A Summoner's Vow

by Lore Keeper Haos

Nicola didn't expect to wake up in a new world for the second time, much less after dying. However, now that has he's going to get as much work done as he possibly can and maybe, just maybe, find his way back home and save his world. Unfortunately, things are never that simple or easy.

20. An Unwanted Banquet

There was a mix of relief and melancholy when Robin turned around rather than his sister. Relief in the fact that his sister hadn't managed to share his fate, melancholy in remembering her in full after what was approaching four years. Robin looked nearly identical to her, Nicola realized, the only real differences being in their eyes and nose: his sister's eyes were an electric blue while Robin's were vermillion and the bridge of the tactician nose wasn't slightly crooked from being set poorly after it had been broken. Everything else matched near perfectly.

"Ah, Robin," the former summoner breathed, "My mistake."

"Nicola," the silver haired woman greeted, tilting her head. There was a look of clinical curiosity in her eyes. "Did you recall something? I imagine so if you were able to mistake me for someone else."

"I thought you were my younger sister in passing," he explained. "I remembered her features in full and they mostly matched yours, hence the confusion."

"I see. Would your sister not have green hair like your own?"

"No," he shook his head, "Her hair was silver like yours, occasionally with black streaks through it when she could get hair dye to stay in it." He failed to mention that his hair used to be identical to his sister's, at least before he attempted to block a particularly powerful attack he wasn't sure he could explain.

"Hair dye?"

"It's a different sort of dye than what's used for clothes, less permanent. I think it's made differently? I never really looked into it deeply, just that it wasn't made from snails. I think."

"Dye is made from snails?" There was a mildly mortified look on the silver haired woman's face, her attention having shifted in full from his initial claim.

"Purple dye was a long while ago from what I remember, other dyes were made with colored sediments and other natural materials. That was a long time ago, centuries old history where I'm from, so the processes have long changed, I'm just unfamiliar with them."

The statement did very little to diminish the grimace the tactician wore.

"I see. So, your sister then," she remarked, snapping back to the previous topic as she gave her violet shirt a look of disdain. "What was she like?"

"Colorful," the spearman replied. "Quiet around new people, but not shy. Always willing to get into a brawl if needed, but restrained when the time called for it. Most of the time."

"Most of the time?"

"She had her nose broken by some guardsmen for decking—er striking— their superior then had to be held back from beating the four of them into a pulp. The superior deserved it without question, but he could have ordered his men to fire on her, at which point myself and several others would have had to get our own hands dirty."

"So she was insubordinate?" Mild offense laced with curiosity passed through Robin's scarlet eyes.

"Wouldn't you be if a child you adopted as a younger sibling was forcibly taken away and treated like a monster, far less than human, despite having done nothing wrong?"

"I... Fair point. I believe I know that feeling," she nodded. "While Morgan insists on calling me mother, I don't see him as my child, so much as a mildly irritating younger brother. Despite that, if someone tried to hurt him or did hurt him, I believe I'd lose my temper and show them what for. Is that the feeling?"

Nicola gave a noncommittal gesture.

"More or less," he shrugged. "When that happened I had to hold myself back from immediately jumping in because I would have made things worse." If not for his sworn brother holding him back, he would have been at his sister's side in a heartbeat and the duo probably would have been standing over a pile of unconscious bodies. Then they'd have been court martialed and that would have been disastrous given the timing. "Aside from that, she was good around children and intelligent to near fault when it mattered the least."

"Was she daft at other times?"

"Not so much that, but if she was interested in something she had to know all about it before her interests waned or changed. If I was the all rounder of us, she was the expert in more specified areas." The good memories were flooding in, time that had run from him. He recalled the night she'd kicked his door down and started chattering about the materials they used for their weapons and how, realistically, half of them shouldn't have been in natural deposits because they were synthetic materials. It had been a rather short conversation, abruptly ended when he introduced her face to the business end of a weighted pillow. He'd have been much more accommodating if it hadn't been well into the dead of night, when most reasonable people were asleep. She had always been a fair bit less than reasonable.

"So you were a jack of all trades, while she was well versed in specific matters, I see." An unreadable look flashed across the tactician's face. "And I imagine her name wasn't Robin."

"No, it was..." It took a moment for the name to match the face. "Luka."

Nicola didn't like the recognition that flashed in Robin's eyes, quickly replaced by cool stoicism. Her expression grew pensive then she shook her head, as if clearing her thoughts.

"I will admit that name does sound familiar, but it isn't my own." Her expression soured and her gloved hands clenched into fists. "How annoying, I feel more memories stirring, but nothing resembling clarity accompanies that feeling. If only memory-related magic wasn't a form of dark magic, I'd use it in a heartbeat to end this nonsense."

"A noble wish, but I do not believe such magic would work as you desire it to," a quiet voice intoned. Both the tactician's and spearman's eyes locked on the speaker, neither having heard nor felt them approach.

The duo was greeted by a young man with soft features and long blonde hair. His eyes were the color of the sea and his complexion was fair. He wore a pure white garb with golden trim, clerical in nature with golden arm guards and an emerald brooch adorning it. The air about him was cool and calm, nearly as serene as the Exalt's aura but less welcoming. Perhaps placid was the better term, calm and serene on the surface but with traces of murky depths that promised no such serenity if disturbed. Regardless, that didn't take away from the pleasant smile he offered, even if his eyes narrowed just slightly at Nicola. Perhaps it was a small sign of maturity that Nicola didn't choose to match the look with one of his own.

"Pardon the interruption," the man offered, giving a slight bow. "I am Libra, a man of the church so to speak, and I overheard talk of memory magic."

"And you chose to speak up then because they don't work the way I believe they would," Robin repeated, expression schooled to peeved near neutrality. Nicola's own expression matched the tactician's, though he did glance back to see Stahl approaching with a pensive look on his face. Libra paid that no heed and continued with a nod.

"Yes. Memories are a fickle thing and the magic to manipulate them, at best, is imprecise and flawed. Unless the practitioner is a master of the art, of which there are few, it is less an art related to restoring one's memories and more an art of fabricating and building memories based on the practitioner's desires and the subject's experiences."

"A hex with the potential to be permanent," Nicola hummed, more to himself than the clergyman. The blonde man nodded all the same.

"Indeed. That is the reason it is considered a Dark Magic and forbidden: finding a masterful practitioner is nigh impossible and the potential for destruction is nearly as great as a siege spell used."

"Because it could irreparably break or change a person by showing them the 'truth' so to speak," Robin deduced, earning another nod. "But then surely, if the practitioners of the art are so rare, how would one know if that in itself was the truth? Could they not manipulate the memories of those who know of them into thinking they are lesser or no practitioners of the art at all?"

"Perhaps that is the case," Libra gave easily.

"Perhaps," the tactician nodded. "Though I must ask where might your expertise on the matter come from?"

"I've had to deal with such mages before and research their trade," the clergyman said simply. His eyes hardened just slightly as he spoke, but neither Robin nor Nicola commented on it. "Regardless, do you not see the issue there?"

"No, I see it rather plainly and I can also see why you've surmised that there are few truly skilled users: depending on the scale and reach of their magic, they could have entre nations bending to their whims with little to no opposition and those manipulated would have no clue that it was happening in the first place."

"Not without sufficient enough willpower to break through the falsified memories and manipulation or an incredible shock, no," the cleric nodded. "But enough of that. I can understand why the Ashen Lancer was called to this event, but not yourself. No offense meant, milady."

"Some taken," Robin replied, earning a slightly appalled look from Libra as impish glee danced within her eyes. "I'm not so fragile as to hold a grudge or any ill will towards you over the accidental slight, but I was called here for a reason just as much as you and the others here were, in my case risking life and limb for Prince Chrom. And yourself?"

"I saw to healing the wounded and helping dispatch the ruffians responsible for the Battle of Nomos. While I would not call myself anything resembling the at healing magics, I was sufficient enough to buy the injured more time. Myself and my fellow members of the cloth."

It took Nicola a moment to process the statement. He didn't really recall seeing any clergymen the first few days of rescuing citizens and clearing debris, but he did remember hearing offhandedly that some of the goddess' favored had arrived. He'd figured that it was Chrom, Lissa and anyone else closely associated with Naga. Members of her church didn't really cross his mind at that point, not because he forgot about the church—it was hard not to when barely a few days before he'd nearly gotten into an altercation with one of the higher ups—but because he didn't expect any meaningful action from them so soon after the incident. Then again, after a certain point not everyone was being sent to the Duke's mansion for treatment and shelter: there wasn't nearly enough space for everyone and there were a number of cases where people were injured so severely that they wouldn't make it all the way to manse if flown. That meant there had to be another place or multiple places they were taken, Nicola never really had the time or thought to check on those locations, trusting the Pegasus Knights to get people where they needed to go. That occupied his mind for a few moments before the other part clicked.

"Ashen Lancer," Nicola repeated, tilting his head to the left.

"First I've heard of it."

"It is what the people you saved have taken to calling you," Libra said with another nod. "There is a story behind the title, but I am largely unfamiliar with it."

"I see..." It wasn't as if he hated the title, but he hoped it wouldn't stick. He wasn't some master of ash or anything–

"Not yet, but you will become one if you practice enough over the next year or so."

–The lance, spear rather, part was more accurate. He was more surprised he wasn't being called something more insulting like the Stone Flinger or Brute Rescuer.

"One day you will recognize that people can have some modicum of respect or admiration for your actions and abilities."

When I'm worthy of it, perhaps. I've still much to do first.

Apollyon made an inarticulate sound in his head and Nicola got the impression his other would have rolled his eyes if he was capable of doing so.

"Regardless, it is what the people call you," Libra affirmed. "Perhaps some light will be shed on the situation once the ceremony begins."

Nicola could only hope so. Before he could voice that, Stahl finally chose to approach properly.

"Nicola, Lady Robin." the green knight greeted, voice cheerfully stiff. "And pleasure to meet you, milady?"

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, but I'm not a woman," Libra replied, offering a kind smile as Stahl went rigid before offering a profuse apology. "Think nothing of it, it is a common occurrence due to my appearance and my voice. I'm more surprised that neither of your friends made the same mistake."

"You did call yourself a man of the church rather than a sister," the tactician offered.

"I'm rather good at determining such things," Nicola said simply. He glanced at Robin and gave a thinly veiled grin. "Most of the time."

The silver haired woman narrowed her eyes in response, realization following seconds later. "I can only hope you wouldn't make the same mistake now, Nicola."

"I don't believe I could. You look far more alive and well than you did when we first met and when you and the Shepherds arrived in Nomos. Bar being a bit pale, you look fine."

"I would hope so, though I won't say the injury doesn't still ache," Robin sighed.

"Ah, the impalement issue," Stahl chimed in before covering his mouth, drawing Libra's attention.

"Impalement issue?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, just a near close call," Robin supplied. "Compared to what happened across Themis, that painful experience felt small and underwhelming."

Stahl looked as if he had quite a bit to say in that regard, but the tactician shook her head and the topic dropped immediately. Libra, more than capable of reading the room, dismissed himself.

"I would rather not be a straggler or stranger in your conversation. Perhaps we can speak more at a later time," he offered before moving away silently and serenely. Once he was gone, Stahl let out a heavy sigh.

"You two didn't offend him, did you," the green haired knight asked.

"I would hope not," Robin frowned. "While he did look somewhat intense to Nicola, he wasn't exuding any hostility or the like."

"I think I rubbed him the wrong way by being here, but not to the same degree I bother other members of the church," Nicola shrugged. "I never really figured out why that is. I should have asked about it."

"That would have made sense and I'm certain it's a thing you lack," Robin casually retorted.

"Tactical wit does not make you the bastion of common sense you believe you are. Else you wouldn't have lost that last game to Virion after you learned his tricks."

"I stand by the fact that he cheated," the tactician huffed. She then glanced back to Stahl. "Being truthful, before he made himself known I didn't realize he was there."

"Same here and I tend to be a bit more aware of my surroundings than the average person," Nicola nodded. "It's like what happens with Kellam, but rather than feeling like there's just a hole in my perception when he's out of sight or outright seeing him when he is around there was nothing."

"As in, nothing at all, not the weird feeling and look Robin gets when she can feel something nearby, but not see it," Stahl elaborated.

Robin shook her head. "No, it was like he was one with the room and then he wasn't. One moment I'm talking with Nicola about his sister and the next moment I feel the air shift and a person in my blind spot."

"That's more or less the feeling I got," Nicola agreed. "Whoever they are, they're pretty good at what they do."

"He was a War Monk, one of very few elites in the church, excluding the handful of Sages and the church's head," Stahl explained. "I almost forgot you two wouldn't be familiar with them at all, what with not being from here and all."

"Those are the healers who have taken up arms as well, no?"

"They've sworn themselves to protect and heal the land in the Goddess' name," Stahl nodded. "They are some of the best healers around, though more limited in capacity than your more standout clergymen, but they're also some of the sharpest blades in the halidom. They're just also the fewest in number—having eight or so members or similar—and bound near exclusively to the orders of the church."

"So, strong, but limited in deployment capacity," Robin hummed. "Do they have titles and the like?"

"I wouldn't know that," the green haired knight said with a shrug. "What I just said is mostly common knowledge, anything more would require you to speak with a member of the church."

"I see." The tactician's face grew contemplative. " I may have to look more into them then, if only to learn more about their role in the halidom."

Robin tilted her head to the left and rested a curled finger on her upper lip, supporting her elbow with her other arm. The lazy way her hair swayed and the openly unapproachable way she stood made her look identical to Luka and Nicola hated it. It was uncanny and he wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed the similarities before.

"Because you weren't looking for them. Now that you recognize them, you find them easily."

Nicola could always count on Apollyon to say the annoyingly accurate things he didn't want to hear. He was overthinking things, he recognized that easily, but recognizing an issue didn't exactly solve it immediately. He'd have to remind himself that Luka and Robin weren't the same and to not treat them as the same person, the same thing he had to do with Lissa and Chrom. He'd need to distance himself.

"I'll be back in just a few," Nicola said, giving a nod to both Robin and Stahl. The former quirked an eyebrow, while the latter returned the nod as Nicola made his way back to Aquila.

"Have a nice talk," the knight asked.

"Nice is relative. Just clearing my thoughts a bit," Nicola sighed. "Any idea when the ceremony is going to start?"

"Soon, I believe," the violet haired knight offered. "The sooner the better."

That was the most conversation he got from Aquila beyond their first meeting. Nicola had long picked up on the fact that she wasn't the most talkative person, not when she wasn't in her comfort zone. She didn't like crowds, she certainly didn't like loud noises and he was almost certain the ceremony would be a vague memory if looks could accelerate the passage of time. That was why he'd chosen to come back to her side, because she wasn't going to make him engage in a long conversation if she didn't need to. She was content with leaning against a pillar with her arms crossed and observing. It helped that she didn't remind him of anyone from home so he could organize his thoughts. Attempt to at least.

No sooner did Nicola begin centering himself, did the door to the building open and a tall court official entered. A number of knights, clad in ceremonial silver and azure armor, accompanied them and lined up along either side of the door.

"The Exalt is finishing her address to the audience as we speak," the official barked out. "We've a few moments to get you all organized by name and move you to the venue, so let us not waste time. Alysia Aurea!"

"R-right!" the girl who had waved at Nicola perked up and made her way to the front of the room.

"Cordelia Brigitta!"

The red haired rider was next, followed by a plain looking man with rust colored hair then a tanned mage with blonde hair. A few others lined up next, before Libra was called, then Nicola. Robin was next and Stahl rounded out the group. The group was led out by the official, flanked by the knights and the few escorts accompanying individuals, through the wintry air and frost-touched road that opened into a large plaza.

Nicola pursed his lips as he saw hundreds—possibly thousands—of people gathered, far more than he was comfortable with being around. The cheers accompanying the group's arrival turned the mild frown into subdued grimace, one that grew as the crowd called out to them.

"The Scarlet Wings and Brave Flier!"

"The Lightning Tactician!"

"Wasn't it the Silver Martyr?"

"The Axe Angel's there too!"

"So are the Verdant Rider and Everyman!"

"The New White Wings!"

"The Windseer!"

"Wait, is that a Manakete?"

"That's the Ashen Lancer!"

"The Ashen Lancer!?"

"THE ASHEN LANCER!"

Nicola nearly wilted where he stood as the already loud crowd roared his title. The majority of the people here had to be from Nomos or Themis as a whole, the people of Ylisstol wouldn't have had nearly the same reaction given his reputation. He barely made out a faint chuckle from Robin, glancing back to see her hiding her mouth behind a gloved hand. She was laughing. He was nearly dying of embarrassment, ears bright red, and she was laughing.

"Are you certain she's not Luka without her memories?"

The thought did cross his mind once more, but he pushed it away as embarrassment made way for mild mirth. Robin wasn't even a quarter as impish and off the wall as his sister, she was far more subdued and collected by far. He could only hope she was doing well, but knowing her talent and the people around her Luka was probably fine. He hoped.

The spearman, so caught up in his thoughts, missed his name being called until an armored elbow dug into his side. His eyes snapped to the side in time to see Aquila incline her head forward. Wait, it was his time already? Thankfully not, the individual calling out to him was more mouthing his name rather than speaking it aloud. He almost did a double take when he realized the one calling to him was Lissa, her hair falling to her shoulders rather than tied into pigtails.

The princess sported a new gold, cream and white dress in place of her usual yellow and white one. Unlike her original dress, this one was primarily white and cream instead of yellow, with golden embroidery and symbols along its skirt and the sides of its bodice. There were no sleeves for this garment, replaced by a pair of silken white gloves that ended just below her shoulders that were further adorned with the twining and curving golden designs Nicola recognized to be from his old coat. Completing the garment was silver a brooch adorned with a vivid teardrop shaped sapphire, shaped like the birthmark Chrom and Emmeryn shared.

Once she had his attention, the princess offered him a smile and mouthed out 'nice ears'. Nicola returned the smile, his ears twitching as their tips grew pink. He was glad she hadn't waved at him, knowing he would have immediately returned the gesture then likely shriveled up and died on the spot as his already shot nerves would have overloaded. At least the smile could be passed off as pertaining to the event at hand.

Thankfully the ceremony went far faster than he anticipated it would. Rather than some overly long and ostentatious recollection of each person's deeds and the accolades being granted to them, there was a short summation of the former by Emmeryn and a medal pinned to their attire by Lissa for the latter. Afterwards, Chrom—clad in a ceremonial white a sky blue suit with the Falchion at his side as always—shook the recipient's hand and they were escorted to the next, larger building where the banquet was to be held. Nicola felt somewhat bad for Cordelia, the red haired woman swooning and nearly fainting when her time came, and nearly rushed to support his friend before Aquila held him back with a gesture. Instead, Chrom caught the red haired woman and helped her to her feet as the young woman who had gone before her returned and helped her along.

When his own turn came, following after Libra gave each of the royal family deep bows before shuffling along, Nicola felt his own heart leap to his throat. He tried to smile as whoops and hollers calling his name and supposed title sounded off, but he wasn't sure if he succeeded. The reassuring smile Emmeryn gave him as he took a knee before her and dipped his head, not at all to hide how red his face was as the crowd roared his name after the Exalt summarized his deeds.

"Just breathe," Lissa whispered as she pinned a shield shaped medal to his coat. "You may not realize it, but you've been holding your breath since you got up here."

He hadn't even noticed, more focused on keeping himself steady as his nerves threatened to give out. He took a shaky breath and nodded, the cool air drawing away some of the heat burning his cheeks as his pounding heart slowed ever so slightly. That was enough for him to make it to Chrom and accept the prince's hand.

"Not fond of large gatherings, I take it," the prince said, cracking a wry smile. When the spearman nodded, he continued. "Best thing to do is just imagine they're all potted plants and it makes things a lot easier."

"N-not naked?" That was the advice he'd seen and heard given all the time back home, not that he'd ever thought to try it.

"Wouldn't that make it worse?" The genuine confusion in the prince's voice was enough to get a small laugh out of Nicola as he moved along, gradually regaining his composure as he was led further and further away from the plaza. Once he was within the banquet hall he took another deep breath. At least that was over with, now he just needed to make it through the banquet and not offend any of the Ylissean nobility. Easy enough if he just vanished into a corner and drew no attention to himself. Before that, he'd need to check on Cordelia and make sure she was alright.

Finding the red haired woman was easy enough, considering she was the only woman in the grand hall with red hair. She was sitting at a table hunched over, facing away from the rest of the room, which wasn't the best sign. Alysia was by her side, hovering defensively at her side as others passed by. Her guard lowered as Nicola approached, recognizing him immediately.

"Sir Apollonia," she beamed, causing the sitting Cordelia to look up. He offered both a gentle smile as he took a seat across from the red head.

"Just came by to make sure you were alright," he explained, causing Cordelia to blush and look away.

"I embarrassed myself," she sighed. "I thought the situation would allow me to muster the courage to make eye contact with Chr– the prince, but I couldn't and nearly fainted instead." She looked down and sighed to herself.

"Do you and Chrom have some sort of history," Nicola asked.

"Nothing of the sort," Cordelia denied, catching herself as her voice raised. "I just... I–"

"Delia has a pretty bad crush on the prince," Alysia explained as the red head nearly devolved into a stuttering mess. She shot her fellow pegasus rider a baleful look, but made no effort to rebuke her. "I can see why: Prince Chrom is charismatic, strong and handsome. He's also not unapproachable to the common folk, like myself, and feels genuine in all things he does."

"Far better than what a disgraced noble like myself deserves," Cordelia grumbled, burying her face in her hands. The flat look Alysia gave her told Nicola that this came up fairly often. He wasn't going to pry there, as much as he considered Cordelia a friend he wasn't going to have her talk about a clearly sore subject.

"Let's change subjects," he offered, "I'm familiar with Cordelia because she trained with me and escorted me around when I first arrived in the halidom, but I'm not familiar with you... Alysia?"

"Yup," the grey haired woman nodded, not put out in the least by the spearman not remembering her. "I was your first opponent during that training exercise much earlier in the year. You advised me to better assess my opponents before charging in. Before the incident."

Nicola vaguely remembered that part of the day, though the memory was much dimmer than his outrage when Cordelia arrived and the battle with Anna afterwards. Alysia was the super stiff and earnest girl with the good charging form then.

"Oh, my apologies," he began, but the grey haired rider laughed it off.

"We only talked once, it's perfectly fine to have not remembered me," she smiled. "Besides, you've been taking care of Delia in your spare time, sparring with her and being a good friend when you can, no?"

That wasn't incorrect. He hadn't spent a great deal of time with Cordelia once she was longer required to escort him around. They did still spar, namely when Phila had them fight one another, and he did go running with her to help her improve at it, but beyond that she spent more time with Sumia—notably because the rest of his time was spent learning 'Earth' magic or bashing his head into a wall looking into Ylissean myths. They were still relaxed around one another, though Cordelia had no qualms snapping at him when he forgot his standards were different from the norm or giving him a run for his money when his spearmanship was dipping.

"Something like that," he nodded.

"He tries," Cordelia eventually said. "Thank you, by the way. It means a lot."

"No problem, Cordelia. I'd be a pretty terrible friend if I saw you in a bad spot and didn't at least check in."

"He's got that right," Alysia grinned. "Just let us or Sumia know if you need anything, you can't do everything on your own, ya know?"

"Right." Cordelia's expression made it known she had some choice words about that.

"Don't work yourself too hard," Nicola offered instead, taking a different approach. "If you're going to beat me, you'll need to be in top form."

That sparked a different reaction from the red haired rider, a taken aback gasp before stony neutrality broke through. Then her eyes narrowed and burned as a severe smile chipped away at the stony mask.

"You'd best not sit on your laurels, Nicola. I may not be able to best you now, but I'm getting much closer than I was when we first met. I can only hope you strive to improve just as much as I do."

The former summoner raised an eyebrow and offered a wolfish grin in turn. "Oh? Then perhaps we shouldn't hold back in our next bout."

"I'd like that, once things settle down a bit more."

"Right, it's a promise then."

"Can I watch," Alysia asked. It was rare for her to see Cordelia fired up, especially so soon after one of her moods took her. The sharp smile she wore was a hidden expression, one Alysia rarely saw unless Sumia was nearby. The sharp misconception that most pegasus Knights had about Cordelia was that she was perfect at everything and looked down on others, but it was largely incorrect: over the months since the grey haired girl had made the choice to bond with Cordelia she learned that her red haired friend was easily one of the hardest workers in the group. Sure, she had talent in spades and a mind sharper than the blades she honed when left to her own devices, but more than that she never stopped working, never stopped trying to grow. It was daunting and off putting at first, but it was one of her more charming qualities, knowing that her red haired friend would never resort to half measures. What she hadn't known was that Cordelia was fiercely competitive. That side of her never showed up in spars, group training exercises or patrols, instead Cordelia was stoic and aloof, as if hiding parts of her real self from the group as a whole.

After the attack on her Alysia could see why.

"If Commander Phila allows you to, you may," Cordelia answered. "I cannot say whether she will or will not, but ultimately it will be her decision."

"Her and Aquila's, no doubt," Nicola agreed, reminding Alysia that she was before two remarkable people once more. Commander Phila rarely took on apprentices proper, but both Cordelia and Nicola trained directly under her when not preoccupied by their other duties. If any other the other knights knew that they'd more than likely writhe in fury.

"Right. I'll ask another time," the grey haired rider nodded. With that, the conversation waned into comfortable silence. Nicola would occasionally ask questions about people, often between shooing away waiters attempting to offer him food. Cordelia and Alysia did their best to answer his questions before his head jerked to the side, eyes thinning into concerned slits.

"I'll be back in just a few moments, please excuse me." He rose from his chair with silent grace, resembling a true nobleman as he took long, smooth strides through the growing crowd. He'd seen someone, someone who he'd imagined wouldn't be present. There was a brief swaying of golden ringlets as Nicola weaved past another waiter and a pair of noblemen stepping his way without so much as a word, stopping only when the figure he saw halted.

"Maribelle," he asked as the woman stiffened then turned slowly. It was indeed the noblewoman, but she looked less than pleased in the pink and white dress she wore. Makeup made her already porcelain complexion become doll-like, her bright red eyes practically glowing as golden curls spilled to her bare shoulders.

"Ah, Nicola," Maribelle huffed, looking away. "Could you pretend you did not see me? I'd rather not have more attention brought to me."

They exchanged several looks in a few moments before Nicola nodded. Maribelle didn't want to be anywhere near the banquet, let alone in the dress she wore. There was more to it as well, but the frustration tinting her expression said she didn't want to talk about it—not now and preferably not ever. Reasonable enough and Nicola wasn't going to pry, not when he could read between the lines.

"Just let me know if you need anything," he offered instead. The noblewoman gave a brusque nod and slipped away in just a moment.

"That's going to come back up."

It is.

And you will do nothing to prevent it?

Implying I can 'do' subtle and provide aid.

He felt Apollyon give an amused huff before falling silent once more. Nicola knew he was many things, but subtle wasn't one of them. Good at masking his feelings perhaps, but he had the subtlety of a wyvern romping around in an armory and eschewed most attempts at it. That being said, he knew he was going to be drawn into whatever was troubling his rather begrudging friend, the two of them were in the same room and that could only last for so long before something went wrong.

He gave it an hour. He was off by half of one.

Between the oncoming disaster, Maribelle's hurried departure and chatting more with Cordelia and Alysia, Nicola was approached by several groups of people. The first was of the Thalassa Duchy, offering him an invitation to visit their lands as a guest for providing aid to their neighbor. Simple as he was, he did not miss the dark haired noble girl batting her eyes at him invitingly as her father spoke. He ultimately declined, giving a polite apology accompanied by a bow, stating that he still had business in the capital to take care of before he moved on to his next destination: Regna Ferox. The duke of Thalassa took it quite well, though his daughter left with a sullen look, not that Nicola truly cared when he was only interested in a single person.

The second set of nobles that reached out to the spearman consisted of the scion of the Tethys Duchy and his entourage of peers. Rather than offer greetings and goodwill like the prior duke and his daughter, they instead wanted to get a measure of Nicola's worth and temperament. Perhaps then, it was telling that they grew furious when he ignored their leader after the third jab aimed his way. Talking wasn't really his strong suit, which was why it was so easy for anyone with a good head on their shoulders to talk around him. Instead silence and action were his preferred tools: he wasn't going to make a fool of himself losing his temper, not when being so blatantly provoked and when it would reflect poorly on those who deigned reward him. A petty part of himself and Apollyon wanted to laugh as the nobles grew tired of his silent company and left, no doubt to find another to heckle, but he kept that at bay. There was no need to antagonize the nobles, regardless of their intentions.

The third was Robin, carrying with her two drinks. Stahl followed not far behind.

"You look distracted," the silver haired tactician said, offering Nicola one of the drinks.

"Can't. Alcohol doesn't do anything for me," He declined with a shake of his head.

"Do you have a high alcohol tolerance?"

"Nah, some of the stuff from back home makes my body burn most poisons out of my system within a few minutes if they aren't potent enough. Alcohol isn't an exception there."

"I find myself wondering what kind of business you found yourself in back home, Nicola," Robin remarked, sipping her own drink before frowning. "Hm, far sweeter than what I like."

"Pear wine is known for its sweetness," Stahl added as he took a seat. Without his armor he looked far less stiff and approachable, Nicola thought to himself. Not that Stahl was the least approachable of the knights he'd met in Ylisse, that was still Frederick by and large. "Generally it is paired with something sour to help neutralize the sweetness, but it appears no such thing was prepared. That is a rather bold choice."

"Why so?"

"Because pear wine on its own is too sweet and far more alcoholic than it seems, so the sour agent is there to dilute the alcohol content of the drink," the green haired knight supplied. "Without that it is very likely several people are going to get very very drunk and have to be escorted out."

Well that was concerning. Nicola didn't really have much good experience dealing with drunk people. Most people who fought in his home were similarly unaffected by alcohol and those that weren't either drank moderately or like alcohol was water. In Zenith he had primarily dealt with light weights, namely the entire Askran royal family save for the queen. Veronica, once she came of age to drink around the time he did, and her brother were far better at managing their drinks, but Queen Henriette was on another level entirely. Thankfully the Order of Heroes rarely drank heavily: the growing number of rather impressionable young Manaketes and teens within their number served as a deterrent. The rather common disasters and hijinks when things were peaceful also helped, one couldn't effectively deal with the mirror realms connected to Zenith and the Commander's money making machinations without some level of sobriety.

"What's on your mind," Robin prodded after a few moments of contemplative silence. "Something–"

"I'm not carrying you," Nicola finally said, getting a blank look from the tactician. The blank look twisted into a scowl.

"As if I would drink enough to become inebriated," she huffed, turning up her nose at him. "I will have you know I hold my alcohol rather well."

Nicola gave her a sidelong glance, her cheeks and nose tinted red as she looked away.

"Right." He glanced back at Stahl and the untouched drink on the table. "Are you doing alright? We haven't really talked that much."

"Oh, I'm fine. Pear wine isn't to my liking," the other men replied. "I'm much more of a spirits person, but I'm not fond of drinking too much."

"I meant in general, but that's good to know." At the very least he could trust Stahl to be responsible.

"In general? I've been better, but I've also been worse. I haven't had much time to really work on my hobbies these past few months, which I find mildly irksome. Then again, with more of those Risen popping up from time to time and a few other things with them I can see why."

"What do you like doing," Nicola asked, rather plainly avoiding the Risen topic for the moment. It wasn't that he was disinterested in them entirely, but he wasn't about to ask about them just yet. Judging from the sound of things they were a growing issue, but the Shepherds hadn't actually requested his help with them so he figured they had that handled for now.

"It's a little embarrassing, but I like cooking in my spare time, it's the only thing I really excel at," the knight laughed, more to himself. "Beyond that, I dabble in a little bit of everything but don't really stand out compared to say Chrom, the captain or even Donnel."

"Don't you have years of experience on the kid?"

"I do, but he's a bit of a prodigy. It took him a few weeks to get the hang of spears properly, but he's more or less on par with Sully when it comes to spearmanship and he likes to give old Ruffles, er Virion, a challenge or two with his bow when they practice together. That's not even including how fluid his movements are, to the point where it's almost as if he sees attacks coming before they reach him in drills and reacts accordingly. He can't always dodge or deflect them and he does freeze up when startled, but he certainly won't find much trouble in a fight so long as he keeps his head on straight."

"Ah." That was a lot to take in. Nicola hadn't really thought too much about Donnel, truth be told. He didn't dislike the younger teen, but he hadn't made much of an impression on the spearman in their first meeting. Earnest and a little clumsy perhaps, but nothing like how Stahl was portraying him.

"Come to think of it, we've never sparred with one another, have we," Stahl pondered. "I've seen you train with Sully and the captain and even Lon'qu, but I don't think we've actually tried sparring. Not that it would really go well for me, considering you can keep up with Lon'qu and draw the captain to a stalemate."

"You're right, we haven't actually sparred," Nicola began, just as Robin tuned back into the conversation.

"We haven't sparred together either, or really fought side by side since the day we met," she interjected, face still red but visibly losing color even as she downed the second drink in one go. "Then again, I hear you've been causing a ruckus at the Mage's College in your free time."

"Until proven otherwise I have done nothing wrong," Nicola said as quickly as he breathed. Robin narrowed her eyes.

"You did something."

"I most certainly did not," Nicola denied, only to continue after a beat. "They were warned my spellbook was fairly hard to use, but they attempted to use it anyway. It is decidedly their fault for not heeding that warning and opening a hole directly under themselves."

"Excuse me?" Stahl gave a bewildered look and he digested what had just been said.

"How?" Robin was much more to the point.

"We had an exercise where my class swapped spellbooks and were told to try casting the first spell within them after familiarizing ourselves with the notation of other Mages. It was supposed to both show that mages have to do a lot more work if they aren't using their spellbooks, but that it isn't impossible so long as one can understand what they are reading. I got a Wind Mage's spellbook, written entirely in flowery, cursive Ylissean and had to cast Wind."

"Cursive?" Robin cocked an eyebrow.

"The looping, interconnected way people write in letters and sign their names in on documents."

"Ah, the font nobility writes in."

"Sure. Regardless, casting the spell wasn't the hardest thing to do, but deciphering small text written into a magical array with no indicator of where to start first in casting was tedious. Still, I managed to get it on my second try, though it was less a blade of wind and more a burst of it." It was hard to not grumble about that. He wasn't upset he didn't grasp the spell in one go, he was more upset he couldn't read the pages in the first place because of how tiny and closely spaced the spell text was.

"A Lightning Mage got my spellbook and they were warned preemptively that they may have difficulties casting anything within the book—Apparently my way of scribing spells is remarkably inefficient unless you have an easy way of gathering mana into yourself or something, but it works just fine for me. They didn't listen and tried to cast Stone, only they flipped to the wrong page by accident and instead of raising the earth and launching it forward the ground beneath them split into a pit beneath them and almost resulted in them breaking their legs."

"Did you catch them?" Stahl gave Nicola an eager look.

"Heaven's no, I'm not allowed to move past a brisk jog there. I'd rather not crash into an inattentive passerby or have dozens of spells lobbed at me for startling people in the practice fields," Nicola fixed the green haired knight with an incredulous look before realizing he wasn't necessarily familiar with the Mage's College and its rules. He gave a short laugh as he continued. "No, one of the instructors cast a spell that had the mage float out of the pit before they hit the bottom."

Then he'd been accused of purposefully trapping his spellbook, but the same instructor demonstrated that he hadn't by casting Stone and what was more than likely Elstone using the array within the book and a bit of their own theory crafting. It was an impressive sight to Nicola, more so considering he'd never seen a mage more or less invent a spell from scratch rather than modify one in seconds. It was also a grounding experience, seeing that he hadn't seen everything an experienced mage could do.

"That's good to hear at least. I hear injuries aren't uncommon there, but I imagine broken bones and worse aren't that common."

"Not for adepts like myself, no. Ricken says that it isn't very uncommon to see an advanced or expert mage get too caught up in what they're doing and blow themselves up though. Non-fatally... I think."

Stahl grimaced at the thought, having expected mages to be far more together than they apparently were. Perhaps Ricken and Miriel were outliers in that respect. He quickly changed the topic before he could get too far out of his depth. "This is rather abrupt, but what's your favorite food?"

An easy question that wasn't so easily answered. "Are you familiar with hamburgers?"

"The Plegian dish?" Ah, they did exist in Ylisse then. "I've never had one or made one, but I hear that they're pretty good depending on how they're made."

"They're a dish from my home as well, but I imagine what Plegia makes and what I'm thinking of are a bit different."

From there, the conversation devolved into what went on a good burger and what sorts of foods Stahl had made. Robin boasted that the green haired knight made the best food she'd ever eaten, aside from bear stew and the pies Sumia made, much to his embarrassment before Stahl asked if Nicola knew how to cook. He almost said no, but recalled that he wasn't particularly bad at grilling from what he'd heard on Zenith. It was something that wasn't really feasible back in his home with how overcast and prone to rain it was when it wasn't frigid or sweltering outdoors. The constant ash and deployments didn't particularly help with that either.

From there the conversation took another turn, when Nicola asked the duo what their preferred foods were. He wasn't particularly surprised when Robin said dessert without batting an eye, the hungry look in her eyes when she mentioned the pies Sumia made had told him enough. Stahl was surprisingly undecided, unable to choose between a thick and hearty soup with stock or stir fry, a Valmese dish that had taken Ylisse by storm a few years back.

"Watery soups are no good as a main dish," the chef stated rather plainly. "They aren't bad taste wise or as a side, but you shouldn't need much more than a few pieces of bread with it to fill you up if the soup is to be the main course."

Nicola simply nodded along as the conversation continued until a third person arrived at the table with them.

"You would be Sir Apollonia, correct," a tall blond man with sharp rose colored eyes asked. He carried himself with an air of dignity that had long sunk into his aging features, crow's feet visible along his eyes and faint age lines visible near his well trimmed goatee. His hair, almost in contrast, appeared to be a mess of silver and gold curls at first glance, only for Nicola to realize that the man's hair had been deliberately curled and unraveled neatly to give it that look. Contrary to most other nobles in the room—the way he carried himself could belong to few others—he wore a red and white garb with golden filigree, complete with what looked to be a set of ivory and rose gold rings, a wine red coat with golden embroidery over a white vest and wine red tunic. His pants were white as snow, held up by an earthy brown belt and matching dress shoes.

"That would be correct, sir..."

"Patrikalos Adrasta," the man greeted, offering a polite bow. "Though you may instead know me as the father of a Maribelle Adrasta or the Duke of Themis."

Ah.

"A pleasure to meet you, Duke Adrasta," Nicola managed, offering a less than winning smile. For all the time he'd spent in the Themis Duchy he'd never met the Duke, only heard of him taking reports on the damages and casualties of the Battle of Nomos and all around his home as the days went by. The nobleman had also nearly depleted his own coffers to both start the reconstruction of the duchy and compensate all who had lost their homes or loved ones in the attack before having them evacuate to Ylisstol for the time being. He looked surprisingly well, though there was a deep set weariness in his movements, one that belied his apparent age.

"You may dispense with the formalities, Sir Apollonia," the older man replied. "Though I must request to borrow you from your friends for a few moments."

He didn't like the sound of that, but if it was some way to help the people of Themis without directly binding himself to the duchy or halidom he was fine offering his aid.

"Robin, Stahl?"

"Go ahead, it's not as if we plan on going anywhere," the tactician drawled, sinking into a lazier, relaxed position in her seat.

"What she said," Stahl nodded. "Take as much time as you need."

With both of their approvals, Nicola walked a short distance with the nobleman, away from the others in the banquet hall, but not so far away as to look conspicuous.

"May I ask what this is about, Duke- Sir Adrasta," Nicola corrected, much to the amusement of the noble.

"I had a few questions for you and nothing more at this time," the older man smiled. "Were my finances not in a rather dire position, I would have offered you a monetary reward or gift from my personal vault, but that is not the case at the moment. Instead I must ask you what exactly is your relationship with my daughter?"

"She's a friend of mine," Nicola answered after a beat. He would have called her an acquaintance, but he couldn't fool himself into thinking of the haughty noblewoman as anything less than a friend and comrade—much to his chagrin. "We met several months ago, while the Shepherds were away in Regna Ferox and we bonded through adversity. Said bond was only strengthened when your duchy was attacked and she wanted to rush back on her lonesome. And further still when we were made to fight at each other's side while rescuing those we could."

The Duke hummed in response, but made no indication to the answer pleasing him or not. Instead he continued. "And how do you feel about Maribelle at this time?"

"Your daughter infuriates me to no end, but she also helps keep me grounded when my head gets too large. She's abrasive, blunt and rather rude at times, but I can trust her to stand by my side in a fight and to be truthful to me even if the truth isn't what I want to hear at times. She's also caring and strong willed, bullishly so in regard to the latter, to an admirable degree."

Nicola wasn't entirely sure he said what the noble wanted to hear as the blond man raised an eyebrow. "So many complaints mixed in with your compliments and yet you consider her a friend?"

"I believe our friendship comes from the fact that we can be so blunt and direct with one another," Nicola explained. "When we first met, we hated one another, but over time and with some coercion from a mutual friend we came to understand one another quite well."

"And, to be clear, you do not love my daughter?"

That made Nicola pause. How would he explain his feelings in full here? He could only be so blunt without coming off as disrespectful, but he could tell that Patrikalos wanted a truthful and to the point answer rather than a fanciful one. "I do not. She's someone I would consider myself close to and I'd risk my life to keep her safe just as I would for any of my friends, but I do not have that level of affection for her nor does she for me."

Maribelle's deepest affections belonged to Lissa and Lissa alone from what he saw. She wasn't obsessed with the princess, but her mood brightened considerably when she was around and she practically melted when she smiled. Nicola only knew one other love as pure as that, driven by devotion rather than lust or want, and that caused his heart to ache.

"Breathe, you nearly lost yourself in nostalgia once more."

The spearman gave an imperceptible nod to the voice, thanking him quietly as he forced closed the floodgates on rose tinted memories marred by mud and rot. He was stronger than that, but his too fresh grief had robbed him of that fact for the longest time. Loss was an erstwhile companion, loathsome and as painful as a jagged blade piercing his heart again and again but accepted nonetheless. He needed to remember that, to be able to move on.

"Thank you for your truthful words," the duke smiled, more genuine and fatherly. "Had you lied, it would have known and it would have reflected poorly on you in my eyes. Instead, I learned more than I expected and I feel as if I can entrust this single task to you: remain my daughter's friend. She has a dearth of them and for all that she puts up a brave face, that affects her deeply. You need not agree with everything she says or sacrifice yourself for her, but offer her your ear and shoulders if you believe she needs them and your words at other times. Please."

Were it any other person, Nicola imagined they would have agreed after some deliberation and thought, To him this was far more grave. Could he protect his friends without failing them as he had those before? Could he even pick up the pieces that would remain if he failed? Was he doomed to repeat the past and lose those important to him again? Surely not. The gods could be cruel and callous, but few could harbor such relentless cruelty without batting an eye and those that could he would destroy. It was only just that he did so, if only to prevent them from doing unto others what had happened to him.

With all those thoughts racing through his head he–

A resounding slap echoed across the banquet hall accompanied by shocked silence. The spearman turned to see a small crowd forming, with Robin and Stahl slowly approaching while Alysia appeared to be holding someone back just barely. Libra kneeled between two people, one hand positioned to block someone while the other reached towards a fallen person. Getting closer, Nicola saw that Maribelle was the one being held back by the grey haired pegasus rider while Libra helped Cordelia to her feet with a single hand, the other blocking the noble who had been heckling him earlier. The look on the red haired woman's face was muted and empty, even as half her face burned red and what looked to be blue and black splotches formed beneath her right eye.

The world grew muffled then, like he was at the bottom of a lake and straining to hear anything from the surface. He hardly registered the Duke of Themis as he strode forward, face blank as his eyes burned an eerie blue. He did not realize he'd struck until the noble youth stumbled back, five thin blades of red cutting his face as he reeled from being slapped by one of the gloves Nicola had worn just moments prior.

Silence reigned once more until Libra spoke up, voice cool. "I believe you've been challenged to a duel for your actions, Lord Pleione. I can only hope that you are prepared or will have a suitable champion to fight in your stead. The same goes for you Sir Apollonia."

What? Nicola kept his face neutral as he finally realized what he'd done: he'd struck a noble and now he and his allies would be out for blood. Gods damn it all.

---

A/N: Pretty late, but life happened and when it became clear it wasn't going to allow me to post this in a reasonable time frame, I started working on a backlog. That and another thing that will be out later today, after sleep and work and what not.

As usual, if you enjoyed this chapter and want to see things from other writers, consider visiting the Fanfiction Treehouse Discord Server (9XG3U7a). You don't need to be a writer to join or anything like that and the community is pretty active and comfy. Regardless of that, thank you for reading thus far and I'll see you with the next chapter or in the new thing.