The Binding Blade

Darkness had fallen over the land. One part of this darkness was easy to see, the absence of sunlight which hung over the fields in likeness of a giant dragon's wing. Clouds locked out stars and moon alike, and the farmhouses along the road battled this darkness with candles, small lights shimmering behind milky windows. Other travelers carried an oil lamp with them if business forced them along the trodden paths between meager winter turnips at this time of night.

Roy did not.

The reason for the hood he pulled deeper over his face whenever the bouncing lamp of a donkey cart crossed his path lay with the other part of the darkness. This one could not be caught by the eye, but it resided here nonetheless, between the crooked farmland fences and leafless birches. A lonely candle on a windowsill would never overthrow this other, sneaking darkness. The darkness of a new Pheraen ruler when the pyre for the old one had not yet been lit.

Roy could not say how many friendly faces still remained on Pheraen ground. Maybe Lucina had charmed them all, like she had charmed him when she had first toddled from her doorframe into his arms.

The guards in Johtran might have worn Roy's eagle crest, but they had raised their weapons against the rightful ruler of their homeland all the same. Perhaps the same held true for all his former knights and soldiers. His supreme general, Galle, had fallen during the attack on Lycia; he had remained faithful to his vow of loyalty or death. But could Roy say the same about his Twelve? He had fought alongside some of them before he had worn his father's crown. Some had almost enjoyed his trust. But so had Lucina.

And so, Roy travelled without lamp or torch through the darkness. Even the peasant there with the worn-out bag might recognize his former king in the striking red of Roy's hair.

It was not yet time to announce his escape to Lucina. Sooner or later, someone would stumble over the dead guards in Johtran. But Roy had a duty to fulfill before the rumors spread.

One hand remained on the pommel of the guard sword under his cloak while the peasant shuffled the other way, and Roy only eased his grip when the cone of his oil lamp disappeared behind a hillcrest. Once more, the snow stretched dim and dull in front of him.

He knew the path well enough, from the small slopes and inclines in the road to the changing taste of the air as cattle farms gave way to conifers. He could almost bite on the pine needles now when he breathed in. And even after several nights of travel through this two-part darkness, his memory did not disappoint.

Before the night struck its peak, a row of lights emerged above the horizon without an end in sight; the watchfires of the Black Wall. Roy was nearing his goal. Soon, the gurgles of a river invaded the darkness, and the sound grew louder with each of Roy's steps. A moment later, he stood at the shore, and water licked at his boots. The faintest hint of starlight glimmered on the waves as the stream hurried south.

"Is this the place?" Roy asked.

Sêl blinded him when she appeared. But although he had to squint against her brightness, he could not deny that he welcomed her warmth.

"You will have to dive here," Sêl said. "The Binding Blades lies in the middle of the river where the water runs deepest."

"Good."

Roy cast off first his cloak and then his tunic. The winter air lay its icy fingers around his neck, but compared to Johtran, the cold chilled him no more than a summer breeze. He rolled his shoulders and massaged his upper legs to stimulate his blood flow before he stepped out of his boots too.

The water sloshed with a greater hunger than before.

"Are you certain?" Sêl asked. Her flames dimmed a little and her expression – still so eerily human. But Roy knew the tricks of goddesses, and he would not fall for hers.

"Are you doubting my capabilities after all?" he asked.

"That is not my concern. The water is freezing cold. I can feel it… even now. It will hurt you."

"If that is the price to pay, so be it."

Sêl stepped forward and caught Roy's gaze. "Thank you."

"I'm not diving into the water for you. Lucina has my throne, my crown, and my army. The only symbol of my identity left is the Binding Blade. And if I want to take back the country she stole from me, I will need this symbol."

Roy stepped into the water, and the hairs on his arms stood up. A chill quickened his breath. He fought the urge to turn around, suppressed the memories of Johtran's cell, and readied himself. But then he paused to look at Sêl.

"Still," he said, "I did give you my word. So I cannot fail."

Perhaps Sêl intended to say more, but Roy tore himself from the luring warmth of her flames and dove under. The currents slashed into him, tossed him around to their heart's content, above and below, without a way to escape. Darkness reigned supreme. The long months in Johtran still strangled Roy's muscles; his arms failed to carry him anywhere at all, his hands useless in their attempts to shove the darkness aside. And the cold Sêl had prophesized arrived. It was everywhere, clawed into every inch of Roy's skin, and even the air in his lungs seemed to freeze.

But he pushed through.

Again and again, Roy treaded against the currents, and after a gasp for air at the surface, he dove back down. He went deeper each time. His body numbed to the cold, remembered the lesson Johtran had driven into him. Until at last, the darkness of the water was complete no more.

A red light gleamed far below. It pulsated in sync with Roy's heartbeat and pulled him forward, deeper and deeper into the river's abyss. His chest cramped from a lack of air, his vision shrunk, and still he willed his body farther.

And there, half obscured by the mud of the riverbed, lay the Binding Blade. The red stone in its cross guard glowed.

Roy reached out. The river tried one last time to deter him, the currents crashed into his side, and the last precious bubbles escaped his mouth. But Roy could not fail.

He closed his hand around the sword hilt. And as he did, the red glow exploded, birthed a star amidst the river, bright and beautiful. The cold vanished. Flames sprung from the steel where flames should not exist, and the magical fire enveloped Roy to the whole. He closed his eyes against the brightness, but he still felt the water fleeting, replaced by the Binding Blade's warm embrace.

The spectacle hardly lasted a minute.

When Roy opened his eyes, the fire cocooned him where he stood. The river had dissipated under the heat. The last weak waves gushed beyond the fire sphere, hissing whenever they touched the flames.

Roy walked back to the shore, the Binding Blade in hand. Not a droplet of water remained in his hair. After he climbed the gentle slope and stood before his sparse belongings, the fire sphere at last vanished, and he looked into the eyes of Sêl.

He raised the sword between them, and Sêl took the hilt, her hand above his.

"Now I know you are a worthy master," she said.

The Binding Blade pressed against Roy's hip with each step. The weight added a sureness to his walk he had been missing until now, and he found himself reaching for the hilt underneath his cloak every now and again to make sure the sword had indeed returned to him. Sêl had vanished, but her warmth pulsated against his palm whenever his fingers stroked the Binding Blade.

He could not deny the sense of security prickling in his arm then.

Strengthened like this, Roy made his way towards the nearest settlement. He only needed to follow the river upstream for a short while before the lights of Thria emerged out of the dark and welcomed him to shake off the dust of travel and rest at the local inn.

The smell of cooking fat greeted him at the bridge leading into the village and Roy picked up pace. He had stolen his last meals from unguarded windowsills and farm pantries, and each bite of bread had tasted like dust. To sneak around as a thief in his own empire – the thought never failed to turn Roy's stomach upside down.

But now, he had cast off his hood, and if the people recognized him, so be it. He almost hoped for an encounter with the local soldiers.

Yet, no one approached him until he stood before the inn. The two-story building might have impressed with its massive support beams and glassed windows, but its neighborhood ruined the image. Crude huts clustered left and right, newly built but already dilapidated. The stench of too many people on too tight a space hung above the street, and the cooking fat that had tingled Roy's nose before blended with the hotchpotch of sweat and refuse.

This was new. Roy had passed through Thria when he had inspected the Black Wall a little over a year ago. While not the grandest of villages in Roy's empire, the buildings had stood orderly by the riverside, and the marketplace had offered passers-by the chance to try strawberries from Altea's southern hills and salmon from the far-off Silver Stream. Beggars had overrun this same marketplace since then. Carts and tents hunched between the houses without sense or order.

Roy had a suspicion as to the reason behind this drastic change. And although this suspicion curbed his appetite, he was too hungry to resist the clatter of mugs and cutlery from inside the inn for longer.

A young woman tended to a handful of horses tied to the inn's porch; further animals neighed in the stable around the corner. They belonged to a military operation, most likely. Even the most prestigious mercenary groups could rarely afford this many horses, especially Lycians, a breed known for its graceful trot and sorrel fur. Two of this kind enjoyed the handful of oats the female soldier offered them.

Roy paused on the doorstep to examine the woman. Her military pose was lackluster at best, the state of her uniform even worse. The five-story candles in the windows emphasized the round shape of her face, unusual for a Pheraen. From a cord around her neck dangled the replica of two trees. Roy paused, but there was no mistaking. The two trees wound around each other and met in the middle until one's crown was the other's root system. Not since the erection of the Black Wall had this symbol founds its way onto Pheraen ground. Or so he had thought.

A peasant girl from Tellius working in the military – and with a respectable rank too. Perhaps there was a lesson to be learned here. But the stench of decay lingered freshly on Roy's mind, and looking all around, the fall of his empire had to have advanced farther than he had expected. Before this thought could ruin the remains of his appetite, Roy pressed the door inward and stepped inside.

A chandelier of half-melted candles illuminated the taproom and the faces of the people gathered there. A few peasants huddled in a corner. On the opposite end, soldiers played cards and rattled with their pay for another serving of ale. Much to the dismay of the robed mage in their midst.

None of them threw Roy a second look.

He sat down at the counter and pulled a golden ring out of his pockets. Lucina might have taken his home and his freedom, but in a final act of moral superiority, she had refused to rob him of the clothes on his body, including this and two other rings. A short-sighted mistake.

The bartender walked over and scrutinized Roy out of eyes tormented by the first stages of cataract.

"Late for a drinking bout. Stock's empty." The bartender pointed at the soldiers. "They've been tippin' my best wine into their throats all evening. Smashed all the best cups too."

"My apologies," Roy said. "The imperial army should behave better than this."

The bartender narrowed his eyes further. "You're not from around here, are ya? We usually don't get the well-spoken folks for customers."

"Perhaps this has to do with the state of your village?"

"Lookin' for trouble, are ya? If ya don't like the view, get lost. You're another one of those Tellius folks or what?"

"Hardly. I am a Pheraen the same as you are."

The bartender relaxed a little. "Ya almost got me worried there. Last thing we need's more hungry Tellius mouths to feed. They don't even got the coin to buy a drink, all they're doing's take up space and live off the queen's generosity."

"A generosity she is funding with the taxes of hard-working Pheraens."

"Ya got that one right. Between that and the candles, it's a wonder if ya still have a coin to twirl in your pockets at the end of the month."

"Candles?"

The bartender pointed at the five-story candles on the windowsill. "Most business folks have them now. Those put ya on the palace's good side, I heard. Peer pressure, ya see? Cost a hell of a lot more than they're worth, these things. The wax's from some Altean holy ground, or something. That'd at least explain the price."

Roy smiled on the inside. A masterful stroke; instead of outright compensation payment for Altea, Lucina had inflated the prices for Altean candles. She would not force Pheraen businesses to buy said candles, oh no, she was too clever for that. But a few shining examples and a handful of prosperous, Altean-lit taverns at the capital could soon snowball into mass orders from all corners of the Empire. After all, did not every upcoming businessman hope to stand on the queen's good side? Roy almost felt the urge to compliment her on this scheme.

"Do you know the meaning of the candles' shape?" Roy asked.

"Got something to do with the queen's religion, I heard."

"Nagaism, yes. The five stories represent its five credos."

These candles belonged to a subtle but nonetheless brilliant strategy to increase the presence of Nagaism in Pherae. Even the hard-earned drink at the end of a long day of work now spilled into mugs under her watchful eye. And when surrounded by tokens of the queen's faith on a daily basis, the commoner might feel inclined to adopt this faith for themselves. A masterful stroke indeed.

"Those things'll cost me my five children if they keep up the prices," the bartender said. "Almost gotta be thankful for the soldiers and the chance to make back some gold. But I'd rather have my cups back in one piece, I'm tellin' ya. Got them from my father who kept this inn runnin' before I stepped in. He'd come back from the pyre if he knew."

Roy placed his ring on the counter. The pure gold shimmered and tempted anyone who beheld it to weigh the finely crafted jewelry in their hand.

"Of course, I cannot replace the sentimental value of your loss," Roy said. "But this should cover your expenses."

The bartender gawked at the ring. His hand twitched, but the suspicions of those who had never travelled beyond their village borders held him back.

"You're some big shot in the army or what?" he asked.

"The state of your village as well as the behavior of these soldiers are my responsibility. All this has only reminded me of the importance of my mission. The ring can by no means compensate for failing in my responsibility before, but please, take it regardless."

The bartender looked from the ring to Roy and back. With each flicker of the candles, the gold shimmered. The white jade stone embedded into the ring alone could buy the man a new inn and a lifelong supply of Talys' finest wine.

With a nervous glance to the side, the barkeeper covered the traitorous shimmer with his hand and slid the ring into his pockets.

"Not sure who you are, but I'd take a customer like you more often," he said. "So, how can I patch ya up? Might still have a bottle of the really good stuff down in the cellar. Ya never know what kind of folks wander into your inn one fine evening."

"I appreciate the offer. But if you could serve me whatever the kitchen has left instead, I would be more than satisfied."

"Ya got it."

The bartender called for his assistance, a boy of fourteen who might have been his son. And while the latter hurried back into the adjourning kitchen, the bartender insisted on pouring a mug of ale for his new favorite customer. Roy accepted the drink with a nod but only sipped once. He could not allow to cloud his senses with alcohol.

Instead, he observed the group of soldiers out of the corner of his eyes. Aside from their lousy behavior, their chainmail coats lacked polish, and many a torn sleeve scraped across the dusty tabletops. Their last battle could not lay far back. Some of them had not even bothered to wipe the blood from their necks.

The mage and the nobleman in the silk tunic next to him stood out like gemstones between half-rotten acorns.

Roy would have liked to study them further, but the soldier staggering towards the counter snatched his attention away.

"Barkeep!" the soldier shouted. He slurred from alcohol, and the band that tied his long hair together threatened to come undone every time he slapped the counter. "Where's the next serving of wine? We've been waiting for an hour."

Roy did not need to straighten or place a hand on the Binding Blade. "You should watch your tongue," he said in the most casual tone. "As a representative of the Empire at large, you should know better than to mistreat civilians. Are they not the very people for which you took up your sword?"

"You have a problem, redhead?"

The soldier lunged forward to push Roy from his stool. Roy didn't flinch. He merely turned his head.

All signs of intoxication fled the soldier in an instance. With wide eyes, he stared at Roy's face, the face he had seen a thousand times during his training, in statues and paintings, maybe even once or twice from a distance while he had hacked away at the straw dolls in Lycia's fencing ground; the face of the Empire. Replaced and pushed aside but not forgotten.

The soldier stumbled over his tongue and then his feet as he backed away. "Your… Highness? King Roy?"

The name summoned a storm into the taproom. All heads jerked towards the counter, mugs shattered on the floor, and half the guests knocked over their benches as they jumped to their feet.

"Did he say Roy?"

"King Roy?"

"Idiot, King Roy's dead."

"Roy is back?"

All these voices whirled through the room at once, but as heads turned and necks craned, more and more people noticed the single figure sitting at the counter. And the moment Roy rose from his stool, he had the attention of every last soul in sight.

The Binding Blade flashed in the candlelight as he loosened his coat.

"To those who were hoping for my death, I must disappoint you," Roy said. The people hung at his lips, dumbfounded, awe-struck, terrified, or all of these at once. "Although I would be lying if I said this caused me remorse. To those who still remember the peace I brought Pherae, know that although the usurper tried to vanquish me, she failed. I am indeed alive, and I have returned to right what the usurper set wrong."

"You have no right to speak of justice after you were trialed for murder."

Roy turned towards the speaker.

The mage was a cripple; he leaned sideways to take pressure from his right leg, a habit cultivated over months, and the pain showed in a twitch of his lips where his features otherwise remained collected. Nevertheless, Roy didn't doubt for a second that he was the most dangerous man in the room.

"You ordered the slaughter of over one hundred Altean civilians in Terra," the mage continued. "This crime annuls your claim to the Pheraen throne, and if not for the kindness of the one you call usurper, you would have paid with death. Justly."

"I will not deny what happened in Terra," Roy said. "Rather, I hope this loss of human lives will be remembered. The order I gave may seem cruel to you. But it was an attempt to end the war plaguing these lands once and for all. Rebels were attacking merchants travelling under my crest. Rebels were driving honest Pheraen men, women, and children out of their homes. And rebels rule this country now. Tell me, is this the peace you strove for, rebel?"

The mage clawed at the table for support. Others would notice soon. "We are closer to peace now than ever under your reign."

"Are you? As a mage, you know of Naga's five credos. Perhaps you have even been taught to follow them. To have faith – yes, I suppose you do suffer from blind faith in your usurper. To live in harmony with the surrounding world – tell me, does the blood on the chainmail of your soldiers speak of harmony?"

"The fourth credo encourages the fight against enemies. Enemies like you."

"And who defines the look of that enemy?"

"Not you."

"Such an interesting contradiction, isn't it? You preach harmony. But behind your back, you whet your knives for the next war. A war you are leading against the people of Pherae. My people."

Roy had won over his audience; he saw it in their eyes, in the way the soldiers shifted away from the mage and towards him. The air tensed, and not the slightest breeze seeped through the cracks in the door or the holes in the paneling.

"Soren, do not waste your breath arguing with him." The nobleman grabbed the mage's shoulder. "He knows he is outnumbered. We will have him arrested and returned to his cell faster than our friends here can down their drinks."

So foolish. Truly, Lucina had blinded them all.

Roy smiled. And Soren, the mage, noticed.

"You burned down Altean monasteries," he said as he glared at Roy. Finally, his voice trembled. "The mages there had nothing to do with your war."

"They were preaching lies, and they paid with death. Justly."

The tensed air erupted into a hurricane, with Soren at its center. The wind grabbed a knife from the table, flung it across the room, a flash of steel with murderous intent.

Roy stayed still.

The knife grazed his cheek, and blood sprayed, before the projectile lodged into the wall behind him.

Stunned silence followed. Aside from Roy, everyone had their eyes locked onto the knife from where a drop of blood splashed to the ground. A geyser could not have thundered louder through the taproom.

"You… you tried to kill the king." The soldier who had first identified Roy stabbed Soren with an accusing forefinger.

"That magic… someone hold him before he does the same to us!"

"Altean wizard!"

"Everything the king said was right. The usurper has brought us nothing but bloodshed."

"Murderer, that mage's a murderer!"

Soren stared at Roy, his hand outstretched to command the wind. But he had missed once, and with his weakness he had sealed the outcome of this battle. The scene had played out better than Roy could have hoped for. He owed Soren his thanks.

Swords left their scabbards with a sharp chink, and without exception they pointed at Soren. He didn't seem to notice, his empty eyes saw nothing as first his failure and then his injury pulled him down.

The nobleman prevented him from slumping onto the bench. "It seems we are no longer welcome here," he said and pulled Soren towards the door.

The soldier next to Roy waved his bow after them. "You better get a move on."

"Deserters, the whole lot of you," the nobleman said. "The queen will know about this."

"You can swallow those threats right back up. We're tired of answering to Altean scum like you."

The nobleman puffed his chest indignantly but continued to shove his companion towards the door. "How rude," he mumbled. "And to think house Virion once enjoyed a position of prestige among these Pheraen double-crossers."

House Virion… a name Roy had known to possess ties to the Altean rebels for a long time. Interesting. Roy would only need to raise his voice, and the assembled soldiers would relieve both Soren and Virion of their heads. But now was not the time to inspire further bloodshed. No, may Virion run back to Lucina and tell of this encounter with Roy.

The time of sneaking through the two-part darkness like a thief was over.

Under the rattle of swords and a few less than charming slurs, the soldiers chased Soren and Virion out of the inn. A heated but short discussion broke out with the Tellius woman on the porch. A moment later, the neighing of horses and the clatter of hooves signaled their departure.

The soldier closest to Roy dropped to his knees. "After the battle in Lycia, I doubted you," he said. "I thought if that Altean girl bested you, maybe she was right to wear the crown. I thought for sure she had slayed you. But you're back. You defeated that Altean wizard with nothing but a look. Not even death's a match for you. That's the kind of fighter I want to follow – we all want to follow."

One after the other, the soldiers bent their knees, one or two even wept. For the first time this evening, the Pheraen eagle crest on their coat clasps and armor pieces shone pure and just among the flickering candlelight.

The cut in Roy's cheek itched, but he let the blood flow. Lucina may have elevated herself into a symbol, Naga's untouched champion with a divine mission to reshape the nation. But Roy was a bleeding, mortal man to the same extent as the soldiers around him, and he wanted them to see.

Roy pulled the soldier to his feet and cupped his face. "What is your name?"

"Shinon."

"And what story will you make out of that name, Shinon?"

"I'm getting payback from that usurper and her dogs for pushing me around in their battles. And I'll be damned if my arrows won't spill some of that rotten blood. All the lies they've told about you, about how that princess defeated you, and I bought right into it. I swear, if I'd known…"

"You are forgiven. The usurper has deceived us all, and with her words she continues to poison the minds of Pheraen people like you. Your comrades in Lycia do not yet know that the true heir to their throne has returned. But you do."

"Accept my bow, Your Highness," Shinon said and raised the weapon to Roy. "The Altean princess has only ordered us from one battlefield to the next to kill our brothers and sisters, pure Pheraens. Not like those pathetic grasslanders and Tellius dogs that swarm the army these days. But all that's now over. I won't fail you again. Loyalty or death."

The crowd picked up his chant. "Loyalty or death!"

Roy accepted their vow with a nod. Yes, Lucina's deception ran deep, and in the names of gods she had blinded Roy's people, had enslaved them under Naga's whims. But not all of them had forgotten. Roy's peace still lingered in their mind, tainted by the lies of Alteans but strong enough to prosper and blossom anew.

"What will you do now, Your Highness?" one of the soldiers asked.

Her and all their eyes weighed on Roy. Like this a crowd of ten thousand had looked at him when he took the crown of his father and announced the birth of the Pheraen Empire. Back then, the hands behind his back had trembled under the weight of all these eyes, the weak hands of a sixteen-year-old boy whose play to become king had become reality. But not anymore.

Without the slightest tremor, Roy lifted his cloak and placed a hand on the Binding Blade. A gasp ran through the assembly as the priceless steel flashed.

"I have been gone from this world for too long," Roy said. "Your faces reveal to me the toll of my absence. The streets outside display it clearly: war has captured Pherae once more. Before, we have fought against the armies of Altea and Renais, and we have emerged victorious every time. But now we carry this war into our own homes. Pheraens are fighting Pheraens, soldiers against soldiers, brothers against sisters. All because the usurper wills it so.

"Lucina has deceived us all. But I won't allow her to enslave my people into her divine war. She, the girl who I gave the home out of which she chased me, who I gave the affection with which she betrayed me, and who I gave the knife with which she stabbed me.

"I will end her divine war. And if it is the last thing I do, I will rebuild the peace she trampled on."

Notes: "It's like poetry, it rhymes." - George Lucas

Memes aside, I honestly like that quote. Parallels are a powerful tool. And well, I think it's fun to put Roy on a similar yet differently lit path compared to what Lucina went through in Book I.

Oh, and before I forget it again, a shower of warm thanks goes out to Mnemonic_Aion for the kind words, the invaluable feedback, and the very idea that got the ball rolling. This is for you.