Derdriu - Early Evening - Cool
Mercer von Riegan
Five years.
Has it really been almost five years since the world went to shit? Mercer pulled in a deep breath, glancing at the black pegasus in his stable. It was the last link he had to her. He'd finally stopped crying about a year ago, but that didn't mean he stopped mourning her. Stopped loving her. Even now, as he toyed with the blue geode ring on his finger, his thoughts were filled of her. Her smile, her warmth, her love.
It was as if he could still hear her voice, the way it changed when she spoke to him. The way she laughed when he did something to make her do so. Sighing softly, he ran a hand through his hair. It was much longer than it used to be. From the shaggy mane it once was, it was now mostly down to his shoulder blades. He never had the time to get it cut. Never cared enough. He departed the stables, though, and made his way to his home. The others would, no doubt, be arriving soon. Alaric and Rey were arriving from the Locket, and Deirdre and Sofia were resting in one of his spare rooms.
They'd traveled from the Myrddin Bridge, tired from the battles they fought against Gloucester. It wasn't much, but he supposed it was a small comfort he could offer them. Mercer feared there wasn't much comfort he could offer anyone, really. The way he risked his life on the battlefield, the way he made sure that everyone else lived, and made it so that a majority of the soldiers' attention had been on him during any skirmish that happened. It wasn't something she would have approved of, but what did Mercer care?
This was how he protected his friends. This was how he kept anyone else from dying. Even the scars that littered his body were worth it. Was worth the pain he'd endured just so that those he cared about could live a moment more. If his life could extend theirs for a moment longer, for years longer, he considered it a fair trade.
“Mercer," a voice called out, and his eyes found Sylvi's. They were still a dull grey, not the same vibrant stone grey they used to be. Devon had told him what they'd had to endure in the prison camps, what he had to endure, but Sylvi never spoke of what she had to survive against. The way she shied away from touch, or any sort of affection, gave Mercer a bit of an idea, though, and it only served to make him angry. That they would do that to someone like her. That they thought it was okay to do it at all to anyone, really.
“Alaric and Reynard have both arrived, and are waiting for you in your study. Shall we go meet them?" she stated. Mercer nodded, and followed her towards where the others were waiting for him. When he arrived, his eyes fell to Alaric and nodded his head before he greeted Reynard as well.
"Mercer," Reynard returned simply, arms crossed over his chest. Over the years he'd adopted a certain strange body language around Alaric. Well, not strange exactly, but indicative. He tended to remain standing even in rooms where Alaric sat, often slightly behind and to the side of his chair. He walked half a pace behind him, too. It would seem he took the bodyguard portion of his duties very seriously, indeed.
Devon was there, too, leaned against a wall. He always looked tired, these days, his features harder and sharper than they'd used to be. He sometimes gave Sylvi obvious, longing looks when her back was turned, but any courage the Academy had given him in this one particular aspect had either vanished or been intentionally discarded. He pulled longer hours at the practice field than any of the other soldiers, and had been doing so for years.
Sofi seemed hardly to have changed; her face was the same serene, graceful thing it had always been. She wore her hair braided back on both sides now, but otherwise loose; the deep blue of it was about the length of Mercer's, where before it had been longer. The haunted look in her eyes was a new feature, though. She gave him a small nod when he entered, but waited for others to speak first.
These were the faces of people who'd seen too much, and if Mercer could have spared them from it, he would have. But that just wasn't the way things worked. They all had a job to do. They had to end this war. And he wouldn't sleep until his friends were safe, once more.
Deirdre looked roughly thinner than she used to, but there was a strange strength in her eyes. She'd never seemed like that, before, or Mercer never truly noticed. Her hair was held back in a low tail, though it was the same length as it'd always been. Alaric looked as if he hadn't changed at all, and Mercer supposed as a seasoned general, it would take a lot more than this war to change a man so used to it.
“As some of you know," he spoke, glancing towards his old academy mates, “next month is Ethereal Moon. That means..." He swallowed thickly. “That means we have a promise to keep. We'll be leaving for Garreg Mach at the beginning of Ethereal Moon, so if you need to prepare, you have a couple of weeks."
“Who's going to watch over the Alliance with you gone?" Deirdre spoke, her eyes narrowing slightly in Mercer's direction. He offered a wry smile before nodding in Alaric's direction.
“I'm leaving Leicester in Alaric's hands, for now. He's going to be Duke von Riegan until we return," he spoke. Had this been several years ago, he'd have made a joke about Alaric being a Riegan, however; he found it difficult to do even that much.
“Are you certain of this, Mercer? It was a promise made years ago when your friends were still alive. Surely they would understand if you couldn't keep a promise like this, especially when..." Alaric trailed off, but Mercer understood the implication. Some of his friends were dead, and the ones that lived were likely not going to keep that promise, either.
“I think we should do it." Surprisingly, it was Devon that spoke first, and with a strange firmness at that. He raked a scarred hand through his hair and down to his nape. “Maybe we're the only ones who show up, and we just have to turn around and come back. But maybe... maybe we're not. It might be the last chance we have, to turn this around."
The war was not going well. Not for the Alliance, and not, as far as anyone could tell, for Faerghus either. In fact, except for the northernmost reaches of the Holy Kingdom, where Fraldarius and Gautier used the rough mountain passes to their advantage, the entire country seemed to be under Imperial control. Had been, since the deaths of King Rufus and Sorcha. The Alliance's territorial loss wasn't as bad—they still had the capital and just over half the country, but everything south of the Bridge was gone, and the troops were wearing thin, in terms of both numbers and morale. Maybe the Imperials were, too, but if so it was slower for them.
If something didn't change, it wouldn't be more than another year before the entire continent of Fódlan belonged to Emperor Volkhard.
"It's possible this is a trap," Reynard warned softly, glancing between the others. "Garreg Mach might not be actively occupied, but it has been under Imperial control for five years. It's... not the unlikeliest thing that they've somehow found out about our agreement. We could be walking right into a snare, and it might be for nothing at all."
“If we don't try, the last five years might have been for nothing at all," Sofi replied, just as quiet.
“I agree with everyone," Mercer replied. “If we don't at least try, then all of this," he stated, vaguely gesturing to everyone in the room, “will have been for nothing. The things we've been through, the things we've endured... we can't let them win. And I didn't say we should go unprepared. I'm quite aware that it could be a trap, but we can't exactly go looking like an army marching. We go light."
It wasn't the best thing to do, either, but the less attention they brought to themselves, the better. “It's why I'm asking Alaric to stay here. In case... in case something does happen. At least the Alliance will have someone to look after it. To continue in my stead."
“If that is what you want, Mercer, I cannot argue with you, but," Alaric stated, his gaze shifting briefly towards Reynard, an unreadable emotion flashing across his eyes before he rested his eyes back on Mercer. “You all need to make it back alive. If you don't... I will never forgive you for dragging those I hold dear to my heart with you to the Eternal Flames." Mercer was slightly confused as to what he meant by that. As far as he knew, Deirdre was the only one he cared about. Was there something between him and Rey that Mercer wasn't aware of?
Reynard seemed to be rather intently studying the spider fern in the corner of the room, and offered nothing helpful on the subject.
“Speak for yourself, Al. I'll be fine; I've got Sofia, and the others with me," Deirdre spoke first, her eyes narrowing in her cousin's direction. He merely furrowed his brows, though, and shook his head.
“I guess... I guess it's settled, then. We're going back to Garreg Mach," Sylvi finally spoke, her voice low and soft.
Devon nodded firmly, expelling a heavy breath. “All right. What's the exact day we leave? If we're going to go light we'll be pretty fast, but there's always the chance of running into trouble on the road. We're... we're going to have to cross the Bridge, which is..." He grimaced; the rest hardly needed saying.
"We'll have to sneak it, of course," Reynard mused. "I can prepare some measures to quiet horses and the like."
“We'll need to get there before the twenty fourth. That means we'll need to leave on the first if we are to sneak around and make it in time," and it gave them plenty of room if something did happen. Crossing the Bridge was not going to be an easy task. They had to move slowly, patiently, and quietly if they were going to sneak past Gloucester and the Imperial army.
“Rey, do what you can to prepare the horses and Sir for the necessary travel. He's a bit of a sore-thumb, and any way you can tone him down would be... appreciated," though he didn't think taking the wyvern would be such a bad idea. Sir was a proud creature, but he was also smart enough to be compliant when the situation called for it.
“Be safe on your journey," Alaric stated, standing from his spot and crossing the floor towards Deirdre. “And as stubborn and hotheaded as you are, you take care, Deir," he stated, placing a hand on her head in an affectionate manner. She merely huffed at him, and pushed his hand to the side.
“I don't plan on doing anything else, idiot," she replied, and Mercer felt the slightest inclination to smile, however; it didn't quite form on his face. There were only a few more weeks before they would need to leave. Mercer didn't think it so bad. Maybe... maybe his friends would keep their promise and meet them at Garreg Mach.
Just as they'd promised so many years ago.
Has it really been almost five years since the world went to shit? Mercer pulled in a deep breath, glancing at the black pegasus in his stable. It was the last link he had to her. He'd finally stopped crying about a year ago, but that didn't mean he stopped mourning her. Stopped loving her. Even now, as he toyed with the blue geode ring on his finger, his thoughts were filled of her. Her smile, her warmth, her love.
It was as if he could still hear her voice, the way it changed when she spoke to him. The way she laughed when he did something to make her do so. Sighing softly, he ran a hand through his hair. It was much longer than it used to be. From the shaggy mane it once was, it was now mostly down to his shoulder blades. He never had the time to get it cut. Never cared enough. He departed the stables, though, and made his way to his home. The others would, no doubt, be arriving soon. Alaric and Rey were arriving from the Locket, and Deirdre and Sofia were resting in one of his spare rooms.
They'd traveled from the Myrddin Bridge, tired from the battles they fought against Gloucester. It wasn't much, but he supposed it was a small comfort he could offer them. Mercer feared there wasn't much comfort he could offer anyone, really. The way he risked his life on the battlefield, the way he made sure that everyone else lived, and made it so that a majority of the soldiers' attention had been on him during any skirmish that happened. It wasn't something she would have approved of, but what did Mercer care?
This was how he protected his friends. This was how he kept anyone else from dying. Even the scars that littered his body were worth it. Was worth the pain he'd endured just so that those he cared about could live a moment more. If his life could extend theirs for a moment longer, for years longer, he considered it a fair trade.
“Mercer," a voice called out, and his eyes found Sylvi's. They were still a dull grey, not the same vibrant stone grey they used to be. Devon had told him what they'd had to endure in the prison camps, what he had to endure, but Sylvi never spoke of what she had to survive against. The way she shied away from touch, or any sort of affection, gave Mercer a bit of an idea, though, and it only served to make him angry. That they would do that to someone like her. That they thought it was okay to do it at all to anyone, really.
“Alaric and Reynard have both arrived, and are waiting for you in your study. Shall we go meet them?" she stated. Mercer nodded, and followed her towards where the others were waiting for him. When he arrived, his eyes fell to Alaric and nodded his head before he greeted Reynard as well.
"Mercer," Reynard returned simply, arms crossed over his chest. Over the years he'd adopted a certain strange body language around Alaric. Well, not strange exactly, but indicative. He tended to remain standing even in rooms where Alaric sat, often slightly behind and to the side of his chair. He walked half a pace behind him, too. It would seem he took the bodyguard portion of his duties very seriously, indeed.
Devon was there, too, leaned against a wall. He always looked tired, these days, his features harder and sharper than they'd used to be. He sometimes gave Sylvi obvious, longing looks when her back was turned, but any courage the Academy had given him in this one particular aspect had either vanished or been intentionally discarded. He pulled longer hours at the practice field than any of the other soldiers, and had been doing so for years.
Sofi seemed hardly to have changed; her face was the same serene, graceful thing it had always been. She wore her hair braided back on both sides now, but otherwise loose; the deep blue of it was about the length of Mercer's, where before it had been longer. The haunted look in her eyes was a new feature, though. She gave him a small nod when he entered, but waited for others to speak first.
These were the faces of people who'd seen too much, and if Mercer could have spared them from it, he would have. But that just wasn't the way things worked. They all had a job to do. They had to end this war. And he wouldn't sleep until his friends were safe, once more.
Deirdre looked roughly thinner than she used to, but there was a strange strength in her eyes. She'd never seemed like that, before, or Mercer never truly noticed. Her hair was held back in a low tail, though it was the same length as it'd always been. Alaric looked as if he hadn't changed at all, and Mercer supposed as a seasoned general, it would take a lot more than this war to change a man so used to it.
“As some of you know," he spoke, glancing towards his old academy mates, “next month is Ethereal Moon. That means..." He swallowed thickly. “That means we have a promise to keep. We'll be leaving for Garreg Mach at the beginning of Ethereal Moon, so if you need to prepare, you have a couple of weeks."
“Who's going to watch over the Alliance with you gone?" Deirdre spoke, her eyes narrowing slightly in Mercer's direction. He offered a wry smile before nodding in Alaric's direction.
“I'm leaving Leicester in Alaric's hands, for now. He's going to be Duke von Riegan until we return," he spoke. Had this been several years ago, he'd have made a joke about Alaric being a Riegan, however; he found it difficult to do even that much.
“Are you certain of this, Mercer? It was a promise made years ago when your friends were still alive. Surely they would understand if you couldn't keep a promise like this, especially when..." Alaric trailed off, but Mercer understood the implication. Some of his friends were dead, and the ones that lived were likely not going to keep that promise, either.
“I think we should do it." Surprisingly, it was Devon that spoke first, and with a strange firmness at that. He raked a scarred hand through his hair and down to his nape. “Maybe we're the only ones who show up, and we just have to turn around and come back. But maybe... maybe we're not. It might be the last chance we have, to turn this around."
The war was not going well. Not for the Alliance, and not, as far as anyone could tell, for Faerghus either. In fact, except for the northernmost reaches of the Holy Kingdom, where Fraldarius and Gautier used the rough mountain passes to their advantage, the entire country seemed to be under Imperial control. Had been, since the deaths of King Rufus and Sorcha. The Alliance's territorial loss wasn't as bad—they still had the capital and just over half the country, but everything south of the Bridge was gone, and the troops were wearing thin, in terms of both numbers and morale. Maybe the Imperials were, too, but if so it was slower for them.
If something didn't change, it wouldn't be more than another year before the entire continent of Fódlan belonged to Emperor Volkhard.
"It's possible this is a trap," Reynard warned softly, glancing between the others. "Garreg Mach might not be actively occupied, but it has been under Imperial control for five years. It's... not the unlikeliest thing that they've somehow found out about our agreement. We could be walking right into a snare, and it might be for nothing at all."
“If we don't try, the last five years might have been for nothing at all," Sofi replied, just as quiet.
“I agree with everyone," Mercer replied. “If we don't at least try, then all of this," he stated, vaguely gesturing to everyone in the room, “will have been for nothing. The things we've been through, the things we've endured... we can't let them win. And I didn't say we should go unprepared. I'm quite aware that it could be a trap, but we can't exactly go looking like an army marching. We go light."
It wasn't the best thing to do, either, but the less attention they brought to themselves, the better. “It's why I'm asking Alaric to stay here. In case... in case something does happen. At least the Alliance will have someone to look after it. To continue in my stead."
“If that is what you want, Mercer, I cannot argue with you, but," Alaric stated, his gaze shifting briefly towards Reynard, an unreadable emotion flashing across his eyes before he rested his eyes back on Mercer. “You all need to make it back alive. If you don't... I will never forgive you for dragging those I hold dear to my heart with you to the Eternal Flames." Mercer was slightly confused as to what he meant by that. As far as he knew, Deirdre was the only one he cared about. Was there something between him and Rey that Mercer wasn't aware of?
Reynard seemed to be rather intently studying the spider fern in the corner of the room, and offered nothing helpful on the subject.
“Speak for yourself, Al. I'll be fine; I've got Sofia, and the others with me," Deirdre spoke first, her eyes narrowing in her cousin's direction. He merely furrowed his brows, though, and shook his head.
“I guess... I guess it's settled, then. We're going back to Garreg Mach," Sylvi finally spoke, her voice low and soft.
Devon nodded firmly, expelling a heavy breath. “All right. What's the exact day we leave? If we're going to go light we'll be pretty fast, but there's always the chance of running into trouble on the road. We're... we're going to have to cross the Bridge, which is..." He grimaced; the rest hardly needed saying.
"We'll have to sneak it, of course," Reynard mused. "I can prepare some measures to quiet horses and the like."
“We'll need to get there before the twenty fourth. That means we'll need to leave on the first if we are to sneak around and make it in time," and it gave them plenty of room if something did happen. Crossing the Bridge was not going to be an easy task. They had to move slowly, patiently, and quietly if they were going to sneak past Gloucester and the Imperial army.
“Rey, do what you can to prepare the horses and Sir for the necessary travel. He's a bit of a sore-thumb, and any way you can tone him down would be... appreciated," though he didn't think taking the wyvern would be such a bad idea. Sir was a proud creature, but he was also smart enough to be compliant when the situation called for it.
“Be safe on your journey," Alaric stated, standing from his spot and crossing the floor towards Deirdre. “And as stubborn and hotheaded as you are, you take care, Deir," he stated, placing a hand on her head in an affectionate manner. She merely huffed at him, and pushed his hand to the side.
“I don't plan on doing anything else, idiot," she replied, and Mercer felt the slightest inclination to smile, however; it didn't quite form on his face. There were only a few more weeks before they would need to leave. Mercer didn't think it so bad. Maybe... maybe his friends would keep their promise and meet them at Garreg Mach.
Just as they'd promised so many years ago.