Ghosts and Blades
Yen'Fay sat beneath a waterfall and meditated on his sins. He was condemned, there could be no doubt of that. Denied the release of death, and sent to this walking shadow? That was not the fate of the righteous man or the pure soul.
After a few moments, his meditation settled on a central flaw. Attachment. He refused to allow his sister's passing, refused to accept the natural order of the world, and now he was condemned to the cycle of pain and longing. The instant he accepted the illusion, the instant he believed there was hope, it would all be snatched away again.
"Hey, Uncle Yen'Fay!"
Until then, he would have to deal with his… 'niece'. Yen'Fay sighed and returned to his meditation.
"Hey!"
He considered the universe, completely empty.
"Hey!"
He considered the ancient writings of the warrior poet Kich'yo, and his meditations on duty and death.
"Hey!"
He considered the hand waving in front of his face.
It was no use. His joints creaked as he rose against the waterfall, and his soul wept. Meditation and cleansing would have to wait. The demon Morgan must be appeased.
"Of what do you wish to speak?"
"Good question!"
"That… is not an answer."
"No. It's buying time for an answer. Normally, it takes you way, way longer before you respond. I thought I had more time to come up with a poetic way to phrase things."
"Poetic."
"Ah! Got it!"
Morgan cleared her throat.
"Like flowers in spring
Burst to new life from their grave
Speak of my mother."
Yen'fay raised an eyebrow. Morgan grinned.
"Rule of seventeen? Check. Two contrasted concepts? Check. I even got the seasonal reference! Sometimes I impress myself."
"You think a simple poem will rip open my shattered soul? That a few words could undo the most grievous wound this shattered ghost has taken?"
"Well, no. I didn't think of it like that. I was hoping that undoing things would have undone them already. I mean, I've probably seen my share of tragedy, but now? Sunshine and rainbows. You might want to try it. It's much easier to deal with."
Yen'fay shook his head as he reached for his armor.
"You never committed a wrong as unpardonable as my own."
"You don't know that! Heck, I don't know that."
"How could you forget the most terrible moment in your existence? The day your soul came undone and every mercy fell from the heavens into this pit?"
Morgan shrugged.
"Probably the same way I forgot everything else. I thought you… knew."
"When have we spoken?"
Morgan scratched her chin.
"Never, I guess. I mean, I talked AT you, but this is the first time we've really had give and take. Huh. Still, I thought someone else would have mentioned it…"
"I keep my own company. I do not demand others investigate private matters of my own. I do not pry into theirs. In such a way harmony is maintained."
"That sounds… really, really boring."
"I did not ask your opinion."
"Most people don't. I'm generous that way. Also, you didn't answer my question about mother."
Yen'fay finished adjusting his armor. It was good to have another shield against the world. The girl's words struck too close for his liking. His sheath was at his side. His soul was as close to peace as it would come in this world. And he could answer the girl.
"A ghost cannot speak of the living world. A spirit is condemned to wander, not to grant company to the living."
"You're talking an awful lot for a ghost. Also, ghosts can totally give advice."
"Oh?"
"It's like you haven't read ANY of Owain's private war journals. There's ghosts in, like, half of them."
"I do not intrude into the privacy of the souls of the living."
"You wouldn't have to. I made a lot of copies. The important thing is, ghosts are allowed to help with unresolved business. It's a basic rule. You had a lot you feel bad about with mom, so…"
"So I would prefer not to have a stranger prod at the greatest pain I ever felt."
"And if you were a stranger… okay. If you were a stranger, I would still ask. It's tactically relevant!"
"I can perform as needed in battle. I cannot see why you keep prodding."
"As needed doesn't mean at best. Father could make more use of your talents with more information. But that's not important! You're not a stranger. You're family! I've spent more time with Aunt Aversa than with you. We need to fix that."
"You need to focus on the living."
"Even if I wanted to, it's pretty much just mother and father. And they're both busy."
"What made you think that I had no pursuits of my own."
"Well, they're running-an-army busy. You're weird uncle busy. Those are very different levels of busy! Besides, I know them already."
"So, you will persist in interrupting me until you find satisfaction?"
Morgan shrugged.
"I can be very determined. Just ask anyone. And right now I'm done with all my training, so you're kind of out of luck."
Yen'fay looked at the waterfall, then at the girl.
It was the first time he really looked at her. His sister's child. The heir to Chon'sin, should history repeat.
She had her mother's eyes. The eyes of the woman he failed. Serious eyes, for such a flippant child. Eyes that had seen their share of sorrow.
He shouldn't have looked to them. Now he had no choice.
"Fine. We will… bond."
"Yes!"
"But I fear I am no poet. My experience with ritual and art was always lacking. I am a warrior."
"Don't worry. Dad is EVEN WORSE at painting. I could…"
"No. We are children of Chon'sin."
Yen'fey drew Amatsu.
"If we cannot speak with the brush, we speak with the blade."
The child gulped.
"Uh, are you sure that's the best idea? I try to talk with the mouth. I am all kinds of great at talking with the mouth! You can use your blade on a tree, and I can…"
"I can only offer my blade. All else has left me. If you wish the company of a ghost, you must accept his limitations."
Morgan shook her head.
"You're… really good, right?"
"My talent is the one friend that has not abandoned me in this shadowy half life."
"Great. Great! So, I'll get out my sword, then. And we'll… do great."
The girl was nervous. Yen'fay smiled. Her mother had been the same way once. Cautious around a blade to a fault. It didn't last long, but the girl reminded him of those brief, innocent days. When the art of the sword was only valued as an art.
She drew a sword. A killing edge, a masterwork. He could see the balance had been tailored to her hands, the weight distributed for deep cuts.
"Your handiwork?"
"Mom and dad helped a lot."
"Have you named it?"
"Well, I took a name that was lying around. So, sort of."
Yen'fay saw thin letters reading "Pointy Demonspanker" on the hilt. He decided that questions of nomenclature were an avenue best avoided from this point forward. One last query, then.
"Has it fed?"
Morgan gulped.
"Yes."
"Good. Then we can begin."
He bowed and leaned into the introductory stance. It was… pleasant. He'd fought for his life so often in the past years. Since his sister died, the blade was a utilitarian instrument. A simple tool of murder. His words were all battlecries, his art was all shades of red.
But now, he could be graceful again. Elegant. Honor and respect at the edge of a blade. His opponent followed the motions in a more strained echo. Say're had taught her daughter well, but it was clear Morgan had not spent as much time as she should have practicing.
They followed a few standard forms. The girl stumbled from time to time, but recovered. And then, with the dictates of good manners fulfilled, they began in earnest.
Yen'fay watched the girl's stances, avoided her blows. It was peculiar. She had her mother's gifts and more than a little training to enhance them. She claimed experience. But every moment she hesitated, showed fear, or fell through another gap. Her defenses were capable, but she never pressed her opportunities. Battle showed the soul. Hers was filled with fear.
Yen'fay leaned past a blow.
"You cannot win."
"This… isn't about winning, right? I wasn't trying to win."
"On a battlefield, this hesitation would cost you your last breath. You must consider yourself already dead. Only then can you survive."
Morgan dodged his attack.
"I'm not worried about me."
"I already understand. The path of the blade reveals the soul. If you were craven or mercenary, more concerned with your life than your honor, I would have ended this farce already. You... "
He took a breath. Let it out.
"Are your mother's daughter. But this fear is not in keeping with your legacy."
Morgan took a step back and deflected a blow with her shoulder armor.
"I know. Mother and father are never afraid of anything. Or at least they don't show it around anyone else."
"I never claimed…"
"But that's because they know what to do. Pretty much all the time! And I didn't."
The girl feinted left, but her followup was weak. A child would have survived her assault. Yen'fay stepped aside and attacked her guard. She stepped around his attacks just as easily. For a time, they followed a hidden dance, a path between the blades. Yen'fay basked in the silence. From what he'd seen so far, it was a rare gift from the girl. And then the last word she'd said returned to him.
"Didn't"
Past tense. And specific. Another glance in the girl's eyes confirmed it. She knew regret, no matter how she denied it. Yen'fay pressed the attack, and watched her lose ground.
"Who did you fail?"
"Uh?"
"Your bladework speaks of your soul."
"Mother says the same thing. Shining, quick, and flowing from distraction to genius!"
"No. Full of shame and despair."
"Not the usual description. People mostly say I'm 'charming' or 'energetic' or 'the devil'. Kind of not used to that one."
"They have not seen the depths where I dwell. A walking shade knows more of darkness than the light. "
Morgan stepped back.
"Err… fair."
"You wished to know me. I have the right to a question in exchange."
The girl looked as if she had guessed already.
"Can we… pause then? Or stop forever? Because I'm definitely in a stop fighting forever mood right now."
Amatsu returned to its sheath. 'Pointy Demonspanker' matched it. The girl nodded and sat down.
"So, how much do you know about… you? I mean, not you-you. Here you. The…"
"I know he fell protecting that which was dearest to him. I know that his mettle was firmer than mine."
"Did… anyone say how he died?"
"No. In battle with your company?"
"In…"
Morgan took a breath. Exhaled. Took another breath. Exhaled again. If her form was better, Yen'fay would have assumed it was a breathing exercise. If it was, the girl was butchering it.
"In battle with me."
"I see."
"You don't."
The girl's words rushed out like the ocean's wrath, her normal gentle babbling nothing compared to the new tide.
"I stabbed you in the back. I mean, mom was… and dad was… and they seemed to maybe, they were trying to talk, but you were getting closer and you were attacking and I had to do something and then you weren't looking…"
The girl's eyes refilled the sea as it burbled. Yen'fay nodded in silence.
"and you were… I didn't even feel bad! I knew I should have, but you were threatening dad… and I knew you were… I should have!"
"I am sure he entered his last battlefield with his soul at peace and prepared for whatever awaited him as long as it secured the safety of those he loved. Death is lighter than a feather."
Suddenly, the young woman's tears stopped, and her eyes flashed red.
"Duty is heavier than a mountain."
"Of course…"
"So you left me with the mountain! I had to go every day knowing I MURDERED my uncle, my mother's only family, and that he wasn't even my enemy! I have to see her crying almost every night, and it's all my fault! And now you come back and at first I thought everything was hunky dory again because Uncle Yen'fay is back, like I never killed him! Only you won't even talk to mother, because you can't take even a little duty! You wouldn't even talk to me without trying to get yourself killed!"
"He acted to preserve…"
"He was a coward! And I can't even say that to mom because I would make it hurt even worse, and you won't help, and dad's feeling guilty about Grima, so I have to try to keep everyone's spirits up, only you won't leave it alone!"
"You came to speak to me. I was content to be alone with my sorrow."
"You started it."
"How? I was half a mile from camp. What could I have done to encourage your mad pursuit?"
"It's pretty simple."
And all the rage was gone, as swift as it came. Buried or spent, Yen'fay did not know. The pursuit of that knowledge would be more risk than idle curiosity warranted. The girl was smiling again.
"It's called 'being family.' Don't worry. Mother and father did the same thing. So, you're all kind of stuck."
"Hm."
"Look. I know you're… I know I can't take things back. But mom's not the same mom who I left, dad's not the same dad, you're not the same uncle I… can't bring back. But Lucy's in the same place, and Cynthia, and Inigo… a lot of us have to make do. Basic rule for any tactician? You go to war with the army you have."
"A collection of vagabonds and ghosts."
"Sometimes. Trust me, that's a LOT better than nothing. And any family you can get? You hold tight. So, uh, be careful. I don't want to lose you too."
And she left with a nod and a smile.
Odd girl. Mad girl.
But an old memory came to him. He hadn't paid it much attention when it happened, the grief was too much. Only a rumor. He heard his sister had a child before she was lost. Left with her father. A girl with her mother's eyes, and an easy laugh. And they never found the girl's body...
Just another ghost with so many others.
Still. It made the haunt a little less lonely.
Some Peace and Quiet
Oh.
Oh gawds.
Severa winced. On a battlefield, there was nothing worse than this. She'd seen every hell the future could hold, and none of it matched what was coming.
"How is Gregor's precious little angel?"
Severa turned to her father with the most open and friendly smile she could muster.
"I'm just happy to spend time with my daddy."
"Good! Because Gregor has been planning a little expedition, yes? Severa has been eating camp out of house and horses! So Gregor is thinking we help with the spendings!"
Oh gawds, please let it just be chores again. Severa almost liked… sort of tolerated… could consider sort of tolerating…
Chores did not make her actively try to kill herself. Usually. If she could avoid thinking about them too much.
Her father's lectures, much as she may have (ugh, so SACCHARINE!) loved him, did not have that virtue. She'd been through his talks on… actually, she had no idea what any of the talks were on, but there were a lot of them, and they dragged on and on through metaphor and mangling of BASIC YLISSEAN THAT THEY COULD TEACH TO BABIES until Severa didn't even remember the reason the damned thing started. The only way she'd found it could be worse was the one time when she tried to complain to Robin about it, and he had the GALL to say that Gregor was one of the wisest men he'd met, and it was a privilege to listen to him.
She couldn't believe anyone actually listened to either of them.
"That would be great."
Of course, that didn't mean she could SAY what she was thinking this time. Unfortunately, daddy dearest had proven completely immune to whatever insults she could manage, and all she got from a full blast with both barrels was another lecture after.
"Good! Because Gregor has been making with the thinking. His daughter is grown woman! Made own living before Gregor met her. But Gregor was doing same work before! Old dogs know old tricks, yes?"
"Yes?"
"Is wonderful! Gregor and daughter will go into town, find payment for good of army. Is bonding."
"Yay."
Her father elbowed her in the ribs conspiratorially.
"Do not be telling mother. Little excursion is our secret."
Severa rolled her eyes to bury her excitement. She was going on a job with her father! Ever since she was a child she'd dreamed of this day, or one more or less like it. Selling her sword for the clinking of coin, haggling with the client, collecting from unruly buyers. She'd heard the stories, but by the time she was old enough to fight, no-one would pay for mercenaries, and no-one worth talking to would charge. With the risen at every door, and human life rare, you had to fight just to stay alive. Nothing professional about it.
And then, when she came back to the past, she had to fall in with COMPLETE IDIOTS who wouldn't even pay properly! It wasn't her fault that they hadn't negotiated right. And gawds, if she just left Holland behind, she could have found someone who paid before they stole the ring and forced her to work for a PITTANCE.
Well. Never again. She was learning from the best.
Gregor prattled on for the whole trip to town, but Severa, in a rush of general optimism and sheer heroic willpower, was able to ignore almost the whole speech without so much as an eyeroll.
"And then Gregor said 'How many fish?' Ha! Gregor love that joke. Sadly, Gregor's employer did not. Which is why Gregor only had half pay."
"Mmhm."
"Is good lesson. Do not be making with the joking with client! They may make the jokings themselves, then you can join in. Otherwise, do not. Easy to understand, yes?"
"Sure, daddy."
Severa looked up. Oh, gawds. He was brushing away a single tear. Even CYNTHIA would be embarrassed to see something like this, and she sang her own theme song everywhere she went.
Unironically.
"Gregor always said 'Grow up so fast'. Did not think his favorite daughter would be grown before she was born!"
"I'll always… favorite? You mean only!"
Gregor shrugged.
"Gregor charmed many ladies before meeting your mother. Lovely ladies sometimes charmed Gregor back. Gregor was even younger then. Did not always remember in the morning. May have left sister or two. Perhaps one older."
"But none of them as pretty as me?"
"No! No woman as pretty as your mother, and Gregor doubt any could be as talented as you! Gregor never make mistake in picking favorite daughter!"
Severa grinned against her will. Hmmph. She was worth something after all. Then, on noticing she was out of her parental-mumbling induced feuge state, she looked around.
"Is this it?"
"Yes! Gregor remembered it well! Good town. First time Gregor work in Valm, was here. And now Gregor's daughter come here for good work."
Severa took in the sights. Or, tried to take in the sights. If there were any, she'd have taken them in. In the current state of things, she spent several seconds taking in the non-sights, then several more seconds trying to convince herself she saw an accessory shop, or a boutique, or SOMETHING, before her mind shut down to spend a last few seconds in blind rage. Once that was done, she felt ready to choke something out other than a curse filled rant that would, guaranteed, make her father realize that some other daughter was better than she was.
"Is. This. It?"
Gregor looked around and scratched his head.
"Perhaps Gregor's memory getting bad."
Severa let loose with a long surpressed eyeroll.
"You think?"
"Gregor go and make sure. Perhaps war has not been so good for business. You go and look too. If we can't find work by this evening, Gregor and daughter go home to mother and help pack for trip back to Ylisse."
"Fine."
Severa shrugged. Nodded. And as soon as Gregor headed in one direction, she walked in the other. It couldn't be that hard to find work, right?
The first ten minutes proved a compelling counter argument. At best, people kept their distance from her in this miserable excuse for a town. More often, they ran and locked doors. And, as she expected, there wasn't a single good place to find a nice dress. She'd had better luck in the future and at least there everyone had the excuse of being dead. Ugh. Ugh. Triple ugh.
Minute eleven was almost an improvement. It would have been a clear improvement if it was anyone talking to her but a jumped up little weasel whose breath smelled like the cheapest bathtub alcohol and whose eyes looked like the pits of hell, but at least it was a change.
"Are you a mercenary?"
"Are you daft?"
The man just gave her a dead stare, like a fish left out to rot. Severa wasn't expecting much better, on review. The man was clearly a simpleton.
"I asked if you were a simpleton. You don't need to answer. It's obvious."
"Are you insulting me?"
"Oh look. The answer to all three questions is yes. Who else would come into this miserable little town? If I didn't think I could find work, I'd be somewhere that had heard of hygiene."
"Watch your tone!"
Severa rolled her eyes.
"I thought you wanted to hire me. Or are you so pathetic that you can't even see how much of a loser you are?"
"I didn't say…"
"No, but I figured it out because, unlike you, I'm not a complete failure of a human being."
"A complete failure of a human being couldn't decide if you got pay. A complete failure of a human being wouldn't be Boss Grigg's right hand man!"
Severa bit her tongue before she could point out that the evidence indicated otherwise. If she was going to impress her father, she probably should prove she could get work on her own. And if she kept being honest with this waste of breath, she might provoke him to try to fight her, and then she'd kill him, and then there'd be no work and blood all over her nice shirt, which would be IMPOSSIBLE to replace.
"Fine. What do you want?"
"We've been moving into town, but one of the local bosses won't play ball. He's trying to keep this place for himself. Boss don't like that. Boss don't like that at all. So, we've been hiring a little muscle. He's old. He's weak. He's only in power because he sucked up to Walhart."
"I don't care why you want to hire me."
"Who said I wanted to? Why should I think you're worth…"
Severa pulled her sword and flipped it to the man's neck in a single smooth motion.
"I'm worth whatever you can pay. Up front."
Up front. Two of the only words from her father's lectures that stuck.
"Of… I'll… I'll talk to the boss!"
Severa followed him through the streets to a back alley and a man who looked almost as worthless as the first. Boss Grigg, apparently. He was surrounded by cut rate mercenaries and must have thought he looked tough. Considering how few of them looked like they'd seen real action, Severa couldn't agree.
"Girl wants work, Boss!"
"10 G a…"
"I'm worth more. 1,000. Up front."
The boss's eyes flashed open. Severa's just rolled.
"I don't pay that much for all these veterans. Battle of Fort Steiger!"
"Really? I don't remember any of Walhart's troops leaving alive."
A few of the mercenaries gulped.
"How do you know that?"
Another dull lecture burbled out of Severa's subconscious. Salesmanship. Well, no point in ignoring the opportunity.
"I killed them."
Severa had seen soldier break before. She'd… done it herself once or twice. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't clean, but if you weren't agonizingly perfect like SOME people she could name, fear would rip into you at some point. She knew what it looked like. She knew how it went.
But she'd never seen it this bad. A few of the mercenaries ran. Most couldn't even summon up the nerve to do that. They were just shaking on the spot. A few… was that a stain? Oh, gawds! It was SO PATHETIC!
Grigg… didn't. When Severa looked at him, all she saw in his eyes was… opportunity.
"You're a godsdamned Shepherd!"
Severa nodded. Technically, it was close enough to true.
"And worth a thousand. Up front!"
Grigg nodded to his little henchman.
"Well. Looks like we can wrap things up sooner than we thought. Get the money."
"Boss?"
"We're heading out tonight. It's all over by morning. Girl's right. She's worth it."
Severa allowed herself a smile. Finally. Something was working out right.
"What if she ain't?"
"Well, then we take it off her corpse."
Her smile left. It figured.
The boss handed her a small piece of paper.
"We'll need you tonight. Be awake. Be in the right place. And be ready for anything. Tonight, we're showing why we run this town."
"Because you're paying for someone much more talented than you could ever dream of being?"
"Because I know opportunity when I see it. Money before the job, but right before. I'm not stupid enough to let you run."
"Fine."
Severa left with the note in her hand and considered her options. On the one hand, she could go back to look for her father, begging for his approval. On the other, she could go back to him with a thousand gold for a day's work and show him she was good enough on her own. That she'd learned from him and was good enough to stand on her own!
It wasn't really much of a choice, looking at it that way. The only problem was passing a whole day in the most miserable and boring hellhole in the world.
The rest of the day did not provide a solution to the boredom. If anything, it proved that she had overrated the town. There wasn't a single building with an ounce of refinement, the aesthetics would have left Kjelle disappointed, and gawds she couldn't find anyone worth talking to. The worst thing, though, was how depressing everyone was. All talking about how Boss Grigg was stealing everything they had, or how the old boss was taking Walhart's absence as an excuse to crack down even more, and blah blah blah. It was even worse when they started whining about dead families, like nobody else had ever lost their parents or had their house burned to the ground with their brother still inside or some other stupid thing.
It wasn't her problem.
It wasn't!
The sundown was a relief. Severa could ignore everyone else's whining, earn her money, and forget about this whole miserable day.
One of the men threw a bag at her. Severa snatched it out of the air. At least the weight felt right.
"Good. Let's get this stupid thing over with. What do you want?"
"Simple. We break in, kill the man who thinks he's in charge here, and then you're done."
"And then you can ease up on the idiots around here?"
The boss lifted an eyebrow.
"Why would I want to do that?"
Severa could think of half a dozen reasons, but none of them seemed to apply.
"Fine. It's not like I'm the one who has to live here. I'm just saying that if you don't want to have to keep hiring people like me to get your worthless ass out of trouble, it might be good to make less enemies."
"I'm deeply touched by your concern. We're less than a mile away from the man we need dead. Unless a little walking is too much for the high and mighty mercenary?"
Severa glared. And then she started marching. She'd learned to walk, really walk, from her father. When everyone else was still adapting to survive, she could sleep on the march. By the time she came back, it was harder to sit still than it was to move halfway around a country. A mile didn't even qualify as a warmup. She almost missed the target on momentum.
It was a mansion, technically. But gawds. She'd seen hovels that she'd rather sleep in. She would say it had seen better days, but that implied it ever looked good. It might have been gaudier once, but gawds that did not even remotely qualify as better.
Someone was muttering a plan. From what Severa could hear, it was a stupid plan. Either it was by a rank amateur, it was aimed to get her killed in the process so they could get their money back, or both. Severa considered her options. She could try to follow the plan and get killed. She could try to fix the plan, argue for too long, waste her time, and get ambushed by whatever security the old boss hired when they noticed all the noise outside, and get killed. Or she could just go in, kill the idiot in charge, and leave. No getting shot in the back. No worrying about anything. Just getting paid and being done.
The last option seemed to be, by far, the most appealing. Severa dashed ahead into the shadows and ignored the complaints from her coworkers. They were incompetent idiots with inflated egos. She was the one earning a thousand G for one night's work. Whatever they had to say, they could tell… someone else!
The door shattered in one kick. Reinforcing weak wood with weaker furniture didn't help much if your opponent was determined enough to break the door down in the first place.
Still, the barricade meant someone thought he was going to be attacked. Which meant…
Gah!
Severa blocked an axe half a second before it hit her arm.
Another blow brought sparks. And then, it stopped.
"Gregor's precious angel?"
"Daddy?"
"Ha! Gregor find work. Was going to surprise daughter with opportunity, but Severa has made her own opportunity, yes?"
"They're paying me to kill this awful old idiot in a run down mansion."
"Ha! Gregor is being paid for the keeping from dying of an awful old idiot in a run down mansion."
Severa shook her head.
"Of course. I can't do ONE THING good enough for you. You just had to ruin it too. You're laughing at me already!"
"Do not make with the crying! Gregor is proud of daughter."
"You mean that?"
"Of c…"
And then Severa heard voices behind her.
"She was with the old boss all along!"
"It's a trap!"
An arrow whizzed over Severa's head. Gregor turned towards her.
"Seems Gregor and daughter will working together after all! Gregor and daughter against intruders!"
Then a voice came down the stairs.
"He's let mercenaries in!"
"I knew we couldn't trust him!"
"It's a trap!"
Gregor sighed.
"Gregor is trustworthy swell sword! Very reliable!"
A javelin crashed into a wall behind him. He sighed again.
"Gregor and daughter against everyone."
"Perfect."
"All this work. Nothing to show for it."
Severa shook her head.
"I was paid up front."
"...Gregor has never been so proud."
Severa glanced up at her father. The sad thing was, he probably wasn't lying.
Origins in Obscurity
Cynthia frowned.
There had to be an explanation. Something very simple, something that she, in all her heroic enthusiasm, had missed. Because things just weren't adding up. And not like how they didn't add up with the meanie who wasn't Chrom, even. There, when she found out she made a mistake, she could just turn around and give the villain a piece of her mind. Here, if… if everyone else was right, it might not be so simple.
At least she had someone she could ask this time. Someone smart. Someone fatherly. Someone she'd always admired.
Someone whose tent she just barged into.
"Hi father!"
"Nyahaha! Cynthia! I found someone who's dying to meet you!"
Henry held up an arm. Someone… else's arm. An arm that was still twitching despite the total absence of a shoulder, a body, or any of the other typical accessories for an arm. Cynthia shook her head.
"Is that a risen arm?"
"Yup! I chopped it off last time we were driving the things away from a village. Pretty neat, right?"
"No. Nope. No. It's gross."
"Oh, right. You saw Risen overwhelming the world and killing almost everyone you cared about. I guess you might have a BONE to pick with them. Sorry about that!"
Which a flick of the wrist, Henry incinerated the arm. He smiled the whole time. Including when his sleeve caught on fire for several seconds. Cynthia rushed over to help him put it out.
"Be careful, father! It would look pretty unheroic if I lost you again!"
"Aw, don't worry. When my number comes up, it's up! But I won't drop early and be a deadbeat. Your mother would kill me! Nyahaha! So. Why'dya come?"
Cynthia bit her lip. She was a hero, right? And heroes always knew just the right thing to say. It might seem tricky if you weren't a hero, but you'd cut straight through and say just the thing to inspire everyone, or make the villain gasp and step back, or whatever you needed to do. And if you were talking with a fellow hero, it was even easier! She could just think for a second and POP! She'd shock everyone with how brilliant but down-to-earth she was. Cynthia thought for a second. Then another second. Then a third.
She might have been wrong about how easy being a hero would make this particular speech.
Her father looked at her with concern.
"Er.. Cynthia? Are you feeling sick? Trust me, don't go for the light. It may seem bright and shiny now, but when you get closer…"
"No."
"Is it a curse? Because I know a lot about curses. Just give the word and WHAMMO! You'll be fine, and whoever hexed you won't be!"
"No. It's just that…"
Cynthia pause for another second. No, there wasn't a good way to say it that came to mind. She'd just have to go with the first way to say it that more or less fit.
"I heard people say you weren't a hero."
"Nope!"
"And I knew that couldn't be right but… huh?"
"Nyahaha. I thought you knew! Too busy killing for that."
Cynthia stepped back.
"That can't be right. What about all our heroic entrance practice? I remember all the times you came flying out in a shower of petals, and what could be more heroic than that? No-one but a hero could do something like that!"
"Remember how that went?"
"Oh. Right."
Cynthia frowned. That WOULD explain why her best attempts at showing the world how great her father was fell apart. After all, the team up attacks with Lucina went much better!
...Went somewhat better.
Didn't end with a stream of blood everywhere, at least. But her dad had apologized for that, and he was right that the red really went well with the white flowers.
"Well, you still… I mean, you married mother! That has to be heroic somehow! You must have met her doing something heroic to sweep her off her feet!"
Henry's smile faded a touch.
"Well, err… she has trouble staying on her feet normally."
"It's a word picture. I've always wanted to know how you met, but you were too… mom never told me."
"Well, she tripped, and I fixed some bowls she broke."
Cynthia frowned. Well, it wasn't exactly heroic, but that was okay. Heroes sometimes came from common stock, after all. Maybe her father was just being modest.
"Well, at least you fixed the bowls."
"Aww, it was easy! All I did was use a little hex. It's good for torture, so I had it ready before the battle."
Cynthia's frown increased in depth to mirror her father's smile.
"Maybe it would look better if you didn't mention torture so much."
"Well, if it makes my little girl feel better, okay. I can cut down on the hobbies."
"It's not like you did it that much anyway."
"Err… Cynthia? Did I promise never to lie to you when you were growing up?"
"Yup!"
Henry's smile was back at full intensity.
"That sounds like I was trying to be a good dad, even then. Well, I keep my promises!"
"And?"
"I'm not breaking that one today."
Cynthia was about to ask a followup question when the slow grinding gears at the back of her mind clicked.
She decided it would be for the best not to ask that followup question. She looked for something else to talk about. Anything else.
"Oh! You look like you cut your arm! Let me…"
Henry looked down.
"Huh! Guess I just don't notice these things. Looks like it's all bled out anyway. No need to worry about it. Mmm. Blood…"
"How did it happen?"
"Can't remember. Maybe I was stabbing something. A knife could have slipped when slicing that arm off a Risen… oh, the possibilities!"
"Alright. If you say so. It was good to talk like this?"
"Great to see you, Cynthia! Don't die. Your mother would kill me! Nyahaha!"
Cynthia stepped out of the tent and sighed.
She was so sure she was a hero. Shining and bright! Her parents died tragically protecting her, but that was just part of being a hero. Lucy and Kjelle saved her more than she saved anyone else? Part of being a hero in training. That just meant she had a lot to learn, then she'd turn the tables and be the most heroic of all!
But heroes, at least the shiny and heroic ones, didn't have evil villains and psychotic killers for parents. At best, you could be an Owain kind of hero, lurking in the darkness and struggling to control your savage instincts. And that wasn't Cynthia's style, gosh darn it! She was the shiny, noble kind of hero.
Only now, she found out the only reason her armor was white was so blood would show. It just wasn't fair. First she thought she'd found Chrom only to find out she was working for no good bandits. Then people in the past refused to even listen to her heroic speeches. And now this!
Cynthia stopped in her tracks. Maybe… maybe she wasn't a hero.
After all, didn't the stories sometimes have a vile villain who thought they were the hero? They tried to be honorable and loyal, but then it would always turn out they were baddies at heart, and always would be! She'd always thought she was above that. That they should just straighten out and be heroes. Some joke, if she'd been one of them all along.
Cynthia sulked halfway across the camp with her eyes locked on the ground.
As it turned out, this was a bad idea. If she looked up, she might have seen Maribelle. Or, to be more precise, she might have seen Maribelle before ramming into her. And then they wouldn't be sprawled on the ground.
"Sorry!"
"That is the bare minimum decorum would request from you in this situation. It seems you give more concern to your enemies than to the rest of us. At least you give them warning."
"Double sorry?"
"Oh, very well. As much as your family will be the death of me..."
"What?"
"Your father INSISTS on taking every single attack in the general direction of anyone. As noble as his goal may be, it taxes Lissa to have to use every single healing spell available on one man. I worry her delicate constitution is unfit after seeing him laugh through that level of mutilation, all to ensure some poor dirt farmer"
"He does that?"
"I saw him suffer third degree burns protecting a hovel. I admire the concern, of course, but..."
"He never talks about it."
"Of course not. He always acts like it's an accident when he stumbled burnt and bleeding into the medical tent. But mere carelessness couldn't explain..."
Cynthia nodded along, through story after story of her father throwing his life away for the most minor risk, the smallest possible injury for another.
Later, Maribelle would think about how odd it was that with every description, Cynthia smiled more.
(Author's note: Another longer delay. So, if you were setting a calender by my update schedule, maybe you should consider another system. I mean, I'm flattered, but there's more reliable things to calibrate against.
As for this batch individually?
Ghosts and Blades: Well, I don't ask for requests, but when you get one, and you think you can make it work, it seems polite to at least try. Especially when the last couple of things you worked on fell apart without producing anything useful.
Yen'fay always struck me as... a bit of an asshole, if I'm being honest. I mean, yes. Sad circumstances. But the guy won't let Say'ri make her own choices on the risking her life front. And he's still going with the idea that the best way to protect her is to work for Walhart even when it means stabbing her in the gut. Not exactly seeing how this plan... works. And it's made worse by future Yen'fay who is so respectful of his sister's memory that he acts like a prick towards the living sibling in front of him.
But hey. It provides fodder for arguments and drama, and stories tend to work better when not everyone gets along. Not complaining about opportunities.
Origins in Obscurity: Poor Cynthia. I didn't notice it until now, but I just keep jabbing at her hero complex, don't I? I mean, I like her fine as a character, I have no issue, but it just keeps happening. In this case, it was just the idle thought that Cynthia's pure and shiny heroism didn't fit nearly as well with Henry as Owain's brooding dark avenger bit.
Some Peace and Quiet: I just wanted to write some Gregor. Is that so wrong? If so, please don't tell me. I'm happier in my ignorance.
So, yeah. That's the set, hope you enjoyed, sorry if you didn't, and thanks for reading. )