And at roughly double the words of the last chapter before adding authors notes, the third chapter has come out. I blame Gangrel for how long it took to write it, he's an ass when it comes to his parts of the story. I understand you're unhappy dear, but could you at least be writably unhappy? Oh well, hopefully the next chapter won't take as long to finish as this one did.
It was very much autumn in the lower parts of Plegia. All the grass was gold and the air smelled like the constant work his people went through of smoking meat, drying fruits, all the work it took to survive the winter. He'd stayed with the army as much as he could, not wanting to face them after all he'd done to almost destroy that through a war that never had a reason to happen.
Chrom had ordered that they deal with Risen outbreaks and assist with the harvest if requested, but otherwise to pass through the country as quickly as possible, something that Rhiannon had agreed with.
They hadn't talked since that night on the ship almost a week ago, but he wasn't surprised. They'd been in constant action since they'd made port to the point where he was actually sleeping a few hours every night simply due to exhaustion. And today was no different. It had begun at dawn and packing up camp to move out. At first he hadn't understood why they'd had three ships for an army that was barely thirty strong till he saw the amount of equipment that had to go along in wagons and backup horses and such that it took to fund an army constantly on the move. Now he was confused as to how they'd managed to pack it in only three ships and not have it be incredibly cramped.
Right now, they were walking along the main road that traders used when traveling on land to Ylisse, but due to the lateness of the year, most were trying to get in the last shipments before the winter storms began, he remembered from before his time as a king.
Sometimes it seemed like a whole other life, which he supposed it really was. He hadn't had anywhere near as much guilt over the things he'd done at that point, and a lot more anger aimed at those who didn't deserve it alongside those who did. And look at where it had gotten him.
The sun burned down on his face, not anywhere near as hot as it could get at the high of summer, but still unseasonably warm for the time of year. Not that he suspected any Plegian would complain, since it meant a little longer before the winter rains swept in.
No one besides those in the Outcast Camp, a rather apt name for almost everyone in it, talked to him yet, but it didn't really bother him. The fact that he was still alive to be ignored by those who had every right to was something that he still hadn't decided if he was all right with or not. At least no one else had recognized him outside of the group. He really wouldn't know what to do.
It was easy to get lost in thought in long marches unless someone came up to talk to him, and only Aversa did that on a regular basis, mostly to torment him and call him names. He gave as good as he got, of course, but he didn't want to engage in that all the time. She hadn't lost her preference for rubbing salt into old wounds till they opened back up despite having made other...adjustments in her behavior. Regardless, no one else bothered him, and he liked it that way. He didn't have to pretend to be either completely remorseful or completely without.
Right now, the people marching near him were the princess from Chon'sin and her pet dragon, engaged in some sort of quiet argument that had the dragon smirking and the princess looking flustered. If it weren't for the fact that it was in Valmese, he would have eavesdropped, but when every word seemed to have three extra vowels and came out the nose, he couldn't begin to guess at what they were saying. Though he bet it would have been amusing to those who did know.
Ah, he was bored. Though it was a sign that the darkness in his head was passing at last, he didn't like being bored at all. It had led to spectacularly bad decisions in the past and he didn't expect it to be any different. Marching was the dullest thing and without being in a state to wallow, it only got duller.
He had counted seven different types of trees along the road and considered kicking any number of small pebbles into just the right spot to get into someone's shoe when he heard the flapping of wings, too swift to be a wyvern's. He didn't even have to look twice to see who's it was, there was only one woman in this army who rode on a black pegasus.
Bringing the winged horse down to land and walk on the ground, Aversa smirked down at him, continuing to ride despite the fact that it would have been better on her horse for her to just walk. Also he could have pushed her down if she'd started pushing his buttons. "Bored, are we today?" she cooed, her grey eyes full of nastiness. He had no idea why Chrom's army seemed to think that she'd actually reformed when she treated him worse than ever. "I'm surprised, you never seemed to lack bad ideas of what to do next."
Gangrel bit the inside of his lip to try and stay civil, knowing that she was doing it on purpose to rile him up. Unfortunately, it was working. "A great many of them were only fueled by a certain witch enjoying helping me wreck everything I worked for," he hissed back under his breath, glaring at her. "As well as a few that you came up with on your own."
Her horse tossed its head, nickering as Aversa snickered. "Well I see someone still doesn't believe in forgive and forget. Won't you give me a chance to make up for all the bad I did?" she practically cooed, sounding far too pleased with herself for it to even begin to appear genuine. "Everyone else is."
"Everyone else is wrapped around your ass." he retorted, noticing that the dragon and princess edged away a little. Probably the wiser for it, since who knew what Aversa might do if he managed to get under her skin. "And that's how you like it."
"Well of course," Aversa said without a trace of shame. "Then they're not thinking with their heads. Though of course, you remember exactly what that was like."
"You were awful," he said more out of spite rather than truth. "I should have kicked you out sooner."
Somehow Aversa managed to pout at him like a child that had just been told she couldn't have more sweets. "You don't mean that," she said in that awful sickening voice that she used because it annoyed the fuck out of him, "I think I still have the dirt from your boot on my flight uniform."
"And good riddance," he said bitterly, looking away. Now he just wanted her to go away again. What little good mood he'd had was completely gone, to be replaced with roughly three years worth of memories he didn't want to think about. And Aversa just wasn't getting the hint. "Why not you go fly off before I do it again?
She only sneered at him, leaning forwards so that her assets were more visible. It didn't work. "Because I'm bored of flying around and you looked so cheerful that I decided to do something about it."
He growled under his breath, glaring at the ground. "Well you did, so fuck off." he snapped at her, kicking one of the pebbles in the dirt towards the cart in front of him. "Go bother Chrom or something.
The damned witch let out a giggle as she made her pegasus start prancing like a show pony. Sometimes he wondered how that thing had the dignity to face any other horses. "But you're more fun, you look like you're about to kill me. That would work out so well for your facade of having changed."
It was only because he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of being right that he didn't do something even worse than think of all the ways he would like to kill her. "If I had my way, you'd take a dive right out of the sky and stop ruining what's left of my life. I can do that fine on my own, thank you very much," he finished with gritted teeth.
Aversa let out that playful little giggle she always did when intending to flirt or play with someone's head. Given the history, it was undoubtedly the latter. "Oh, like you what did to Emmeryn?" she said coyly, looking as smug as she had at her height. "She certainly doesn't seem miserable now, what with the lack of memories and all those scars."
"Shut up," he snapped, almost stopping before remembering that she was currently on a flying horse and easily able to escape anything he might try to do, "just because Chrom's forgotten what you've done, doesn't mean that I have." he added for lack of being able to kick her.
Aversa's giggle became a cackle. "Oh he hasn't forgotten, but my little sister wouldn't let him kill me after she found out. After all, everything else is rather blank for her." she said cryptically. "You'd like her, she's as headstrong as you are."
That made the next string of insults he was preparing to hurl at her rush away, though only momentarily. Sadly for him, Aversa seemed to decide that it was the end of the conversation, clucking her tongue at her horse and taking back off to join the other fliers in the sky, soaring over to go and bother one of the pegasus knights leading the way.
Wonderful. Just when he thought that maybe things were a little all right, and now he was right back where he started, in that black pit where nothing got better and all he could think of was what he did wrong.
At least no one else would dare talk to him after that little display. Not even the witty tactician would dare bother with the Mad King, though the thought made the black pit even larger.
Even if she hadn't provoked him, what were the chances of ever changing if they always thought he would be the same?
She had finished staking up her tent and was soaking in the last of the sunlight to try and burn away the stress of a long march when Chrom came over to talk to her. Rhiannon opened her eyes to see him standing awkwardly in the half circle that made up those who didn't want to join the other group. She sighed and stood up, brushing off dirt from her coat. "Yes?"
Chrom shifted his weight from side to side, looking very awkward indeed. "You're still not coming back to the rest of the group?" he asked after a moment, meeting her eyes a heartbeat after he said it. "No one would turn you away."
She sighed and looked away, automatically rubbing her wrists to take the stiffness out of them. The scars had nearly healed over, but her left hand barely responded to anything more complex than a lance or ax heft now. "I like it here," she said evasively. "No one stares at me."
She heard Chrom sigh, but he didn't argue with her. "He's...you don't feel uncomfortable?" he asked instead, the 'he' in question clear to both of them. "I know that you hate him as much as I do."
"I don't hate him," she said firmly, flexing her hands and working out the stiffness. "Right now I'm letting him decide how far he wants to push people away."
Chrom nodded slowly, and the air fell dead between them. She regretted pushing him away like she was, but it was for the best if they weren't close enough for him to stop her plans anymore. And she certainly couldn't tell him that without revealing just why she was doing it. It was better just to let things fade between them.
He looked like he was about to say something else when Cynthia called him from over where she was failing miserably at setting up her own tent, the heavy canvas lying askew on the ground and one of the ropes twisted around her legs. "Sorry," he said instead, already walking away. "I'll be back in a few minutes." Just on cue, Cynthia fell down trying to free herself from the rope and his walk turned to a run.
Rhiannon took advantage of the moment to grab her sword and head off to walk around before anyone else came by. She knew that he meant well, but she didn't want to have the conversation he kept trying to start.
The sun hung very low on the horizon, turning the falling leaves on the trees a brighter gold and the trees themselves orangey-red. It smelled like fall, and as the camp lines vanished behind the trees, she breathed in the smell. She'd never seen Plegia in the fall before, and it was very different from a Feroxi autumn or a Ylissean autumn even. Much warmer by comparison, and the colors didn't seem so bright, but she liked it, she thought. There was something about it that felt much warmer than Ylisse's reds and browns, or Regna Ferox's evergreens that barely changed with the seasons, something that felt more right.
She supposed that had to be the part of her that might have grown up in Plegia, recognizing a sign of home that she wouldn't remember. More than almost anything, she wanted to know who she was, who she'd been before waking up in the field that day. It was a desire so strong she could taste it, but there'd never been time to find all the answers. And now there wouldn't be.
Fallen leaves crackled under her feet as she walked on them, her boots leaving prints in the dirt that anyone could follow if they'd a mind to, but she didn't expect it. Everyone else had been busy with finishing setting up camp, talking and laughing with each other. She didn't have right to be a part of that anymore, no matter what Chrom said.
It took another set of footprints before she realized that she was on a trail, and that there was no returning set. While it was possible that someone else not in the army had passed by this way, it seemed unlikely considering how fresh the prints were. It occurred to her who it might be, he had left quickly after setting up his tent, his back stiff and his stride too purposeful for her to call out to him then. Rhiannon stopped for a second as she wondered whether or not to continue on this little trail if it meant the probability of running into him before deciding that out of all the people who she could end up talking to, he was surprisingly low on the list of those who would make her feel uncomfortable. At the very least, he knew so little about her that he wouldn't know to ask the questions she didn't want to answer.
She continued along the trail, noticing the way that the shadows were slowly growing even longer to her west, the clearest proof of sunset. Above her, the cerulean sky practically glowed through the leaves, the two colors contrasting perfectly. She was no artist, but even she knew something beautiful when she saw it. Perhaps this was why Gangrel had left the camp? Even Tharja spoke fondly of Plegia's southern sunsets once, when complaining about Ylisse's by comparison, and the dark mage's only loyalty was to her husband and her, however creepy it was. She never forgot a conversation that interested her and this one seemed to be about to answer her curiosity even more. Now she thought that she should have gone back onto the main road to see better rather than through the woods. Yet the footprints continued and she couldn't decide whether to keep following or turn back to hopefully not miss it.
She was just about to turn back and maybe catch a glimpse of it on the road when abruptly the thick line of trees ended on her west, suddenly blinding her with the radiance of the sunset. Golden and radiant, it illuminated everything in its path, dancing off the thin clouds hovering above the horizon till they too were set ablaze.
As sunsets in general went, it wasn't the most spectacular she'd heard of, nor was it as vibrant as the ones at sea, but it felt fuller to her, it felt like more. And she couldn't say why, only that something in her blood and body called to it like it was right.
Like it was coming home.
"Nice, isn't it?"
Rhiannon jumped as the quiet was completely shattered by the very person she had been thinking of before she saw the sunset, whirling around with her hand on her sword before she remembered that he wasn't a threat right now. Gangrel stood on the other side of the breech of trees, hands in the pockets of the pants that weren't quite long enough for his legs, looking for all intents and purposes like she hadn't just almost threatened him for scaring her. She took her hand off the hilt and forced calm into her voice. "Yes, it is," she said, answering his question after thinking about it for a second. "I've never seen a sunset in this part of Plegia before."
Gangrel nodded, strands of red hair slipping out of the tie he'd put his hair in. Without being pulled back, it curled back up on itself, something that obviously annoyed him by the way he immediately went to fix it. "Not surprising for a Ylissean," he griped as he pulled his hair back into the tie again, almost pulling the twists straight. "At least you aren't completely blind."
There were many ways she could have responded to it, at least a few offended at his insinuation that his assumption of her heritage meant that she couldn't appreciate something she saw, but what came out was "was this why you left the camp, because you didn't want to stay?"
He gave her a look as he finished with his hair, one that said that he still wasn't quite sure what to make of her. She could forgive that easily, they hadn't really talked yet despite her curiosity. "No," he answered, turning back to the sinking sun. "Not that."
It sounded like one of her evasive answers, and she let it go. Not because she didn't want to know what he wasn't saying, but because she didn't know him well enough to know how to push to get the answers she wanted. She let the silence sit between them instead, watching the sun disappear. After a while, Gangrel spoke again, probably to break the silence rather than waiting for her to. "Why is it called the Outcast camp?"
Rhiannon started a bit when he spoke, but then smiled slowly, careful to keep it from being too open. "It was Aversa's idea after she joined up, that it was for those of us who didn't want to stay with the main group." She pushed away from her tree, flexing her wrists. "Outcasts isn't really the right word, none of us want to be there. Except perhaps Priam, but I think he thought we were lonely."
Gangrel nodded, eyebrows pulled together in a frown. Despite her first impressions, he really wasn't stupid, just not on her level. "It would be a good idea if it wasn't hers." he said, a darker sound in his voice. "So it's not good." He crossed his arms defensively and gave her a look like he was daring her to defend her awful sister.
She sighed and looked back at the sunset, not wanting to let him draw her into the petulant war between him and Aversa. Obviously there was a history between them that had ended about as badly as possible, but she had enough to deal with without being caught up in petty feuds. The part of her that was Grima sniggered in the back of her head as she saw Gangrel uncross his arms slowly when he realized she wasn't paying attention. She told it to shut up and just focused on the sunset, something pleasant that she could have before the end.
The sun sank under the tree line, then the horizon entirely. The first stars started to speck the sky overhead and her stomach growled and it occurred to her that she hadn't actually eaten since that morning. Her old self might have blushed when Gangrel glanced over at her, looking quizzical, but she just smiled at him disarmingly. "We should return before they decide that we've been attacked by Risen," she said, trying to say it casually enough that he might not notice her roping him into doing what she said. "We wouldn't want to get into trouble now."
He rolled his eyes at her, but stood up properly, shrugging. "I suppose," he said, stretching like he didn't care what they thought. She was starting to suspect it was just the opposite, a suspicion that grew when he fell into step next to her, their footsteps the only thing breaking the silence.
They were halfway along the track before the back of her neck prickled and Grima chuckled darkly before vanishing entirely. Her stomach twisted as she tried to listen for whatever was causing it, but there was only silence around her, complete and total silence. She wanted to believe that it was just paranoia or Grima toying with her head, but there was something that was off that she knew she'd missed. The fact that the only thing breaking the silence was their footsteps didn't make her feel any easier.
The silence...it was just after sunset, it shouldn't have been silent by any stretch of the meaning. She stopped in her tracks and glanced around. Gangrel made it three whole steps before realizing she'd stopped, looking back at her. Whatever he saw on her face, he obviously understood it wasn't good because he put his hand on the hilt of his sword. Rhiannon wished she had thought to bring a tome with her, fighting with a sword against whatever ambush awaited them wasn't going to be fun whatsoever. She slowly rotated her wrists, flexing her fingers to loosen up the stiffness as she sensed for just where the tingles of wrongness were starting from.
The first clear feeling she got was heralded with the stench of rotting flesh, putrid and making her recoil as she drew her sword in one smooth motion, the silvery blade glimmering in the twilight. In the absence of a properly formulated strategy, she let her mind free, releasing all thoughts of how to combat this threat until the only thing that she could think of was the next move, like she and her enemies were pieces on a game board.
Behind her, she heard Gangrel take a step closer, the scuffing sound of his sword coming free of the leather. "Risen?" he whispered, turning so they were back to back, an ideal position for an ambush. "It smells like it."
"Yes," she whispered back, bending her knees and pointing her sword out in front, curling her wrist so that less of her arm was visible from the front as a target. Her other arm, the weaker one, went in front of her chest, hand ready to deflect any weapon that might come at her. At least she'd been sensible enough to continue wearing her grieves and the leather gloves that went over her fingerless ones. "At least ten of them, probably more."
She could almost hear the dark grin in his voice. "Oh, fun." he said almost lightly, and she saw the first signs of an ax cutting aside the plants in its way, "After you, tactician."
She gritted her teeth as the first Risen burst out of the trees at them, ax held high and yellowed teeth bared wide in a silent battle cry, skin the color of overripe plums ready to burst. She didn't even have to think to respond, she simply moved, lunging forwards with her sword to cut straight through the scraps of fabric hanging off of its chest, the sword splitting old bone till the creature fell back to the ground in a putrid mess. Behind her, Gangrel cursed and she heard the sound of metal striking metal before a disgusting gurgling sound that Risen made when disemboweled. Then she had no more time to focus on him as two more broke free of their cover, swords pointed at her.
She whirled into motion, using the rebound from blocking one strike to put more force behind her blow on the other, forgetting proper sword techniques in favor of both hands on the hilt and reacting rather than thinking. The only thing she could see was the flaws in their attacks, the movements she would need to make and the counters she would need to take to bring them down. Step forwards, thrust. Slice, step back, turn. Block, block, deflect, strike. Lance user, cast thunder on them, not too much, but enough to stop it. Turn, step, lunge, strike. Block, deflect.
Another Risen fell to pieces on her sword as she followed through the motions, already preparing to cast another spell to bring down another before it reached her. As the electricity gathered in her fingers, she saw out of the corner of her eyes, Gangrel backing up with a grin as a Risen with an ax and a staff advanced on him. She couldn't begin to guess what he was doing, but he seemed to have it under control, so she left him to it to throw her spell at a different Risen aiming a throwing ax at her, using the ax as a lightning rod to stop him from throwing it. The smell of rotten meat turned to burned rotten meat, almost awful enough to make her vomit, but she forced herself to ignore it as she returned to the battle.
There were only three Risen besides Gangrel's opponent left, now neutralized by the fact that the taller man had grabbed the healing staff and they were engaged in a war to try and make the other let go, but they all advanced on her at once, shoulder to shoulder like they'd been trained in battle formations in life. There were many ways to get past a wall like that, especially one without shields, but none especially easy for sword wielders. Nevertheless, she could do it.
She looked at each of the Risen as they advanced, lifting her sword to deflect the middle lance and break the wall that way. While they advanced with some thought behind it, there didn't seem to be much more than rote memorization though, tactics learned for a much larger battle with many more men. She doubted they knew how to react to what she was planning to do.
She stepped to the left, used her hand to push away the first lance, and let the second one slice along her shoulder as she aimed at the heart of the formation, the weakest point. Fire shot across her shoulders and back as the lance cut through her cloak and shirt with minimal effort, but her sacrifice was paid for by the center Risen collapsing into a pile of bones. As the other two stopped, no way to counter such an attack, she grabbed one by the throat while muttering under her breath, grimacing at the feeling of dead flesh giving way under her skin and lunged at the other one, catching it under the ribs and tearing open its side till it gurgled and collapsed. The third let go of its lance to try and grab her back, but she finished the fire spell that boiled under her skin before it could, roasting the flesh under her hand before it dissolved and fell to the ground, the magic leaving it a pile of charred bones.
Rhiannon immediately turned around, looking for any other signs that another Risen would be coming, but there was nothing. Just to prove it, a few seconds later, a carrion bird called out from a few dozen trees away, its harsh voice breaking the silence. Only then did she sigh and sheath her sword again, wincing as the action pulled on the cut on her arm. She would have to get Lissa to see to-
She was stopped midthought as the wound abruptly started to tingle before closing up with the familiar sensation of healing magic, cast by someone who knew exactly what they were doing when it came to putting an injury back together, starting at the muscle and only worrying about the skin after everything else was fixed. After a second, the sensation faded and she looked across the clearing to the only other one there, frowning darkly as he lowered the healing staff to the ground, his trophy of war from the last Risen. They stared at each other for a moment before she asked the question burning on her mind. "Why didn't you tell me you could heal?"
Gangrel's frown did not lighten in the slightest. "You can cast tomeless magic," he responded, his voice almost flat. "We all have our hidden talents." He sheathed his sword without looking, still holding the staff like it was comfortable to have at his side. "It wasn't necessary."
"Yes it was," she said, walking over to him so she could stare him down if necessary. "You know full well that we need every healer we have." And you're good enough to use a Mend staff from twenty feet away, she thought, but didn't say. "If you'd said something, I would have given you a staff."
He sneered vaguely in her direction as he nudged at one of the piles of dust on the ground, already being blown apart by the light evening wind. "Why should I help you? None of you Ylisseans trust me. And you shouldn't. But that doesn't mean that I'll help more than I have to."
She crossed her arms, glaring at him till he looked away. "I don't believe you," she stated, keeping her voice even through much practice. "I think that you don't want us to see that you have more depths than the Mad King of Plegia." The way he winced almost imperceptibly told her she'd gotten it right. "I think you want us to hate you."
"Tch," he said, kicking at another pile of dust and avoiding her gaze, "think what you want to think. It doesn't make a difference to me." As if to prove it, he tossed the staff to the ground, hard enough that it clattered and stirred up dirt in a small puff. "I'm just a mongrel, nothing else."
Something in her chest softened at the way he said it, bitter and defeated, almost devoid of emotion. Instead of arguing with him or prying, she just walked over to pick up the staff. Even if he refused to use it, there wasn't a reason to just leave it lying there. "And I'm a mistake," she said softly, already turning to return to the camp. "We all have our flaws."
The little voice that so often told her it would be wrong to let anyone know what she thought inside was strangely silent when she started walking again, and stayed quiet when Gangrel began to follow again, the sounds of his footsteps almost as quiet as the voice in her head.