Chapter 8
House of the Bull
He didn't know how much time had passed since he finally was able to sleep but given the lack of light it hadn't been long, an hour or two perhaps. Atris accepted that sleep was simply beyond him and got up to start his day early. Exiting the tent, he planned to wash up when he heard grunting in the distance. Sully was really going at one of the training dummies they had brought with their little convoy. The woman's strikes were fierce, bordering on feral as he watched her from afar.
Continuing to watch her train, Atris thought of how strange Sully had been acting. There was this frustrated energy that had infected the woman, an energy that had only grown when Chrom announced that they would stop in Bastion briefly. His thoughts drifted back to their awkward conversation in his tent about rabbit stew, and then that time during breakfast.
Shaking his head and watching once more as the cavalier ferally struck her "opponent". With a long and deep sigh he decided for the second time on an action that bordered on bravery into stupidity. As much as he might regret the end results of this, he couldn't just leave Sully in this state.
"I think he's dead Sully, you're whacking a corpse at this point." Atris joked to her weakly as he approached her. The crimson cavalier shifted her eyes in his direction and let out a short grunt.
"Gotta make sure sometimes. Givin' we've been fightin' those rot chumps," Sully retorted with a bit of curtness. The woman's eyes narrowed and then slackened as if surprised by her hostility. Biting his lip, Atris let out a sharp breath. Perhaps it would be best if he was just direct.
"Sully, I'm just going to come out and say it. You've been acting strange, what's wrong?" There was a long silence between the two before Sully turned to him, her face one of indifference, yet nothing could hide the frustration that danced upon her bottom lip.
"You want to help, Atris?"
"Yes."
"Then pick up a training blade". Atris sighed and acquiesced to the cavalier's request. This was definitely the territory where bravery ended, and stupidity began.
Readying himself with his training weapon, the tactician and the cavalier engaged one another. Fighting Sully wasn't anything like fighting Lon'qu, she was far too bull-headed to fall for his mind games. Besides, getting Sully angry was just a bad strategy all around, somehow the angrier she got the better she fought. It wasn't like the Feroxi berserkers who unleashed their rage in an attempt to smash their foes into submission, it was like Sully attained a greater degree of clarity from her anger.
Dodging out of the way and knocking her blade away from him, Atris stepped into her guard and slammed his body into cavalier to knock her off balance. The glint in her eye and swift retaliation as they clashed once more was his reward. The tactician had always wondered how Sully had managed to weaponize her anger in such a way. Rather quickly his thoughts focused on how he planned to get one up on Sully, guess he'd have to be a bit crafty.
Reaching into his coat he cast a wind spell that blew him out of the way of the cavalier's next strike. His boots briefly skidded along the dirt until he found stability and lunged forward striking the surprised knight and driving her back with cocky smirk, as she looked at in him mixture of bafflement and annoyance.
"Oi, I don't remember sayin' spells were on the table!"
"Yea, but I figured you'd want a little challenge. I promise not to zap you though." Atris shrugged at her in a playful manner. Sully's posture relaxed slightly, a genuine smile spreading across her face as the two charged each other down.
Despite the additional advantage of his wind-based maneuverability Sully ultimately beat him, but if her labored breathing was an indicator she had to work for that win. Covered in sweat the two of them threw down their training weapons and sprawled out over the ground trying to cool off. As the two lay there a peaceful and comforting silence was shared between them, the only thing to disturb it being their panting.
Sully looked over at him with a grin on her face and then looked back toward the slowly illuminating morning sky. Whatever was bothering her had at least been squashed if only momentarily. Yet, the feelings of last night, the thing that had happened last night that memory or premonition still weighed on him. Especially the words that had come from his mouth, that he could been lying about something. Despite the growing and consuming pit in his stomach at the recollection, he simply couldn't take it anymore.
"Hey, Sully... I uh, I think I had a memory resurface last evening," he suddenly blurted, the words he spoke had made the situation far more of a reality than even when he had torn open the earth. The cavalier propped herself on her elbows and looked at him surprised.
"No foolin'? What did Chrom say?"
"I... I didn't tell Chrom"
"Sumia... Lissa?"
"Nope, you're the first person I've told so far." Atris confessed the look of surprise on Sully's face turned to shock and perhaps a bit of embarrassment that confused him. The woman simply stared at him, her eyes shooting in several directions before they finally focused back on him. She nodded as a sign for him to go on.
"The thing is the memory doesn't make sense. I was in some kind of courtyard; I think it was in Ylisstol. But the strange thing was that I had just come back from a war." Sully looked closely at him in slight disbelief.
"Wait... you came back from a war?" The tactician nodded to her; they both knew exactly why that simply couldn't be. The last war to come to the continent was just short of fifteen years ago, the one between Ylisse and Plegia. There was simply no way Atris was that old.
"Yea, to make things weirder I... I felt older, I remember having a thick covering of stubble on my face. There was also a blurred figure I was talking to. They were... important to me, but I don't know why or who they were. Looking back on it now, it's all vague and jumbled together. None of it makes any sense to me, perhaps it was a premonition. I simply don't know."
The cavalier seemed to contemplate the words he told her. Naturally he had left out the memory of his "lover", that still made no sense to him. It also made no sense of some type of foretelling of the future. The lake he had met his "lover" at was the one he and Chrom threw rocks at, but only he and the prince had ever visited that lake. Who was that woman? Despite his best efforts the once so familiar voice was lost on him, and soon the ill feelings of last night were replaced with sheer frustration.
"Between you and that "Marth" this is interestin' times for sure." Sully said after a while. Perhaps this had been a mistake on his part. Atris should've known better than to put her on the spot like that.
"Sully, I'm sorry for that. I should've-"
"Oi, don't go about with the sorrys! I'm... I'm not the best one to talk about this stuff with, never really have been. Still, I, uh I... ah hells, I'm glad you trust me enough to share it." The woman let out a series of annoyed grunts before she took a deep breath and sighed, her eyes solely fixed on him. "You, uh, still curious about what's buggin' me?"
Y-yea, if you're willing to tell me that is." Sully nodded to him and sat up crossing her legs to get more comfortable, Atris following suit.
"I told you I grew up around here, fact is I grew up near Bastion, little runt I was at the time. But, er, sayin' I grew up near here ain't quite it, I grew up in Bastion, inside the castle to be more specific. See, I'm the sister of the ruling lord, Count Sullivan if you need the name."
"Wait your-!?"
"No interruptin' Atris! Save the questions for the end of class!" the woman barked out before her eyes turned to the ground. After a few moments and a deep breath, she resumed. "Even after thinkin' on it, I still don't know where to start. I left my home to travel to Ylisstol to prove something. At first just becomin' a knight completely of my own doin' was enough, but now that I'm back." The red-haired knight looked at her hands and clenched them." My hands are as empty as they were back then. I've nothin' to show for myself."
"That's not true, you're part of the Shepherds. Gods above Sully, you're entrusted to guard the prince of the realm and you're amongst the best fighters to do so. Isn't that a worthy feat in itself?" Atris gripped her shoulder as she nodded at him, frustration once again coming over the cavalier's face.
"Its... I don't know Atris. I'm no good with this feelin' stuff." Sully shook her head and chewed on her lip briefly. "Sul's done more than any brother should for their family. He raised not just me, but our other two brothers Sullain and Sulland, the headaches we no doubt were. I can't believe those two actually ended up as bull knights. I still remember how high Sul was ridin' the day he knighted them, and the hollow look in his eyes when we buried them. Wasn't long after that I left."
"I'm sorry about your brothers, Sully." Atris squeezed the woman's shoulder firmly hoping the simple gesture would do anything. A small chuckle came from Sully as she gave his hand a playful swat and turned to him, a small if reassuring smile on her face.
"It's okay, I've learned to move on since then, if anythin' those two knuckleheads inspire me far more than get me all teary-eyed." Atris' eyes shifted to the ground briefly as he did his best to hide his frown. A small fear gipped his chest at the thought of losing anyone, and even more so of trying to move on without them. "I wanna do them right though, the livin' and the dead. With Sul though... it's different."
"What makes him so much more different than your other brothers?"
"A lot of things. Sul taught me to fight, to ride, to care for a horse, but it's more than just what he taught me. All my brothers could remember our parents, the way they looked or sounded, the things they did. Yet, when I think back to my earliest memories... they're not there. My first memories are of Sul, of him takin' care of me. I don't want him to think all the effort he put into me was for nothin'." The woman's eyes opened slightly as she let out a weak scoff. "The way I go on, you'd think I want him to be proud of me. Pretty damn childish if you ask me."
Atris thought back to his match with Lon'qu. While he had full confidence he could win, there was no denying a part of the reason why he did it was selfish, perhaps even childish. The tactician wanted to make the Shepherds proud of him, he wanted Chrom to be proud of him. The thought gave him a small chuckle that seemed to stir the cavalier's curiosity.
"I understand, a big part of why I fought in that tournament was because I wanted to prove myself as a Shepherd. I er... I wanted you all to be proud of me." Sully's face slackened slightly, the frustration slowly leaving the cavalier as she eyed him in a playful manner.
"You fought well, that Lon'qu was a tough nut. Bet he'd give even ol' Frederick trouble. That said was it worth gettin' your shoulder sliced up for it?" Atris stared her straight in the eye the energy of that moment coming back to him and spreading to the grin that grew on his face.
"Absolutely." He said with not a single bit of hesitancy, the cavalier blew a playful raspberry at him alongside a soft punch to the shoulder. Atris couldn't stop himself from laughing as the cavalier smiled broadly at him. The two sat there simply enjoying each other's presence and he felt that the things that troubled both of them were gone for at least a little while.
The rest of the day proceeded much like it normally would have, except with a far heartier breakfast. The rugged terrain of Gran was just around the corner, and they all needed the extra strength. As they walked, Atris busied himself with a bit of reading to distract himself from the silent dread that had grown within him again. It was strange though, the dread seemed to weaken as they moved closer to Bastion.
Was he simply being paranoid? Perhaps the stress of going through that... whatever it was had simply pushed him too far. In a way it didn't matter, what mattered was the road ahead of them and getting to Bastion safely. Soon enough he lost himself within his studies and put the feelings of last night in the back of his mind.
During their travels the group had come across an aging obelisk, a "graveyard" of rusted weapons lay behind it. Sully explained that the monument and many others like it were set up back during the Triadic Wars as way to tell the Feroxi and the Plegians to "piss off their lands". Getting closer to the obelisk the words were faded but still legible, "To the invaders of this land. Your weapons shall rest among the others, either by your hands or ours".
Atris looked at the hundreds of weapons that had weathered the years, how many more monuments like this were there? How many weapons at one point had filled these "graveyards" only to be taken by time? It was one thing to read about the tens of thousands that died during the Triadic Wars, it was another to see the proof before them. Eventually the group moved on from the morbid relic of an age long past, Atris hoped that whatever was around the corner was not a repeat of that history.
Bastion lay within a fertile valley supported by a great river with farmland covering the entirety of it in a great brown quilt of the recent spring harvest. From what he had studied of the county's topography, Gran encompassed most of the mountains north of Themis and held claim to the lands that stretched west towards the Sea of Galda which stood at the center of the continent and separated the three nations. Unfortunately, despite the flat countryside there was too little fresh water to be found in those lands to be used for agriculture.
However, what the county lacked in farmable land it made up for in industry and raw materials, with the iron from Gran said to be of the highest quality in the entire continent. Iron and manufactured goods weren't the only major export of the county, while the lands to the west produced little in the way of food there was a resource that made Gran rather wealthy, salt. For hundreds of years Plegia was long regarded as the only reliable provider of salt, until the county stumbled upon the great deposits to the west.
Roused from his thoughts by Stahl Atris saw it, the City of Unyielding, Bastion. The headquarters of the Order of the Stampede. The city was built into the side of a mountain, a towering figure that seemed to cast an invisible shadow over the entire valley. Even from this distance a great plume of smoke made itself visible in its rise from the city. Atris asked Sully if such a thing was ordinary, something the cavalier answered with a nonchalant nod of her head.
Coming closer and closer to the city, Atris noticed that it was divided into four different levels with each one being smaller than the last, no doubt the higher levels were dug deeper into the mountain. Except for the third level which jutted out from the cliff in an unnatural manner, it was here the great smoke was emitted. He also began to notice that something was off when he compared Bastion to the likes of Ylisstol, or to that of the Carved City.
Hailing the guard who regarded them at first with suspicion until an older man called out to Sully with the name "Little Horns", a name which caused the cavalier to blush. It didn't take much longer for their group to be allowed into the city. With an escort to guide their way through the city and deeper into the mountain they came to the "castle" of Bastion. In truth the count's seat of power was dug so deep that it resided entirely within the cliffside.
The Shepherds soon stood within the heart of the mountain, a massive table lay at the center of the audience chamber, it appeared that in times of celebration the chamber doubled as a feasting room. A great and looming banner hung at the back of the chamber. A field of white and red divided horizontally and at its center lay the black head of a bellowing bull, its head thrown back as if ready to charge. The words "Beware the Bull" lay emboldened at the bottom. Underneath the great banner he counted twelve or so people who turned their attention to them.
The two that stood out was a man in his late twenties with deep red eyes to match his hair that was cut short and ending in small curls. The red-haired man was tall, perhaps only slightly shorter than Chrom. They wore incredibly fine clothes that displayed not only their agile if slightly slender figure, but the deceptive robustness hidden underneath.
No doubt this man was Sully's brother, the resemblance was uncanny. In fact, the man was... there was no other way to put it, he was incredibly pretty. It took a great deal to will not only his eyes away, but to squash a few improper if slightly questioning thoughts he had about the cavalier's brother.
Focusing on the other man to distract himself, they were shorter than the count, more of average height than tall and solidly built and kitted out in knightly attire. His hair was a dirty blond pulled back into a ponytail, as opposed to the count, this man's face bore more of a dignified look with sharp and observing eyes that reminded him of a predatory bird. If he had to guess the blond man was in his early twenties not too much older than Chrom or him.
"Ah, so the time has come to welcome the great royals of House Ylisse. Too long has it been since the House of Heroes were guests of the Bulls. I welcome you Prince Chrom and Princess Lissa to my-" Count Sullivan spoke with flowing and honied words before he suddenly stopped. His eyes fixed on Sully as they widened at the sight of her and soon his mouth hung open slightly.
"Count Sullivan-" Chrom began before the count barreled down from the other side of the chamber much to the shock of the blond man beside him. It was genuinely startling how fast the count was, with Atris barely leaping out of the way and Chrom nearly getting bowled over. Count Sullivan swooped down and swept up an embarrassed Sully in a tight embrace, the woman desperately trying to escape from her brother's grasp.
"Beloved sister! Oh, how the years have passed by so quickly and yet have dragged on without you around!" Count Sullivan exclaimed with immense affection to the now red-faced and baffled crimson cavalier.
"What the!? Oi, bro! Get offa me! Argh!" Sully shouted out, trying to pry herself from her brother. Atris had to admit he was surprised Sully couldn't escape from the man's grip. Looking to Chrom, the man was trying his best not to laugh, however the fun had to end eventually. With a loud cough, Count Sullivan looked at the prince, his face paled as he unceremoniously dropped Sully to the floor with a dull thud.
"F-forgive me your highness, it has been too long since my sister has graced these halls. I... I simply forgot myself," the lord stammered out looking from Chrom to his prone sister with a look of mortification.
"Nothing to forgive, Lord Sullivan. I do know it's been many years since you've last seen her. I think we're all entitled to a slip in etiquette every now and then." Chrom reassured the count, the man's face relaxing as things slipped back into a more formal manner and typical manner. No doubt to Chrom's chagrin, the prince had long since made it clear how he hated the weird dance of the tongues that was courtly courtesy.
During this time the name of the blond man was revealed to be Sir Alain of House Themis, the Duke's nephew and an emissary of the Order of the Vine. Upon the discovery of this both Sully and Sir Alain locked into a fierce if awkward staring contest. Atris cringed as he swore there were sparks flying off the two from their strange duel.
"Ahem, if you're both done? I understand my sister is rather comely, and Alain quite handsome as well but I hardly appreciate this... whatever this is. Granted a union between our houses would be something." Count Sullivan jovially taunted as both knights tore their eyes from the other in what seemed to be disgust at the idea. Sir Alain eventually coughed awkwardly and turned to the count.
"In the interest of keeping things as they were before, perhaps we should simply pretend this... disturbance didn't happen. If it pleases you, Lord Sullivan we should continue this at a later date." The count nodded to the blond knight as he left, but not before shooting one last look at Sully. After a moment of silence Sully finally spoke up, not even bothering to hide the annoyance in her voice.
"Bro, what in Naga's name is a bleedin' vine rider doing here, especially that one!?" The count let out a sharp sigh before turning to Sully.
"He's here because this childish feud between our orders is just that, childish. Father was many things, but..." The count shook his head as he seemed to be refocusing himself. "It doesn't matter, what does matter is that Plegia skirmishes our borders and kills our people. That is far more important than this as you would put it...'pissing match', we've engaged in for the past hundred years."
There was something about the count's words that bothered him, yet he didn't know what it was. Looking at the man he appeared to in a rather delighted mood even if it had soured briefly. Then again, shouldn't he be? His sister had just returned after almost six years. Still, something was off, and it pricked at him. Eventually though the tactician resigned the feeling away, perhaps he was simply tired from the journey.
"Damn... I uh... I'm sorry about that bro." Count Sullivan waved his hand energetically as if to sooth the woman's concerns.
"Fret not Sully, the reason Alain is here is because he's far more level-headed than many members of either of the orders. A simple commotion such as this will do little if any damage. Besides, believe it or not he is just as excited to see you too." Sully groaned as the count shook his head with a small chuckle before turning his attention to Chrom. "However, I must move from this onto the matter of what brings Ylissian royalty to our home."
"Now it is your turn to forgive me, Lord Sullivan for this is not a social call. I came to make sure that a group of Feroxi messengers did in fact make it to Bastion," Chrom answered the count whose demeanor remained ever so slightly amused.
"Yes, they did come, I offered them succor and additional protection on their way to Ylisstol. You'll be pleased to know they took only the protection; they seemed quite eager to make their way to the capital with all haste." Chrom was relieved at the answer he had received. After the debacle at the Longfort it was nice to know that things were moving along smoothly.
"Good, we should move along as well. I thank you for seeing me on short notice your Lordship."
"I must protest that decision your highness, Bastion sits on the farthest corner of Ylisse's northwest mountains. Unless you plan to circumvent them or Naga forbid travel through them, you'll either waste time, or find yourself amongst perilous and unstable paths prone to crumbling. Why not stay the night, I'll arrange for a guide to see you through the mountains on the morrow." It was a generous offer from the count, even if it was evident this was more about seeing his sister again than anything else.
"If I may put forth my opinion, Chrom?" Atris asked the prince who nodded at him, with the count's eyes now drawing on the tactician with a curious interest. "As restless as I know you are to get home, this will get us there faster. I'd recommend accepting his Lordship's offer." Chrom placed his hand to his face covering half of it.
"You're getting too familiar with my tells, Atris." The prince said with a small smile. "I accept your offer, Lord Sullivan. All I ask is the Shepherds, my personal companions be kept in the same general area, and to direct me to the training or sparring area. I've got a lot of energy to work out of my body."
"A warrior after my own heart, consider it done your highness. For any that wish I can arrange a small tour of the city, we've not the size or grandeur of Ylisstol or the Arena, but we've spent hundreds of years bending this land to our will. Perhaps you'll appreciate our... bullheaded way thinking!" The count let out a rousing bit of laughter as Sully simply groaned in response. A second groan was heard from one of the count's retainers, a woman with short black hair.
Atris was rather excited about the tour. His curiosity of Bastion was great, and he needed to sate it. Alongside him was Stahl, no doubt looking for the best places to grab some food in the city, and oddly enough Lon'qu was also joining them. The rest of the Shepherds went about their own ways, notably Sully or perhaps more accurately her brother was taking the chance to reunite with their sibling. Their guide was the same older man from earlier who now introduced himself as Simon.
The lowest level was the Valley, which was the primary trading hub housed the majority of the city's citizens. Unlike Ylisstol, where the dwellings were a mix of stone, marble and wood, or the Carved City in which the far majority was wooden based, Bastion's dwellings were largely composed of brick structures. The markets in comparison to the other two cities were far more limited selling and buying things of mostly mundane nature. However, there was a small tome shop to which the tactician gleefully found himself reunited with a thunder tome.
Their next stop was the level above, the Grazing, a massive series of walls, towers and fortifications that served as possibly the single largest barracks in the entirety of Ylisse. Unlike the other baronies, counties and even the sole dukedom of the halidom, Gran kept a standing force at all times. A holdover from the days when northwest Ylisse saw continuous conflict, so it was the Grazing wasn't simply constructed to house the city's personal defenders, but the entirety of Gran's defenders.
There was no hiding the prideful smirk on Simon's face when he clarified by Gran's defenders, he didn't mean simply the army in service to the count. The county had a long-established tradition of allowing those who had served in the order or the army to be given plots of land to work and call home, free from the usual taxes and imposed land inheritance on common-born landowners and landed knights alike. Simon let out a small and mischievous snicker when he let it "slip" how each settlement was given a cache of weapons and training equipment as a welcoming gift.
Atris thought it a rather clever solution to Gran's longstanding problem of being bordered by hostile powers. With numerous settlements holding trained fighters scattered throughout a tough and hostile terrain it would turn any invading force's attempt to conquer the region into a blood-ladened slog. Even on a morale factor such a thing was a powerful thing to consider. The people of Gran owned their land, they were fighting for homes that were theirs, that their families had held for decades if not longer.
The tactician inquired why such a practice wasn't standard across Ylisse. Any of the joy in Simon's eyes died, the smirk replaced with a contemptuous scowl. The older man answered that too many of those in power fear losing even the illusion of control, that such obsession with hollow vanity and empty pride were the reasons his ancestor's left central Ylisse so long ago.
To his surprise, Lon'qu asked a question of his own. The swordsman was curious if they feared a rebellion with so many of Gran's people not only trained but armed as well. There was an odd shine in Simon's eye as if he had just heard a fairytale, "We fear rebellion as much as a camel fears death by thirst," was his answer to the Feroxi. With that they once more climbed to the stairs to the level above.
Even from a distance the heat hit them with a long and dry wave, and it only grew hotter when they entered the warping inferno that was the Furnace. This was the level that jutted out so unnaturally from the cliffside, artificially lengthened and turned into a massive industrial sector that largely forged instruments of war. Their guide took within his hands a recently finished shirt of mail, the steel reflecting the light brilliantly. Simon informed them that few places in Ylisse forged gear of equal quality to Bastion, and none could craft it with their speed.
Making their way deeper into the molten heart of this massive workshop. The great pounding of what was easily dozens of hammers in unison vibrated his guts and nearly drowned out Stahl's question of how many craftsmen the Furnace supported. Roaring over the hammering, Simon responded that at its peak two hundred smiths and twice as many apprentices once worked at this level.
However, those numbers had sharply dropped during and after the last Plegian-Ylissian war, that one could barely even describe the Furnace as smoldering during those days. As their guide recounted the events, his words festered with anger and disgust that gave him pause. However, the man took a deep breath of the scorching air and simply smiled. Simon turned to them and proudly declared that while the Furnace's numbers hadn't recovered completely under Count Sullivan's stewardship, its fire burned brighter and hotter than ever.
As the heat threatened to churn Atris' stomach, their guide thankfully ordered a retreat from the fiery heart of the workshop. Wiping the sweat from his brow the older man stated with a small chuckle how little he missed working this level. Taking a drink from the flask Simon passed around, he noticed a series of large pipes jutting out from the mountainside and disappearing into the workshop. Strange, they had not seen any of these pipes during the tour. Regardless, the Furnace was truly a monument to the bullheaded resilience of Bastion and its people.
The last level was one they had already been to, The Horns. This level was visibly the smallest as the vast majority of it was dug deep into the mountain and housed the county seat of power, the headquarters of the Order of the Stampede, and was the personal dwelling of the count. With the tour finally over, Atris had finally come to realize what was off about the city.
Bastion was an ugly place, a fortress that masqueraded as a city. The numerous reinforcements throughout the fortress to hold back the mountain from reclaiming its lost territory, the constant beating and drumming of the Furnace and the choking smoke emitted from it. The sun itself seemed lost on the "city", its rays dying early into the day as it set behind the mountain. Some places in Bastion were devoid of sunlight and its warmth, wreathed entirely and constantly in darkness due to the fortifications.
As Atris looked upon the "city" from the top level he could see it all. A bizarre mixture of ugly practicality and the stubborn vainglorious attitude that led towards Bastion's construction. Even if the people carried on with their lives here no different than Ylisstol, there was no doubt this place was first and foremost a military structure that people happened to live in.
It was such a strange thing even compared to the Arena, Bastion was something far different, something far more... real and grounded. A place that invited war with none of the attempts to make it greater or prettier than it was. The thought came to him that perhaps that was the intended point, to tell the truth even if it was ugly. With a sigh he also thought that it was a possibility he was simply overthinking things, the people seemed to have quite austere attitudes, aside from the count whose words flowed more like honey.
"I thought the Feroxi reeked of blood and steel." Lon'qu said, his voice quiet like the breeze that flowed on them. "I can tell you've noticed it too. I always wondered why Basilio seemed so keen on fighting the bull knights in the Arena. I must admit my own curiosity has been piqued." With that Lon'qu left the group as Stahl looked at Atris with a confused expression.
"I'm sure he's still adjusting," The cavalier said before turning to Atris. "I'm going to grab a bite, figured that after that I'd head down to the river, I'm curious what kind of plants grow down there. Want to join me?"
"No thanks, Stahl. Truth be told I'm feeling a bit tired, and I just need some time to relax." Atris replied feeling a bit guilty at turning down the cavalier who simply waved his hand back and forth at the tactician.
"Believe me if anyone can understand getting some zs it's me. I'll catch you later, Atris." Stahl said before starting a light jog back down the stairs. Atris smiled at the man's unrelenting enthusiasm for food, the sudden interest in herbology struck the tactician as odd, but with a lazy stretch he banished the thought away.
Finding one of the servants, he eventually made his way to the room that had been reserved for him and Lon'qu of all people to share. Atris honestly didn't care much, no doubt the swordsman was a quiet individual unlikely to wake him, unless it was important anyway. Collapsing onto the bed, the tactician closed his eyes and found a nice nap waiting not too far away.
Atris stirred slightly with a mumble and a lazy swipe at whatever was disturbing him. Whatever it was it was soft and small, and... was that a giggle? Again, the sensation came at him and slowly he opened his eyes to see a blonde princess looking down at the man with a smirk. He grumbled and flipped to his side, another giggle coming from Lissa as she began to poke him again. He finally had to admit defeat to the young royal as he sat up properly and rubbed his eyes before he focused his attention on her.
"Mandatory checkup from your doctor." Lissa said with an almost blindingly radiant smile. All Atris could do still was mumble as the princess teasingly put her hand to ear as if to hear him better. All he could manage was a groan to the princess's teasing as he stood up and took a seat at one of the chairs in the room. With a great deal of satisfaction Lissa began to do her follow up on the tactician.
"So, I'm finally free to go back to sleep?" Atris asked, still stricken with a bout of drowsiness once the healer had stopped examining him. It was a moment of silence before he asked the question again, suddenly a forceful presence found itself on his shoulder. He had forgotten that Lissa was Chrom's sister, and while tiny she definitely was stronger than she seemed.
"Nope, I think you need a massage. There's a lot of knots in your shoulder, and while its healed it could lead to unnecessary stiffness in the future."
"A... massage? I don't recall you massaging either me or Chrom when we got pelted with arrows or stabbed with spears." The tactician remarked with an odd bit of suspicion, he had still remembered Lissa's words from the Arena very well.
"One, those weren't a nasty slice from a blade. Two if my brother wants a massage, he has Sumia for that." Atris groaned and cringed at the thought as Lissa took pleasure from his suffering of that particular mental image. "I know your shoulder's been sore since you so gallantly carried our pegasus knight's belongings that first day of travel." Of course, the gallant jokes were back now too, but still she was right his shoulder had been growing stiff as of late.
"Alright, Lissa. Do whatever you think is needed." Atris conceded to her, removing his coat. There was a bit of awkwardness at the prospect of Lissa giving him a massage. It just seemed like a rather intimate thing to do, but this was just a medical thing, right?
He had never really confronted the girl on her supposed crush, granted this had come from Chrom who didn't really strike him as being particularly savvy on this type of thing. Besides, unlike him whenever the topic of Marth got brought up, she'd cover her face like some fairy-tale maiden, she never so much as did that around-.
Atris was suddenly thrown back to reality when the princess's fingers began to work into his flesh. The pressure and release as she worked on his shoulders was utter rapture and his body became like clay at her touch. Suddenly he felt the princess' fingers on his neck and it was too much, against his will Atris let out a low moan. An audible squeak came from behind him as despite his best attempts a fierce heat came to his face.
"T-that... that felt good, Atris?" The princess stammered a bit at her question.
"S-sorry, I, uh, it did, yea..." Atris mumbled as Lissa still worked his shoulders and neck slowly slid her hands into his shirt and began to work his upper back. Something was telling him this was going too far; she had only said she was going to work on his shoulders. Gods, he had to stop this despite how good it felt.
As he was about to rise a strange sensation struck him and rooted him to the chair. What was that on his back? It felt cold... no it was wet, and by Naga it was so damn slimy! Shooting up from the chair and knocking it down he turned to see Lissa laughing uncontrollably. Whatever she had done to him the sensation was crawling up and down his back and was making its way to his stomach.
"You absolute devil, what have you done to me!?" Atris shouted, shaking his body violently in an attempt to free himself of whatever creature had latched onto him, gods he was about to retch. Lissa never answered him however, her laughter had caused the princess to topple over and was nearly rolling on the floor in a fit. With no other alternative Atris' panic finally overtook him and he flew through the door screaming for help as he ran down the hallway.
It had taken around ten minutes to pacify him before Sully removed the frog from his shirt. The cavalier was smirking and seemed incredibly amused at the prank. The tactician shot her a death glare only to be returned with an earnest look as to say "What, it's bleedin funny!?". He simply let out a disgusted groan at the very recent feelings the amphibian had subjected him to.
A sudden commotion caught the attention of the Shepherds, excited murmuring from the knights about the sparring area. With nothing better to do, the group composed of Sully, Kellam, Virion and Atris made their way to find out what was the cause of such excitement. Coming to the training ground, Chrom was engaged in conversation with the count, an energetic and confident smile on the prince's face.
"Are you truly wishing this of me, your Highness?" Count Sullivan asked, his arms crossed with a curious look on his face.
"Yes, I am. Khan Basilio was quite vocal of your martial skill, there's also no shortage of talk in Ylisstol about the renowned, 'Fury of the Bulls'." Count Sullivan frowned and shifted as if uncomfortable with the nickname.
"As you requested so shall it be so, but I in turn have a request. I wish to test myself against the treasured Falchion," the count replied as Chrom seemed take back at first, but eventually nodded in answer. "Fantastic, then we shall fight till either first blood, submission or until disarmed." Count Sullivan declared as a retainer brought forth a silvered axe with what appeared to be runic inscriptions on the blade. Lissa had mentioned long ago of weapons that could unleash spells and he wondered if such a weapon was one of them.
The two men entered the arena and as soon as the match was declared they slowly circled each other. Looking upon the two men, Chrom still was full of the same energy from before and radiated absolute confidence. Lord Sullivan... his demeanor had changed completely; the former jovial and rather affectionate noble had a look of chilled indifference to him. Atris bit his lip; he didn't know why but something about the way the man looked unnerved him.
Chrom and the count circled each other as both men sized each other up. It was then in the blink of an eye that Lord Sullivan rushed in near matching the speed of Lon'qu and clashed with Chrom. It had been such an explosion of quiet energy that it threw the tactician off, even more surprising was that the count seemed to be physically pushing back Chrom the prince's feet dragging backward their boots scrapping against the stone as the two remained deadlocked.
The prince gave a strained growl and broke the bind deflecting the axe to the side as they retaliated fiercely. The count still retained the same look as indifference as they parried Falchion aside and resumed their attack with a flurry of blows. Despite blocking each one, Chrom still appeared to be losing ground, the prince growing with greater frustration as they struggled to gain back control of the fight.
Watching the two fight he noticed something in Count Sullivan's eyes, while his face retained this almost passive indifference, the man's eyes were a stark contrast. They were utterly focused and bulged with what seemed to be a frigid rage that only seemed to grow with each strike. Atris folded his arms more than a little worried, the man's strikes weren't savage and wild like the berserkers of Regna Ferox. No, Count Sullivan's rage was focused to the point of a pin, and it reflected in each calculated blow landed on Falchion.
Taking an incredible risk Chrom evaded one of the blows and stepped into the count's guard slamming his elbow into the count's chest and sending him reeling back. As the count was driven back their axe came down with a vengeful force, the prince only barely able to leap out of of the way. Yet the advantage was there and Chrom took it, charging down his flat-footed opponent as the prince finally started pushing back the count.
As the two continued their clash it was becoming evident that slowly but surely Chrom was winning more and more ground, the prince's strikes unrelenting and seamlessly flowing. He saw the Shepherds watching surge with energy, except for Sully who was simply sporting a frown. Shaking himself free of the brief distraction he saw that the bull-lord had parried one of Chrom's strikes and followed it with a feint. Atris winced as the count planted their knee into the prince's gut, and then followed up by brutally crashing their forearm into his chest sending the blue-haired royal down to the ground.
However, despite the bull-lord's attempt to end this fight, Chrom recovered and refused to be put down so easily. The prince swept his legs out kicking the count's legs out from underneath. Racing to their feet the two men turned on each other and brought their weapons to bear on the other. A powerful roar came from the prince which contrasted with the silent rage of the count. Their weapons collided with such raw strength and power that they rebounded off each other.
There was a sickening vibration in the air, a shrill duet of arcane steel clashing, yet the two refused to give up and struck at each other again. Each and every time their weapons rebounded from the sheer force exerted, the vibration grew louder and higher, until finally Chrom overpowered his opponent battering the bull-lord's axe with an upward stroke. As the prince brought down Falchion it seemed the match was over.
Another vibration rung out, not one of metal clashing with metal, but one of flesh and bone striking magical steel. Atris' eyes widened in shock at what he saw. Count Sullivan had smashed his fist into Falchion deflecting it away, and for the first time the entire match let forth a terrible bellow that reminded him of a crazed bull. The count brought his head low and drove it straight into the prince's chest as if to gore him. The shock of pain was clear on Chrom's face, yet the prince overcame it and struck his leg out connecting into the bull-lord's gut. Both men forced each other back from their respective blows. As the count went to wipe the spittle from his mouth, the man let out a soft chuckle.
"I'm afraid I must ask you for clarification, your Highness." Chrom through his panting gave the count a confused look. "I know one of the conditions was till first blood, but I do hope you're not counting technicalities." The bull-lord showed his hand which had deflected Falchion, blood had begun to flow freely and dripped steadily to the floor. Chrom shook his head, a pained laughter coming from him.
"Worry not, I won't deny either of us knowing just who won this little match." The count simply smiled, but that same rage still remained in his eyes.
"Truly you are something unique, your Highness. Such absolute potential, I look forward to where it will go in the future. Yet, your charge ends here."
The prince's only response was a grin as both men charged each other down striking at each other with a ferocity worthy of taking down the mountain itself. Each man raining blows on the other until once again another rebound happened, the air once more filled with that shrill vibration. Count Sullivan was just that bit faster and brought his axe down, Chrom forced to block the strike with the flat of his blade. Both men's arms trembled from the deadlock and then it happened.
The count smashed his open palm in the prince's chest knocking him down to the ground, as the prince sprung back up to resume his attack, he noticed Falchion missing from his grip. The divine blade lay hooked around the crescent curve of the axe blade. Chrom stared at the man in silence as did most of the Shepherds, the primary sound being the prince's panting. Suddenly the count kneeled where he was and placed the axe before him, with Falchion still hooked on it.
"It has been witnessed, and so shall it be remembered that Chrom, Prince of Ylisse has charged with the Bulls! With defiance has he stood before their stampede, with resilience has he endured their bloodied goring! Praise be to House Ylisse! Praise be to Prince Chrom" The count's words had almost been song like, raising in volume with each sentence until it ascended into a fervent and fiery proclamation with the other knights around them shouting "Praise be" at the man's final words. The prince looked on in utter bafflement as did most of the Shepherds.
"Lord Sullivan?" He finally asked staring down at the men, as a musical like laughter came from the kneeling man.
"Forgive me, your Highness, long has it been since House Ylisse has graced the House of the Bull with its presence, let alone skill of arms. After the toll Plegia took on us, many have grown... restless and concerned. I only found it fitting after such a display to formalize our vows once more. That said do you need a healer-" The count's words were cut off as a mailed fist swatted him upside the head.
"You're bleeding all over the floor and you ask him if you need a healer!? Utter jackass." A woman in full plate was standing before them, tall with almond shaped eyes that matched her short black hair, the same woman that groaned at the lord's earlier joke. The count's eyes widened as he chuckled nervously.
"L-Lyra, I thought you were entertaining Princess Lissa and Lady Sumia, regaling them with tales of your exploits!" The woman opened a pouch and began bandaging the count's hand as she shook her head and sighed.
"I was entertaining Lady Sumia, until I learned my fool of a husband had run off to test how sharp the Fang of Naga is on himself." Countess Lyra's eyes fell upon Chrom and the rest of the Shepherds a highly amused energy quickly spreading through them as the woman blushed. "F-forgive this outburst, Prince Chrom. With all that said do you need a healer, please if its within our power we will see to it."
"As before there's no need for apologies countess, if anything I'm glad your relationship with the count is this strong. As for whether I require a healer I assure you I'm fine. I wouldn't turn down a good meal though." The count chuckled as his wife smiled onward. With a formal bow the two departed taking their retinue with them, the sounds of laughter and fussing echoing from them. Retrieving Falchion from the ground Chrom smiled down at the blade and sheathed it before doubling over out of breath.
"Are you okay, Chrom?" As he helped steady his friend all the prince could do was laugh, Atris looking at the man utterly confused.
"Oh, I'm fine, never been better actually. Sullivan is definitely Sully's brother; I've never had anyone come close to hitting me that hard before!" the prince flashed a grin that soon spread to the tactician. Chrom had been given a challenge to overcome, still there was a small bit of him worried over the prince's well-being. Chrom finally realizing Atris' concerns threw their hands up in the air and arched their brow, "This is the last time Emm has final words with you before we leave."
Shaking his head, he shoved the prince playfully, the man's infectious laughter soon spreading to him. It wasn't long before Chrom assumed a stance apparently wanting a rematch of their little bout back in Ylisstol. As much as Atris wanted to indulge his friend, they had forgotten something. Clearing his throat and pointing at the rest of the Shepherds that looked on in absolute confusion, the prince paled slightly.
Wearing an utterly smug smirk he gave his friend a rough slap on the back and went about his way. The tactician had won that little battle without a single causality. With the day beginning to wind down, he thought about what exactly he could do to keep himself busy. Of course, there was getting his coat back from his room, but that would require dodging Lissa as the tactician knew well that if he saw the princess the chance of his anger getting the better of him was quite real. Last thing he wanted to do was yell at her like back in Ylisstol.
There was little doubt one day he'd find himself laughing with the prankster princess over the frog incident. However, the feelings of disgust and revulsion that caused him even now to shiver were still too fresh in his mind. So, it was decided that after he managed to retrieve his coat, the tactician would secret himself within the archives of Bastion. Given the long-standing wars Gran had been involved with both Plegia and Regna Ferox there was sure to be material on them.
Finding a comfortable spot, he set about scouring the archives and soon began assembling great mounds of books worthy of rivaling the defensive towers of the city itself. Despite being in his element something itched at the tactician, it was the count once more that was distracting him. It was the man's words about Plegia that had bothered him before and bothered him now, yet he couldn't quite see why. With an irritable growl he banished the thoughts and feelings and focused on his research.
As the time flew by the great mounds of books had been turned into several stacks of great messes, the tactician "requisitioning" the nearby table to accommodate the growing piles of discard books. Finishing up on the latest book that described the War of the Desert Bloom, Atris looked to his notes and frowned. Plegia had been evolving over the years militarily, something Ylisse had not been. Atris clasped his hands together and rested his chin atop his hands as he thought of the four key points of Plegia's military effort.
The first aspect of Plegia's military was the infamous Aerial Corp, an elite assortment of air-based troops loyal strictly to the Plegian Crown. In a way they were much like the Order of the Rainbow Zephyr, instead of pegasai though these riders used wyverns instead, massive beasts that could rip apart entire formations and whose armored hides made them resistant to spear and arrow alike. The only certain way to defeat these creatures was with magic, something Ylisse thankfully had in spades. Still, these were not foes to underestimate regardless of how many mages they had.
The second and by far the most unknown aspect of Plegia's military was the Consortium of the Elder Mysteries. In Ylisse these people were simply known as dark mages, wielders of powerful if hard to control magicks. Unfortunately, Ylisse's disdain for dark magic left this group and the powers they wield largely in shadow. There appeared to be some contention in what few books he could find on the matter of who the Consortium owed allegiance to, with some claiming the crown, and others claiming the Grimleal.
Recent reforms of the past hundred years led to the next factor to consider. The rise of trained and drilled citizen militias supplied largely by the rich coastal cities that formed the backbone of Plegia's army. While not as experienced as say knights or men-at-arms, these militias tended to be better fighters and far more disciplined than Ylisse's general levies. They were also far better equipped due to having the support of their individual cities and so led to a greater degree of standardization amongst Plegia's soldiers.
Finally, there was the last cog of the Plegian war-machine. With rich and populous coastal cities, trained and drilled citizens, it was only a matter of time until mercenary organizations planted their roots in the kingdom. More mercenary companies dwelled within Plegia than perhaps the entire world, and with these same companies recruiting former militia members it led to a highly professional and a highly trained collection of sellswords that could be called up to bolster their numbers at any time.
The tactician's thoughts turned dark at just how bloody this war could be, even with Regna Ferox's help there was simply no quick way to end this. Those thoughts grew even darker when he started to consider the cost of a full-scale invasion of the desert kingdom. Something interrupted these brooding thoughts, something out of the corner of his eye. With a few blinks to clear his vision he saw Kellam standing before him, Atris giving a small jump and a quiet squeak in response.
"Geez, Kellam..."
"I've been standing here the entire time..."
"Yea, I figured. I thought I was getting better at spotting you though. That said something on your mind?"
"If it's any consolation you are getting better at this, better than most the Shepherds at least." There was a quick smile that lit up the man's face before it disappeared, being replaced with a furrowing of the man's brow. "But yea something is bothering me. Mostly it's Sully that's got me concerned. I erm, overheard your two's conversation a few days ago."
"You eavesdropped on us!?"
"N-no, I was assigned to morning shift that day! I was standing there the entire time, nice use of wind magic by the way." Kellam gave a soft if awkward chuckle as Atris planted his face on the table and gestured the man to continue. "Anyway, Sully's been... well she's been acting weird and it's bothering me. It's like she's walking on pins and needles around her brother."
Lifting his face up from the desk, Atris drummed on it. "I'll be honest, Kellam, I don't understand any of this. I figured she'd be more at ease after what happened in the audience chamber. Something's off about her brother, but I genuinely think he's happy to see her. Out of curiosity have you tried talking to her at all?"
"Erm..."
"Kellam, when the quiet man speaks up people tend to listen." The armored soldier's brow unfurrowed as he slouched glaring at the tactician.
"Yea, that's definitely my problem I never speak up." Atris chuckled awkwardly and cast an apologetic look at the man. With a sigh Kellam shook his head and looked toward the ceiling. "I don't know what I'd even say to her. I guess the least I can do is try for her sake."
"If it helps at all I believe you can do it." The man's eyes trailed down from the ceiling to meet his. "I mean it. Sully really likes you; she always hangs around you or Stahl. If I could get her to briefly open up and even give her briefly some peace of mind. Well, I'm sure you can do just as much if not more." It took a moment as the soldier pondered on it, but eventually he smiled and nodded to the tactician.
"I think you're right, Atris. I also think I know what just to say to her." Kellam punched his fist into his palm with a certain determination.
"Yea, well whatever plans you have for Sully it's gonna have to wait. Dinner's ready!" A voice that could be no one else but Stahl called from the small balcony at the library's entrance. Both men emerged from their secluded to see the viridian knight leaning on the railing with a smile.
"I swear, when it comes to food and the Shepherds you have some kind of sixth sense," Atris quipped at the cavalier.
"My gut nor my nose has ever led me astray," Stahl said a grin slowly forming on them. Atris covered his face trying to hide his smirk as Kellam simply laughed.
It wouldn't be long before Atris found himself rather... bored, annoyed, certainly a mix of the two and a few other emotions. While the tactician knew full and well there was a type of etiquette at these types of more "noble" dinners, he really underestimated the tedium of them. Little whispers of monotonous conversation that barely rose above the sound of their silverware, small and delicate controlled portions. There was just no charm nor character to the affair. At least he finally discovered the sweetened elixir that was wine.
More than once he was left pining for some of the antics he had grown accustomed to from his friends. Be it Stahl wrestling with a portion too big for his mouth, Vaike's impromptu declarations of some kind of contest be it drinking, arm-wrestling. Hells, Atris was even missing the little gambling matches the muscular axman organized at his expense. A nice bawdy or crass story from Sully would've been appreciated. If not for earlier, he even would've been open to a dinnertime prank from Lissa.
Dealing with such tedium his thoughts drifted and bounced about, until they of course landed on the most notable thing to happen recently. Suddenly his appetite had left him, Atris still had not told Chrom of that... whatever it was he had. Every time he attempted something forced him to stop. The only reason Sully even knew anything was because he blurted it out, still Chrom was supposed to be... what was he supposed to be? That thought stumped the tactician as he thought deeper about it and frowned unable to reach a conclusion.
The sound of the main doors being thrown open disturbed whatever dead fun there was to be had, as everyone's focus was drawn to them. Twenty women garbed in the same plate as the ones who had been guarding the exalt stood there, their faces were masks of stoicism that hid the haggardness and clear distress underneath. Amongst them was a woman with a familiar sea of red hair and Atris soon slouched in his chair at the sight of her. Their leader an older woman in her late 30's with auburn hair approached the table and knelt.
"Please, your Lordship and your Highnesses, I apologize for such a disruption, but I bring news of immense importance. A... an army has invaded the borders of Gran." Count Sullivan stood immediately his eyes focused intensely on the lady knight.
"There is nothing to apologize for, Lieutenant Rin. Tell me their banners, I would see to these fools that think they can trample on the lands of the bull." There was a chilled anticipation and agitation in the count's voice, his face one of steely indifference.
"They... they bear not the banners of a living army my lord." Lady Rin forced herself to meet the count's gaze. "An army of the dead comes to Gran." The indifference on the count's face was shattered, replaced by confusion and horror.
"She speaks of the Risen, your Lordship." Chrom stood up and nodded at Atris to follow suit. They both knew it was only a matter of time, but neither of them believed it would come so soon. The dead had finally come to bury the living, and so no longer were the Risen simply a rising threat, but one fully realized.