Fraldarius Territory - Early Evening - Cool
Mercer von Riegan
Mercer was still having a hard time believing two things: Senka was alive and he was now the offical leader of a singular army. Some part of him, dark and twisted, wanted to believe that she was still alive. If Senka and Teach could come back from the dead, maybe she could, too. But then the logical part of his brain would reinforce that an open execution was as good as any indication that she was dead.
It still hurt to know that.
He took in a deep breath, pushing the thoughts as far from his mind as he possibly could. He had other things to worry about, people to look after, and an army to lead. Still...
“Mercer," a voice called out to him, pulling him from his thoughts, and turned to meet Senka's eyes. It seemed she'd finally managed to leave Teach's side for a moment. They'd been nearly inseparable ever since they'd left Fraldarius Castle, but he supposed he didn't blame them. There were things they needed to work through, he supposed, but at least they had each other. He quashed that feeling.
“Hey, Sen," he greeted, offering her a small smile. “Something I can do for you?" he asked, arching a brow in her direction. He found it surprising that she was riding a pegasus. From what he remembered, she'd always shied away from the creatures, as if she had been afraid of them, but looking at her now, he'd have never guessed that was the case. She shook her head, though.
“No," she began at first, and cleared her throat. “I just came to apologize. I haven't been able to apologize to anyone, personally, except for Cyril, so far. And I want to tell you that I am sorry for not telling you," she stated. He found it strange, too, that she spoke so clearly. Not that she hadn't before, but she used to pause a lot between her sentences. Five years seems to have made her more confident, and at the same time, it seems to have quashed it.
“I won't lie and say it's okay, Sen," he started, pushing a light sigh through his nose. “It's not. I... mourned you. I believed you were dead and it hurt because I thought I'd lost my friend. When I heard you'd died along with Sorcha," he paused, grimacing slightly. He hadn't really spoken her name since he'd found out, after all. “You should have told us something."
She remained quiet, eyes fixed on her hands as she sighed. “I know," she spoke quietly that Mercer almost didn't hear her. “I know I should have said something to you all, but, Mercer, I wasn't in my right mind. It still feels like I'm not. I died, and it felt like the Senka you all knew had died as well. What could I have possibly said that would have changed that? I can't take back what I've done or change the past, but... I can at least try to amend for my mistakes."
Mercer sighed heavily. Even after all this time, she still had problems believing that there were people who cared for her. Who would have helped her if they had known she was still alive, and that she could have relied on them. “You're right, though. There's no changing the past, but at least we have a chance at changing the future," and that was what mattered in the long scheme of things. He would still be without Sorcha, but at least everyone had each other in some sense. Even Thea had Vridel for a little while longer, and he hoped they made the most out of what time they had left, together.
His thoughts were interrupted by the rapid approach of a scout on pegasusback. One of Senka's riders. She approached with a panicked expression, alighting in front of the both of them. “Duke von Riegan, Your Majesty. There's—soldiers—attack—" she was clearly winded, struggling to get words out. This close, he could see that she clutched at a wound on her abdomen. A long, shallow cut, not likely fatal but surely painful; her features were pulled into an expression of agony.
“Ambush!" She pointed the way she'd come with her lance, towards the foothills right on the Fraldarius-Galatea border. A good place to set up an ambush, for the reduced visibility of the scouts. Enemies could have hidden in wait at the low points of the hills, evading local troops in the process, if they knew the area well enough. “Fell on us—others are... dying."
Mercer cursed beneath his breath, Senka already reaching over with white magic at her fingers to heal the cut on her soldier's side. “Fall back and reinforce the rear, Danae," she spoke, the woman nodding her head and flying off. Senka turned towards Mercer, then. “What will you have us do?" she asked, and for a moment, Mercer had to think.
“You, Teach, and myself will reinforce the front. Have Deirdre, Sylvi, and Sofia reinforce the left flank, and tell Reynard and Devon to do what they do best, and control the situation from the shadows. Thea and Vi can reinforce the right flank. Have whatever healers in your group tend to the injured," he stated, watching as she nodded, and spurred her pegasus into the air, perhaps to relay the information to the others. It was at this point that Mercer wished he'd brought Sir. It would have been easier to see the situation from the sky, however; he spurred his horse forward.
He had to make it to the front of the line. He had to help them, and keep people from dying.
The battle, such as it was, was already a mess. Bodies, by far mostly those belonging to the scouts, were strewn over the field, snow dyed red with blood and nearly black with viscera. The soldiers they faced were clearly Cornelia's—instead of the normal lion crest of Faerghus, they wore black, with a white flower of some sort depicted on the front. A rose, it seemed.
With the soldiers, who far outnumbered Mercer's forces, was a large... it looked like a metal golem, akin to those he'd seen unmoving in the Holy Mausoleum. This one, unfortunately, was quite mobile, and at least three times as tall as a man on horseback, akin to the size Maurice had been, but with a body seemingly made entirely of metal. A light glowed in the center of its chest, small gaps in the creature exposing what seemed to be a pulsing, red core of magic, encased in an otherwise-empty suit of gigantic armor. It swept one arm outwards, knocking aside the remaining fliers around its head.
They fell hard to the ground, crashing and remaining still.
The lines clashed; as Mercer drew close he could see the enemy's position better. They'd taken a cluster of three hills, and posted groups of archers and mages on each to fire down into the fray. These were protected by rings of spearmen and poleax-wielders with heavy shields, to make any attempt to climb the hill arduous.
Atop the center hill, clearly visible, stood a figure that must be the enemy commander. Encased head to toe in black armor, save the visor of their white-plumed helm, which was branded with the same white rose motif. The figure clutched a lance, its large golden point shaped more like an angled cleaver than the typical spear-tip, clearly made to slash as much or more than stab. It had the look of a relic to it, but at this distance it was impossible for even his eyes to make out the shape on the Crest stone.
He didn't need to know the Crest Stone. There was only one Relic that was shaped like that, even before he took into account that it was a lance. The Gautier's had a Relic in the shape of a lance, but not like that one. It was Areadbhar. That didn't make sense to Mercer, though. Sorcha had been the last Blaiddyd. How was it possible that the enemy commander was wielding it, and not turning into a beast? There was one logical answer to it: the proceedure that had been done on Vridel had been done on this person as well.
He grimaced slightly when Senka reappeared, a tight crease in her brows as she stared at him. “Mercer, we don't have the strength to fight this army. My scouts have been taken out, and we can't risk losing anyone else before we reach the Alliance. Take Liev," she spoke, already dismounting her pegasus and handing the reigns towards him. “She's not as fast as Sir, but you'll be in the air, and you can manage better, there," she seemed to explain. Mercer didn't need to be told twice, and he swiftly dismounted his horse.
“Make sure everyone retreats backwards. I'm going for the commander. If I can take them out, it'll slow down the army and force them to regroup," he stated, however; before he could leave, Senka grabbed hold of his hand.
“You are not doing this alone, Mercer. Cyril and I will cut a path for you, while the others secure an escape route. We do this together, or not at all," she stated, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she understood what he was trying to do. Perhaps it was for the best that she did stop him. He was the leader of this army, and if he fell...
“Alright, I'm trusting you two," he stated, nudging the pegasus forward as Senka nodded her head, and nudged the horse, perhaps, in Cyril's direction. He trusted that the others would be able to do what they needed to.
The path seemed to open before him, but as he drew close to the hill, within range of arrows, several of the bowmen drew back as if to fire at him. Until, that was, the figure wielding Areadbhar raised their right hand, as if ordering them to halt. Sunlight glinted off... was that some kind of gauntlet? It was silver, not black, and stood out from the rest of the armor accordingly. The archers lowered their arrows immediately, parting like water and leaving a large, free spot on the hill directly in front of their commander.
The figure in armor dropped the hand, still otherwise unmoving, but he could feel it. The eyes beneath the visor were locked on him.
Actually, he preferred this. A duel between commanders would be the easiest way to settle the battle, and there would be fewer casualties if he won. He nudged Liev to land near the hill; he didn't want to risk Sen's mount for this. Once he dismounted, he motioned for Liev to fly, and pulled the sword from his back. He stared at the enemy commander, lifting the sword in their direction.
“You and I will settle this here," he spoke, moving forward towards the middle of the field.
The figure nodded simply, stepping away from the other soldiers like a shadow detaching from a pool of darkness. They leveled Areadbhar outwards in a similar manner to how Mercer held his sword. The armor was close-fit, but well made, revealing nothing of the flesh it was made to protect. The set was sleek, almost utilitarian, free of the spikes or other flourishes that Thales and his ilk would have led anyone to expect. Its wearer was of an ambiguous height, either a tall woman or a man of modest height, and relatively slender. The thick black and white cloak around their shoulders fell to the ground with a pull of the clasp; unencumbered, the figure stalked closer, the blade of Areadbhar drifting forward to just barely caress the edge of his sword, throwing a spark onto the snow where the metal scraped. It was a soft, almost ringing sound; the Relic almost seemed to hum.
It was as though all sound around them had ceased; he could hear the figure take in a breath, sharp, almost like something had surprised them, but in the next moment they lunged, and there was no time left to think of it.
Most battles didn't require him to think. He lifted his blade just in time to thwart the lance from cutting him, the blade twirling around as if to catch him from behind. The duel went on like this. He'd been mostly on the defensive, trying to block attacks that were coming at him, sometimes uncannily fast, and others seemingly almost as if they were trying to avoid killing him.
It left him warring with himself as well. Clearly this person was skilled. They'd managed to at least nick him a few times around his shoulder and he had one cut on his face, but he'd been mostly spared any attacks towards his abdoment, neck, and chest where his heart was. All vital areas that would have killed him if he were facing someone with the intent to kill.
Mercer didn't have the same reserves, though. He'd been aiming for the enemy's heart, their neck, and anywhere else that might have ended the duel because he had an army to lead. A world to take back, and a vision to achieve for her. He caught them in the shoulder with the edge of his blade, but before he could push it further in, the person jumped back, pulling their shoulder from the blade as a result. He grimaced slightly.
This needed to end, quickly.
A sound of frustration escaped them, a soft growl muffled by the helm and perhaps the grit of their own teeth. He could almost see the eyes beneath the visor narrow. A flash of blue, and then the light shifted and it was gone. It didn't seem to be a pained sound, though—if anything they almost seemed not to have noticed the wound at all, and leaped back at him with renewed vigor.
Areadbhar more than compensated for their natural reach disadvantage, especially compared to a sword, but there was still something... hesitant, almost, about their motions. As though they could not commit to anything that might in fact become a deathblow. Perhaps they had orders to capture him?
Around them, the battle raged. Mercer could hear the creaking, groaning movements of that massive golem, but though the troops on this hill waited in respectful silence for the duel to end, it was unclear most of the others were even aware, and the fight continued.
The both of them continued to accumulate injuries; it was a battle of attrition if ever there was one. A well-placed blow from Mercer that should have slipped between helm and gorget to open up a line on the knight's throat, however, was thwarted by that same, uncanny-quick motion, slicing hard into the plume on the figure's helmet instead, jarring the whole thing sideways. With a grunt, they raised the silver-covered hand, tearing the helm away from beneath the chin and tossing it aside with a clatter.
A fall of his favorite cornsilk-gold tumbled out, settling around her shoulders. Her face was set, harder than he'd ever seen it, more mature, pulled into a blank-eyed scowl.
And yet there was no mistaking who he was looking at for even a second.
“Sorcha," he stated. It seemed like time stopped in that moment, his eyes wide, and burning. There she was. There was no mistaking it that this woman, older now only in the years he hadn't seen her, but still just as striking and lovely as ever. And he was trying to kill her. He felt his arms go limp, and he could not bring himself to lift his sword against her.
This was no ghost, no apparition. It was Sorcha. She was alive. “Sorcha," he called out to her once more, the burning sensation finally cascading down his face. He knew the tears were for her, but they weren't sorrowful tears. They were tears of joy. Strange for the occasion, perhaps, but he didn't care. Was this how Cyril felt when he found Senka alive? Was this how Thea felt to know Vi was still alive? His heart ached so painfully in his chest, but he reached out a hand towards her.
“Sorcha... it's me, Mercer," he stated. If she was fighting him, she didn't remember him. He didn't know the circumstances behind that, because he knew she would never fight him like this. Not like this. Not as enemies without a reason. He hadn't hurt her in any way. Failed to protect her, yes, but he had not hurt her.
Or maybe he had and he wasn't aware of it?
The moment his sword had dropped, Areadbhar was at his throat, mere inches from ending his life. At the other end of it, Sorcha regarded him with narrow eyes, some flicker of unidentifiable emotion passing through them.
The sound of her own name seemed to surprise her; he brows furrowed heavily, forming a familiar frustrated crease. It had appeared when she was frustrated with her shots, trying over and over to master that pinpoint precision that would match him, until her arms were shaking and her fingers were numb.
There was a shake, now, too, a tiny tremble in the tip of the lance so close to his throat. “Why?" she said, irritation warring with confusion in her tone. Blood ran freely over the chestplate of her armor from the shoulder wound she'd been ignoring, but he could see now that she did, at least, feel it, for she steadied Areadbhar with the other hand, the one encased in silver. It did not stop the tremor entirely; the same reverberated in the soft rasp of armor plates against each other.
“Why do I know your face, Mercer von Riegan?"
He cursed himself for not knowing white magic, then, because he wanted nothing more than to heal the wound he'd inflicted upon her.
But it seemed she had forgotten him.
“Sorcha, it's me. Mercer. Your love," because he had to believe that she remembered that much. “Look, I still have it. Your good luck charm," he stated, holding up his left hand to show her the ring he'd never taken off. Not even once.
“You know me because you love me. And I love you. I never stopped."
He could never stop loving her. Even when he'd found out she'd died, he never stopped. Could never stop.
A soft breath hissed between her teeth, but it the words—or the ring itself—sparked any more recognition than she'd already had, her face gave no sign. She clicked her tongue softly against the side of her teeth, taking an unsteady step forward, enough for Areadbhar's point to press softly into his skin without breaking.
The soldiers still watched silently, though a few of them looked suspicious now, unsure why their commander had not killed him, apparently. They obviously couldn't hear what was said, but some seemed almost itchy to draw their bows.
“What if I don't believe you?" she asked, her tone dropped to a whisper. He almost couldn't hear it. “What if the one thing I still know is that I have never been loved?"
That she'd never been loved...
“Who made you believe that you've never been loved, Sorcha? Of course people love you. Senka loves you, Vridel, Thea, Sylvi, Sofi, Devon, Reynard, Teach," he began listing all the people he knew loved her.
“I love you. I'm sorry I hurt you. If I'd known it was you, I wouldn't have ever," but he did. He'd hurt her by stabbing her. “Sorcha, I thought you were dead. I would have searched the world for you if there was even a small sign, anything that told me that you were still alive. Sorcha, you are loved."
He wanted to kill so desperately the person who'd made her believe that no one did.
She hesitated still, flinching, eyes narrowing as if in pain; one of her hands started towards her temple before she dropped it to clutch the haft of the spear. Her jaw tightened; when she spoke again her voice was carefully neutral. “This was a trap," she said simply. “If I do not kill you, those archers will." There were more than a dozen of them atop the hill, all still watching the exchange with wary eyes.
“If what you say is true... cover me."
Abruptly, the Crest Stone in Areadbhar began to glow; Mercer could feel a strange crackling coldness in the blade, which shifted just fractionally away from his skin. At the last moment, just before the cold began to bite, Sorcha lifted it free of him and swung it in a blind arc over her head, twisting at the last moment to bring it down. The air shimmered; almost too quickly to see, the Relic's wave of force slammed into a brad swath of the archers, knocking them to the ground.
The others raised their bows immediately; Sorcha scowled, dashing forward with the speed granted by her Crest, knocking out of the air only the arrows that might have hit him where he stood, allowing the rest to whistle past, close but not harmful.
“Sorcha, come with me. We're not going to last very long against this army. You know that; you're leading this army against us. Come with me, come with us," he stated, making a sharp whistle in the air. Liev returned almost immediately, and he mounted the pegasus, holding a hand out to Sorcha.
“Please, come with us. We can escape for now," he pleaded. He could feel it in his eyes as well. “Please."
He could not bear to leave her behind.
And he wouldn't.
He could see her swallow, see her uncertainty. She glanced back towards the battle, but she had to see what he did: the sheer futility of it all. Still her hand stopped halfway to his, fingers curled in towards her palm, and she squeezed her eyes shut, pulling in a deep breath and shuddering. Though it had been her right she reached with, she withdrew it, switching her hold on Areadbhar and gripping with her left instead, swinging astride Liev with fluid grace even despite the awkwardness of the hand up.
Fortunately, most pegasus saddles had loops for lances, and she slid the Relic into one of these, leaning forward slightly to touch his bow with one hand. “Can I borrow this? I'll keep them off us if you steer. I'm not bad with a bow."
“Who do you think taught you?" he stated, offering a grim smile, and shaking loose the bow from his back and handing it to her. “Hold on, keep them off my tail, and we'll get through this." He nudged Liev forward, driving the pegasus as fast as she could move. He could hear the whistles of the arrows pass them over, but he maneuvered Liev as best as he could to avoid them. Sorcha covered his back, and he could see that his army was already retreating.
Good.
He needed them to live.
And Sorcha.
It still hurt to know that.
He took in a deep breath, pushing the thoughts as far from his mind as he possibly could. He had other things to worry about, people to look after, and an army to lead. Still...
“Mercer," a voice called out to him, pulling him from his thoughts, and turned to meet Senka's eyes. It seemed she'd finally managed to leave Teach's side for a moment. They'd been nearly inseparable ever since they'd left Fraldarius Castle, but he supposed he didn't blame them. There were things they needed to work through, he supposed, but at least they had each other. He quashed that feeling.
“Hey, Sen," he greeted, offering her a small smile. “Something I can do for you?" he asked, arching a brow in her direction. He found it surprising that she was riding a pegasus. From what he remembered, she'd always shied away from the creatures, as if she had been afraid of them, but looking at her now, he'd have never guessed that was the case. She shook her head, though.
“No," she began at first, and cleared her throat. “I just came to apologize. I haven't been able to apologize to anyone, personally, except for Cyril, so far. And I want to tell you that I am sorry for not telling you," she stated. He found it strange, too, that she spoke so clearly. Not that she hadn't before, but she used to pause a lot between her sentences. Five years seems to have made her more confident, and at the same time, it seems to have quashed it.
“I won't lie and say it's okay, Sen," he started, pushing a light sigh through his nose. “It's not. I... mourned you. I believed you were dead and it hurt because I thought I'd lost my friend. When I heard you'd died along with Sorcha," he paused, grimacing slightly. He hadn't really spoken her name since he'd found out, after all. “You should have told us something."
She remained quiet, eyes fixed on her hands as she sighed. “I know," she spoke quietly that Mercer almost didn't hear her. “I know I should have said something to you all, but, Mercer, I wasn't in my right mind. It still feels like I'm not. I died, and it felt like the Senka you all knew had died as well. What could I have possibly said that would have changed that? I can't take back what I've done or change the past, but... I can at least try to amend for my mistakes."
Mercer sighed heavily. Even after all this time, she still had problems believing that there were people who cared for her. Who would have helped her if they had known she was still alive, and that she could have relied on them. “You're right, though. There's no changing the past, but at least we have a chance at changing the future," and that was what mattered in the long scheme of things. He would still be without Sorcha, but at least everyone had each other in some sense. Even Thea had Vridel for a little while longer, and he hoped they made the most out of what time they had left, together.
His thoughts were interrupted by the rapid approach of a scout on pegasusback. One of Senka's riders. She approached with a panicked expression, alighting in front of the both of them. “Duke von Riegan, Your Majesty. There's—soldiers—attack—" she was clearly winded, struggling to get words out. This close, he could see that she clutched at a wound on her abdomen. A long, shallow cut, not likely fatal but surely painful; her features were pulled into an expression of agony.
“Ambush!" She pointed the way she'd come with her lance, towards the foothills right on the Fraldarius-Galatea border. A good place to set up an ambush, for the reduced visibility of the scouts. Enemies could have hidden in wait at the low points of the hills, evading local troops in the process, if they knew the area well enough. “Fell on us—others are... dying."
Mercer cursed beneath his breath, Senka already reaching over with white magic at her fingers to heal the cut on her soldier's side. “Fall back and reinforce the rear, Danae," she spoke, the woman nodding her head and flying off. Senka turned towards Mercer, then. “What will you have us do?" she asked, and for a moment, Mercer had to think.
“You, Teach, and myself will reinforce the front. Have Deirdre, Sylvi, and Sofia reinforce the left flank, and tell Reynard and Devon to do what they do best, and control the situation from the shadows. Thea and Vi can reinforce the right flank. Have whatever healers in your group tend to the injured," he stated, watching as she nodded, and spurred her pegasus into the air, perhaps to relay the information to the others. It was at this point that Mercer wished he'd brought Sir. It would have been easier to see the situation from the sky, however; he spurred his horse forward.
He had to make it to the front of the line. He had to help them, and keep people from dying.
The battle, such as it was, was already a mess. Bodies, by far mostly those belonging to the scouts, were strewn over the field, snow dyed red with blood and nearly black with viscera. The soldiers they faced were clearly Cornelia's—instead of the normal lion crest of Faerghus, they wore black, with a white flower of some sort depicted on the front. A rose, it seemed.
With the soldiers, who far outnumbered Mercer's forces, was a large... it looked like a metal golem, akin to those he'd seen unmoving in the Holy Mausoleum. This one, unfortunately, was quite mobile, and at least three times as tall as a man on horseback, akin to the size Maurice had been, but with a body seemingly made entirely of metal. A light glowed in the center of its chest, small gaps in the creature exposing what seemed to be a pulsing, red core of magic, encased in an otherwise-empty suit of gigantic armor. It swept one arm outwards, knocking aside the remaining fliers around its head.
They fell hard to the ground, crashing and remaining still.
The lines clashed; as Mercer drew close he could see the enemy's position better. They'd taken a cluster of three hills, and posted groups of archers and mages on each to fire down into the fray. These were protected by rings of spearmen and poleax-wielders with heavy shields, to make any attempt to climb the hill arduous.
Atop the center hill, clearly visible, stood a figure that must be the enemy commander. Encased head to toe in black armor, save the visor of their white-plumed helm, which was branded with the same white rose motif. The figure clutched a lance, its large golden point shaped more like an angled cleaver than the typical spear-tip, clearly made to slash as much or more than stab. It had the look of a relic to it, but at this distance it was impossible for even his eyes to make out the shape on the Crest stone.
He didn't need to know the Crest Stone. There was only one Relic that was shaped like that, even before he took into account that it was a lance. The Gautier's had a Relic in the shape of a lance, but not like that one. It was Areadbhar. That didn't make sense to Mercer, though. Sorcha had been the last Blaiddyd. How was it possible that the enemy commander was wielding it, and not turning into a beast? There was one logical answer to it: the proceedure that had been done on Vridel had been done on this person as well.
He grimaced slightly when Senka reappeared, a tight crease in her brows as she stared at him. “Mercer, we don't have the strength to fight this army. My scouts have been taken out, and we can't risk losing anyone else before we reach the Alliance. Take Liev," she spoke, already dismounting her pegasus and handing the reigns towards him. “She's not as fast as Sir, but you'll be in the air, and you can manage better, there," she seemed to explain. Mercer didn't need to be told twice, and he swiftly dismounted his horse.
“Make sure everyone retreats backwards. I'm going for the commander. If I can take them out, it'll slow down the army and force them to regroup," he stated, however; before he could leave, Senka grabbed hold of his hand.
“You are not doing this alone, Mercer. Cyril and I will cut a path for you, while the others secure an escape route. We do this together, or not at all," she stated, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she understood what he was trying to do. Perhaps it was for the best that she did stop him. He was the leader of this army, and if he fell...
“Alright, I'm trusting you two," he stated, nudging the pegasus forward as Senka nodded her head, and nudged the horse, perhaps, in Cyril's direction. He trusted that the others would be able to do what they needed to.
The path seemed to open before him, but as he drew close to the hill, within range of arrows, several of the bowmen drew back as if to fire at him. Until, that was, the figure wielding Areadbhar raised their right hand, as if ordering them to halt. Sunlight glinted off... was that some kind of gauntlet? It was silver, not black, and stood out from the rest of the armor accordingly. The archers lowered their arrows immediately, parting like water and leaving a large, free spot on the hill directly in front of their commander.
The figure in armor dropped the hand, still otherwise unmoving, but he could feel it. The eyes beneath the visor were locked on him.
Actually, he preferred this. A duel between commanders would be the easiest way to settle the battle, and there would be fewer casualties if he won. He nudged Liev to land near the hill; he didn't want to risk Sen's mount for this. Once he dismounted, he motioned for Liev to fly, and pulled the sword from his back. He stared at the enemy commander, lifting the sword in their direction.
“You and I will settle this here," he spoke, moving forward towards the middle of the field.
The figure nodded simply, stepping away from the other soldiers like a shadow detaching from a pool of darkness. They leveled Areadbhar outwards in a similar manner to how Mercer held his sword. The armor was close-fit, but well made, revealing nothing of the flesh it was made to protect. The set was sleek, almost utilitarian, free of the spikes or other flourishes that Thales and his ilk would have led anyone to expect. Its wearer was of an ambiguous height, either a tall woman or a man of modest height, and relatively slender. The thick black and white cloak around their shoulders fell to the ground with a pull of the clasp; unencumbered, the figure stalked closer, the blade of Areadbhar drifting forward to just barely caress the edge of his sword, throwing a spark onto the snow where the metal scraped. It was a soft, almost ringing sound; the Relic almost seemed to hum.
It was as though all sound around them had ceased; he could hear the figure take in a breath, sharp, almost like something had surprised them, but in the next moment they lunged, and there was no time left to think of it.
Most battles didn't require him to think. He lifted his blade just in time to thwart the lance from cutting him, the blade twirling around as if to catch him from behind. The duel went on like this. He'd been mostly on the defensive, trying to block attacks that were coming at him, sometimes uncannily fast, and others seemingly almost as if they were trying to avoid killing him.
It left him warring with himself as well. Clearly this person was skilled. They'd managed to at least nick him a few times around his shoulder and he had one cut on his face, but he'd been mostly spared any attacks towards his abdoment, neck, and chest where his heart was. All vital areas that would have killed him if he were facing someone with the intent to kill.
Mercer didn't have the same reserves, though. He'd been aiming for the enemy's heart, their neck, and anywhere else that might have ended the duel because he had an army to lead. A world to take back, and a vision to achieve for her. He caught them in the shoulder with the edge of his blade, but before he could push it further in, the person jumped back, pulling their shoulder from the blade as a result. He grimaced slightly.
This needed to end, quickly.
A sound of frustration escaped them, a soft growl muffled by the helm and perhaps the grit of their own teeth. He could almost see the eyes beneath the visor narrow. A flash of blue, and then the light shifted and it was gone. It didn't seem to be a pained sound, though—if anything they almost seemed not to have noticed the wound at all, and leaped back at him with renewed vigor.
Areadbhar more than compensated for their natural reach disadvantage, especially compared to a sword, but there was still something... hesitant, almost, about their motions. As though they could not commit to anything that might in fact become a deathblow. Perhaps they had orders to capture him?
Around them, the battle raged. Mercer could hear the creaking, groaning movements of that massive golem, but though the troops on this hill waited in respectful silence for the duel to end, it was unclear most of the others were even aware, and the fight continued.
The both of them continued to accumulate injuries; it was a battle of attrition if ever there was one. A well-placed blow from Mercer that should have slipped between helm and gorget to open up a line on the knight's throat, however, was thwarted by that same, uncanny-quick motion, slicing hard into the plume on the figure's helmet instead, jarring the whole thing sideways. With a grunt, they raised the silver-covered hand, tearing the helm away from beneath the chin and tossing it aside with a clatter.
A fall of his favorite cornsilk-gold tumbled out, settling around her shoulders. Her face was set, harder than he'd ever seen it, more mature, pulled into a blank-eyed scowl.
And yet there was no mistaking who he was looking at for even a second.
“Sorcha," he stated. It seemed like time stopped in that moment, his eyes wide, and burning. There she was. There was no mistaking it that this woman, older now only in the years he hadn't seen her, but still just as striking and lovely as ever. And he was trying to kill her. He felt his arms go limp, and he could not bring himself to lift his sword against her.
This was no ghost, no apparition. It was Sorcha. She was alive. “Sorcha," he called out to her once more, the burning sensation finally cascading down his face. He knew the tears were for her, but they weren't sorrowful tears. They were tears of joy. Strange for the occasion, perhaps, but he didn't care. Was this how Cyril felt when he found Senka alive? Was this how Thea felt to know Vi was still alive? His heart ached so painfully in his chest, but he reached out a hand towards her.
“Sorcha... it's me, Mercer," he stated. If she was fighting him, she didn't remember him. He didn't know the circumstances behind that, because he knew she would never fight him like this. Not like this. Not as enemies without a reason. He hadn't hurt her in any way. Failed to protect her, yes, but he had not hurt her.
Or maybe he had and he wasn't aware of it?
The moment his sword had dropped, Areadbhar was at his throat, mere inches from ending his life. At the other end of it, Sorcha regarded him with narrow eyes, some flicker of unidentifiable emotion passing through them.
The sound of her own name seemed to surprise her; he brows furrowed heavily, forming a familiar frustrated crease. It had appeared when she was frustrated with her shots, trying over and over to master that pinpoint precision that would match him, until her arms were shaking and her fingers were numb.
There was a shake, now, too, a tiny tremble in the tip of the lance so close to his throat. “Why?" she said, irritation warring with confusion in her tone. Blood ran freely over the chestplate of her armor from the shoulder wound she'd been ignoring, but he could see now that she did, at least, feel it, for she steadied Areadbhar with the other hand, the one encased in silver. It did not stop the tremor entirely; the same reverberated in the soft rasp of armor plates against each other.
“Why do I know your face, Mercer von Riegan?"
He cursed himself for not knowing white magic, then, because he wanted nothing more than to heal the wound he'd inflicted upon her.
But it seemed she had forgotten him.
“Sorcha, it's me. Mercer. Your love," because he had to believe that she remembered that much. “Look, I still have it. Your good luck charm," he stated, holding up his left hand to show her the ring he'd never taken off. Not even once.
“You know me because you love me. And I love you. I never stopped."
He could never stop loving her. Even when he'd found out she'd died, he never stopped. Could never stop.
A soft breath hissed between her teeth, but it the words—or the ring itself—sparked any more recognition than she'd already had, her face gave no sign. She clicked her tongue softly against the side of her teeth, taking an unsteady step forward, enough for Areadbhar's point to press softly into his skin without breaking.
The soldiers still watched silently, though a few of them looked suspicious now, unsure why their commander had not killed him, apparently. They obviously couldn't hear what was said, but some seemed almost itchy to draw their bows.
“What if I don't believe you?" she asked, her tone dropped to a whisper. He almost couldn't hear it. “What if the one thing I still know is that I have never been loved?"
That she'd never been loved...
“Who made you believe that you've never been loved, Sorcha? Of course people love you. Senka loves you, Vridel, Thea, Sylvi, Sofi, Devon, Reynard, Teach," he began listing all the people he knew loved her.
“I love you. I'm sorry I hurt you. If I'd known it was you, I wouldn't have ever," but he did. He'd hurt her by stabbing her. “Sorcha, I thought you were dead. I would have searched the world for you if there was even a small sign, anything that told me that you were still alive. Sorcha, you are loved."
He wanted to kill so desperately the person who'd made her believe that no one did.
She hesitated still, flinching, eyes narrowing as if in pain; one of her hands started towards her temple before she dropped it to clutch the haft of the spear. Her jaw tightened; when she spoke again her voice was carefully neutral. “This was a trap," she said simply. “If I do not kill you, those archers will." There were more than a dozen of them atop the hill, all still watching the exchange with wary eyes.
“If what you say is true... cover me."
Abruptly, the Crest Stone in Areadbhar began to glow; Mercer could feel a strange crackling coldness in the blade, which shifted just fractionally away from his skin. At the last moment, just before the cold began to bite, Sorcha lifted it free of him and swung it in a blind arc over her head, twisting at the last moment to bring it down. The air shimmered; almost too quickly to see, the Relic's wave of force slammed into a brad swath of the archers, knocking them to the ground.
The others raised their bows immediately; Sorcha scowled, dashing forward with the speed granted by her Crest, knocking out of the air only the arrows that might have hit him where he stood, allowing the rest to whistle past, close but not harmful.
“Sorcha, come with me. We're not going to last very long against this army. You know that; you're leading this army against us. Come with me, come with us," he stated, making a sharp whistle in the air. Liev returned almost immediately, and he mounted the pegasus, holding a hand out to Sorcha.
“Please, come with us. We can escape for now," he pleaded. He could feel it in his eyes as well. “Please."
He could not bear to leave her behind.
And he wouldn't.
He could see her swallow, see her uncertainty. She glanced back towards the battle, but she had to see what he did: the sheer futility of it all. Still her hand stopped halfway to his, fingers curled in towards her palm, and she squeezed her eyes shut, pulling in a deep breath and shuddering. Though it had been her right she reached with, she withdrew it, switching her hold on Areadbhar and gripping with her left instead, swinging astride Liev with fluid grace even despite the awkwardness of the hand up.
Fortunately, most pegasus saddles had loops for lances, and she slid the Relic into one of these, leaning forward slightly to touch his bow with one hand. “Can I borrow this? I'll keep them off us if you steer. I'm not bad with a bow."
“Who do you think taught you?" he stated, offering a grim smile, and shaking loose the bow from his back and handing it to her. “Hold on, keep them off my tail, and we'll get through this." He nudged Liev forward, driving the pegasus as fast as she could move. He could hear the whistles of the arrows pass them over, but he maneuvered Liev as best as he could to avoid them. Sorcha covered his back, and he could see that his army was already retreating.
Good.
He needed them to live.
And Sorcha.