Then he made a decision.
"We are not going to do this. I would rather surrender than fight my own countrymen."
His own side was stunned into silence; the men before him overcame their shock with a speed that was envious as they began to jeer at him, mocking his words and working to build their righteous fury so that it would be easier for them once the time came to act again. Pent could see that. As his blood trickled down his arm and over his hand, staining both his sleeve and skin red, as his heart pounded and his mind worked to find the words he needed for a somewhat bloodless conclusion, he could see it all.
Was anything he had done while in Reglay this important? Anything in all his years of schooling? Or in his years being shunted around as the unwanted fosterling son? What had he learned in his life that could be used in this moment to prevent a terrible end?
He knew the answer.
"You're doing this because you're afraid."
This silenced the jeering; in the instant between shock and anger, he seized the moment and continued. "That is only natural. We've not had contact with our homeland in almost six months. We don't know why, and having a lack of knowledge about something leads to fear of it. It's fine to admit that we're afraid, but even though we have lost contact with our country, it does not mean that we have lost our country...that is, we are all still Etrurians. Were this Missur or Lycia or Sacae rather than the Western Isles this fact would not change.
"We are Etrurians. We are the children of Saint Elimine. Our country was founded on her principles of devotion, faith, and honor. As Etrurians we should follow her example not only when times are good, but also when they are not...especially when they are not. Rather than aiming for each other as an outlet for our fears, we should work together so that we can all one day return to our country."
After Pent ended his impromptu speech, he waited for a response, any response. He didn't have to wait too long before one of the mutinous soldiers snickered. "Listen to the little noble and his pretty words. Can you believe this?"
Pent exhaled slowly as his dizziness seemed to increase for a moment, vertigo assaulting him and making him wish he could sit down and have his wound looked at. However, he was also aware of the image he was portraying, and sought to uphold it for as long as it was needed. "I am not so little, and I do believe my words. If I didn't, I wouldn't bother speaking."
"You shouldn't bother anyway. No one wants to hear words when we need action!" another one of the soldiers yelled, swiping his hand through the air for effect. "What the hell are your words going to do for us when our own country has forgotten us!"
"We're not forgotten, I assure you," Pent said. Later, he would conclude for himself whether he had knowingly lied. "That simply isn't possible."
"It isn't? Who are you to tell us what is and isn't true? From where I'm standing, you're just a liar trying to save his own skin."
Perhaps he was at the edge of delirium, because Pent allowed these words to pass his lips: "I can tell you this because I am Count Reglay."
It seemed the whole place exploded in a fit of pandemonium as everyone began talking all at once, a rather different scene than the deathly stillness of before. Unsure of which he preferred, Pent let himself waver; although the cut was not to the bone, the loss of blood was draining him the longer he stayed in place. Please let this conclusion be favorable and then I'll rest as much as necessary, he thought, and as if beckoned by it he could nearly imagine Louise standing before him, her eyes wide and her lips parted with concern. He could see her reaching out to him...
Stop it, he commanded himself. Now isn't the time.
It was just as well, for when his vision cleared he found that a couple of the men before him were looking a good deal craftier than they had before, when they had only been part of a righteous group bound by fear and smoldering anger. He didn't like this, and he liked it a lot less once one of them said, "I wonder how much the resistance will give us if they have Etruria's Count Reglay as a hostage?"
"That depends," Pent started, slow anger like a second heartbeat, "on whether you believe your own lives are worth the price of such madness. I can understand your anger, but voicing such a plan means I can no longer allow you to stay here."
"Hey, Captain," Kellis called out as he made his way to where Pent was standing. Pent caught the look the other man gave his injured arm before his gaze oriented towards Pent's face. "Some of those guys just need to calm down. If we just keep watch over all of them and they promise real nicely not to act like idiots, then let's keep them around. Like you said, we're all Etrurians, even if they say stupid things sometimes."
Secretly, Pent wondered if his speech was something Kellis also considered stupid, but decided to keep to the matter at hand. "If you're willing to take over the particulars, I will allow it." Another wave of dizziness forced him to bring his bloodied hand to his forehead as he took long, deep breaths. "I'll be in my tent if anyone needs me."
Perhaps it was not the best way to end the conflict and still look like the confident, dependable captain he knew they needed, but later he would notice a diffusion of tension around the camp and understand that he had a part in that.
And that was all right with him. More than, really.
-0-
"So you really are Count Reglay."
Pent looked up from the preliminary schedule he was drawing in the sand. "Hello, Nestor."
"Which do you prefer to be called?"
"Captain is fine. We're not in Etruria at the moment, and I don't wish for anyone to feel they have to stand on ceremony for me." After looking at his schedule, he glanced back at Nestor. "Would you prefer hunting or fishing this week?"
Nestor looked askance at him. "A choice?"
"You're very good at guard work, but I'd like to switch around the camp duties more often. That would only be fair."
"Fishing, then."
"That would be smart," Pent agreed, running a hand through his hair to keep it out of his face. Though his immunity to extreme weather was growing stronger, he found his body still had its natural reactions, one of them being the sweat that collected on his forehead and caused his hair to stick to it. The morning fog had become something of a blessing, as it seemed that the Western Isles was determined to match central Etruria for its heat waves this year.
Nestor stayed around as Pent worked on the rest of the schedule, memorizing it before smoothing out the sand. He missed paper and ink for his pen, but these things were no longer luxuries but nonexistent in their camp. With the Etrurian lords keeping their distance from him, he had no choice but to forego them for more natural replacements.
"Captain?"
"Hm?" Pent mumbled as he began jotting down anima equations.
"We have visitors."
There was no vessel on the water, which disappointed Pent until he thought to look up and found two pegasus knights flying high in the cloudless skies. It was a sight that amazed him; they could fly higher than even the tallest castle, soaring like birds while fighting like knights. He wondered if there were any pegasus knights who chose their duty not to fight, but to fly. It was a fanciful thought that kept him occupied until the two landed, and he couldn't help the smile on his face when he found that one of them was clad in black. "Commander Leto," he greeted as she approached him, her pegasus following without a lead.
She looked at him, her black eyes making her expression seem unfathomable, before her gaze slid to just behind him. "You'll want this to be private," she stated.
"Nestor," Pent began, only to find when he turned that the older man was already heading towards the camp. Returning his attention to the pegasus knights, he found that the other one was lingering nearby, feeding her pegasus with carrots from its saddlebag. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Commander."
Commander Leto jabbed a thumb towards the other woman. "That's Althea, commander of the third wing. She's here because I have to be monitored while I do this."
"Monitored?"
"At my debriefing with the general in charge of your group, I was told that, if I reveal any of the information I know to any Etrurian, that Ilia can forget ever having another contract from Etruria again." Crossing her arms, a corner of her lips quirked upward as she stared at him. "So this will have to be brief."
Pent returned her gaze, his mood suddenly grim. "What exactly is going on?"
"I can't tell you that either, for the sake of our relationship with Etruria. I can only give you one thing." Taking a piece of paper from a pouch on her belt, she first handed it to the other commander. "As you can see, no words," she said.
Commander Althea returned it. "This isn't worth it, Leto."
"I know," Commander Leto said, "but Yulie said that Gracia's soul will haunt me unless I do right by him."
"Those backwater beliefs."
"They have to have something to entertain themselves where they are," Commander Leto replied with a hint of dismissal before turning to Pent. She held out the folded paper to him. "Take it. Maybe you won't get it, maybe you will, but I'll give you the chance to try."
He took it. "I thank you." Taking a step back, Commander Leto looked up at him with what he would term almost a curious manner.
"And another thing, though I don't know if I should tell you this. I'm thinking that there aren't a lot of men named Pent. Or, at least, I would hope not."
"Hm. I wouldn't know."
"I'm sure. This other Pent...apparently he was the count of Reglay County. He's been buried since April."
Pent stared at her, unable to speak, unable to even bring to mind a thought with which to convey how he felt. She might have realized it, because she turned away and began to mount her pegasus. It was only when those powerful wings began to rise and fall that he was able to free himself from the spell that had kept him mute, but when he began to rush forward she and her comrade were already in the air, already crossing over the strait.
Dead? I'm thought to be dead? Why...how?
Louise thinks I'm dead.
It felt as thought a sudden illness had overtaken his stomach and he clenched his hand, crushing the paper Commander Leto had given him. Smoothing it open, he found himself staring at a drawing of a flower.
Thomas?
A hibiscus.
What is this supposed to mean? he thought as he studied the petals of the image. It was obvious this was copied from the heraldry of the house crest, but he had no idea why. Did she mean that whoever had debriefed her-my group's general-is also a man of this noble house? There are only three generals, and I know this isn't the great general's crest. I saw his house crest displayed everywhere when he was granted the appointment, and anyway it was a tree because his family's nobility comes from being established soldiers.
Then who? There's the mage general and the knight general...
And then he remembered a most terrible thing. Lady Catherine, and-
Be careful, though, as he's a petty man. If he's given you advice and you decide not to regard it, he will always remember that as a personal insult and he will make you suffer for it.
-her former fiancé, the Knight General of Etruria. With that came a complete understanding of the circumstances as they were, and why he should expect to never see Etruria again.
He took the chance to wipe me utterly from Etruria, all because I ignored his words and stayed with Louise. The reason why the claimant garnered such strong support in Reglay among the other nobles was because they had the support of the knight general, the assurance that he would make it so that I would never return.
I'm not Count Reglay anymore. And Louise...
He stayed at the shore for a while and watched the waves. Before he returned to the camp, he tucked the scrap of paper next to Louise's letters.
The shoreline was no longer his favorite place to relax; he could expect nothing from the other side of the strait any longer.
-0-
Pent knows what it feels like to be abandoned. He is, in a sense, used to it. He had never expected to be purposely cut off, though. Not like this. Never like this.
He will survive it, though. For the sake of his men, he can do nothing else but lead them. However, they believe in his words that one day they will be remembered and that simply isn't true any more.
For what it's worth, he is sorry. He never meant to mislead them to such an extent.
Then there is Louise. It is easier for him to think of Louise these days as an old friend who has slipped out of his life. She thinks he's dead, killed in a foreign land, and that may be fine. Since he had never revealed his feelings for her, he thinks it will be easier for her because she won't be weighed down by them. He cares for her too much to do that to her.
She'll find someone else. She'll love someone else. She'll marry someone else. It's fine. He's used to feeling a little empty on the inside, used to the loneliness.
Her letters are still in his coat, but now he knows enough to admit to himself that it's not about practicality.
It never was.
-end-
Something a little different, both in style and in punctuation. The aim of the story was to, in a sense, wear down the reader, disorient them to some extent. This is the last of the monstrously long stories, I promise! As well as punctuation goes, it seems that FFN isn't allowing double dashes at the moment, depriving me of my favorite multi-purpose symbol. How cruel! Thank you for reading, and come back on 6/14 for the beginning of the end!
The current Great General of Etruria: People who have played FE6 should be familiar with the name Douglas, as he is the great general in that game (that, and Ch. 16 was a mess). The artbook mentions that he is in his fifties and his supports indicated that he was ready to retire, so I don't think it's too far-fetched to assume that he's been in that position for decades. After all, Pent had been Mage General since his early twenties.
Easter egg: Just like in the last story, we see a character who is also in the game. I wonder who it could be?
Adel, Disgraced Knight: The Fire Emblem series loves the princess/knight trope, if the supports (and their popularity) are any evidence. Not to go stomping on anyone's OTP or anything, but can you guess the one thing all those princesses have in common? They don't have living parents. This is especially interesting when you look at Priscilla's supports; while she has romantic inclinations in several of them, she can only officially be with Erk because he's the only one who can get enough prestige to be worthy of marrying her-the only one her parents will approve of. A lot of the princess/knight stuff comes from the ideal of courtly love, where a knight devotes himself to a lady, claiming the spoils of battle for her and such, but he is (technically) not supposed to consummate the relationship. Probably the most realistic encounter between a princess-type and a knight in the FE games is the Clarine/Lance supports in FE6, where there isn't even a hint of romance. Of course, her parents being who they are, they'd probably approve.
Nestor, Dignified Mercenary: I just wanted to use this title.
Backwater beliefs: Yulie comes from the village of Corinth, Shadows Under the Oak Tree's main setting. Located deep within the hinterlands of Ilia, the village holds truly animistic beliefs because of its guardian mage family.