*Deepest Woods - Tales of Symphonia OST

**Dark Castle of Mystbane - Derek Fiechter

***The Water Maiden - FE14 OST

****Stratagem in Black Armor - FE9 OST

*Unfortunate as it was, it was little surprise to Jean to have lost more than a few friends to the army- whether they returned or not. In fact, their losses had been such that there was occasion for the commissioning of a memorial in the village square- to the "martyrs of the sacred war." Returning to his labor of dragging the bundles of firewood home, the lad sighed in some combination of sadness and resignation. Even had his father not had his sort of reputation in the village and well beyond, truth be told, Jean would have started to suspect something amiss by now.

Of course, not unlike his father, especially in an isolated village such as this, he was of course, well in the minority: As he passed by a certain cottage by the river with his cargo, Jean waved to the bent, wizened woman working on the laundry. "Afternoon, Madam Franz!" he called cheerfully.

The woman perked up, giving a wave with some difficulty. "Ah, young Jean. What brings you to this neck of the village?"

"Just helping Father out with the harvest." he admitted truthfully. "He doesn't like to admit it, but he's getting on in years, after all."

For such a kindly-appearing woman, Madam Franz's face wrinkled as if she had just beheld a particularly offensive odor at the mention of the wood-cutting outcast. "Well, isn't that unfortunate. I would think you'd help him out more by going into the army- serve His Majesty and bring back a tidy salary in the process."

Jean tensed up slightly, having had this conversation multiple times with his father for just such occasions. "No, Father agrees I'm best served here."

"Of course, of course."

"Cowards." spat the old woman.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" inquired Jean, polite lad that he was.

"Oh, come now, woman!" came another voice from their cottage. "Let the boy be!"

The surly old woman sighed in defeat. "Are you becoming senile already, Thomas? All these years together and only now-"

"Well, in none of those years, were we at war with the entire continent, now were we?" asked Thomas rhetorically. "This war was a bad idea from the start. And I'm tired of pretending it wasn't, Caroline."

"Oh, bite your tongue! I swear, you're lucky we're not forty years younger..."

While Madam Franz was scandalized at her husband's assertions, Jean was at least a little heartened by this revelation. Perhaps his father's years-long isolation could be somewhat lessened. Perhaps there was hope for a peaceful solution, after all. Perhaps there was even hope for this sleepy little village out in the deepest woods whose denizens seemed only united by the contempt (even by Nohrian standards) of the outside world. With this thought in mind, Jean saw it wise to leave the old couple to their bickering.*

**It was little secret to anyone that Azura anxiously awaited a specific carriage to arrive at the castle, which, lately was seeming more and more like a prison, her sole escapes being the castle's library. To say nothing of the fact that the fortress' master (on the rare, unpleasant occasions he decided to make himself known) tolerance of her seemed to be hanging by a thread, at best. And gods only knew precisely what was going on in his head by this point- only that she knew for a fact it was nothing good.

Yes, that one rainy night when that specific carriage appeared was truly a godsend for Azura, completely oblivious to the guilty conscience of the carriage's occupant.**

***Ignoring her armed escort completely, Azura was, naturally, the first to greet her with a rather-uncharacteristic tackling embrace. "I-I apologize, Corrine." she remarked, slightly red-faced. "It's just...I hadn't seen you in so long and I-"

Corrine smiled sadly. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Azura." she replied gently. "I'm here now."

Not a particularly joyful young woman given her life's circumstances, at this statement, Azura felt a weight lift from her shoulders- where a good half of its denizens and even the castle itself seemed somehow hostile, Azura felt as though she could weather any storm or accomplish any task, no matter how difficult it would be. Perhaps it was even the right time to bring that up again- perhaps this whole situation could be solved without any further needless loss of life?

Walking the castle hand-in-hand, their eventual destination of their shared bedroom, Corrine regaled Azura with the tales of her travels which, for once, did not involve her holding a blade. "I was never at home at those stuffy, noble events." confessed Azura, still noticeably more relaxed than she had been for months. "But I'm sure they adored you, my love."

Corrine chuckled nervously. "Yeah. Yeah, they did." she replied in what was the greatest understatement of her entire lifetime.

"I'm glad at least one of us knows how to handle that world."***

Nonetheless, Azura could not help but notice something slightly...amiss. Perhaps it was Corrine's rather evasive descriptions of the event or her hands perspiring, but she could not help but inquire about as she turned to face her lover. "Corrine...you look like you want to say something? Is there...something the matter?"

Reflexively swallowing, Corrine felt that knot in her stomach only tighten. "N-not at all." she lied, hoping against hope that Azura was convinced.

An eyebrow raised in perhaps-subconscious disbelief, Azura nonetheless relented. "Well, if you're certain."

****For all his bravado, it could not be denied that Pietro was in fact, one of Nohr's greatest horsemen. And given how he treated the steeds, covering considerable distance in a fairly short time was little matter as well. Nonetheless, the unusually-irritable man was rather perturbed by his being summoned back to the capital by a letter from his technical superior, otherwise being taken away from his duties against the savages. Truth be told, he would likely have thrown the letter into a fire had it not teased a "mutually satisfactory conclusion for both our interests."

Surely enough, beside the stables, there was the noble in question, his neutral expression not giving away just how pleased he currently felt with himself and his new plan.

"Ah, Sir Pietro!" greeted Matteo insincerely. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this encounter with Nohr's greatest champion?"

Pietro huffed in irritation. "You tell me, Duke Toscana. Only a summons from His Majesty himself would be worthwhile in my eyes. You realize those savages will not roast themselves."

"Be that as it may, surely, you received my letter from a month or so ago?"

"What precisely did you mean by a "mutually satisfactory conclusion?"

Matteo smirked wickedly. "This is not entirely out of the purview of duty to the king." he informed. "You recall my errand boy of sorts, Bela?"

The knight appeared as though he wanted to spit at the mention of the name. "Of course. Uppity, arrogant savage."

"While his work has been...satisfactory, he is too much of a loose end- just like the rest of his tribe. I dislike loose ends greatly."

Perhaps with an inkling of what exactly Matteo had planned, Pietro returned the malicious expression. "And where exactly do I come into this plan of yours?"

While with a bit of effort given the height difference between the men, Matteo clasped his arm around Pietro's shoulder in an almost-fatherly manner. "I'm expecting a delegation of sorts from the savages," he explained conspiratorially. "and with you and your retinue..."