Maribelle hobbled down the steps leaning against the heal staff, her companion in tow, to the scene of a disaster. People huddled behind upturned tables scattered around the room. The smell of smoke and blood lingered above them like an angry spirit. Someone lay slumped against the wall, his eyes burning with fury, pinned beneath a large wooden plank. Standing at the entrance was a sniveling and skinny man, his lips twisted into a sneer as his shrewd eyes scanned over the room. Behind him, a company of cloaked men cast shadows into the room from the setting sun, the golden lines sewn into their clothes tracing the form of an eye marking them as members of the Grimleal. A few held lances and swords. One hefted a large hammer over his shoulder.
"Good citizens of Ou D'elle," he said, grinning from ear to ear, "Fear not. I come in the name of Grima, on a simple errand." Without warning, he reached back and hauled a little girl off the floor by her collar. From nearby, her mother screamed. The girl did as well, and she kicked against his grasp. In return, the man slammed her into the wall.
Maribelle's blood boiled with anger Beside her, the man let out a gasp.
Drawing the long silver blade at his side, the bandit tilted it to rest against the struggling girl's neck. "Cooperate, and you will all leave this place alive. Resist, and she will suffer the consequences." He laughed. "None of you would dare hurt this little dear, would you? So precious, these younglings." His sword moved. The girl suddenly froze. A little line of red seeped down her neck.
"So fragile." The man's lips peeled back into a toothy smile.
Maribelle's eyes fixed on the girl, helpless and afraid. She was innocent. Whatever this man had planned, she had no part in it, and yet, she'd been dragged into this mess. Maribelle couldn't help but emphasize with her.
"W-what do you want?" the blonde attendant from before asked, half hidden behind her work desk.
The man snarled. "I want justice."
Justice? Maribelle would have laughed, if her anger hadn't trapped her words in her throat. Before she could think about what she was doing, she had taken a step forward. Her grip strangled the staff in her hands.
A hand came down on her shoulder. She looked up. The mercenary looked back, slowly shaking his head. His hand fell on his own sword, and he stepped before her.
"Wouldn't want a pretty lady like you to get your dress dirty, would you?" he said quietly.
Maribelle stared up at him in disbelief. "Really? Now?"
The man ignored her. Or maybe he wasn't paying enough attention to reply. He let out a long, nervous breath. Maribelle's gaze lingered on him, before deciding that whatever was going on wasn't worth thinking about.
A few people in the room backed away from the man at the front, an uneasy murmur weaving through them. Upon seeing their frightened faces, the man rolled his eyes.
"Oh, don't worry. You pathetic lot aren't involved," he said. "At least, not yet. You see, there's someone we're looking for. A murderer hides among you, a coward who has slain one of us."
"Oh great," Maribelle muttered. "Can't I get a break around here? Out of everyone else they could have gone after, why me?"
"You?" the mercenary hissed, throwing her a glance over her shoulder. "Why would they be after you? They're after me!"
"They are?" Maribelle palmed her face. "Oh gods. I leave you alone for a minute, and you've already incited a quarrel with the local cultists. How do you mess up a simple shopping errand that badly?"
"What?! What does it sound like I did?"
"It sounds like you took a detour on your way out involving a pretty girl and murder," Maribelle said, crossing her arms.
"No! I just went to the store and back!"
Letting out a sigh, Maribelle closed her eyes. "Well, whatever the story is, I do hope cleaning up after your messes doesn't become a pattern."
That seemed to strike a nerve with him. The mercenary flinched, his easy smile disappearing for a second.
"Come on," he chuckled, looking away. "Don't be like that. It's not like it's that much of a problem."
"That much of a problem?" Maribelle's brow went up. "A company of Grimleal are here to kill us. How can you call that 'not much of a problem'?"
"I meant the mess thing," the mercenary shot back. "I've been the one helping you. There's no need for you to get involved in my business."
"There is, actually. I can't be seen with a bumbling fool like you if you irritate everyone around you like this."
"You can't call me an idiot!" he said, and he jabbed a finger at her. "I've been the one who's helped you get here. I've been taking care of you. Have you done anything, sweetheart?"
Maribelle's eye twitched. "Well, excuse me for being injured! If I were in any better shape, I'd knock some manners into you!"
"You two!" the man yelled from the other side of the room. The two of them locked their glares onto his sniveling face, and his scowl deepened. "Drop your weapons, or we'll be forced to end your pathetic lives."
"Oh, shut up, will you?" Maribelle snapped back. Her arm flicked out, hurling her heal staff across the room and impacting the man's forehead with an audible crack. For a moment, Maribelle worried that she might have thrown it a little too hard, but she caught a glimpse of red running down the side of his face, and was relieved. It was just the man's head she cracked open, not the heal stuff.
The man did not appear to share her sentiment, and he tumbled back into his own men, howling and cursing some harlot on the other side of the room. Metal clattered to the ground, tangled in limbs and weapons, and above the confusion, the man poked a finger in her direction.
"Kill her!" he shrieked.
As the few men still standing charged toward them, the mercenary eyed Maribelle. "Cleaning up my messes, was it?" he said slowly.
"Oh, shut your trap!" Maribelle shot back.
The mercenary sighed, but he still drew his sword. He had no right to be as fussy as he was; at least he still had his weapon. Maribelle's was lying next to a trembling little boy who looked to be in no shape to return it to her, so she had to make do.
The first bandit to come close was met with a wooden bowl full of soup to the face. The second, wiser bandit slowed to make room for his friend as he stumbled away. He turned back, but the mercenary leapt upon him and smacked him across with his sword.
"Hey!" Maribelle shouted as she ducked under a sword swipe. "Where do you think you're going? Come back and protect me!"
"Huh?" The mercenary spun around, confused. "What do you mean? There's hardly a foot between–"
A roar shook the room, and a third bandit came charging at them, his heavy armor clanking and thundering as he trudged forward. The mercenary stepped to the side to avoid an overhead hammer strike–
Only to realize there was now a six-foot wall of steel between him and her.
"Naga dammit!" Maribelle howled. "What did I just say! I don't even know why I'm paying you if you can't properly stay by my side!"
"Hey now." The mercenary jumped, and the armored bandit's hammer split the table he'd been standing on in two. As he landed back on solid ground, the mercenary threw a glance in her direction. "You hardly look like you need me. Maybe I did that on purpose so you didn't have to deal with my insufferable presence."
"That's not the point, idiot! You're not the one who has to deal with a deliberating injury!"
As she spoke, yet another armored bandit lumbered forward and stabbed at her with his lance. Maribelle easily avoided the clumsy blow, and the lance's head buried itself between a pair of wooden planks.
A lady always returned her favors, and Maribelle returned this one with a plate of salad over the top of his head. The bandit's helmet tolled loudly. Maribelle had to clasp her hands over her ears to keep her ears from falling off. The bandit did not have the same opportunity, and with dressing running down the side of his face, he collapsed to the floor.
The mercenary stared uselessly. "Deliberating injury? How is that–augh!"
His sword clattered to the ground. The mercenary clutched his hand, already moving away as the leader pulled his own blade back to his side. The leader of the Grimleal bandits grinned, twirling his sword, and he raised it above his head poised to strike.
"You lot!" he said, raising his voice over the chaos. "That lady looks like she'll fetch a fair ransom. I'll distract the bodyguard, while the rest of you set your sights on taking her out of the fight."
Most people would've been relieved that the bandits wouldn't be trying to kill them. Maribelle was annoyed. Chrom wasn't here, which meant she was now the most valuable person in the room, and having to deal with grabby hands was much more annoying than trying to keep one's head attached to their neck.
"You think you lot can take me?" she hissed. "I'd like to see you try!"
She certainly didn't miss the mercenary's "Oh, so now she wants to be by herself," but she graciously chose to ignore it.
Two bandits rushed at her and raised their swords to strike her down. Maribelle dove between them, grabbing one by the collar and yanked him close.
Now, Maribelle had always liked to consider herself a decent woman. Unlike the other noblewomen, she did not bring men to her room for a brief moment of fun and discard them when she was through with them–not that she'd ever met any noblewomen who were like that, but that was beside the point! Maribelle was not a harlot, so it truly pained her to do this, but just as she had picked him up, she tossed the man away and into the arms of his partner, sending them both tumbling to the floor.
A third man charged at her, arms outstretched. Maribelle glanced down, and for the first time noticed a boy cowering beneath the table, clutching a piece of bread. She knelt down, the bandit's hands swinging over her head, and held out a hand.
"You wouldn't mind terribly if I borrowed that, would you?" she asked.
The boy glanced at her hand, then tentatively placed the bread in her grasp. Maribelle thanked him and stood up as the bandit charged at her again. Her boots squeaked as she twirled beneath his clumsy grab and thrust the bread into his mouth. The bandit blinked, shocked. That was all Maribelle needed to pull back and bury her fist into his gut.
The bread flew out of his mouth, all the air expelled from the bandit's lungs in a single blow. His sword clattered to the ground, his hands on his stomach as he gasped for breath. Maribelle, generous as she was, let him take one as she grabbed the lance stuck in the floor, pulled it back, and let go, sending the haft springing back into the man's face, knocking him out in a single blow.
Maribelle had anticipated that, relaxing her stance as soon as she saw him go down. What Maribelle hadn't anticipated, however, was for the force of the spring to tear it free, sending it twirling into the air and smacking her in the eye.
Crying out in pain, Maribelle stumbled back, tripped, and fell, landing on her rear as her hands flew to her eye. She glanced back to see how the man was doing just in time to see him vault over a table as an Elfire spell burnt it to cinders, kick a chair into the bandit leader, slash a second bandit in half, and use the armored bandit's hammer as an axle to kick him in the face.
She didn't have to have the eyes of an archer to see that he was struggling. His shirt was torn in several places, and one of the brutes had ripped his sleeve right off, not to mention his shoulders heaved as he fought to catch his breath and how he was leaning ever so slightly to the left.
To be fair to him, she didn't think even Chrom could take this many foes at once. Gods, even Lon'qu wouldn't be able to take this many enemies at once without this much strain, and he was the best swordsman she knew. Maybe putting him on the same level as Lon'qu was perhaps a tad ridiculous, but he was so very close, and Maribelle was not stingy enough to ignore that.
Still, she supposed she should step in to help–once this was done, he was likely to come crying to her for healing, so it was in her best interests to make sure he did not have to suffer any more wounds than he already had.
"Hey! You lot!" she hollered, plucking the iron lance off the floor and. "Look my way!"
Only the bandit mage stopped to glance her way. That meant he would die first. Maribelle drew back, stepped forward, and threw. The lance sailed through the air, over the tables, and clattered at the mage's feet.
Well, I just feel pathetic, she thought.
The mage probably thought so too. He raised his right hand, fire magic gathering in his palm, and with a shout, thrust it forward. Maribelle hurled herself to the floor, hissing as the wooden floorboards scraped her delicate skin as the Elfire spell flew overhead. She reached out, her fingertips touching the end of the iron lance, only for a shadow to cast over her.
Maribelle rolled to the side. A boot crashed down where her hand had been moments later. She looked up. Apparently the Grimleal leader had broken away while her mercenary had been busy with the armored Grimleal, so he was her problem now. How typical.
"Not so high and mighty now, are you?" he sneered down at her. "This is where harlots like you belong–on your knees!"
Again, she rolled to the right as the leader's foot stamped down again. "As if you would know," she snapped back, and she pushed herself off the ground and jumped her feet–it was just her luck that she'd done so right into the path of an oncoming Elfire spell.
Red-hot flames splashed over her face, sending her staggering back with a cry. She could feel her hair singed, and when she tried to suck in a breath, all she got was a mouthful of smoke. Gods, that mage is a nuisance, she thought, wiping the ash from her face.
The boards creaked in front of her again–the Grimleal leader making another grab for her, no doubt. Maribelle ducked, and as she opened her eyes, she saw the bandit fumble over her. If she'd still had her lance with her, she could have killed him. Instead, she settled for driving her skull into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him in one blow.
As the Grimleal leader stumbled back, gasping for air and cursing her name, she turned her attention to the mage. Already, he was preparing another spell to send her way. Maribelle narrowed her eyes. She knelt down, picked up the lance from the floor, and charged.
"Elfire!" the mage shouted, and magic burst from his fingertips. This time, Maribelle raised her arms to block. The attack singed, and the pain burned hot, but it was over in a moment.
The mage's eyes widened. Maribelle smirked back. That'll show him!
"Elfire!" Again, he cast a spell. Again, Maribelle blocked it. The mage stumbled back, only to hit a wall. He raised his right hand to cast another spell.
Maribelle cut him off by driving her lance through his left shoulder and pinning him to the wall. The Grimleal cried out, and his Elfire tome fell to the floor. His free hand reached up to tug the weapon free. Maribelle was glad to help him, if only so she could finish him off, but when she tried to tear the weapon out of the wall, it refused to budge. Scowling, she planted a foot on the Grimleal mage's chest and tried again, and again, it would not move.
Oh, you must be joking! she said to herself. I refuse to believe I cannot tear a stupid lance out of a stupid wall! It must be my wounds that are weakening me, that must be it!
A board creaked behind her. Too late did she remember the Grimleal leader. She spun around just in time to see him lunge for her.
Then, he stopped, looked down, and saw the tip of a sword through his chest. Her mercenary flourished his sword, dislodging the body as he stepped back to her side.
"Hey there, buttercup," he said with a smirk. "Why the long face? There's no need to fear when I'm around."
Never in her life had she actually been so glad to see him–and she certainly wouldn't start now. With a huff, Maribelle turned her nose up and replied, "What took you so long?"
The mercenary's smirk faltered. "Sorry, I was a little distracted," he muttered. "How's your day been?"
"Absolutely dreary."
"Oh, that's no good." The mercenary's eyes flicked over her shoulder, and she followed his gaze to find the armored bandit lumbering toward them. A glint in his eye, the mercenary leveled his sword at the bandit and said, "Then, how about we finish him off and be done with today?"
"That sounds lovely," Maribelle hissed, lowering her stance.
The mercenary twirled his sword once, then lunged at the bandit. The Grimleal bandit roared and swung his hammer across, but the mercenary ducked under it and stabbed him in the chest. To anyone else, such a blow would have been fatal. The mercenary's sword just glanced off his armor like it was nothing, and he had to duck away to avoid a backhand aimed for his face.
Well of course that's not going to work, Maribelle thought, rolling her eyes. Physical weapons are ineffective against armor; unless you have a hammer of your own, or an armorslayer, you might as well give up. Magic, on the other hand...
Her eyes fell to the Elfire tome on the floor. Slowly, she reached down to pick it up.
It was then that the bandit mage chose to remind her that she had not, in fact, finished him off by kicking the Elfire tome out of her reach. Had she the means to kill him, she would have–instead, she settled for glaring up at him, as if her gaze alone could burn him alive.
"Is there truly no limits to how much of a nuisance you can be?" she said.
The bandit just spat in her face. "You'll get what's coming to you, noble brat."
"I'll show you what's coming!" she shot back, and she kicked him in the shins.
To her knowledge, riding boots were not any harder than normal boots, save for around the heels and the ankles, but from the way his bones cracked and the way he howled, one might have thought she was wearing steel-toed boots.
His own fault for not having stronger shins, she thought as she left him behind to grab the tome.
Lifting it off the floor, Maribelle took a moment to dust the cover–after all, who knew where the poor book had been–but when she turned around to see how the mercenary was doing, she saw the mercenary flung across the room, crashing through one of the tables beside her.
Just a few feet away, the armored bandit stood in the middle of a splintered mess, his arm extended from where he'd thrown the mercenary. His eyes landed on her, then on the tome she was holding. Maribelle gulped.
Then, with a roar, the bandit charged at her. Yelping, Maribelle flipped open the book and held out her palm. Fire magic gathered at her fingertips. The bandit raised his hammer over his head. Maribelle jumped to the side and thrust her hand out. The bandit swung.
Splinters rained down on her, a hole in the floor where she'd been seconds before. Beside the bandit's head, the roof exploded.
She'd just panicked and missed. That was no big deal. She just needed another opportunity to fire off another spell.
From the look the bandit was giving her, she was not going to get that chance.
She ducked under another swing, then sidestepped a third. Maribelle raised her arm, but the bandit batted it aside with his free hand and kicked her into a wall. Dust showered down into her hair, and Maribelle gasped in pain as splinters dug into her back. She tried to push herself off, and it was then that the wound in her leg decided to act up, shooting pain up her leg and causing her legs to buckle beneath her. Her hand flew to her leg in a poor attempt to brace it and bring her back to her feet, but when she looked up, she was just in time to catch the bandit raise his hammer over his head.
Suddenly, the mercenary appeared at her side, pushing her out of the way. Maribelle watched, horrified as the bandit swung his hammer down onto him. She saw the weight crush his chest, heard his ribs crack beneath the weight as he screamed in pain.
"No!" she cried out.
Again, the bandit ripped his hammer out of the floor. He turned to face her and raised it to crush her too. Maribelle was much faster this time–before he could blink, she thrust herself into his arms and planted her hand over his face.
"Elfire!" she yelled, and fire magic came gushing out of every open slot in his helmet like water from a sponge. The bandit screamed once, then collapsed to the ground in a heap.
Slowly, Maribelle stepped away from the smoldering pile at her feet. She looked around, her heart in her chest and magic already primed in her hands, but the only bandits she could find were those laid at her feet, either groaning in pain or dead. The townsfolk around her emerged from beneath the rubble one by one, disbelieving that it was all truly over.
If Maribelle was being honest, she wasn't so sure herself–but it was true. They had won.
Then she remembered the mercenary at her feet and gasped. She looked down, worried, but her mercenary groaned and waved a hand at her to signal he was still alive. Not very well, from how much blood she could see pooled beneath him, but alive.
Sighing, she walked over to where she'd thrown her heal staff at the beginning of the fight and picked it up, but when she returned, her mercenary waved her away.
"Others..." he wheezed out. "Check others... first..."
"You're one to talk," she snapped back. "You've... what, three broken ribs?"
"Four. And I–" Her mercenary cut off with a wince. "I've had worse."
"I'm sure you have," she rolled her eyes–but even she could tell how fake that sounded. He was clearly in pain, and she never thought she'd ever find herself admitting it, but...
"Damn it!" she shouted, stomping her foot. "Just let me heal you, you dolt!"
Her mercenary blinked, taken aback for a moment. He hadn't expected her outburst, and frankly, neither had she. Maribelle glanced away, which perhaps made it even more awkward, but as she watched the townspeople speak amongst themselves, checking if everyone was okay, she refused to wipe the worry from her face.
At last, her mercenary sighed. "Alright. Only for you, buttercup," he said.
Kneeling down beside him, Maribelle carefully rolled him over and began her work. Truly, this had to be one of the most dreadful days she'd had in a while.
But, if she was being truthful, she did not hate everything about it.
Usually, I'd begin with some sort of single word apology for being gone for so long.
But usually, I'm only gone for a few months. It's been two and a half years, which is just a tad longer than a few months.
For anyone still reading, I'm really sorry for making you wait for so long! Normally, I'd have some sort of excuse, but I really just forgot about this story, so that's on me. I promise the next update won't take so long, I've a lot fewer stories on the front burner now so I should be able to keep this one a lot higher on the list of things to do. I fully intend to see this through to the end, however long it takes.
These chapters aren't usually as long as my other stuff (save for this one, but I tend to get carried away with fight scenes), so being able to finish another for next week probably isn't too out there, but given how busy college has been, it might just take me two weeks if stuff gets thrown my way.
Again, super sorry for anyone who's waited two whole years for an update! If you've waited this long for something to come of this, I've nothing but the utmost gratitude to you for sticking it out, y'all are great, and I hope I won't disappoint in the coming weeks! Take care of yourselves out there, and I love you all! Stay safe!