*Burning Ambition (FE9 OST)

**A Lannister Always Pays His Debts (Ramin Djwadi)

As the day for the coronation arrived at long last, the entirety of Nohr was abuzz with chatter about the direction the new king would take, even before Prince Leo formally ascended the throne. Indeed, in Windmire, one could almost cut the anticipation in the air with a blade.

"With the eyes of your fathers and people turned to you with hope and pride," announced the head priest over the kneeling prince. "I here thereby dub thee, Prince Leo, His Majesty King Leonard of Nohr, thirteenth of his name. May the Dusk Dragon watch over you and smile upon your every endeavor!"

As the nobles and commoners alike gathered before the castle applauded and cheered rapturously, her mistress engaged (however on a noticeably more subdued level) as well, Selena simply rolled her eyes at the rabble; she was a woman with many problems and questions, and was not keen on adding court intrigue among their ranks overseen by a king who, at best, she knew for a fact to dislike her greatly. Such problems and questions included (but were by no means limited to) what the hell is wrong with this guy? What exactly was going on in his mind that he was even worse about elevating murderous scumbags to positions of power than his father? What the hell was that old buzzard Gunter doing during the last battle in Shirasagi? Granted, she'd been hit in the head really hard, an injury which took her out of the battle, to say nothing of consciousness, fairly early on, but she was damn near certain he had been not been present once everything had started going to hell nor did the phantoms pay him any real attention. And now he's Leo's right-hand man after the exact same incident that made the icy, reclusive prince king? No, there was something seriously wrong with this, and Selena knew that she was going to have to get to the bottom of this sooner or later.

One of the questions which she still struggled with nightly however, was why the everloving fuck did those two absolute idiots have to go play the hero? That enraged, ridiculously-powerful...thing was quite transparently after Prince Xander and Lady Corrine, the rest of them an afterthought at best, so why did he basically throw herself in front of its blade? His other retainer, the woman's behavior, at least made sense to her knowledge; Selena knew for a fact that said retainer and Xander had been fucking for some time before they both found themselves on the wrong end of that weird blade, but Las- Oh, screw it, she thought angrily, why even bother with the charade anymore? But Inigo? For all she knew, maybe he wanted the prince to fuck him too, he was objectively, a really attractive man.

Not that Selena was exactly inclined, let alone had any standing, to mock her late companion for such inclinations. "Oh, gods, Luci." she thought often. "I'm so, so, so sorry." And not even about Camilla. Does falling in love/lust with your employer technically count as cheating on your employer-cum-lover if you're supposed to be an entirely different person? Even in her one refuge, in the arms of and at the mercy of the masterful tongue and digits of this graceful, statuesque princess- No, this goddess, Selena still struggled mightily with the conflicting and complimentary guilt complexes towards these two women upon whom she'd come so heavily to rely.

Still feeling as snug and as reasonably secure as she ever had wrapped in the princess' luxurious bed and her lover's bust, that same nagging feeling that Selena had been unable to shake since the old knight had shot her a threatening glare of smug contempt at the coronation, shattered this illusion and got the better of her. "Lady Camilla." she began hesitantly. "Does your brother seem different to you somehow? I mean, since we got back to the castle."

"Why of course, dear Selena." the princess replied distantly. "Being king is quite stressful, after all."

"No, I mean something truly alarming. Things you could have never seen him saying or doing before well, it happened."

On one level, Camilla would have liked instinctively to dismiss her beloved retainer's concern out of hand. However, she was, as her childhood experiences required her to be to survive, far too intelligent and far too good at reading people not to notice some immensely troubling changes in Leo's demeanor, including some not-at-all-brotherly comments from time to time and his treatment of Selena's very existence as some sort of personal sleight. At one point last month, a particularly distressed Leo half-jokingly suggested that she become his queen with all that would entail. In general, Nohrian nobility would let a lot slide, not losing their heads over a discreet bit of buggery or even (while looked somewhat less kindly upon) a discreet bit of sapphism every now and again. But brothers and sisters, even with only one parent in common? That stain would be nigh-impossible to wash out, even for a generally-permissive lot like them.

Sitting up on the bed, Selena recoiled at its comparative coldness betrayed by the absence of the third member of their little arrangement. "Something you always took for granted but didn't really appreciate until it was gone yet, still expect it to be there." she opined thoughtlessly. "It's a lot like losing a limb, so I've heard."

The princess gave one of her serene smiles, this one somewhere between wistfulness and lust, leaning towards the former. "I wouldn't exactly say you never appreciated dear Beruka." she recalled sadly. " At times, you two could just be best of friends, so to speak."

"Oh, yeah, only because you put us up to it, milady! In fact, we were always-"

Selena realized exactly what she was reminiscing about before one of the guilt complexes overwhelmed her once more.

"I know no amount of apologizing will make up for it or bring her back." prefaced Selena depressedly. "But once again, Lady Camilla, I'm sorry. If I had just been a little stronger, maybe-"

"Don't be." insisted Camilla, a bit more sternly than she'd intended. "Selena sweetie, there was nothing you could have done. There was nothing any of us outside of Corrine or possibly Xander could have done."

"Yeah, but even still, they well...lost."

"Exactly."

Springing back onto the bed, Camilla took her beloved's lips in her own for another decadent display of affection. "I simply couldn't bear to lose my darling redhead." the princess half-teased, half-sighed. "So do be careful for me, won't you, Selena?"

Selena forced a confident smile. "I will." she promised tersely.

The flame-haired interloper turned on her side to feign sleep, as if unable to face (one of) the object(s) of her affection and desire, only now realizing why she'd agreed to take on any multitude of missions from her mistress away from the castle these past months. Burying herself in work to deal with her own emotional problems, neglecting those she claimed to care about in the process, doing fuck all to stop the world from going to hell even it it were in her power? Godsdammit, I'm just like her after all, Severa thought with disgust, the one thing I told myself I would never do as long as I live!

While only for a few hours now, ever since that afternoon in the courtyard, some four months after his life had changed forever, Leo (or Leonard if you prefer) had found himself just as stately and powerful as his fathers before him. Many a time he had seen his father seated upon the throne, the boy watching him in a sort of envious awe which he later extended to Xander for his status as heir apparent. But now that he had reached said heights of power, seated on the throne himself, in many ways, the king felt just as empty as he had after Shirasagi and Nyx's death, more in some ways. Neither the adoring praise of the crowds nor the intimate touch of any of his women (even Charlotte!) could fill the void in his soul which only seemed to be growing deeper and deeper now that Corrine seemed to be consciously avoiding him.

Idiot! What did you really think would happen, you unbelievable idiot, he thought harshly. Just springing that kind of thing out of nowhere without even dropping any sort of hint to your intentions?! Apart from Camilla, there was really only one individual to whom he could really turn to for emotional support and an intellectual equal or, much as it hurt his pride to acknowledge, an intellectual superior. On his first night as king, Leo found himself to once again (outside of a habit for self-medication with sex) be more like his father than he would have ever thought possible.

"Wise One!" the king beseeched to the empty throne room. "I know you are here, Wise One! I can sense your presence!"

Perhaps as though to toy with him, the otherworldly being waited a good minute before responding. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked, his tone as close to glee as Leo had ever heard. "Is something not to your liking, Your Majesty?"

Under any other circumstances, were his frame of mind even slightly different, Leo would have wondered seriously if the emphasis on those last two words was mocking. Nonetheless, he continued his plea.

"I seek your wise counsel." Leo resumed rising from the throne and going down on bended knee. "Surely, there must have been other kings in other worlds who have been faced with the exact same dilemmas as my Nohr is currently."

"Oh, yes, how could I?! I almost forgot!" Leo's mentor exclaimed, his tone of mock surprise apparent to only one of the conversation's participants. "You have taken up the blade in earnest, no? Allow me to present you with a gift for this momentous occasion."

"Oh, I could not possibly accept it. You have been far too generous already, Wise One."

"Oh, no, I insist! You will be needing all the strength you have for the trials ahead."

Exactly as with Naglfar, a burst of the same sickly purple flame materialized at the foot of the throne's steps. When it momentarily vanished, in its place was a very peculiar sword. Whether due to its size, easily as long as he was tall, the sharp, serrated blade which almost hurt Leo to look at, let alone imagine being struck by, or being tipped by what appeared to be an axe-like blade, Leo was sure that he had never laid eyes on a weapon such as this, it's mere presence overflowing with power. Perhaps the most interesting thing to him when he did step down and pick up the blade, while it was not exactly light, was not nearly as heavy as the king had expected it to be as he held it proudly to the sky.

"It's...marvelous!" he raved. "I can feel the power! Now THIS is a weapon worthy of a king!"

"That sword, Gurgurant, was wielded by a great and mighty king who bought honor and glory to his people and abject destruction to his enemies." the voice half-lied. "Much like that legendary king, master it and you will surely do the same to your enemy."

"Once again, thank you, O Wise One. I shall put this to good use!"

"I should also implore you to gather your most loyal and powerful subordinates, for I have much-needed gifts for them as well."

"You mentioned that I would need such strength as well. What do you mean by that?"

"It is exactly as you remarked about their princess; the Hoshidan insects do not seek to accept their defeat, but to overturn the verdict through perfidy and chicanery and abusing your hospitality. You must not be deceived by their lies and talk of peace!"

"I knew it! I knew it! I knew they were plotting against me! They have been from the very beginning!"

"It may be risky, but there is a way to have them let their guard down without leaving them any escape possible. Let alone escape to rally their fellow insects against you."

To call the winter's mountain air chilly would be an understatement, to put it lightly. But whether due to his extensive endurance training, his higher-than-average body temperature, or these two factors working in common, the cold, until it became truly threatening to life and limb, did not bother Saizo in the least. What stung worse than any winter wind could ever do however, was the supineness and passivity displayed towards Nohr by many of his countrymen and fellow ninja clans, and no walls nor complimentary tea could or would take that sting away.

"How many times do I have to say this?!" Saizo raged, almost having lifted himself off the cushion provided him. "The only peace they have any interest in offering us is the type of 'peace' offered to corpses and slaves!"

"Do you seriously believe us not to be aware of this, boy?" inquired Lord Suzuki, taking another swig of his sake. "It's quite transparent that Nohr holds all of the cards. Meanwhile our stores of essentials dwindle daily, to say nothing of the 'taxes' they collect from us regularly."

"Most unlike your father, you are a hotheaded fool, Saizo the Fifth." admonished Lord Miyoshi. "Their new king is said to be most unlike his father. He cannot possibly wish to continue this war, but what you're proposing would only ensure he does."

"Well as long as he can't or won't keep his thugs from raping, pillaging, and slaughtering their way across Hoshido, they may as well still be at war with us!" spat Saizo. "Do you seriously intend to tell me that you are all willing to roll over like trained dogs, waiting for that murderer to scratch your bellies in hopes that he doesn't cut them open?"

The nine other heads of the country's ninja clans remained silent; one or two staring off into space as if preoccupied with something while the rest glared at the young upstart with contempt. Hoping against hope for some last minute change of heart, after a good half-minute, the outlier gave a dismissive huff. "That's what I thought." Saizo scoffed, rising from the seat offered him. "Thanks for nothing."

As he made his stomping, scowling exit from the meeting hall, the surly ninja was joined shortly by his companion, appropriately enough seeming to appear as if from thin air. "So I guess you heard all that, huh?" Saizo inquired, having cooled off somewhat. "Stupid old fools. What do they really think those bastards are going to do with all of us once they get done with the country's 'respectable' society?"

"I suspect that their thoughts on the matter would change if it was one of their wives, daughters, or sisters Nohrian officers encouraged their men to treat even worse than the most wretched streetwalker." replied Kagero grimly. "So is this changing anything?"

"Fuck no, of course not!"

Defiant as he was about resisting the invasion, on several levels, Saizo realized well that their situation was not favorable at all. Just judging by past years, this winter was shaping up to be a particularly cold one and the Nohrian habit of feeding their forces with Hoshidan harvests did not bode well for anyone on the continent's eastern half. That evening at the inn, in possession of a considerable amount of Nohrian gold, Saizo decided to kill two birds with one stone as far as the cold and his frustration were concerned, at which Kagero simply rolled her eyes.

"I always hated it when you drank." she remarked sternly. "In fact, I still do; you just don't metabolize it well."

Throwing back another cup of the rice wine, Saizo glowered at his companion. "Why thank you for your concern, Mother." he replied dismissively. "First of all, I'm a grown man. I'll drink whatever I damn well please. Besides, it's sake, it's not even that strong anyway."

"Yeah, and a hard man like you strikes me more as the shōchū type anyway." remarked a deep-voiced, middle-aged man with a patch over his left eye and right arm in a sling. "But it's your life, not mine."

Saizo immediately dropped the cup. "What the hell? Oishi?!" exclaimed Saizo. "How the hell are you still alive?! You were fighting in the capital's streets last I heard!"

The ronin smirked proudly. "Even though those Nohrians might like killing, they didn't know how difficult I am to kill." he boasted, taking the seat next to the ninja, taking a swig of the bottle on his belt. "Still don't."

"So I take it you heard the news about Lord-"

"Of course I did! What the fuck do you think I've- we've been doing for the past six months anyway?"

"Wait, 'we?'"

"Exactly."

Saizo turned to his counterpart, completely and utterly lost as the brunette gave a genuine, soft smile, the first one for months, if not years. "There's a reason Nohrian troops and officers alike call these mountains a 'wretched hive of scum and savages,' you know." Kagero explained. "It's also the very same reason why most of their casualties are suffered in here as well."

"Exactly." replied Oishi contentedly. "While the casualties were horrendous, me and forty-six other guys from my old unit made our way out here to continue the fight and avenge Lord Ryoma. And it's not just us who are out for Nohrian blood by any means."

"You could say that again." came a voice, this one harsh and feminine. "Truer fucking words were never spoken."

The voice belonged to a muscular, hard-faced kunoichi with shoulder-length brown hair, slightly younger than the fallen prince's retainers, her most prominent trait the deep, freshly-healed scar across her throat.

"I always knew you were tenacious, Chinatsu." remarked Kagero, more than a little impressed. "But that battle in the capital was something else to survive, even for you."

Chinatsu scowled reflexively. "It's not so much 'surviving' as being dragged forward by hatred for people who deserve to be such." she replied. "But I know damned well that the likes of us are some dangerous enemies to make."

As their old comrades went to talk tactics with their respective groups, Saizo gave his counterpart an uncharacteristically soft expression. "You're pretty fucking amazing, you know that?" he said.

Kagero swept back some of her raven hair out of her face. "Yes, I know."

"And you lost HOW many men again?!" Hans taunted, his scarred face twisted with glee his coworker's humbling.

Still clutching the site of the wound on his abdomen, Pietro muttered inconclusively about estimates and soldiers missing-in-action. He was fairly sure the brute King Leo insisted on referring to as his equal could scarcely count, but he was not going to give the bandit the satisfaction of admitting he'd lost a good half of the men the king had allotted him, a horse, and a good deal of his blood to that uppity old savage.

"So I guess the great 'Savagekiller' is getting a bit rusty, eh?" Hans taunted further. "I'm sure the king will find someone decent to take your place-"

"At least the last time, I 'lost,' I could actually walk away from the fight." snapped the paladin. "And didn't have to be carted away like some pathetic, wounded animal."

Intellectually and rhetorically checkmated by this response, Hans merely shot his counterpart a hateful glare. Even as the two senior-most commanders assigned to the east, second only to Matteo himself, there was little love lost between the two men; known to dislike each other, the only thing which they really had in common was their approach to the "savages," and even so, there was still considerable disagreement about their exact methods. So why on earth was the king demanding their shared presence in his throne room? He had even dispatched Gunter, head of his royal guard, to receive them outside.

"It's about time, gentlemen." the old knight scolded. "We wouldn't want to keep His Majesty waiting, now would we?"

*The great doors to the throne room creaking open, the king motioned listlessly for the visibly-foreign slaves to clear the way for his generals. As they reached the foot of the throne's steps, the three men went down on one knee (Pietro wincing briefly) before being shortly motioned to their feet. "Well, gentlemen." began Leo airily. "I suppose you are questioning why exactly I have summoned you, no?"

Pietro winced once more, not so much from his wounded abdomen, but his wounded pride, at which the king gave a dispassionate chuckle. "You needn't worry, good sirs, you've done nothing wrong." Leo reassured. "In fact, this is an occasion for celebration. But as our first order of business, I must introduce you to your new colleague, your new sister-in-arms."

"Erm, 'sister,' my liege?" inquired Pietro, the feigned humility clearly stifling him on several levels.

Rising from his throne, Leo simply clapped twice, his expression turning cruel and proud. "Konrad!" he demanded. "Introduce these gentlemen to our new friend!"

Upon closer inspection, the least-astute of the trio noticed the questionable scientist huddled off in a shadowy corner, however, all eyes in the room were soon on its latest occupant. Crossing the threshold, gait disciplined and inhumanly stiff, the figure was clad head-to-toe in armor blacker than the darkest night, the only flesh visible being her lips and lower face. Taking her place at Pietro's left, even the steely paladin was slightly unnerved by the lack of audible respiration.

"This, gentlemen," began Leo smugly. "is Lady Rose. One of the, if not THE strongest woman in the kingdom's history to serve Nohr. A wyvern tamer and axewoman without peer. And you four, are my Four Horsemen, my strongest and most loyal generals. Your names will be forever etched into Nohr's heroic sagas; the heroes who led the effort to extinguish the threat of the Hoshidan savages once and for all and made clear to them that their only options are to kneel voluntarily before me, kneel before me in chains, or be exterminated."

Leo began to pace the throne's platform lengthwise. "But my Four Horsemen cannot, will not, be forced to carry out their heroic deeds with ratty old weapons." he remarked, reaching behind the throne, momentarily producing a silver-studded spear with a point of unparalleled sharpness, a sickly-green gemstone protected by sharp fringes joining the shaft and point. Walking up to Gunter, the king turned the weapon horizontally, presenting it to the old knight. "This is Gae Bolg." Leo introduced. "A legendary spear of untold power."

"Thank you, milord." Gunter answered with a light bow, already quite aware of the weapon's origins and knowing it'd make a fine counterpart to his otherworldly blade.

Briefly returning to the throne, Leo did the same with another weapon, an intricate, double-edged blade with a sinister-looking red gem at the hilt's center. Once again, he flipped it horizontally and presented it to Pietro. "The Loptyr Sword." introduced the king. "This blade was also forged with extremely powerful magic. A perfect fit for a man of your tastes and abilities."

"You are most gracious, Your Majesty." Pietro thanked, less with humility and more distracted fixation on the blade and its eerie, yet intoxicating power.

Again, Leo returned to his throne, returning to his generals with an axe of with a brilliant, almost-chrome sheen of silver and royal blue finish on the handle, handing it off to the newcomer without a word shared between them. Finally returning to collect the last of the weapons, repeated the ritual, once more flipping the weapon, an axe overlaid with shimmering gold and even sharper than the one presented to the enigmatic Rose, presenting the weapon to Hans. "Finally, this is the Thunder Axe, Armads." the king informed the already transfixed bandit. "I can promise you that this is the finest axe in this world."

"This...is fucking amazing!" the brute marveled, taking the weapon in his axe hand. "You there, slave! Er- Do you mind, sire?"

"Of course not, my friend. They're disposable, after all."

Wearing a wicked grin, Hans called once more for the collared young man, his eyes burning with impotent defiance. "What do you require of me, Master?" the Hoshidan growled through gritted teeth.

"Just hold still for a second." the bandit demanded, momentarily felling the youth with a deep, diagonal slash across his neck and chest.

Absolutely intoxicated with this power granted him, Hans turned the malevolent glare onto his latest victim's fellow slaves huddled together in a nearby corner, the seven of them returning expressions of absolute, defiant contempt or sheer, unadulterated terror. As the room's most prolific butcher of defenseless men, women, and children alike once again indulged his passion on the helpless captives, the fact that the weather outside had turned stormy was paid little mind by the others. The old knight, on the other hand, noticed that every deadly blow of the axe coincided with a particularly violent thunderclap.

Once one of his generals had his fill (for the time being) of innocent blood, Leo kicked their sole survivor, a girl not much older than Elise would have been, quivering next to his throne in terror. "Clean this up, you worthless bitch!" he snarled at the Hoshidan, who weepily steeled herself to dispose of her newfound friends.

Taking to his throne once again, Leo wore an expression of proud contentment at his Four Horsemen gathered here; one for each of the cardinal directions. But the three outside of Gunter would be subject to one final test of their loyalty and devotion to his cause before they would be approved for their deployment to bring his brand of iron-fisted order to Hoshido. "By the by, in a couple of weeks' time, an infestation of rats will be troubling us." Leo remarked distantly, as if speaking of some utterly trifling matter. "For all his faults, Duke Toscana is renowned for his ability to plan get-togethers, but I trust you three will see fit to deal with the vermin when the time comes, hm?"*

The Ice Tribe champion was not a particularly prolific dreamer and for that, he was grateful. As the majority of his dreams invariably drifted back to when he was a young boy, to the single defining incident in Florian's life; the impetus for his quest to become the most powerful guardian of his people in their history and his burning hatred for Nohr. Inevitably, said dreams always started the same way.

"Father!" his younger self would call over the whoops and shouts of the marauding Nohrian soldiers.

"Florian, run!" his father would implore as his axe sent a Nohrian knight and his steed to meet their maker, cognizant and accepting of his inevitable demise. "Run as fast and far as away as you can and don't look back!"

Now for a boy of no more than four, the chaos and carnage of scores of his tribe's men and fellow boys being butchered, slashed, stabbed, chopped, burned alive, and trampled underfoot was far too much to deal with and run he did. But his morbid curiosity and love of his father eventually got the better of him, turning back only to encounter the Nohrian paladin, the demon who had haunted him his entire life; his cruel sneer, immaculate greenish-black mustache, and blood-red lance giving him the appearance of an evil spirit straight from the tribe's folklore. Sometimes the knight would make an arrogant remark, others he'd simply hoist the polearm to strike; Florian's mind's eye had replayed the scene so many times, he was unsure exactly which had actually occurred. But the next part was crystal clear and, horrifying as it was, still made a part of him swell with pride.

"Nohrian bastard!" his father would roar, deftly cutting through several of the knight's minions. "Get away from my son!"

As his father struck at the knight, leaving a grazing wound in the process, one other detail still stood out to Florian plain as day; the horrific sights, sounds, and smell of burning flesh and hair were permanently imprinted on his mind's eye as he witnessed his father impaled on the wicked lance and with the unnatural flame eventually subsiding, using his mangled body and the last ounce of strength left in him to shield his son from the massacre.

"FATHER, NO!" screamed Florian as he awoke in a cold sweat, his eyes affixed to the ceiling of a particularly ramshackle Windmire inn.

As he took a minute to get his hurried breathing under control, the tribe's heir looked on with concern from her own bed.

"Are you alright?" Flora inquired gingerly. "You've been tossing and turning for the past hour."

"I'm fine." lied Florian defensively. "I was just having a bad dream, that's all. Nothing to be concerned about."

"Well, if you're sure, I won't push you about it further."

"In fact, I'm so fine, I'm going to go start my morning workout. Right now."

As the champion slammed the door behind him, Flora sighed. She, being nobody's fool, knew her old friend was most certainly not fine. While her father had tried his very damnedest to keep the affair hushed up as much as possible, the mysterious, "unexplained" disappearance of three hundred men and boys (including Florian's father, uncles, and brothers) of the tribe after a Nohrian "punitive expedition" some twenty years prior, the fact that the Ice Tribe's middle-aged members tended to hold the strongest grudges against Nohr, the champion's insatiable grudge against Nohr and anything to with it and being raised by his mother and aunts entirely told Flora everything she needed to know.

Of course it galled her to see anyone, particularly a childhood friend, in this much pain. However, knowing even better that Florian was also likely the most stubborn man alive, he would vehemently recoil and decline to talk about it until he was damned good and ready to do so and with such a vital mission of theirs on which the window was closing quickly, there was little to be gained from tension between the two. Traditionally in Nohr, for three days after a king's coronation, the city's people would be allowed (controlled) access to the castle grounds to partake in the festivities. With nobles from across the land (and often outside of it) up to the royal family flocking to Windmire to pay their tribute to the new monarch. However, by the morning of the third day, Flora began to despair as Corrine was nowhere to be found.

The "help" around Castle Krakenburg, ostensibly placed to keep order and aid the festival-goers, were less-than-helpful to the pair. Flora simply rolling her eyes as she presented her father's seal to the guard for the third time in three days. "You know full well who I am." Flora remarked shortly. "I served the royal family for years AND showed you this crest twice already."

The guard on duty sneered at this show of defiance. "Well, I'm sorry, little lady." he said condescendingly. "But as a general rule, we don't allow your kind to mingle with members of high society, or even our dregs, so it must have slipped my mind."

Florian shot the watchman an angry, challenging glare as he and Flora were eventually admitted, maintaining the expression as he hesitantly handed over his weapons. After a good minute of scanning the crowds with a particular eye on the nobles, Flora sighed in resignation. "I have to at least try to find Lady Corrine or even Lady Azura." she said at last. "It should not take me more than a couple of hours. Are you sure you can stay out of trouble for that long?"

The champion rolled his eyes. "Come on, Flora!" he admonished. "All the bullshit and slanders these Nohrian idiots spread about us, you really think I'm stupid enough to start something?"

"Stupid, no. Perhaps not the sharpest blade on the rack, but not stupid. Temperamental, yes."

It was far from an unfounded concern on the part of Flora. Unsurprisingly, Florian disliked dealing with Nohrians immensely and they generally reciprocated, the men in particular. Ever since they had reached the fringes of Nohrian "civilization" as the light flurries they called "snowstorms" started to pick up, Flora had lost count of the times she had to either verbally or even physically restrain her companion from rising to rhetorical bait set by the kingdom's more belligerent denizens. She had to give the champion his credit; ever since he had begun dealing with Nohr, he had learned to let the petty offenses such as refusal of services or exorbitant charges for said services and goods usually slide without incident. But the challenges to their humanity, particularly the use of the word "savage" and talk of them being slaughtered like animals, left even the persuasive, charismatic Flora struggling to talk him down.

With this in mind and relieved of his sword and axe (but not without a couple of blades hidden in his armor; unsurprisingly, the champion never traveled completely unarmed, particularly among Nohrians), in the absence of his friend, Florian explicitly made it a point to avoid interaction with the festivalgoers, not even solely due to his dislike for their country and army; the pure decadence of the occasion was simply off-putting to Florian in a way he could not articulate. From the commoners eating and drinking as if there were no tomorrow, to the nobles blowing smoke up each others' arses, to the obnoxious blonde woman flaunting her expensive furs and jewelry to both, he felt that unease almost as fundamentally as his desire to avenge his murdered kin.

However, after an hour of meandering and sulking about and separation from Flora, the Ice Tribe's champion noticed something quite interesting about a conversation held between an unpleasantly-familiar voice and a noble in a certain alcove away from the festivities. "-truly is nothing personal on my part." came the first voice. "Business is business, you see. But Matteo can simply not be seen colluding with...well, your sort, but rest assured, his money is still good and will find its way to your coffers."

"Hey, gold is gold." replied the second voice, lazily arrogant. "Civilized, 'savage,' it doesn't give a damn. "How'd the Wind Tribals treat you? Some of my boys may have scuffed up a few of the women a bit, if you get my meaning, but we got you the merchandise in working order. Well, most of it, anyway."

"Excellent. Konrad is extremely interested in the innate magical properties of their casters. He thinks he can accomplish some w- Well, 'wonderful' may not be the right term, but you understand my point."

"Whatever, long as we get paid. Just don't ask us to try to retrieve any more merchandise from Mount Garou. Some of the boys tried there and ran into the head bitch in charge and her pack. It...wasn't pretty from what the survivor told me."

"I'd actually have suggested the Kitsune if that country it weren't so damned dangerous for you lot. After that number the princess did on them, they'd fetch you a far higher price than the average Hoshidan savage, I'm sure. Hell, I bet Konrad would pay you five times his normal rate at least."

"True, but when I bought up the possibility to some of my hands, they weren't exactly sold on the cost-benefit equation for that one. Now, if you'd start putting out bounties on those Hoshidan bandits you seem to be having such a problem with-"

"You must be even more reckless than you are greedy. Need I remind you who are to have tactical and operational command over there very shortly? True, that bandit's one of the nastiest pieces of work on the continent, but Pietro? Well, you'd better be spending every spare minute praying to whatever you people hold sacred that you don't get in his way. Trust me, he'd be far more a danger to you and your men than the savages."

"Thanks for the heads up, but I think we can handle ourselves."

Giving himself some distance as to not make his eavesdropping apparent, Florian noticed the nobleman departing as their conversation concluded. Quite transparently some Nohrian bigshot or another, who, how, or what he was held no interest for the champion. No, the identity and activity of his "fellow" tribesman was of far more interest. Like a tiger on the hunt, he crept up on the man slowly, at the last second grabbing him by the collar of his silk shirt, pinning him to the wall of an old guard house.

"Bela, you slaving, traitorous motherfucker!" he raged. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't fucking gut you right here and now!"

His lithe-yet-muscular frame still no match for Florian's brawn, the man gave his old rival a self-satisfied smirk through his purple bangs. "It's simple, really." Bela responded calmly. "Chief Kilma likes and trusts me far more than he ever did you."

"Even when I tell him what you and your boys have been up to? That you're trafficking other tribals AND your own people for whatever sick shit Nohr is doing?!"

"Oh, Florian, you simple man. Whose word do you really think he'll trust? The word of the urbane, traveled, diplomat with years of experience and charisma or the musclebound, hotheaded problem child who has been eyefucking his daughter literally every day since he was thirteen years old?"

Slamming the man once again against the wall, with his free hand, Florian drew one of the concealed daggers in his armor, holding it threateningly to the other man's throat.

"That's got nothing to do with this and you know it, bastard!" he scolded.

"Oh, but I think it does, little man." taunted Bela once more. "The chief dislikes you for a reason, you know. You can't even follow a simple direction like 'no fighting' in the city. Yes, I do believe that a charming, intelligent lady like Flora deserves a charming, intelligent man like...well, not you. I believe we both know whom I'm talking about."

It was quite a gamble on Bela's part, as men have been killed for less in less-heated situations. Nonetheless, it seemed to have paid off, as the Ice Tribe's champion released him and sheathed the blade, yet never released his murderous glare. "Your Nohrian masters saved you this time." he said threateningly. "Next time we meet when you're not hiding behind their skirts, I WILL fucking kill you, understand?"

Bela gave that same smug grin, which Florian found so punchable during their childhood rivalry and even to this day. "I look forward to it, friend." he drawled facetiously. "But I do believe you've chosen the losing side. I'll be sure to tell her all about your stupid choices once I've bedded her myself."

As his rival sauntered off, Florian resisted a strong temptation to hurl one of the large rocks nearby at Bela's head. Whatever he did, whatever he said, that man apparently made it his life's mission to antagonize him and he did it well. What did he really think Nohr was going to do with him once he stopped being useful, Florian wondered angrily. Did he seriously believe that bullshit like the chief or is he just trying to enrich himself, even if it meant damn near destroying some tribes?

Chewing listlessly on a reed as he marched alongside the caravan of nobles, the ronin (there had been a lot of those created as of late) Hidehara, against his own wishes, retained a stony countenance as he accompanied this pathetic bunch meandering through hostile territory and an even-more hostile population, just waiting to throw themselves at the Nohrian king's feet, praying for whatever punishing terms he would give them. Having spent the past three weeks trekking through a country where constant verbal abuse (however, attempts at other types of abuse were not uncommon either) denigrating them as subhuman was not only tolerated, but encouraged by the powers that be in Nohr only incensed the now-masterless samurai even further and as the night fell and he paid attention to the camp's conversations, he realized that even those who spoke of the importance of peace at all costs with the enemy were displeased with this state of affairs.

"Who the hell do these Nohrians think they are anyway?!" said one proud lord, sounding more than a little tipsy. "Making us crawl like worms to them to beg for whatever scraps they offer?!"

"Milord, I believe the towns we've passed with the 'savages not welcome' signs indicate the general mindset at play." remarked his retainer. "That or they're attempting to provoke us into giving them an excuse to finish us off once and for all."

"They're human beings just like us." replied a second lord. "They've taken so heavy of material losses, they couldn't possibly want to continue this war."

Eventually tuning out this banter after a few more minutes, Hidehara opted to retire to the edge of the nearby woods for his nightly meditation, figuring that the other guards and his fellow ronin could pick up the slack. However, his attempts to clear his mind were interrupted by another set of problems which he could not help but overhear.

"That's another one, milord." reported a ronin. "That's the third one in two days. Only this one was after Lady Raicho. I apologize for not having dealt with him sooner-"

"Don't apologize." insisted the third lord. "If you hadn't been there when you were, I shudder to think what would have happened. Let me help you with this pervert's corpse."

"Milord, I couldn't-"

"No, I insist. Gods only know how this could spiral out of control even if the likes of Duke Toscana don't make make it out to be something sinister."

What exactly did their immediate future hold anyway? Even despite his repeated attempts to clear his mind of any attachments, Hidehara found his attempts to resume meditation coming to naught; his instinct and finely-honed sense of danger was telling him there was something very, very wrong with this situation the Nohrian king had invited them into, but if he was not even sure himself that there was something amiss, how would he convince the lords and with no ironclad evidence?

As he absentmindedly stared at the snow piling up on one of the windowsills in Castle Krakenburg's great hall, Lord Yoshimitsu of Izumi halfheartedly picked and prodded at the plate of Nohrian delicacies before him, occasionally withering under the steely glare of his host, King Leonard, seated immediately to his left. Even among the Nohrians attending the feast, there was a palpable, yet inexplicable sense of tension about them, not unlike the night before a great battle.

The Hoshidan lord sighed, forcing down a few bites of potato as not to offend his hosts. Ever since he'd proposed such a summit with the new king, the Lord of Izumi had received very polarized reactions from his fellows, ranging from being called a coward and a traitor to a visionary and peacemaker. Yoshimitsu himself had no great love for the kingdom; being a border province, his people had probably suffered some of the worst excesses and atrocities of Nohrian occupation, but as the enemy's demands took their toll on harvest yields and their "punitive raids" on the fields and countryside, as winter approached and people across Hoshido began to look leaner and leaner, more and more of the nobles eventually came over to his way of thinking.

Ever since he'd arrived with his caravan in Nohr and the capital region in particular, in spite of all the degradation and humiliations to which his party had been subjected, Yoshimitsu had gone far out of his way to be a gracious guest (and seeing that his own people did so to the best of his ability), never speaking out of turn, accepting the disgusting Nohrian delicacies he'd been offered, indulging Leonard's proud, self-righteous monologues and even indulging the airy banalities of his kept woman.

"Oh, I almost forgot, Lord Izumi." resumed Leo dangerously. "Did I ever tell you the story of House Strom? It's one of the first things every Nohrian noble learns when he or she first takes on their responsibilities."

"No, milord, I can't say I've heard it." answered Yoshimitsu cautiously, reasonably certain he was not going to like what he was about to hear.

"Really, you haven't?" interjected the blonde, clad in her decadent finery. "Milord just adores this story and he tells it so well, too!"

The king made an exaggerated clearing of his throat, as if signalling for both Charlotte and his guest to hold their tongues. "In the very earliest days of Nohr, there was a noble house who considered themselves my fathers' equal, if not their superior." he began distantly, staring intently off into space himself. "But the Stroms were their vassals and they repeatedly refused to behave as such, do you know what happened to them?"

"King Leonard, I already told you." Yoshimitsu replied, more shortly than he'd intended it to sound. "I've never heard this story in my life."

"The founder of our dynasty took his finest, most loyal men and marched on Castle Strom and slaughtered the family to the last man, woman, and child. Such is the price of insolence, pride, and disloyalty. But this was not only to punish the Stroms by blotting their name out of history apart from this tale; it also serves as a cautionary tale to this day about the wages of arrogance and treachery."

In light of this previous faux pas, Yoshimitsu wisely opted to remain silent at this tale; was this a threat, meant to keep them from becoming just too ambitious when the peace negotiations did come? Of course it was a threat, he told himself. Nonetheless, things had gone as well as could have been so far expected, and all Yoshimitsu could do was hope and pray nothing derailed the proceedings, but he was unsure whether or not the king's next course of action was a good sign or not: Rising from his seat at the center of the head table, Leo stretched with a contented sigh, helping the blonde to her feet with an outstretched hand.

"You know, I'm just not that hungry." said Leo distantly, giving the woman an abrupt, discreet slap on her backside. "Charlotte, let us retire to my chambers. I tire of this."

The woman blushed slightly. "An excellent suggestion, milord!" Charlotte responded, her tone somehow striking the Hoshidan as insincere on some level.

"Er, King Leonard, I apologize if I seemed disrespectful about your anecdote." interjected Yoshimitsu. "But I truly had not heard of House Strom before your riveting introduction. I trust the negotiations will begin first thing in the morning?"

The king smiled in such a manner that the gesture caused no small degree of discomfort to Yoshimitsu on a visceral level. "Of course." Leo said. "You have my word."

As the king and his woman departed the table, shortly leaving the great hall behind them, Lord Izumi could have sworn for a second that Leonard and the man at the end of the table, a raven-haired, middle-aged man with a angular, proud expression, exchanged knowing, conspiratorial glances with each other. Turning to his bodyguard, Yoshimitsu lowered his voice: "Did something seem kind of off about that interaction for you?"

"Perhaps." Hidehara replied, now very conscious of the dagger hidden in his boot for such an occasion. "If it pleases you, milord, I'll talk it over with the other guards after dinner."

"Thank you."

**As the string band began to play a "traditional Nohrian song," the music low and heavy, (which sounded more like a requiem to the lord), Yoshimitsu could not help but notice the armored, axe-wielding figure stationed motionlessly at the left side of the great doors. Something or another about his, her, or its stance was uncannily and uncomfortably familiar to him. Perhaps it was simply due to his status as one of Hoshido's foremost spear instructors back in his day that he thought he could recognize individuals by their idle and combat stances. the only thing which could take his focus off of the armored figure was a hulking Nohrian spontaneously rising to his feet, making his way to the great doors. Instinctively and increasingly uncomfortable with this, the lord rose from his seat as well, reaching the remainder of the tables before the man closed and blocked off the doors.

Clearing his throat much in the same manner as his king to halt the music, the duke, the sole remaining figure at the head table, raised his wine glass in a toast. "I am so sorry that we have been remiss in our duties as hosts." began Duke Matteo insincerely. "Therefore, I feel it only appropriate that we dedicate this gift to you sav- er, Hoshidans, our new friends and partners in peace."

Rushing to his lord's side, Hidehara cursed to himself as all hell abruptly broke out in the great hall: It had struck him as odd that the Nohrian feastgoers were all men of decent physical shape aged sixteen to thirty-five and he now knew exactly why. At once and to a man, the Nohrians began to turn on their Hoshidan counterparts with their concealed daggers and blades stashed under the tables. At once, one of the Nohrians descended upon the heavily-pregnant Lady Kaede of Ise, stabbing her savagely in the abdomen repeatedly before slashing her throat. Before he could rise and draw his own concealed blade, her husband, Lord Tokuhei had his throat slashed almost to the bone, but not without a struggle.

Those who managed to escape the first half of the ambush instinctively scrambled for the great doors, hoping against hope to unblock the obstruction and escape with their lives. Those poor souls herded towards the doors by the assassins were almost at once butchered like so many stampeding pigs by the armored figure, screaming in crazed anguish as she (Yoshimitsu was now certain that the figure was a woman after hearing the voice) swung her axe wildly and a bald, burly man who wore an expression of absolute bliss as he slaughtered man, woman, and child alike.

As he dragged his liege from the carnage and back towards the the head table, Hidehara for his part, actually managed to take out a few of the assassins, but in the complete and utter bloody chaos of the situation, his plan to take Nohrian weapons from the dead and distribute them among his fellow ronin fell through, largely due to the lack of both things. Even in spite of his best efforts, the hulking sadist was on Lord Izumi far faster than his size would have implied.

"The king sends his regards." Hans said, eyes lit up with hateful glee as he drove the knife into the Hoshidan lord's chest cavity.

As the life drained from Yoshimitsu, he felt a sense of overwhelming despair; not that he was about to be reunited with the ancestors and many, if not most of his people, but a sense of overwhelming despair for the living and what their "partners in peace" had in store for Hoshido's future.

As he casually sipped his fine wine, leisurely watching the troops and two of the king's Four Horsemen finish off their guests, Duke Toscana congratulated himself on another job well done. He had told King Leonard that he was the absolute master at planning upscale get-togethers and he had not disappointed.

As part of her duties in her lady's absence, one of the duties Selena gradually took on was the preparation of the princess' dinners every now and again, particularly on a special occasion such as her returning from a considerable absence, such as tomorrow evening. True, the ingredients were expensive and time-consuming to acquire, costing an entire day out and a two weeks' pay, but this planned dinner, whether she'd intended it to be romantic or not, had the redhead feeling good, taking scarce notice of the commotion as she approached Krakenburg's grounds.

"Lady Selena, I must insist you turn back!" said one of the guards, a pikeman urgently.

"Hell, no!" she responded angrily. "I've been on my feet all damn day, what do you expect me to do?"

"The savage delegation! It was a ruse for an attempt on His Majesty's life! Sir Pietro and his men are dealing with the stragglers right now."

"Yeah, I can take care of myself."

Of course, Selena, being the cynical woman she was, did not believe a word of the bullshit Pietro had told his men. But as she took in the sights of the Hoshidan camp sites, she could scarcely believe her own eyes either: Bodies being hanged, burned, flayed alive among other things; for putting down an "assassination attempt," Selena noticed an unusual number of the bodies in such states being those of women and children and an unusual dearth of weapons. Now she had seen some fucked-up things in her time, probably more fucked-up things than most people her age (or any age) would see, but THIS, this was even too much for her, and in plain view for anyone to see? The fact that they were led by one of Leo's right-hand men, Pietro, told Selena that her hunch about the new king and his change in disposition was more than just a hunch. But who in a position to do anything about it would actually listen to her?

Class: King Nohr
Description: Leonard, the ambitious and ruthless king of Nohr. Values power above all else. Wields tomes and blades in battle with equal mastery.

Gurgurant:

Description: Leo only. A mighty and wicked blade from the Outrealm. Said to overflow with the madness and lust for power of its original owner.

Gae Bolg:
Description: Gunter only. A mighty lance from the Outrealm. Said to bear a powerful curse.

Armads:
Description: Hans only. A mighty, pilfered axe from the Outrealm. Immensely powerful, but Hans is incapable of wielding its full potential, as if its previous masters fight against him.

Basilikos:
Description: Rose only. An immensely powerful axe from the Outrealm. Said to be used by those somehow imprisoned in their own bodies.

Rex Hasta:
Description: Rose only. An immensely powerful lance from the Outrealm. Said to be used by those somehow imprisoned in their own bodies.

Loptyr Sword:
Description: Pietro only. A cursed, wicked blade from the Outrealm. Said to be accordingly empowered by the pride and hatred in the heart of its wielder.