A/N: I do not own the Fire Emblem franchise.
Now just to forwarn you all, this is where I'm going to start warping the characters. In order for this idea to work, I've had to turn several beorc characters into laguz (as you will see next chapter). But it wouldn't exactly be fair for it to only be that one-sided, and so a few that were originally laguz have also been changed ;)
Leave a Mark
"You think you can get away with sassing me, do ya? Like to try and make me a fool?!"
"Sub-humans are fools, I'm just helping you write the definition."
They dared not peer into the doorway of their master's home, but one would have to be numb and deaf not to hear the resounding smack from within. Ena shuddered as the body of her fellow slave could be heard crashing to the floor. Across the doorway, Zihark gave her a slight look of concern, silently asking if she would like to leave and have him pick up the pieces when their master was finished. It was a tempting thought, one she would play with a little longer.
Some almost chaotic cackles broke from inside, "You call yourself a tiger? You hit like a heron…"
Again the young beorc woman flinched as their master released a mighty roar, this time his violence accentuated by the breaking of earthenware. She and Zihark subconsciously pressed themselves further into the wall when the horrible sounds finally ceased. All they could do now was hope their friend would know to keep her mouth shut, assuming she wasn't already dead.
With a snarl, their master stormed out the door, almost missing the fact that his beorc slaves had been there to witness. Not that he especially cared.
"You two," he hissed, whirling on them, "clean that mess in there! I don't want to see a speck of human blood on the tiles once I return!"
"Yes master," Ena bowed her head obediently, as she had been raised to behave from the minute she was born. Zihark, on the other hand, only gave a half-interested nod as he dared to look into the doorway to see exactly what damage had been done.
The tiger laguz growled, transformed and ran off into town, likely to the arena's to blow off some steam. It was considered bad form to murder one's slaves, after all the humans were far weaker than their laguz masters. If a laguz wished to kill a beorc, they could go to the arena's, where slaves convicted of various crimes (including just the dislike of the masters') were thrown out to be battled and slaughtered for the enjoyment of the bloodthirsty masses. Ena tried not to think about it.
Once she was sure he had left, she ducked inside after her silver-haired companion, and could do not but sigh at the sight that met her eyes.
Oh it was a mess alright. It seemed their master had broken most of the room's pottery in his fit of rage, not even sparing the plant-life and leaving soil and leaf debris strewn all over the floor. This was a mess for them to clean indeed. But priorities…
Zihark was kneeling next to a woman's prone form, half beneath a collapsed end table with a deep gash on her forearm. For a moment Ena feared the worst until their fellow slave coughed and rolled onto her back with a distressed groan.
The silver-haired man raised an eyebrow down at her, "What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time, Petrine."
Even as he spoke, he was pulling a small satchel of healing herbs hidden within the tattered rags that served as his clothing. Ena followed suit, kneeling on their friend's other side and removing some bandages torn from their bedding out of the sleeves of her more nicely kept dress.
Petrine folded her hands over her midsection, blinking from behind a bloody nose and looking far too pleased with herself, "The usual."
Zihark shook his head, "Do you have a death wish?"
She coughed again as he took Ena's bandages and tucked some of the herbs into the folds before wrapping them around her wounded, "You're one to talk. Once that sub-human finds out you've been stealing medicine for me of all people, you'll be in over your shiny little head."
"If it's at the price of saving another life, then I'm willing to pay."
"How sentimental…" she muttered dryly.
"It's really not all that different from what you're trying to do," Ena mused, earning a curious look from both of her companions. She promptly elaborated, "You both want to do something worthwhile. To be worthwhile is to leave something behind, something to be remembered by. A reason to keep moving forward, yet also a reason to accept your defeat when the time inevitably comes. For Zihark, he wishes to leave a mark on the hearts of his fellow slaves," the silver-haired man smiled slightly as he returned to his work, "And you…Petrine, you want to leave a mark that hurts. Something that will dig deep into the master's heart, and eat away at him long after you're gone. The mark that you cannot be broken… and maybe give a few bruises along the way."
"Never have my own thoughts sounded so poetic," Petrine chortled.
"I think the master hit you on the head a little harder than usual this time," Zihark muttered as he went about his work.
Ena sighed, "There are worse things he could have done."
A grunt of agreement was her only response and she watched the man hurry through the rest of his hasty first aid, both of them always checking the door to make sure the master hadn't returned earlier than expected. Once she was sure Petrine would be fine, and Zihark prepared to help the taller woman back to their small quarters, Ena set to cleaning up the mess.
Alone in the front room of their master's house, she allowed herself to become lost to thoughts she could only safely think alone. Of how she secretly envied the bravery that drove Zihark and Petrine to act the way they did. For she too wished to do something worthwhile, something to be remembered for. She was determined to find this something.
And once she did, perhaps she could leave the greatest mark of all.