Cordelia's Lament

Optimistically speaking, the rebellion against the Pherean Empire is in full swing. Ike, seventeen years old and trapped in a losing battle to scrape the blood from under his fingernails, isn't in the mood for optimism.

Through the slim window near the ceiling enters the creaking of sails and jetties. A maddening soundscape; Ike reaches for Ragnell on the crate next to him every other moment. With the noise of Terra's harbor in his ears, it will be a miracle if he catches the stomps of metal boots when the inevitable Pheraen patrol sticks its noses into the abandoned warehouse.

Well, not quite abandoned. The owner of this cobbled-together amalgamation of planks and crates is taking an… extended vacation. With the fishes under the docks.

Ike has sent the Pheraen merchant on this one-way trip himself. But even though the surprised face flashes before his inner eye now and again, Ike doesn't feel sorry. They needed a hideout after he screwed up their last operation. But who could have known that the ship with wyvern eggs headed for the capital had an entire battalion on board? And who could have guessed that the ship boy Ike spared would run straight to Terra's garrison with talk about a golden sword on his chapped lips?

Ike is not making that mistake again. Which is why the warehouse owner doesn't have any breath left to gossip.

If only the clatter of the sails would stop. Maybe then Ike would have the nerve to listen to Titania's and Gregor's discussion.

"Best we lie low for a while," Gregor says. He bends over the crate with Leonster cloth that serves as their table and arranges the arrows they have pulled out of their comrades into neat little lines.

Welcome to the Altean rebellion where nothing goes to waste. Not even the arrow that killed the man next to you.

Titania shakes her head. "We cannot wait. The next shipload that provides Talys with refined Caernion steel for their spears is due in two days. If that ship reaches the island, they can provide a hundred further recruits with weapons. And I don't have to remind you of the damage a single imperial Pegasus Knight can cause."

Gregor rubs the bandage around his arm. "Fair enough. But we don't have enough weapons to take on a three-master."

"We don't have enough hands to hold those weapons either," Ike says and kicks the crate behind him. The Pheraen crest splashed onto the side doesn't deserve better.

Titania sighs. "I know. It just doesn't feel right letting that chance go to waste."

"We are wasting too much time with supply lines anyway. We should be hitting the Empire where it hurts."

"It does hurt them when they are short on steel to forge weapons."

"You know what I mean. The capital's a little too pretty this time of year."

Gregor laughs. "Seventeen and already dead set on throwing his life away. You raised him well, Titania."

She scowls. "I like to think that shortsightedness was not by contribution."

"Come on, we would all be better off if the king loses his head." Ike closes his grip around Ragnell. "We have been sneaking around for years now. If we wait any longer, the redheaded devil might die of old age before we've done anything to bring down the Black Wall."

"You'd more likely say goodbye to me before that," Gregor says with another laugh.

"Ike, please. A rebellion isn't won in a day," Titania says. "I'm just asking for a little patience."

Ike kicks himself from the crate and straps Ragnell to his back. "You were the one who couldn't wait to sink that ship with Caernion steel. And I'm going to do something about it."

"Where are you going?"

"Getting us some decent weapons. I've seen a blacksmith down the dock who advertised for finest Pheraen quality. I doubt he'll be missing a bag of swords once I'm done with him."

"In broad daylight?"

Ike wraps his worn cloak around his shoulders to conceal Ragnell's traitorous golden shimmer. "I'm not new to this business, you know? I've done this before."

"And it still worries me every time," Titania says.

Gregor points at the sword hilt peeking behind Ike's shoulder. "Make sure to keep that under wraps. We don't need any more rumors about the golden sword from Persis resurfacing."

"That was two years ago," Ike says. "Do you really think the king's still looking for Ragnell? He thrashed us well enough on those stupid steps. Well enough to make Abel quit the fight at least. Roy has no reason to believe he didn't burn all of us to a crisp back there."

Titania throws Ike her trademark look of motherly concern. "Except for the fact that he didn't find a golden sword among the bodies."

"Fine then, whatever. Ragnell stays under the cloak. A pocketknife will do just fine."

Ike maneuvers through the assortment of crates towards the backdoor. He hasn't so much as touched goods like the ones stored for shipping here since he was seven; finest silk, lace with the stupidly detailed ornamentations even baronesses on a royal ball would kill for, and rolls of velvet in the most outlandish colors. Too bad the Empire keeps such tight regulations on their trade. They could have sold this junk for a solid bag of gold. That could get them the weapons they needed blood-free.

Alas, the life of a rebel is only one step away from the life of a thief. At least Ike can find comfort in the fact that the Pheraen Empire stole their riches too.

"I'll be back with the weapons before midnight," Ike says as he pushes the door open. "I'll make some detours just to be sure."

Gregor waves him off. "Bring us some recruits while you're at it, yeah?"

Ike pauses. The chatter of harbor workers roars in his ears. "I'm not cut out for it. This inspiration business. I swing a sword, and that's what I'm good at."

He closes the door to the warehouse and any objections Titania may want to voice. The afternoon sun fails to drive out the murkiness of the side alley, but when Ike steps into the shopping arcade stretched along the docks, the light blinds him. Winches for uncounted marine ropes glister as if to compete with the spotless white of sailcloth billowing in the breeze. In the riggings up there, deckhands work to ready trade vessels under imperial flag for the next journey. Wine from Talys, ore from Satar's mines, and spices from the faraway eastern islands; everything cruises through Terra at some point.

The imperial machine is running on its highest gear today.

Ike pinches his nose against the brightness and the chalk dust floating in the air. The action helps little to fend off the cocktail of salt water, smoked marcel from the nearest vendor, and an abundance of harbor worker sweat. The stench clings to Ike's cloak with the same persistence as chalk dust from the cliffs sticks to the faces of Terra natives he passes. Any longer in this awful city and he will look the same, eyes sunken, hair full of white powder – and not in the aristocratic fashion –, and a bent back that tells every Pheraen patrol from afar that there isn't even a spark of rebellious thinking to find here.

Curse Terra. At least none of the Altean carriers slaving away in the heat has tried to convert Ike to Nagaism yet. A loud hurray to that.

He marches along the waterfront to where, on his last trip to secure the perimeter, he spotted the blacksmith. The crowd slows him down. Ike resists the urge to elbow the nearest passer-by out of the way and into the water; the Pheraen soldiers standing guard by the two-master down the jetty probably wouldn't like that.

So, he fights his way through the window shoppers and load carriers in the least exhilarating fashion a swordsman can imagine until he reaches a less busy corner of the harbor.

Ike curses. This isn't right. Has he walked past the blacksmith? The hammering on the anvil may have gone under in the grunts of trade supervisors and drunk sailors.

He turns left and right. The crowd has thinned, but that doesn't help him remember the hunched warehouses and marble cliff separating him from the second terrace of the city. His aimless gawking does, however, lead him towards a girl who cowers next to a stack of abandoned crates.

Her currant-colored hair covers her face. Although the salt and wind of a recent sea journey have messed with the strands, they can't hide the remarkable color. Like the fruits Ike's father used to pick on his walks through Tellius' forests. The girl's tunic has seen better days, but the pale skin peeking out of the sleeve doesn't belong to the chalk-crusted lower terraces. Her hands draw Ike's gaze the most. Hardened knuckles, scarred skin, calluses; the hands of a fighter. The girl tightens them around a single white feather.

The crowd walks by. She is air to them with the way she hugs her knees and clutches her feather. Another girl on the street, her family ground to bits in the imperial machine perhaps. Nothing worth noticing.

But Ike has noticed.

The girl looks up when his shadow offers her a little relief from the burning sun. She is maybe one year younger than Ike, and he knows the look in her eyes all too well. The first year after Tellius, the same look always greeted him when he washed his face in a pond.

"You're gonna get sunstroke," Ike says.

The girl presses the feather to her chest. "It doesn't matter."

"People with sunstroke are at risk of dehydration. They always talk nonsense."

"That's none of your business," she snaps. Aha. So the fighter hasn't quite surrendered. "Go your way like everyone else."

"You know, I really can't stand Pegasus Knights. Even when they're not on horseback, they always have to look down on others."

Her eyes widen and she searches Ike's face, maybe for the Pheraen crest to confirm that he came to wrap the chains around her wrists she has for the moment escaped. "How did you…?"

"The feather kind of gave it away. You're from Talys, aren't you?"

She gives the faintest nod. "It's hell there."

"Well, you aren't going to change that by cowering here and collecting sunstroke all day. It's hell where you're from? Then do something about it. Your hands…"

The girl stretches them out in an instance. Her face goes blank as her mind retreats into its shell, awaiting the punishment she has experienced so many times before. Not all the scars on her palm stem from training with a spear. The other ones have cut deeper, and they spell the word disobedience.

Rebellious thoughts.

"Your hands," Ike continues, "are those of a fighter. Even if you have nothing and no one else, you still have them to hold a spear with. No one will change Talys for you, not some benevolent king and certainly no goddess. You have to be the one to fight that fight."

The girl pulls back her hands. "But how can I win?"

"By doing everything necessary. Abandon your hopes and your beliefs if there's no other way. As long as you have hands to hold a weapon, you can fight whoever stands between you and a better Talys. All I can do is give you a little jump-start."

Ike stretches out a hand for her. Her eyes jump from his face to his palm, and maybe she is examining the skin for scars and calluses as he did before.

It takes her a moment. The feather in her left hand trembles. But then she crosses the last inches, holds tight, and Ike pulls her to her feet.

"Do you have a name too?" he asks. "Or is that sort of sentimentality outside standard procedure with Pegasus Knights?"

A small grin tugs at her lips. Yes, the fighter is far from defeated, she will stand again and kick every noble bastard who thinks about giving her orders into the dirt. And those who tried to bridle her will suffer the consequences.

"Cordelia."


Cordelia plucked the strings of her harp. A sharp, dissonant chord rang through the hospital wing, and the instrument squealed under its maltreatment. Cordelia didn't care. She attacked the strings again, determined to win the fight against the stubborn harp. At this point, it might be the only fight she could win.

The harsh plinks, although they followed the music sheets her tutor had placed in front of her while her hands still throbbed from spear training, offered no harmony to the room. They failed to drown out the clatter of armored boots. Did the palace guards move out to defend Lucina against the army on her doorsteps? Or were they on their way to join Roy?

A short look through the large windows on the opposite side of the room would have given her an answer. But Cordelia continued to cower on her chair.

For one heartbeat, she mistook the upholstery for the merciless stone of Terra, and she breathed in chalk dust. The harp complained with an unpleasant twang. Then the moment passed, and Cordelia took in the scents of useless ointments and the low breaths coming from the bed next to her.

The fever had eaten into Ike's face. Like this, his hair drenched in sweat and his cheeks sunken in, he shared little resemblance to the man who had pulled Cordelia to her feet in Terra. But she could still make him out, somewhere within these tortured features.

The healers Lucina had ordered from across the Empire had agreed that Ike's fever had no natural causes. Magic was at play here, magic they failed to understand, let alone remedy. A fire consumed him from the inside. Whether he would fight through the fire and live – the healers had not agreed on that.

Lucina's dumb pendant had done nothing to protect him. It lay there with its cracked stone on the bedside table as if to remind the world that Naga's blessing amounted to nothing, helped nothing, and wasn't even worth the stone into which it had been embedded.

Cordelia struck a new chord, sharp and ugly as the ones before.

Ike had always hated her harp play. A waste of time, he had said, not to mention the gold necessary to buy an instrument. Music had never won a war.

Why wouldn't he remind Cordelia of the wasted energy she poured into the harp now?

Her fingers were tired. Although far smaller than the great standing harps of ballrooms, the instrument weighed heavy in her lap. The strings wrangled against her pull, and the wooden frame dug into her shoulder, but she still had hands, so she continued to fight the harp. What else was there?

Talys remained the hell of her childhood, out of reach except during her nightmares. Shanna had merely governed the island in Roy's absence for a while. With him back and only a couple flights of stairs away from his throne, all the luxurious fantasies about a free Talys Cordelia had gardened had fled her, like the miserable sounds of her harp fled through the thin doors of the hospital wing. The Pegasi would never freely circle the mountain ranges. The young girls Cordelia had beaten bloody and into the dust during her training would never run along the river for the fun of it. And she would never again feel the sand of Talys' beaches between her fingers, the scent of horse fur in her nose.

She had placed her hopes in the wrong person. A false deity.

"You wouldn't have hesitated to kill Marcus," Cordelia said and paused her harp play to brush sweat-stained hair out of Ike's face, straightened the pristine nobility sheets around his shoulders. "You would have dealt with Shanna and Roy too, like you always did, and then none of this would have happened."

Ike gave no answer. If he didn't wake up soon, he would simply starve to death, and they would pull these pristine nobility sheets over his face. Dead and gone, just like that, not even with a sword in his hand while the world outside the hospital wing burned to the ground.

Cordelia couldn't bear thinking about it.

Not Ike.

He was supposed to stand when no one else did, he was supposed to fight when everyone else had given up, he was supposed to pull her to her feet and tell her to move forward. But forward and backward had morphed into one and the same, and no matter where Cordelia trod, she would still end up in the net of the false deity.

An obedient servant; that was all she would ever amount to. The instructors in Talys had made sure of that.

She assaulted the harp with a new, disfigured melody, broken like the bones of her fellow Pegasus novices after she had been told to make them feel their loss against her during training. There too, she had obeyed. Even the harp play had served its part in Shanna's game to break them. The young novices couldn't swing their spears all day, and either Shanna or Roy had realized that too. The harp gave girls like Cordelia another challenge, another task to occupy their minds with. Until there was no space left for rebellious thoughts.

Cordelia had carved out a space for these thoughts anyway. And where had all this led her? Back into the fire and at the bedside of the one man who truly mattered to her as he slowly died.

Oh, how easy it was to blame Roy for it all. He had put this curse on Ike, and he had enslaved Talys with a mere flick of his hand. But Roy had always played his cards openly. He hadn't lied, he hadn't broken any promises, and he hadn't made himself a deceptive deity who preached about not killing while directing armies in the same breath.

He hadn't sent Ike out to die.

The final, sorrowful note faded out. What remained was the rattle of swords as Roy's army advanced through the palace. They had mounted the walls in record time. Or, more likely, some of the Pheraen guards had let their former king in.

Cordelia brushed a lonely tear from her cheek and set the harp aside. Her fingers hurt when she stroked the scars and calluses on Ike's motionless hand. They still hurt when she reached for the spear leaning against the wall. The white feather attached to the shaft trembled with her breath.

"You gave me this one," Cordelia said and fastened her grip around the spear. "I doubt you remember. Gregor was still alive then, in that Naga tower in Gran. You said Gran wasn't your fight, but you went out of your way to give me this all the same. I better go and fell a couple Pheraen knights for you to cover my debt, right?"

The shouts and trampling on sandstone steps grew louder. A few brave morons still put up a fight for Lucina's sake.

Cordelia wasted a last look over her shoulder. But she received no reply. Then she hurried out of the hospital wing, the spear singing in her hands on her way down the halls. Yes, she still had hands to hold a weapon. So she would fight the one who stood between her and a better Talys.


Roy fell the Altean who had given into the mad idea of ambushing the king of Pherae on the stairs towards his own throne room. The man's blood splashed over Roy's boots. In a macabre picture of irony, he wore the Pheraen eagle proudly on his chest. For Naga's champion, he had even changed flags.

"Advance!"

The soldiers behind Roy hesitated to tear their eyes from the guard who had fought as their comrade and neighbor in the past months. One of them whispered, and perhaps the story about the Pheraen soldier's hand Roy had taken at the shrine had crept into their battle preparations. Under Lucina, they hadn't known cruelty. Only deception and a slow decay. After a moment, they obeyed and rushed up the stairs in search for other sources of resistance.

All of them were defectors in a way, as they had betrayed Lucina the moment they opened the palace gates for Roy. At the same time, had they not finally come to their senses and remembered their true loyalty to Pherae?

Roy spared the dead palace guard another look. Blood soaked the golden stitching of the Pheraen eagle, whereas the sword had hardly tasted blood once before its owner had died; a pathetic last line of defense. It seemed Lucina had indeed sent her best fighters to Terra. A noble move but foolish none the less. She of all people should know that the Empire crumbled with its king.

Unless she had kept a crucial piece hidden, only waiting to unleash it onto the chessboard to tear Roy's certain victory apart. The games they had played on the sunlit table in Roy's study room came back to him, accompanied with the rustle of plane tree leaves. Lucina might have fallen victim to her faith and her naivety, but she was not stupid. Roy had taught her too well for her to play out all her pieces prematurely.

"What about Lucina's general?" Roy asked and stepped over the dead guard. "The son of Gawain?"

Sêl materialized out of the Binding Blade beside him. "My flames have enveloped his heart. He is resisting, but he cannot win. Do you want me to kill him?"

"No, not yet. If he is unable to fight, that should be enough for now."

Let Lucina pray for the recovery of her precious tool. Her words would reach no one, only let the claws of doubt sink deeper into her flesh.

Roy forced up his pace, thinking. The familiar tapestries, pillars, and alcoves blurred to indistinct distractions as he marched past. Ike then would not serve as Lucina's winning piece. She had Naga's Voice with her, but this fact was too easy to predict to turn the tides in Lucina's favor. Rather, Roy looked forward to a confrontation with the Manakete. What else could Lucina hide? Another blessing from Naga, perhaps of greater power than the blue flames that had saved Ike in Thria?

Unlikely but not outside the realm of possibility.

At the head of a flight of stairs, where three hallways met, Roy rendezvoused with Shinon and his squad. They stood to attention, and Shinon outlined a respectful nod before giving his report.

"No signs of life in the military quarters, Your Highness," he said. "It seems all the Altean rats have left the sinking ship. The rest, well…" He nudged his quiver, and the remaining arrows rattled. "I heard further guards are joining our cause from the stable too."

"And the royal chambers?" Roy asked.

"Those are next on my list. Unfortunately, the soldiers you sent to the west side and the hospital wing haven't reported back. Should I dispatch a unit?"

An ambush in the hospital wing? Roy stroked the red stone embedded into the Binding Blade with his thumb. Sêl was hardly mistaken about Ike's condition, but other loyalists of Lucina could hide there. Had Lucina anticipated that Roy would finish off Ike first? Or had she perhaps stayed at his bedside herself?

Roy could not waste soldiers on theories and hearsay. The missing unit was either running late or long dead. In both cases, a search party would gain him little.

"No, keep your men as a united party," Roy said. "The worst we can do in this situation is spread our forces too thin. Are the battlements in our hands now?"

"Down to the last merlon. The soldiers have advanced into the yards, and I have a feeling they won't be busy there for long. The men I sent will win the armory in no time. I myself put a bow in some of their hands, I assure you, they won't fail."

"Then no one is securing the battlements…"

"Against whom? The palace is ours. If any of the usurper's dogs still lick her feet, they're trapped inside. I can already hear the people on the street celebrating our victory."

Roy's gaze wandered towards the lattice windows. A last-minute save from outside? Could Lucina have the means to carry out such a maneuver? In the last battle of Lycia, she had held her dragon in the background until the right moment, otherwise Galle would have crushed her little rebellion before she had even passed the outer wall. But this time, Naga's Voice would stay by her side and protect her investment in Lucina. Roy could count the number of Pheraen units who still supported Lucina on one hand, meaning she could not rely on these pieces either. Surely she hadn't built her strategy on the foolish hope that her battalion in Terra would return in time?

She had no doubt transferred command onto Frederick. Her most loyal Altean dog. Roy clacked his teeth; he should have killed Frederick in Terra when he had the chance. Such a waste, making him into a knight. Frederick's devotion to Lucina had proven most… annoying in the past. But would that devotion empower him to defeat Shanna's Pegasus Knights and manage the journey up the Silver Stream and to the capital in time?

Unlikely. But again, not outside the realm of possibility.

"Leave the royal chambers untouched," Roy said. "Lead your unit towards the harbor instead. I want the area secured. No ship docks without my permission, otherwise burn them."

Shinon frowned. "But there's nothing there! All the fighting is happening here, this is where men distinguish themselves. The harbor lies half a wyvern mile away from the palace…"

"I am keenly aware of Lycia's layout, thank you, Shinon."

Shinon swallowed and dared a glance at the Binding Blade in Roy's hand. "Should we expect an attack from the harbor?"

"Maybe. Do not bother taking armed citizens with you, only trained soldiers. Withdraw men from the unit attacking the armory if necessary. Do we have any wyverns at the ready?"

"None, as far as I know."

And Roy had dispatched all his Pegasus Knights to Terra. Ah, what a brilliant move he had thought he made with Shanna there. Now the skies above the capital remained outside his control. If a ship from Terra sailed to Lucina's rescue, he would only realize the danger when Frederick docked.

But none of that would matter if he cut off the head of the rebellion beforehand.

"Then there is no more time to waste," Roy said. "Six of your men will accompany me, the rest moves out to the harbor. I want no unfavorable surprises reaching us from there, understood?"

Shinon's frown deepened, and for a moment he looked like he wanted to object. The harbor would earn him glory if, and only if, ships from Terra arrived. Otherwise he would leave no mark in the history books, no matter who won the battle – because the battle would be fought without him. But Roy had no time to concern himself with Shinon's pride. Not at such a crucial moment, where only a handful of hallways separated him from the throne.

"Yes, Your Highness," Shinon finally mustered.

A stiff bow and a few clipped orders later, he headed down the stairs to see to his king's wishes. His quiver slapped against his back with every step and voiced its discontent where the owner did not. Roy would need a sizable promotion to appease Shinon. But later.

Six soldiers remained with him. He didn't waste his breath with instructions, trusting that they would follow him down the hallway to the throne room.

No fifty paces later, they faced the first roadblock. A mixture of Pheraen and Altean guards stretched their spears towards the invaders. A strange picture they made, united only by their faith in Naga and her champion. And their fear. They gulped, and a few among the dozen trembled as they recognized Roy.

But they held their spears high all the same.

Perhaps a few words targeting their loyalty to Pherae or the hopelessness of their endeavor would convince the guards to bend their knees to Roy. One more punch against their strained nerves might suffice.

But Roy had no time to waste. Even with the harbor barricaded and her trump piece snatched out of her hand, Lucina poisoned his empire every minute she lived. Or rather, Naga did. These nine months of her reign had lasted too long already.

The soldiers behind Roy readied their swords. Armor pieces jingled. But they hesitated to engage; reluctance to kill their brothers and sisters restrained them. The enemy wore the same colors, the same crest as they did, and even with their king beside them, some sacrifices surpassed the capability of men.

Unfortunate. But Roy had learned to live as the tyrant who did make the sacrifices necessary for absolute peace. The taste of Terra's burnt shrine lasted on his tongue, ashen.

This was no different.

Reluctance still held his soldiers captive as Roy stepped past them. His cape moved like a living creature as heat and sparks swirled around the Binding Blade, but he resisted the temptation to bathe the enemy in fire until nothing would remain for Naga's followers to bury. He would not need Sêl's aid for this fight.

The spearheads aimed at him trembled. Labored, frantic breaths wrangled with Roy's controlled steps as he drew closer and closer, seeing the defeat in his enemy's eyes before even they realized it.

A sweaty palm dropped a spear; the clang thundered through the hall.

And Roy pounced.

He flew past the deadly spearheads, sliced the first woman open. Blood splashed against the faces of her comrades, a hot wakening call, and the screams erupted. Not for long.

The guards stood in each other's way, the length of their spears useless in a tight space. The Binding Blade flashed. Spear shafts splintered under Roy's hits, armor plates cracked, and flesh surrendered. An aging man wasted his last breath on a prayer to Naga before he returned to his creator in a gush of blood.

The iron stench of his remains tingled in Roy's nose, but he did not slow his steps.

The red stone in the Binding Blade pulsated.

More with each enemy Roy fell.

Bodies soon littered the floor, the tiles slippery from their blood. Until only one guard remained. Youth still shaped his features under a helmet too big for him, and he stumbled over his tongue as he begged.

"No, please, I surrender!" The boy tripped over the body of one of his comrades, and the sword dropped from his grasp.

Roy crossed the remaining step between them. "You have made your choice. Now die with it."

When the Binding Blade pierced his heart, the boy's scream devolved into a gargle. He slumped like a puppet with its strings cut, finally free of the puppeteer's whims. With his eyes already blank, he joined his comrades on the floor.

In death all men look small.

Roy's soldiers needed a moment to shake themselves out of their stupor. The way stood open, and they had no more reasons to tarry. As one entity, they rebuilt their formation around Roy, while the two men at the front scouted ahead. Sêl took her place next to him. In the silence after the skirmish, the rattle of swords interjected with the characteristic whirring of a slender spear reached them from a nearby corridor.

Perhaps the enemies there would pose a greater challenge.

Lucina could not truly have believed the dozen guards on the floor behind Roy would do more than stall him. Or did she solely rely on Naga's Voice as her last line of defense? Frederick would not jump in front of her this time, and Ike had barely enough life in him to struggle against Sêl's fire. Could it be this easy?

The sun broke through the clouds and bathed the hallway in an unexpected glow. Roy squinted against the light breaking on the metal struts of the latticed windows.

Winter was retreating, Lucina's empire of ruins counted its last breaths, and victory lay at arm's reach. He would only need to close his fist…

"Roy!"

Sêl's voice tore him out of his triumphant fantasies. He followed her line of sight towards the eastward windows. But he did not believe what he saw. Even after he rushed forward and slammed his palm against the glass, he refused to believe.

The threat did not come from the harbor, oh no. Lucina had outmaneuvered him. Not through the might of Pheraens or Alteans or a Manakete splitting the clouds like a divine sunray. A piece on the chess board so small and insignificant, Roy had not even considered it.

Five hundred Sacaen riders had gathered on the sunlit hill beyond the Massacre Zone. Every last Lorca had driven their horse to the gates of Lycia, and even more foreign patterns joined them, other tribes from the grassland, all united by the small figure at the front of the army.

The gates stood wide open. The battlements lay unguarded in the sun.

And the Lorca army charged.

Roy fumed. Lyn had promised him the loyalty of the Lorca, and after decimating their camp as payment for her murder, he had thought they would never rise again. The few riders Lucina had taken with her rebellion to Lycia had been outliers, nothing more.

But now they rode again, and the ground before Lycia's walls shook under the might of countless hooves. Directionless, the handful Pheraen soldiers at the outer gate scrambled to meet the threat. The Lorca army swept over them like a hurricane over dry leaves.

Roy could only watch.

The four soldiers behind him shifted from one foot to the other. Doubting. Doubting their chances of victory? Or Roy's ability to match his father's legends, as they always did, day and night, with every inferior breath he drew in?

He whirled around to them. "All of you, gather the men. Forget the armory and every Altean who still puts up a fight inside the walls. Position every last one of our soldiers on the battlements. The Lorca will not enter the palace. No matter what it will cost. And if you have to pile up a mountain of bodies to bar the gates, you will do that and throw yourselves down with them if necessary. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes, Your Highness."

The doubt had rooted in their minds; the nervous glances the soldiers exchanged spilled the truth. But they obeyed, and soon the clatter of their boots faded.

In all likelihood, Shinon had deployed too many units for the harbor. They would gasp on the docks like fish on land while the Lorca swept through the capital; useless, the whole lot of them, wasted on Roy's misguided attempt at anticipating Lucina's strategy. Oh, Shinon would try his outmost to reshape this disaster in his favors, desperate to make his mark, no doubt. But what could stop a hurricane? In this storm, any fire he might think of would only consume himself.

With a little luck, the Lorca would tire themselves out pillaging the city. If they acted with due haste, Roy's soldiers could man the battlements and lock the gates to at least secure the palace. The Lorca would not endure a long siege, even if their leader told them to hold position outside of the moat.

"They are only winning a small skirmish at the city border," Sêl said and fixed Roy's gaze with hers. "You can still win the war."

She was right. An empire crumbled with its king, and without a strategist to direct the enemy pieces across the board, they would soon fall into disarray. Not the Lorca deserved his attention. Lucina did.

Roy exchanged a nod with Sêl and quickened his pace. Only two more corridors lay between him and the throne room. Neither the Pheraen banners nor the battle beyond the lattice windows distracted him, and when Shinon set the street beyond the palace on fire to stop the Lorca, he hurried on, hardly conscious of the wall of raging orange that destroyed not only Pheraen houses but also the goodwill of his people towards his invasion. With an ashen taste on his tongue, Roy caught up to the two scouts and rounded a corner.

The war song of a spear reached its final chord as the weapon opened up the throat of one of Roy's soldiers. The missing unit sent towards the hospital wing lay in a mess of spilled guts and tangled limbs on the ground. Their blood dripped from the rich tapestries. And amidst the slaughter stood a female spear wielder.

A casual flick of her wrist shook the blood from her weapon before she turned towards Roy and his underlings. The color of her hair matched the one with which she had repainted the tiled floor.

"I almost hoped you would come by this way," she said. "You and your foul fire spirit."

The two soldiers fanned out in front of Roy.

"Let us handle this one," the man to the right said.

"The Altean snake will regret her words soon enough."

Roy waved them back. "A waste of time. Unless you seek to join the dead on the floor."

The spear wielder twirled her weapon. A white Pegasus feather flashed. "You talk too much and act too little, Your Highness. I guess I can see now where Lucina got that from. I'm done with you lying royals. Send that fire spirit over so I can cut her in half if you're not up for a fight."

Roy did not doubt for a second that he could overcome the spear wielder. A short but brutal clash would end her. But she did not hold herself like one who sought to win; doubts and desperation hardened her features. The tears had not yet dried from her face.

Yes, Roy could kill her. But out there, Shinon was wasting his units. She, on the other hand, might yet prove useful.

"I remember you." He pointed the Binding Blade at the ground as he made a calm step forward. "You used to be a Pegasus novice in Talys. But in a fit of Altean defiance, you tried to escape. Shanna was most displeased by the incident. Cordelia, wasn't it?"

Her eyes widened. "How did you…?"

"Did you truly think I would not keep a watch on you after your banishment from the island? I know that you joined Ike's rebels. And since he has found himself wrapped up in Lucina's lies, it comes as no surprise that you share his miserable fate."

"You're the one who turned Talys into hell!" Cordelia spat out. But her defiant stance suffered another crack.

Roy took another step forward. "I have not set foot on the island in years. Shanna enjoys the freedom to deal with the Pegasus Knights however she pleases."

"But you're the one who put her in charge!"

"And you could improve upon her failures, could you not? You did strike me as one of the most promising novices with an exceptional control over the spear. And furthermore, a willingness to do what needed to be done. Winning a fight at any cost, even if it meant hurting those you call comrades or friends – it is not a quality you see often."

Cordelia flinched. "It was cruel."

"It was necessary. By breaking their hands or legs, you ensured your permanent victory. Fear convinced them not to challenge you with all their strength a second time. Shanna realized this too, but I will admit that she sometimes dismisses potential a little too quickly. As I have done as well."

Another crack in Cordelia's stance. Good.

"What are you getting at?"

Roy gestured at the hallway and the bodies scattered all around. "I do not see why the role as Lucina's last line of defense fits you. It doesn't bring you any closer to your home, to Talys, does it? You know I can give it to you. One word from me to Shanna will be enough."

Cordelia shook her head. But without conviction. "She promised me the same."

"But I keep my promises. In fact, I will throw in Ike too. He may live. You can ensure that he will."

"Why?" Cordelia's voice broke.

"Why I am offering you all this when I could simply kill you? It was this same flawed notion that blinded me to the potential of Tellius' refugees and that has again blinded me to the role the Lorca would play in this battle. Consider my offer a trade." Roy shifted the Binding Blade into his left to stretch out his right hand for Cordelia. "One life for another. An island for a crown. Or we could cross weapons and see how far your faith in Lucina will carry you. The choice is yours."

Cordelia hardened the grip around her spear, knuckles white. Roy's inviting palm hovered only five steps away. Five steps between her spearhead and his unprotected throat.

Five short steps…


Five short steps separated Lucina from the balustrade of the balcony. A careless shuffle of her feet kicked a pebble over the edge. As the Lorca appeared on the eastern horizon and broke through the outer wall, she dared to hope.

But it was a foolish hope, fleeting like the snow on Lycia's sunbathed rooftops. She could not escape a confrontation with Roy. A handful of guards might still fight on the yards and battlements of the palace for her sake, and Rath might overcome the steel-framed inner gate with the help of his riders. The fire out on the street might even convince a few Pheraens to rejoin her. But Roy had long since advanced into the heart of her empire, Naga's empire, his empire.

Lucina tricked herself into feeling his breath on her neck and the cold of his glacier eyes.

The clangs of metal against metal persisted, both inside and outside the palace halls. One source of noise lay closer than the others. Lucina stared at the double doors of the throne room, as if the intensity of her gaze could convince the heavy oak construct to turn to glass and reveal what happened on the other side.

So close and so loud, the rattle of weapons roared in her ears, even drowned out the jingle of windchimes that haunted her every waking hour.

Lucina stepped away from the balcony, and Tiki followed on her heels. The ornate carvings on the door lured her gaze, but she could not make out any of the shapes and figures, still trying and failing to see what lay beyond.

Then, the clatter of weapons stopped.

Deathly silence followed.

The moment stretched to infinity, where only Lucina's own frantic heartbeat echoed in her ears. Tiki tensed her legs for the leap. Lucina took a step back. Falchion did not find its way into her hands, she remained frozen on the tiles she had paced across so many times.

Finally, the door flew open.

Roy smiled when he saw her. And once again, she was a weak child with scraped knees in front of him, driven only by the wish to run to him and tell her how she had almost disarmed Frederick on the training yard today. Neither the fire spirit nor the two Pheraen soldiers behind him weakened the desire.

His expression did. There was no warmth in those glacier eyes, only a snowstorm of sorrow and hate.

"Hello, little one," Roy said. "I'm sorry it took me so long. This childish game has been going on for too many months, don't you think?"

The Binding Blade flared in his hand.

Lucina choked, and her fingers trembled when she reached for Falchion. Tiki hissed and prepared to transform. The soldiers answered with shining swords of their own. In the corner of her eye, Lucina spotted another figure in the shadows of the doorway. The relief washed over her, almost strong enough to spark a smile on her lips.

Cordelia stood just outside the throne room. Blood stained her armor and she clutched her left arm, but she was alive, undoubtedly alive and able to fight. From behind her echoed the pounding of more boots, more followers of Naga, more people who had come to stand with Lucina against Roy.

"Cordelia, you're here!" Lucina, awash with thankfulness, didn't care that her voice trembled or that her words alerted Roy of Cordelia's presence. Someone had come. Nothing else mattered. "It's just like at Naga's shrine, we can take them together. I will keep Roy busy long enough for you to take out his soldiers. He won't have a chance against both of us."

A quartet of Altean guards arrived at the door. Cuts and bruises showed on their faces, they had to have trudged through hell to reach the throne room, but they had come regardless.

"Protect Naga's champion!" one of them cried as he and his comrades passed Cordelia and fanned out.

Any moment, Cordelia would jump in front of them, spear swinging and the thrill of battle lightening her steps, as always.

Cordelia gave Lucina a long look. But her expression was all wrong; all the passion and the barely curbed lust for a fight had vanished.

"Cordelia?"

The last guard passed the door, her back to Cordelia. Lucina could have read the truth in Roy's knowing expression. But her eyes remained on Cordelia as she raised her spear and thrust the blade into the back of the nearest guard.

She was dead before her blood splashed onto the tiles. Her comrades were dead before they had the time to turn. And by the time Lucina found her voice and took a stumbling step forward, not understanding, not wanting to understand, Cordelia had dispatched of those who stood between her and a free Talys until only one tyrant remained. Only it wasn't Roy.

"That should do for your part of the trade," he said. "Enjoy the reward."

Cordelia stepped over the corpses; their blood like waves sloshing against the beaches of Talys. Lucina could only watch as she grabbed the golden door handles and slowly pulled them together.

"Cordelia!"

One door wing slammed into place. Only a small gap remained behind which Lucina could make out a wave of currant-colored hair and Cordelia's empty expression. She found no regret or remorse there, only a new nothing she failed to read. Then, the face disappeared for good behind the oak door.

"CORDELIA!"

The door's bolt fell into place with the thud of finality. And Lucina remained trapped in the throne room with the man who would kill her as easily as he had killed her father.


Notes: Surprised? I think this is the longest chapter in Book II so far, mostly because I wanted to keep the Cordelia betrayal together in one place. And it was quite fun to break the tradition and write a small section from her POV. The finale is approaching, and I will get to it soon, I promise. It always gets worse before it gets better - I think Lucina can confirm that :)