To have the strong lead the weak sounds pragmatic… cynical even - but it is life-or-death in the maw of battle and war. Those of greater experience should blanket and shield their comrades - their wisdom forged in fighting will both allow them to lead the charge, and to create openings for their inexperienced brethren.
A reader may notice that throughout this chapter I spake of rank not once, and that is because it matters not. To be honored and promoted are testimonies of skill, Heavens know it, but rank pales in worth when compared to experience. A man of a hundred battles knows more than one of twenty, or even ninety - it matters not whether one is a Great Knight and the other a Spearman - to judge a man by the medals on his arm is a shallow and foolish endeavor, and any man of tactics should know better.
Knowing this, then what of the enemy? Should one then judge each enemy -regardless of rank- as equal? Aye, treat each one as if they were equally capable of killing your men. You can never fully know your enemy, but to know your men is your own responsibility.
~Words of Mark, Vol 1
It was early in the morning. The sun had yet to completely rise past the wooded horizon and cast its warm glow along the hill. The highest points of the castle were already being bathed by the cool light, while the base and many forts below still waded in the blues and grays of dawn.
Looking down from a second story window, Chrom could get a good glimpse of the small procession of knights and noblemen - summoned from their respective trades, outposts, and territories - escorted by castle guards into the main building. They would be led to the council room, a cabinet that could seat around ten people around its massive mahogany table; easily leaving room for twenty more throughout the room. The room had no windows and its doors were twice as heavy as the ones that guarded Emmeryn's chambers and her study, ensuring that all matters contained within remained strictly confidential.
The young prince looked forward to the long meetings that were to follow with the same enthusiasm as visiting the clerics when he was a boy. A certain nostalgia came over him as he thought back to the days when he was treated for broken bones, or when bad teeth had to be pulled - unpleasant for sure, but matters of body and health were inescapable. Formal meetings between rich, ignorant, and only occasionally competent nobleman was purely and surely avoidable, but alas his station mandated attendance. His sister, who stood next to him, surveying the same scene, shared many of Chrom's displeasures, but she had resigned herself to her duties years ago and never complained out loud.
"Once the Duke of Themis arrives we'll be able to begin posthaste," Emmeryn said quietly.
Chrom nodded and grunted. "And they arrived awfully soon. I didn't think they had it in them. Unless of course they assume this has to do with Plegia."
Emmeryn sighed. "Even if that weren't true, I do wish there was more enthusiasm when our neighbors weren't involved. We surely would have made much progress in finalizing Ylisse's restoration if they had the same drive towards those."
"...No helping it I suppose." Chrom checked the horizon and braced for a blinding dot of sunlight to appear, but saw nothing. The day itself seemed committed to remain as drab and dull as the upcoming council. "If what the courier said was true… then maybe Themis will be our ace in the hole when it comes to getting everyone to cooperate."
"How do you mean?"
"Supposedly the Duke met resistance on the way here, the very night he left the province. No sign of Plegians, so that leaves the possibility that he met our new friends."
Emmeryn's brow knit. "How horrible. ...I hope nobody was hurt. However…"
"Another story of these things attacking people would help steer negotiations along," Chrom finished for her. Emmeryn made an uncomfortable sound. "It's just an assessment Emm, neither of us want that."
His sister focused on the procession, and Chrom took notice of a horse drawn carriage park itself near the gates. Two armed guards guided their passenger through the gates and along the cobbled path. He moved with a certain urgency.
"And there's Themis… Every noble arrived on time - Damn, I guess Vaike wins." Chrom said the last part under his breath. His sister nodded and turned to leave the room. Chrom followed. "I'm sure Maribelle will be happy to see him. She might even be taken home early at this rate."
"Yes, that would be good for her. Perhaps Lissa could be persuaded to go along?"
"Doubtful, she's dead-set on staying on the field for now. Plus I think she wants spend more time with Robin."
"Understandable," Emmeryn said. "And where is Robin off to now? How has he been adjusting to the other Shepherds?"
"Last I checked he was getting along great. He's quiet, but he's easy to talk to - a good trait in a tactician as far as I'm concerned. He may end up doing a better job than me if he stays long enough."
"And why do you say that?"
Chrom nervously ran his fingers through his hair. "I guess it's… They'd know Robin as a friend first and their tactician second, unlike me. Sometimes I wonder if my men are actually addressing me or just 'the prince,' or 'the captain,' or whatnot. ...You ever feel that way Emm?"
"All the time, Chrom. We have little choice - we're leaders." They came to the a grand staircase that lead to the first-story hallway. The great doors were already opened and guards were escorting the guests inside. "It is best to embrace the figure of authority you carry, I've learned. Showing doubt when people depend on you is much less desirable, I assure you."
"Of course," Chrom said glumly. "It's just… Frederick only sees me as the Prince, his liege. Stahl's not much better… With Vaike and Sully I can just talk to them and I know they understand. I can't help but feel like I'm doing something wrong if I can't get every soldier to treat me the same."
Emmeryn was quiet and stopped at the head of the stairs, hand resting on the polished wood railings. "...Chrom, I know I have said this before, but you must understand. Leaders are both more than a person and less at the same time. We are the leaders, and at the same time… we are only leaders. As leaders we have authority, but we are just an image - an icon. Icons aren't people. Icons need to be dependable to give orders and make hard decisions - but can eventually be replaced if need be. You cannot love a person the same way you can love an icon."
Chrom could feel the sober resignation in his sister's voice as they descended to the floor below. "That's not completely true Emm. The people love you." he said.
Emmeryn sighed. "But that's not my point, Chrom. You must be what your people ask of you. If they ask for Chrom the Prince, answer as such. If they ask for Chrom the man… do likewise. If one is kinder or sterner than the other, so be it. A normal person might be called two-faced for holding up such a farce, but our station of birth requires it… you see?"
"I do, it's just…" Chrom never finished. The murmuring of voices grew louder as they drew closer to the ensemble.
"I must make it sound very grim." Emmeryn said finally. "I do not mean to make this heavy. I am agreeing with you. It is good to seek a deeper understanding from your men, and it is a worthy pursuit - but it is very difficult to succeed. Robin will be a much appreciated help in this. A man like him can be a mediator between you and your men."
The halls were now echoing with chattering voices - masking the two sibling's conversation. As Emmeryn drew near to the thirty plus people assembled, a hush fell over the entourage. The guards saluted and bowed their heads. Chrom nodded to each of the guards and looked to Emmeryn.
"Friends," She said in a calm voice. "It pleases me greatly to see you all here on such short notice."
"Were it any other I might have refused," one duke spoke up. "But we are bound by oath and loyalty both. And I think I speak for all of us when I say we would have arrived regardless. No other Exalt has treated her subjects as dearly as you."
Pretty words from the man who's usually late. Chrom said to himself.
Emmeryn smiled warmly. "I thank you for your kind words."
"Milady, the urgency the couriers delivered to us was most ambiguous in nature and has left me with a fear for the worst." A landlord said plainly. "I was hoping all our fears would be laid to rest as soon as possible? The sooner we understand your plight the sooner we can ease the fears of all Ylisseans."
Says the man who isn't even pretending to look concerned. Chrom fought to keep his expression from darkening, but his gut churned with the resentment he held for these men.
Emmeryn nodded. "Of course, we will move along at once. Me and Chrom shall guide you to the chamber, we start in an hour."
The guards stepped between the Exalt and her brother and beckoned the noblemen forward. Chrom walked in step with Emmeryn as she led the group past the two staircases and into the far back of the building, where the council chambers waited. The prince could sense his sister's own apprehension - even now at their best behaved these men would a chore to reason with, but she never lost her kind demeanor and her frustration showed not once.
"I don't know how you do it, Emm." Chrom said quietly.
His sister drew closer, ever so slightly. "Chrom, I will tell you a secret," she whispered. "...I don't know either."
"Against all better judgement, I am instructed to educate on the ways of the castle in an orderly and informative fashion." Frederick held his hands behind his back as he walked. Robin's early morning study session in the archives had been interrupted swiftly by the Great Knight. He insisted on giving Robin a more thorough breakdown of the Castle, supposedly at Chrom's orders. Lissa soon joined them, apparently she had nothing better to do.
Presently the walked around the western perimeter of the castle. Frederick pointed with his chin towards the training grounds. "To the west of the castle is where the Paladins train; the Royal Guard Elite. The east is where the Pegasus and Falcon Knights do likewise - they are Her Grace's personal guard. As a Shepherd you operate independently from both of these, but are privy to the same resources, as the others surely informed you earlier. The castle's facilities, not limited to the bedchambers, kitchens, pantries, common grounds, and armory are all at your disposal. You are to not however interfere with either of their duties at any given time without express orders from someone of rank (or Her Grace of course), or there is some emergency. If you have to bother one of them, speak to the Paladins. The Pegasus Knights must be left alone."
"O-oh, I see." Robin was looking forward to getting a closer look at a Pegasus again. Maybe that was for the best, his track-record with them hadn't been stellar at this point. "...Does it have something to do with their duty to Emmeryn- er, the Exalt?"
"No." Frederick said simply. "It's simple courtesy. There's no reason for a green recruit to bother any of the Exalt's Elite, much less an all-but-stranger. The Paladins are already tasked with domestic matters, like the Shepherds, so it would be the lesser of two evils."
It's also a nice flex of authority over someone you still don't completely trust. Robin thought darkly. He also knew that this Great Knight and the Falcon Knight captain Phila were good friends, and he had heard nothing implying the same for the Paladin captain, whoever that may be. The Knight's orders seemed professional, but the implications did not, not to Robin at least.
"If you wanted..." Lissa said as she stretched her arms. "I could play the old princess card and let you meet 'em anyway."
For some reason Robin felt a pit in his stomach. "Er…"
"I could tell them it's official business. You could talk to Phila again,"
"That's hardly a concern-"
Lissa crept closer to Robin and whispered harshly, here eyes relaxed and knowing. "A lot of them are really pretty, you know. I could set something up with them if you wanted-"
"That's quite alright!" Robin cried, face aflush. "I-If Frederick says they shouldn't be bothered th-then that's the end of the discussion!"
Lissa's expression dropped. She stretched again and walked away from the tactician. "Fiiine, and a girl tries to be nice…"
Robin let out a sigh of relief. He'd rather avoid another chance meeting with a Pegasus Knight if he could help it. Especially in the off-chance it were the same one who trampled his foot.
"With that intriguing discussion out of the way, it's time we moved indoors," Frederick declared. "The royal armory is just inside, and I believe a thorough examination would be necessary to enlighten Robin of our cause."
"Aaaand on that note, I'm out of here," Lissa said. She looked at Robin. "I'll be at the Garrison with Maribelle all day, so when Frederick's done showing you through the room full of dusty swords and armor, just head on back. We're having dinner there again if you're interested."
"Um… sure."
The Royal Armory was separate from the traditional utilities used by the Paladins, and served as a museum more than anything. Ancient tools and armors from throughout the continent's history were stored inside, supposedly gathered and compiled by one of the first Exalts.
The massive iron doors were adorned with two intricate carvings of Dragons, with the gleaming Brand of the Exalt placed in the middle. One dragon, placed to the right, looked magnificent and fair - while the one to the left was horned and sinister with its writhing body and toothy maw. If Robin had to fathom, he'd assume that the fair and powerful dragon was Naga, and the sinister, horned creature were an evil one of sorts, perhaps the one Frederick had spoken of earlier, when he'd first seen the Exalt.
"Do the Ylissean's really worship dragons as gods?" Robin asked. Frederick was busy undoing the massive lock that sealed the doors.
"Nay, we only worship the one. The Divine Dragon Naga is the one we serve - mankind's benefactor since before the times of old Archanea. Other nations would take up their own dragons to serve, in poor taste for the most part. If that is what interests you, I can surely tell you more once we're inside. Some will refer you to books and records on the matter of lore, and we are a people of peace..." the knight said. "But I believe our culture is best represented here."
Frederick pushed the heavy doors open, allowing the tactician to pass through first before he sealed the doors behind him. Frederick did this out of habit, but the idea of being locked in alone with him made Robin uncomfortable.
Lissa had shown the Armory to him before, but her knowledge was sorely lacking and she mostly skimmed over everything, barely moving a few paces past the door. Supposedly each piece of armor could tell a tale from a particular era from Ylissean history, and Frederick exposited freely about this when they first entered. At first Robin was confused why Frederick would readily show him the types of arms his comrades and lieges had available, it occurred to him that it may have well been the knight's intention: a show of arms. It wasn't as big as the Archives, but the Armory was stacked with rows of powerful suits of armor and lined with beautiful and frightful weaponry - stowed away for posterity, but ultimately still useful for any emergency, like an intruder or a spy.
These weapons were mostly just for show, or so he was told, as they were highly specialized and would be seen as ultimately impractical to arm an entire armada with them. The barbed teeth of a Beastkiller-spear for example, though impressive, was designed to tear at the hides of mounts and other beasts of war, not the armor-plating of a prepared soldier.
"Flesh is flesh, beast or not, and tears all the same," Frederick said. "But there are ultimately better weapons for the job, not to mention more plentiful to spare…" Frederick absentmindedly drew an ornate rapier from its stand, examined it, and stowed it away. "Some of these are touted as replicas of the weapons used by heroes past, or the very same in some cases - mostly unproven. However true or counterfeit these claims may be, their craftsmanship is exceptional and not readily wasted on any mere battle. Some of these may be the last of their kind. Here, for example." Frederick reached for a particularly bulky scabbard, already containing its blade, and tossed it to Robin.
Robin snatched it from the air, however clumsily, and found it to be surprisingly light. He gripped the sword's handle and examined the sheath, trying to imagine the type of blade it may contain. He pulled at the scabbard lightly and felt the soft release of the sword sliding free. He looked up to Frederick, who gave him an assuring nod. He freely drew the sword from its sheath.
The blade itself only was nearly too small for its scabbard - easily two times so, but its strange shape necessitated it. It was jagged, not like the teeth of a saw, but as though its smith had hammered a long and thin blade at several obscene angles, creating a zigzag shape. If the open gaps were filled out, it would produce the silhouette of a more traditional blade, though one of a much bigger size, hence the large scabbard. Robin's eyes widened at the intrinsic markings and polished edges of the sword as he waved it once in his hand.
"That is a Levin Sword," Frederick stated. "These blades were forged in tribute to Naga and were presented as gifts to the first Exalt, before they were scattered over time. The one you carry one of the last of its brothers. No more than a couple hundred were made, and I doubt any more than half of that original count remains on this earth. This is the only blade that managed to return to our care thus far."
And he'd let me handle one of these?
"It feels incredible," Robin said. "...But it's so light… how could this hope to inflict any damage? This would surely snap in a couple hits."
"Not likely. Compared to others here its make is fairly modest, but it is durable. Its true strength lies in channeling magic."
"Really…?"
"Indeed. Strokes made by this blade account for one's magical ability; affinity to runes and the like, not to their strength of arm." The Knight smiled. "Which is why I'm confident in letting you hold it, seeing as you're no match for a trained knight, nor have you conjured more than the most basic of spells."
...Ah.
Frederick walked to Robin's side and pointed to the blade. "See how the blade captures the image of a bolt of lightning? Now look down on the hilt…" He gestured the colored gemstone placed in the center of the hilt, set upon a piece of carved metal pointing upwards. "That in the center represents Mount Prism, resting place of the Divine Dragon, to the east of here. The bolt is her glory raining down unto the mount."
"So this blade was forged with some religious symbolism in mind?"
"Yes. Mount Prism, Magic, Naga... These are very important aspects to Ylissean culture." Robin turned the hilt and watched as the colors of the gem fluctuated, very much like a prism. He held it high and turned it some more, trying to catch every available color. Its colors were brightest when held above his head.
"Supposedly the same image is invoked whenever one hurls a bolt from the blade, were they strong enough… er… Robin?" Robin was too mesmerized to notice, but the gem had begun to shine - brightly. By the time he realized what was happening, it was too late.
With a sound like thunder a great flash lept forth from the blade and struck a suit of armor. It pathetically repelled against the polished steel and dissipated safely on the floor. The force nearly shook the blade from Robin's hand; violently sending his arm swinging downwards, the blade ringing as it tapped against the tiled floor.
The silence after the sudden outbreak was deafening, and Robin stood in a stupor. Frederick swiftly retrieved the blade from his grip, had it sheathed back into its strange scabbard, and stowed it away back to its original display. "That was an error mostly on my part," the knight said quietly. "But now you surely see why we don't regularly use these weapons? Disasters waiting to happen in untrained hands…" The knight examined the suit of armor which was struck, and checked the tiling on the floor. "...Bah, this calls for a new waxing. Won't be the first time of course. I shall see to it myself later. Now then, where were we?"
Robin blinked. "You were going to tell me about dragons?"
"Of course, my apologies. I suppose I got carried away, this all excites me." Frederick gave a sweeping gesture as an uncharacteristically warm smile formed on his face. "I've studied weapons and armors since I was a boy. Even after years of service in the castle, standing in here is… cathartic for me."
Being surrounded by pointed weapons that could hurl lightning excited him? That did not surprise Robin in the slightest. "Now then, follow me to the far back - there are two things I wish to show you. I think it would do you good to see some centerpieces of the Ylissean faith - perhaps it may answer several of your questions at once."
At the backend of the room was there rested a certain display, meekly furnished and unassuming in a withdrawn, somber manner. There was a simple rest for a sword to be placed horizontally, and upon this rested Chrom's blade, the Falchion, stowed away to be retrieved after the council. Above this blade, hanging from the wall, rested a massive shield, colored gold and copper.
At its top rested a circular slot, which lead into a crest running down the center, which split into four limbs that spread perpendicular to the center piece, each ending with their circular slot. These slots contained colored gems, each a different color. The top one was a marble white color. The two on the left; purple and red, the ones on the right were blue and green. The shield was covered in scrawlings of an ancient tongue.
Robin had never seen anything like it. It stood out against the other weapons and treasures, it and the sword.
"That is the Fire Emblem," Frederick said solemnly. "Ylisse's greatest treasure, bar only the Holy Fang of Naga, and the Exalt of course."
"Fang of Naga?" Robin repeated. "You mean Chrom's sword?"
"Indeed. The Divine Dragon gifted two treasures to the old kings of Archanaea, one of her scales, and one of her fangs. The Falchion is the fang, and the scale is the shield you see before you."
"...They just look to be steel and gold. Did these really come from a dragon?"
"They did, and they contain great power. If Naga's power were to dwell within them, as in the time of the First Exalt, they would be tools of great reckoning and power, enough to reshape a world should one wish. It was by these tools that the First Exalt performed the Awakening upon Mount Prism, and with Naga's power, laid the Fell Dragon Grima to rest."
"R-really…" these words made Robin's head swim, especially the last mention of the Fell Dragon. "I think I read some about him in the archives… S-So… supposedly, these are artifacts of great power… then why let Chrom meander across the countryside with the holy blade? What if he were to lose possession of it?"
"The Exalt herself gifted it to him," Frederick said starkly. "She had no need for it, after all - what with no battles requiring her own steel, nor any fell beasts to banish this side of the castle…"
"But what if someone were to steal it?" Robin asked. "Then another great treasure would be scattered to the winds, wouldn't it?"
The Knight's brow was furrowed, but it soon softened. "Ah… I see now. Would you like to lift it, Robin?"
"...Will you have me test every great weapon in here?"
"No, I merely wish to check something. Go on, it won't send forth levin like the last."
Robin hesitantly complied. He walked up to the small shrine and gripped the Falchion in his hand. "...The leather's very nice. Comfortable, worn smooth, I imagine this is changed every so often…" he mumbled to himself. He gently lifted with his arms and had the sword ease off of its perch.
"Seems surprisingly balanced for its odd shape and yet-" The moment it was completely removed from its perch all was made clear to him. "Geee-ood gawds! It's... heavy!" he screeched. His arms strained as if they were to be pulled from his shoulders, forcing him to drop the blade. It clattered loudly to the ground. He panted, holding his arms just to make sure they were still attached to his body. "How does he even carry that thing?" he wheezed. He carefully reached for it once more and managed to lift it from the ground for a scant few seconds before his arms gave out again. "I'd think this would serve as a club more than a sword…"
Frederick laughed lightly. "Milord is gifted among men for his strength. Some can lift it, aye, but most can't. Indeed, not even every member of the Divine Bloodline can call upon its power in full. And watch this…" Frederick reached down and gripped the blade, squeezing as if he meant to slice through his leather glove and cut his hand. Robin cried out in protest, but Frederick quickly ran his hand along the blade and showed his open palm to Robin. "...It could cut fruit perhaps… but see here? My armor withstood it. It dulls itself when not Chrom's hands, and became as lead in yours. The sword sensed your lack of divine blood."
"Divine Blood?"
"Yes, Robin. When a Divine Dragon chooses its champion, it also gifts them with their own blood. This is to grant them the strength they need to lead and protect, but it also serves as a connection between the two. No boon granted by a dragon could ever be misused, as it responds only to hands of someone with like blood."
"Chrom's descended from a dragon?!" Robin nearly cried.
"Have no fear, he is just as human as you or I, only Naga's blessings upon man are more literal for him than most. The birthmark on his arm - Naga's brand, is a symbol of his strength, just as the mark upon Lady Emmeryn is a sign of her wisdom. In days past, when the blood ran stronger, all of Exalted blood would share the same gifts, but today no two children of the blood are alike. To have Naga's blood re-envigored... renewed... to be a true son of her's again - that would require an Awakening Ritual."
Robin took a moment to digest what he had been told. He studied the downed Falchion as he pondered. "So… the marks Chrom and his sister share are birthmarks? I'd always assumed they were tattoos."
"Nay - the thought!" Frederick said sharply before continuing in a more even tone. "I suppose birthmark would be a misnomer. We call it The Brand because it does not show itself immediately. It surfaces naturally upon the skin as they grow in age."
"Really…"
"Aye. Chrom gained his when he was around ten, Emmeryn received her's younger still. And Lady Lissa… well…" Frederick paused. "Ah, I've wandered into the weeds again. The point I was trying to make was our connection with Naga - between the Exalts ruling our country, and the many treasures, including these two -" he gestured once more to the Fang and Scale, "-Dragons and gods are very real to us."
"Very real to this hunk of metal as well…" Robin managed with a chuckle as he tugged at the Falchion once more. "Incredible."
"It is. Now you see why we trust this with Chrom?"
"Yeah…"
"Good. Now then, help me lift this."
With some effort, the two men gripped the sword, on opposite ends, and hoisted it back to its resting place on the shrine.
"If… you don't mind me asking… Did the Exalt's Father use this?" Robin asked when they were finished.
"For a time… yes. He carried it with him into Plegia during his final assault…it had to be retrieved once the war was over."
Robin noted the darkness in his voice but pressed on. "Did he intend to use it against the Plegians and their king?"
"He did - and though we'd never speak of such things were he still alive - When the sword was found, it was discarded; cast aside. Some believe it had been stolen from him. Others, well… they believe it had dulled itself in his hands during the slaughter, forbidding him kill anymore. It wouldn't be the first time the blade denied itself to one of the blood… Perhaps things would have been different if the Exalt's heart were just, but its power is intended to slay dragons and quell the madness of great beasts, not men."
"Then it would be a disaster if these were to be misused…" Robin observed. "...I could imagine many a conflict spawning over these."
"In the past, certainly. But I'm afraid since time of the Hero-King the Falchion's strength has dulled. Supposedly its strength can be renewed just as the Blood can."
Robin took the time to examine the blade closer, and made note of the etchings along the blade's strange circular hilt. He had seen the characters before, and if he were to find a cypher he could surely translate them.
"So Naga at the very least cares for people..." Robin said. "She must if she left weapons like this in man's care. I'd think so anyway." At the very least I can't see any angle from which she'd be taking advantage of them.
"Indeed. From bestowing knowledge of magic to the earliest of men, to protecting their descendants from evil dragons, she has always had mankind's best interests at heart."
"Evil dragons… like this Grima you mentioned?"
"Exactly, though his was a recent case; a mere millenia ago, well after the old Dragons left this world."
"He must have been terrible if the legends are to be believed," Robin said. "...But, forgive my saying this, does we have such proof of Grima as we do Naga?" He gestured towards the Emblem as he said this.
"Proof? You mean something which to vouch for their existence in the wake of a naysayer?"
"Er, basically. Like, how do we know that Grima actually existed? Like… I read all of the legends back in the archives - but they just seemed to be stories and tales, from ages ago no less. How do we know he wasn't just a man or something?" Frederick's brow was knit, and Robin hastily added, "Sorry if this is sounds wrong, I don't mean to blaspheme or anything..."
"I understand the question Robin, there is no need to apologize. We have had centuries to ponder this, after all." Frederick crossed his arms. "First of all, Grima was a creature that did exist, but some scholars even today are slow to call him a dragon in the traditional sense. What we can make of his image scarcely resembles anything from the times of Archanaea. Some liken him more to an abomination of unknown origin, his only real resemblance to a dragon would be his weakness to the Falchion. I'd say the requirement of Naga's help to lay him low rules out any possibility of him being human… but perhaps that is circular of me."
"But, well… we have Falchion here as well as the Emblem. Has Grima left anything behind?"
"He has… in theory. Grima has become the Patron Deity of our neighbors in Plegia, some believe it was formed around the belief in Grima as a god. And if one were to enter the country, they would see Grima's bones strewn throughout the land. His skull can be found near Castle Plegia for example. I have not seen them for myself, I speak only of what veteran soldiers have told me when I was young. I reckon anybody raised in an environment where a veritable god's bones are so readily found would have a hard time denying he existed."
God?
"Wait… Grima… Grimleal?" Robin asked. Frederick nodded solemnly. "Grimleal… Emmeryn mentioned that. Supposedly it's a group who practices dark magic. it's not… a religion, is it? A religion of Plegia?"
"It is."
"How could they worship something so horrible? Do they have the same stories of how it nearly destroyed everything?"
"There are several answers to that. Firstly, they do share our tales, but in a different tone. To them, perhaps the Fell Dragon was a martyr of freedom against the machinations of the trickster Naga, who would sooner keep mankind under her thumb with the steel of her favorite nation. Culturally, perhaps Plegians hold a nihilistic worldview and think this world has outstayed its welcome and greet an ender of worlds with open arms."
"How horrible…"
"Indeed, but I speak as an outsider. It would take a homebred Plegian to answer these fully." Frederick paused before continuing. "Robin, if you are feigning ignorance… you are doing a splendid job. I'm starting to have my doubts…. About your heritage, anyway."
"Um, glad to hear it?"
"Alas, I could speak all day of these things." Frederick scanned the room once more before making his way back to the door. "Our business here is complete, but feel free to stay for longer if you are so inclined." Robin made note of the several hundreds of weapons, as well as the burnt mark on the floor from the Levin Sword.
"...I think I'll just follow you out."
Robin cast one last glance at the Fire Emblem. The thought of the fell dragon still hung in his mind. "Do you think we'd ever have to use the Emblem? Against the creatures maybe?"
"I would have to say no. In theory… if its power were at its fullest maybe, but it takes all five gemstones to Awaken it as the Exalt did. It still retains some of its power, yes, but nobody is sure how to access it in its present state, and only an Exalt could do so."
"So you'd need to make sure the gems were removed if the castle was ever invaded? That would ensure it couldn't be misused."
"...Hardly. Save the one gem atop, Argent, the others have been lost to the ages. Those gems in its sockets? Glass replicas. Unless we were to sweep both great continents, I doubt the Emblem will ever see its power restored. And, assuming the need never arises, it's for the best."
"...I see…"
"Yo, Tactician!" Sully's hoarse voice greeted the two as they exited the armory. "Is Frederick done with you?" Her crimson armor had been cleaned and polished since her return to the castle, and she still wore it at all times it seemed.
"U-um, I'm not sure? He seemed serious about getting me up to speed on-"
"On the contrary, I shall take my leave," Frederick said quickly. "I must see to Milord and the Council. Sully, can I leave our new friend in your care for now?" The way he said friend sounded like he meant a different word.
"I'm not here to babysit him, Lissa just wanted him for something. Some early dinner or something."
"...I see. Very well then." The knight bade no goodbyes and simply strode down the hall, towards the central building. The crimson knight lead Robin away, past the Archives and towards the main portal outside.
"He didn't try to scare you straight with all those pieces of work did he?" Sully asked.
"The weapons? ...I'm honestly not sure. He seemed… friendlier when he went on about them?"
"Sounds like Freddy-D. One of the few things that can put a smile on his face."
Lissa met them outside, almost right as they exited the wing. Robin hadn't noticed, it was well past noontime - Frederick's touring had taken all of his morning. The princess waved cheerily and ran up to them. "So, me and Maribelle are having a linner thing…"
"I thought you said dinner earlier?" Robin asked.
"I did, but then I kinda wanted to get things rolling as soon as possible. Give you another chance to talk to the Shepherds before Chrom gets back, and I thought it'd be a good idea to… maybe let Maribelle have a second shot?"
Oh, right. Her.
"You're hungry, aren'cha Sully?" Lissa asked.
"What am I supposed to say when the Princess invites me?" Sully said with a smile. The three now proceeded to the garrison. "Hope there's enough for the rest of you when I'm done," Sully said. "I've been whipping Stahl into shape all morning, and that works up an appetite lemme tell you." Robin heard a familiar voice murmuring from inside the Garrison, but couldn't put his finger on who it was. It wasn't anyone from last night. "I woulda invited Stahl too, but y'know… there'd definitely be nothing left and…" Sully walked rather quickly and overtook the princess and tactician. She was the first to walk into the main room, and when she did her voice caught in her throat.
"W-What the hell is he doing here?!" Sully's voice hollered down the corridor. Robin found himself hesitating before stepping into the main room.
The table was set with dinner of cold ham, and the smell of tea wafted through the air. Sully stood to the side of the table facing Maribelle and another person seated next to her, drinking tea.
"What, did Stahl get here before you?" Lissa asked. "...Oh."
The person was none other than Virion, who leaned back in a stool with tea cup in hand. He raised the cup in welcome to Sully, and then to Robin as he entered the room. It appeared as though Virion was engaging with Maribelle up until the knight entered the room. The young noble lady didn't seem terribly perplexed by the archer, but she didn't look impressed either.
"Greetings!" he called. "What a pleasant surprise! Fate once again drives us together."
"Careful you three, the man's a poet," Maribelle said, feigning a compliment. "You'd best watch your tongues or you won't get in one word edgewise."
"The flippin…. You had business with the blacksmith back in town, not the damned castle!" Sully shouted. "You can't just waltz in here like you own the place!"
"...Oh so you do know each other." Maribelle said. "He was going on and on about brave souls who helped him save the captain from some onslaught the other night, some wonder mage and a beautiful warrior goddess of a soldier. ...I figured he was exaggerating but I still had no idea he would have referred to you two."
Sully jerked a step forward, eyes trained on the noble lady. "Say that to my face!"
"Mari, hey…!" Lissa said sharply.
"I take it business went well, Virion?" Robin interjected quickly. Sully paused at Robin's voice and finally withdrew from her engagement. She resumed to glaring at the archer. Lissa gave her friend a look.
Virion nodded rapidly after taking a sip. "Quite. Well, not quite as well as I would've preferred - the clod had no eye for exotic finesse or make in his weapons! I had to sell my entire cache of Roseannean masterpieces for the same price as any local weapon! Quite vexing indeed. Ah well, Silver is Silver as we say back home. And as for your question dearest Sully," the archer swung one leg over the other. "I did not 'waltz' anywhere - Your captain summoned me."
"What?!"
"I suppose I should be calling him your prince," Virion said before he took another sip. He glanced Robin's way. "Aye, I'd hoped to slip away before all those important folk started filing into the city - but Sir Chrom sent a messenger for me the day I was to set out. Any later and I may already be halfway north myself, haha!"
"This part is true, Sully," Maribelle said, voice much less cutting. "I heard as much from Frederick earlier. The captain wants an archer to round out our defenses for the trip north. He's even welcome to join our ranks at his own discretion."
"Buh...but…" Sully ran a hand through her curly hair. "He ain't done crap! What makes the captain think he can be a Shepherd?!"
"You wound me, milady!" Virion placed a palm to his heart as his expression fell. "'Twasn't it I who dealt the finishing blow to the creature at the fort?"
"You did jack-all! You threw sticks at it while the rest of us fought for our lives! Your first arrow did more work than you!"
Virion threw back his head and laughed, holding a hand up as if to hide his mouth. This made Sully paus in her tirade for the moment. "Oh… oh-ho, if that isn't the textbook definition of an archer, then I don't know what is!" the man declared. He flourished his teacup once more as if it were a weapon to proudly display before him. "But only the Archest of Archers could do it with such grace and finesse! By my bow, I swear I will fell so many foes it would be as though I were right beside you and the others, though I'd be lengths away at a time! You will find me an invaluable asset I assure you."
Sully didn't have an immediate answer. Her brow twitched. Virion stood up from his stool and set his teaware down. "But alas, all this diplomacy and socializing has made me hungry. Perhaps me and Sully could discuss matters over dinner-" He reached for a plate and started to cut himself a piece of ham. Sully grabbed a fork and slammed it into his piece, startling him. "P-Pardon?"
"I don't care what the captain says, no way in hell I'm letting some blowhard pansy lounge about and eat our food without earning it!"
Virion's brow rose. "Earn…?"
Lissa sat down next to Maribelle and let out a long sigh. Robin worked his way to the wall on the other end of the room.
Sully marched to the adjacent wall, where a weapon rack hung. She reached for two iron swords. She gripped one and threw the other at Virion's feet. He looked between the blade on the ground and back at Sully.
Her eyes blazed. "C'mon, Ruffles, let's have a go! Imma size you up and see if you're a real fit for the Shepherds! Then you can eat."
Realization came to the archer. "Ah, you wish to spar! Milady needed only ask!" He freely set his plate down and reached for the weapon. Robin expected the archer to handle the blade decently at best, but with a twirl of his wrist the nobleman swung the blade about in the air like a maestro's baton. With one hand behind his back, he stood rigid and held the blade high. "And if I best Sully's contest of skill…? A reward perhaps?"
"Then you get double helpings of the grub if you manage to beat me- my share!" Sully growled. She seemed confident. "Your move, Ruffles."
Virion closed his eyes and chuckled once more. Lissa leaned closer to Maribelle, wideyed, and was gently held by the shoulders. The Roseannean's eyes sprung open. "Have at thee!" And then he lunged forward, quick as lightning. He swung upward at Sully's blade, nearly knocking it out of her hands. The knight grunted in surprise and stepped back. The archer made another swing to the side, and then another to the opposite. Sully struggled to keep her blade in hand. The Archer's expression was placid and calm, but his movements were wild and moved with a ferocity Robin hadn't expected in him. Slash after slash he forced Sully into a corner, who could barely make a statement edgewise in their exchange of steel.
It seemed as though the knight would be overpowered - were this a real fight Sully may have already lost. At last a well-placed parry broke the Archer's rhythm, and Sully began a return volley of strikes from her sword. She wasted no time in thrusting and swinging, forcing the archer to sidestep and contort to avoid being skewered. He seemed to have regained enough balance to manage the return volley and poised to retaliate… but no. No less than two more strikes and the sword was knocked from Virion's hands. It slid to the stone floor and tapped the wall with its edge.
Sully fought to catch her breath, but Virion hardly seemed winded. He looked from his fallen weapon and once more back to his attacker. A look of indifference came over him and he shrugged. "Ah well, I suppose I shall try again another day. It seems I haven't quite kept my touch."
Sully's brow narrowed. "What… you…"
"And I was so looking forward to trying the main course, the Ylissean kitchen is something to behold, but alas. I freely give my share to Sully." Virion stepped over to his blade and retrieved it.
Sully pointed with her sword as her eyebrows flared. "You lousy… primped up… You threw the fight, didn't you?!"
The two girls turned vindictive eyes on the archer, who didn't seem to care much. "But of course." He said as held his blade, his tone very matter-of-fact. He set it bladefirst to the floor, leaned against it as if on a cane, and proceeded to dust off his pants as though he had just finished some outdoor pastime. "Besting a woman in friendly combat over a piece of ham? That's nothing a noble should take any pleasure in. No honor in that, or sport for that matter."
The silence was deafening. Sully's expression was unchanged, but Robin could feel her rage ebbing in the air. Lissa tore herself from Maribelle. She covered her ears, lowered her head, and sped out of the room, nearly tripping over the carpet.
"O-Oooh… that was a mistake…." she whined as she disappeared down the hallway.
Virion watched her go, oblivious to the knight closing in on him from behind. "Mistake?" He asked. "What mistake-"
Impact.
An armored boot the side knocked the air out of him. A blow to his arm knocked the weapon from his hand. A gauntlet of steel and leather to the face toppled him, and one more kick sent the archer skidding along the ground. He came to an ungraceful stop at Maribelle's feet, who looked on as if this were only mildly troubling. In as much time it took for the two to exchange steel, Sully had crippled the archer in only three blows. Robin hugged the wall in horror. The archer let out a moan as Sully walked up to the table and slammed her fist against it, knocking every article no less than an inch into the air and back down again. Her pupils were shrunken and her narrow eyes were wide open.
"And that's what you get for playing an Ylissean Knight!" She bellowed. "Get your act together, and once that concussion heals I want a rematch and you better be ready to fight Sully like your life depended on it because next time it will!" She reached for a piece of ham, tore a bite out of it, and stormed out of the room.
"O-of course…" Virion wheezed. "Your grace…" The noble promptly collapsed. Maribelle tutted to herself as she examined her gloves and clothing, checking for stray bits of blood.
"That… Surely could've been handled better…" Robin fought for words.
"Well, if you'd known her for as long as the rest of us you'd know that simply is how Sully works," Maribelle said. "She gets offended if she's treated as anything less or more than an equal. She and the captain are alike in that sense..." She examined the bruised archer and let a soft sigh. "Ah… well, Lissa's gone, and I haven't a vulnerary on me… But I suppose it's my duty to help those less fortunate than myself."
The Troubadour reached for a closed parasol she had set in her lap. With a twist, she seperated the folded fabric from its handle, producing a tiny healing stave. It was no more the size of a ruler. She leaned forward in her chair and gently tapped the archer's head as if she were casting a spell with a magic wand.
Slowly, the scuffs and bruises vacated the Archer's face, and his breathing became even. He slowly pulled himself up to a less compromising position. His eyes were adaze. "Run along to the infirmary. Sully was not jesting when she implied brain damage... (not that there was much doubt beforehand). I dulled the pain but you should find help from a real cleric before the day's end."
"Ah… ah! Of course." Virion rose on unsteady legs. "I shall be on my way then. My thanks, miss." Robin was astounded. The man had no energy left to flirt and simply left the room.
Maribelle seemed to have come to the same conclusion. "Mayhap he'll have an easier time with the clerics once he regains his strength," She murmured to herself.
"...Does something like that happen often?" Robin asked.
Maribelle shrugged. "Often enough, but it usually takes a special fool to prod her into something like what we just saw. She's normally very good about keeping her temper - well, except when she's not… and that's just the way she is. We Shepherds have known her for years and have come to more or less expect such things, but she always manages to do something to keep up on our toes. I'm sure this served as a good example for you as well," Maribelle said, looking Robin's way ever so slightly. "If you wish to avoid such an encounter yourself, you will do good to remember the two golden rules of the Shepherds." She began pouring herself a cup of tea.
"And what might those be?"
"Firstly; regardless of rank, treat any other soldier as you would yourself. This is the way the captain ordained since the beginning. Whether we be an entourage of knights, or a rabble of noble and commoner both (for better or worse), everyone is to be treated equally." Maribelle closed her eyes, took her cup with both hands, and took a ginger sip. She turned to Robin once more, cup still in hand, and opened her eyes."And secondly: Don't piss off Sully."
Gradually the other Shepherds once more converged in the Garrison. Sully and Virion were absent, but Vaike and Stahl arrived for a late dinner. Sumia arrived shortly after, and Frederick was soon to follow, bearing news from the council. Lissa and Maribelle presently sat at a small table, and Robin rested against a crate once more with his book, pretending to read as he listened in on the conversation. Currently he had begun studying an empty suit of armor resting against the wall next to him, one he hadn't seen before. Did it belong to a Shepherd? It was so wide, surely whoever owned it must be massive. Unless this belonged Vaike?
"I wasn't privy to all of the details, but the gist of it is this; Plegia has been ruled out as the primary suspect. We will be contacting other neighboring provinces to gather as much information as possible, while a royal mission will be sent north to make contact with the Khans of Ferox," the Great Knight delivered in an even tone.
That made Stahl shudder. "I can already feel the cold," he mumbled. "Do we really have to go and talk to them? I heard they're kind of, well… swing-happy."
"Officially our standing is good," Frederick declared. "Unless some recent development has changed that, of course. That's why it would be ideal for trained Shepherds to accompany the Prince."
"A-are we really going to march north on our own?" Sumia asked.
"Didn't Chrom say something about a caravan last night?" Robin asked.
Frederick nodded. "Aye, a particular guild of Merchants makes a point to trade with the Feroxi every summer, with several stops along the way. They've a train of no less than ten wagons heading north as we speak, if we begin soon and march quickly, we should meet up within the first day."
"But we'll also have to wait for em to finish with each town we pass by, won't we?" Vaike asked.
"Probably," The Knight answered. "We are free to break off at any point should things take too long. We'll be equipped with the funding to make it worth their while, should the need of a procured wagon come along. Phila will depart in the morning to deliver the Exalt's message to them. They should wait for us around the end of the beginning of the Northroad."
Lissa's head perked up, and she started waving at the entrance. "Hey…! Look who decided to show up again! You tired any?"
"Captain?" Sumia asked as she got to her feet and ran to the entrance of the room. "Captain! We were just… talking… about…" Sumia slowly backpedaled. Chrom did enter the room, but his figure was totally deprived of energy. His eyes were red, his shoulders drooped, his collar was forcefully undone, and his brow knit and flared itself all at once. One could practically see the storm cloud brewing above his head.
After all of the fighting on the way to Ylisstol, and the mishap in the city, Robin had never seen the prince so tired.
The other Shepherds were silent as the captain marched forward and paused to hold his brow and let out a long groan.
"I take it negotiations have concluded?" Maribelle asked.
Chrom shook his head. "No, they're just done with me, Emm will still speak with them for another day or so. Gods help her…"
"So… if you don't mind me asking…" Stahl was the one to venture. "Did it go… well at all?"
That was what set the prince off. He stood up, eyes ablaze.
"Oh, it went splendidly! We covered all of the important things!" The prince threw his arms about as he spoke, and Sumia drew back once more. " 'How will this affect my business?' 'Will I get to keep my trade?' 'Will my people still use the roads?' Graaaugh…. We weren't able to discuss diplomacy until noontime, and even then the generals kept trying to turn the conversation towards Plegia and… and…"
Chrom's gloved fist squeaked as it squeezed shut. The captain turned towards a wall and let out a cry as he swung his fist. "Damn these inflated blue-bloods!" It struck the wall, and the whole room seemed to shake. Sumia covered her mouth to stifle a yelp, while Maribelle calmly steadied her tea, hardly paying any attention.
A crack formed in the wall. Chrom stood back, eyes wide. The crack began to splinter. The prince let out a worried shout and pressed against the fissure, as if to stop its progress. It grew larger, and he removed his hand.
Vaike threw back his head and laughed.
"How unfortunate," Frederick said. "Shall I plant another maple tree outside sire, to obscure the damage?"
"N-No! No, that won't be necessary!" Chrom said, face turning red. "I-I'll mortar it myself later."
The prince let out another sigh, and his pose gradually relaxed.
"But a proper course of action was decided upon in the end?" Robin probed.
Chrom nodded. "Yes, actually. Things did improve after sir Themis finally spoke up. He had a small story to share about the creatures, and that helped convince the others… Oh right. Maribelle, your father's here."
Without nary a word of goodbye, the young noble lady set down her tea and rushed out of the room.
"Now if I could have everyone's attention," Chrom said. Robin watched as the Shepherds straightened themselves and held at attention. "The gist of it is this: as Frederick surely informed you, we're to meet up with the Northern Caravan group. Our team will depart tomorrow morning, right before noontime, and we should meet them by the end of the day. We'll continue with them to Ferox, and they'll stay with us until negotiations have concluded."
"However well that could go," Stahl said glumly. "Do you really think barbarians are gonna listen to us? C-Captain sir?"
"They'll have to. The new threat is very real, we've had multiple accounts piling in from the other provinces," Frederick said.
"And what are these things again?" Vaike asked. "You all have talked like they're super important but you've never given us a straight answer."
"...Milord?" Frederick asked.
"Go ahead, they should know."
"Very well. The matter at hand is how to dispose with an incursion of human shaped monsters first encountered to the southeast of here."
"Human shaped… monsters?" Stahl asked. "You mean like Terrors? Zombies?"
"But those are just from old stories… aren't they?" Sumia asked.
"I wish," Lissa said drearily. "One nearly lopped off my head." She shuddered.
"Just ask Sully, and she can tell you all about them," Chrom said. "This could be a ploy by the Plegians… or it could be a phenomenon the likes of which have not been seen since the time of the first Exalt. The point is we know very little about these things and we'll need all the help we can get, hence the journey north.
"And on that note; we cannot rule out the possibility of conflict on the way - this is also why we're to accompany and protect the caravan. This mission is strictly voluntary, no Shepherd is mandated to come along. Therefore-"
"I volunteer!" Lissa said with a serious face as she pumped her fist into the air.
"Har! I'm with the little lady!" Vaike said. "You can't just spin a tall tale like that and expect us to stay home, can you?"
Chrom smiled. "I can always count on you guys. Stahl?"
The viridian knight had been quiet. "I-I, don't have much of a choice do I?"
"Very good. And what about Sully, do you think she'll back soon so we can make sure she's ready?"
"Oh, that won't be for a while," Lissa spoke up. "She's stormed away earlier to blow off steam after beating up Virion."
"Oh! So he made it here, that's good. ...I suppose I'll have to ask him later."
"Me too!"
"Urgh!" Robin had a start at the sound of a new voice. The other Shepherds continued speaking, oblivious. "Who said that…?" Robin asked cautiously.
"...I did. Over here." Robin turned his head to the wall next to him. He didn't see anybody. "The armor."
"Oh… Oh?!" Finally Robin saw it - the suit of armor was in fact being worn by a man… a very small and demure man. His voice was so quiet it was a wonder Robin heard him in the first place.
"What?" The voice asked. "I've been here the whole time!" Apparently he was quiet enough for the other Shepherds to continue speaking as if he wasn't there.
"U-Um…" Sumia had stuttered as she began fidgeting again.
"Yes Sumia?" Chrom asked gently.
"It's just… I wanna help out, this sounds important, but I'm not sure I'm ready. I might just get in the way."
"Well… why don't you come along anyway, and just watch and learn, to begin with anyway? Your choice, but some things can only be learned on the battlefield."
Sumia's gaze dropped. "If you think it wise captain."
The prince smiled. "If worse comes to worst, just stick with me. You'll be fine."
Sumia looked up and started beaming. "I…! I mean of course! Yes sir, I'll do just that!"
Frederick reminded everyone that were to depart by noon, and promptly dismissed them.
Chrom made a passing comment to Robin about getting to bed early. The tactician agreed, but as he started to get up he realized that the suit of armor had vanished. Had he imagined it?
The chilly air carried the sweet smell of ice and frozen air as the snow gently fluttered to the ground. The Feroxi streets, previously overrun with puddles and mud from the thaw, had returned to a deep black splotched with grays as pockets of water froze over. The snow began to encrust the icy roads and form a soft sheet over the patchwork houses lining the forest side. Soon the wet and dreary landscape left by the thaw would be completely frozen over, with a new sheet of snow to replace it, and by the next day the landscape would be completely white once more.
All things considered - a fairly warm start for the Feroxi summer.
A young man observed the landscape from his vantage point within the chambers of what passed for a nobleman's house. The room reverberated with the clamor of a party as oil torches illuminated the corners too dim for the sun to hit through the open windows. Strings and drums played wildly, people chatted loudly, and a haze of smoke hung about the ceiling. There were no doors, and cold refreshing air freely flowed into the house from the main portal and open windows - only the inner chambers were guarded by closed doors.
As drinks were guzzled and tall tales spun, the man stood apart and contemplated alone. He briefly considered the weather, and how strange it had been for a thaw so early in the month. What could have spurred such a warm bellow from the south - just warm enough to push the temperature just below freezing? In truth he cared little, these things hardly affected him or his line of work. In just over a week he'd be fighting for honor once more inside the arena, as the ancient laws of the land bade the people every season. As the champion of the reigning Khan, he was determined to deliver a swift and decisive victory - and all of his mental energies were dedicated to focusing on the upcoming battle. While some saw the excessive liquor and loose lips as a liberating experience to prepare them for the grueling battles ahead, he did not. Even when ordained to take part in the pleasantries, he brought his blade, not to duel but to practice. If he were to be caught dawdling by his superior officer, he would never hear the end of it.
He procured a vessel of water from further in the chamber and dragged into the light spilling from a window. Dust and particles fluttered throughout the air as the beam of light was disturbed by the vessel. The man reached for his side and drew his weapon of choice from a bamboo sheath strapped to his hip; a long, single edged blade, with a plume of red string tied to the hilt.
He gripped the blade with both hands and held it vertically at an angle, and willed his body to be still. Some of the bantering paused as people stopped to watch. He didn't care. He remembered his days spent in the humid marshes and fields, in the land across the water to the far west. Watching the farmer's with their sickles and plows he had learned to wield a tool, and watching the noblemen and soldiers train with their weapons he had learned to fight. He now envisioned a scene of a powerful warrior, taken from not long after he had first set foot in this strange land he now called home.
The man in his vision was brutish, and slow in some regards, but when he carried a blade, or any weapon for that matter, he was a different person. In the scene, the brute took an iron sword - a clumsy sharpened stick of metal compared to the elegant edge the man had taken from his homeland - and sliced a vase in two. At first, it seemed as though the man had flicked his wrist and missed the vase. One moment later the vase began to bleed from a diagonal line separating the top and bottom, and the next moment the upper half had slid off and shattered as it hit the cobbled streets.
This man would go on to be his Superior, and the scene stuck with him for years. And for years he strove to replicate the feat with his own blade. If the seeming brute could slice a piece of pottery in two without spilling a drop, and with a barbaric sword of iron no less, then surely he could do the same with his own blade.
He took a practice swing. He practiced three strokes in rapid succession. He raised his stance and practiced a downwards swing, dispersing particles in the air once more. A short, powerful step from both of his feet sent him several feet backward, and another step forward sent him speeding forward. In that instance, he had readied a mid stance and prepared for a diagonal strike on the vessel. He swung, and brought his catapult to a stop as he skid past the vessel. His ears were met with the clattering, almost comical sound of shattered pottery. He let out a long groan as he relaxed his pose and turned to observe his victim.
The bottom half of the vessel was very much intact and could still carry water, but the upper part was very much destroyed - disintegrated into a thousand shards of brown, porous fragments. A dark puddle formed on the dusty floor amidst the shards. The man shook his head and kneaded the silken handle of his blade.
"Oh... you almost had that one." A familiar voice called from the hubbub. Another member of the party had removed herself to observe him, it seemed. She wore a dark, oversized cloak that hung in obscene amounts from her small frame. At first he did not respond. Like many times before he would consider the elite swordmasters of his homeland. By himself the man could outdo any barbarian with his discipline and finesse, but the skills and title of master were still far from reach, if this failure of a simple maneuver was anything to go by.
He irritably sheathed his blade. "Since when is almost enough?" he asked aloud. He paused as his eyes caught a familiar crest embedded into the hilt of the blade - a lotus flower embroidered by flames. His gut churned.
"...They're starting to serve dinner," the girl spoke again.
"I'm not hungry."
"O-oh... okay, I just thought we could-" He heard her step closer, and that was his queue to leave. She stopped speaking as the man stepped away, towards the gathering of people.
"I will take a drink," he said briskly as he passed her by. A chill had found its way into his belly and alcohol was as good a deterrent to the cold as any. The hubbub regarded him with no less reverence than before the vessel's shattering. A tankard was filled with spiced ale and slid his way on the floor. He knelt down to retrieve it and emptied it as quickly as he had received it. He closed his eyes and waited as the warm flavor pricked at his tongue and gradually drew warmth back into his chest. He peered over his shoulder and saw the girl still stood in the same spot as when he passed her, still facing the same direction. After a moment, she gripped her coat and walked back to the gathering, away from him. One attendee barked some sort of pickup line at her as she left, but she passed him by and vanished into the crowd.
He didn't mean to upset her, but she really had no business trying to make friendly with him. He felt bad for brushing her off, but he also knew he'd feel worse if he took her offer. He paused and considered his reflection in the near empty tankard. He downed the last sliver of drink and held it out to be refilled just as somebody shouted, silencing the clamor.
"Lon'qu!" A dark shape blocked off all light from the main doorway, and a booming voice tore through the noise."Lon'qu!" the shape bellowed again. All eyes were trained on the man. He hung his head and groaned.
"What is it now?!" he shouted back, with tone and pitch set to rival the first.
A large set of shoulders slid through at an angle into the doorway; a size or two too small to fit him completely. A dark skinned head, bald and glistening in the warm glow of the torches, poked into the room. He glared with one eye at the tankard in the myrmidon's hand. "What do you think you're doing, fooling around at a time like this!" The man stepped into the room completely, his furred armor hanging off his broad shoulders.
"Unless you have a direct order for me, I do as damn I please, Oaf!" he growled at the tall one, a respected fighter throughout all of Regna Ferox, both east and west; his Superior and commanding officer.
The tall one straightened himself and crossed his arms. "Well then, you're in luck. Your Khan requires your services at the gate - Some hooligan's making a ruckus! Don't just stand there, beat feet! Let's move!
Lon'qu already heard shouting as they left the chamber and out into the chill of the new snow. He recognized the voices of the guards posted at the gates - they didn't seem to be engaging any enemy, merely telling someone off. Normally the Feroxi would not be against dismissing any trespasser or troublemaker with blows and steel, which made Lon'qu curious, but he said nothing.
As they approached the gate, Lon'qu spied a dark cloak and blue leather armor against the white and green of the snowed forest. Two guards, clad in red-tinted knight's armor, held out spears and shields to deter the intruder, who shouted and swung wildly with a sword.
"Since you're so curious," his superior said, "He's been on and on about 'the end of the world,' and the tournament. Dangerous combination if you ask me."
"Mmn," the myrmidon grunted in response.
As they got closer, the stranger's condition became abundantly clear. His blue armor was splotched with dirt and topped with frost, and a dark cloak hung loosely around his neck, doubled over like a scarf. His short hair hung out in strange ways, most likely frozen in certain spots. The mask he wore was lopsided ever so slightly.
"Take me to the Khan!" the stranger ordered in a shrill, quiet voice, befitting that of a boy. "I demand to see him!" His voice trembled with fatigue, and his pale skin clung to his cheek bones, and Lon'qu surmised it had been a long time since the boy had eaten or slept.
The stranger lowered their blade and started to breath heavy puffs of mist. One of the guards finally had enough of the stranger and rushed to take a warning stab with his spear. He was sidestepped and skillfully knocked backwards with the flat of the stranger's blade. The knight toppled over into a pile of slush. Lon'qu grit his teeth.
"Yep, he's a character alright." The superior said gruffly.
The stranger held out his blade and pointed at the two newcomers. "You there! Do you know where the Reigning Khan is? You have to take me to him!" Lon'qu glanced at his superior. "Take me to him now! There's no time to waste!"
"Hold on, hold on! Slow down, this is Ferox and we have laws! I don't care what you know or who you represent, you just can't barge in here like that!" The Stranger lowered his blade to listen. The other knight deftly drew back to see to his toppled comrade. The superior crossed his arms. "Boy, ain't nobody seeing the Khan without a good reason - we call a stranger with a sword coming to visit the Khan a problem. Here in Ferox we settle problems with steel, and we take it very seriously when someone shows up on our doorstep swinging their golden sword around. So unless you intend to formally challenge someone-"
"I represent myself!" The stranger suddenly shouted. "I was told stories of the Khans since I was young, and sought to test their steel for myself. I have traveled long and far to reach them and will not be stopped here!" The Stranger readied a stance and held up his blade once more. "And I will fight anyone in my way to reach my goal."
"Boy, I strongly advise you to think carefully about what you just said. If you wish to even speak to the Khan you'll have to face his Champion."
"Then bring him here that we may duel," the stranger growled. "I'll do whatever it takes."
Lon'qu paused and waited for his commander's response. The commander held his brow for a moment, and let out a long sigh, sending a puff of mist into the air. "Alright, don't say I didn't try." He straightened his back and crossed his arms once more. "Lon'qu!"
"Sir."
"Give the boy what he wants."
Lon'qu stepped away from his superior's side and walked forward, eliciting a gasp from the boy. The two knights hurriedly stepped away and hurried back behind the gate.
Lon'qu reached for the hilt of his sheathed blade. He pushed his thumb and with a click the blade came loose and he drew it with his right hand. With both he held the blade vertically in front of him.
The boy lowered into a stance, bringing his own blade horizontally across, folding his elbow right beneath the sword. "Gods give me strength," he heard the boy whisper.
Lon'qu pointed his sword forward and lowered his stance. He waited for no signal to begin. He started circling his quarry. The boy hesitantly did likewise, always keeping the myrmidon in his line of sight. In his own mind, Lon'qu imagined the droning beats of a taiko drum from his homeland, moving each foot and taking each breath in rhythm. He eyed the boy's stance. It was solid and resolute, in spite of his haggard breathing and chittering teeth.
To the tune of the imaginary drums, Lon'qu rushed to strike. The boy deflt blocked a middle-stanced stroke aimed for his shoulder. Lon'qu raised his arms and brought down a swing, the boy pushed back with his own blade, again deflecting the shot.
Lon'qu was impressed, but also slightly perturbed. The boy was obviously well-traveled. It was no secret that half of Lon'qu's own success came from his exotic fighting style. His native-born Feroxi colleagues were very familiar with it now, but his unusual technique is what would earn him victory from outsiders who didn't know how to react.
The boy reacted to his stances and swings so naturally, it was obvious he had little favor in that regard, but he didn't need an exotic edge to beat him.
Lon'qu dove for a low-stance swing. The boy reflected and was knocked back two paces. He charged with a stab, and Lon'qu strafed to the side. He readied another downards swing and brought it down.
The boy shielded the stroke, but his stance was completely broken and he began to stumble. His cloak fell from his shoulders.
The Myrmidon unleashed a flurry of strokes in quick succession, daring the boy to catch each one with his own blade. The boy faltered. He was caught twice on an arm and cried out. Lon'qu turned and made a revolving swing with his blade. This time the boy caught it with his own, but the momentum sent him nearly to his knees. Their blades screeched as they scraped eachother. The boy shivered through grit.
"The Feroxi way is decisive battle, boy," Lon'qu growled. "Your life will not be spared unless I am ordered to stop. But this can end if you concede."
"Never!"
"So be it." Lon'qu drew back his blade and kicked the boy in the stomach. He grunted and was knocked back once more. An upwards swing from the killing edge sliced the boy's leather armor. The boy was knocked unto his back. Lon'qu wasted no time.
The boy's grip on his sword was resolute, but the Myrmidon brought a cold, gritty boot down on the boy's wrist. He towered over the stranger and brought his sword down at an angle. Blazing blue eyes, wide with shock and fear, gazed up at him through the slits in his mask.
"No... no..." the quiet voice rasped. The imaginary drums reached a frantic climax.
"No hard feelings." With a shout Lon'qu thrust with his blade, aiming for the boy's shoulder. If it struck a tendon as he planned, it would not kill him, but he would never raise a sword against the Khan again.
The blue eyes squeezed shut as the stranger turned his head away and screamed. A long, shrill cry. The boy's tenor gave way to a lesser soprano that wailed through the frozen trees and hills.
Lon'qu's heart stopped in his chest. It was in that instant that he realized that he had missed his mark, and his killing edge had burrowed safely into the ground adjacent to the stranger's head.
"What gives?!" the harsh voice called. "That didn't sound like a surrender to me, what's the hold up?!"
Lon'qu couldn't answer. He could feel the sweat bead at his forehead as blood rushed to his face. The drums had stopped compeltely. His gut churned once more, and his eyes dared wander to the Lotus emblem once more, carved into the hilt of his blade. The squinting eyes gradually opened from behind the mask, and once the stranger saw his life was not forfeit, his eyes gleamed.
A well-placed kick knocked Lon'qu backwards. The boy righted himself in one quick motion, and a sweeping kick knocked Lon'qu to the ground. The myrmidon futiley held out his oriental blade to deflect the uncoming swing, but it was knocked out of his hand. The man's narrow eyes were wide open with surprise and confusion, and his pale skin was alight with red. His last memory of the fight was staring the stranger in the eyes, right before the force of an overhead swing struck him in the head. The combined weight of the gold sword and the boy's two clenched fists were all it took to reduce the once towering man to a crumpled heap in the snow.
The stranger pointed his blade down at his former opponent. The man was out cold, and would likely need to see a healer. Sans the blunt force applied to his skull, he had endured the entire fight without a scratch, which was more than the stranger could acclaim to. The cold applied a numb, aching pain to the knicks on his arm and the thin vertical cut along his gut. If he saw to a healer they would likely never scar, hopefully.
Once he was certain that the man would not return his feet, his blade was sheathed. He knelt to the ground and retrieved the Killing edge. It was placed at the man's side before the stranger returned to his feet.
"You're not gonna finish the job?" The gruff one asked.
"The Feroxi way is decisive battle... but I decided there is no need."
"Heh. I almost feel like I should apologize. That was a lousy performance on his part. Any other day and you'd be choice cuts in a matter of moments. Not that I'm complaining. To stand up against Lon'qu like that, you got stones boy!"
"..."
"Well then, now that you're all unwound I believe we can began talking like normal people."
"You represent the Khan?"
"Pretty much," the man said with a smile. "So, an audience can be arranged, but I'm not sure if you'll score a match with him any time soon. But if you really like to fight I can guarantee a spot in the tournament."
"Tournament?"
"Aye, the battle for East and West! Khans' pitting the finest warriors against eachother. Haven't you heard of it? You just became the new champion by beating our own - I figured that was the reason you came here in the first place"
"..."
"Unless of course that wasn't the reward you had in mind. We can call it a friendly and brush it under the rug if you had other things in mind. Gold, drink, food..." Another wide grin formed on his face that pushed up against his eyepatch. "Or women, if you'd prefer. I don't judge."
"There will be no need for that," the stranger said quickly. "To fight the strong is all I seek. I will take you up on your offer. I will be your champion... for now."
"Good, good! Just head inside and make your way to the castle. If anyone asks, say Basilio sent you. They'll know what to do, sir..."
"You may call me Marth."
If my words were heeded, then it will only be a matter of time before *he* arrives here in Ferox. I can't afford to dawdle. I must take my place on the stage as quickly as possible. *I* must be the one to face Chrom!
When Lon'qu awoke, he was resting against the cold stone portal of the city gates. His vision was blurred, and one side of his cranium ached, but he could make out the shape of the challenger's cloak departing into the cityscape. A foot buried itself in the side of his chest, nearly toppling him back into the snow.
"The hell of a performance do you call that?! Is that how you represent your Khan?!"
Lon'qu growled and covered the eye where his vision fogged the worst. "The... he... I was blindsided! But it won't happen again! I demand a rematch!"
"Not like that you won't. You're still in the tourney, so don't worry bout that, but the kid'll carry the flag for us. For this season anyway. He doesn't seem like he'd want to stick around very long - I know the type, self important gloryseekers..."
"You would know, wouldn't you."
"Absolutely. I can also bash in the other side of your skull if it'd help your little ego. Make the damage look more convincing."
"Pass."
The sun fell behind the trees, and the snow began falling in earnest. By morning the entire city would be covered in white.
Sorry for the wait.
Since the last update, I've changed jobs and that took a lot of my energies. I've also doubled down on my studies.
I will continue to write, but expect decent waits between updates.