No Longer Alone


Disclaimer: I own nothing.


Amelia's eyes roved around the courtyard, catching sight of the various new recruits that had joined up.

A rather depressing thing she noted was that she was the only female in the entire company. Grado apparently wasn't too keen on employing women as frontline fighters.

She milled around aimlessly, glancing around. Most of the people refused to make eye contact with her, and those that did only held her gaze for less than a second before turning away, often accompanied with a snort of derision.

She shrugged. She wasn't going to let anything put a damper on her mood today. She was going to be a soldier! At long last…

The sudden blare of the trumpet caused her to jump, and she noted that the iron gates that led further into the building were now creaking open.

Taking in a deep breath, Amelia shifted the weight of her backpack on her shoulders and headed for the entrance.


Picking up useful battle tactics was a way of life for most soldiers.

From every single battle, walk away with something new and useful. It'll help immensely when you finally run into that 'impossible odds, we don't have a snowball's chance in hell' type of battles. You still may not win, but at least you went down with a good fight.

Right now, the party was by no means facing an impossible fight, merely a routine Grado patrol that they had stumbled upon while trying to leave the country. Ephraim had groused about how his spies had assured him that this was a safe route before leaping into action, lance whirling.

Still, learning new things always helped. Particularly when Franz figured out that an extremely effective way of disabling an enemy soldier was slamming the hilt of your sword into their helmet with as much force as you could muster.

He'd already dropped three foes by this method. Granted, they hadn't been paying much attention, a large extent of their focus taken up by Ephraim swiftly dispatching soldier after soldier and coming ever closer to them. Still, a victory was a victory, however small.

As he hurriedly dug out rope from his satchel and set about tying the unconscious soldiers, he noticed the Prince watching him out of the corner of his eye.

When he had finished binding them to a nearby tree, he whistled, calling Neige over. As he waited, Ephraim approached him.

"Franz?"

"Milord." Franz glanced at him.

"Admittedly, I've only spent a very limited time in your company, but… I've noticed a particular trait about you. And when I questioned General Seth about it, he seemed to verify my… observation."

"Yes?"

Ephraim hesitated a tad longer. "You don't like killing people." He finally stated.

Franz blinked. "Is – is there something wrong with that, sir?" Neige had arrived, and he climbed up her.

Ephraim likewise had mounted his own steed. "Not in and of itself, of course." The turquoise-haired prince let out a long sigh. "But it can be, when on a battlefield."

Ah. So that's what this conversation was about. Franz shook his head. "I-"

"Ah, don't rib him about it." Forde's voice cut through the relative quiet of the emerald forest. He rode up beside the two of them, his scarlet armour gleaming in the patches of dappled sunlight that filtered through the leaves. "As long as he knows how and when to show mercy, mercy will never do us harm."

Ephraim barked out a short laugh. "Coming from you, Forde? I don't think I've ever seen you leave a foe alive."

"Hey, what about that time back near the Southern Border. I left that guy alive."

"Yes, and you chopped off both of his legs. A fine livelihood he's going to have once things return to normal." Ephraim grinned.

"Look, all I'm saying is, if my little brother wants to let his enemies live, what's the problem? As long as he ensures that none of those he spares are in any fit shape to fight – what's the problem?"

"Oh, this is too much." Ephraim let out a chuckle and he began guiding his horse further away from the two of them. "Have it your way, you two. At this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if you came up to me and started asking me to let enemy soldiers join our army!"


The captain glared up and down the line at the row of recruits. Something about the manner in which he carried himself made Amelia want to curl up into a ball and hide.

I guess they don't get promotions based on personality. Amelia barely had time to let that thought pass through her head before the captain spat on the ground.

"Garn! I've seen recruits in better shape when they'd just finished a five mile jog than you ladies!"

Ladies? Amelia quickly scanned the room – she was the only female here, and she had received quite a few stares over that fact. Glancing back at the captain, she noted his sour expression was still focused on the men.

Oh.

"If you whelps want to stand with alongside Grado's finest, we're going to need a lot of work." Amelia noted, and decided she didn't much like the unpleasant gleam that appeared in the captain's eyes as he said so. "A lot of work, indeed."

Then he turned and waved his hand dismissively. "Get them to the fitting room and get 'em uniforms and armour. On the double! Move!"

As the new recruits dutifully turned and began to file out of the room, Amelia followed, keeping her head low. She hadn't been naïve enough to think that this was going to be anything remotely resembling a pleasant experience, but at least she was-

"You there! Girl!" Amelia hesitated for a second, before turning around and ascertaining that indeed, the captain was referring to her and not casting a derogatory label on another of the male recruits. As she did so, she reflected that this could prove a potentially annoying point for the duration of her service as a soldier of Grado.

"You're the one Duessel stood up for, right?" The captain scratched the back of his neck. "Damned if I know what he saw in you, but…" He trailed off, apparently looking for something, and leaving Amelia to process what she had just heard.

Two things shocked her. The first was that the captain had referred to General Duessel without first addressing him by the proper title. She'd heard enough murmurings to know that Duessel was losing favour with the Emperor over his continued opposition to the current war, but she couldn't imagine any of the common soldiers having anything but the utmost of respect for the Obsidian.

The second shock was that General Duessel had actually stood up for her. When he'd left her yesterday, she had been left with the profound impression that he hadn't thought very highly of her, though her ecstasy at being able to become a recruit had been so great she hadn't much cared.

Now, though, that he had apparently given a favourable opinion of her made her feel more… well, more valued.

"Ah, here it is!" The captain held out a slip of paper. "There ain't no women armour in the armoury. We'll need to get you custom uniform and plates. Get to this room and we'll do a fitting."

Amelia stared uncomprehendingly at the squiggled numbers on the paper. "Sir?" She said weakly. "I, uh, I can't read."

"Just go up the stairs, and walk down the hallway until you come to the door with the same numbers on it." The captain was already turning away. "After you're done, report to the courtyard. Move!"

Hesitantly, she headed for the stairs.


"Now, if you want to have a sturdier strike, you have to tighten our grip on point of impact, so your wrist remains sturdy and your blade doesn't fold back. Of course, that sort of teaching's no use if your fingers aren't strong enough in the first place, so we've devised a regimen for training our grips."

"Really?" Franz cast a dubious look at Gilliam. "Training for your fingers?"

The knight nodded sternly. "Every single muscle acts in relation to the others. You can't neglect any part of your body if you want to become as strong as you possibly can."

"Under – understood."

Gilliam nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer and began detailing out the various exercises needed for the strengthening of one's fingers.

Through it all, Franz paid close attention, and he was rather certain he could feel his brother's amused gaze on him as they continued their journey towards Serafew.


"So… uh… how's it going?" She asked, desperate not to sound like she was making conversation for the sake of doing so, despite the fact that that was what she was doing.

The seamstress making her new uniform didn't bother replying; choosing instead to raise her eyes enough to give Amelia a withering stare that effectively shut the young girl up.

"Well, we're in luck." From the anteroom a man emerged, carrying something thickly wrapped in cloth. "We've found a set of armour that should fit you." Hastily unfolding back the cloth that covered the armour, he stepped back. "Well, what do you think, lass?"

Amelia walked over, running her hand gently over the smooth red shell of the chestplate. It had apparently been preserved well – she couldn't see a single scratch or scar on the entirety of the armour.

"It's – It's great. Thanks." She stammered out.

"Done." From behind her, the seamstress stood, offering a maroon tunic with gold trim to her.

"Uh, th- thanks." She grasped it tightly, feeling the tough material bunch up under her grip.

"There's a room in the back. You can try on your new clothes and armour there."

"Okay, got it."


The tunic was a comfortable fit – for her less-than-amiable personality, the seamstress was good at what she did. Amelia paused for a moment, wishing there was a mirror or pond nearby with which she could see herself.

Then gingerly, she picked up the chestplate of her armour. After staring at it for several seconds, she tried to get the two halves of the armour-piece around herself so she could begin buckling it. The effort was a clumsy one, resulting in a lot of unnecessary noise.

"Need any help?" Came the offer from beyond the door.

"I'm fine, thanks!" Amelia yelled back, and nearly losing her grip on the chestplate in the process.

Finally, she managed to fasten the thing around herself, and turned next to the pauldrons. She could spot the places where they were supposed to fit over her chestplate, and she worked quickly to attach them.

Last came the belt, along with the hipguards. They were relatively easy to fasten, but Amelia was aware that the armour was uncomfortably heavy, and she couldn't help but wonder how she was supposed to fight in that thing.

Finally, it was complete. She swung the door open and walked out.

The man stroked his whiskered chin and nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, yes, it looks good. The tunic is comfortable?"

"Yes, sir."

The man turned to the seamstress. "Three more of those, same measurements, by tonight." The seamstress merely nodded, never lifting her eyes from the work.

The man turned back to her with a kindly smile. "Well, lass. Best get yourself to the courtyard. Wouldn't want to keep the officers waiting."


Before she even emerged into the sun-drenched courtyard, she could hear the bellow for the new recruits to fall in.

Quickening her pace, she hurried to the rapidly congregating mass of people, noting unhappily that her armour was weighing her down far more than she would have liked.

As luck would have it, she was the last one to arrive, and hurriedly took a space in the back file.

"You there, recruit."

She glanced up and saw a man with a mop of scarlet hair looking at her.

"Step forward."

She obeyed, albeit hesitantly as she made her way to the front of where she was standing.

"Y-yes, sir?"

"You were late." The man's eyes shifted from her to roam over the rest of the soldiers.

"In fact, all of you were late." He said calmly before his eyes returned to rest on her. "But you were the latest."

Amelia could feel her cheeks burning. She ducked her head, looking at the ground.

"Look at me when I talk to you." She swallowed and swung her gaze back up.

"Recruit, a question." The man folded his arms, leaned back slightly, and continued in a conversational tone. "If I were to say, tell you to be at the courtyard at the passing of the third watch, what time should you be in the courtyard?"

Amelia swallowed hard. "A- at the passing of the third watch, sir?"

"A good answer." The man nodded. "And under normal circumstances, it would be the correct one."

"However!" He continued, his voice growing louder. "You have arrived late for your first assembly, and thus there must be punishment from it. Henceforth, whenever you are told to arrive at a particular time at a particular location, you are to arrive and fall in a full half-hour earlier." His eyes hardened. "You will be under the command of many different officers of the Grado Imperial Army, but you can rest assured I will ensure my punishment is strictly adhered to. If not… well, I'll leave you to dwell on the consequences." He turned back to Amelia.

"Recruit, get back in line."

"Yes, sir!" Saying so, she hurried back to her position.

"Now, I had assumed that we would be going for a leisurely jog as a way to get yourselves warmed up, but I'm afraid your tardiness has slightly compressed our schedule." He nodded thoughtfully. "You'll still need to complete the requisite ten rounds around the courtyard-"

Ten rounds?

"But instead of the twenty minutes as originally planned, you get fifteen. Get going, recruits! Move!"

Suppressing an urge to groan, Amelia willed her body into action.


Several days later, Franz stretched and yawned as he settled himself down on a bench near the town square of Serafew.

After reaching the place, they had confirmed that Grado forces in the area were at a minimal level, and after carefully stowing away anything that might mark them as being from Renais or Frelia, Ephraim had given them leave to do as they saw fit.

On that note, he reached up, massaging his aching shoulder. Shortly after the Prince had dismissed them, Forde had approached him for a round of sparring. He had laughed and promised to hold back for his little brother's sake, but Franz wasn't sure he noticed any distinction. Well, at least out of the seventeen duels in which he had crossed swords with his brother, he'd managed to eke out a victory in two of them. That was something, he supposed.

"Franz?"

He glanced up to see General Seth standing in front of him, arms folded and an approving smile on his face.

"I was watching you spar with your brother just now."

"Oh… you were?"

Seth nodded and settled himself down next to the young cavalier. "It's apparent to me that you're improving very quickly. Your parry is still a little stiff, but overall, your performance is astonishing."

Franz could scarce believe such words of praise, and coming from the Silver Knight, too! "Do you – do you truly think so, sir?"

Seth's smile quirked and he chuckled slightly. "Franz, why is it then whenever I have words of praise for you, you always seem to doubt me?" He flashed a slight grin. "Is it that you don't trust my judgment, hm?"

"Oh, no, no, no. Of course not! How could I? I mean – you're General Seth, the Silver Knight!" Franz paused. "You're my hero. Of course I appreciate your praise."

"Your hero?" The Silver Knight nodded thoughtfully. "Coming from my own apprentice, that is high honour indeed."

"But it's true!" Franz said emphatically. "I mean – back when Renais fell, you single-handedly broke through enemy lines and got the princess to safety. And all this despite being wounded, too." Franz shook his head. "Honestly, I know I'd never have been able to pull off something like that."

"Well! If you're going to hold me in such high esteem, how can I possibly fail now?" The General replied jovially. "You would lose all faith in me!" Then his face grew more serious. "And Franz, I've told you a thousand times never to say that you could 'never accomplish something'. Do you think I achieved my skills when I was born? No, work – hard work, at that - determination, and never lifting mine eyes on my goal resulted in my battle prowess. And there are yet others who far surpass my capabilities with sword and spear." Seth looked at Franz. "I've taught you well – of that, at least, I have no doubt – and if you only keep at it – train your mind and hone your skills," The smile on his face grew wistful. "You will grow into a remarkable warrior. I only hope to be alive to see that day."

Franz was silent; trying to see his bright future the General apparently had no trouble envisioning. "General…" He finally replied. "I – I'll not let you down."

"Good to hear." Seth stood, apparently preparing to leave.

"General… if I may ask a question?"

The Silver Knight turned back to his protégé, a questioning look on his face.

"Sir, I'm not sure if this is overstepping my bounds, but…" Franz paused, searching for the right words. "Most of the time when we encountered Grado soldiers, they seemed rather… focused on getting the bracelet around Princess Eirika's arm. Orson also mentioned that she should pass it to him – and when we were passing through the mountains, you insisted we get the bracelet back when it was stolen by Colm instead of leaving it be." He frowned. "Is there – is there something about the bracelet you're not telling us?"

Seth drew in a deep breath and nodded wearily as he ran a hand along the nape of his neck. "I should have expected you'd notice something strange about that affair." He shook his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, Franz, but there are some things that you're better off not knowing, at least for the present. I hope to be able tell you soon enough, but until then, know that Grado desires the bracelets worn on the arms of both the Prince and the Princess – but they must not get it."

Hardly satisfied with such an answer yet knowing this was the best he was going to get, Franz nodded slowly. "I understand, General." He finally replied.


The sun had nearly set when Franz made his way back to the inn where the group had chosen to lodge for the night. He knew that Forde would probably be at the bar, drinking the night away, but having never developed a taste for alcohol, Franz felt he would pass on that.

As he stepped through the doorway, the sound of a conversation being held floated up to him.

"Well… alright. If you really think so…" Natasha's voice, definitely. He glanced over to the side, where he noted Joshua standing there as well, swirling a drink in his hand.

"Well, I do. So keep it up." Franz quirked a smile. Was Joshua trying to seduce a cleric?

Natasha said something Franz couldn't quite catch, and as he leaned closer, he heard the flame-haired mercenary reply with a, "Nice smile."

A mercenary and a cleric… Franz shrugged. There were probably stranger things out there. Dismissing such thoughts from his mind, he headed for the stairs.


Next morning, halfway across the continent…

The trumpet blare pierced through the gray semidarkness of the early morning. Instinctively Amelia squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to deny the reality of her needing to arise and hoping to snatch just one more minute of rest.

Amelia had always had difficulty going to sleep, but after just one day of training, it hadn't proven to be an issue. The instant her head hit the rough fabric of her pillow, she was lost to the world. Getting up in the mornings, however, proved a far more taxing enterprise – not least of which because she ached in places she didn't know existed, let alone that those places were physically capable of aching.

She wasn't entirely sure, but the training regimen of becoming a Grado soldier seemed to involve putting the recruit through as many sadistic exercises as was humanly possible. Whether it was carrying a backpack filled to the brim with rocks to the countryside and back again, or lifting weights with her arms until she felt her fingers would never unfurl from their clawed grasps, the lot of a recruit seemed to be one of abject misery.

Almost as soon as the thought appeared, she banished it – or at least tried to. She had known it would be difficult, right? She just had to endure – her body had to grow stronger sooner or later, and then she'd get used to it.

Still, the fact that she had a pounding headache this particular morning made it hard for her to summon up any traces of enthusiasm.

Stumbling towards the courtyard, she noted with some chagrin that the officer in charge was already there, looking on top of the world.

"Well, you louts have rested enough, I daresay! Now, let's go for an invigorating and refreshing run around the compound! Fifteen laps ought to get the lot of you awake! Ready, GO!"

As Amelia instinctively broke into a stumbling jog while ignoring the pained protests from her leg muscles, she shook her head. Many of the recruits were definitely going to pass out at the breakfast table later – her included.


After several more days of this, Amelia was wondering just how much longer she could keep this up. Perhaps worst of all, in her estimation, were the constant, unyielding muscle pains.

Gingerly, Amelia nestled her aching body into a sitting position, trying desperately not to move anything too much, lest she suffered more of the unbearable muscle stress. She'd heard that this had to do with her muscles getting torn open and fixing themselves – that the end process of this would be stronger, tougher muscles, but right now the only thing she cared about was not interrupting said muscles in their no-doubt delicate act of repairing themselves.

Deliberately, she spooned the watery gruel that was supposed to be stew to her lips, drinking it in. Next to her, a male recruit of approximately the same age as her had given up the fight against gravity, his head slumped to the table as he slept peacefully.

Silently, Amelia calculated that she had 30 minutes for her breakfast, total. If she spent ten minutes eating, she would have enough time for a twenty minute rest – a word that was fast becoming interchangeable with 'nap', and begin spooning the food to her mouth at relatively faster speeds.

"Recruit Amelia! Is Recruit Amelia present?"

She twisted around to catch sight of who had called her name – and immediately regretted doing so as pain exploded in her gut.

Still, she managed to raise her hand while calling out, "Here, sir!"

The soldier nodded. "You're to report to the general office immediately. Get going – the commander doesn't like to be kept waiting."

With a sigh, she shoved the half-empty bowl to the side, stood, and followed him out of the room.


Amelia stood stock still, eyes wide open in shock.

"Me?" She squeaked. "Assigned? T- there must be some mistake! I haven't even – I haven't ever-"

"No mistake." The commander looked at her sternly. "The missive was very specific, not to mention you're pretty much the only female recruit of the batch, so it is rather hard to mistake you for someone else."

Amelia swallowed hard. But how was she supposed to fight? She had little to no battlefield experience despite her training – they hadn't even gone into proper lancefighting techniques yet!

"You have two days. By nightfall of tomorrow, you are to be fully packed, and ready to depart for Port Kiris as part of a small squad of soldiers." The commander's expression softened. "For what it's worth, you're mainly going on an observation mission, so don't get too worried, lass."

"Al- alright." She stammered. Bowing, she hurriedly exiting the room, all the while wondering what in the world the future held for her.


"So before you go to sleep every night, you flex and relax your muscles – it'll loosen them up and prevents you from getting aches the following day."

"A wonderful technique, indeed!" Gilliam looked suitably impressed, although Franz personally felt it was hard to tell, given the expression on Gilliam's face hardly ever changed.

"So… would you like me to teach you?"

"Of course!"

"Great, so here's the first of the exercises. You have to-"

The entire group suddenly ground to a halt. As Franz glanced up, he realized that, at long last, they had returned to Castle Frelia.

Somehow or other, they had succeeded on their absolutely insane mission to find and rescue Prince Ephraim, and now they had safely returned to Frelia.

Franz allowed himself a tiny grin as ranks of Frelian soldiers filed out, ready to escort the returning soldiers back into the castle.

Victory. It was a sweet feeling indeed.


Franz blew out a sigh and ran a hand through his messy hair as he stood on the balcony of his quarters – at least for the time being.

Prince Ephraim certainly had surprised them all with his announcement. The group had been located in one of the many halls of Castle Frelia when the lord of Renais had rounded the corner.

"Ah, there you are." Ephraim cracked a smile. "Gather 'round, all of you. I've some good news."

Franz headed towards the prince, smiling slightly as he caught sight of Neimi fiddling hesitantly with her bow before stepping up as well. Apparently there were a few still unused to dealing with nobility that was open and forthright as Ephraim was.

"I've talked to King Hayden, and I've convinced him to grant you use of the guest quarters for the next few nights until we set out again. You can go move your belongings from the staff areas."

Kyle's eyes widened. "You honour us all, milord."

Ephraim chuckled. " You – every last one of you – risked much to defend and protect what you hold dear to yourselves. If that is not worthy of honour, then I don't know what is!" He clapped his hands together. "Come on! You layabouts can go choose which room you want! Hurry up!"

Right now he was dressed in a gown made of some light material that fairly glowed in the moonlight. His old clothes – stained with dirt, grass and blood – were to be thoroughly washed and cleansed before being returned to him the next day. And of course he had cleaned himself up before being allowed into a room as… well, prettied-up didn't seem quite the right term. Regardless, he didn't much fancy giving the servants aneurysms over scrubbing out dirt from the sheets. The bath itself had been rather pleasant, given that the water had been warmed prior to his stepping in – a rather pronounced change from the usual freezing cold of forest streams or ponds. He breathed out a long sigh – the nobility surely knew how to look to their own interests.

Well, his was the lot of a soldier, and he didn't feel inclined to trade it for anything – not even for luxury such as this. Still, as long as it was open to him, he was most definitely going to enjoy it.

After the traditional muscle relaxation exercises, he allowed himself to fall onto the delightfully soft bed. As he lay there staring up at the ceiling, he allowed his mind to wander.

Ephraim had mentioned that they would set out again – after a few short days. The young knight suspected that he knew their next destination; Frelia was currently embroiled in the battle with the bulk of Grado's forces, and there was no way Ephraim was going to allow himself – or his men, for that matter – to sit the matter out.

Still, there was time to rest for now – the heat and blood and confusion and battle was for another day. With a relaxed sigh, Franz allowed himself to drift off to sleep – completely at peace for the first time in almost a month.


It was an extremely worried and depressed Amelia that clambered into her bed, practically trembling with dread of what lay before her.

She didn't know the least bit about warfare or fighting – how on earth was she supposed to go on a mission as a soldier? Even if was only supposed to be observation mission, how could she possibly keep up with the other troops, all certain to be hardier and far more experienced? She was going to make a fool out of herself, and everyone would be unhappy with her performance, and…

Silently, she curled up into a ball, hugging herself tight. Everything in her was in a state of complete turmoil.

Finally, just before sleep claimed her exhausted body, she closed her eyes and whispered a tiny prayer.

"Mother, if you're up there… if you're watching… help me. Please."


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