Genres/Ratings: Friendship, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy. (T)

Characters: Dedue, Annette, Warin, Shamir, Raine, Fleche.

Summary: The scars left by war, by battle, felt easier to deal with when they carved their way deep into flesh rather than the heart, or the spirit. Both of them were well aware of that, and were glad for their physical scars and their hurts, rather than the grief of loss. It was a joy to see Dedue back in the fold, alive and well, but for every victory gained, the defeats they suffered only felt harsher, and struck closer to the soul. Could they continue on? Did they wish to? The questions had no answers. At least, no answers they wished to voice aloud.

Great Tree Moon

Garreg Mach Greenhouse

Early Morning

"Are you here for the flowers?"

Warin couldn't quite help but feel his lips turning upwards at the question from the kneeling man before him who was attending to the flowerbed as if he had never left the greenhouse. It was both strange and comforting to the mercenary to see Dedue back and in form, once again tending to the greenery as if nothing had ever changed, and Warin leaned back on the heels of his feet as he answered with honest bluntness, "I'm here for my usual, yes... but I also was wondering if I'd see you here, after everything. It's good of you to be right back at it... The greenhouse has missed your touch. I'm not as good at this whole green-thumb thing as you are."

"Nonsense." Dedue's reply was as brusque as Warin's and his hands deftly pulled away the weeds he had been removing before he glanced over the flowers that he was well aware the older man had been tending to for the past little while. Though the habit was five years old now, Dedue had not forgotten a single detail of what Warin's order usually was comprised of. He never changed it, especially once he had begun to understand the basics of gardening and had taken to the task to grow the flowers himself, and Dedue was quick and efficient as he gathered the necessary blooms for the bouquet Warin had come to make. He was careful as he arranged the dozen different flowers into a small, but respectable bouquet, and he stood just as slowly and calmly before presenting it to the older man, "I believe these are yours, then."

"They are. You remembered." Warin took the bouquet without hesitation, though he did look Dedue over carefully with a small look of surprise at the Duscur man's memory. It was not as if he had any reason to recall his usual set of flowers for the graves he so diligently tended to every weekend when he was within the monastery, yet Dedue had taken it upon himself to learn it all the same. He was well aware now that the retainer was a keen-eyed man with a much kinder heart than his demeanour boasted, yet he couldn't help the surprise as well as the gratitude. He nodded his head as Dedue looked to him with a small smile playing across his scarred face, and remarked as a similar expression crossed his own, "Thank you. I'm sure my parents will be grateful."

"I have hope that they will be." Dedue answered with a nod of his own, and he glanced over to the flowerbeds that had not changed despite his long absence from the monastery. He didn't doubt that since the rebellion had set up camp inside of Garreg Mach that the nuns and priests, as well as the healers had gone to work in restoring the greenhouse back to its prime, as the herbs that were grown alongside the fruit and vegetables were in great need for the forces mustered inside of the monastery walls. Yet, amongst the necessities remained the small frivolities, such as the corner of the plot that Warin, and likely a few others had been using to grow flowers. "It has... been a very long time. Yet there is much that has not changed."

"Much has, too, however."

"That is also true." Dedue acknowledged with a nod, and he cast a wary glance about the greenhouse to ensure that they were alone before looking back to Warin. He, like himself, had gone through much in the past five years. He had heard all about it from his fellow students, and while he was well aware that much had likely been embellished for dramatic effect... Seeing the mercenary as he was now, Dedue didn't doubt that like His Highness, Warin had had a particularly hard time of it. It seemed to be a common theme amongst the siblings, which he had to admit displeased him. Seeing Raine again had been a boon for him, knowing she had done so much for His Highness in his absence even moreso, and yet... Part of him was decidedly not happy with her condition. Though he was well aware it was not his place, and that he had already spoken to Raine about such a thing... Warin was a different man, who saw things as they were and not as one would like them to be, and he trusted that judgement as he remarked brusquely, "Your sister is unwell."

Warin closed his eyes, taking in the remark like a swordstroke while simultaneously making no effort to deflect it. He was well aware of this, even if he had been trying his damnedest to make things easier on her. She was simply not allowing for it, and no matter what he, or anyone else did, it didn't seem to be making anything better. She seemed a shadow of her former self. A shell, almost, and she was continuing to shrink and fold in on herself with every passing day. Her claims of exhaustion were true enough, but she was not being entirely honest about the reasons. With the battle to come, his worry was growing. That same tightening feeling he had experienced five years ago, before Edelgard had revealed her treachery, had returned to warn him of some catastrophe looming on the horizon, but for the life of him, he couldn't begin to predict where it would come from, or how.

Instead, he could only let out a long breath before he opened his eyes again to look back at Dedue. The man was not a newcomer in any sense, and he knew his professor well, but he had also just re-joined his comrades, and so he was seeing everything with fresh, unbiased eyes. Warin could well imagine what he was seeing. Raine had lost weight, gained shadows underneath her eyes, and was isolating herself from her students and her fellow commanders in an attempt to bear all the burdens that had been thrown upon her shoulders. For her students now, this was not unfamiliar behaviour. For Dedue, this had to be alarming, and he acknowledged it with a slow, honest nod of his head, "I know that she is... Unfortunately, she won't allow me, or anyone else to help. What she needs more than anything is rest, but short of tying her to her bed and knocking her unconscious, I don't think anyone here is in a state to do anything for her. And to make matters worse, the closer we come to Enbarr, the worse she's becoming. And I'll be frank with you Dedue, I know full well where your loyalties lie and why, and I will not call you wrong for it... but even you must see that Dimitri is killing her slowly, like a poison, and she's taking it all willingly."

Dedue averted his eyes momentarily, but he knew better, despite instinct, to defend his liege. He knew full well that Warin was right, as he had seen it all himself on the battlefield and upon his return to Garreg Mach, and to discard it was folly. The relationship between his lord and his professor was nothing like it once was, and that was wearing terribly on her. She was longing for him, mourning for him, and he simply could not seem to see it, or was rather choosing not to. That in return only made it worse on the former mercenary, yet she had not once made an attempt to withdraw from him. She was supporting him against all of her better instincts, reigning him in where she could to keep him and his comrades safe from his own wrath, and that burden was growing too heavy for her to bear alone. He, like Warin, took in a breath before he shook his head and replied quietly, "My loyalty is to my lord... and I shall forever be his sword and shield in his time of need. His revenge is also my revenge, and for that, I shall not try to move him from his chosen path... Yet, I will not argue with what you say. I see it myself, plain as the daylight, that he is harming those about him, with Professor most of all... but I will say that on some level, even if he is not aware of it himself... He knows what he is doing to her, and it hurts him."

"As sorry as I am to say it, I don't care if he's in pain, considering the sheer number of times he's demanded Raine either kill him before he kills her for standing in his way. I won't go as far as to say he's a lost cause, even I can see there is some flickering of conscience coming back to life in him, but it's coming back too late." Warin answered coldly, and he shook his head with a mixture of disgust and anger as he forced his hand to remain light and gentle around the bouquet of flowers he had been given to lay on his parents' graves. He slowly placed his precious burden back on the stone to avoid doing harm to it, and he muttered with a grinding of his teeth, "Even if some miracle should occur, and we back the princess into a corner and slaughter her, will it be enough? Will he finally put an end to his rampage if he has her head? Will Raine be able to see the man she's been trying to bring back all these moons, or will she again be shunted aside? She's lost and drowning, Dedue. And I can't save her this time."

"I do not have the answers to those questions... and I sorely wish that I did." Dedue's answer was genuine, and the remorse and regret in his eyes was earnest as he spoke. He could see all that Warin was saying, and it had crossed his mind, as well, but he did not know what to do any better than his professor's brother did. Raine was singularly stubborn creature, and for better or for worse, she had chosen to support Dimitri, even if it was a poison to her to do so. The pain she was suffering was something she could end if she chose to, but both men knew she never would. She would sooner choose death than turn her back on the future king of Faerghus, and to their cold horror, it seemed that her body was making that choice for her. "I do not support my liege in all things... and his treatment of your sister... is one such thing. She does not deserve his ire simply for being as she is. Yet, if her voice will not reach him... Mine certainly will not, either."

"You say that so assuredly. The first and only time I saw that man react with any real emotion after all these moons is when you returned and showed yourself alive." Warin pointed out sharply, and though he winced for bringing his anger to the forefront when he had not intended at all to be combative with the one student of his sister's that he had almost been willing to call a friend... He could not quite help himself at the show of defeatism. Dedue had more influence on Dimitri than even Rodrigue, which was saying much considering how well Felix's father had been able to reign him in since his recruitment in Ailell. He knew that Dedue had to be aware of that, which only forced him to continue with a hint of growing desperation and frustration, "Why won't he listen to you if you interceded on her behalf? Or are you unwilling to do so, because he is your lord?"

"It is not that I am unwilling. If I believed my words would influence his behaviour, especially in regards to the professor, I would do so immediately. However... They will not. His Highness is in a place far beyond my reach. I know this because he is beyond her reach, as well." Dedue explained in that same quiet, terse voice, and Warin's frosty gaze only made him ache for both his lord, and his professor. He was not a well-versed man in the ways of romance, but he did know tragedy, and pain. His lord and his professor had both known a soul-searing pain, and over that, they had bonded... Bonded to a point where Dedue had seen His Highness begin to waver in his goals in a way that he never had before. It was something only Raine was capable of doing, and he fought to explain that as he shook his head, "Those five years ago, when she was our professor, and not a commander... She reached him once, and he faltered on the path he had chosen, though she did not know it. He was hesitant, remorseful, and at a loss. She was the one to shake him then, when no other voices would have been capable of reaching him. Now, he is set in his path, and deaf and blind to all else. If she cannot reach him again... then I doubt anyone will ever be able to pierce his veil."

"That time after the incident in the Sealed Forest. I remember." Warin let out a long, tired breath, and he reached up to squeeze the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to stymie his anger. If it would have solved anything, he would have hauled off and threw one, solid, damning punch to the young prince's face long ago, all consequences be damned. But he knew violence was not the answer, and so he had sat back on his hands, swallowing the bile and hoping beyond hope that somehow his sister would either see sense and cut her losses, or would manage yet another miracle. Neither seemed to be coming now, and he wasn't sure if that dismayed him, or angered him. Even if Edelgard was to fall in the next battle, Raine was convinced they were not close to the end, and he doubted she had the strength to continue on.

Warin turned his eyes to the flowers he had put away, and he studied the fragile, fragrant blooms with a careful, pained stare. Every flower was different. He never allowed for the same bloom to make an appearance twice in the bouquets he had brought for his mother ever since his return to Garreg Mach, and he had continued the tradition when his father had been buried with her. It was the only thing he could do for them, the only thing besides fulfil their silent wishes in protecting his sister, and now he was failing them. It made his body cold, and he squeezed harder on his nose as he admitted in a ragged breath, "I can't lose her, Dedue. She's all I have left of my family in this forsaken mess of a world, and should she die, I may as well bury myself with her. I love Shamir, more than I can put into words, but if I lose my sister, I won't have the will to carry on living. It was for her and her wishes alone that I managed to shake those five years out of myself when I first lost her, and perhaps I'll manage enough to finish what she started if she's to fall in this war... but afterwards...? Our line will just have to end. I can't carry on alone. I know that now."

Dedue was silent as he digested Warin's confession, and he wasn't entirely sure what kind of response was appropriate to give. He had known all this without Warin needing to say it, but the older man simply could not continue to bottle up his emotions, and here, in the greenhouse, he had felt safe enough to speak the truth aloud. He considered it an honour that Warin would share such things with him, especially when he held his secrets so tightly in his gauntlet-bearing fists, yet it also made him wonder. Warin was a man of action, not of words. He could speak all he wanted, but at the end of the day, it would be what he did that defined him rather than the things he said. He had proved that already, having fought for five years on his sister's behalf rather than for his own survival. He had done it once. He didn't believe he could do twice. If that were the case... Dedue could only question him with calm, concise bluntness, "What will you do, then?"

"Kill your lord if he ends up being the reason Raine dies. You're free to kill me afterwards. I'd welcome it. Raine had her vengeance on Kronya and Solon for Father, even if it did nothing for her. I'll have my vengeance for my sister, since I couldn't do anything for my father. I was hoping to crush Thales' throat myself, for all he's done behind the curtains, but I likely won't make it that far if Raine doesn't." Warin admitted with a cold, empty smile, and Dedue felt his spine stiffen even as he felt a surge of pain rush through him at the words. Raine was not the only one on the cusp of admitting defeat, and it was almost horrifying to be aware that even the most stubborn, the most outspoken of the two was willing to say so outright.

Still, as an uncomfortable silence filled the greenhouse... Warin shook his head, then stooped to retrieve his bouquet. His face had softened again from those hard, sharp edges of defiance, and turned quiet and thoughtful. He was still looking down at the flowers, ignoring Dedue's expression, though the man of Duscur had no doubt that he could still see it from the corner of his eye. He missed so little, with that sharp, intense gaze of his, even when he wasn't paying his utmost attention. Perhaps it was just his upbringing as a mercenary that did it. Regardless, Warin held the flowers to his chest, idly rubbing his thumb and forefinger against the gently cut stems as he remarked quietly, "She still has some sort of hope in her that it's not too late. I've no idea where she gets it from, but I do know it's what she believes. We may have never always agreed on things, but she's yet to make me really question her judgement. For now, I'll believe in her, and hope for the best outcome... but I'll remain prepared for the worst."

"There you are, Dedue! I've been looking all over for you!"

Warin stepped aside at Annette's excited voice breaking over anything Dedue had meant to say, and he watched with mild amusement as the much shorter tangerine-haired girl hopped her way into the greenhouse and over to Dedue without pause. She was all bright smiles at the sight of the man, ignoring Warin entirely, but the mercenary didn't much mind. He spared Dedue a parting nod, not wanting to interrupt the two despite the interruption that had been foisted upon them. He had seen their reunion back on the Great Bridge, and he still had to stop and chuckle to himself at how a girl roughly half of his size had managed to knock him clean off of his feet when she had seen him again. Never again would he doubt House Dominic's heir, and as Annette began to chatter happily to a clearly embarrassed Dedue, Warin took the chance to duck out in silence.

He was met immediately by a waiting Shamir just outside of the doors, and she raised her eyebrows at the flowers he was holding in his hand. About them refugees, soldiers, and nuns and priests were attending their business, making the docks almost seem as lively as they had once been five years ago, and Warin wondered absently if Garreg Mach would ever return to the prime it had once been when he had been a boy. He shook the thoughts aside as Shamir looked to him expectantly, and he offered a half smile before answering her unasked question, "Sorry to disappoint, but these aren't for you. Though I imagine you'd appreciate a whetstone over flowers any day anyhow. You asked what I was always up to on my weekends, and I told you that the greenhouse was my first stop. Are you still interested in finding out what I've been doing?"

"Of course I am. And don't think that just because you know my taste in gifts means you can get away with being cheeky." Shamir's answer came with a gentle jab to the ribs, but she still glanced over at his bouquet curiously. She had known he did have a bit of a green thumb, his sister had told her so when she had asked after him once when he had failed to appear for a sparring match on time, though she had to admit he still looked very strange holding flowers. His rough-and-tumble appearance just made the sight of the blooms look oddly amusing, but he had ceded to her request that morning when he had pulled himself out of bed early with the explanation that he had an errand to run. He had no reason to indulge her curiosity, but he was doing so anyway, but she still couldn't help but ask. "Where to now, then?"

"The cemetery." Warin answered easily, though he watched her hesitate for only a moment before understanding dawned in those sharp violet eyes of hers. Unease followed quickly after, proof that she wasn't entirely sure she was ready for what he was intending to do, and the thought made him smile despite himself. She hadn't known anything about his ritual, and when she had asked to be brought along to see for herself what he got up to, he hadn't thought twice about extending an invitation... but he had expected that she might not be completely comfortable with it when she realized what it was he did every weekend that he was within Garreg Mach's walls.

"Every single weekend that you're here... That's where you've been going?" Shamir already knew the answer to be a yes, but she couldn't quite help herself from saying it aloud as she looked to Warin closely. She wasn't entirely surprised, especially considering how dearly he loved his parents, yet... He was not openly demonstrative, but still he put in effort to make sure he was paying his respects, every single weekend he could without fail, with flowers he had grown with his own hands. It made her wonder just how long he had been performing such a ritual, yet she didn't need to ask to know. She shook her head as she looked down to the blooms in his hand as she mused quietly, "Ever since you came back, then, I imagine... Did you and Jeralt do it together?"

"The first time, yes. It'd been twenty years since we'd seen her grave, so it only felt right to go together when we returned. Afterwards, we went on our own time, separately. But I made a habit of going every weekend, when I wasn't on a mission. I know Father knew." Warin answered with a small shrug, and he glanced northwards, to where now both his mother and father were resting. It still felt wrong to him, having the both of them be buried on the monastery grounds, but he knew he had no right to complain or argue. It was where his mother had spent all of her life, and there was no question it was where his father would want to be now that his own was over. They deserved to be resting together in peace, undisturbed, and he would not change that just to soothe his own hurt feelings. He returned his gaze to Shamir, who was studying him intently, and he gave her the truth as he continued, "I stopped mourning when we ran away with Raine. Instead of feeling grief, I just drowned myself in anger. I wasted twenty years hating and blaming, and not even making an attempt to make peace, or move on. I may have not come back willingly, but now that I'm here... I want to make up for those two decades I wasted. Mother loved flowers... It's the least I could do for her."

"You were mourning. Anger is just another form grief takes." Shamir corrected him firmly, and he raised his eyebrows slightly before offering a weak smile in reply instead of words. He didn't need to speak, and nor did she, but she couldn't quite help herself when he spoke so harshly of his own actions. Especially when he had been nothing but a boy robbed of his mother at such a young age. How else was he meant to react when he was facing such an intense loss? Anger was more than reasonable, as was hatred and blame. She could well understand, and she wasn't about to permit him to perform more self-flagellation. However... She still paused, eyeing the bouquet wearily before she admitted, "Still... Are you sure I should be coming? I hardly knew Jeralt."

"You don't need to go if you don't want to. I won't force you to if it makes you uncomfortable." Warin spoke plainly, showing no disappointment or judgement at the sight of Shamir's hesitation. He could well understand it. A visit to a gravesite for a pair of people she did not know wasn't entirely fair of him to ask regardless of her obvious interest. He shrugged his shoulders errantly, gesturing the flowers in his hand as he began, "I can lay the flowers down and come back quickly enough. It wouldn't be an-"

"It would. I'll go. It's important to you, isn't it?" Shamir interrupted him curtly, and her violet eyes flashed warningly at his attempt to placate her. His heart was in the right place, but she wasn't about to allow him to dictate his actions around her comfort. It wasn't fair of him to do, nor was it fair for her to be so obstinate. It wouldn't be her choice of activity for a weekend off, especially when they came so rarely... but he had been practising this ritual long before they had become involved, and now that they were... She looked away, lips pursing as a hint of pink rose into her cheeks when she spoke both quietly and somewhat grumpily, "I'm not about to get in your way with how you do things... and if you think it's about time for me to be there with you... Then it's all the more reason for me to go, isn't it?"

Warin paused, blinking momentarily at her explanation before a smile broke across his face despite himself. She was blushing, which was a rarity outside of their bedroom, and the sight was an incredibly pleasant one. She usually was so capable of maintaining an exquisite poker face whenever they were in public, almost to the point that he himself could be surprised when she showed affection with a quick, mischievous grope or a kiss when a moment could be stolen. It made him break his own rule of keeping things strictly inside of the bedroom, and he reached out to touch her cheek before he remarked gently, "You're blushing. It means that much to you?"

"Shut up, and let's get going before I leave you behind."

"Whatever you say."

Knights' Hall

Afternoon

It was a golden opportunity, but not exactly one the young maiden of the Empire had expected to almost literally fall into her lap when she had slid into the Knight's Hall to fulfil the day's duties. Fast asleep and curled up on the bench in front of the fireplace was the rebellion's commander, a book laying open and forgotten in her lap, defenceless and completely lost to the rest of the world. The position couldn't be comfortable but she slept on regardless, the dark shadows under her eyes proof of the fact that it was likely not a choice she had made of her own volition, but one her body had forced upon her while she had been reading.

For a brief moment, Fleche hesitated as she looked over the woman that she had so frequently heard called "professor" rather than her given name. They had only spoken briefly back on the great bridge, when she had introduced herself and invited her formally into the rebellion's forces, and while her voice and manner had been professional then, there had been a good deal of empathy in her seafoam eyes when she had explained that they would indeed permit her to join the army... but she would not see battle no matter how much she pushed for it. In their eyes she was merely yet one of many orphans and refugees who had lost everything in the war, and though she had spoken gently of understanding her motives... She would not put a glorified child onto the frontlines regardless of her skills and her desire for battle, or for vengeance.

It had almost made Fleche scoff then, but she had held herself in, saying nothing and allowing nothing to show on her face but gratitude for the opportunity, and she had looked about at the soldiers this so-called professor was commanding and had to wonder if they were not children themselves when the war had begun five years ago. She had heard the entirety of the history behind Garreg Mach's fall from the lips of the Emperor herself, and she had no doubts in her mind that this woman was the same Ashen Demon that the Empire had once thought dead, and was now being labelled as the singularly most dangerous enemy to the Empire's goals.

Yet... Fleche wondered as she looked on at the sleeping woman, and felt her hand clenching unconsciously on the dagger she had been wearing at her waist, underneath her clothes, ever since she had stepped foot inside of the enemy's territory. This woman was not the target she had chosen, the blade she wore was destined for that monster's heart who had taken her brother from her, but still... There was no doubt she would be doing the Emperor a great service if she slit the throat of the rebellion's commander here and now, and allowed for it to fall apart on its own for lack of a leader. She had seen how the "professor" held all of them together, despite the butting of heads and differences of ideals, plans, and priorities, and she knew that without her, the rebellion would fall to pieces.

It was one thing however to kill the dastard who had tortured and killed so many of her Imperial brethren and soldiers, as he had earned his death and her revenge, but it was another entirely for her to kill a defenceless woman who was simply sleeping in front of her. She was not a soldier as Randolph had been, and killing had never been something she had been forced to do despite her many attempts at training. Randolph had kept her far and away from the war regardless of how often she had argued of her use, and worse, the Emperor had supported his decision and enforced it whenever she had made an attempt to put her budding skills in magic to use. Instead, even there in the Empire, she had been relegated to "normal" and relatively menial tasks. She was not permitted to fight, neither here nor there, but that did not matter. She would find a way to Grondor, back into the arms of the Imperial forces, and she would put her blade deep in the back of the future King of Faerghus for his murderous ways, and taking away her beloved brother from her.

Fleche's hand tightened on the hilt of her dagger, and she bit her lower lip as she wondered if it would be wise of her to use it earlier than she had initially planned. It would be a great boon for her homeland, there was no denying it, and she would be succeeding where her brother had failed all those moons ago by cutting the feet right out from underneath the rebellion. However, there would be no doubt that if she chose the commander, her chance at getting to the monster would be negligible at best. It would not take long before her corpse would be discovered, and the security of the monastery would tighten to a stranglehold, and she didn't doubt she would be found out eventually. She wouldn't make it far in this unfamiliar territory, and the rebellion's hunters were skilled, if nothing else... She would be summarily executed if she chose the commander, and while she had already decided that death would be her comeuppance for when she killed the monster... Who was she willing to die for in order to ensure their deaths in return?

The question however was to go unanswered as the woman on the bench began to stir, and abruptly Fleche let go of her dagger to instead scramble for the cleaning supplies she had silently put to the ground as she began to struggle with the quandary she had been presented with. Cursing silently, Fleche wondered if she could make a quick escape, but she was again proven to not be quick enough on her feet as the formerly sleeping professor jerked in surprise at the sight of her, hand reaching automatically for the dagger she wore prominently on her own belt before she dropped it in realization. Her seafoam-coloured eyes cleared into wakefulness with surprising speed, and she sat up sharply, looking about to see that the two of them were the only people in the hall before her expression turned sheepish.

"Ah... I'm sorry, I must be in the way of your duties, aren't I?" The apology came smoothly from her lips, making Fleche twitch in both surprise and confusion, and she said nothing as she watched the professor stretch her obviously aching muscles before she sat herself up and smoothed out her cloak to make herself look somewhat more presentable. Her sword rested idly against her legs, further proof of her identity that she picked up without hesitation and slid easily back into place on her belt, and she smiled awkwardly at the younger girl before she noted the cleaning supplies and remarked sheepishly, "I am, I see. It's all right if you want to leave your things here. I'll handle it for you. Consider it repayment for being caught sleeping while I should be studying."

"You'd take up such menial tasks as cleaning? Aren't you the leader of the rebellion?" Fleche couldn't stop the words from slipping out, and she bit her lip the moment she spoke as she saw the surprise flicker through the professor's eyes at her question. She supposed it was impertinent of her. She had learned much in the last few weeks of being inside of Garreg Mach, and she had seen immediately that everyone gave way to the professor, and only a small, select few would dare to argue with her. The monster was one of those few, and yet the professor never seemed to be overly irritated by it. For whatever her flaws she did appear to be rather patient, but it still made Fleche wary as she knew she had overstepped. She did not want to rouse suspicion, and so she quickly retreated, explaining hastily, "F-Forgive me, I'm just confused that a commander would offer to take over such menial tasks... Isn't that beneath you?"

"The monastery is a home for everyone, and it remaining in liveable conditions is a responsibility that falls to everyone, not just those who don't fight. I'm one of the many people living here. It's only suitable that I do my part to keep the monastery clean and habitable. Nothing is "beneath" me just because of my position." Raine's reply came easily, smoothly, and Fleche's brow furrowed with a mixture of confusion and wonder at it. No commander she had ever known had debased themselves by acting like the servants underneath their employ, yet here this professor was, acting as if she was no more important than any common soldier. And she proved it as she continued idly, "Everyone has to work together in order for things to run more smoothly. From the simplest gatekeeper even to someone in charge like me. If we don't, nothing we do will ever succeed."

"That's... a different way of thinking about things, I suppose. Forgive me, but... I never heard of such things before." Fleche chose her words carefully, unsure of what she could give away as she spoke, yet feeling curiosity pulling her forward to learn more of this strange worldview. It made sense in a strange way, yet it also made her question what she had seen when she had been living in Enbarr, alongside of her brother and the Emperor. She couldn't imagine seeing the Empire's crowned heir ever debasing herself by sweeping floors. It simply was beyond imagination. "Where I was raised... The places where one was born defined your life, and the things you were meant to do. The Empire is attempting to change that now, but... No commander I had ever heard of would be caught sweeping floors."

"They're not much of a commander if they won't dirty their hands alongside of those they're leading, don't you think?" Raine's reply once again was smooth and quick, proving her wit was just as sharp as the sword that she fought with. She stood up smoothly, once more giving herself a luxurious stretch before she approached the younger girl and knelt down to pick up a rag and one of the two cleaning buckets that Fleche had brought with her into the hall. She did not ask for permission, but rather simply set to work, kneeling down at Fleche's feet to begin scrubbing at the floor as she remarked, "I've heard of the world Edelgard seeks... A world based upon merit. Where even the lowest born can rise up to the top if they've the strength or the will to manage it... It's an attractive notion."

Fleche said nothing as she wondered at the woman before her, and she quickly reminded herself that she could not simply stand around idle while the commander did her tasks for her. She likewise dropped to her knees hastily to begin to scrub the floors, mindful of where the professor had started, yet also forcing herself to listen intently to her every word. It was strange, to hear the leader of the rebellion speak positively of the country she was intending to topple, and Fleche could not help but question her, trying to remember to be cautious with both her words and attitude as she mused quietly, "Merely an attractive notion...? You don't believe her world is one that can flourish?"

"No, unfortunately. She overlooks the most basic of humanity's flaws, which would never permit her ideal world to exist for much longer than a generation or so. Human greed is a far more powerful motivator than humanity's desire for charity, or empathy." Raine answered almost sadly, and she shook her head as she put her hands to work, scrubbing the stone floor and noting idly that the harsh lye mixture that had been made for the cleaners likely was doing more harm to their hands than it was doing good for the floors. She scrubbed harder nonetheless, putting her back into the work as she knew she must if she wanted to set any sort of example before she continued quietly, "And the path she's taken to create her world... It's not a path that promises happiness. No goal that is obtained by walking a path soaked in blood is a goal worth having. Especially when that blood spilled is the blood of innocents. Those she allied with have no qualms with those they kill, or how they do it... Which means that she is a party to their sins."

There was silence as Fleche absorbed the words she had never considered before, but she did not wish to dwell overlong on them. She was not here to learn of the idealisms and thoughts behind the rebellion's movements, but she would at least admit that to hear the commander's motives for fighting was something worth listening to while she had the time. It did not mean she would ever agree, especially as she understood that it was the Emperor's world that had given her brother a chance that no other world would ever have permitted. And the "innocents" that she had spoken of... There were no such innocents in this world, and to say otherwise was foolish naivety.

"You had said you had no family. That a monster had killed your brother, and you were seeking vengeance on him... Am I remembering things correctly?"

Fleche twitched, and her teeth almost instantly ground together as she fought down that instinctive surge of rage that filled her at the thought of the beast masquerading as a man who had killed her brother. She had known it was him on sight. There was not doubt in her mind that he had been the one to butcher her precious elder brother, just as he had butchered so many Imperial soldiers before. His hands were stained with blood, and his one good eye was mad and full of a thirst for violence that would never be quenched. To kill him would almost be a mercy. He was a mad dog without direction, fuelled by delusions and led by lies as her Emperor had told her, and she answered tersely as her hands squeezed down on the rag she was holding, "Yes... That is exactly it. I've no family, or home... and my only brother... was murdered by a monster. I want vengeance for him... and I will have it."

"I understand your drive. I lost my father in a similar fashion." Raine spoke to the ground, unable to look up as she spoke of her father, and once again feeling that pain somewhere deep in her stomach as the rest of her body tried to do the work of her heart that did not beat. She heard the young girl stop moving at her side, and from the corner of her eyes could see her looking up at her sharply with curiosity and a mixture of anger and pain, and the look almost brought a sad smile to her face. The grief was still strong for this young maiden, and she understood that well... No matter the time, grief's wounds never did seem to heal all the way, did it?

Still, the words did get her attention, and it piqued her curiosity, despite herself. Fleche could tell that she was telling the truth, that sad, pained look in her eyes was too raw to not be anything but honest. It made her turn to look at her curiously, but the professor was diligently putting her attention to the task at hand even as they spoke, if whether to avoid looking at her or simply out of professional attitude, Fleche could not tell. However, it didn't stop her from speaking slowly, hesitantly, as if she feared the answer she would receive after already hearing such blunt honesty, "Did you... find your revenge for your father?"

"Yes... and no." Raine's answer came slowly, and with it came another pained grimace that she could not quite help. She was reminded too bitterly of that conversation with Dimitri on the great bridge, and those choking, sinking feelings of guilt and self-loathing... There had been recognition in Dimitri's eyes, recognition and some sort of understanding, and knowing her emotions and words had broke through to him even a little bit had reignited her hope, but it did not make her pain any less. If anything, it only made it sharper, and she was freer with her words than she likely should have been as she answered the maiden beside her quietly, "Those who were directly responsible for his death have joined him in the ground... and it happened by my hand. Yet... I can't say that it pleased me, or gave me closure. Because, to be frank, I never blamed them for my father's death. That blame rests solely with me. If I was to have true revenge... Complete revenge... I would need to die, too."

"Why?"

"I could have saved him. When it happened... When the blade was swung... I couldn't do a thing to save him. In that moment, the full blame for his death rested solely on my shoulders." Raine answered quietly, and she shook the rag she had been using before slowly submerging it back into the bucket of soapy water. She felt Fleche's stare on her like a weight, but it was little in comparison to the other burdens she had been carrying on her shoulders until that moment. She had spoken of it already, and found it freeing, almost as much as she felt herself wishing that she could see her father again, if only to have one moment to tell him how sorry she was. "It's true, I gave chase to the woman who held the blade, and another who helped to create the situation in the first place... and both are dead now because of my actions. But it gave me no satisfaction, nor closure. Simply because what I had forgotten in my rage was that no amount of blood I spilled would bring him back to me. Vengeance... was empty."

Fleche was silent for a moment, listening and watching with narrowed eyes as her entire body stilled with a cold sort of realization and wonder. There was some sort of truth in the words she was speaking, Fleche could admit to that much, as she doubted the woman before her would look or sound as she did if she didn't believe in what she was saying... but it did not lessen that ugly ball of heat that had turned her heart to rage and justice. She didn't care what someone else who had suffered loss felt... They did not know her or her loss, and it made her voice sharp, and almost indignant as she asked, "Are you trying to turn me away from getting revenge on the monster who killed my brother?"

"No. That would be pointless. I've learned that by now." Raine shook her head as she answered the sharp question solemnly, and she wrung out the rag she had allowed to soak before returning to her work. She knew it was pointless, yet, still she was trying to turn Dimitri away from his wild path before it brought him, or them, to an early graves. She was well aware that made her a fool, but she wasn't about to stop trying. She owed him that. This girl, on the other hand... That righteous anger and pain... No amount of gentle or harsh words would be changing her mind anytime soon. "You've made a decision, and it's led you here already... One way or another, I imagine you'll find what you're after, somehow. I just hope that it gives you the closure you need, when that time comes. As morbid a hope as that is."

"Morbid?" Fleche repeated her words, both confused and unsure as she stopped her work entirely to continue to watch her with narrowed, puzzled eyes. She was having no luck trying to understand this woman, though she was indeed making an attempt to try. Her words were like riddles, riddles that Fleche did not understand even if they seemed simple at first glance, and the stark difference between her and the Emperor was almost too much for her to see past. At least, for all of her sharpness and intimidating qualities, the Emperor spoke her mind and spoke frankly. This "professor" didn't seem capable of the same. "Why is hoping for closure from vengeance a morbid hope?"

"Death is ugly. Vengeance is uglier. Corpses atop corpses... That's all this war has been. That's all it will continue to be, as the killing continues. Each death brings about a new cycle of vengeance. New orphans, new widows or widowers, shattered families and homes... To want revenge for that is understandable, but to find it... It only means repeating the cycle." Raine explained quietly, and she, too, paused as she looked down at her reddened hands and felt the sting of the soap burning in her skin. It almost felt pleasant, in an oddly detached sort of way, but she tried not to linger too long on that thought. She knew she was meant to be pragmatic, to not overthink, but how could she not? What Dimitri was after would cause more harm than good in the long run, even if he was still in the midst of realizing it, but the same could be said for herself and those she was leading. She was all too sharply aware of that. "When the cycle ends, it only means everyone is dead; having killed those who did the killing in return. Reconquering the lands that were conquered. For all the sagas and fairytales and legends... War and battle and vengeance remain ugly and scarring affairs. Which only makes things all the more ironic."

"How?"

"I was a mercenary before all of this began, if you can believe it. Nothing more than a simple mercenary, fighting underneath my father's command alongside my elder brother." Raine shrugged her shoulders back, hand tightening on the rag as she once more began to scrub at the floors to ignore the stinging that had set up in her fingers. It was hard to believe that her life before she had come to Garreg Mach had happened at all sometimes, but she clung desperately to those memories. It was proof of a life before this hell, before the burdens and weights and expectations that had been shoved so unceremoniously onto her shoulders, and it was a life she sorely wished she could return to. Abandoning her students and their cause was out of the question, but it did not make her ache any less for simpler days, and she knew that showed in her voice when she mused, "Death was my occupation, and survival was one of my only goals. Being philosophical was more likely to kill me in those days than it was to do me any good. Killing was never easy, mind you, but at least as a mercenary, I never knew the faces of the ones I fought. Nowadays... Fighting strangers is almost a rarity. Those were simpler times."

An awkward silence fell amongst them, broken only by the sound of the rags scrubbing at the cold, stone floor, and Fleche did not know what to say as she worked alongside the rebellion's commander. Any doubts she had been harbouring beforehand were erased, as she now understood this woman was not the same as the monster she was hunting. She had too much empathy and kindness for that, and for that, she would be spared her vengeance. Fleche could reason that she was acting only as a woman now, seeking revenge for her brother, rather than as an Imperial soldier, and despite it all... She did not want to be a tool for the Empire's success. On the front of war's ugliness, at the very least, she could admit that the professor beside her was right. There was nothing but corpses no matter where she looked, because conquest, ideals, and war brought about nothing but pain even if the end goal was to change the world for the better.

For that and that alone, she would keep her dagger sheathed and allow for the professor to live. If she was to die in the battles ahead, it would not be by her hand, and most certainly it would not be done in cold blood. She deserved a better death, no matter what the Emperor had to say about her. She was not some "Ashen Demon". She, like herself, was just a woman who had suffered too much loss, and did not want to see more. Even if their visions differed, and they did indeed differ much... Fleche could not find it in herself to be the one to end her. They were too similar, and she doubted a chance would ever come again when she could. No... Her dagger was better served being saved for the monster, and not the commander who had gotten on her hands and knees to scrub the floor alongside her without prompting, or care.

They continued their work in silence, only ever exchanging words to swap supplies or catch a spot that was missed, and both remained lost in thought despite the menial tasks. The soap was harsh on their skin, stinging at blisters and cuts, but if either minded, they did not complain. There was no more speech to be had now, as thoughts of the war, of vengeance, of grief, filled their heads and kept their tongues firmly behind their lips. Both had lost too much. Both could not reconcile their ways of living in response to their losses. But it did not matter. The world would continue to turn regardless of their opinions, desires, and ideals, and they would be pulled along with it, for as long as time would permit them to do so. The war was still raging... and the battle of Grondor coming closer by the day. Perhaps then... An end could be found. Though now, neither was entirely sure if that end would be something they could reach with their own hands, and if it would finally satisfy them even if they did.

AN:

It's unfortunate that Fleche never really got more out of her in Azure Moon, though I suppose that was kind of the point. Unless you played Crimson Flower to completion, Fleche's character isn't recognizable when she appears in AM, nor is her brother, Randolph. You feel and learn for the pair more in CF by contrast, as you're meant to, but without knowing much about her, her impact in AM, while large, still feels a bit hallow. I wanted a chance to flesh her out just a tad without giving much about her actually away (considering she goes by "Maiden" in the game proper, anyway) and more importantly, have her converse with Raine before Grondor. The two have quite a bit in common despite it all, and I wanted to explore that, as well as really push the fact that Raine's not well, but she's still as sharp as a tack, and using that still heart of hers to the best of her ability.

Grondor is happening next chapter, though I admit that I am still unsure of how it'll be handled in terms of length. It isn't so much Grondor itself that I want to focus on, but more the immediate aftermath and everything that follows the next moon, but of course that doesn't mean I can just skip over the whole damn battle to get there. It's unlikely the fighting in Grondor will last three chapters as the Bridge saga did, but at least two chapters will be devoted to the battle, I'm guessing. As for everything that follows... Well, expect it to make up a few chapters (all from differing perspectives and featuring different characters) at the very least. There's a lot of ground to cover, and I want to make it smack and smack hard. The game does a good job of this in some ways, but it does fail in others, and length unfortunately is where it lacked most. Thankfully in fanfic, that isn't a problem!

I am however going to post yet another warning before I get into Grondor... and that warning is this: the path that Azure Moon takes in terms of direction in canon is about to take a vast change. This is where "my" canon of Azure Moon and the game's canon of AM will be diverging, so expect a lot of differences, some minor, some major, as the storyline continues. This, of course, also means that some characters will be changing paths as the storyline does, and that some of the other game timelines will be crossing over. If my characterizations, or any of the changes to the narrative, become a source of irritation for you... I recommend that you drop this fic now.

I know that I can't please everyone, and that I am liable to have some fans take issue with how I write certain characters, or certain scenes, or even with my writing style in general, and that is perfectly acceptable to me as no one in the world shares my exact vision, nor should they be forced to. However, unasked for criticism based on my take on characters, situations, change of storyline etc, is just plain rude and unwelcome at this point. If you dislike my story... Please stop reading it. It really is that simple. I've been in the game too long to have any patience for "constructive" criticism in the form of insults and veiled, "You just don't understand X" comments, flames, and poor reviewing manners. This may be the internet where you are free to say whatever you wish, however you wish, with complete anonymity... but I am still a human being on the other side of this screen, with opinions and feelings, too. Please be civil, respectful, and kind, as you would to anyone you'd meet IRL.

Mood: Slightly Ill.

Listening To: "Say Something" - Christina Aguilera ft A Great Big World

~ Sky