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Amalthea von Kreuz
"So much pain and suffering. I just want to help."
0 · 1,741 views · located in 
Fódlan
a character in “Fire Emblem: Apotheosis”, originally authored by Nemeseia, as played by RolePlayGateway
So begins...
Amalthea von Kreuz's Story
Bandit Camp - Morning - Light Snow
Cyril Eisner
Though their first day's march had been unexpectedly fruitless when the bandits left the camp Reynard and Devon had found, the two were able to track them back to a much larger base of operations. It was hidden past part of the forest, on the Imperial side of Garreg Mach, or rather the side you had to come through when entering via the only route from the Empire to the Monastery. It was distinct from the routes in one would use from Faerghus or Leicester—which was interesting in and of itself. Cyril wasn't convinced that these bandits weren't in fact Imperial army deserters of some kind, who'd stayed behind in hopes of easy pickings once the main army had left and wound up finding that banditry suited them.
Still, it didn't really matter. The monastery needed defending, and they were in the way of that with the constant harassment and attempts to kill the defenders. What was more, being rid of them would free his friends to help one another again. That was reason enough, right now, especially when the stakes were so very high.
Cyril used the Arrow of Indra more as a walking stick than anything, but he was strong enough to keep pace with the others with the aid, at least. As soon as the month changed; he'd begin training again in earnest. He didn't know how long he'd last, really, how long this new iteration of life would go, and part of him didn't really care. But still... he had his friends. Most of them, at least, and that was enough to live for, while he was still of use to them. He tried to focus on that, even though sometimes he felt emptier than he ever had. Emptier even than he had been before he met them.
Even if he was only a weak husk at the moment, he could almost feel himself brimming with magic, and that had to count for something.
The bandit hideout loomed ahead, in the ruined village that had once shared the name of the monastery. Reynard's house had been here, and the Spindlethorn. He wondered, for an absurd moment, where Miss Violet and her friends were now, but something told him they, at least, were fine, even if they'd had to move elsewhere.
The same would not be true for the bandits.
Cyril was halfway to parting his lips to give instructions when he remembered, quite abruptly, that he was no one's teacher anymore, no matter what they still called him. So instead he turned to Mercer. “What's the plan?"
Mercer's brows were furrowed slightly as he seemed to be assessing the situation. He glanced around a few times as if trying to see where things were, and what he was going to do. When he seemed satisfied, he turned Deirdre and Sofia, eyes narrowing just the slightest bit.
“I want you two and Sylvi to take the left side," he stated before his eyes went to Devon and Reynard. “Devon and Rey, I want you two to hang back, and control the situation in anyway you see. You both are the shadows," he stated before his eyes went towards Cyril and Thea.
“The two of us will go head first, while you," he motioned towards Cyril, “support us from behind with your magic. If we can draw the most attention towards us, it'll give Sylvi, Deir, and Sofia the chance to flank them. It'll also give Rey and Dev the necessary means to pick off whoever they can before they have to resort to a much more up-close encounter."
“But, Mercer, isn't that a little dangerous? Just the three of us charging head first?" Thea stated, a little concerned with Mercer's plan. He shook his head, though.
“We want them to think we don't have the necessary numbers to take them out. Make them think they have the advantage. People get careless when they are arrogant about their abilities to win what appears to be just three people attacking them," he spoke, giving his reasoning behind the tactic, it seemed. “They'll be caught off guard when Sylvi, Sofia, and Deirdre appear, which will give Devon and Reynard the perfect opportunity to shrink their numbers during their confusion."
Cyril nodded, feeling a flicker of pride almost in spite of himself. He knew little of the credit was really his: Mercer had been clever before he set foot at the Officer's Academy, and like the other Golden Deer, Manuela had been his primary instructor. But still, he was proud of him, and of what small role he had played in the younger man's shift from young noble to surehanded battlefield commander.
Cracking his knuckles, he nodded simply. Devon and Reynard melted into shadows and underbrush, bows already drawn. Sofia let the others away to try to get into flank position, but in order to preserve the surprise they'd have to move only after the frontal assault team had the bandits' attention, and hustle once they did.
Once he, Thea, and Mercer were in position, Cyril hummed softly. “Might as well get their attention." Calling up the magic within himself, he summoned the familiar long-range lightning spell into his hand, and pointed it for a spot in the ground not too far in front of the larger building the bandits were supposedly using as a headquarters. The mayor's house, it had once been, situated on the hill near the edge of the forested area.
A bolt of lightning blasted the spot, kicking up dust and debris, raining clumps of sod and dirt back down on the ground. The manor's door flew open with a bang almost immediately, two armed men stepping out, but Cyril was ready, and threw more bolts at them, striking each square in the chest and dropping them, twitching, to the ground.
He supposed that worked.
A few more armed men came pouring out of the door, seemingly alarmed and ready for a battle, however; Mercer dropped the first one with an arrow between the eyes. He shifted the bow back into its spot on his back, and withdrew his sword, charging forward, followed by Thea. She had Amyr ready in her hands as they both engaged with a bandit. It seemed that Mercer's sword skills had improved as he easily blocked an attack aimed for him, however; he seemed to be moving a bit more recklessly. Moving with uncanny speed as he went from one bandit to the next.
Thea seemed to be holding her own fairly well, dropping a bandit before she engaged another one, however; it seemed that more and more bandits poured out of the building, and were surrounding both Thea and Mercer. Some of them sneered in Thea's direction, laughing and saying things about having fun once they'd dealt with Mercer, however; her hands gripped Amyr tightly before she threw it straight at them, hitting one of the bandits square in the chest before she summoned the axe back to her. Mercer had drawn his bow as well, quickly fitting an arrow to it and dropped another bandit.
“Can't have fun when you're dead," he stated in a menacing voice. He dropped his bow, though, in favor of his sword again, engaging with a bandit as Thea tried to cover him. He was fighting two of them at once, and Thea engaged with the a third that tried to attack from behind. Mercer still hadn't given the signal for Sofia's group to flank, yet, as if he were anticipating more bandits to appear.
Cyril filled in the gaps as well as he could with magic, firing precise, heavy bolts of lightning and darkness into the fray. It felt as though it built in him as much as he let it go, until his skin was all but buzzing with the feel of it. His face was blank, though, his motions ruthless.
Two bandits had the bright idea to try and charge him. They wound up more smears on the ground than corpses proper, and none of the others attempted the same. It made his job at once easier than harder, but it felt like half his job was dealing with the fact that Mercer couldn't be bothered to try that hard to avoid damage. Thea was being properly defensive for what they were supposedly doing, but the way he'd just dropped his bow was nudging past reckless into stupid, and Cyril had to work to make sure it didn't come back to bite him, especially when some of the reinforcements came with distance weapons.
Thea was doing her best to keep to defend herself, now, switching into a more defensive role than offensive. She was dealing with three bandits, now, and Mercer seemed to be fixated on his own opponents.
“Mercer!" Thea shouted, as she tried to deflect a lance thrusted at her. She managed, but it caused her to lose her footing, and she fell backwards. Her eyes had widened when the lance came back for her, however; an axe managed to deflect it just before it could reach her. Sylvi stood in front of Thea as Mercer kept pushing forward. She glanced in Mercer's direction, shook her head, and helped Thea to her feet as Deirdre covered them as best as she could with a few wind spells.
With Sylvi and Deirdre on the field, it looked like Mercer's plan of a flank was lost. They were engaged on the field, now, but it seemed to be that there was no end to the bandits. Either Mercer didn't seem to care, or his thoughts were elsewhere as he tried to get a majority of the bandits's attention on himself. As if he were trying to get them all to go after him.
Arrows flew into the mix from Devon and Reynard, too, but they were much less effective shot from the sides than they would have been from behind, if the flank had been possible. Sofia planted herself on the front line with Thea, using her tower shield to protect one of Mercer's sides. The tight, weary look on her face suggested it was something she'd done in a similar fashion more than once.
Cyril knew they were stronger than these bandits. But the loss of the tactical advantage meant they might well take heavy losses proving it, and he dug in for a long fight. The bandit leader was still hanging back, content to fire arrows at the group in a cluster of archers—
Until, that was, a wo dao erupted from his chest, laced with the crimson of his blood. It abruptly disappeared again right after. The first bowman to react got a solid boot to his chest for noticing—the other was taken out by a blinding blast of magic before he even registered what happened.
Behind the fallen men stood a familiar face, wearing an unfamiliar expression.
Vridel had let his hair grow long, white sheets perhaps to his waist pulled high into a bright tail that trailed behind him as he darted for the next cluster of archers. His armor was hexagonal mail over pristine white; the metal gleamed such a silver as to be almost mirrored. It actually seemed to serve a practical purpose—it was difficult to look at him directly for too long when he was casting, as he reflected the luminescence of his own spells.
A half-dozen more archers fell to a combination of bladework and magic, and by that time, the startling reinforcement combined with the pressure from the front had broken the bandit lines; Cyril felt no compunctions firing lightning into the backs of the few who tried to retreat. There was no point letting them get away to regroup and attack again later, after all.
When the last had fallen, Vridel flicked the blood off his sword and sheathed it, turning hard eyes towards the group. And that was the part that wasn't familiar: his jaw was set, lips nearly curled in a snarl. He sneered at a bandit who tried weakly to move, thrusting a hand downwards to blast him point-blank with a spell. He didn't move after that.
Only when his eyes fell on Thea did his expression seem to soften into something more familiar.
“It seems I'm late," he said, a soft rasp in his voice. Disuse, Cyril thought. “My apologies."
Thea looked like she'd seen a ghost, and much like when she'd first seen Cyril that night. She was glued to her spot, and for a moment, it looked like she'd forgotten how to breath. Blood smeared her face and streaked her hair, but if that bothered her at all, it didn't show. Even Vridel's appearance didn't seem to phase her, however; she took a hesitant step forward, as if she were afraid that Vridel would disappear if she moved any closer.
“Vi..." she spoke so softly it was as if she'd said nothing at all. A hand reached towards Vridel, but she dropped it to her side. In what seemed like an instant, she ran towards him, arms flinging around him as if she'd just seen the most precious thing in the world, and didn't want to let go. Her shoulders were shaking, and it wasn't hard to hear the quiet sobs that left her.
He returned it, a stricken look on his face, as though his heart were breaking. “Thea," he murmured, seemingly at a loss. It only prompted him to hold her more tightly.
“Better late than never," Deirdre spoke, furrowing her brows in Mercer's direction. He didn't say anything, and couldn't seem to bring himself to glance at either Thea or Vridel. He looked relieved to have heard Vridel, but he made no motion to move forward or say anything at all. He looked lost for words, if anything.
Not for the first time and not for the last, Cyril wondered how much of the blame for this could be laid at his feet. They were broken, all of them, in one way or another. It was impossible not to see, for he who had known them so well when they were whole and happy. And he could not help but wonder what would have been different, if he'd managed not to fall off that cliff. If he'd evaded Thales's curse, been able to summon the Divine Pulse during his plummet—anything. If he'd somehow not failed them all.
The thought sat as heavily in his heart as it did every time, and he sighed softly. “We should get back to the monastery," he said quietly. He hadn't missed the flicker of surprise on Vridel's face when he registered Cyril's presence, but it was probably better to wait and explain everything when they were back to shelter, at least. Vridel wasn't as thin or haggard as Cyril, but he looked like he hadn't eaten enough in a few weeks, at least.
Maybe. Maybe now things would begin to turn for the better.
Still, it didn't really matter. The monastery needed defending, and they were in the way of that with the constant harassment and attempts to kill the defenders. What was more, being rid of them would free his friends to help one another again. That was reason enough, right now, especially when the stakes were so very high.
Cyril used the Arrow of Indra more as a walking stick than anything, but he was strong enough to keep pace with the others with the aid, at least. As soon as the month changed; he'd begin training again in earnest. He didn't know how long he'd last, really, how long this new iteration of life would go, and part of him didn't really care. But still... he had his friends. Most of them, at least, and that was enough to live for, while he was still of use to them. He tried to focus on that, even though sometimes he felt emptier than he ever had. Emptier even than he had been before he met them.
Even if he was only a weak husk at the moment, he could almost feel himself brimming with magic, and that had to count for something.
The bandit hideout loomed ahead, in the ruined village that had once shared the name of the monastery. Reynard's house had been here, and the Spindlethorn. He wondered, for an absurd moment, where Miss Violet and her friends were now, but something told him they, at least, were fine, even if they'd had to move elsewhere.
The same would not be true for the bandits.
Cyril was halfway to parting his lips to give instructions when he remembered, quite abruptly, that he was no one's teacher anymore, no matter what they still called him. So instead he turned to Mercer. “What's the plan?"
Mercer's brows were furrowed slightly as he seemed to be assessing the situation. He glanced around a few times as if trying to see where things were, and what he was going to do. When he seemed satisfied, he turned Deirdre and Sofia, eyes narrowing just the slightest bit.
“I want you two and Sylvi to take the left side," he stated before his eyes went to Devon and Reynard. “Devon and Rey, I want you two to hang back, and control the situation in anyway you see. You both are the shadows," he stated before his eyes went towards Cyril and Thea.
“The two of us will go head first, while you," he motioned towards Cyril, “support us from behind with your magic. If we can draw the most attention towards us, it'll give Sylvi, Deir, and Sofia the chance to flank them. It'll also give Rey and Dev the necessary means to pick off whoever they can before they have to resort to a much more up-close encounter."
“But, Mercer, isn't that a little dangerous? Just the three of us charging head first?" Thea stated, a little concerned with Mercer's plan. He shook his head, though.
“We want them to think we don't have the necessary numbers to take them out. Make them think they have the advantage. People get careless when they are arrogant about their abilities to win what appears to be just three people attacking them," he spoke, giving his reasoning behind the tactic, it seemed. “They'll be caught off guard when Sylvi, Sofia, and Deirdre appear, which will give Devon and Reynard the perfect opportunity to shrink their numbers during their confusion."
Cyril nodded, feeling a flicker of pride almost in spite of himself. He knew little of the credit was really his: Mercer had been clever before he set foot at the Officer's Academy, and like the other Golden Deer, Manuela had been his primary instructor. But still, he was proud of him, and of what small role he had played in the younger man's shift from young noble to surehanded battlefield commander.
Cracking his knuckles, he nodded simply. Devon and Reynard melted into shadows and underbrush, bows already drawn. Sofia let the others away to try to get into flank position, but in order to preserve the surprise they'd have to move only after the frontal assault team had the bandits' attention, and hustle once they did.
Once he, Thea, and Mercer were in position, Cyril hummed softly. “Might as well get their attention." Calling up the magic within himself, he summoned the familiar long-range lightning spell into his hand, and pointed it for a spot in the ground not too far in front of the larger building the bandits were supposedly using as a headquarters. The mayor's house, it had once been, situated on the hill near the edge of the forested area.
A bolt of lightning blasted the spot, kicking up dust and debris, raining clumps of sod and dirt back down on the ground. The manor's door flew open with a bang almost immediately, two armed men stepping out, but Cyril was ready, and threw more bolts at them, striking each square in the chest and dropping them, twitching, to the ground.
He supposed that worked.
A few more armed men came pouring out of the door, seemingly alarmed and ready for a battle, however; Mercer dropped the first one with an arrow between the eyes. He shifted the bow back into its spot on his back, and withdrew his sword, charging forward, followed by Thea. She had Amyr ready in her hands as they both engaged with a bandit. It seemed that Mercer's sword skills had improved as he easily blocked an attack aimed for him, however; he seemed to be moving a bit more recklessly. Moving with uncanny speed as he went from one bandit to the next.
Thea seemed to be holding her own fairly well, dropping a bandit before she engaged another one, however; it seemed that more and more bandits poured out of the building, and were surrounding both Thea and Mercer. Some of them sneered in Thea's direction, laughing and saying things about having fun once they'd dealt with Mercer, however; her hands gripped Amyr tightly before she threw it straight at them, hitting one of the bandits square in the chest before she summoned the axe back to her. Mercer had drawn his bow as well, quickly fitting an arrow to it and dropped another bandit.
“Can't have fun when you're dead," he stated in a menacing voice. He dropped his bow, though, in favor of his sword again, engaging with a bandit as Thea tried to cover him. He was fighting two of them at once, and Thea engaged with the a third that tried to attack from behind. Mercer still hadn't given the signal for Sofia's group to flank, yet, as if he were anticipating more bandits to appear.
Cyril filled in the gaps as well as he could with magic, firing precise, heavy bolts of lightning and darkness into the fray. It felt as though it built in him as much as he let it go, until his skin was all but buzzing with the feel of it. His face was blank, though, his motions ruthless.
Two bandits had the bright idea to try and charge him. They wound up more smears on the ground than corpses proper, and none of the others attempted the same. It made his job at once easier than harder, but it felt like half his job was dealing with the fact that Mercer couldn't be bothered to try that hard to avoid damage. Thea was being properly defensive for what they were supposedly doing, but the way he'd just dropped his bow was nudging past reckless into stupid, and Cyril had to work to make sure it didn't come back to bite him, especially when some of the reinforcements came with distance weapons.
Thea was doing her best to keep to defend herself, now, switching into a more defensive role than offensive. She was dealing with three bandits, now, and Mercer seemed to be fixated on his own opponents.
“Mercer!" Thea shouted, as she tried to deflect a lance thrusted at her. She managed, but it caused her to lose her footing, and she fell backwards. Her eyes had widened when the lance came back for her, however; an axe managed to deflect it just before it could reach her. Sylvi stood in front of Thea as Mercer kept pushing forward. She glanced in Mercer's direction, shook her head, and helped Thea to her feet as Deirdre covered them as best as she could with a few wind spells.
With Sylvi and Deirdre on the field, it looked like Mercer's plan of a flank was lost. They were engaged on the field, now, but it seemed to be that there was no end to the bandits. Either Mercer didn't seem to care, or his thoughts were elsewhere as he tried to get a majority of the bandits's attention on himself. As if he were trying to get them all to go after him.
Arrows flew into the mix from Devon and Reynard, too, but they were much less effective shot from the sides than they would have been from behind, if the flank had been possible. Sofia planted herself on the front line with Thea, using her tower shield to protect one of Mercer's sides. The tight, weary look on her face suggested it was something she'd done in a similar fashion more than once.
Cyril knew they were stronger than these bandits. But the loss of the tactical advantage meant they might well take heavy losses proving it, and he dug in for a long fight. The bandit leader was still hanging back, content to fire arrows at the group in a cluster of archers—
Until, that was, a wo dao erupted from his chest, laced with the crimson of his blood. It abruptly disappeared again right after. The first bowman to react got a solid boot to his chest for noticing—the other was taken out by a blinding blast of magic before he even registered what happened.
Behind the fallen men stood a familiar face, wearing an unfamiliar expression.
Vridel had let his hair grow long, white sheets perhaps to his waist pulled high into a bright tail that trailed behind him as he darted for the next cluster of archers. His armor was hexagonal mail over pristine white; the metal gleamed such a silver as to be almost mirrored. It actually seemed to serve a practical purpose—it was difficult to look at him directly for too long when he was casting, as he reflected the luminescence of his own spells.
A half-dozen more archers fell to a combination of bladework and magic, and by that time, the startling reinforcement combined with the pressure from the front had broken the bandit lines; Cyril felt no compunctions firing lightning into the backs of the few who tried to retreat. There was no point letting them get away to regroup and attack again later, after all.
When the last had fallen, Vridel flicked the blood off his sword and sheathed it, turning hard eyes towards the group. And that was the part that wasn't familiar: his jaw was set, lips nearly curled in a snarl. He sneered at a bandit who tried weakly to move, thrusting a hand downwards to blast him point-blank with a spell. He didn't move after that.
Only when his eyes fell on Thea did his expression seem to soften into something more familiar.
“It seems I'm late," he said, a soft rasp in his voice. Disuse, Cyril thought. “My apologies."
Thea looked like she'd seen a ghost, and much like when she'd first seen Cyril that night. She was glued to her spot, and for a moment, it looked like she'd forgotten how to breath. Blood smeared her face and streaked her hair, but if that bothered her at all, it didn't show. Even Vridel's appearance didn't seem to phase her, however; she took a hesitant step forward, as if she were afraid that Vridel would disappear if she moved any closer.
“Vi..." she spoke so softly it was as if she'd said nothing at all. A hand reached towards Vridel, but she dropped it to her side. In what seemed like an instant, she ran towards him, arms flinging around him as if she'd just seen the most precious thing in the world, and didn't want to let go. Her shoulders were shaking, and it wasn't hard to hear the quiet sobs that left her.
He returned it, a stricken look on his face, as though his heart were breaking. “Thea," he murmured, seemingly at a loss. It only prompted him to hold her more tightly.
“Better late than never," Deirdre spoke, furrowing her brows in Mercer's direction. He didn't say anything, and couldn't seem to bring himself to glance at either Thea or Vridel. He looked relieved to have heard Vridel, but he made no motion to move forward or say anything at all. He looked lost for words, if anything.
Not for the first time and not for the last, Cyril wondered how much of the blame for this could be laid at his feet. They were broken, all of them, in one way or another. It was impossible not to see, for he who had known them so well when they were whole and happy. And he could not help but wonder what would have been different, if he'd managed not to fall off that cliff. If he'd evaded Thales's curse, been able to summon the Divine Pulse during his plummet—anything. If he'd somehow not failed them all.
The thought sat as heavily in his heart as it did every time, and he sighed softly. “We should get back to the monastery," he said quietly. He hadn't missed the flicker of surprise on Vridel's face when he registered Cyril's presence, but it was probably better to wait and explain everything when they were back to shelter, at least. Vridel wasn't as thin or haggard as Cyril, but he looked like he hadn't eaten enough in a few weeks, at least.
Maybe. Maybe now things would begin to turn for the better.
War Room - Late Morning - Cool
Mercer von Riegan
Mercer knew he fucked up during the raid.
He'd nearly caused Thea to be harmed, and some part of him was reeling in on itself. That wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to stay focused on the mission, on the plan so that they could have succeeded. Though they had succeeded, it resulted in a rather tenuous strain with Thea. She was justifiably angry with him, but he knew that her anger never lasted long. He wished it did, though. She should be angry with him for what he did, however; he pushed the thought out of his mind. He'd have to think of a proper apology to her; to all of them, really. It wasn't the first time he'd done something as reckless as that.
He entered the old common room, rearranged to be their council room where they could conduct their next course of action. And he'd called the others to meet him here so they could do just that. Sighing softly, he tucked himself into the chair at the upper right hand side of the table, leaving the head chair for Teach when he arrived. It seemed only natural that Teach should reclaim that leader role, after all.
He in fact entered next, carrying a rolled up piece of parchment. He still hardly looked to be in good shape, but a week of regular meals were starting to show effects; his skin wasn't so waxy anymore, at least. Teach glanced curiously at Mercer, then at the empty chair at the head of the table, and furrowed his brows.
“You know I'm not in charge here, right?" he asked, moving to the other side of the chair from where Mercer was and unrolling the parchment on the table. It seemed to be a Fódlan map, mostly blank. There was a small bag tied to his belt; he took this off and dumped it on the table, sorting the map tokens inside roughly into the familiar red-yellow-blue color scheme, though there were some black ones and some white ones as well.
Mercer was slightly confused at the statement, though. “Aren't you, though? You're... you're back, so it makes sense that you lead us again," he spoke, furrowing his brows lightly. If it wasn't Teach, then who would lead them? Mercer couldn't do it. He'd fucked up one too many times already. Couldn't do it because it was how he kept everyone safe. Because if he died, they'd be able to continue on without him. That they would be safe for a moment longer, and they didn't need him. No one did, anymore.
He furrowed his brows deeper at that thought. That wasn't true, was it? They still needed him like he needed them. Because they were the last tether he had to caring about a world she wasn't a part of. He couldn't even bring himself to say or think her name for fear of what it might do to him. Instead, he pushed the thought down, to the darkest parts of his mind as he glanced back at Teach.
“If you're not in charge, then who is?"
“Well," Teach replied slowly, setting one of the black tokens on Fhirdiad, “I would suppose it's the same person who's been in charge for the last five years. I saw some things recently that make me question the wisdom of the decision, but I believe he can be brought around." He glanced up, that intense molten gold in his eyes meeting Mercer's. He might not be in good physical shape, but something about that couldn't do anything but evoke the old Teach, the one who tore off armor with his bare hands and made impossible leaps onto the backs of demonic beasts to bring them down.
“You can't keep acting like that, Mercer." The admonishment was delivered quietly, and not unkindly. “Believe me, I—I understand why you'd want to. I want to, often enough. But neither of us can, especially not you."
Mercer sighed heavily.
“I know, Teach, but..." it was so damn hard not to. It was how he'd managed to keep everyone else alive. Even if at times like these, he'd make the worst decisions possible by putting them in that very same danger he was trying to protect them from. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry... you know, about..." he couldn't even say her name, his friend. Her best friend.
“But... if it's not me, then it'll be someone else. Especially not me doesn't mean my life is any more valuable than the others around me. I need to protect them, and if that's the only way to do it..." then he'd keep doing it. If he had to take the field by himself, then so be it. “They have you, now. We have you. Even if I fell... they'd still have you."
Teach pursed his lips. “What it was doing was hindering them, Mercer." He said it flatly, bluntly, in the same way Teach always did when he was explaining to someone how they messed up. “When you do that—when you throw yourself in front of what would be minor injuries if they hit someone else at greater risk to you, you're not only interfering with their ability to block and riposte as they've been taught to do, you're forcing them to go to extra lengths to protect you. That cut on Sofia's arm is because she couldn't move her shield because she was covering your flank with it. It could easily have gotten her neck instead."
He shook his head, rippling the long, low tail he'd pulled his hair into. “When you're overprotective, it throws off the entire rhythm of the battlefield. Makes things worse. And you're as important to them as they are to you, so they will always try to adjust around you, protect you. You're giving them an extra job to do, and it's not worth what you're saving them."
He set a large red piece on Enbarr, and another at Myrddin. “But when it comes down to it, that's a moot point anyway. Because right now, like it or not, your life does matter more. You're the king on the chessboard, Mercer—if you fall, it's over. I have no birthright to the Alliance's armies, nor the diplomatic clout required to get the Roundtable to heed me. I could, in theory, lead those who are here. But that is all. You are more necessary to what we're doing here than anyone, and you have to accept that. That doesn't mean you have to be willing to let your friends die for you, but it does mean you need to take care of your own life at least as much as you take care of theirs. Because if you die, we all do."
It was in that moment that Mercer remembered why he'd valued Teach's advice so much. Because when nothing else made sense, Teach always did. He always managed to put things into perspective for Mercer, to help him keep focus of what was really important. He offered Cyril a small smile, and nodded his head, leaning back slightly to sit straighter in his chair.
“You sure you don't want to be our leader, Teach? You make too much of a valid point that it's hard to turn it down the offer," he spoke, a sort of lightness returning to his voice. He still wasn't sure he was fit to be that piece, the king, but if Teach had that much confidence in his abilities...
“Thanks Teach, for putting it into a better perspective for me," because Sofia shouldn't have had to take that risk for him. Thea shouldn't have nearly been killed because of him. He needed to do better, be better. Deirdre, Alaric, Rey, Sylvi, Devon... they all relied on him, too. He can't let them down. He wouldn't.
Teach managed a small, but genuine, smile. “Always happy to help," he said simply.
Around then, the others began to file into the room. Vi arrived first, glancing between the two of them with his arms crossed. “Good," he said simply. “I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to deck you for the other day, but I can see you've got your head on straighter now."
“You know, you still can. I'd deserve it, anyway," Mercer replied, arching a brow in Vi's direction. Honestly, he'd take it because he did deserve it for what happened the other day. “I suppose it'll have to wait until after this meeting, though," he stated, glancing towards the doorway as the others began to arrive. Deirdre arrived with Sofia, taking a seat to his right side, followed by Sylvi and Devon. Thea was next to arrive, and she immediately made a beeline for Vridel, taking the seat next to him. Mercer almost smiled.
He waited a moment longer for Reynard to appear, before he cleared his throat to call their attention towards him. “Garreg Mach no longer has to worry about the bandit issue," he spoke, glancing around at the others. “I suppose we'll have to make this our temporary base of operations. The more pressing situation, though, is that we need more soldiers."
They were vastly outnumbered. Everyone knew that.
“What's the situation like in Brigid?" he asked, setting his gaze towards Vi.
“Shit," Vridel replied flatly. He blinked, though, expelling a heavy breath. “They're holding their line because the Empire doesn't have enough troops to spare from the other fronts to wipe them off the map. By the same token, though, they can't spare anyone until the pressure eases. Maybe if we could force a major redirection of soldiers, but even then they're a small army and have suffered heavy loss. I think the best we can hope for from them at any stage is a single battalion, and that not yet."
He glanced from the corner of his eye at Thea, almost seeming to hesitate about something for a moment, before he dropped his eyes to the table in front of them instead. “Let's see..." He moved several red tokens to the archipelago, surrounding a white piece, to represent allies.
Mercer supposed as much. The Empire seemed to have an endless amount of soldiers to spare, willing or not, but it didn't matter. Everyone's forces were stretched thin enough as it was, and he doubted even with Brigid's troops, that it would be enough.
“I still haven't received any word from my father, either," Mercer added, glancing towards the Leicester Alliance on the map, and then towards Almyra. “We'd have more of a chance if he'd just..." respond to his letters. Mercer knew, though, that his father was likely not receiving the letters. That somewhere along the way, they were being lost, and he did not want to risk any more lives than he'd already had.
“I doubt Lord Fradalrius will be able to help us, either, considering he and the other nobles are fighting Cornelia and the Empire." He wasn't even sure how they'd managed to do that and still be alive. Perhaps because the Empire hadn't really pushed much into Cornelia's territory, leaving her be, for now.
“So... there's no way of getting any more troops?" Thea asked, glancing at Vi for a moment before turning her attention towards Mercer.
“I honestly don't know, Thea. It doesn't seem like anyone can spare them right now. We're all fighting the same enemy, but at the same time, it feels like we're all fighting a different war."
"I... might have an idea," Reynard said quietly. When all the eyes in the room swung to him, he shrugged. "As some of you are aware, I sent someone to Duscur, or what's currently being called the Viscounty of Kleiman. It seems the Viscountess is having trouble with something of a rebel army, led by a couple people named Scutari. It's not a good situation for the rebels—they're bound to lose if the fighting keeps up for another few months. But—and here's how this is different from Brigid—I think we could convince them to leave Duscur after we help them free it."
“Why's that?" Teach asked, his brows furrowing heavily. “They've been without their homeland for so long. Why abandon it if they manage to take it back?" The mention of Duscur in particular was clearly getting to him; Mercer knew that had been where he planned to go after graduation—it was personal in a way a lot of this was not.
Vridel shook his head. “At this point the fight is purely symbolic. Céleste Kleiman's the one who led the troops that killed Sen and captured Sorcha." He refused to not say their names, it seemed, but the deep frown on his face betrayed how it made him feel to do so. “If they kill her, they've achieved something. But there's no chance of keeping the country. Not with Cornelia's forces right there waiting to swoop in on the 'winner' and take it all. If it's Kleiman, they get rid of an annoyance. If it's the rebels, well, the same, really. It won't be difficult."
Reynard hummed in agreement. "Which is why we might be able to convince them to fight with us. Even if they free their country from Kleiman, it isn't really free until the rest of the war's done. Cornelia won't let them keep it, and Cornelia is at least allied with the Empire, if not with Those Who Slither in the Dark."
“It won't be easy to convince them, though," Mercer spoke, furrowing his brows. Maybe if Senka still lived, this would have been different. They could have had what army Duscur has now to their ranks, but she wasn't, and they didn't. Pulling in a soft breath, he leaned his head into his closed fist, resting there for a moment.
“We should still try, Mercer," Thea stated firmly, her eyes shifting towards him. “We... we owe her that much, don't we? And maybe if we convince them that we were her friends, that... they'd be more inclined to join us. So that we could continue to fight in her memory, and in Sorcha's,"" she continued, causing Mercer to purse his lips. They all had a point.
They needed the troops, and they at least needed to try.
He glanced at the map, looking at all of their allies and their enemies. He finally nodded his head. “We at least owe it to the rest of the world to try. Maybe we can even convince Rodrigue and Galatea," his eyes shifted towards Sylvi for a moment who furrowed her brows, “to help us as well. It won't be easy on that front, considering where they stand in the war."
He doubted Fraldarius and Galatea would be in any position to help, but maybe they could help in another way? He supposed they'd figure it out when they got there.
“Alright, so we head for Duscur starting the day after tomorrow. Everyone needs to rest and gather what they can for the journey. We're going to have to take the long way if we want to avoid the Imperial army, too," he stated, motioning towards the map.
“Does anyone have anything they'd like to object to?"
The others shook their heads, apparently in agreement that the plan was for the best.
"I'll start getting the supplies organized for a march," Reynard said. "And write to the Duke. I suppose he should know he'll be holding the line in Leicester a while longer."
He nodded in Reynard's direction before turning towards the rest of them. “Everyone, go get some rest."
They were all going to need as much strength as possible for this.
He'd nearly caused Thea to be harmed, and some part of him was reeling in on itself. That wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to stay focused on the mission, on the plan so that they could have succeeded. Though they had succeeded, it resulted in a rather tenuous strain with Thea. She was justifiably angry with him, but he knew that her anger never lasted long. He wished it did, though. She should be angry with him for what he did, however; he pushed the thought out of his mind. He'd have to think of a proper apology to her; to all of them, really. It wasn't the first time he'd done something as reckless as that.
He entered the old common room, rearranged to be their council room where they could conduct their next course of action. And he'd called the others to meet him here so they could do just that. Sighing softly, he tucked himself into the chair at the upper right hand side of the table, leaving the head chair for Teach when he arrived. It seemed only natural that Teach should reclaim that leader role, after all.
He in fact entered next, carrying a rolled up piece of parchment. He still hardly looked to be in good shape, but a week of regular meals were starting to show effects; his skin wasn't so waxy anymore, at least. Teach glanced curiously at Mercer, then at the empty chair at the head of the table, and furrowed his brows.
“You know I'm not in charge here, right?" he asked, moving to the other side of the chair from where Mercer was and unrolling the parchment on the table. It seemed to be a Fódlan map, mostly blank. There was a small bag tied to his belt; he took this off and dumped it on the table, sorting the map tokens inside roughly into the familiar red-yellow-blue color scheme, though there were some black ones and some white ones as well.
Mercer was slightly confused at the statement, though. “Aren't you, though? You're... you're back, so it makes sense that you lead us again," he spoke, furrowing his brows lightly. If it wasn't Teach, then who would lead them? Mercer couldn't do it. He'd fucked up one too many times already. Couldn't do it because it was how he kept everyone safe. Because if he died, they'd be able to continue on without him. That they would be safe for a moment longer, and they didn't need him. No one did, anymore.
He furrowed his brows deeper at that thought. That wasn't true, was it? They still needed him like he needed them. Because they were the last tether he had to caring about a world she wasn't a part of. He couldn't even bring himself to say or think her name for fear of what it might do to him. Instead, he pushed the thought down, to the darkest parts of his mind as he glanced back at Teach.
“If you're not in charge, then who is?"
“Well," Teach replied slowly, setting one of the black tokens on Fhirdiad, “I would suppose it's the same person who's been in charge for the last five years. I saw some things recently that make me question the wisdom of the decision, but I believe he can be brought around." He glanced up, that intense molten gold in his eyes meeting Mercer's. He might not be in good physical shape, but something about that couldn't do anything but evoke the old Teach, the one who tore off armor with his bare hands and made impossible leaps onto the backs of demonic beasts to bring them down.
“You can't keep acting like that, Mercer." The admonishment was delivered quietly, and not unkindly. “Believe me, I—I understand why you'd want to. I want to, often enough. But neither of us can, especially not you."
Mercer sighed heavily.
“I know, Teach, but..." it was so damn hard not to. It was how he'd managed to keep everyone else alive. Even if at times like these, he'd make the worst decisions possible by putting them in that very same danger he was trying to protect them from. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry... you know, about..." he couldn't even say her name, his friend. Her best friend.
“But... if it's not me, then it'll be someone else. Especially not me doesn't mean my life is any more valuable than the others around me. I need to protect them, and if that's the only way to do it..." then he'd keep doing it. If he had to take the field by himself, then so be it. “They have you, now. We have you. Even if I fell... they'd still have you."
Teach pursed his lips. “What it was doing was hindering them, Mercer." He said it flatly, bluntly, in the same way Teach always did when he was explaining to someone how they messed up. “When you do that—when you throw yourself in front of what would be minor injuries if they hit someone else at greater risk to you, you're not only interfering with their ability to block and riposte as they've been taught to do, you're forcing them to go to extra lengths to protect you. That cut on Sofia's arm is because she couldn't move her shield because she was covering your flank with it. It could easily have gotten her neck instead."
He shook his head, rippling the long, low tail he'd pulled his hair into. “When you're overprotective, it throws off the entire rhythm of the battlefield. Makes things worse. And you're as important to them as they are to you, so they will always try to adjust around you, protect you. You're giving them an extra job to do, and it's not worth what you're saving them."
He set a large red piece on Enbarr, and another at Myrddin. “But when it comes down to it, that's a moot point anyway. Because right now, like it or not, your life does matter more. You're the king on the chessboard, Mercer—if you fall, it's over. I have no birthright to the Alliance's armies, nor the diplomatic clout required to get the Roundtable to heed me. I could, in theory, lead those who are here. But that is all. You are more necessary to what we're doing here than anyone, and you have to accept that. That doesn't mean you have to be willing to let your friends die for you, but it does mean you need to take care of your own life at least as much as you take care of theirs. Because if you die, we all do."
It was in that moment that Mercer remembered why he'd valued Teach's advice so much. Because when nothing else made sense, Teach always did. He always managed to put things into perspective for Mercer, to help him keep focus of what was really important. He offered Cyril a small smile, and nodded his head, leaning back slightly to sit straighter in his chair.
“You sure you don't want to be our leader, Teach? You make too much of a valid point that it's hard to turn it down the offer," he spoke, a sort of lightness returning to his voice. He still wasn't sure he was fit to be that piece, the king, but if Teach had that much confidence in his abilities...
“Thanks Teach, for putting it into a better perspective for me," because Sofia shouldn't have had to take that risk for him. Thea shouldn't have nearly been killed because of him. He needed to do better, be better. Deirdre, Alaric, Rey, Sylvi, Devon... they all relied on him, too. He can't let them down. He wouldn't.
Teach managed a small, but genuine, smile. “Always happy to help," he said simply.
Around then, the others began to file into the room. Vi arrived first, glancing between the two of them with his arms crossed. “Good," he said simply. “I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to deck you for the other day, but I can see you've got your head on straighter now."
“You know, you still can. I'd deserve it, anyway," Mercer replied, arching a brow in Vi's direction. Honestly, he'd take it because he did deserve it for what happened the other day. “I suppose it'll have to wait until after this meeting, though," he stated, glancing towards the doorway as the others began to arrive. Deirdre arrived with Sofia, taking a seat to his right side, followed by Sylvi and Devon. Thea was next to arrive, and she immediately made a beeline for Vridel, taking the seat next to him. Mercer almost smiled.
He waited a moment longer for Reynard to appear, before he cleared his throat to call their attention towards him. “Garreg Mach no longer has to worry about the bandit issue," he spoke, glancing around at the others. “I suppose we'll have to make this our temporary base of operations. The more pressing situation, though, is that we need more soldiers."
They were vastly outnumbered. Everyone knew that.
“What's the situation like in Brigid?" he asked, setting his gaze towards Vi.
“Shit," Vridel replied flatly. He blinked, though, expelling a heavy breath. “They're holding their line because the Empire doesn't have enough troops to spare from the other fronts to wipe them off the map. By the same token, though, they can't spare anyone until the pressure eases. Maybe if we could force a major redirection of soldiers, but even then they're a small army and have suffered heavy loss. I think the best we can hope for from them at any stage is a single battalion, and that not yet."
He glanced from the corner of his eye at Thea, almost seeming to hesitate about something for a moment, before he dropped his eyes to the table in front of them instead. “Let's see..." He moved several red tokens to the archipelago, surrounding a white piece, to represent allies.
Mercer supposed as much. The Empire seemed to have an endless amount of soldiers to spare, willing or not, but it didn't matter. Everyone's forces were stretched thin enough as it was, and he doubted even with Brigid's troops, that it would be enough.
“I still haven't received any word from my father, either," Mercer added, glancing towards the Leicester Alliance on the map, and then towards Almyra. “We'd have more of a chance if he'd just..." respond to his letters. Mercer knew, though, that his father was likely not receiving the letters. That somewhere along the way, they were being lost, and he did not want to risk any more lives than he'd already had.
“I doubt Lord Fradalrius will be able to help us, either, considering he and the other nobles are fighting Cornelia and the Empire." He wasn't even sure how they'd managed to do that and still be alive. Perhaps because the Empire hadn't really pushed much into Cornelia's territory, leaving her be, for now.
“So... there's no way of getting any more troops?" Thea asked, glancing at Vi for a moment before turning her attention towards Mercer.
“I honestly don't know, Thea. It doesn't seem like anyone can spare them right now. We're all fighting the same enemy, but at the same time, it feels like we're all fighting a different war."
"I... might have an idea," Reynard said quietly. When all the eyes in the room swung to him, he shrugged. "As some of you are aware, I sent someone to Duscur, or what's currently being called the Viscounty of Kleiman. It seems the Viscountess is having trouble with something of a rebel army, led by a couple people named Scutari. It's not a good situation for the rebels—they're bound to lose if the fighting keeps up for another few months. But—and here's how this is different from Brigid—I think we could convince them to leave Duscur after we help them free it."
“Why's that?" Teach asked, his brows furrowing heavily. “They've been without their homeland for so long. Why abandon it if they manage to take it back?" The mention of Duscur in particular was clearly getting to him; Mercer knew that had been where he planned to go after graduation—it was personal in a way a lot of this was not.
Vridel shook his head. “At this point the fight is purely symbolic. Céleste Kleiman's the one who led the troops that killed Sen and captured Sorcha." He refused to not say their names, it seemed, but the deep frown on his face betrayed how it made him feel to do so. “If they kill her, they've achieved something. But there's no chance of keeping the country. Not with Cornelia's forces right there waiting to swoop in on the 'winner' and take it all. If it's Kleiman, they get rid of an annoyance. If it's the rebels, well, the same, really. It won't be difficult."
Reynard hummed in agreement. "Which is why we might be able to convince them to fight with us. Even if they free their country from Kleiman, it isn't really free until the rest of the war's done. Cornelia won't let them keep it, and Cornelia is at least allied with the Empire, if not with Those Who Slither in the Dark."
“It won't be easy to convince them, though," Mercer spoke, furrowing his brows. Maybe if Senka still lived, this would have been different. They could have had what army Duscur has now to their ranks, but she wasn't, and they didn't. Pulling in a soft breath, he leaned his head into his closed fist, resting there for a moment.
“We should still try, Mercer," Thea stated firmly, her eyes shifting towards him. “We... we owe her that much, don't we? And maybe if we convince them that we were her friends, that... they'd be more inclined to join us. So that we could continue to fight in her memory, and in Sorcha's,"" she continued, causing Mercer to purse his lips. They all had a point.
They needed the troops, and they at least needed to try.
He glanced at the map, looking at all of their allies and their enemies. He finally nodded his head. “We at least owe it to the rest of the world to try. Maybe we can even convince Rodrigue and Galatea," his eyes shifted towards Sylvi for a moment who furrowed her brows, “to help us as well. It won't be easy on that front, considering where they stand in the war."
He doubted Fraldarius and Galatea would be in any position to help, but maybe they could help in another way? He supposed they'd figure it out when they got there.
“Alright, so we head for Duscur starting the day after tomorrow. Everyone needs to rest and gather what they can for the journey. We're going to have to take the long way if we want to avoid the Imperial army, too," he stated, motioning towards the map.
“Does anyone have anything they'd like to object to?"
The others shook their heads, apparently in agreement that the plan was for the best.
"I'll start getting the supplies organized for a march," Reynard said. "And write to the Duke. I suppose he should know he'll be holding the line in Leicester a while longer."
He nodded in Reynard's direction before turning towards the rest of them. “Everyone, go get some rest."
They were all going to need as much strength as possible for this.
Lake Seiros - Sunset - Chilly
Vridel von Hresvelg
Vridel found himself rather in want of a fishing pole.
There were, of course, no such functioning items left here; the ones that happened to be around were in full-time use actually catching fish for people to eat, not giving him something to do with his hands while he collected his thoughts. He supposed Alois and Catherine might be working on as much now. Shamir did a lot of the hunting, he supposed, while Manuela and Hanneman maintained the still-operational parts of the monastery. It was a lot of work, but he supposed that was what they'd all had to do, to keep themselves alive like this.
He stared out at the water, barely feeling the chill. Brigid was a little warm even at this time of year, but he found he didn't miss it. Maybe he would, after they crossed the furthest northern reaches of Faerghus in the dead of winter, but not yet.
He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, when he'd come here. Part of him had been certain he wouldn't make the journey. That he'd be discovered and killed quickly, but in this respect, his people had really come through for him. It seemed very few of those in Adrestia's rural reaches really bought the story that he'd killed his father. Perhaps that was more a distaste for Volkhard than any love of him. Perhaps it was the story of his deeds on the field in Brigid, twisted and over-romanticized as they no doubt were. Or perhaps it was simple logic—he'd had no reason to want his father dead. The crown was his, peacefully so—why would he have done anything to jeopardize that?
But now his thoughts were going useless placed. He had made it, and now he was vaguely unsure what to do with himself. He just didn't feel... necessary. And that was good, really, because he had no idea how much time he had left and his being necessary would be a terrible idea. And yet being extraneous was wreaking a strange kind of havoc on him.
What an arrogant ass he was, to be used to feeling needed. To want to feel needed.
Minutes passed by before the sound of hooves beating the dirt could be heard. It was a single rider from the sounds of it, and the horse nickered softly before the rider dismounted. “Vi," it was Amalthea. Her voice hadn't changed much over the years, but save, perhaps for a sort of tiredness to it. She took a spot next to him, staring at him fully as she brought her knees to her chest, or at least it seemed like she tried. She was wearing a heavy coat, perhaps to keep her warm from the chill in the air.
“They told me I could find you out here. I was looking for you," she spoke softly, reaching out her hand towards him before she dropped it. She didn't seem sure of herself at the moment. She wanted to reach out for him, it seemed, but was unsure if that was alright by him.
It was. He wanted nothing more, really.
But he was also so afraid. Because he wasn't the same person she'd loved five years ago. He wasn't sure exactly who he'd become in the meantime—in a way it didn't matter, because he was dying, part of him already dead, and there wasn't really time to worry about abstract questions of identity. The point of an enemy's sword didn't care about the state of his soul, and he couldn't afford to either, anymore.
And yet in this one context he believed it still might matter, just a little. Who he was. What was left of him. That he loved this woman was as true today as it had been the day they were forced to part. Truer, perhaps. That he might eventually deserve to be loved in return... well, he'd been hopeful, then, but the chance was long gone, now.
He didn't know what to say, or what to do. All he could seem to do was look at her. Drink her in like she was sunlight and he needed it to live. Maybe she was, maybe he did. Vridel no longer had any idea. All he knew was that his silvered tongue felt like lead in his mouth, and all the things he might have said remained trapped behind his teeth. Violet eyes, stricken, held deep amber, and he wished more than anything that he was anyone but himself.
She didn't seem inclined to say anything further, merely keeping his gaze. It was easy to see, though, that she still held him in the same regard as she did so many years ago. There was still that warmth, that love in her eyes as she stared at him, but there was also something like fear. Perhaps a sort of disbelief that he was still here, still alive. She swallowed, though, and broke the eye contact.
“I... still wear it, you know," she spoke, toying at the finger next to her pinky on her left hand. There, still on the finger he'd placed it on, was the ring he'd given her. She was still wearing it. “And I haven't taken it off, once. When Rey told us that you were still alive," she paused to take in a shuddering breath, “I was so happy. Happy because you were still alive."
She turned to glance back at him, and held his gaze. “Now... I'm happy that you're back, but Vi," she paused again, trying to collect her thoughts, it seemed, “are you okay? I'm... I'm still here for you, Vi. In whatever way you need me to be. I still love you... and I've never stopped."
He swallowed thickly. After a moment's hesitation, Vridel reached for her hand, slipping his own beneath it and tracing his thumb over the inlaid band. “I'm not sure I am," he rasped. Whether he meant okay, or back, or still alive, even he wasn't certain. “Thea, I—" his hand tightened on hers. “I'm so sorry."
He could hardly explain it, the way something rose in his chest like a tide, overwhelming enough that he could swear he was going to choke. Drown. He didn't know what it was or why, only that it was, only that it had something to do with her smile seemed a little dimmer, more strained, the way her eyes looked weary. The way he felt weary, tired in his bones and aching and sore.
She shook her head, her hand squeezing his back. “You don't have to be sorry, Vi. It's not your fault," she spoke gently. With her free hand, she touched his cheek gently with the tips of her fingers before she slid her hand to rest on the side of his face. “None of this is your fault. You did the best you could; we all did... still do. That you're alive at all... you don't know how happy that makes me. Selfishly so because no one else is happy, can be happy. That you're here, still, after knowing what I do about you, your life..." she paused.
“Vi... tell me what I can do to help you. I see it in your eyes, how much you hurt. I've seen it in everyone's eyes, but to see it in yours... I want to make it better for you, but I don't know how. Please tell me so that... so that I can spend whatever time you have left trying to help you. To make it easier because it hurts so very much having you here, and not being able to do anything."
“I don't know, Thea," he whispered. “It feels like... it feels like I wasted the last five years." some part of him had been able to believe he was doing something worthwhile, in Brigid. It was important, trying to protect an ally from the havoc visited upon everything by his country.
But here and now the significance was lost on him. Because he had so little time left, and all he wished he'd done now was come here earlier, so that no matter what became of him in those years he could have spent them with her. Instead he'd let them hollow him out from the inside, and all he had left to give her was the shell of himself.
“I've killed so many people," he confessed softly. “Over and over again. Sometimes it feels like—" He swallowed, bringing the hand he still held up to his mouth in a familiar gesture, only to fall short of completing it. “All I wanted was to spend the rest of my life with you and instead... I came here to see you one last time. And I don't even know if I deserve that much." There was a hit sting at the back of his eyes—despite his best efforts to blink them back, several tears streaked down his face.
“I didn't want you to see who I am now."
“Vridel Brandt von Hresvelg," she spoke his full name firmly, as if she were trying to steel herself from her own emotions that seemed to be building behind her eyes. “You stupid... stupid fool," she continued, moving the hand on his face towards the back of his neck, and pulling him towards her with an uncanny strength she possessed. Her lips met his something fierce and passionate, years of built up longing and desperation before she pulled back.
“You think I care about the things you had to do? I've always wanted to see you, Vi, no matter who you've become, because you're still the person I love. And you think I haven't had to do the same? That... that I haven't had to kill people because it was the only way I could keep everyone safe? That these hands of mine are so stained and dirtied with their blood that I'm almost ashamed to touch you with them... Vi," she swallowed thickly as she shook her head.
“Vi I love you, and I told you that... no matter what I wanted to be with you. To face everything that life would throw at us, together. I want to face the world with you, because... you're my strength, Vi. You give me the strength to keep pushing forward because when the day comes that you're not here..." she trailed off, blinking back her own tears as she glanced at him.
“I don't know if I'll have that strength anymore."
It hurt.
By whatever gods were left in the world, it hurt.
Her touch burned. Her kiss scalded. Her words, though—her words felt like they branded him. “No," he choked out. “No, Thea—"
This time it was his uncanny strength, honed with five years of seemingly nothing but battle, and such constant use of his Crests that he felt they'd seeped into his very being, that acted. He half picked her up and half simply pulled her to him, winding his arms around her and gasping out a sob. He was pathetic, truly. He was the one who'd left her to fend for herself, the one who'd lost sight of the only thing in his life that had ever mattered to him more than theoretically. And that was these people, his friends, and most of all her.
Next to that, all of it could rot. Let Fódlan burn in its misery—pushed to the flames by people so much more powerful than him so long ago he knew they couldn't see the beginning. Let all of it be consumed, if he could just—
“You have to live, Thea. You have to. It's the only thing I'm alive for, anymore."
“And when you're gone?" she choked out from her own sob, grabbing tightly to the back of him with whatever strength it seemed she could muster. “How can you ask me to keep living in a world that doesn't have you in it, Vi? In a world where we aren't even guaranteed a tomorrow? I've lived this long because you have, and when you're gone... when I have nothing left, but just my memories..." she trailed off, swallowing thickly as she rested her head against his.
“I can't. I couldn't because you wouldn't be here. Before... I thought I could handle it. I thought that I'd be able to continue living after you'd leave me, but I can't do that now. And you can't ask me to when I don't know if I'll lose you in the next five seconds, minutes, or days."
“I don't want to," she whispered the last part so softly that he might have missed it if they weren't so close. “I don't want to be in a world without you, Vi."
Perhaps he never should have said he loved her at all.
The thought hurt, but not nearly so much as her words did. He didn't want to argue about this—it was only going to make the both of them more miserable. But he could not abide the thought that she would die when he did. She had so much to live for: her friends, her sister—herself. She was reason enough to live, and the chance that she could be happy again. In a world after this war. In a world after what seemed like a neverending night.
All he could do now, though, was hold her. Hold her, and hope that when the worst had passed, her mind would change. Because he was going to die, and it was only a matter of when, and he hated the thought that her life should be cut short.
“I'm going to try," he murmured, turning his face in towards her neck and placing the barest kiss there, more a soft brush of his lips than anything. “I'm going to live as long as I can. I promise you. But in exchange..." He pulled back gently, taking her face in both of his hands. He knew he could not get her to promise what he really wanted, but perhaps—perhaps he could do enough.
“I want you to promise that you will live for one whole year after I'm gone. Just one. I won't ask you for any more than that. But please, Thea. Please promise me."
Perhaps a year would be enough. Enough for her to grieve, and find some other purpose and meaning in her life again. It would at least be a chance, and he wanted her to have that. A chance to live, to live well, even without him.
Her bottom lip trembled and she pulled in a shuddering breath. “It still won't be enough," she whispered softly, blinking away tears from her eyes. “But I will try. I will try for a year after you're gone. I promise Vi. Just... don't... don't leave me again. Don't tell me to leave you because I want to spend every second with you. Every second you have left, I want to selfishly occupy it. Your thoughts, your body, your soul, everything you are, I want. Until you breathe your last, I want to be with you."
She reached up to cup his face in her hands, and he could feel them shaking. “Promise me that. That you won't leave me again until you have no choice. That you'll spend whatever time you have left with me, in any way we possibly can. That's... all I ask, Vi. That's all I want is you, and your time, and to selfishly be the center of your waking thoughts. I want to wake up next to you, hold you, kiss you, and everything else with you until I can't. And... I promise I will live for one whole year after your gone."
He had no idea if that was really selfish or not, but he didn't care. Because he wanted more than anything to give her everything she asked for. “All of it," he whispered, leaning forward to brush her nose with his own. “Every second, Thea. They're all yours. They were yours even when I was away, but I promise I'll stay."
Vridel shifted forward, and this time when he kissed her it was nothing but heat, as though he were trying to inject five years of missing kisses, five years of longing, into a single moment. A single gesture. His hands found her hips, and he pulled her closer towards him. If she wanted everything he had, by his own cursed blood, he'd give her that. As many times as she desired.
Her arms wrapped around his neck as if to deepen their kiss, pressing further into him until she pulled back to breathe. “And everything of me is yours, Vi. It always will be, because... because you're mine, and I'm yours. Even if... if I can't have your name, at least I get the rest of you. The rest of you, and I solemnly swear to live a year after you..." she didn't complete the sentence, and instead, pressed forward to catch his lips once more.
“For as long as we have... Vi."
“I love you," he said, low and soft like a secret. “Always."
He could not promise her, but he promised himself, in that moment: he would live long enough for this war to be over. Long enough that she could have the one piece of him she lacked. He wanted her to have it, but to have it properly, the way they'd planned for it to be. And he could not bear for it to be consolation in a cold world instead of celebration for a changed one. Others could—Devon and Sylvi had, as he understood it. And he'd never fault them for their reasons. But his were different.
And if it gave him one more reason to live, well...
Maybe one more would be enough.
There were, of course, no such functioning items left here; the ones that happened to be around were in full-time use actually catching fish for people to eat, not giving him something to do with his hands while he collected his thoughts. He supposed Alois and Catherine might be working on as much now. Shamir did a lot of the hunting, he supposed, while Manuela and Hanneman maintained the still-operational parts of the monastery. It was a lot of work, but he supposed that was what they'd all had to do, to keep themselves alive like this.
He stared out at the water, barely feeling the chill. Brigid was a little warm even at this time of year, but he found he didn't miss it. Maybe he would, after they crossed the furthest northern reaches of Faerghus in the dead of winter, but not yet.
He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, when he'd come here. Part of him had been certain he wouldn't make the journey. That he'd be discovered and killed quickly, but in this respect, his people had really come through for him. It seemed very few of those in Adrestia's rural reaches really bought the story that he'd killed his father. Perhaps that was more a distaste for Volkhard than any love of him. Perhaps it was the story of his deeds on the field in Brigid, twisted and over-romanticized as they no doubt were. Or perhaps it was simple logic—he'd had no reason to want his father dead. The crown was his, peacefully so—why would he have done anything to jeopardize that?
But now his thoughts were going useless placed. He had made it, and now he was vaguely unsure what to do with himself. He just didn't feel... necessary. And that was good, really, because he had no idea how much time he had left and his being necessary would be a terrible idea. And yet being extraneous was wreaking a strange kind of havoc on him.
What an arrogant ass he was, to be used to feeling needed. To want to feel needed.
Minutes passed by before the sound of hooves beating the dirt could be heard. It was a single rider from the sounds of it, and the horse nickered softly before the rider dismounted. “Vi," it was Amalthea. Her voice hadn't changed much over the years, but save, perhaps for a sort of tiredness to it. She took a spot next to him, staring at him fully as she brought her knees to her chest, or at least it seemed like she tried. She was wearing a heavy coat, perhaps to keep her warm from the chill in the air.
“They told me I could find you out here. I was looking for you," she spoke softly, reaching out her hand towards him before she dropped it. She didn't seem sure of herself at the moment. She wanted to reach out for him, it seemed, but was unsure if that was alright by him.
It was. He wanted nothing more, really.
But he was also so afraid. Because he wasn't the same person she'd loved five years ago. He wasn't sure exactly who he'd become in the meantime—in a way it didn't matter, because he was dying, part of him already dead, and there wasn't really time to worry about abstract questions of identity. The point of an enemy's sword didn't care about the state of his soul, and he couldn't afford to either, anymore.
And yet in this one context he believed it still might matter, just a little. Who he was. What was left of him. That he loved this woman was as true today as it had been the day they were forced to part. Truer, perhaps. That he might eventually deserve to be loved in return... well, he'd been hopeful, then, but the chance was long gone, now.
He didn't know what to say, or what to do. All he could seem to do was look at her. Drink her in like she was sunlight and he needed it to live. Maybe she was, maybe he did. Vridel no longer had any idea. All he knew was that his silvered tongue felt like lead in his mouth, and all the things he might have said remained trapped behind his teeth. Violet eyes, stricken, held deep amber, and he wished more than anything that he was anyone but himself.
She didn't seem inclined to say anything further, merely keeping his gaze. It was easy to see, though, that she still held him in the same regard as she did so many years ago. There was still that warmth, that love in her eyes as she stared at him, but there was also something like fear. Perhaps a sort of disbelief that he was still here, still alive. She swallowed, though, and broke the eye contact.
“I... still wear it, you know," she spoke, toying at the finger next to her pinky on her left hand. There, still on the finger he'd placed it on, was the ring he'd given her. She was still wearing it. “And I haven't taken it off, once. When Rey told us that you were still alive," she paused to take in a shuddering breath, “I was so happy. Happy because you were still alive."
She turned to glance back at him, and held his gaze. “Now... I'm happy that you're back, but Vi," she paused again, trying to collect her thoughts, it seemed, “are you okay? I'm... I'm still here for you, Vi. In whatever way you need me to be. I still love you... and I've never stopped."
He swallowed thickly. After a moment's hesitation, Vridel reached for her hand, slipping his own beneath it and tracing his thumb over the inlaid band. “I'm not sure I am," he rasped. Whether he meant okay, or back, or still alive, even he wasn't certain. “Thea, I—" his hand tightened on hers. “I'm so sorry."
He could hardly explain it, the way something rose in his chest like a tide, overwhelming enough that he could swear he was going to choke. Drown. He didn't know what it was or why, only that it was, only that it had something to do with her smile seemed a little dimmer, more strained, the way her eyes looked weary. The way he felt weary, tired in his bones and aching and sore.
She shook her head, her hand squeezing his back. “You don't have to be sorry, Vi. It's not your fault," she spoke gently. With her free hand, she touched his cheek gently with the tips of her fingers before she slid her hand to rest on the side of his face. “None of this is your fault. You did the best you could; we all did... still do. That you're alive at all... you don't know how happy that makes me. Selfishly so because no one else is happy, can be happy. That you're here, still, after knowing what I do about you, your life..." she paused.
“Vi... tell me what I can do to help you. I see it in your eyes, how much you hurt. I've seen it in everyone's eyes, but to see it in yours... I want to make it better for you, but I don't know how. Please tell me so that... so that I can spend whatever time you have left trying to help you. To make it easier because it hurts so very much having you here, and not being able to do anything."
“I don't know, Thea," he whispered. “It feels like... it feels like I wasted the last five years." some part of him had been able to believe he was doing something worthwhile, in Brigid. It was important, trying to protect an ally from the havoc visited upon everything by his country.
But here and now the significance was lost on him. Because he had so little time left, and all he wished he'd done now was come here earlier, so that no matter what became of him in those years he could have spent them with her. Instead he'd let them hollow him out from the inside, and all he had left to give her was the shell of himself.
“I've killed so many people," he confessed softly. “Over and over again. Sometimes it feels like—" He swallowed, bringing the hand he still held up to his mouth in a familiar gesture, only to fall short of completing it. “All I wanted was to spend the rest of my life with you and instead... I came here to see you one last time. And I don't even know if I deserve that much." There was a hit sting at the back of his eyes—despite his best efforts to blink them back, several tears streaked down his face.
“I didn't want you to see who I am now."
“Vridel Brandt von Hresvelg," she spoke his full name firmly, as if she were trying to steel herself from her own emotions that seemed to be building behind her eyes. “You stupid... stupid fool," she continued, moving the hand on his face towards the back of his neck, and pulling him towards her with an uncanny strength she possessed. Her lips met his something fierce and passionate, years of built up longing and desperation before she pulled back.
“You think I care about the things you had to do? I've always wanted to see you, Vi, no matter who you've become, because you're still the person I love. And you think I haven't had to do the same? That... that I haven't had to kill people because it was the only way I could keep everyone safe? That these hands of mine are so stained and dirtied with their blood that I'm almost ashamed to touch you with them... Vi," she swallowed thickly as she shook her head.
“Vi I love you, and I told you that... no matter what I wanted to be with you. To face everything that life would throw at us, together. I want to face the world with you, because... you're my strength, Vi. You give me the strength to keep pushing forward because when the day comes that you're not here..." she trailed off, blinking back her own tears as she glanced at him.
“I don't know if I'll have that strength anymore."
It hurt.
By whatever gods were left in the world, it hurt.
Her touch burned. Her kiss scalded. Her words, though—her words felt like they branded him. “No," he choked out. “No, Thea—"
This time it was his uncanny strength, honed with five years of seemingly nothing but battle, and such constant use of his Crests that he felt they'd seeped into his very being, that acted. He half picked her up and half simply pulled her to him, winding his arms around her and gasping out a sob. He was pathetic, truly. He was the one who'd left her to fend for herself, the one who'd lost sight of the only thing in his life that had ever mattered to him more than theoretically. And that was these people, his friends, and most of all her.
Next to that, all of it could rot. Let Fódlan burn in its misery—pushed to the flames by people so much more powerful than him so long ago he knew they couldn't see the beginning. Let all of it be consumed, if he could just—
“You have to live, Thea. You have to. It's the only thing I'm alive for, anymore."
“And when you're gone?" she choked out from her own sob, grabbing tightly to the back of him with whatever strength it seemed she could muster. “How can you ask me to keep living in a world that doesn't have you in it, Vi? In a world where we aren't even guaranteed a tomorrow? I've lived this long because you have, and when you're gone... when I have nothing left, but just my memories..." she trailed off, swallowing thickly as she rested her head against his.
“I can't. I couldn't because you wouldn't be here. Before... I thought I could handle it. I thought that I'd be able to continue living after you'd leave me, but I can't do that now. And you can't ask me to when I don't know if I'll lose you in the next five seconds, minutes, or days."
“I don't want to," she whispered the last part so softly that he might have missed it if they weren't so close. “I don't want to be in a world without you, Vi."
Perhaps he never should have said he loved her at all.
The thought hurt, but not nearly so much as her words did. He didn't want to argue about this—it was only going to make the both of them more miserable. But he could not abide the thought that she would die when he did. She had so much to live for: her friends, her sister—herself. She was reason enough to live, and the chance that she could be happy again. In a world after this war. In a world after what seemed like a neverending night.
All he could do now, though, was hold her. Hold her, and hope that when the worst had passed, her mind would change. Because he was going to die, and it was only a matter of when, and he hated the thought that her life should be cut short.
“I'm going to try," he murmured, turning his face in towards her neck and placing the barest kiss there, more a soft brush of his lips than anything. “I'm going to live as long as I can. I promise you. But in exchange..." He pulled back gently, taking her face in both of his hands. He knew he could not get her to promise what he really wanted, but perhaps—perhaps he could do enough.
“I want you to promise that you will live for one whole year after I'm gone. Just one. I won't ask you for any more than that. But please, Thea. Please promise me."
Perhaps a year would be enough. Enough for her to grieve, and find some other purpose and meaning in her life again. It would at least be a chance, and he wanted her to have that. A chance to live, to live well, even without him.
Her bottom lip trembled and she pulled in a shuddering breath. “It still won't be enough," she whispered softly, blinking away tears from her eyes. “But I will try. I will try for a year after you're gone. I promise Vi. Just... don't... don't leave me again. Don't tell me to leave you because I want to spend every second with you. Every second you have left, I want to selfishly occupy it. Your thoughts, your body, your soul, everything you are, I want. Until you breathe your last, I want to be with you."
She reached up to cup his face in her hands, and he could feel them shaking. “Promise me that. That you won't leave me again until you have no choice. That you'll spend whatever time you have left with me, in any way we possibly can. That's... all I ask, Vi. That's all I want is you, and your time, and to selfishly be the center of your waking thoughts. I want to wake up next to you, hold you, kiss you, and everything else with you until I can't. And... I promise I will live for one whole year after your gone."
He had no idea if that was really selfish or not, but he didn't care. Because he wanted more than anything to give her everything she asked for. “All of it," he whispered, leaning forward to brush her nose with his own. “Every second, Thea. They're all yours. They were yours even when I was away, but I promise I'll stay."
Vridel shifted forward, and this time when he kissed her it was nothing but heat, as though he were trying to inject five years of missing kisses, five years of longing, into a single moment. A single gesture. His hands found her hips, and he pulled her closer towards him. If she wanted everything he had, by his own cursed blood, he'd give her that. As many times as she desired.
Her arms wrapped around his neck as if to deepen their kiss, pressing further into him until she pulled back to breathe. “And everything of me is yours, Vi. It always will be, because... because you're mine, and I'm yours. Even if... if I can't have your name, at least I get the rest of you. The rest of you, and I solemnly swear to live a year after you..." she didn't complete the sentence, and instead, pressed forward to catch his lips once more.
“For as long as we have... Vi."
“I love you," he said, low and soft like a secret. “Always."
He could not promise her, but he promised himself, in that moment: he would live long enough for this war to be over. Long enough that she could have the one piece of him she lacked. He wanted her to have it, but to have it properly, the way they'd planned for it to be. And he could not bear for it to be consolation in a cold world instead of celebration for a changed one. Others could—Devon and Sylvi had, as he understood it. And he'd never fault them for their reasons. But his were different.
And if it gave him one more reason to live, well...
Maybe one more would be enough.
Fraldarius - Afternoon - Cold
Mercer von Riegan
Mercer tugged his coat a little closer to him, exhaling a white cloud of smoke as he gripped the reins to his horse. He'd left Sir behind at the monastery mostly so that this would be easier. A wyvern would be noticeable even without a rider, and he didn't want to give their position away. Strategically speaking, it made sense to ride a horse. It had taken them a few days to pass into Faerghus territory, though, and a day longer before they'd finally reached Lord Fraldarius's territory. The fighting they had passed, snuck by, had been horrible.
But they couldn't stop.
Even if he wanted to help, they couldn't.
They needed to remain incognito, unrecognized by the Imperial army so that they could reach Duscur. He refused to acknowledge it as the Viscounty of Kleiman, because it wasn't. It was Duscur, and always would be to him. To his friend. Pulling in a breath, he glanced at the people behind him, their faces heavy with something. Melancholy. Pain. Exhaustion. He knew they hurt, but they had to keep pressing forward. Had to keep fighting until the day came when they could all just rest and rebuild.
“How much further until we're in Fraldarius's backyard?" he spoke, eyes sliding towards Reynard who was on his left.
"Not long," the other man replied, pulling his furred cloak tighter around him. It wasn't his usual style; the mantle was a mixture of black fur and feathers, actually, and the whole thing was a deep black. Parade black, not the mottled dark grey of camouflage. He'd returned with it after conveying their message to Derdriu. It seemed to be keeping him reasonably warm, anyway.
"I'm actually fairly sure we'll be able to see his castle when we pass over this ridge here."
Mercer knew whose cloak that was, but he didn't say anything about it. Instead, he nodded in way of response and spurred his horse forward. When they passed over the ridge, like Rey said, he could see the Fraldarius castle in the backdrop. It wasn't quite as stunning as he'd thought it would be; mostly ruined patches of stone as if it had weathered harsh storms recently. Maybe it had?
Before they could go any further, though, they were stopped at what seemed to be a checkpoint of sorts. there were soldiers blocking the rest of the path, all dressed in the colors of the Fraldarius house. Blues and purples it seemed, with a splotch of white. The Crest of Fraldarius was also prominent on a banner, waving with the light breeze that passed through. He almost cursed that breeze, pulling his coat closer to him.
“Halt! Who goes there, and what business have you in Fraldarius?" a soldier stated, pointing a lance in their direction. Mercer was just glad that they hadn't outright attacked them. He'd really rather not explain to Lord Fraldarius why a few of his soldiers were dead. And they didn't really look threatening. That was the whole point in traveling incognito. If anything, to the soldiers, they looked like a group of hunters or some such ilk.
Besides Teach, though.
There was no changing the man's aura, or even his posture. He'd always look like an intimidating person, he supposed. “We're actually just passing through, though we would like to speak with Lord Fraldarius. I'm sure if you tell him who we are, he'd be more than happy to receive us as his temporary guests," it was a long shot, Mercer knew, but they had met Rodrigue back at the academy a few days after Senka's birthday.
The soldier eyed him warily, though, and dropped the lance in his hand. He didn't immediately signal them through, but instead, spoke something to another soldier who nodded.
“Leonard and I will escort you there, so no funny business!" the man stated. Mercer was just glad that they were acutally going to escort them to Rodrigue. Once the soldiers were situated, it didn't take them much longer to reach Rodrigue's castle. They were told to wait outside, and Mercer obliged by dismounting his horse. A moment later, a man appeared with weary sunken eyes, but Mercer recognized the shade of blue to his hair. He shared it with another person, almost.
“What business have you here?" Rodrigue spoke. It seemed he didn't quite recognize them, yet.
At that point, Teach pushed down the cowl he'd been wearing, perhaps expecting that he might be among the more recognizable members of the party. “Duke Fraldarius," he said softly. “We're seeking leave to pass through your territory. We're on our way to reinforce the rebel army in Duscur."
Devon, who'd riding beside Sylvi, cleared his throat softly, just enough to draw attention to himself. “It's been a long time, Your Grace," he said, dipping into a formal bow. “My friend speaks truly, though. We're... we're trying to find a way to stop this war, and the first step is Duscur."
At that point, Rodrigue's eyes widened in surprise, and he all but descended the stairs in a flighty motion. Without much warning, he threw his arms around Teach's shoulders, squeezing the man tightly before he released him.
“Cyril, it's... it's good to see you. All of you," he spoke, his eyes softening as he took a step back to glance at the group.
Teach looked rather stunned by the reaction to his presence—as if he'd been expecting something rather different. He managed the smallest of smiles, though, and gave Rodrigue's shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“You all must be tired from the journey, though. You should come, and rest for a moment," he stated, ushering them towards his home. Mercer wouldn't mind, and welcomed the reprieve.
“We can speak on the matter inside, as well. There are ears and eyes everywhere, unfortunately," he stated. Mercer waited until everyone piled into Rodrigue's home, and Lord Fraldarius led them to a rather large room. A study, perhaps, or a strategic room of sorts where he planned with his generals. They all took a seat, and Rodrigue summoned one of the soldiers, or servants, it was hard to tell, to bring them all something to drink.
“Tell me, why are you headed towards Duscur?" Rodrigue asked, folding himself into the seat at the head of the table. “I know you said to reinforce the Duscur rebels, but why?" He seemed to be staring intently at the group, as if he were trying to assess their true motives.
“Because they need the help as much as we all do," Mercer spoke, first.
“Because I owe her that much," Teach added, almost too quietly to be heard. “There are good, strategic reasons for doing it, but... but I told her I'd help her take it back, and even if she's not—I still owe it to her to see her people freed."
Vridel pursed his lips, but nodded slightly, taking up one of the glasses set in front of them. “As to the strategic reasons," he said, “we know there are people who would help us if they could. The problem is, the Empire has everyone engaged on their own fronts to prevent them from coming together. It's why they're winning—because everything is attrition now. We need to break that grip they have. And we think Duscur's rebels are people we can dig out, and people who will be willing to help us once we have. With them, we might be able to turn the tide in the Alliance, and that would free up enough other people to have a real chance at helping here."
A pained expression flashed across Rodrigue's face at Teach's statement, but it disappeared with a heavy sigh. “I can't disagree that that is true. We're facing our own issues right now on that front. Cornelia's army seems to be growing every day, and she's bringing in new contraptions. Some we've never seen before. She's even using the golems that used to protect Fhirdiad against us, now," he stated, leaning heavily to the side on his arm.
“You might have a chance of convincing them if you talk to Espera. He's one of two leading the rebels for awhile now, and..." he glanced towards Cyril for a moment, “he may be willing to listen to your plea if you help him free Duscur from Vicountess Kleiman."
Mercer remembered Rey said there were a couple of people named Scutari. “Who's the other one?" Rodrigue contemplated the question for a moment before shaking his head.
“A woman named Valeria. From what I've managed to gather, she's been the true leader of the rebels and has been spearheading a lot of the skirmishes. She might be worth speaking to as well, but Espera," he spoke, reaching for a piece of parchment paper on the table. He grabbed what looked to be his seal, and pressed it against the paper.
“If you show him this, he'll listen to whatever you have to say."
He handed the paper to Teach, though. Mercer understood the meaning behind that, and didn't say anything. It meant a lot to all of them, but it meant the most to Teach.
Teach accepted it with a small nod. “We met Espera, once. Only briefly, but... I think he'll recognize us, at least." He folded the parchment carefully, and tucked it into a pocket. “Thank you, Duke Fraldarius. I don't doubt that there's too much for you to do here already, and I'm sorry we can't offer more direct support at this time. If things go as we plan, though..."
He trailed off, clearly unwilling to promise anything. Perhaps because it was so hard to predict what things would be like that far in advance, or perhaps because he did not consider himself to be in the right position to be making promises for what their forces would do. He'd all but said Mercer was in charge, after all.
“You've done enough, already," Rodrigue spoke, offering them all a small, wry smile. “That you are all still alive gives me hope that we will win this war," he continued, causing Mercer to feel something tug at his lips.
“We'll be back to help House Fraldarius and their allies take back Faerghus. If it's the last thing I do, we will be back to help," Mercer felt he could promise that much. They were going to push through; they were going to help reclaim Duscur, and in doing so, begin to slowly correct the world. One step at a time. That's what they needed to do, now.
One step at a time.
Rodrigue smiled and nodded his head. “I'll hold you to that, von Riegan. For now, rest here and take what little supplies I can offer you. I'd give you soldiers if I had some to spare, but I'm afraid these small gestures are all I have."
“They still help more than you know."
But they couldn't stop.
Even if he wanted to help, they couldn't.
They needed to remain incognito, unrecognized by the Imperial army so that they could reach Duscur. He refused to acknowledge it as the Viscounty of Kleiman, because it wasn't. It was Duscur, and always would be to him. To his friend. Pulling in a breath, he glanced at the people behind him, their faces heavy with something. Melancholy. Pain. Exhaustion. He knew they hurt, but they had to keep pressing forward. Had to keep fighting until the day came when they could all just rest and rebuild.
“How much further until we're in Fraldarius's backyard?" he spoke, eyes sliding towards Reynard who was on his left.
"Not long," the other man replied, pulling his furred cloak tighter around him. It wasn't his usual style; the mantle was a mixture of black fur and feathers, actually, and the whole thing was a deep black. Parade black, not the mottled dark grey of camouflage. He'd returned with it after conveying their message to Derdriu. It seemed to be keeping him reasonably warm, anyway.
"I'm actually fairly sure we'll be able to see his castle when we pass over this ridge here."
Mercer knew whose cloak that was, but he didn't say anything about it. Instead, he nodded in way of response and spurred his horse forward. When they passed over the ridge, like Rey said, he could see the Fraldarius castle in the backdrop. It wasn't quite as stunning as he'd thought it would be; mostly ruined patches of stone as if it had weathered harsh storms recently. Maybe it had?
Before they could go any further, though, they were stopped at what seemed to be a checkpoint of sorts. there were soldiers blocking the rest of the path, all dressed in the colors of the Fraldarius house. Blues and purples it seemed, with a splotch of white. The Crest of Fraldarius was also prominent on a banner, waving with the light breeze that passed through. He almost cursed that breeze, pulling his coat closer to him.
“Halt! Who goes there, and what business have you in Fraldarius?" a soldier stated, pointing a lance in their direction. Mercer was just glad that they hadn't outright attacked them. He'd really rather not explain to Lord Fraldarius why a few of his soldiers were dead. And they didn't really look threatening. That was the whole point in traveling incognito. If anything, to the soldiers, they looked like a group of hunters or some such ilk.
Besides Teach, though.
There was no changing the man's aura, or even his posture. He'd always look like an intimidating person, he supposed. “We're actually just passing through, though we would like to speak with Lord Fraldarius. I'm sure if you tell him who we are, he'd be more than happy to receive us as his temporary guests," it was a long shot, Mercer knew, but they had met Rodrigue back at the academy a few days after Senka's birthday.
The soldier eyed him warily, though, and dropped the lance in his hand. He didn't immediately signal them through, but instead, spoke something to another soldier who nodded.
“Leonard and I will escort you there, so no funny business!" the man stated. Mercer was just glad that they were acutally going to escort them to Rodrigue. Once the soldiers were situated, it didn't take them much longer to reach Rodrigue's castle. They were told to wait outside, and Mercer obliged by dismounting his horse. A moment later, a man appeared with weary sunken eyes, but Mercer recognized the shade of blue to his hair. He shared it with another person, almost.
“What business have you here?" Rodrigue spoke. It seemed he didn't quite recognize them, yet.
At that point, Teach pushed down the cowl he'd been wearing, perhaps expecting that he might be among the more recognizable members of the party. “Duke Fraldarius," he said softly. “We're seeking leave to pass through your territory. We're on our way to reinforce the rebel army in Duscur."
Devon, who'd riding beside Sylvi, cleared his throat softly, just enough to draw attention to himself. “It's been a long time, Your Grace," he said, dipping into a formal bow. “My friend speaks truly, though. We're... we're trying to find a way to stop this war, and the first step is Duscur."
At that point, Rodrigue's eyes widened in surprise, and he all but descended the stairs in a flighty motion. Without much warning, he threw his arms around Teach's shoulders, squeezing the man tightly before he released him.
“Cyril, it's... it's good to see you. All of you," he spoke, his eyes softening as he took a step back to glance at the group.
Teach looked rather stunned by the reaction to his presence—as if he'd been expecting something rather different. He managed the smallest of smiles, though, and gave Rodrigue's shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“You all must be tired from the journey, though. You should come, and rest for a moment," he stated, ushering them towards his home. Mercer wouldn't mind, and welcomed the reprieve.
“We can speak on the matter inside, as well. There are ears and eyes everywhere, unfortunately," he stated. Mercer waited until everyone piled into Rodrigue's home, and Lord Fraldarius led them to a rather large room. A study, perhaps, or a strategic room of sorts where he planned with his generals. They all took a seat, and Rodrigue summoned one of the soldiers, or servants, it was hard to tell, to bring them all something to drink.
“Tell me, why are you headed towards Duscur?" Rodrigue asked, folding himself into the seat at the head of the table. “I know you said to reinforce the Duscur rebels, but why?" He seemed to be staring intently at the group, as if he were trying to assess their true motives.
“Because they need the help as much as we all do," Mercer spoke, first.
“Because I owe her that much," Teach added, almost too quietly to be heard. “There are good, strategic reasons for doing it, but... but I told her I'd help her take it back, and even if she's not—I still owe it to her to see her people freed."
Vridel pursed his lips, but nodded slightly, taking up one of the glasses set in front of them. “As to the strategic reasons," he said, “we know there are people who would help us if they could. The problem is, the Empire has everyone engaged on their own fronts to prevent them from coming together. It's why they're winning—because everything is attrition now. We need to break that grip they have. And we think Duscur's rebels are people we can dig out, and people who will be willing to help us once we have. With them, we might be able to turn the tide in the Alliance, and that would free up enough other people to have a real chance at helping here."
A pained expression flashed across Rodrigue's face at Teach's statement, but it disappeared with a heavy sigh. “I can't disagree that that is true. We're facing our own issues right now on that front. Cornelia's army seems to be growing every day, and she's bringing in new contraptions. Some we've never seen before. She's even using the golems that used to protect Fhirdiad against us, now," he stated, leaning heavily to the side on his arm.
“You might have a chance of convincing them if you talk to Espera. He's one of two leading the rebels for awhile now, and..." he glanced towards Cyril for a moment, “he may be willing to listen to your plea if you help him free Duscur from Vicountess Kleiman."
Mercer remembered Rey said there were a couple of people named Scutari. “Who's the other one?" Rodrigue contemplated the question for a moment before shaking his head.
“A woman named Valeria. From what I've managed to gather, she's been the true leader of the rebels and has been spearheading a lot of the skirmishes. She might be worth speaking to as well, but Espera," he spoke, reaching for a piece of parchment paper on the table. He grabbed what looked to be his seal, and pressed it against the paper.
“If you show him this, he'll listen to whatever you have to say."
He handed the paper to Teach, though. Mercer understood the meaning behind that, and didn't say anything. It meant a lot to all of them, but it meant the most to Teach.
Teach accepted it with a small nod. “We met Espera, once. Only briefly, but... I think he'll recognize us, at least." He folded the parchment carefully, and tucked it into a pocket. “Thank you, Duke Fraldarius. I don't doubt that there's too much for you to do here already, and I'm sorry we can't offer more direct support at this time. If things go as we plan, though..."
He trailed off, clearly unwilling to promise anything. Perhaps because it was so hard to predict what things would be like that far in advance, or perhaps because he did not consider himself to be in the right position to be making promises for what their forces would do. He'd all but said Mercer was in charge, after all.
“You've done enough, already," Rodrigue spoke, offering them all a small, wry smile. “That you are all still alive gives me hope that we will win this war," he continued, causing Mercer to feel something tug at his lips.
“We'll be back to help House Fraldarius and their allies take back Faerghus. If it's the last thing I do, we will be back to help," Mercer felt he could promise that much. They were going to push through; they were going to help reclaim Duscur, and in doing so, begin to slowly correct the world. One step at a time. That's what they needed to do, now.
One step at a time.
Rodrigue smiled and nodded his head. “I'll hold you to that, von Riegan. For now, rest here and take what little supplies I can offer you. I'd give you soldiers if I had some to spare, but I'm afraid these small gestures are all I have."
“They still help more than you know."
Duscur - Early Afternoon - Cool
Senka Rinaldi
Senka.
Even now, with her eyes closed, she could still hear his voice. How it still haunted her even five years later.
Sen—
“—eria!" Senka felt her eyes snap open, a rush of air splashing her face as the entire battlefield below encompassed her vision. Her people were being pushed back by a pincer attack on Kleiman's part, and Senka felt her brows furrow. “Valeria, what are your orders," Espera spoke, glancing at her with furrowed brows. Even he looked tired, the crease in his brows a permanent expression. And the name he'd called her. That was who she was, now. Senka died, and she could feel it in her heart, how hollow, how empty it was.
The only thing keeping Valeria going was the fact that there was a chance at freeing her people from Kleiman's grasp, and the chance of killing the woman responsible for Senka's death. For Sorcha's. She glanced in Espera's direction, narrowing her eyes slightly.
“Take half of the reserves and reinforce the right flank. I'll take the others and reinforce the left," she spoke, nudging Liev, her pegasus, in the direction she needed to go. It wasn't going to be easy to pull out of the pincer, but if they did this right, they could manage it. The air rushed past her as she flew through a crowd, jumping off of the pegasus' back when they were close to the ground. She pulled the sword from her back, leaving Blutgang on the other side of her as she swung her blade to catch a soldier in the back.
It seemed endless, though.
For every soldier she dropped, another seemed to take their place. Bodies were being piled up on both sides, but she was losing soldiers. Her people were dying for this war between Kleiman and herself. She needed this to end, to give the remainder of her people a chance at a life. A sudden roar echoed through the field, and Senka felt her head snap in the direction. A demonic beast? What was that doing here? From the looks of it, there seemed to be at least three. She pulled in a breath between her teeth, and glanced at her soldiers.
“Don't engage them recklessly!" she shouted. They weren't used to fighting beasts like that. Kleiman only ever sent soldiers after her rebel army, but what was she doing with beasts? Was she really that desperate to end the war that she'd resort to using them? “Espera, with me!" she shouted, making a sharp whistle in the air as Liev came back. She mounted the pegasus and charged for the first beast.
They wouldn't last much longer if they didn't get rid of the beasts, first.
These beasts, she could tell quickly, were stronger than the ones she'd faced before. A cavalry formation went in to charge the second beast, but it simply shrieked with a sound like warping metal and swept outwards with its massive, spiked tail. People and horses went flying, too many landing never to move again. The beast lashed at others with its claws, rending armor as easily as if it had been made from paper.
The soldiers were beginning to panic—they had never faced anything like this before. Truth be told, she hadn't faced this before. Not quite like this anyway. The lines were breaking, Kleiman's soldiers charging in around the beasts to take out the stragglers. The battle was slowly turning into a slaughter.
And she'd had enough of that.
Her people needed to live. If they were all wiped out... an entire people...
“Espera, fall back! Give the signal to regroup and stay away from the beasts," she shouted in his direction. He had been defending some of their soldiers from Kleiman's as Senka tossed her blade to the ground in favor of Blutgang at her back. She wasn't going to lose anymore people. She couldn't. If this was how her new life was to be used, to be given in defense of the people she'd promised not to fail, then so be it.
“Senka!"
It was the first time she'd heard him call her that in the last couple of years. She could hear the panic in his voice as she charged the creature. She just needed to draw its attention, to give her soldiers enough time to retreat so that they could live. But she'd vastly underestimated the strength of the beast. With a single swipe of its clawed hand, it tore her armor, leaving a large cut across her abdomen. Another scar to add to the collection.
She held Blutgang up in an attempt to defend herself from the creature's attacks, however; its strength overwhelmed her quickly, and it pinned her beneath one of its massive clawed hands. Roaring as if it had won some prize, its jaws lowered towards her, open wide as if to consume her.
She did not close her eyes.
It was close enough for the stench of its hot, humid breath to wash over her face when a bolt of lightning slammed into it, followed abruptly by a spear a moment later. It wasn't an ordinary javelin, though; there were runes carved into the haft, almost like—
“Senka!"
Even mere moments before death washed over her, she could still hear his voice calling out to her. Was she really that far gone?
He appeared a moment later in her field of vision, gripping the Arrow of Indra in both hands and shoving it deeper into the creature's eye, until it stilled, then collapsed. This left her pinned under its claws, but with a heave, he pulled those away from her, dropping to her side, white magic already at his fingertips.
He looked different. A fair bit thinner, for one, though still somewhat solid. His hair was long, pulled back from his face but falling forward over his shoulder where he leaned to apply magic to the cut across her body. His eyes—brighter than she remembered—kept flicking back to her face, as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.
It was warm, his magic. It had always been warm to her, as it flowed through her whenever she'd needed to be healed in some way. But this was a ghost, was it not? She wasn't being healed by him, but someone who looked like him. That didn't seem right, though. No one had those eyes, the bright gold she'd loved so long ago.
“Cyril," his name came out before she'd even registered herself saying it. He was dead. She'd seen him die, and her hands reached out towards him. Everything around her seemed to go deafening silent. She couldn't focus on anything but him. “Cyril, why do you haunt me still?" she spoke, feeling a spike of fear lance through her body. Was this her punishment? Was she being punished, now, for what she could not do so many years ago? When she could not save him?
“Why?" she called out. She wanted to touch him, his face, his shoulder, anything to prove that he was real. That this wasn't just an apparition before her to haunt her further of Senka's failures.
Around them, she sensed the battle still raged. New sounds had been added to the fray, the twang of bowstrings, the rush of wind magic, shouts and the cries of the beasts as they engaged with newer, mightier foes.
“I'm not haunting you, Senka." His tone was low, urgent, earnest, almost desperate. “I'm here. I'm real, I swear it to you." His hands shifted, the warm flow of the magic ceasing. “I'll—I'll explain everything. But first we have to save your people. We have to save Duscur." He stood, offering a hand down to help her to her feet.
She was hesitant to take it. This ghost was just tempting her with sweet lies. That he was real, that he was alive. She sat up slowly, instead, refusing to take his hand and pushed herself to her feet, using Blutgang as a means to keep herself balanced. She was healed, that much she could register, but she could not force herself to register him.
But then she saw them.
Her friends, the ones who'd meant the world to her so many years ago. Vridel, Thea, Devon, Sofia, Sylvi, Deirdre, they were all here. Even Reynard. Her eyes, burning with a warm sensation, shifted back towards him. Was it true... was he really...
“Senka!" Espera's voice cut through her like a hot knife, and she turned towards him. “The tide is in our favor. If we push now, we can end this," he shouted, shifting the lance in his hand as he glanced towards him. “If what you say is true, help us. Céleste is taking the field, and if we can kill her," they could end this battle once and for all.
“She's mine," Senka nearly snarled. She could feel it, the way her blood went cold again at the name of that woman. “Espera, keep the soldiers away from the other two beasts. Reroute them towards Kleiman and have them push forward. We end this now," she stated, earning a nod of approval from him as he took off. She turned her eyes towards Cyril, feeling something stirring in her heart, something old and forgotten.
“Help me."
“I'm yours," he replied softly, yanking the Arrow from the beast's eye without breaking his gaze from hers. “Only tell me what you wish, and it will be done."
The first step was to carve a path to Céleste, and Cyril set about flinging lightning into the thick of the opposing soldiers, each bolt finding a mark and dropping them. He didn't seem to run out, didn't stop casting until they reached melee range, where he thrust the spear for the nearest paladin and unhorsed him, spinning the spear until it was point-down and finding the man's throat with it.
Her friends worked together to fight the two beasts remaining: enhanced though the creatures must be, they would surely be a poor match for those who had fought so many of their brethren.
And she was beside him every step of the way, flinging her own dark magic into the fray. She used her sword to cut down anyone who stood between her and Kleiman, and didn't stop. When they'd finally reached Céleste, there was a flicker of surprise on the woman's face. It was something akin to what Senka had worn when she'd seen him.
“But I saw you. You were dead," the woman spoke almost in disbelief. Senka openly glared at the woman, pointing Blutgang in her direction.
“You're correct, I was dead. Long enough for you to believe that Senka Rinaldi no longer existed so that Valeria Scutari could lead her people against you. This ends now, Céleste. Duscur will be yours no longer. I will never be yours, nor will my people ever serve you. And you will pay for Sorcha's death," and for the deaths of so many others. Céleste, shook her head, though.
“You should have taken my offer, Senka. Now... you'll die along with the rest of your wretched people!" the woman nearly snarled. That was alright by Senka as long as she took Kleiman down too. Something gleamed in the woman's hands, though. She dismounted her steed, sending it off in another direction as she pulled her glove off. The stone she had in her gloved hand seemed familiar to Senka, as if she'd seen it before somewhere.
“You leave me no choice. I know who that is by your side, and I will, at whatever the cost, win this war. Even if I have to rip you to shreds to do it!" she stated, placing the stone into the hand that wasn't gloved. And Senka was suddenly reminded of what that stone was. A Crest Stone that wasn't compatible with a person turned them into something not human. A demonic beast cursed to never be human again.
“Céleste, don't!" but it was too late. The same black ooze that errupted from the stone, covered Kleiman, twisting and morphing her into something not even Senka recognized. A beast she was, but it looked like the one Senka had been pinned underneath, earlier, and was larger. Was the stone corrupted somehow? It didn't matter. Gripping Blutgang tightly in her hands, she glanced towards Cyril.
“I will not fail you a second time," she spoke before she charged after Kleiman as the beast roared.
He didn't let her go alone, hurling a bolt of dark, miasmic magic for the beast and following it with himself. With the hand not holding the Arrow, he drew the Sword of the Creator, wielding one weapon in each hand. He lashed forward with the sword first, its segments catching Kleiman across the cheek and snapping her head to the side.
It was enough to enrage Kleiman, and Senka could see her gathering flames to her mouth. Senka couldn't let that happen. She hurled a saggitae spell towards Kleiman, catching her in the eye, forcing her to close it. It was enough to interrupt her attacks, however; she began berserking. She smashed her claws into the ground, sweeping her tail from side to side as if to clear the area around her from whatever might be attacking her. Senka kept her distance and used the opportunity to summon her black magic. Agnea's Arrow required a bit of time to summon, however; if she could time this just right... she could use it to her advantage.
When Kleiman turned her attention towards Cyril, lunging for him, Senka acted. She released the dark magic she'd built up for the spell, watching as a bright blue light surged towards Kleiman. It was in the shape of an arrow, ironically enough, but it managed to find its mark in Kleiman's neck with enough force to topple her over.
“Cyril, now!" she shouted, lunging forward with Blutgang. They had such a small window before Kleiman would recover, but she was exposed now. If she could just get Blutgang into the belly of the beast...
He responded immediately, using the lengthened form of his sword to tangle the beast's legs, impeding her efforts to stand again, and with the spear he pierced her tongue as she tried to pull in a breath for more fire, staking it to the ground. “Go!" he called, indicating that her path was as clear as it was going to get.
She didn't need to be told twice. Senka lunged towards Kleiman, and with as much strength as she could muster, the glow of her Crest alighting her forehead, she plunged Blutgang through the beast's scales, finding Kleiman's heart. The beast shrieked, something akin to a human shriek, but mixed with a beast's. It was painful to Senka's ears, but she did not try to cover them. When Kleiman stirred no more, and her beastly body began to disintegrate, Senka fell to her knees.
Finally.
They were finally free.
Duscur was free from her.
Sorcha was avenged.
The world seemed to spin, but Senka didn't care. Whether they were from joy, sorrow, or happiness, she did not stop the tears that fell down her cheek.
“Did you see, Sorcha? I did it. I finally... did it."
Even now, with her eyes closed, she could still hear his voice. How it still haunted her even five years later.
Sen—
“—eria!" Senka felt her eyes snap open, a rush of air splashing her face as the entire battlefield below encompassed her vision. Her people were being pushed back by a pincer attack on Kleiman's part, and Senka felt her brows furrow. “Valeria, what are your orders," Espera spoke, glancing at her with furrowed brows. Even he looked tired, the crease in his brows a permanent expression. And the name he'd called her. That was who she was, now. Senka died, and she could feel it in her heart, how hollow, how empty it was.
The only thing keeping Valeria going was the fact that there was a chance at freeing her people from Kleiman's grasp, and the chance of killing the woman responsible for Senka's death. For Sorcha's. She glanced in Espera's direction, narrowing her eyes slightly.
“Take half of the reserves and reinforce the right flank. I'll take the others and reinforce the left," she spoke, nudging Liev, her pegasus, in the direction she needed to go. It wasn't going to be easy to pull out of the pincer, but if they did this right, they could manage it. The air rushed past her as she flew through a crowd, jumping off of the pegasus' back when they were close to the ground. She pulled the sword from her back, leaving Blutgang on the other side of her as she swung her blade to catch a soldier in the back.
It seemed endless, though.
For every soldier she dropped, another seemed to take their place. Bodies were being piled up on both sides, but she was losing soldiers. Her people were dying for this war between Kleiman and herself. She needed this to end, to give the remainder of her people a chance at a life. A sudden roar echoed through the field, and Senka felt her head snap in the direction. A demonic beast? What was that doing here? From the looks of it, there seemed to be at least three. She pulled in a breath between her teeth, and glanced at her soldiers.
“Don't engage them recklessly!" she shouted. They weren't used to fighting beasts like that. Kleiman only ever sent soldiers after her rebel army, but what was she doing with beasts? Was she really that desperate to end the war that she'd resort to using them? “Espera, with me!" she shouted, making a sharp whistle in the air as Liev came back. She mounted the pegasus and charged for the first beast.
They wouldn't last much longer if they didn't get rid of the beasts, first.
These beasts, she could tell quickly, were stronger than the ones she'd faced before. A cavalry formation went in to charge the second beast, but it simply shrieked with a sound like warping metal and swept outwards with its massive, spiked tail. People and horses went flying, too many landing never to move again. The beast lashed at others with its claws, rending armor as easily as if it had been made from paper.
The soldiers were beginning to panic—they had never faced anything like this before. Truth be told, she hadn't faced this before. Not quite like this anyway. The lines were breaking, Kleiman's soldiers charging in around the beasts to take out the stragglers. The battle was slowly turning into a slaughter.
And she'd had enough of that.
Her people needed to live. If they were all wiped out... an entire people...
“Espera, fall back! Give the signal to regroup and stay away from the beasts," she shouted in his direction. He had been defending some of their soldiers from Kleiman's as Senka tossed her blade to the ground in favor of Blutgang at her back. She wasn't going to lose anymore people. She couldn't. If this was how her new life was to be used, to be given in defense of the people she'd promised not to fail, then so be it.
“Senka!"
It was the first time she'd heard him call her that in the last couple of years. She could hear the panic in his voice as she charged the creature. She just needed to draw its attention, to give her soldiers enough time to retreat so that they could live. But she'd vastly underestimated the strength of the beast. With a single swipe of its clawed hand, it tore her armor, leaving a large cut across her abdomen. Another scar to add to the collection.
She held Blutgang up in an attempt to defend herself from the creature's attacks, however; its strength overwhelmed her quickly, and it pinned her beneath one of its massive clawed hands. Roaring as if it had won some prize, its jaws lowered towards her, open wide as if to consume her.
She did not close her eyes.
It was close enough for the stench of its hot, humid breath to wash over her face when a bolt of lightning slammed into it, followed abruptly by a spear a moment later. It wasn't an ordinary javelin, though; there were runes carved into the haft, almost like—
“Senka!"
Even mere moments before death washed over her, she could still hear his voice calling out to her. Was she really that far gone?
He appeared a moment later in her field of vision, gripping the Arrow of Indra in both hands and shoving it deeper into the creature's eye, until it stilled, then collapsed. This left her pinned under its claws, but with a heave, he pulled those away from her, dropping to her side, white magic already at his fingertips.
He looked different. A fair bit thinner, for one, though still somewhat solid. His hair was long, pulled back from his face but falling forward over his shoulder where he leaned to apply magic to the cut across her body. His eyes—brighter than she remembered—kept flicking back to her face, as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.
It was warm, his magic. It had always been warm to her, as it flowed through her whenever she'd needed to be healed in some way. But this was a ghost, was it not? She wasn't being healed by him, but someone who looked like him. That didn't seem right, though. No one had those eyes, the bright gold she'd loved so long ago.
“Cyril," his name came out before she'd even registered herself saying it. He was dead. She'd seen him die, and her hands reached out towards him. Everything around her seemed to go deafening silent. She couldn't focus on anything but him. “Cyril, why do you haunt me still?" she spoke, feeling a spike of fear lance through her body. Was this her punishment? Was she being punished, now, for what she could not do so many years ago? When she could not save him?
“Why?" she called out. She wanted to touch him, his face, his shoulder, anything to prove that he was real. That this wasn't just an apparition before her to haunt her further of Senka's failures.
Around them, she sensed the battle still raged. New sounds had been added to the fray, the twang of bowstrings, the rush of wind magic, shouts and the cries of the beasts as they engaged with newer, mightier foes.
“I'm not haunting you, Senka." His tone was low, urgent, earnest, almost desperate. “I'm here. I'm real, I swear it to you." His hands shifted, the warm flow of the magic ceasing. “I'll—I'll explain everything. But first we have to save your people. We have to save Duscur." He stood, offering a hand down to help her to her feet.
She was hesitant to take it. This ghost was just tempting her with sweet lies. That he was real, that he was alive. She sat up slowly, instead, refusing to take his hand and pushed herself to her feet, using Blutgang as a means to keep herself balanced. She was healed, that much she could register, but she could not force herself to register him.
But then she saw them.
Her friends, the ones who'd meant the world to her so many years ago. Vridel, Thea, Devon, Sofia, Sylvi, Deirdre, they were all here. Even Reynard. Her eyes, burning with a warm sensation, shifted back towards him. Was it true... was he really...
“Senka!" Espera's voice cut through her like a hot knife, and she turned towards him. “The tide is in our favor. If we push now, we can end this," he shouted, shifting the lance in his hand as he glanced towards him. “If what you say is true, help us. Céleste is taking the field, and if we can kill her," they could end this battle once and for all.
“She's mine," Senka nearly snarled. She could feel it, the way her blood went cold again at the name of that woman. “Espera, keep the soldiers away from the other two beasts. Reroute them towards Kleiman and have them push forward. We end this now," she stated, earning a nod of approval from him as he took off. She turned her eyes towards Cyril, feeling something stirring in her heart, something old and forgotten.
“Help me."
“I'm yours," he replied softly, yanking the Arrow from the beast's eye without breaking his gaze from hers. “Only tell me what you wish, and it will be done."
The first step was to carve a path to Céleste, and Cyril set about flinging lightning into the thick of the opposing soldiers, each bolt finding a mark and dropping them. He didn't seem to run out, didn't stop casting until they reached melee range, where he thrust the spear for the nearest paladin and unhorsed him, spinning the spear until it was point-down and finding the man's throat with it.
Her friends worked together to fight the two beasts remaining: enhanced though the creatures must be, they would surely be a poor match for those who had fought so many of their brethren.
And she was beside him every step of the way, flinging her own dark magic into the fray. She used her sword to cut down anyone who stood between her and Kleiman, and didn't stop. When they'd finally reached Céleste, there was a flicker of surprise on the woman's face. It was something akin to what Senka had worn when she'd seen him.
“But I saw you. You were dead," the woman spoke almost in disbelief. Senka openly glared at the woman, pointing Blutgang in her direction.
“You're correct, I was dead. Long enough for you to believe that Senka Rinaldi no longer existed so that Valeria Scutari could lead her people against you. This ends now, Céleste. Duscur will be yours no longer. I will never be yours, nor will my people ever serve you. And you will pay for Sorcha's death," and for the deaths of so many others. Céleste, shook her head, though.
“You should have taken my offer, Senka. Now... you'll die along with the rest of your wretched people!" the woman nearly snarled. That was alright by Senka as long as she took Kleiman down too. Something gleamed in the woman's hands, though. She dismounted her steed, sending it off in another direction as she pulled her glove off. The stone she had in her gloved hand seemed familiar to Senka, as if she'd seen it before somewhere.
“You leave me no choice. I know who that is by your side, and I will, at whatever the cost, win this war. Even if I have to rip you to shreds to do it!" she stated, placing the stone into the hand that wasn't gloved. And Senka was suddenly reminded of what that stone was. A Crest Stone that wasn't compatible with a person turned them into something not human. A demonic beast cursed to never be human again.
“Céleste, don't!" but it was too late. The same black ooze that errupted from the stone, covered Kleiman, twisting and morphing her into something not even Senka recognized. A beast she was, but it looked like the one Senka had been pinned underneath, earlier, and was larger. Was the stone corrupted somehow? It didn't matter. Gripping Blutgang tightly in her hands, she glanced towards Cyril.
“I will not fail you a second time," she spoke before she charged after Kleiman as the beast roared.
He didn't let her go alone, hurling a bolt of dark, miasmic magic for the beast and following it with himself. With the hand not holding the Arrow, he drew the Sword of the Creator, wielding one weapon in each hand. He lashed forward with the sword first, its segments catching Kleiman across the cheek and snapping her head to the side.
It was enough to enrage Kleiman, and Senka could see her gathering flames to her mouth. Senka couldn't let that happen. She hurled a saggitae spell towards Kleiman, catching her in the eye, forcing her to close it. It was enough to interrupt her attacks, however; she began berserking. She smashed her claws into the ground, sweeping her tail from side to side as if to clear the area around her from whatever might be attacking her. Senka kept her distance and used the opportunity to summon her black magic. Agnea's Arrow required a bit of time to summon, however; if she could time this just right... she could use it to her advantage.
When Kleiman turned her attention towards Cyril, lunging for him, Senka acted. She released the dark magic she'd built up for the spell, watching as a bright blue light surged towards Kleiman. It was in the shape of an arrow, ironically enough, but it managed to find its mark in Kleiman's neck with enough force to topple her over.
“Cyril, now!" she shouted, lunging forward with Blutgang. They had such a small window before Kleiman would recover, but she was exposed now. If she could just get Blutgang into the belly of the beast...
He responded immediately, using the lengthened form of his sword to tangle the beast's legs, impeding her efforts to stand again, and with the spear he pierced her tongue as she tried to pull in a breath for more fire, staking it to the ground. “Go!" he called, indicating that her path was as clear as it was going to get.
She didn't need to be told twice. Senka lunged towards Kleiman, and with as much strength as she could muster, the glow of her Crest alighting her forehead, she plunged Blutgang through the beast's scales, finding Kleiman's heart. The beast shrieked, something akin to a human shriek, but mixed with a beast's. It was painful to Senka's ears, but she did not try to cover them. When Kleiman stirred no more, and her beastly body began to disintegrate, Senka fell to her knees.
Finally.
They were finally free.
Duscur was free from her.
Sorcha was avenged.
The world seemed to spin, but Senka didn't care. Whether they were from joy, sorrow, or happiness, she did not stop the tears that fell down her cheek.
“Did you see, Sorcha? I did it. I finally... did it."
Duscur - Afternoon - Snow
Vridel von Hresvelg
This... was going to be interesting.
Vridel headed for the appointed meeting room, basically a repurposed tavern that had once been part of... well, whatever settlement this had been before more than one battle tore it apart, he supposed. Now it seemed to serve whatever function it needed to. Spare weapons were leaned up against the walls, most of the tables pushed together in the middle to make one large one, probably where Senka had led her strategy meetings for... however long she'd been located here in particular.
Admittedly, that way of thinking was going to take some getting used to. She'd died, for all any of them had known and then... what? Changed her name and let them all think she was dead? Fought by herself to free her country instead of asking for help? Vridel could sort of understand wanting to keep other people out of it, but that didn't mean there was no sting. He at least hadn't been doing anything so important that he couldn't have tried to get to her at least.
But it was sort of a moot point now. They were here, they'd made it in time, if only barely, and she was alive. Considering what had become of so much of the rest of the world, he would take that, and consider it a gift. Others might feel a little differently, perhaps, and he had no idea how things were going to be with the Professor, but like it or not they had things to discuss.
He took a seat at the end of the table. Several of the others had already arrived: it looked like Espera was present, as were Devon, Sylvi, Sofia, Deirdre, and Reynard. The other major players, however, seemed to be yet absent.
Thea was the next to arrive, taking a seat near Vridel. She gave him a small smile before turning her attention towards everyone else. Mercer arrived next, a grim expression on his face, though it was unclear as to why. He took a seat near the front of the table where Espera sat, and nodded towards the other man. Espera returned the nod, and glanced in the direction of the door, eyes narrowing lightly when Senka finally arrived. She wasn't with Cyril, though. She was by herself, and her expression was as neutral as it had been five years ago when Vridel first met her.
She walked towards the head of the table, resting a hand on Espera's shoulder before taking a seat. She regarded them all with an even stare before the barest of smiles flickered across her face before it disappeared. Cyril entered next, taking the empty chair one down from Mercer. He said nothing and looked at no one, his face void of any expression whatsoever. Vridel suspected he was... processing. Then again, most of them probably were.
“I suppose there is much to discuss," she spoke, eyes wavering towards Mercer who merely furrowed his brows at her. It looked like he wanted to say something, but refrained from doing so. “Speak freely; don't hold back on my account," she stated, though it seemed more of a suggestion than anything.
“What the hell, Senka," Mercer took the invitation for what it was, it seemed. “Five years, and nothing? You could have..." he spoke, but shook his head. He pushed a heavy sigh through his nose. “It's good to see you alive, but there are matters we'd like to discuss regarding your troops," he began, getting straight to the point, it seemed.
Vridel figured he'd take the cue. Whatever personal fallout there was from this had to be secondary to the work they were trying to do here. “We did not come to Duscur's aid merely from the goodness of our hearts," he said wryly, though he did shoot a glance at the professor. He probably had, actually—a final gesture for a deceased love.
The rest of them, though. Of course it had been good to help Duscur, and at any other time he believed they'd do it for no other reason. But this was a war, and the whole world was at stake, not just a country most people considered already dead anyway. “As I'm sure you've noticed, Fódlan is... tearing itself apart. We can't stop it if we keep fighting on divided fronts."
“So you've come to ask for our aid in helping you with this battle?" Espera was the one to speak, glancing at Vridel with a calm stare. Senka remained quiet for a moment.
“Yes, that's right. We figured if we helped you, that..." Mercer paused, his eyes flickering to Senka before he continued, “if we helped you liberate Duscur from Kleiman, that you would be willing to join forces with a certain person's friends, whom thought her dead. While it might have been a final homage to her, we need the help, and the able bodies." Mercer didn't hold back with his words, and if anything, Senka flinched at one of them, but remained neutral.
“And you thought that we would simply join forces with you because you helped?" Espera seemed to bristle at the statement, however; Senka shook her head.
“I don't think that's quite it, Espera. They were willing to take a chance through enemy territory to provide aid to us in the hopes that we would provide the aid they need. We both know that we, as a people, will not stand a chance against an assault from either Cornelia's forces, or the Empire's. They would kill what remained of us, and I did not die for that to happen. I died so that our people could live, even if it means we have to relocate and leave Duscur behind," Senka spoke, her eyes hardening slightly.
“But I cannot give you the assistance you need, Mercer. My people are without a home, now, and there are refugees and people who cannot fight that I have to put above all else. Anyone else," she stated, though her eyes remained locked with Mercer's. He pursed his lips together, though.
“Have you so soon forgotten you have other allies?" There was no discernible emotion in Cyril's tone at all—it reminded Vridel of how he'd sounded in other lectures. “What is the point of all this sacrifice that your people might die with you here?"
The silence was thick for a moment, before Vridel caught on to the Professor's meaning. He cleared his throat. “I believe he refers to Duke Fraldarius," he said, pursing his lips. “We passed through his territory on the way through here, as I am sure you gathered. His land is well-defended, insulated from most of the fighting by the mountains. The warring that takes place there happens at the borders. I'd think your uncle would be quite willing to help protect your people, especially as this shared effort represents the best chance he has of any substantial aid in the future."
"For what it's worth," Reynard added, "we're not doing this just for the benefit of the Alliance. That's the next logical step, but only because freeing up those troops gives us a much better chance at retaking Faerghus, too. Freeing Faerghus first would cost more and yield less, with its warring lords and no good claimant for the throne Cornelia sits on."
If Senka felt anything at all, she did not show it. Her expression remained as calm as ever, but there was something that flickered through her eyes.
“I have not forgotten anything," she finally spoke, her eyes narrowing somewhat, though there was a hint of bitterness in her voice. “And what allies I had believed me dead. It would have been..." she paused, and sucked in a sharp breath before Espera laid a hand on her shoulder. He was close enough.
“Do you really think so little of us, Senka?" Mercer spoke, something in his expression softening. “Did you not think of us for one moment while you were here, reclaiming your lands? Did you not think we wouldn't have helped? We all knew how important this was, and she knew how important it was to you. Why didn't you tell us you were alive, Sen? Things might have turned out differently."
“Would it really have mattered?" she stated softly. “Mercer, things are not the way they used to be. If I had told anyone I was alive, that would have only risked the lives of my people, and I was not going to do that. It was safer for them. And on the contrary, Mercer, I have not stopped thinking of any of you for the last five years. It was all I had to keep me going."
Mercer shook his head. “That's not... the point, Sen." He didn't seem to want to say anything further.
“They're right, though, Senka," it was Espera who broke the silence. “Lord Fraldarius would be willing to take our people in, but no one is safe until Fodlan can be healed. No matter where we go, we will always be in danger. If this is how we help the world heal itself, help our people rebuild, then perhaps we should join them. Lend them our aid in whatever way we can," he continued, trying to speak some sense to her, it seemed. She seemed to contemplate his words.
“Alright," she spoke softly. “But we cannot move a large force all at once," she stated, her eyes sliding towards the group. “We'll have to split up and move as quietly and quickly as we can. It's best if I go first, though. Uncle... it's best if I ask him in person if he would really be willing to take in what people he can. Espera, you'll bring the second half as soon as I send word that Lord Fraldarius agrees."
“All right." Vridel expelled something like a sigh. “That's... settled for now then, I suppose. We'll be taking the same route back through Faerghus as we took to get here, but it's probably best not to count on anonymity this time. Cornelia will be able to figure out how we got in, and though most of it's land she doesn't control right now, there are gaps, so we're going to have to watch ourselves."
Reynard nodded, turning to Senka. "What do your scout numbers look like? If you're agreeable, I'd like to fold them into ours, so we can cover more area on the way back. Might save our asses if she decides to set up some kind of ambush."
“Of the ones not injured, we have a total of ten," she replied, voice and expression returning to something passive. “They will assist you in whatever way you need," she continued, nodding somewhat in Reynard's direction. “We should prepare to leave as soon as possible. News of Kleiman's death will be reaching Cornelia, soon. Not that I think she would care, but I would like to get my people somewhere safe as soon as possible."
“This has served as our base of operations for the last few years. We should head out in a couple of days in order to ensure that everyone is prepared and ready to make the march," Espera spoke, causing Senka to nod her head.
“A few days time, then. It will give everyone a chance to prepare, and for Reynard to prepare the scouts."
“We appreciate the help, Senka, thank you," Mercer spoke, his shoulders heaving slightly.
“You shouldn't thank me, Mercer," she responded, her voice low as she shook her head. She didn't elaborate on what she meant by that.
“But we're going to," Vridel said. If she couldn't thank them back, then that was fine. The war had done things to everyone, and even if he would admit to a certain degree of... hurt, by her actions in particular, well. At this point he thought most of them had hurt each other in some way or another. They just had to get through it, now.
Vridel headed for the appointed meeting room, basically a repurposed tavern that had once been part of... well, whatever settlement this had been before more than one battle tore it apart, he supposed. Now it seemed to serve whatever function it needed to. Spare weapons were leaned up against the walls, most of the tables pushed together in the middle to make one large one, probably where Senka had led her strategy meetings for... however long she'd been located here in particular.
Admittedly, that way of thinking was going to take some getting used to. She'd died, for all any of them had known and then... what? Changed her name and let them all think she was dead? Fought by herself to free her country instead of asking for help? Vridel could sort of understand wanting to keep other people out of it, but that didn't mean there was no sting. He at least hadn't been doing anything so important that he couldn't have tried to get to her at least.
But it was sort of a moot point now. They were here, they'd made it in time, if only barely, and she was alive. Considering what had become of so much of the rest of the world, he would take that, and consider it a gift. Others might feel a little differently, perhaps, and he had no idea how things were going to be with the Professor, but like it or not they had things to discuss.
He took a seat at the end of the table. Several of the others had already arrived: it looked like Espera was present, as were Devon, Sylvi, Sofia, Deirdre, and Reynard. The other major players, however, seemed to be yet absent.
Thea was the next to arrive, taking a seat near Vridel. She gave him a small smile before turning her attention towards everyone else. Mercer arrived next, a grim expression on his face, though it was unclear as to why. He took a seat near the front of the table where Espera sat, and nodded towards the other man. Espera returned the nod, and glanced in the direction of the door, eyes narrowing lightly when Senka finally arrived. She wasn't with Cyril, though. She was by herself, and her expression was as neutral as it had been five years ago when Vridel first met her.
She walked towards the head of the table, resting a hand on Espera's shoulder before taking a seat. She regarded them all with an even stare before the barest of smiles flickered across her face before it disappeared. Cyril entered next, taking the empty chair one down from Mercer. He said nothing and looked at no one, his face void of any expression whatsoever. Vridel suspected he was... processing. Then again, most of them probably were.
“I suppose there is much to discuss," she spoke, eyes wavering towards Mercer who merely furrowed his brows at her. It looked like he wanted to say something, but refrained from doing so. “Speak freely; don't hold back on my account," she stated, though it seemed more of a suggestion than anything.
“What the hell, Senka," Mercer took the invitation for what it was, it seemed. “Five years, and nothing? You could have..." he spoke, but shook his head. He pushed a heavy sigh through his nose. “It's good to see you alive, but there are matters we'd like to discuss regarding your troops," he began, getting straight to the point, it seemed.
Vridel figured he'd take the cue. Whatever personal fallout there was from this had to be secondary to the work they were trying to do here. “We did not come to Duscur's aid merely from the goodness of our hearts," he said wryly, though he did shoot a glance at the professor. He probably had, actually—a final gesture for a deceased love.
The rest of them, though. Of course it had been good to help Duscur, and at any other time he believed they'd do it for no other reason. But this was a war, and the whole world was at stake, not just a country most people considered already dead anyway. “As I'm sure you've noticed, Fódlan is... tearing itself apart. We can't stop it if we keep fighting on divided fronts."
“So you've come to ask for our aid in helping you with this battle?" Espera was the one to speak, glancing at Vridel with a calm stare. Senka remained quiet for a moment.
“Yes, that's right. We figured if we helped you, that..." Mercer paused, his eyes flickering to Senka before he continued, “if we helped you liberate Duscur from Kleiman, that you would be willing to join forces with a certain person's friends, whom thought her dead. While it might have been a final homage to her, we need the help, and the able bodies." Mercer didn't hold back with his words, and if anything, Senka flinched at one of them, but remained neutral.
“And you thought that we would simply join forces with you because you helped?" Espera seemed to bristle at the statement, however; Senka shook her head.
“I don't think that's quite it, Espera. They were willing to take a chance through enemy territory to provide aid to us in the hopes that we would provide the aid they need. We both know that we, as a people, will not stand a chance against an assault from either Cornelia's forces, or the Empire's. They would kill what remained of us, and I did not die for that to happen. I died so that our people could live, even if it means we have to relocate and leave Duscur behind," Senka spoke, her eyes hardening slightly.
“But I cannot give you the assistance you need, Mercer. My people are without a home, now, and there are refugees and people who cannot fight that I have to put above all else. Anyone else," she stated, though her eyes remained locked with Mercer's. He pursed his lips together, though.
“Have you so soon forgotten you have other allies?" There was no discernible emotion in Cyril's tone at all—it reminded Vridel of how he'd sounded in other lectures. “What is the point of all this sacrifice that your people might die with you here?"
The silence was thick for a moment, before Vridel caught on to the Professor's meaning. He cleared his throat. “I believe he refers to Duke Fraldarius," he said, pursing his lips. “We passed through his territory on the way through here, as I am sure you gathered. His land is well-defended, insulated from most of the fighting by the mountains. The warring that takes place there happens at the borders. I'd think your uncle would be quite willing to help protect your people, especially as this shared effort represents the best chance he has of any substantial aid in the future."
"For what it's worth," Reynard added, "we're not doing this just for the benefit of the Alliance. That's the next logical step, but only because freeing up those troops gives us a much better chance at retaking Faerghus, too. Freeing Faerghus first would cost more and yield less, with its warring lords and no good claimant for the throne Cornelia sits on."
If Senka felt anything at all, she did not show it. Her expression remained as calm as ever, but there was something that flickered through her eyes.
“I have not forgotten anything," she finally spoke, her eyes narrowing somewhat, though there was a hint of bitterness in her voice. “And what allies I had believed me dead. It would have been..." she paused, and sucked in a sharp breath before Espera laid a hand on her shoulder. He was close enough.
“Do you really think so little of us, Senka?" Mercer spoke, something in his expression softening. “Did you not think of us for one moment while you were here, reclaiming your lands? Did you not think we wouldn't have helped? We all knew how important this was, and she knew how important it was to you. Why didn't you tell us you were alive, Sen? Things might have turned out differently."
“Would it really have mattered?" she stated softly. “Mercer, things are not the way they used to be. If I had told anyone I was alive, that would have only risked the lives of my people, and I was not going to do that. It was safer for them. And on the contrary, Mercer, I have not stopped thinking of any of you for the last five years. It was all I had to keep me going."
Mercer shook his head. “That's not... the point, Sen." He didn't seem to want to say anything further.
“They're right, though, Senka," it was Espera who broke the silence. “Lord Fraldarius would be willing to take our people in, but no one is safe until Fodlan can be healed. No matter where we go, we will always be in danger. If this is how we help the world heal itself, help our people rebuild, then perhaps we should join them. Lend them our aid in whatever way we can," he continued, trying to speak some sense to her, it seemed. She seemed to contemplate his words.
“Alright," she spoke softly. “But we cannot move a large force all at once," she stated, her eyes sliding towards the group. “We'll have to split up and move as quietly and quickly as we can. It's best if I go first, though. Uncle... it's best if I ask him in person if he would really be willing to take in what people he can. Espera, you'll bring the second half as soon as I send word that Lord Fraldarius agrees."
“All right." Vridel expelled something like a sigh. “That's... settled for now then, I suppose. We'll be taking the same route back through Faerghus as we took to get here, but it's probably best not to count on anonymity this time. Cornelia will be able to figure out how we got in, and though most of it's land she doesn't control right now, there are gaps, so we're going to have to watch ourselves."
Reynard nodded, turning to Senka. "What do your scout numbers look like? If you're agreeable, I'd like to fold them into ours, so we can cover more area on the way back. Might save our asses if she decides to set up some kind of ambush."
“Of the ones not injured, we have a total of ten," she replied, voice and expression returning to something passive. “They will assist you in whatever way you need," she continued, nodding somewhat in Reynard's direction. “We should prepare to leave as soon as possible. News of Kleiman's death will be reaching Cornelia, soon. Not that I think she would care, but I would like to get my people somewhere safe as soon as possible."
“This has served as our base of operations for the last few years. We should head out in a couple of days in order to ensure that everyone is prepared and ready to make the march," Espera spoke, causing Senka to nod her head.
“A few days time, then. It will give everyone a chance to prepare, and for Reynard to prepare the scouts."
“We appreciate the help, Senka, thank you," Mercer spoke, his shoulders heaving slightly.
“You shouldn't thank me, Mercer," she responded, her voice low as she shook her head. She didn't elaborate on what she meant by that.
“But we're going to," Vridel said. If she couldn't thank them back, then that was fine. The war had done things to everyone, and even if he would admit to a certain degree of... hurt, by her actions in particular, well. At this point he thought most of them had hurt each other in some way or another. They just had to get through it, now.
Fraldarius Castle - Evening - Cold
Cyril Eisner
It wasn't all that long, in the grand scheme of things, between the time they had last left the Fraldarius Duchy and now, when they returned to it.
And yet for Cyril at least, things almost couldn't be more different.
The lion's share of that difference was presently riding right next to him. Though no few of the Duscur troops had winged mounts, they were riding at ground level in hopes of attracting less attention. Going was faster for this group than it would be for those who followed with most of the civilians, but it was safer that way for everyone involved. This group had further to go, eventually, and had already fought off at least one large bandit troop that hadn't survived to inflict themselves upon the noncombatants to follow.
Now, they once again drew within sight of Fraldarius Castle. The reception, however, was quite different. Where before the understandably-wary guards had pointed spears at them, on this occasion Cyril showed them the seal he'd been given, and they were immediately ushered into the grounds proper. It was quite possible that one or two of those present recognized Senka, but if so no one approached her to ask the obvious question.
When Cyril dismounted, he extended a hand up towards her, not because she needed the assistance but because he liked making the gesture. And, perhaps, because he liked the simple pleasure of her hand in his. There were certainly still things that lay between them—he'd not yet gotten around to telling her exactly what had happened to him, and they were still in some sense getting reacquainted. But there was a deep and abiding live beneath that, and so he knew that with time, things would mend.
Right now he suspected she might appreciate his support, as she revealed herself to her uncle. Cyril had a strong suspicion that Rodrigue would be nothing but surprised and overjoyed to see her, but in a way he suspected that would be harder on Senka than suspicion or scolding, because she held herself responsible for not having remained in contact with her friends and allies.
Either way, he wanted her to know he was here, and that come what may, he was on her side.
She took his hand and dismounted Liev, taking a shaky breath as they waited for Rodrigue to receive them. She glanced at him, smiling softly before she squeezed his hand. “Thank you," she spoke, though it was unclear as to what she was thanking him for. The support he was offering her, or for helping her dismount. It was likely the former because her grip tightened when Rodrigue appeared. She all but took a step back as if to use Cyril as a shield, to hide her from Rodrigue's eyes.
He didn't notice her at first.
“It seems you were successful," he spoke, a weary smile on his face. “If you need a place to rest, you may all use my home for the time. I'm afraid I have even less to offer this time around, but you are welcome to whatever I can spare," he continued. Mercer stepped forward, though.
“Actually, Lord Fraldarius, we have something of a favor to ask. Well, she would like to ask," he spoke, glancing in Cyril's direction, and pursing his lips when Senka had yet to step out from behind him.
Cyril turned slightly, still letting her be concealed by his body, but so he could meet her eyes properly. “Senka," he said, softly enough that he knew he wouldn't give her away accidentally. “It's going to be all right. He's family. He loves you." He lifted his free hand to the side of her face, tilting his head and smiling, just the smallest bit, down at her. It was one she'd recognize—one of the soft ones that had belonged only to her since she'd first pulled it from him. “We all do."
She swallowed, and nodded her head. “Okay," she whispered softly. Taking in a deep breath, she stepped forward, her hand still connected to his, as she glanced at Rodrigue. For a moment, Rodrigue paled. It looked like he'd just seen a ghost, and for all intents and purposes, he did. They had all thought she was dead, and like when they'd first arrived in Fraldarius, Rodrigue descended the stairs. He'd almost tripped on his way down, perhaps because he looked as fatigued as ever, but he managed to catch himself and swiftly took both Senka and Cyril into his arms. The embrace was at once warm and heavy, and Rodrigue's shoulders shook.
“Senka," he nearly choked out. She placed her free hand over Rodrigue's back, holding him as tightly as she was holding onto Cyril's hand as tears escaped her. “You're alive. You're alive," he repeated almost as if he couldn't quite believe it.
“I'm sorry, uncle," she whispered out softly, burrying her face into Rodrigue's shoulder. “I'm so sorry I never told you," she continued, but he shook his head.
“It doesn't matter. You're alive. All this time... I thought you were dead, but you're alive. Both of you are alive; thank the goddess," he stated, finally releasing both of them. “Come, we have much to discuss. Please," he stated, ushering them towards his home, once again.
It was sort of an unfamiliar experience. Cyril's own father had loved him—he knew this. But he'd never been one for such outward displays of affection, and he had no idea what he'd done to earn such from Rodrigue. It felt... nice, though, in a way he hadn't expected. He, too, had returned the embrace with his free arm, and still held to Senka's hand as they led the others up the castle stairs. Most, the soldiers with the Duscur, broke off there, to be led to the barracks where they'd stay. The others, though, the small group of ten, followed Rodrigue back to the same study as before.
Cyril took a seat on one of the sofas, shifting his grip on Senka's hand so she could sit comfortably beside him, but not letting go of it.
Once everyone else was seated, Rodrigue sat at the head of the table, and smiled warmly in their direction. “So, what is it that you'd like to ask," he spoke, his voice soft and still filled with emotion. “If it is within my power to do so, I will grant it, Senka. You know I would," he continued, causing her to furrow her brows.
“What I'm going to ask is a lot," she began, lifting her gaze to keep it with Rodrigue's. He opened his mouth to say something, but she shook her head. “It is, uncle. Please hear me out before you say anything," she continued before he could say anything. He nodded his head as if to tell her to continue. She took in a deep breath, rubbing her thumb over Cyril's hand in an absentminded fashion, it seemed. As if she were trying to draw strength from his hand, alone. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.
“As you know, Duscur has finally been liberated from Kleiman, however; we don't have a place to go. Cornelia will try and claim the lands, and she will win with her sizeable army. I do not have the troops to protect my people, and there are those who cannot fight. They need a place to stay until they can recover, however." she paused to sigh softly.
“I cannot take the vast majority of my army to the Alliance, either. I need to separate them, and Espera will stay behind to help reinforce you with the other half of the soldiers still hiding in Duscur."
Rodrigue seemed to contemplate this, his brows furrowing deeply. Cyril could feel Senka's hand tighten around his, as if she were afraid that he would refuse.
“It is in fact a lot to ask," Cyril added, carefully lacing his fingers with Senka's. “But we have hope that we can reconquer Alliance territory in half a year. And once we've done that, the next obvious move is to march the army into Faerghus to reinforce yours. It's a risk, and I understand that for that half a year, it will strain your resources. But it's the best chance we have at doing anything but losing slowly, and the soldiers that stay behind will surely be of some assistance at the border in the meantime."
Mercer nodded his head in agreement. “Even with the troops we will be taking with us, it'll give us the numbers we need to break through. And I've said before, you have my word that we will come back to help Faerghus. I owe her that much, as well," Mercer spoke softly, his eyes dropping for a moment before they shifted towards Cyril and Senka.
“And when we have Faerghus back, it'll be two nations against the Imperial army. We'll finally have a decent chance at righting the wrongs in the world." Mercer spoke with a little more confidence, then, as if he truly believed that they could. Perhaps he did?
“Those who are left behind will be able to fend for themselves. They are excellent hunters and gatherers. You may even find that your resources will be somewhat replenished with their help. It is a lot to ask, uncle, but I trust no one else to be able to do this. Family or not, I trust you to take care of them for me until I can return."
Rodrigue remained silent a moment longer before a small smile formed on his lips. “Alright. My troops will welcome the support, and those who cannot fight will do what they can to help out. I will do this for you, Senka, but promise me something," he agreed, however; his eyes turned a bit hard as he stared at her. She stiffened slightly beneath the gaze. “Promise me that you will not keep me in the dark, any longer. You used to write to me about everything," his eyes shifted to Cyril, then. “You even wrote to me about how you'd asked that one to marry you in a few years when you reclaimed Duscur. I hope that still stands, now that you have," he stated, the briefest smiles crossing his lips.
For a moment, Senka blinked before she swallowed thickly. There was a faint color appearing on her face as she dropped her gaze from Rodrigue's who merely chuckled. Even Mercer managed to crack a small smile, then.
“I... um," she seemed at a lost for words, before she shook her head. “Thank you, uncle," she stated, intent on not speaking on the previous subject.
She had written—?
Cyril supposed he should not be so surprised. They'd been rather certain of their plans, back then. But so much was up in the air right now, and though the hesitation stung a little, he understood it. They barely knew where they'd be in a week, never mind a month or however long it would take to end this war. And besides, even if the hurts he had done her were forgiven, he doubted they would be so easy to forget. He hoped that someday they would no longer hurt, that she would be able to trust him not to hurt her again, but he was resolved to give things as much time as they needed. And not to hurry just because five years had felt like so much less to him.
“We'll... keep you apprised," he said softly, answering Rodrigue's query hopefully directly enough that he wouldn't press it.
“Before we go though... I think there is one more thing we should attend to. As we are now officially a multinational army, we need a leader. Not because any of the faction leaders cannot manage it, but because the role should be filled. We need to be one whole when we march, not disparate parts." He paused, glancing over the others. “Truthfully, I feel anyone in this room would be qualified to do that, and I'm not only saying that because I taught all but one of you how."
Reynard and Devon chuckled softly; even Vridel cracked a smile.
“But if the rest of you are agreeable, I think it makes most sense for that person to be Mercer. He's been at the front of this fight since it began, and none of us would be sitting here today if not for his efforts."
“Agreed," Vridel said immediately.
Mercer's eyes widened at the suggestion. “Wait, why me?" he stated, seemingly skeptical about the suggestion.
“I think Professor has a point, Mercer," Thea spoke this time, her eyes softening as she smiled at him. “You've been doing this since the beginning. Lyanna and I have only managed the monastery, keeping the bandits at bay, while Vridel was in Brigid. Senka was in Duscur trying to get her homeland, back, but you've been fighting the Imperial army this entire time. They are wary of you, and your strategies, Merc."
“I am in agreement as well. Mercer you're a brilliant strategist and leader, even before this. You'll lead us well. I truly believe this," Senka added, her expression softening in his direction. Mercer looked taken aback before a small smile tugged at his lips. He shook his head and huffed lightly.
“As long as Teach agrees to be my advisor, then I'll take it." His eyes were on Cyril, then.
Cyril snorted softly. “I can do that much, I think."
It wouldn't be so different from being a professor, he supposed.
And yet for Cyril at least, things almost couldn't be more different.
The lion's share of that difference was presently riding right next to him. Though no few of the Duscur troops had winged mounts, they were riding at ground level in hopes of attracting less attention. Going was faster for this group than it would be for those who followed with most of the civilians, but it was safer that way for everyone involved. This group had further to go, eventually, and had already fought off at least one large bandit troop that hadn't survived to inflict themselves upon the noncombatants to follow.
Now, they once again drew within sight of Fraldarius Castle. The reception, however, was quite different. Where before the understandably-wary guards had pointed spears at them, on this occasion Cyril showed them the seal he'd been given, and they were immediately ushered into the grounds proper. It was quite possible that one or two of those present recognized Senka, but if so no one approached her to ask the obvious question.
When Cyril dismounted, he extended a hand up towards her, not because she needed the assistance but because he liked making the gesture. And, perhaps, because he liked the simple pleasure of her hand in his. There were certainly still things that lay between them—he'd not yet gotten around to telling her exactly what had happened to him, and they were still in some sense getting reacquainted. But there was a deep and abiding live beneath that, and so he knew that with time, things would mend.
Right now he suspected she might appreciate his support, as she revealed herself to her uncle. Cyril had a strong suspicion that Rodrigue would be nothing but surprised and overjoyed to see her, but in a way he suspected that would be harder on Senka than suspicion or scolding, because she held herself responsible for not having remained in contact with her friends and allies.
Either way, he wanted her to know he was here, and that come what may, he was on her side.
She took his hand and dismounted Liev, taking a shaky breath as they waited for Rodrigue to receive them. She glanced at him, smiling softly before she squeezed his hand. “Thank you," she spoke, though it was unclear as to what she was thanking him for. The support he was offering her, or for helping her dismount. It was likely the former because her grip tightened when Rodrigue appeared. She all but took a step back as if to use Cyril as a shield, to hide her from Rodrigue's eyes.
He didn't notice her at first.
“It seems you were successful," he spoke, a weary smile on his face. “If you need a place to rest, you may all use my home for the time. I'm afraid I have even less to offer this time around, but you are welcome to whatever I can spare," he continued. Mercer stepped forward, though.
“Actually, Lord Fraldarius, we have something of a favor to ask. Well, she would like to ask," he spoke, glancing in Cyril's direction, and pursing his lips when Senka had yet to step out from behind him.
Cyril turned slightly, still letting her be concealed by his body, but so he could meet her eyes properly. “Senka," he said, softly enough that he knew he wouldn't give her away accidentally. “It's going to be all right. He's family. He loves you." He lifted his free hand to the side of her face, tilting his head and smiling, just the smallest bit, down at her. It was one she'd recognize—one of the soft ones that had belonged only to her since she'd first pulled it from him. “We all do."
She swallowed, and nodded her head. “Okay," she whispered softly. Taking in a deep breath, she stepped forward, her hand still connected to his, as she glanced at Rodrigue. For a moment, Rodrigue paled. It looked like he'd just seen a ghost, and for all intents and purposes, he did. They had all thought she was dead, and like when they'd first arrived in Fraldarius, Rodrigue descended the stairs. He'd almost tripped on his way down, perhaps because he looked as fatigued as ever, but he managed to catch himself and swiftly took both Senka and Cyril into his arms. The embrace was at once warm and heavy, and Rodrigue's shoulders shook.
“Senka," he nearly choked out. She placed her free hand over Rodrigue's back, holding him as tightly as she was holding onto Cyril's hand as tears escaped her. “You're alive. You're alive," he repeated almost as if he couldn't quite believe it.
“I'm sorry, uncle," she whispered out softly, burrying her face into Rodrigue's shoulder. “I'm so sorry I never told you," she continued, but he shook his head.
“It doesn't matter. You're alive. All this time... I thought you were dead, but you're alive. Both of you are alive; thank the goddess," he stated, finally releasing both of them. “Come, we have much to discuss. Please," he stated, ushering them towards his home, once again.
It was sort of an unfamiliar experience. Cyril's own father had loved him—he knew this. But he'd never been one for such outward displays of affection, and he had no idea what he'd done to earn such from Rodrigue. It felt... nice, though, in a way he hadn't expected. He, too, had returned the embrace with his free arm, and still held to Senka's hand as they led the others up the castle stairs. Most, the soldiers with the Duscur, broke off there, to be led to the barracks where they'd stay. The others, though, the small group of ten, followed Rodrigue back to the same study as before.
Cyril took a seat on one of the sofas, shifting his grip on Senka's hand so she could sit comfortably beside him, but not letting go of it.
Once everyone else was seated, Rodrigue sat at the head of the table, and smiled warmly in their direction. “So, what is it that you'd like to ask," he spoke, his voice soft and still filled with emotion. “If it is within my power to do so, I will grant it, Senka. You know I would," he continued, causing her to furrow her brows.
“What I'm going to ask is a lot," she began, lifting her gaze to keep it with Rodrigue's. He opened his mouth to say something, but she shook her head. “It is, uncle. Please hear me out before you say anything," she continued before he could say anything. He nodded his head as if to tell her to continue. She took in a deep breath, rubbing her thumb over Cyril's hand in an absentminded fashion, it seemed. As if she were trying to draw strength from his hand, alone. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.
“As you know, Duscur has finally been liberated from Kleiman, however; we don't have a place to go. Cornelia will try and claim the lands, and she will win with her sizeable army. I do not have the troops to protect my people, and there are those who cannot fight. They need a place to stay until they can recover, however." she paused to sigh softly.
“I cannot take the vast majority of my army to the Alliance, either. I need to separate them, and Espera will stay behind to help reinforce you with the other half of the soldiers still hiding in Duscur."
Rodrigue seemed to contemplate this, his brows furrowing deeply. Cyril could feel Senka's hand tighten around his, as if she were afraid that he would refuse.
“It is in fact a lot to ask," Cyril added, carefully lacing his fingers with Senka's. “But we have hope that we can reconquer Alliance territory in half a year. And once we've done that, the next obvious move is to march the army into Faerghus to reinforce yours. It's a risk, and I understand that for that half a year, it will strain your resources. But it's the best chance we have at doing anything but losing slowly, and the soldiers that stay behind will surely be of some assistance at the border in the meantime."
Mercer nodded his head in agreement. “Even with the troops we will be taking with us, it'll give us the numbers we need to break through. And I've said before, you have my word that we will come back to help Faerghus. I owe her that much, as well," Mercer spoke softly, his eyes dropping for a moment before they shifted towards Cyril and Senka.
“And when we have Faerghus back, it'll be two nations against the Imperial army. We'll finally have a decent chance at righting the wrongs in the world." Mercer spoke with a little more confidence, then, as if he truly believed that they could. Perhaps he did?
“Those who are left behind will be able to fend for themselves. They are excellent hunters and gatherers. You may even find that your resources will be somewhat replenished with their help. It is a lot to ask, uncle, but I trust no one else to be able to do this. Family or not, I trust you to take care of them for me until I can return."
Rodrigue remained silent a moment longer before a small smile formed on his lips. “Alright. My troops will welcome the support, and those who cannot fight will do what they can to help out. I will do this for you, Senka, but promise me something," he agreed, however; his eyes turned a bit hard as he stared at her. She stiffened slightly beneath the gaze. “Promise me that you will not keep me in the dark, any longer. You used to write to me about everything," his eyes shifted to Cyril, then. “You even wrote to me about how you'd asked that one to marry you in a few years when you reclaimed Duscur. I hope that still stands, now that you have," he stated, the briefest smiles crossing his lips.
For a moment, Senka blinked before she swallowed thickly. There was a faint color appearing on her face as she dropped her gaze from Rodrigue's who merely chuckled. Even Mercer managed to crack a small smile, then.
“I... um," she seemed at a lost for words, before she shook her head. “Thank you, uncle," she stated, intent on not speaking on the previous subject.
She had written—?
Cyril supposed he should not be so surprised. They'd been rather certain of their plans, back then. But so much was up in the air right now, and though the hesitation stung a little, he understood it. They barely knew where they'd be in a week, never mind a month or however long it would take to end this war. And besides, even if the hurts he had done her were forgiven, he doubted they would be so easy to forget. He hoped that someday they would no longer hurt, that she would be able to trust him not to hurt her again, but he was resolved to give things as much time as they needed. And not to hurry just because five years had felt like so much less to him.
“We'll... keep you apprised," he said softly, answering Rodrigue's query hopefully directly enough that he wouldn't press it.
“Before we go though... I think there is one more thing we should attend to. As we are now officially a multinational army, we need a leader. Not because any of the faction leaders cannot manage it, but because the role should be filled. We need to be one whole when we march, not disparate parts." He paused, glancing over the others. “Truthfully, I feel anyone in this room would be qualified to do that, and I'm not only saying that because I taught all but one of you how."
Reynard and Devon chuckled softly; even Vridel cracked a smile.
“But if the rest of you are agreeable, I think it makes most sense for that person to be Mercer. He's been at the front of this fight since it began, and none of us would be sitting here today if not for his efforts."
“Agreed," Vridel said immediately.
Mercer's eyes widened at the suggestion. “Wait, why me?" he stated, seemingly skeptical about the suggestion.
“I think Professor has a point, Mercer," Thea spoke this time, her eyes softening as she smiled at him. “You've been doing this since the beginning. Lyanna and I have only managed the monastery, keeping the bandits at bay, while Vridel was in Brigid. Senka was in Duscur trying to get her homeland, back, but you've been fighting the Imperial army this entire time. They are wary of you, and your strategies, Merc."
“I am in agreement as well. Mercer you're a brilliant strategist and leader, even before this. You'll lead us well. I truly believe this," Senka added, her expression softening in his direction. Mercer looked taken aback before a small smile tugged at his lips. He shook his head and huffed lightly.
“As long as Teach agrees to be my advisor, then I'll take it." His eyes were on Cyril, then.
Cyril snorted softly. “I can do that much, I think."
It wouldn't be so different from being a professor, he supposed.
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.
Galatea - Daybreak - Cold
Devon Margrave
Devon didn't hesitate to press the snow to his face. Chill as it was, it soothed the strain of his eyes, made him feel more awake. They'd been feeling Cornelia's soldiers for two days, but the bastards just weren't giving up. They were less mobile and swift than Mercer's group, but it almost seemed like they didn't need sleep, or at least not as much rest as his friends did, and so it had been hard to shake them. Those that could slept in their saddles or the supply wagon, but the mounts needed to rest sometimes, too. Though they didn't stop for more than four hours at a time, they stopped.
In this particular case, there's been extra burden on him and Reynard, too, the quietest ones who could carefully stalk the foothills for reconnaissance and the possibility of food. The latter had been lean, though. No doubt two relatively large forces passing through the hills had done a lot to chase away the wild animals, and damn if his stomach wasn't reminding him of it.
Wiping away the melty remnants of his pick-me-up, Devon ate another handful for the hydration. Time to get back to the group. It was Rey's turn to watch the rear.
He nodded to the other man in passing, but the watch change was wordless. Everyone was edgy now, trying to conserve the warmth, energy, and sanity they could. They'd lost a lot of soldiers in that battle, and... well, a lot of what had happened was unsettling.
Like Professor Cyril and Senka before her, Princess Sorcha was alive. Very much unlike them, she barely seemed to recognize anyone. After their initial breakaway from the battle, she'd taken a pegasus without a rider any longer and mostly stuck to herself, shying away from anyone who approached with cold, pained eyes. Yesterday, she'd relented enough to allow the Professor to ride beside her, but she was wary as a caged lioness around anyone else, even Mercer and Senka. Perhaps especially Mercer.
Devon couldn't imagine how that felt, but it had to be painful. Maybe almost as painful as hearing of her death. If it had been him, he'd have been beyond happy that Syl was at least alive, but...
Well he'd be heartbroken.
Sighing quietly to himself, he jogged up next to Mercer's horse, gratefully swinging astride a spare mount next to him in the column. "Hey Merc. They're still a couple miles back. Haven't stopped for today yet though; could be we'll get a reprieve while Rey's on watch." They tried to time their rests to the enemy's, so that the gap didn't close too much, but unless something changed, they'd be caught before they reached the Alliance border, so it was hardly the most reassuring news.
Mercer glanced at him through weary eyes. The usual vibrant green of his eyes was duller, almost as if all of the life had been drained from them and all that remained were just empty, hollow eyes. “Good. Everyone needs a rest; I'm not sure how much longer they can go on like this. They're trained for battle conditions and how to weather them, but they're not fighting against normal soldiers, it seems," he spoke, his voice a little hoarse, though the reason was unknown.
“You should get some rest, too, Dev. I'm sure your wife will be more than happy to have you riding beside her," he stated, cracking a small smile as he did. It was easy to see how strained it was, though, and it didn't even quite reach his face the same way. He was hurting, but for the sake of the morale, it seemed that he was trying his best not to let it show.
“And here, you both can have this," he stated, pulling an apple and a piece of dried meat, it looked like, from one the saddle bags to his side. “I've been saving it just in case, but the both of you need it more than I do. I've got a litle more to share with the others, too, but it's not much to fill the stomaches. Just enough to ease the pain." He handed it towards Devon.
Devon grimaced. Even at his most naive, he'd been wise to this trick. It was something he'd done himself a thousand times: giving what wasn't even enough for him to his brother and sister, acting like it wasn't a big deal, or he'd eaten earlier, or whatever other dumb thing. So long as they took it. It was by the same token, though, that he knew refusing the gesture was futile, and likely to only make Mercer feel worse.
So he accepted them, but not without a pointed look at his friend. "You need to keep up your strength, too, Mercer," he said quietly. "She's going to need you. Even I know that much."
He didn't know what had happened to Sorcha exactly, but it was obvious to him that she would never willingly abandon her memories of her friends, especially Mercer. Which meant that was something that had been done to her. And if someone had done that, it was an easy jump to supposing that they'd done other things. He didn't know if it was like what had happened to Syl, or something completely different, but it didn't matter. Even the sheer violation of having her very mind tampered with... he couldn't imagine what might lay behind that, but it was itself more than enough to make even him shake with rage thinking about it.
Given this, he was impressed Mercer was holding it together even to this extent.
“I know, Dev," he spoke quietly, almost too quietly that Devon wouldn't have heard him above the sounds of the horses if he weren't riding close by. “I'm doing what I can because she needs me. But... I can't be selfish at a time like this, either. I have other people who are relying on me to lead them. To keep them alive and to ensure that this war comes to an end," he began, taking in a soft breath.
“My strength is stretched thin, but... now that I know she's alive," he paused, glancing behind him as if he'd see her, before turning his attention back towards Devon, “she is my strength. I can keep going for her until she remembers who I am. What I meant to her, and what she still means to me. We'll get through this, Dev. So don't worry too much about me, alright?"
Devon managed a thin smile. "I'm a worrier, Merc, you know this." His expression softened in sympathy, though, and he reached over to touch his friend's shoulder. "Don't be afraid to rely on us too, if there's anything we can do. You're the leader, to be sure, but we're all still a team. Thanks for the food."
With a little nod, he dropped back in the column of riders. Mercer needed rest like all of them did, and Devon didn't want to be draining on him. So he rode next to the person who gave him strength, and who he tried to give the same to. "Hey Syl. It's not much, but what d'ya say to breakfast? Not exactly romantic candlelight I know, but this bread isn't even stale yet I don't think, so that's something?" He broke the loaf in half, offering the larger of the two chunks in her direction.
She huffed lightly at him and offered him a tired smile. “It's always romantic eating with you," she replied, tilting her head softly as she nodded in his direction. “You always leave bits of crumbs around the corners of your lips," she stated, tapping the corner of hers as if to prove a point, though there was nothing on his face.
“And you're quite right. It is something," she added, her smile warming somewhat. “I..." she paused in her sentence as something in the distance caught her attention. At first she paled, as if she'd seen something that she didn't want to, but the color returned to her face. “Is that... it couldn't be. Why would they be doing this?" she stated, glancing towards the horizon. Up ahead, Devon could see a line of pegasi riders, all carrying a banner of sorts.
From the looks of it, the colors looked vaguely similar to the ones Sylvi used to wear in the academy. Colors that marked her House.
Galatea.
There was also a decent amount of foot soldiers waiting at where Fraldarius bordered the Galatea lands, too. “Devon, don't... leave my side, alright? They don't know about us, but please... don't say anything to them, yet. I... need to protect you from them, first, and find out what they're doing. They don't send out the pegasi riders unless it's for certain situations." There was an urgency in her voice when she looked at him.
Stowing his food in his saddlebag immediately, Devon leaned to the side enough to place his hand gently on the far side of her face, tilting her head towards him so he could meet her eyes with his own. The lovely dove-grey of them was clouded with worry, and it tugged the corners of his mouth down to see it. "Syl. It's going to be okay. This could be a good thing—they might help chase the enemy off us. I'll follow your lead, but don't forget for a second that I'm here to protect you, too, okay? The moment there's anything I can do, you just let me know, all right?"
He thought to risk leaning just a little further for a kiss, but there was a chance the riders would be able to spot something that obvious. Devon wouldn't care for a moment—honestly he kind of wanted to shout from the rooftops that he was married to this incredible woman, even at a time like this. But she knew the situation better than he did, and he trusted her to know what to do. So he let his hand fall away from her face instead. "Should we head up to where Mercer is, or...?"
She nodded her head, and spurred her horse towards where Mercer was. “I need to let him know to be on guard. I don't... trust my father. He's always planning something for the betterment of Galatea. He's putting on a show for us," she grimaced lightly until they were near Mercer. He glanced towards the both of them and nodded his head.
“I know, Syl," he stated before she could even speak. “We'll see what he has to say, but we won't stay for too long. If our pursuers see this display, they might think we're being reinforced. We're going to use this opportunity to our advantage while we can, though," he continued. Sylvi swallowed thickly, but nodded her head.
“Devon, you will act as her guard so that way you can both stay together without giving your identities away. Syl, you're going to have to remove your ring if you don't want your father finding out about your marriage to Dev," he stated, grimacing slightly. Sylvi grimaced too, and for a moment, hesitated on removing the said jewelry.
“Alright," she stated, pulling the ring from her finger as she glanced towards Devon. “Keep it safe for me?" she asked, holding it out towards him.
He felt a painful twinge in his heart. The ring wasn't much—just a plain silver thing with some snowflakes etched into it—but it had been his mother's, and he'd been ecstatic to be able to give it to Sylvi.
Still, he wasn't about to let sentiment put her at any kind of risk, so he nodded, accepting the ring back and slipping it onto his smallest finger, right next to where his own still resided. "Promise," he said softly.
After that had been settled, one of the pegasus riders approached, pulling them to a halt. “We have been told that you have Lady Galatea within your ranks. Is this true?" the woman stated, eyes narrowing slightly in Mercer's direction before they shifted to the rest of the army. Sylvi took in a sharp breath, and seemed to steel herself.
“Yes, it's true. I'm here," she stated, pulling forward so the woman could see her. “I'm Sylvi Ma... Galatea," she added. The woman on the pegasus, bowed in her direction, and glanced towards Mercer.
“We're here on Lord Galatea's orders to escort you to his home so that you may find some rest. And so that he may see his daughter that he believed to be deceased," she spoke. Sylvi flinched slightly as she glanced towards Mercer. His expression was relatively passive, and if he felt anything at all, it was hard to tell.
“You have our thanks," was the only response he gave the woman.
Devon played his part as well as he could. Time had given him height enough to loom a little, and work had put enough muscle on his frame that he could pass for someone's bodyguard, to be sure. He did his best to channel Reynard's mannerisms, drawing on that hardness time had put in them all and keeping his expression carefully neutral. He knew that here especially, so close to Gautier and the Sreng border, there would be no mistaking him for Almyran or even from Duscur—those were mistakes that no one this far north made. His features were Srengese to the last; he knew he'd grown to very much resemble his father.
He'd almost forgotten what it felt like, for that to matter.
The woman eyed Devon for a moment before she spurred her pegasus away from the group, as if she knew they would be following behind her. Mercer merely kept his gaze forward, but occasionally glanced towards Devon and Sylvi. “Are you both going to be alright for this?" he asked, arching a brow as Sylvi sighed.
“No, Mercer. You don't know my father. I'm sure he's only happy that I'm alive because he thinks it's his chance to use me as a bargaining chip. The only thing is, I don't know what he's actually planning. I used to receive letters from him all the time asking when I was going to go home, and when I'd accept a proposal from one of the other Lords with a Crest."
Devon flinched; he knew Sylvi loved him no matter what, but some part of him still longed to be able to offer her those things. To be the kind of person her family could approve of, so that there'd never be any need for her to choose at all.
“Hey, it'll be alright, Syl. You have us, this time. And we're not going to let him try anything that you're uncomfortable with, alright? You've grown a lot, Sylvi. You're brave, strong, and remarkable. He'll see that he won't be able to push you around anymore. You're not the same Sylvi Galatea that left so many years ago. You're Sylvi Margrave, and she's a rather remarkable person, wouldn't you say, Dev?" Mercer stated, glancing in Devon's direction. Sylvi, however, pursed her lips together, but managed a small smile.
“I hope you're right, Mercer," she stated softly.
The rest of the ride had gone in relative silence, and it took them at least an hour before they'd finally reached the castle to House Galatea. From what little they'd passed through, though, it was easy to see that Sylvi had been telling the truth about the state of things in Galatea. The land looked barely suitable to sustain any kind of life. It was a wasteland of nothing but snow and ice.
When they'd all been able to dismount their mounts, Sylvi stepped in front next to Mercer, but glanced in Devon's direction. An older man, perhaps in his late fifties, appeared. Rather robust and wide in girth, his hair had nearly greyed from the same flame orange that Sylvi's was. It wasn't hard to discern him as her father. He even had the same grey eyes as she did.
Devon positioned himself carefully just behind her shoulder. This part at least wasn't hard; he was sort of used to walking that way around certain people. An instinct from his time with Lonato, that even the Academy hadn't managed to shake loose entirely. He could walk side-by-side with nobles, now, but it would probably never be automatic. He left his weapons where they were; he certainly didn't intend to look less imposing than usual right now.
“Father," Sylvi spoke, forcing a smile on her face as the man approached. There was a smile on his face, large and almost convincingly true, however; it didn't quite reach his eyes. There was something else in them, something like relief, though it was hard to tell what kind of relief. Relief that his daughter was alive, or relief that he now had his bargaining chip, back.
He placed his hands on her shoulders, causing her to flinch lightly, however; her jaw seemed to lock and she tensed.
“Sylvi, my daughter! I'm so glad you're alive! I was told that you'd been taken by those up in Sreng and killed!" he stated, his eyes narrowing slightly in Devon's direction.
Devon only regarded him impassively. Jabs of that sort were nothing unusual to him; their sting had faded years ago.
Sylvi shook her head. “No... no they didn't, father. The people in Sreng are good people, and you shouldn't," she looked like she had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything further. “My friends all need to rest, father. It's best if we go inside and discuss what happened," she stated, trying to get the uncomfortable atmosphere to disperse, it seemed.
“Oh, yes, how rude of me. Please, come rest your weary selves in my humble home," he stated, ushering almost everyone towards his house.
At least it seemed their escort had chased away their pursuers. Or Devon had to assume that was what Reynard's reappearance meant. They exchanged a subtle nod, and the group followed the Count into his home. Devon used his positioning to reach forward, brushing a hand over the small of Sylvi's back in what he hoped was at least a slightly-comforting gesture, though he did not let the touch linger long enough for her father to notice. She knew what she was doing, and he wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize it.
The Count lead them into a room, perhaps the dining area, and let everyone take a seat. Mercer took a seat near the front of the table with Sylvi. She gave him a glance, one that was equal parts worried, and one that seemed to be trying to steel herself for whatever her father was going to say, here.
“Please, come and eat. You all look famished," her father spoke, motioning for the servants to bring plates to the table. “It's the least I can do as a thank you for saving my beloved daughter," he stated, grinning as Sylvi furrowed her brows. Mercer spoke, first, shaking his head.
“She saved herself, Lord Galatea. She is a remarkable young woman. You should be honored to have her as a daughter and heir," Mercer spoke, though his voice was as neutral as it had ever been. Galatea merely pursed his lips together as he nodded his head, as if he didn't quite believe what Mercer had said, but wasn't going to argue the point.
“My thanks is still what you all will get. Please, use my home to rest for the next few days. I'm sure you could all use it, and now that Sylvi is back, there is much we must discuss," he stated, his eyes glancing in her direction. Sylvi's expression hardened a bit, but she nodded her head.
“You have our thanks, Lord Galatea."
Devon knew it would look too strange for him to sit close to Sylvi, so he trusted the others nearby to do what they could for her and sat near the end. Oddly, Sorcha was there, too; it was pretty clear that she hadn't been recognized for who she was, else there'd have been at least an equal to-do about the Princess being alive after all.
But then, she didn't really look like herself. Her features did, up close, but she never seemed to go anywhere out of armor, her eyes had a completely different look to them, and her hair—Devon had sort of figured she was one of those girls who'd always keep her hair long, but it barely brushed her shoulders now. On their own each individual thing wasn't much, but taken together they were kind of... enough. Enough to make her seem like a different person almost, even to someone like him, who figured he'd known her pretty well. Rey and Cyril and Sen sat with them, leaving the others to fill the middle stretch of the table.
He did his best not to make it obvious that he was straining to hear the conversation at the front, and worrying.
In this particular case, there's been extra burden on him and Reynard, too, the quietest ones who could carefully stalk the foothills for reconnaissance and the possibility of food. The latter had been lean, though. No doubt two relatively large forces passing through the hills had done a lot to chase away the wild animals, and damn if his stomach wasn't reminding him of it.
Wiping away the melty remnants of his pick-me-up, Devon ate another handful for the hydration. Time to get back to the group. It was Rey's turn to watch the rear.
He nodded to the other man in passing, but the watch change was wordless. Everyone was edgy now, trying to conserve the warmth, energy, and sanity they could. They'd lost a lot of soldiers in that battle, and... well, a lot of what had happened was unsettling.
Like Professor Cyril and Senka before her, Princess Sorcha was alive. Very much unlike them, she barely seemed to recognize anyone. After their initial breakaway from the battle, she'd taken a pegasus without a rider any longer and mostly stuck to herself, shying away from anyone who approached with cold, pained eyes. Yesterday, she'd relented enough to allow the Professor to ride beside her, but she was wary as a caged lioness around anyone else, even Mercer and Senka. Perhaps especially Mercer.
Devon couldn't imagine how that felt, but it had to be painful. Maybe almost as painful as hearing of her death. If it had been him, he'd have been beyond happy that Syl was at least alive, but...
Well he'd be heartbroken.
Sighing quietly to himself, he jogged up next to Mercer's horse, gratefully swinging astride a spare mount next to him in the column. "Hey Merc. They're still a couple miles back. Haven't stopped for today yet though; could be we'll get a reprieve while Rey's on watch." They tried to time their rests to the enemy's, so that the gap didn't close too much, but unless something changed, they'd be caught before they reached the Alliance border, so it was hardly the most reassuring news.
Mercer glanced at him through weary eyes. The usual vibrant green of his eyes was duller, almost as if all of the life had been drained from them and all that remained were just empty, hollow eyes. “Good. Everyone needs a rest; I'm not sure how much longer they can go on like this. They're trained for battle conditions and how to weather them, but they're not fighting against normal soldiers, it seems," he spoke, his voice a little hoarse, though the reason was unknown.
“You should get some rest, too, Dev. I'm sure your wife will be more than happy to have you riding beside her," he stated, cracking a small smile as he did. It was easy to see how strained it was, though, and it didn't even quite reach his face the same way. He was hurting, but for the sake of the morale, it seemed that he was trying his best not to let it show.
“And here, you both can have this," he stated, pulling an apple and a piece of dried meat, it looked like, from one the saddle bags to his side. “I've been saving it just in case, but the both of you need it more than I do. I've got a litle more to share with the others, too, but it's not much to fill the stomaches. Just enough to ease the pain." He handed it towards Devon.
Devon grimaced. Even at his most naive, he'd been wise to this trick. It was something he'd done himself a thousand times: giving what wasn't even enough for him to his brother and sister, acting like it wasn't a big deal, or he'd eaten earlier, or whatever other dumb thing. So long as they took it. It was by the same token, though, that he knew refusing the gesture was futile, and likely to only make Mercer feel worse.
So he accepted them, but not without a pointed look at his friend. "You need to keep up your strength, too, Mercer," he said quietly. "She's going to need you. Even I know that much."
He didn't know what had happened to Sorcha exactly, but it was obvious to him that she would never willingly abandon her memories of her friends, especially Mercer. Which meant that was something that had been done to her. And if someone had done that, it was an easy jump to supposing that they'd done other things. He didn't know if it was like what had happened to Syl, or something completely different, but it didn't matter. Even the sheer violation of having her very mind tampered with... he couldn't imagine what might lay behind that, but it was itself more than enough to make even him shake with rage thinking about it.
Given this, he was impressed Mercer was holding it together even to this extent.
“I know, Dev," he spoke quietly, almost too quietly that Devon wouldn't have heard him above the sounds of the horses if he weren't riding close by. “I'm doing what I can because she needs me. But... I can't be selfish at a time like this, either. I have other people who are relying on me to lead them. To keep them alive and to ensure that this war comes to an end," he began, taking in a soft breath.
“My strength is stretched thin, but... now that I know she's alive," he paused, glancing behind him as if he'd see her, before turning his attention back towards Devon, “she is my strength. I can keep going for her until she remembers who I am. What I meant to her, and what she still means to me. We'll get through this, Dev. So don't worry too much about me, alright?"
Devon managed a thin smile. "I'm a worrier, Merc, you know this." His expression softened in sympathy, though, and he reached over to touch his friend's shoulder. "Don't be afraid to rely on us too, if there's anything we can do. You're the leader, to be sure, but we're all still a team. Thanks for the food."
With a little nod, he dropped back in the column of riders. Mercer needed rest like all of them did, and Devon didn't want to be draining on him. So he rode next to the person who gave him strength, and who he tried to give the same to. "Hey Syl. It's not much, but what d'ya say to breakfast? Not exactly romantic candlelight I know, but this bread isn't even stale yet I don't think, so that's something?" He broke the loaf in half, offering the larger of the two chunks in her direction.
She huffed lightly at him and offered him a tired smile. “It's always romantic eating with you," she replied, tilting her head softly as she nodded in his direction. “You always leave bits of crumbs around the corners of your lips," she stated, tapping the corner of hers as if to prove a point, though there was nothing on his face.
“And you're quite right. It is something," she added, her smile warming somewhat. “I..." she paused in her sentence as something in the distance caught her attention. At first she paled, as if she'd seen something that she didn't want to, but the color returned to her face. “Is that... it couldn't be. Why would they be doing this?" she stated, glancing towards the horizon. Up ahead, Devon could see a line of pegasi riders, all carrying a banner of sorts.
From the looks of it, the colors looked vaguely similar to the ones Sylvi used to wear in the academy. Colors that marked her House.
Galatea.
There was also a decent amount of foot soldiers waiting at where Fraldarius bordered the Galatea lands, too. “Devon, don't... leave my side, alright? They don't know about us, but please... don't say anything to them, yet. I... need to protect you from them, first, and find out what they're doing. They don't send out the pegasi riders unless it's for certain situations." There was an urgency in her voice when she looked at him.
Stowing his food in his saddlebag immediately, Devon leaned to the side enough to place his hand gently on the far side of her face, tilting her head towards him so he could meet her eyes with his own. The lovely dove-grey of them was clouded with worry, and it tugged the corners of his mouth down to see it. "Syl. It's going to be okay. This could be a good thing—they might help chase the enemy off us. I'll follow your lead, but don't forget for a second that I'm here to protect you, too, okay? The moment there's anything I can do, you just let me know, all right?"
He thought to risk leaning just a little further for a kiss, but there was a chance the riders would be able to spot something that obvious. Devon wouldn't care for a moment—honestly he kind of wanted to shout from the rooftops that he was married to this incredible woman, even at a time like this. But she knew the situation better than he did, and he trusted her to know what to do. So he let his hand fall away from her face instead. "Should we head up to where Mercer is, or...?"
She nodded her head, and spurred her horse towards where Mercer was. “I need to let him know to be on guard. I don't... trust my father. He's always planning something for the betterment of Galatea. He's putting on a show for us," she grimaced lightly until they were near Mercer. He glanced towards the both of them and nodded his head.
“I know, Syl," he stated before she could even speak. “We'll see what he has to say, but we won't stay for too long. If our pursuers see this display, they might think we're being reinforced. We're going to use this opportunity to our advantage while we can, though," he continued. Sylvi swallowed thickly, but nodded her head.
“Devon, you will act as her guard so that way you can both stay together without giving your identities away. Syl, you're going to have to remove your ring if you don't want your father finding out about your marriage to Dev," he stated, grimacing slightly. Sylvi grimaced too, and for a moment, hesitated on removing the said jewelry.
“Alright," she stated, pulling the ring from her finger as she glanced towards Devon. “Keep it safe for me?" she asked, holding it out towards him.
He felt a painful twinge in his heart. The ring wasn't much—just a plain silver thing with some snowflakes etched into it—but it had been his mother's, and he'd been ecstatic to be able to give it to Sylvi.
Still, he wasn't about to let sentiment put her at any kind of risk, so he nodded, accepting the ring back and slipping it onto his smallest finger, right next to where his own still resided. "Promise," he said softly.
After that had been settled, one of the pegasus riders approached, pulling them to a halt. “We have been told that you have Lady Galatea within your ranks. Is this true?" the woman stated, eyes narrowing slightly in Mercer's direction before they shifted to the rest of the army. Sylvi took in a sharp breath, and seemed to steel herself.
“Yes, it's true. I'm here," she stated, pulling forward so the woman could see her. “I'm Sylvi Ma... Galatea," she added. The woman on the pegasus, bowed in her direction, and glanced towards Mercer.
“We're here on Lord Galatea's orders to escort you to his home so that you may find some rest. And so that he may see his daughter that he believed to be deceased," she spoke. Sylvi flinched slightly as she glanced towards Mercer. His expression was relatively passive, and if he felt anything at all, it was hard to tell.
“You have our thanks," was the only response he gave the woman.
Devon played his part as well as he could. Time had given him height enough to loom a little, and work had put enough muscle on his frame that he could pass for someone's bodyguard, to be sure. He did his best to channel Reynard's mannerisms, drawing on that hardness time had put in them all and keeping his expression carefully neutral. He knew that here especially, so close to Gautier and the Sreng border, there would be no mistaking him for Almyran or even from Duscur—those were mistakes that no one this far north made. His features were Srengese to the last; he knew he'd grown to very much resemble his father.
He'd almost forgotten what it felt like, for that to matter.
The woman eyed Devon for a moment before she spurred her pegasus away from the group, as if she knew they would be following behind her. Mercer merely kept his gaze forward, but occasionally glanced towards Devon and Sylvi. “Are you both going to be alright for this?" he asked, arching a brow as Sylvi sighed.
“No, Mercer. You don't know my father. I'm sure he's only happy that I'm alive because he thinks it's his chance to use me as a bargaining chip. The only thing is, I don't know what he's actually planning. I used to receive letters from him all the time asking when I was going to go home, and when I'd accept a proposal from one of the other Lords with a Crest."
Devon flinched; he knew Sylvi loved him no matter what, but some part of him still longed to be able to offer her those things. To be the kind of person her family could approve of, so that there'd never be any need for her to choose at all.
“Hey, it'll be alright, Syl. You have us, this time. And we're not going to let him try anything that you're uncomfortable with, alright? You've grown a lot, Sylvi. You're brave, strong, and remarkable. He'll see that he won't be able to push you around anymore. You're not the same Sylvi Galatea that left so many years ago. You're Sylvi Margrave, and she's a rather remarkable person, wouldn't you say, Dev?" Mercer stated, glancing in Devon's direction. Sylvi, however, pursed her lips together, but managed a small smile.
“I hope you're right, Mercer," she stated softly.
The rest of the ride had gone in relative silence, and it took them at least an hour before they'd finally reached the castle to House Galatea. From what little they'd passed through, though, it was easy to see that Sylvi had been telling the truth about the state of things in Galatea. The land looked barely suitable to sustain any kind of life. It was a wasteland of nothing but snow and ice.
When they'd all been able to dismount their mounts, Sylvi stepped in front next to Mercer, but glanced in Devon's direction. An older man, perhaps in his late fifties, appeared. Rather robust and wide in girth, his hair had nearly greyed from the same flame orange that Sylvi's was. It wasn't hard to discern him as her father. He even had the same grey eyes as she did.
Devon positioned himself carefully just behind her shoulder. This part at least wasn't hard; he was sort of used to walking that way around certain people. An instinct from his time with Lonato, that even the Academy hadn't managed to shake loose entirely. He could walk side-by-side with nobles, now, but it would probably never be automatic. He left his weapons where they were; he certainly didn't intend to look less imposing than usual right now.
“Father," Sylvi spoke, forcing a smile on her face as the man approached. There was a smile on his face, large and almost convincingly true, however; it didn't quite reach his eyes. There was something else in them, something like relief, though it was hard to tell what kind of relief. Relief that his daughter was alive, or relief that he now had his bargaining chip, back.
He placed his hands on her shoulders, causing her to flinch lightly, however; her jaw seemed to lock and she tensed.
“Sylvi, my daughter! I'm so glad you're alive! I was told that you'd been taken by those up in Sreng and killed!" he stated, his eyes narrowing slightly in Devon's direction.
Devon only regarded him impassively. Jabs of that sort were nothing unusual to him; their sting had faded years ago.
Sylvi shook her head. “No... no they didn't, father. The people in Sreng are good people, and you shouldn't," she looked like she had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything further. “My friends all need to rest, father. It's best if we go inside and discuss what happened," she stated, trying to get the uncomfortable atmosphere to disperse, it seemed.
“Oh, yes, how rude of me. Please, come rest your weary selves in my humble home," he stated, ushering almost everyone towards his house.
At least it seemed their escort had chased away their pursuers. Or Devon had to assume that was what Reynard's reappearance meant. They exchanged a subtle nod, and the group followed the Count into his home. Devon used his positioning to reach forward, brushing a hand over the small of Sylvi's back in what he hoped was at least a slightly-comforting gesture, though he did not let the touch linger long enough for her father to notice. She knew what she was doing, and he wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize it.
The Count lead them into a room, perhaps the dining area, and let everyone take a seat. Mercer took a seat near the front of the table with Sylvi. She gave him a glance, one that was equal parts worried, and one that seemed to be trying to steel herself for whatever her father was going to say, here.
“Please, come and eat. You all look famished," her father spoke, motioning for the servants to bring plates to the table. “It's the least I can do as a thank you for saving my beloved daughter," he stated, grinning as Sylvi furrowed her brows. Mercer spoke, first, shaking his head.
“She saved herself, Lord Galatea. She is a remarkable young woman. You should be honored to have her as a daughter and heir," Mercer spoke, though his voice was as neutral as it had ever been. Galatea merely pursed his lips together as he nodded his head, as if he didn't quite believe what Mercer had said, but wasn't going to argue the point.
“My thanks is still what you all will get. Please, use my home to rest for the next few days. I'm sure you could all use it, and now that Sylvi is back, there is much we must discuss," he stated, his eyes glancing in her direction. Sylvi's expression hardened a bit, but she nodded her head.
“You have our thanks, Lord Galatea."
Devon knew it would look too strange for him to sit close to Sylvi, so he trusted the others nearby to do what they could for her and sat near the end. Oddly, Sorcha was there, too; it was pretty clear that she hadn't been recognized for who she was, else there'd have been at least an equal to-do about the Princess being alive after all.
But then, she didn't really look like herself. Her features did, up close, but she never seemed to go anywhere out of armor, her eyes had a completely different look to them, and her hair—Devon had sort of figured she was one of those girls who'd always keep her hair long, but it barely brushed her shoulders now. On their own each individual thing wasn't much, but taken together they were kind of... enough. Enough to make her seem like a different person almost, even to someone like him, who figured he'd known her pretty well. Rey and Cyril and Sen sat with them, leaving the others to fill the middle stretch of the table.
He did his best not to make it obvious that he was straining to hear the conversation at the front, and worrying.
Galatea - Evening - Cold
Sylvi Margrave
Sylvi was nervous. This was going to require a lot of confidence in herself, the kind she no longer had. This, though... this was important. It was the only way she could get what she wanted. She'd already told the others about her plan, but she hadn't told Devon, yet. She trusted Devon, and she hoped he trusted her to do this. What she planned to do would put him in a rather precarious situation, but it had to be done. This was the only way she could get what she wanted. A life of her choosing, and being able to openly love the person she'd married.
Not even a day later when they'd arrived in his lands, her father had tried to marry her off. The man in particular was supposedly a well-known general, but she didn't know from where. Her father wouldn't tell her, however; she'd come to a ultimatum with him. One that was going to test both her and Devon, though she hoped it wouldn't be too much.
Taking a soft breath, she checked her pocket to ensure that the declaration was still tucked away. Satisfied that it was, she went to find Devon. She needed to speak to him, before the meeting. She wanted everyone to be there, including him. When she found him, he was practicing his bow with some of the other soldiers. She was proud of him, really. He'd come such a long way in the last five years that sometimes it was hard to believe that it was the same Devon she'd fell in love with.
"Hey, Devon?" she called out to him after he'd made his shot. She didn't want to startle him, and she didn't want to interrupt him, either. She smiled at him when she caught his attention. "Could you come with me for a moment? There's... something I'd like to talk to you about," she stated, trying her best to keep up what little confidence she had for this.
He looked a little surprised to see her, but there was no mistaking that the broad smile that broke out over his face was for her. He'd always been pretty transparent about his feelings; hiding them the way he had to now probably challenged him a lot, but so far he hadn't given them away.
Nodding to the small group of soldiers he was practicing with, he slung his heavy sniper's bow over his shoulder and approached her. He ducked a little too close, almost like he'd wanted to kiss her, before remembering himself and correcting his posture. “Sorry," he murmured, smile fading a little, either because of that or perhaps because he'd noticed her nerves; it was hard to say. “What's wrong, Syl?"
She shook her head. "I've come to ask you something," she spoke, glancing up at him as she led him away from prying eyes. She needed to tell him this in private, because if someone found out before, it would ruin everything she had planned so far. When they were far enough, she pulled him to a stop, and took hold of both of his hands.
"Devon," she began, glancing up into his eyes to hold his gaze. "Devon, do you trust me?" she asked. She knew he did, but she had to hear it from him.
“Always. Completely." The answer was immediate, and serious. He'd clearly caught on at least to the gravity of what was going on, if not its particular circumstances. He lowered his head deliberately, then, resting his brow against hers and giving her hands a gentle squeeze. “What do you need, Syl? I'm here however I can help."
She smiled softly, feeling a bit of her confidence returning to her. "I just need this, right now," she stated, sliding her hand towards his left, and pulling her ring from his pinky. When she had it, she slipped it back onto her ring finger, and took in a deep breath, her brow still connected to his.
"I have everyone waiting in father's study. They already know what I plan to do, but I need you there, as well," she stated, pulling back so that she could look at him. "I want you to know that I love you, Devon, and what I'm about to do is going to change your life in ways that... I'm not sure you'll want, but..." she paused, swallowing thickly.
"But I want to share this life with you in every way possible, and this is the way we get to do it. For better or worse, I married you. No one will ever be able to tell me otherwise, again," she whispered softly, pulling her hand from his as she straightened out her posture. No one, not even her father, would be able to tell her what to do. Not with this.
He nodded, catching her chin in his hand and ghosting the softest of kisses over her lips for a brief moment. “Then I'll follow your lead," he said with a genuine smile. “And have your back."
When they were outside her father's study, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. To call on the rest of her confidence because she needed it now. Smiling at Devon, she straightened her posture, and walked inside. Immediately all eyes were on her, but she kept her head held high and made her way towards where her father sat. He was smiling, at her, as if she'd come to the conclusion he hoped she would. He could never have been so wrong.
"As you all know, I've called you here to be witnesses to a new chapter in House Galatea," she spoke, her eyes scanning the room. Mercer nodded his head towards her, as if to encourage her to continue. "Here, I have a proclamation from Count Galatea," she stated, pulling the paper from her pocket and holding it out for everyone to see. She glanced in Devon's direction for a moment before her eyes went back to the table.
"It states that I, Sylvi Galatea will become Countess Galatea when I marry. As you can see," she stated, pointing towards the bottom of the parchment paper, "Count Galatea has added his seal to indicate that I have not tampered with it in anyway." Personal seals like a Lord's were always kept sealed somewhere safe, after all.
Mercer smiled somewhat, as her father looked rather pleased with himself. Sylvi already knew what he was thinking, and she wanted nothing more than to see his face when she made her next statement.
"You all know that I am already married," she spoke, watching as her father nodded before he did a double take. His face drained of color before it began to turn red. She knew he was furious.
"What is the meaning of this?!" he nearly shouted, clearly forgetting that he was in the presence of royalty and noble alike. "To whom?!" he continued, his eyes flickering from Professor, to Mercer, to Vridel, to everyone but Devon. Sylvi smiled, then, and held out her hand towards him.
"To Devon Margrave," she spoke simply. "Now Lord Devon Margrave."
He took it, raising it to his lips and brushing them over her knuckles, all but ignoring her father in that moment. All but ignoring everyone, really, as if she were the only other person in the room. In the world, even. He lowered it as he stepped up beside her. “Well that part's news to me," he remarked softly, referencing his title. “But I can confirm the rest." Only then did he turn towards her father, bowing slightly in the manner one would expect from one noble to another. Whether he'd picked up on that difference from his time with Lonato, or at the Academy, or in the five years since, it was exactly right.
His face made it clear that he expected to be on the receiving end of a tirade here, but the way he squeezed her hand could only mean he was both ready and willing to handle it.
"This is an outrage! There is no proof that you married this man," he shouted, nearly standing from his chair. "A ring on your finger does not make a marriage," he stated, his eyes glancing towards her hand that had her wedding band on it. Thea cleared her throat, then, calling the attention towards her.
"You are aware of Lyanna von Kreuz, right?" she stated, and her father nodded his head. "She is my sister; we were all witnesses to the ceremony that she provided for them. They are, by all accounts, legally married," she stated in a rather calm voice. "If you'd like, I can have my sister confirm it for you."
"And we've already consummated our marriage, father. You can ask any doctor to examine me, and they will tell you it is true," Sylvi added, earning a light snicker from Deirdre.
"This is absurd! I refuse to hand over my lands to... him!" her father nearly spat, pointing a finger in Devon's direction, however; the guard to his left, the woman who'd escorted them into the territory, lifted her sword in Devon's defense.
"That is your decree, is it not?" she spoke, glancing towards the paper still in Sylvi's hand. "You are no longer Count Galatea. You have surrended that title to Lady Sylvi Margrave and Lord Devon Margrave," she continued, glancing in Sylvi's direction. "Shall I handle his insolence, my Lady? My Lord?" she continued. Sylvi had always trusted Cressida. Enough so that she had told her ahead of time what she had planned to do. Sylvi glanced in Devon's direction.
"What do you think, my Lord?"
Devon lifted a hand, giving Cressida a small, gentle smile and shaking his head. “I don't think anything like that's necessary," he said, with the same endemic kindness that had always characterized him and just the faintest trace of embarrassment, like he was unsure all this to-do should really be had on his behalf. None of it, though, seemed to be due to the remark about consummation, either; he quite openly slid a hand around her waist, settling it at her hip and pulling her in close.
“I think the former Count Galatea is quite aware that he has no choice. His daughter's outsmarted him, and married a commoner, and I think perhaps that's punishment enough." He delicately left out the unspoken part of her father's fury—the one that had more to do with the darkness of his features than the roughness of his hands, so to speak.
"Very well, then," Cressida spoke, sheathing her sword back. Sylvi grinned up at Devon, placing the decree back in her pocket, and lifting her free hand to Devon's face.
"Goddess I love you," she spoke, pulling his face down and openly kissed him. It was brief, but she turned towards her father, then, eyes set and firm. "I do not plan to stay here. I made a promise to help out a friend, but I do intend to return. In my absence, Cressida shall be in charge. She will be helping Lord Fradalrius with whatever he needs. She will be his support. You, father," she spoke, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"You are banished from Galatea lands. I don't care where you go, but you will never be welcomed here again," she stated. After everything she had to endure from him, she hoped to never see him again. It was because of him that her family lands suffered so much, and why she suffered so much. He made a face as if he was going to retort somehow, however; Cressida made a motion with her hands, summoning a few more guards.
"You will have time to collect whatever is yours, however; you will leave in two days time. If you do not... Cressida has permission to use force," she continued, narrowing her eyes.
"You will regret this, Sylvi. Mark my words," he stated, before he exited the study, followed by Cressida. All the tension in Sylvi's body seemed to leave her, and she slumped a little.
"I'm sorry for putting you all on the spot like that," she stated, offering everyone a small smile. Thea and Mercer merely shook their heads while Senka and Deirdre offered her a soft smile of understanding. The Princess looked impassive, but certainly not upset. Vridel snorted half a laugh, and even Reynard and Sofia were grinning broadly.
Perhaps fittingly, though, it was the Professor who gave voice to the sentiment they all seemed to share. “Not at all. I for one was rather entertained. Nicely done, both of you."
“Don't look at me," Devon said, scrubbing through his hair with one hand. “That was all Syl. I just stood here and trusted her."
"And... I thank you for that," Sylvi spoke, giving Devon's hand a soft squeeze. "We'll have some work to do when we get back, but," she paused, glancing back towards the group, "I believe we have a prior engagement to attend to. House Margrave will offer whatever assistance and resources it can to our aid. Everything else will be left to Cressida and House Fraldarius, in the meantime."
"If that's the case," Mercer spoke, smiling softly at Devon and Sylvi, "With Cornelia off our tail, for now, we'll stay a couple of days longer to ensure the troops and everyone else is sufficiently rested. After that, we continue our march for the Alliance." Something of a smirk crossed his features, then, something Sylvi hadn't seen in quite awhile. He leaned his cheek on his hand, and arched a brow at them.
"So... Lord Devon Margrave, huh? I guess we were mostly right about the Lord part, but not the Margrave-Galatea. Perhaps the two of you would like to continue to consummate your marriage now that you can, freely," he stated. Sylvi cleared her throat, and felt her cheeks burning a bit, while a few of her friends at the table either snickered or snorted.
Devon only grinned, though, a bright white smile that contrasted sharply with his complexion. “Get with the program, Mercer. That part's already taken care of." He shifted his eyes down to her then, though, tilting his head to the side like he was contemplating. “Though come to think of it, maybe we ought to make sure." He ducked to capture her lips just briefly, and then gave her hand a little tug, nodding towards the door.
“What do you think, Syl? Want to ditch these jerks for a bit?"
"Oh, definitely. See you guys," she stated, pulling Devon towards the door. This was it, the start of her new life.
And she was finally free to share it with him.
Not even a day later when they'd arrived in his lands, her father had tried to marry her off. The man in particular was supposedly a well-known general, but she didn't know from where. Her father wouldn't tell her, however; she'd come to a ultimatum with him. One that was going to test both her and Devon, though she hoped it wouldn't be too much.
Taking a soft breath, she checked her pocket to ensure that the declaration was still tucked away. Satisfied that it was, she went to find Devon. She needed to speak to him, before the meeting. She wanted everyone to be there, including him. When she found him, he was practicing his bow with some of the other soldiers. She was proud of him, really. He'd come such a long way in the last five years that sometimes it was hard to believe that it was the same Devon she'd fell in love with.
"Hey, Devon?" she called out to him after he'd made his shot. She didn't want to startle him, and she didn't want to interrupt him, either. She smiled at him when she caught his attention. "Could you come with me for a moment? There's... something I'd like to talk to you about," she stated, trying her best to keep up what little confidence she had for this.
He looked a little surprised to see her, but there was no mistaking that the broad smile that broke out over his face was for her. He'd always been pretty transparent about his feelings; hiding them the way he had to now probably challenged him a lot, but so far he hadn't given them away.
Nodding to the small group of soldiers he was practicing with, he slung his heavy sniper's bow over his shoulder and approached her. He ducked a little too close, almost like he'd wanted to kiss her, before remembering himself and correcting his posture. “Sorry," he murmured, smile fading a little, either because of that or perhaps because he'd noticed her nerves; it was hard to say. “What's wrong, Syl?"
She shook her head. "I've come to ask you something," she spoke, glancing up at him as she led him away from prying eyes. She needed to tell him this in private, because if someone found out before, it would ruin everything she had planned so far. When they were far enough, she pulled him to a stop, and took hold of both of his hands.
"Devon," she began, glancing up into his eyes to hold his gaze. "Devon, do you trust me?" she asked. She knew he did, but she had to hear it from him.
“Always. Completely." The answer was immediate, and serious. He'd clearly caught on at least to the gravity of what was going on, if not its particular circumstances. He lowered his head deliberately, then, resting his brow against hers and giving her hands a gentle squeeze. “What do you need, Syl? I'm here however I can help."
She smiled softly, feeling a bit of her confidence returning to her. "I just need this, right now," she stated, sliding her hand towards his left, and pulling her ring from his pinky. When she had it, she slipped it back onto her ring finger, and took in a deep breath, her brow still connected to his.
"I have everyone waiting in father's study. They already know what I plan to do, but I need you there, as well," she stated, pulling back so that she could look at him. "I want you to know that I love you, Devon, and what I'm about to do is going to change your life in ways that... I'm not sure you'll want, but..." she paused, swallowing thickly.
"But I want to share this life with you in every way possible, and this is the way we get to do it. For better or worse, I married you. No one will ever be able to tell me otherwise, again," she whispered softly, pulling her hand from his as she straightened out her posture. No one, not even her father, would be able to tell her what to do. Not with this.
He nodded, catching her chin in his hand and ghosting the softest of kisses over her lips for a brief moment. “Then I'll follow your lead," he said with a genuine smile. “And have your back."
When they were outside her father's study, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. To call on the rest of her confidence because she needed it now. Smiling at Devon, she straightened her posture, and walked inside. Immediately all eyes were on her, but she kept her head held high and made her way towards where her father sat. He was smiling, at her, as if she'd come to the conclusion he hoped she would. He could never have been so wrong.
"As you all know, I've called you here to be witnesses to a new chapter in House Galatea," she spoke, her eyes scanning the room. Mercer nodded his head towards her, as if to encourage her to continue. "Here, I have a proclamation from Count Galatea," she stated, pulling the paper from her pocket and holding it out for everyone to see. She glanced in Devon's direction for a moment before her eyes went back to the table.
"It states that I, Sylvi Galatea will become Countess Galatea when I marry. As you can see," she stated, pointing towards the bottom of the parchment paper, "Count Galatea has added his seal to indicate that I have not tampered with it in anyway." Personal seals like a Lord's were always kept sealed somewhere safe, after all.
Mercer smiled somewhat, as her father looked rather pleased with himself. Sylvi already knew what he was thinking, and she wanted nothing more than to see his face when she made her next statement.
"You all know that I am already married," she spoke, watching as her father nodded before he did a double take. His face drained of color before it began to turn red. She knew he was furious.
"What is the meaning of this?!" he nearly shouted, clearly forgetting that he was in the presence of royalty and noble alike. "To whom?!" he continued, his eyes flickering from Professor, to Mercer, to Vridel, to everyone but Devon. Sylvi smiled, then, and held out her hand towards him.
"To Devon Margrave," she spoke simply. "Now Lord Devon Margrave."
He took it, raising it to his lips and brushing them over her knuckles, all but ignoring her father in that moment. All but ignoring everyone, really, as if she were the only other person in the room. In the world, even. He lowered it as he stepped up beside her. “Well that part's news to me," he remarked softly, referencing his title. “But I can confirm the rest." Only then did he turn towards her father, bowing slightly in the manner one would expect from one noble to another. Whether he'd picked up on that difference from his time with Lonato, or at the Academy, or in the five years since, it was exactly right.
His face made it clear that he expected to be on the receiving end of a tirade here, but the way he squeezed her hand could only mean he was both ready and willing to handle it.
"This is an outrage! There is no proof that you married this man," he shouted, nearly standing from his chair. "A ring on your finger does not make a marriage," he stated, his eyes glancing towards her hand that had her wedding band on it. Thea cleared her throat, then, calling the attention towards her.
"You are aware of Lyanna von Kreuz, right?" she stated, and her father nodded his head. "She is my sister; we were all witnesses to the ceremony that she provided for them. They are, by all accounts, legally married," she stated in a rather calm voice. "If you'd like, I can have my sister confirm it for you."
"And we've already consummated our marriage, father. You can ask any doctor to examine me, and they will tell you it is true," Sylvi added, earning a light snicker from Deirdre.
"This is absurd! I refuse to hand over my lands to... him!" her father nearly spat, pointing a finger in Devon's direction, however; the guard to his left, the woman who'd escorted them into the territory, lifted her sword in Devon's defense.
"That is your decree, is it not?" she spoke, glancing towards the paper still in Sylvi's hand. "You are no longer Count Galatea. You have surrended that title to Lady Sylvi Margrave and Lord Devon Margrave," she continued, glancing in Sylvi's direction. "Shall I handle his insolence, my Lady? My Lord?" she continued. Sylvi had always trusted Cressida. Enough so that she had told her ahead of time what she had planned to do. Sylvi glanced in Devon's direction.
"What do you think, my Lord?"
Devon lifted a hand, giving Cressida a small, gentle smile and shaking his head. “I don't think anything like that's necessary," he said, with the same endemic kindness that had always characterized him and just the faintest trace of embarrassment, like he was unsure all this to-do should really be had on his behalf. None of it, though, seemed to be due to the remark about consummation, either; he quite openly slid a hand around her waist, settling it at her hip and pulling her in close.
“I think the former Count Galatea is quite aware that he has no choice. His daughter's outsmarted him, and married a commoner, and I think perhaps that's punishment enough." He delicately left out the unspoken part of her father's fury—the one that had more to do with the darkness of his features than the roughness of his hands, so to speak.
"Very well, then," Cressida spoke, sheathing her sword back. Sylvi grinned up at Devon, placing the decree back in her pocket, and lifting her free hand to Devon's face.
"Goddess I love you," she spoke, pulling his face down and openly kissed him. It was brief, but she turned towards her father, then, eyes set and firm. "I do not plan to stay here. I made a promise to help out a friend, but I do intend to return. In my absence, Cressida shall be in charge. She will be helping Lord Fradalrius with whatever he needs. She will be his support. You, father," she spoke, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"You are banished from Galatea lands. I don't care where you go, but you will never be welcomed here again," she stated. After everything she had to endure from him, she hoped to never see him again. It was because of him that her family lands suffered so much, and why she suffered so much. He made a face as if he was going to retort somehow, however; Cressida made a motion with her hands, summoning a few more guards.
"You will have time to collect whatever is yours, however; you will leave in two days time. If you do not... Cressida has permission to use force," she continued, narrowing her eyes.
"You will regret this, Sylvi. Mark my words," he stated, before he exited the study, followed by Cressida. All the tension in Sylvi's body seemed to leave her, and she slumped a little.
"I'm sorry for putting you all on the spot like that," she stated, offering everyone a small smile. Thea and Mercer merely shook their heads while Senka and Deirdre offered her a soft smile of understanding. The Princess looked impassive, but certainly not upset. Vridel snorted half a laugh, and even Reynard and Sofia were grinning broadly.
Perhaps fittingly, though, it was the Professor who gave voice to the sentiment they all seemed to share. “Not at all. I for one was rather entertained. Nicely done, both of you."
“Don't look at me," Devon said, scrubbing through his hair with one hand. “That was all Syl. I just stood here and trusted her."
"And... I thank you for that," Sylvi spoke, giving Devon's hand a soft squeeze. "We'll have some work to do when we get back, but," she paused, glancing back towards the group, "I believe we have a prior engagement to attend to. House Margrave will offer whatever assistance and resources it can to our aid. Everything else will be left to Cressida and House Fraldarius, in the meantime."
"If that's the case," Mercer spoke, smiling softly at Devon and Sylvi, "With Cornelia off our tail, for now, we'll stay a couple of days longer to ensure the troops and everyone else is sufficiently rested. After that, we continue our march for the Alliance." Something of a smirk crossed his features, then, something Sylvi hadn't seen in quite awhile. He leaned his cheek on his hand, and arched a brow at them.
"So... Lord Devon Margrave, huh? I guess we were mostly right about the Lord part, but not the Margrave-Galatea. Perhaps the two of you would like to continue to consummate your marriage now that you can, freely," he stated. Sylvi cleared her throat, and felt her cheeks burning a bit, while a few of her friends at the table either snickered or snorted.
Devon only grinned, though, a bright white smile that contrasted sharply with his complexion. “Get with the program, Mercer. That part's already taken care of." He shifted his eyes down to her then, though, tilting his head to the side like he was contemplating. “Though come to think of it, maybe we ought to make sure." He ducked to capture her lips just briefly, and then gave her hand a little tug, nodding towards the door.
“What do you think, Syl? Want to ditch these jerks for a bit?"
"Oh, definitely. See you guys," she stated, pulling Devon towards the door. This was it, the start of her new life.
And she was finally free to share it with him.
Galatea - Evening - Cold
Vridel von Hresvelg
Admittedly, it took a few minutes after Devon and Sylvi's departure for things to settle properly. The mood was understandably higher than it had been in a while, and he for one could certainly understand not wanting to ruin it. But bold as Sylvi's move had been, and as ultimately beneficial as he was sure it would turn out for them, it did still mean adjusting things a little.
There was also the matter of Sorcha, who even now sat as far away from the others as possible, and did not share in the merriment. Could not, he thought, given how little she seemed to remember about anything. The trouble was, they had no idea what had been done to her, and even he was hesitant to probe too deeply into her condition, facile with white magic as he was.
Still, settle things eventually did, and by unspoken agreement, the group transitioned into making plans. “Any idea who Galatea was planning to marry her to in the first place?" he asked, suspecting he would not like the answer.
"He wouldn't say, apparently," Reynard replied. "Which leads me to believe it was an Imperial, or one of Cornelia's."
“Servants know anything?" Cyril asked, rather sensibly in Vridel's estimation.
Reynard made a quiet sound. "One maid heard the Count mention a Bergliez at some point," he said.
Understanding abruptly washed over Vridel, ad he sighed. “That'd be Randolph, I think. He might've been Count Bergliez, but the previous Count died too soon for the change of heir situation to go through. He's a talented soldier, I hear, and just the kind of person to follow his country regardless of who leads it. If he's involved, it was almost certainly a betrayal in the making. Sylvi saved us more trouble than she knows."
Mercer groaned lightly, though, and pulled a hand down his face. “That means that the cessation on the pursuit was in part due to the fact that they were waiting on Galatea to make it official. If he managed to get Sylvi to agree to marry this Randolph person, then it was likely that Galatea would have joined with Cornelia to wipe out the remaining forces that stand in her way," he spoke, sighing heavily.
“She is aligned with the Empire as far as we all know," he added.
“If that is true, once news reaches her that the marriage did not go through, she'll continue to pursue us," Senka spoke that time, her eyes shifting towards Sorcha. Her eyes softened, but Vridel could see a flash of pain in them before it disappeared.
“We just need to make it back to Derdriu and we'll be mostly okay. We have a small army, now, but once we manage to merge it with the group back in the Alliance, we should have enough numbers and support to start taking things back, slowly. What we do know, so far, is that Cornelia has been experimenting with various things. Those demonic beasts we fought in Duscur and then the golem that attacked us are all evidence that she's trying to create stronger creatures. Unstoppable creatures."
Vridel expelled a heavy breath through his nose. They were right on all counts, but also...
He turned to Thea. “I think we need to get Lyanna and the others a message," he said. “Something tells me Cornelia's been content to ignore Garreg Mach so far, but I doubt someone that intelligent is unaware that it's occupied. At this point, her first plan has failed. We have no idea what her backup ideas are, but considering what we already know she's willing to do..." he shot Sorcha a glance. “We shouldn't risk leaving them undefended anymore."
“That is wise," Sorcha said in a soft monotone. “Cornelia is not merciful. She will—she will destroy everything you love." She dropped her eyes to her hands, and lapsed into silence.
“Garreg Mach isn't too far from here. We'll make a detour there and warn her. It'll probably be best to abandon Garreg Mach for the time being, though," Mercer stated, his brows furrowing deeply. Amalthea shook her head, though.
“Mercer, we couldn't do that. There are too many people there and it would only slow us down if we tried to evacuate that many to Derdriu. The best thing to do in this situation is at least warn Lyanna that Cornelia might attack," Thea spoke, pursing her lips together. “If she's prepared ahead of time, she can use the improvements we've made over the years as a means to defend herself. If she decides the best course of action would be to evacuate and abandon Garreg Mach, then we'll do that, but it has to be done in a delicate manner."
Mercer nodded his head before turning his attention towards Sorcha. “She hasn't destroyed us, Sorcha. We're still here," he shook his head and pulled in a soft breath, then. “We should send the scouts out ahead of us, if that's the case. We need to be prepared for anything that might already be ahead of us. Rey... you're one of our best scouts, take someone with you whom you trust, and head out tomorrow."
“Do you think that's wise, Mercer?" Senka spoke, her eyes shifting towards Reynard. “I do not doubt Reynard's abilities, but we've already lost a great deal of our scouts. We shouldn't risk their lives, unnecessarily," she continued.
"Seems pretty necessary to me," Rey replied simply, nodding to Mercer. "Aerial scouts can see further, I'll give them that, but they're also a lot easier to spot than yours truly. I'll be fine." He smiled, a bit of an edge to the expression that Vridel recognized.
He'd always liked a fight about as much as anyone did, but Reynard was a different beast altogether. He thrived on that kind of risk, actively sought out danger. Probably why he'd chosen such a dangerous subset of specializations, even among those who fought and killed professionally. Vridel couldn't quite profess to understand it, but he respected the fact that Rey so willingly took those risks. Maybe too willingly, sometimes, but that did make situations like this easier—because he had Rey, Mercer didn't have to send someone who'd be reluctant.
“I do think we need to see Lyanna though," he said, setting a hand on Thea's knee. “It might be dangerous for her to leave Garreg Mach right now, but I don't trust anyone else to have the first clue what's going on with some recent developments." It was plain which developments he meant; as far as Vridel was concerned, helping Sorcha had to be among their top priorities right now.
Not only because he cared about her, but also because something about this seemed almost to have been... too easy. Either Cornelia had vastly underestimated Sorcha, and the rest of them, or this was only one step in some larger scheme he could not understand. Either way, he was wary, and wanted as many answers as he could possibly get.
Thea set a hand on top of his, and glanced in his direction. “Out of all of us, Lyanna would be able to provide the most help for that. Her talent with white magic is second to none, and I'm sure that... whatever it is, she can do something about it," Thea stated. Senka merely nodded in Reynard's direction as Mercer did the same.
“It's settled, then. Rey, you'll head out tomorrow morning: before dawn. Everyone else, get the rest you need, and keep up with your training. We'll leave when Rey returns, and we'll make our way towards Garreg Mach. Like Sen said, we should leave as soon as we can. We don't need word of the marriage plans falling through, reaching her before we have a chance to put some distance between us. Chances are, her forces are waiting just outside Margrave territory," Mercer stated.
The others nodded, and the plans were set. So much of what would ultimately determine their success relied on what people beyond their control chose to do; at this point all they could do was keep laying everything they had on the line every time, and hope it was enough for each new obstacle. Vridel was especially conscious of the fact that he was risking a lot less than most, all things considered. He wasn't going to let it make him stupid, but it was always there, in the back of his mind: his loss would be the loss of another year or two, if that much.
Anyone else... decades. It was something he couldn't help but think about.
He couldn't help but grin a little at the region's new name, such as it was. “That's not going to get old anytime soon," he admitted. “Good for them, really."
There was also the matter of Sorcha, who even now sat as far away from the others as possible, and did not share in the merriment. Could not, he thought, given how little she seemed to remember about anything. The trouble was, they had no idea what had been done to her, and even he was hesitant to probe too deeply into her condition, facile with white magic as he was.
Still, settle things eventually did, and by unspoken agreement, the group transitioned into making plans. “Any idea who Galatea was planning to marry her to in the first place?" he asked, suspecting he would not like the answer.
"He wouldn't say, apparently," Reynard replied. "Which leads me to believe it was an Imperial, or one of Cornelia's."
“Servants know anything?" Cyril asked, rather sensibly in Vridel's estimation.
Reynard made a quiet sound. "One maid heard the Count mention a Bergliez at some point," he said.
Understanding abruptly washed over Vridel, ad he sighed. “That'd be Randolph, I think. He might've been Count Bergliez, but the previous Count died too soon for the change of heir situation to go through. He's a talented soldier, I hear, and just the kind of person to follow his country regardless of who leads it. If he's involved, it was almost certainly a betrayal in the making. Sylvi saved us more trouble than she knows."
Mercer groaned lightly, though, and pulled a hand down his face. “That means that the cessation on the pursuit was in part due to the fact that they were waiting on Galatea to make it official. If he managed to get Sylvi to agree to marry this Randolph person, then it was likely that Galatea would have joined with Cornelia to wipe out the remaining forces that stand in her way," he spoke, sighing heavily.
“She is aligned with the Empire as far as we all know," he added.
“If that is true, once news reaches her that the marriage did not go through, she'll continue to pursue us," Senka spoke that time, her eyes shifting towards Sorcha. Her eyes softened, but Vridel could see a flash of pain in them before it disappeared.
“We just need to make it back to Derdriu and we'll be mostly okay. We have a small army, now, but once we manage to merge it with the group back in the Alliance, we should have enough numbers and support to start taking things back, slowly. What we do know, so far, is that Cornelia has been experimenting with various things. Those demonic beasts we fought in Duscur and then the golem that attacked us are all evidence that she's trying to create stronger creatures. Unstoppable creatures."
Vridel expelled a heavy breath through his nose. They were right on all counts, but also...
He turned to Thea. “I think we need to get Lyanna and the others a message," he said. “Something tells me Cornelia's been content to ignore Garreg Mach so far, but I doubt someone that intelligent is unaware that it's occupied. At this point, her first plan has failed. We have no idea what her backup ideas are, but considering what we already know she's willing to do..." he shot Sorcha a glance. “We shouldn't risk leaving them undefended anymore."
“That is wise," Sorcha said in a soft monotone. “Cornelia is not merciful. She will—she will destroy everything you love." She dropped her eyes to her hands, and lapsed into silence.
“Garreg Mach isn't too far from here. We'll make a detour there and warn her. It'll probably be best to abandon Garreg Mach for the time being, though," Mercer stated, his brows furrowing deeply. Amalthea shook her head, though.
“Mercer, we couldn't do that. There are too many people there and it would only slow us down if we tried to evacuate that many to Derdriu. The best thing to do in this situation is at least warn Lyanna that Cornelia might attack," Thea spoke, pursing her lips together. “If she's prepared ahead of time, she can use the improvements we've made over the years as a means to defend herself. If she decides the best course of action would be to evacuate and abandon Garreg Mach, then we'll do that, but it has to be done in a delicate manner."
Mercer nodded his head before turning his attention towards Sorcha. “She hasn't destroyed us, Sorcha. We're still here," he shook his head and pulled in a soft breath, then. “We should send the scouts out ahead of us, if that's the case. We need to be prepared for anything that might already be ahead of us. Rey... you're one of our best scouts, take someone with you whom you trust, and head out tomorrow."
“Do you think that's wise, Mercer?" Senka spoke, her eyes shifting towards Reynard. “I do not doubt Reynard's abilities, but we've already lost a great deal of our scouts. We shouldn't risk their lives, unnecessarily," she continued.
"Seems pretty necessary to me," Rey replied simply, nodding to Mercer. "Aerial scouts can see further, I'll give them that, but they're also a lot easier to spot than yours truly. I'll be fine." He smiled, a bit of an edge to the expression that Vridel recognized.
He'd always liked a fight about as much as anyone did, but Reynard was a different beast altogether. He thrived on that kind of risk, actively sought out danger. Probably why he'd chosen such a dangerous subset of specializations, even among those who fought and killed professionally. Vridel couldn't quite profess to understand it, but he respected the fact that Rey so willingly took those risks. Maybe too willingly, sometimes, but that did make situations like this easier—because he had Rey, Mercer didn't have to send someone who'd be reluctant.
“I do think we need to see Lyanna though," he said, setting a hand on Thea's knee. “It might be dangerous for her to leave Garreg Mach right now, but I don't trust anyone else to have the first clue what's going on with some recent developments." It was plain which developments he meant; as far as Vridel was concerned, helping Sorcha had to be among their top priorities right now.
Not only because he cared about her, but also because something about this seemed almost to have been... too easy. Either Cornelia had vastly underestimated Sorcha, and the rest of them, or this was only one step in some larger scheme he could not understand. Either way, he was wary, and wanted as many answers as he could possibly get.
Thea set a hand on top of his, and glanced in his direction. “Out of all of us, Lyanna would be able to provide the most help for that. Her talent with white magic is second to none, and I'm sure that... whatever it is, she can do something about it," Thea stated. Senka merely nodded in Reynard's direction as Mercer did the same.
“It's settled, then. Rey, you'll head out tomorrow morning: before dawn. Everyone else, get the rest you need, and keep up with your training. We'll leave when Rey returns, and we'll make our way towards Garreg Mach. Like Sen said, we should leave as soon as we can. We don't need word of the marriage plans falling through, reaching her before we have a chance to put some distance between us. Chances are, her forces are waiting just outside Margrave territory," Mercer stated.
The others nodded, and the plans were set. So much of what would ultimately determine their success relied on what people beyond their control chose to do; at this point all they could do was keep laying everything they had on the line every time, and hope it was enough for each new obstacle. Vridel was especially conscious of the fact that he was risking a lot less than most, all things considered. He wasn't going to let it make him stupid, but it was always there, in the back of his mind: his loss would be the loss of another year or two, if that much.
Anyone else... decades. It was something he couldn't help but think about.
He couldn't help but grin a little at the region's new name, such as it was. “That's not going to get old anytime soon," he admitted. “Good for them, really."
Faerghus - Afternoon - Cool
Mercer von Riegan
They were, at most, another three days out from Garreg Mach.
Mercer tugged his coat just a little closer to himself, as he gripped the reins to Liev. Senka had let him borrow her for the remainder of the march simply because if they ran into trouble, he'd be in his element in the air. It wasn't quite the same as when he was riding on Sir's back. He'd had to learn to maneuver to accommodate for the pegasus's wings, and to avoid hitting them by accident. It was a bit more difficult than he'd imagined it to be, and for a brief moment, he wondered how Sen and Sorcha managed it. He glanced in Sorcha's direction, and briefly wondered if she'd even recognize Lady, her own pegasus.
She was in a stable with Sir because they'd been nearly inseparable when she'd shown up. He'd known, then, that something was wrong, but there was nothing he could have done. Some part of him, some desperate optimistic part, believed that Sorcha had been okay. But then Devon and Sylvi had shown up to tell him otherwise, and he'd kept Lady because she was the last line he had to Sorcha. Now that she was alive...
He chanced a glance in her direction. She'd mostly taken to riding next to Teach. Had it been anyone else, he might have been a little jealous, but the practical side of him just hurt. Because he could not provide her the comfort she needed. He wanted her to remember him and to remember that he loves her. It was going to be a long process, but some dark part of Mercer wondered if this was for the best? That she should forget him because he'd failed to protect her.
He pushed the thought far from his mind. That would be for another time. If any part of her still remembered him, he hoped it would be her heart. It was eerily quiet for the ride. It felt like the hairs on the back of Mercer's neck were bristling slightly at how quiet it was. There were no birds, no animals, just the sounds of the horses and soldiers. He shifted his gaze towards Vridel who'd been beside him.
“Does it seem too quiet for your tastes?" he asked.
“Much," Vi replied, narrowing his eyes out at the frozen hills. Given his own coloration, as well as his choice of armor, he blended in almost as well as Reynard or Devon did, and they were intentionally stealthy. “I bet that damn golem scares away everything in a mile radius when it passes through, though."
There were certainly no trails in the snow to indicate as much, but then there wouldn't be. If Cornelia's forces were going to ambush them, they'd circle around to do it. There weren't many chances left; even with the detour to pick up Lady Lyanna and help her evacuate Garreg Mach, they'd soon be back in Alliance territory. Chances were running out, and with each mile that passed beneath their mounts, it only got more likely that something would show up in the next.
Mercer didn't like those chances. If they were going to be ambushed, then they needed to be as prepared as they possibly could be. “We need to make sure everyone is prepared. At this point, we know they're trying to ambush us. The problem is, not everyone else, does. We need to make sure they keep their guard up and to watch each other's backs," he stated. He opened his mouth to say more, however; he barely had enough time to bring up his sword as an arrow whistled in his direction.
If he hadn't been able to deflect that arrow, it would have pierced his throat.
“Ambush! Everyone, be careful!" he shouted, spurring Liev forward. He couldn't risk taking to the air right now. He didn't know what they numbered in archers, and he couldn't risk being shot out of the sky, at least not yet. “Vridel, get to the others and have them divide up to reinforce the left and right flanks, and the back of the army. Get the archers into position, and have Reynard and Devon see if they can assess the situation."
Vi nodded and wheeled his horse immediately, shouting down the lines for the archers to move into position.
As the troops moved forward, they formed up as Mercer had directed, spreading into winged flanks, with those most in need of protection towards the back. At about that time, Reynard appeared at his side, as if from nowhere. "They've been reinforced," he said quickly, unwinding the white scarf around his neck and letting it hang looser. His normal, darker one was beneath it. "Still got the golem, and Cornelia's group, but there's three wings of Imperial dracoknights with them. I'm pretty sure they're led by Randolph von Bergliez, but I wasn't close enough to tell for sure—I've only seen him once."
“Shit," Mercer muttered beneath his breath. He really wished he had Sir at the moment, but he'd have to make due. “That Golem is going to provide us with a decent amount of trouble," he spoke. If they didn't get rid of it, first, chances were that it would take out more than half of his army on its own. He couldn't risk that, but...
He turned towards Reynard. “I want you to tell Teach, Sen, and Vi to focus on the golem. Have everyone else focus on Randolph and his forces," he stated. He knew those three had the most skill in magic, and if that creature had any resistances, then they could easily switch to something else. They weren't as expendable as everyone else, but Mercer was counting on them to be able to gauge their own abilities against the golem. And he didn't want Sorcha anywhere near it.
“I'm going to see what can be done to help thin his dracoknights with Sorcha," because she was one of the only other fliers he could count on. He nudged Liev in Sorcha's direction, and stared at her. “I need your help with Randolph's dracoknights. You and I were always a team, and we worked best as one. If... if anything, I hope you remember that," he stated, because he needed her to. If this was going to work, he hoped she at least could remember that they were, once, a team. And they worked well together.
She still rode a borrowed pegasus, as natural astride one as he remembered, and she'd acquired a bow now, too, which she carried over one shoulder. What had become of the one he'd had made for her was not clear—it was unlikely even she knew. Areadbhar was fastened to the saddle just behind her right leg.
“I don't—" She pursed her lips, swallowing thickly, then shook her head. “I can't give you what you want from me," she said quietly. “But I will fight with you, if that is your desire." She unslung the bow from her back, and reached into the quiver at her hip for an arrow.
“Lead the way."
Whatever feelings he had on the matter of her statement, he had to force down. What he desired... this was not the time to be sentimental. What he wanted from her was for her to remember him. Nothing else.
But that had to wait.
“You and I will draw the dracoknights' attention, and try to thin them out. If we can take out Randolph, then we have a chance of winning this battle," he stated before nudging Liev towards the wing of dracoknights. He could see the army moving below him, breaking into formation and fending off the soldiers' attacks as best as they could. It seemed that the rest and meal from House Margrave at least put some vigor back into them. They would likely fare better, now, that they were well-rested. Or as well-rested as they could be.
When they approached the first wing of dracoknights, Mercer turned towards Sorcha. “You and I can do this, Sor," he stated, pulling his bow from his back and fitting an arrow to it. “I know we can," he let the first arrow fly, watching as it found its mark into the shoulder of one of the soldiers.
Sorcha steered her mount with her legs, veering sharply to avoid an incoming arrow. She shot down at the offending archer with almost no expression on her face, striking right between his eyes and dropping him. Her next draw was quick; she sighted with no hesitation and found the armpit of one of the dracoknights, knocking him from his mount. He was probably dead before he hit the ground, but if not the impact would surely have done it.
“It's her!" one of the others called, pointing his lance in her direction. “Lady Cornelia wants her retrieved—there's a Viscounty for whoever does it!"
Well, that certainly meant they had the fliers' attention at least; almost as one, they turned to pursue Sorcha, and Mercer by extension.
In quick succession, Mercer dropped two more. He pulled his lips back almost in a snarl as he glared at the dracoknights. “You're not taking anyone! Especially not her," he shouted, fitting another arrow to his bow. It pained him to see her killing so easily now. She wouldn't have hesitated, before, but she would have grimaced. She would have made a face, a pained one, but it meant she still felt something.
He'd never wanted this to be easy for her. To kill so easily.
He ran out of arrows much faster than he'd intended to. He didn't have his original quiver, the one she'd given to him for his birthday, however; he still had his sword. He pulled it from his back by the time they'd reached the second wave of dracoknights. This would be a little trickier. He wasn't used to melee combat on the back of a pegasus, but he didn't have much of a choice. He engaged a dracoknight with an axe, swinging his sword to block incoming attacks, while also parrying what he could. He managed to drop the axe-wielding dracoknight before a sharp pain entered his back, and he hissed. There was an arrow sticking out of it, but he couldn't let that stop him.
He reached behind him and pulled it from his shoulder. Perhaps not the brightest thing to do, considering it was just going to tear ligaments and muscles when he did that. Pulling in a sharp breath, he fitted the arrow back into his bow, and downed another knight. They were almost to Randolph, from the looks of it.
Sorcha, meanwhile, had drawn Areadbhar, and with a sweep of the Relic, sent one of those riplling waves of hard cold outwards, throwing several of the dracoknights back as their mounts struggled to remain aloft. Others were simply killed outright. Gripping the reins of her pegasus with her left hand, she tore past another, unseating him with the sheer force of the hit, expression still locked in that grim blankness.
Wheeling back, she passed close enough behind him to actually reach out and touch his shoulder. A sudden cool relief spread from the spot, the torn musculature knitting itself back together rapidly, the slide of blood down his skin halting entirely.
“If you really need the arrows, just ask." Pulling up beside him, she took the half-dozen or so she had left and without even the faintest hesitation, deposited them into his quiver. There was the faintest flicker of something over her face, something that might have almost been the ghost of a smile, before a low, dull whistle cut through the air, and her eyes went wide.
“Mercer!"
She hurled herself from her saddle, forcing him down by the shoulder. There was an abrupt clang of metal-on-metal as she blocked the incoming tomahawk with her right gauntlet, and then she was falling over Liev's other side, noiseless.
“Sorcha!" he shouted, reaching for her before she could fall completely. “Sorcha!" he continued, pulling her up with all his might. He cursed himself for not being as strong as he should have been, but having little resources meant that he spared none for himself, and gave what he have to the others. Even with the meal they'd had at Sylvi's, he wasn't at full strength. When he had Sorcha on Liev's back, he cradled her gently against him, and glared in the direction the tomahawk had come from.
There was a man with carmine brown eyes, and hair the color of dulled wheat. It wasn't the cornsilk blonde of Sorcha's, but it was a shade of blond nonetheless. Mercer lifted his sword in the man's direction. “You're mine," he nearly snarled. This wasn't going to be an easy fight, but he had to do it. Had to protect Sorcha.
Sorcha, breaths short, looked around for her pegasus, but the fool thing had fled when she threw herself off it. Grimacing, she braced herself against Liev's saddle horn and used it to swing herself around and settle behind him. “You need to shoot, and swing," she explained, summoning Areadbhar back to her hand, but settling it in the saddle loop. They couldn't really both maneuver much.
“If you get injured, I'll take care of it." She hurled some kind of offensive white magic for the man, who was probably Bergliez, since he seemed to be in charge here.
In the distance, he could hear the golem creaking and making strange mechanical sounds. Perhaps Vi, Teach, and Sen were a little more successful at the moment, however; Mercer nodded his head at Sorcha's statement, and spurred Liev forward towards Bergliez. “Take care of yourself, too, if you get injured. If it comes down to one of us needing to be healed, heal yourself, first. I mean it," because he needed to ensure she lived in whatever capacity she could. He pulled an arrow from the quiver and fitted it into his bow. He took aim, taking in a deep breath, before the glow of his Crest alighted his wrist. His vision grew sharper, and he could see Bergliez as if he were in front of Mercer.
He let the arrow fly.
There were still a couple of dracoknights to deal with, and Mercer trusted Sorcha to take care of them. When it was just he and Bergliez, Mercer was out of arrows once more, and had pulled his sword from its sheath and spurred Liev forward. He could see now, why Bergliez was a respected commander. The man was skilled, parrying Mercer's attacks with his own, dodging any magic attack Sorcha sent at him, and seemed to be holding his own fairly well.
Mercer gritted his teeth.
“Sorcha," he stated, though he did not turn to look at her. “Can you target his wyvern?" he asked, grimacing slightly for asking her. He didn't want to harm the wyvern, however; if he was going to get this to work, he needed to dismount Randolph.
“I can do one better," she said. “Just get me as close as you can."
When he'd maneuvered them back into melee range, a sharp, arrow-shaped bolt of light magic careened over Mercer's shoulders with a strange ringing sound, almost like a wind-chime. It struck the wyvern's flank, lightly scorching the scales but not seemingly doing much damage. The girth strap of its saddle, however, was another matter. It strained, then snapped outright, unsteadying but not quite unseating Bergliez, who struggled to keep his balance when his saddle began to slide back and sideways.
That was all he needed. With as much strength as he possibly could muster, Mercer swung his blade in a horizontal slash. If Bergliez blocked it or tried to evade it, he would fall from his saddle. If he valued his life, he'd try anyway. As predicted, Bergliez tried to block the attack, however; with the force Mercer used, it pushed him far enough that he was dismounted from his wyvern, and was plummeting towards the ground.
He didn't think.
He spurred Liev into a dive, forcing the pegasus as fast as she could go so that he could reach out to grab Bergliez by the hand. He shouldn't have spared him, however; Mercer didn't want to outright kill the man. He knew that Bergliez was loyal to his country, and not to who led it. If there was even a chance...
Around him, he could see the battle shifting in their favor. From the sounds of it, Vi, Teach, and Sen had taken out the golem, and were joining the others on the field. He glanced towards Bergliez as they landed on the ground.
“You've lost, Bergliez. Surrender," he stated in as neutral a voice as he could.
The man looked stunned, honestly, mouth partly agape and eyes wide. Clearly the last thing he'd expected was to be unseated and then rescued.
“I—"
“You should do what he says," Sorcha said flatly, dismounting quickly once they'd landed and retrieving Areadbhar from Liev's saddle. “Your other option is dying."
He sighed. “I... all right. I'll—I'll signal the men to stand down. I can't promise Queen Cornelia's troops will listen, though."
Mercer narrowed his eyes at the statement. “Cornelia is not your queen. She is," he stated, turning towards Sorcha. His attention went back to Bergliez, though, and he pulled his face into something a little more neutral. “They have no choice but to surrender. You've lost; they'll see that it's futile to keep going. If they don't, then they will all meet their fate at the end of a weapon one way or another."
He didn't care too much for Cornelia's troops, though. If they were willing to follow a woman like that, then they all deserved to die.
“And you're an Imperial general, not a Faerghus one." With Bergliez as their prisoner, Mercer hoped that the man would see reason. Even if they had to interrogate him, if they could just convince Bergliez to swear loyalty to Vridel, the true emperor, maybe they'd have a better chance of winning?
Mercer certainly hoped that was the case.
Mercer tugged his coat just a little closer to himself, as he gripped the reins to Liev. Senka had let him borrow her for the remainder of the march simply because if they ran into trouble, he'd be in his element in the air. It wasn't quite the same as when he was riding on Sir's back. He'd had to learn to maneuver to accommodate for the pegasus's wings, and to avoid hitting them by accident. It was a bit more difficult than he'd imagined it to be, and for a brief moment, he wondered how Sen and Sorcha managed it. He glanced in Sorcha's direction, and briefly wondered if she'd even recognize Lady, her own pegasus.
She was in a stable with Sir because they'd been nearly inseparable when she'd shown up. He'd known, then, that something was wrong, but there was nothing he could have done. Some part of him, some desperate optimistic part, believed that Sorcha had been okay. But then Devon and Sylvi had shown up to tell him otherwise, and he'd kept Lady because she was the last line he had to Sorcha. Now that she was alive...
He chanced a glance in her direction. She'd mostly taken to riding next to Teach. Had it been anyone else, he might have been a little jealous, but the practical side of him just hurt. Because he could not provide her the comfort she needed. He wanted her to remember him and to remember that he loves her. It was going to be a long process, but some dark part of Mercer wondered if this was for the best? That she should forget him because he'd failed to protect her.
He pushed the thought far from his mind. That would be for another time. If any part of her still remembered him, he hoped it would be her heart. It was eerily quiet for the ride. It felt like the hairs on the back of Mercer's neck were bristling slightly at how quiet it was. There were no birds, no animals, just the sounds of the horses and soldiers. He shifted his gaze towards Vridel who'd been beside him.
“Does it seem too quiet for your tastes?" he asked.
“Much," Vi replied, narrowing his eyes out at the frozen hills. Given his own coloration, as well as his choice of armor, he blended in almost as well as Reynard or Devon did, and they were intentionally stealthy. “I bet that damn golem scares away everything in a mile radius when it passes through, though."
There were certainly no trails in the snow to indicate as much, but then there wouldn't be. If Cornelia's forces were going to ambush them, they'd circle around to do it. There weren't many chances left; even with the detour to pick up Lady Lyanna and help her evacuate Garreg Mach, they'd soon be back in Alliance territory. Chances were running out, and with each mile that passed beneath their mounts, it only got more likely that something would show up in the next.
Mercer didn't like those chances. If they were going to be ambushed, then they needed to be as prepared as they possibly could be. “We need to make sure everyone is prepared. At this point, we know they're trying to ambush us. The problem is, not everyone else, does. We need to make sure they keep their guard up and to watch each other's backs," he stated. He opened his mouth to say more, however; he barely had enough time to bring up his sword as an arrow whistled in his direction.
If he hadn't been able to deflect that arrow, it would have pierced his throat.
“Ambush! Everyone, be careful!" he shouted, spurring Liev forward. He couldn't risk taking to the air right now. He didn't know what they numbered in archers, and he couldn't risk being shot out of the sky, at least not yet. “Vridel, get to the others and have them divide up to reinforce the left and right flanks, and the back of the army. Get the archers into position, and have Reynard and Devon see if they can assess the situation."
Vi nodded and wheeled his horse immediately, shouting down the lines for the archers to move into position.
As the troops moved forward, they formed up as Mercer had directed, spreading into winged flanks, with those most in need of protection towards the back. At about that time, Reynard appeared at his side, as if from nowhere. "They've been reinforced," he said quickly, unwinding the white scarf around his neck and letting it hang looser. His normal, darker one was beneath it. "Still got the golem, and Cornelia's group, but there's three wings of Imperial dracoknights with them. I'm pretty sure they're led by Randolph von Bergliez, but I wasn't close enough to tell for sure—I've only seen him once."
“Shit," Mercer muttered beneath his breath. He really wished he had Sir at the moment, but he'd have to make due. “That Golem is going to provide us with a decent amount of trouble," he spoke. If they didn't get rid of it, first, chances were that it would take out more than half of his army on its own. He couldn't risk that, but...
He turned towards Reynard. “I want you to tell Teach, Sen, and Vi to focus on the golem. Have everyone else focus on Randolph and his forces," he stated. He knew those three had the most skill in magic, and if that creature had any resistances, then they could easily switch to something else. They weren't as expendable as everyone else, but Mercer was counting on them to be able to gauge their own abilities against the golem. And he didn't want Sorcha anywhere near it.
“I'm going to see what can be done to help thin his dracoknights with Sorcha," because she was one of the only other fliers he could count on. He nudged Liev in Sorcha's direction, and stared at her. “I need your help with Randolph's dracoknights. You and I were always a team, and we worked best as one. If... if anything, I hope you remember that," he stated, because he needed her to. If this was going to work, he hoped she at least could remember that they were, once, a team. And they worked well together.
She still rode a borrowed pegasus, as natural astride one as he remembered, and she'd acquired a bow now, too, which she carried over one shoulder. What had become of the one he'd had made for her was not clear—it was unlikely even she knew. Areadbhar was fastened to the saddle just behind her right leg.
“I don't—" She pursed her lips, swallowing thickly, then shook her head. “I can't give you what you want from me," she said quietly. “But I will fight with you, if that is your desire." She unslung the bow from her back, and reached into the quiver at her hip for an arrow.
“Lead the way."
Whatever feelings he had on the matter of her statement, he had to force down. What he desired... this was not the time to be sentimental. What he wanted from her was for her to remember him. Nothing else.
But that had to wait.
“You and I will draw the dracoknights' attention, and try to thin them out. If we can take out Randolph, then we have a chance of winning this battle," he stated before nudging Liev towards the wing of dracoknights. He could see the army moving below him, breaking into formation and fending off the soldiers' attacks as best as they could. It seemed that the rest and meal from House Margrave at least put some vigor back into them. They would likely fare better, now, that they were well-rested. Or as well-rested as they could be.
When they approached the first wing of dracoknights, Mercer turned towards Sorcha. “You and I can do this, Sor," he stated, pulling his bow from his back and fitting an arrow to it. “I know we can," he let the first arrow fly, watching as it found its mark into the shoulder of one of the soldiers.
Sorcha steered her mount with her legs, veering sharply to avoid an incoming arrow. She shot down at the offending archer with almost no expression on her face, striking right between his eyes and dropping him. Her next draw was quick; she sighted with no hesitation and found the armpit of one of the dracoknights, knocking him from his mount. He was probably dead before he hit the ground, but if not the impact would surely have done it.
“It's her!" one of the others called, pointing his lance in her direction. “Lady Cornelia wants her retrieved—there's a Viscounty for whoever does it!"
Well, that certainly meant they had the fliers' attention at least; almost as one, they turned to pursue Sorcha, and Mercer by extension.
In quick succession, Mercer dropped two more. He pulled his lips back almost in a snarl as he glared at the dracoknights. “You're not taking anyone! Especially not her," he shouted, fitting another arrow to his bow. It pained him to see her killing so easily now. She wouldn't have hesitated, before, but she would have grimaced. She would have made a face, a pained one, but it meant she still felt something.
He'd never wanted this to be easy for her. To kill so easily.
He ran out of arrows much faster than he'd intended to. He didn't have his original quiver, the one she'd given to him for his birthday, however; he still had his sword. He pulled it from his back by the time they'd reached the second wave of dracoknights. This would be a little trickier. He wasn't used to melee combat on the back of a pegasus, but he didn't have much of a choice. He engaged a dracoknight with an axe, swinging his sword to block incoming attacks, while also parrying what he could. He managed to drop the axe-wielding dracoknight before a sharp pain entered his back, and he hissed. There was an arrow sticking out of it, but he couldn't let that stop him.
He reached behind him and pulled it from his shoulder. Perhaps not the brightest thing to do, considering it was just going to tear ligaments and muscles when he did that. Pulling in a sharp breath, he fitted the arrow back into his bow, and downed another knight. They were almost to Randolph, from the looks of it.
Sorcha, meanwhile, had drawn Areadbhar, and with a sweep of the Relic, sent one of those riplling waves of hard cold outwards, throwing several of the dracoknights back as their mounts struggled to remain aloft. Others were simply killed outright. Gripping the reins of her pegasus with her left hand, she tore past another, unseating him with the sheer force of the hit, expression still locked in that grim blankness.
Wheeling back, she passed close enough behind him to actually reach out and touch his shoulder. A sudden cool relief spread from the spot, the torn musculature knitting itself back together rapidly, the slide of blood down his skin halting entirely.
“If you really need the arrows, just ask." Pulling up beside him, she took the half-dozen or so she had left and without even the faintest hesitation, deposited them into his quiver. There was the faintest flicker of something over her face, something that might have almost been the ghost of a smile, before a low, dull whistle cut through the air, and her eyes went wide.
“Mercer!"
She hurled herself from her saddle, forcing him down by the shoulder. There was an abrupt clang of metal-on-metal as she blocked the incoming tomahawk with her right gauntlet, and then she was falling over Liev's other side, noiseless.
“Sorcha!" he shouted, reaching for her before she could fall completely. “Sorcha!" he continued, pulling her up with all his might. He cursed himself for not being as strong as he should have been, but having little resources meant that he spared none for himself, and gave what he have to the others. Even with the meal they'd had at Sylvi's, he wasn't at full strength. When he had Sorcha on Liev's back, he cradled her gently against him, and glared in the direction the tomahawk had come from.
There was a man with carmine brown eyes, and hair the color of dulled wheat. It wasn't the cornsilk blonde of Sorcha's, but it was a shade of blond nonetheless. Mercer lifted his sword in the man's direction. “You're mine," he nearly snarled. This wasn't going to be an easy fight, but he had to do it. Had to protect Sorcha.
Sorcha, breaths short, looked around for her pegasus, but the fool thing had fled when she threw herself off it. Grimacing, she braced herself against Liev's saddle horn and used it to swing herself around and settle behind him. “You need to shoot, and swing," she explained, summoning Areadbhar back to her hand, but settling it in the saddle loop. They couldn't really both maneuver much.
“If you get injured, I'll take care of it." She hurled some kind of offensive white magic for the man, who was probably Bergliez, since he seemed to be in charge here.
In the distance, he could hear the golem creaking and making strange mechanical sounds. Perhaps Vi, Teach, and Sen were a little more successful at the moment, however; Mercer nodded his head at Sorcha's statement, and spurred Liev forward towards Bergliez. “Take care of yourself, too, if you get injured. If it comes down to one of us needing to be healed, heal yourself, first. I mean it," because he needed to ensure she lived in whatever capacity she could. He pulled an arrow from the quiver and fitted it into his bow. He took aim, taking in a deep breath, before the glow of his Crest alighted his wrist. His vision grew sharper, and he could see Bergliez as if he were in front of Mercer.
He let the arrow fly.
There were still a couple of dracoknights to deal with, and Mercer trusted Sorcha to take care of them. When it was just he and Bergliez, Mercer was out of arrows once more, and had pulled his sword from its sheath and spurred Liev forward. He could see now, why Bergliez was a respected commander. The man was skilled, parrying Mercer's attacks with his own, dodging any magic attack Sorcha sent at him, and seemed to be holding his own fairly well.
Mercer gritted his teeth.
“Sorcha," he stated, though he did not turn to look at her. “Can you target his wyvern?" he asked, grimacing slightly for asking her. He didn't want to harm the wyvern, however; if he was going to get this to work, he needed to dismount Randolph.
“I can do one better," she said. “Just get me as close as you can."
When he'd maneuvered them back into melee range, a sharp, arrow-shaped bolt of light magic careened over Mercer's shoulders with a strange ringing sound, almost like a wind-chime. It struck the wyvern's flank, lightly scorching the scales but not seemingly doing much damage. The girth strap of its saddle, however, was another matter. It strained, then snapped outright, unsteadying but not quite unseating Bergliez, who struggled to keep his balance when his saddle began to slide back and sideways.
That was all he needed. With as much strength as he possibly could muster, Mercer swung his blade in a horizontal slash. If Bergliez blocked it or tried to evade it, he would fall from his saddle. If he valued his life, he'd try anyway. As predicted, Bergliez tried to block the attack, however; with the force Mercer used, it pushed him far enough that he was dismounted from his wyvern, and was plummeting towards the ground.
He didn't think.
He spurred Liev into a dive, forcing the pegasus as fast as she could go so that he could reach out to grab Bergliez by the hand. He shouldn't have spared him, however; Mercer didn't want to outright kill the man. He knew that Bergliez was loyal to his country, and not to who led it. If there was even a chance...
Around him, he could see the battle shifting in their favor. From the sounds of it, Vi, Teach, and Sen had taken out the golem, and were joining the others on the field. He glanced towards Bergliez as they landed on the ground.
“You've lost, Bergliez. Surrender," he stated in as neutral a voice as he could.
The man looked stunned, honestly, mouth partly agape and eyes wide. Clearly the last thing he'd expected was to be unseated and then rescued.
“I—"
“You should do what he says," Sorcha said flatly, dismounting quickly once they'd landed and retrieving Areadbhar from Liev's saddle. “Your other option is dying."
He sighed. “I... all right. I'll—I'll signal the men to stand down. I can't promise Queen Cornelia's troops will listen, though."
Mercer narrowed his eyes at the statement. “Cornelia is not your queen. She is," he stated, turning towards Sorcha. His attention went back to Bergliez, though, and he pulled his face into something a little more neutral. “They have no choice but to surrender. You've lost; they'll see that it's futile to keep going. If they don't, then they will all meet their fate at the end of a weapon one way or another."
He didn't care too much for Cornelia's troops, though. If they were willing to follow a woman like that, then they all deserved to die.
“And you're an Imperial general, not a Faerghus one." With Bergliez as their prisoner, Mercer hoped that the man would see reason. Even if they had to interrogate him, if they could just convince Bergliez to swear loyalty to Vridel, the true emperor, maybe they'd have a better chance of winning?
Mercer certainly hoped that was the case.
Derdriu - Sunset - Cold
Mercer von Riegan
Mercer stared at the group in front of him. They were going to be taking back Derdriu, and for once, Mercer felt all the confidence in the world. All of his friends were here; Sorcha, Senka, Teach, Vi, Thea, Deirdre, Sofia, Sylvi, and Devon. They were all still alive. Senka had, apparently, lent Sorcha her pegasus, Liev, and she was riding a regular pale grey horse next to Teach. He supposed that they'd cleared some of their issues, and he was happy for them. The same with Vi and Thea, and even Devon and Sylvi. He was happy that his friends could find the small traces of happiness in a time like this. Even he felt a small flare of happiness with Sorcha at his side.
He wanted it to last.
Needed it to last.
It was why this battle would be a deciding point for their future. If they couldn't take back Derdriu, then they'd likely lose a war they were fighting so hard to win. Needed to win. Pulling in a breath, he calmed himself before addressing the group.
“You all know what to do. We're going to be reinforcing Alaric's group with ours, and pushing for a pincer attack. As far as we know, the Imperial army isn't expecting us, and are unaware we've arrived. Let's use it to our advantage while we still have it. Sorcha and I will take the skies," he began, shifting his gaze towards her and smiling softly.
“Teach, you and Sen take the right flank with Devon and Sylvi. Vi, you and Thea take the left flank with Sofia and Deirdre. Keep them reinforced until we know we're pushing them back. We don't know if they have demonic beasts or golems with them, however, so keep an eye on the field. We all know how to handle beasts, however," he paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, “if you see a golem, don't engage it recklessly. We can't afford to have any of you dying senselessly."
As their leader, he wouldn't be able to bear it.
Teach wore a subtle little smile on his face, offering Mercer a slight nod. “As you say, general," he replied, a certain lightness to it despite the solemnity of the moment. Perhaps that was fitting, really—they had for so long been a team, always confronting together things that seemed at the time beyond them, from that first night in the forest with Sorcha and Vi through to the siege of Garreg Mach and now beyond it. Somehow, even when it hadn't seemed possible, they'd all survived, and managed to keep something of themselves. Something that had bowed under the pressure of five years since, but had perhaps not broken. Could still unbend.
“And if you do see a golem," he added, “remember that the large glowing stone beneath the carapace is its weak point. Worst case scenario, your goal should always be to destroy that, or cause enough damage to disable it so you can get away."
That little tidbit of information was courtesy of Sorcha, who had spent rather a lot of her time in captivity forced to listen to Cornelia's ramblings. At least some of it was useful.
The others all managed some combination of nods and verbal affirmations, and they were ready to go.
“Most of all," he spoke, making sure he made eye contact with every single one of them, “survive. Watch each other's backs and make sure you live to see another day." They nodded once more as Mercer nudged Sir towards the capital. Taking in a deep breath, he murmured, “we're coming, Al. Just hang out a little longer," and Sir took to the skies. With the dying light, it was going to be a bit more difficult to see, however; they still had enough of it that the way he and Sorcha would fly would make them look like tiny specks in the sky. If even that, really. The sun would be used to their advantage, a camouflage of sorts.
Up ahead, he could hear the battle. People were shouting orders, pointing in every direction as if they meant to using a pinning movement to wipe out a small handful of soldiers. Mercer pursed his lips.
“Sorcha," he called out to her, low but still enough that she could hear him. “We're going for that group, there," he stated, pointing towards the soldiers. “We'll free them up so they can be added to the pincer attack," because at this point, they needed as many able bodies they could get. He pulled his bow from his back, and took a breath, fitting an arrow to it. “We'll stay in the skies, though. We can't afford to get knocked off, either."
“Understood." Her bow was already in one hand, but she let go of Liev's reins with the other, steering with her legs as she nocked an arrow to the string. Her old hesitation was gone now; she shot without needing to think about where the arrow was going to go, on an instinct he'd spent nearly a year trying to hone in her.
It was different, though, from even a month ago. She grimaced as she released the shot, lining up the next even as it whistled through the air, catching one of the enemy commanders in the eyeslit of his helm. It toppled him, and the Alliance soldiers in the spot took advantage, swarming that part of the enemy line and punching through. It wasn't enough to break the pin, but a few more like it and they'd be in business.
He followed suit, releasing an arrow to take out another soldier. He wasn't going to make her do all the killing, after all. If he had the choice, he'd have let her sit this one out. But he also knew that Sorcha wouldn't have wanted that. She would have wanted to come, no matter what. Taking a breath, his Crest glowed on his wrist as he narrowed his eyes on the next commander, releasing the arrow and catching the woman in the base of her neck, severing her spine in the process. Quick deaths. Easy deaths.
A few more soldiers were dropped, and the Alliance soldiers were finally able to push free from the pin. He nodded in their direction as they made their way towards the part of the army where Teach was. At least that meant they'd be reinforced from there, if they needed it. He nudged Sir forward, intent on making it to the frontlines to see if he could see Reynard or even Alaric. He knew that Alaric wouldn't be sitting out the battle. That just wasn't the type of person he was.
Alaric fought alongside his soldiers.
The battle seemed to begin in earnest, now. With the freed up soldiers he and Sorcha were able to get to that were added to both Teach's side, and Vridel's, the plan to attack could commence. He glanced in Sorcha's direction, pulling his sword from its sheath. He wanted to reserve his arrows, for now, and he wanted to be on the ground, spearheading the charge alongside the others.
“This is it, Sorcha. Fall back and let the others know we're going to push forward now with the pincer. We need to get to Alaric and Rey. To the others. Join me when you've done so," because he wasn't sending her away. On the contrary, he wanted her beside him when this happened, however; he needed the others to know that now was the time.
“Okay," she said, brows furrowing a little but nodding nevertheless. “Be safe, Mercer. I'll be back soon." Wheeling Liev, she guided the pegasus to her top speed, leaning low over her neck until they were a blur across the sky.
It didn't take long for the message to ripple through the ranks, Teach and Vi leading their flanks towards Mercer for the charge. Sorcha landed next to him a moment later, slinging her bow across her back and drawing Areadbhar. Her eyes were fixed on the field in front of them, the blue hard but no longer cold. Not even close.
“Ready when you are."
He nodded, taking a breath and glancing out in front of him. This was it. This was going to be the deciding battle in who was going to emerge victorious. To be the ones who emerged with a future. He glanced towards Sorcha, before steeling himself.
This was it.
He slid off of Sir's back, and motioned for the wyvern to leave. Sir regarded him with an even stare before taking off. He'd whistle if he needed Sir, back, and they both knew that. Shifting the sword in his hand, he glanced at the battlefield. “Let's do this," he spoke, lunging forward as the soldiers behind him followed suit.
He barreled into the first soldier, quickly plunging his blade into the soldier's abdomen. He pulled it out and moved on to the next. He could hear a few wind spells being used, saw a saggitae, either Sen's or Vi's, and could hear the thrumming of Areadhbar near him. He countered an attack aimed for him, parried another, and cut down another soldier. He could feel the warm blood splash across his face as he grimaced slightly. He had to keep pushing through. Had to keep going.
Alaric was waiting for them. Reynard was waiting for them. Their future was waiting for them.
Around them, the battle roared, his friends visible as little more than glimpses in one moment gone in the next. There, Cyril felled a broad swath of soldiers with a thoron, throwing the Arrow through another's heart and launching himself into another cluster with nothing but his hands, fighting like a man possessed, blank faced and bloody.
There, Vridel, a bright flash of white amidst the muddled colors of the field, bright magic flashing along the blade of his sword, hewing down another and whirling to fling a spell over Thea's shoulder to stagger her opponent. Not far away, Sofia, setting her tower shield against a flank attempt, lance lashing out over the edge to catch those who tried to get around her at Deirdre.
Sylvi had her axe, abandoning her gauntlents, perhaps, in favor of the range the axe provided her, and caught a soldier in the shoulder. Deirdre was flinging fire spells and wind spells to help stagger soldiers who were trying to flank the others. Senka was much flurry as Vi was, using Blutgang to either disarm her opponent's weapons, or literally disarm them. She caught a few with her blizzard spell, and Mercer could see Thea using Amyr more as a throwing axe, occasionally ducking behind the shield she had with her before she recalled Amyr to her.
They were pushing forward. They were succeeding. He grit his teeth, though, and before he could move forward, someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him out of the way. The arrow that would have lodged in his neck was now lodged in Sen's arm, as she held it in front of her, the tip of the arrow just inches away from her face. If it pained her, she didn't show, and it looked like it had hit her arm that wasn't her dominant sword one. She'd be okay, for now.
“Go," she spoke, breaking the arrow in half and pushed the other half out of her arm. She held it, though, as she glanced in his direction. “The general was spotted further up. If you and Sorcha can reach him, we have a chance of routing their forces," she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly at him. He motioned towards her arm, but she shook her head. “You need to end this, Mercer. Be careful, he doesn't appear to be your typical general," she stated, her brows furrowing deeply. He nodded his head, and she disappeared back into the fray.
Mercer glanced in Sorcha's direction. “Let's end this, Sor," he spoke, pushing forward until he could see the general. He was a rather large man, taller than Teach, perhaps, by an inch or two. Maybe three. It was hard to tell from this distance. He was situated atop an Imperial charger, and donned heavy armor. The shoulders were spiked slightly, almost reminiscent to the Death Knight's armor, however; the difference was the coloring. Where the Death Knight's armor was black, this general's armor was mostly gold with silver trimmings. He donned a large zweihänder at his back. The blade was rather thick for one, however; Mercer had a suspicion it was mostly for show rather than use.
But the man was muscled. He looked like he could swing the weapon with just one hand. Grimacing slightly, he gripped his blade just a little tighter. “With a weapon like that, he's not going to be able to swing as fast. Sor, cover me with whatever arrows you have. If we can keep him on his toes, it shouldn't be too difficult to take him out," he stated. It would require a lot of work, but Mercer believed they could do this.
“Okay, but I'm getting in there if it looks like too much," she said, meeting his eyes intently for a moment. Areadbhar found one of the leather loops at her back, and then drew her bow again, nocking an arrow and setting about the task of clearing his path forward.
To their sides their friends still fought on, bloodier and wearier than they had been at the outset. Devon was limping, but still firing arrows; Vridel's hair and clothes had turned red and pink in places, though how much of it belonged to him was hard to say. Sofia was still hunkered behind her shield, her motions flagging a little but steady. Where Teach had gone was unclear, but from the free space on their left flank, it was a fair guess he'd pushed the line back a bit.
He nodded in response and lunged forward. Even he was starting to feel the effects of a prolonged battle, but he couldn't show it. He had to keep pushing forward until they had won. Or died.
When he'd made it to the man who was, supposedly, the general, Mercer fixed him with a harsh stare. He simply lifted his blade towards the man who drew his own from his back, however; a hand placed itself on his arm as if to stop him. Beside him, hidden from view, was a smaller person. Feminine from the way her armor was made. Her silver helm had a long black feather from it, and she regarded him with cold dead eyes. She pulled her bardiche from her back, and leveled it at Mercer. Was she the actual general?
Whatever it was, he readied his sword. The larger man moved back as if to give them room for this strange duel he'd silently agreed to with this woman. She lunged towards him, quick and smooth-like. Mercer barely had enough time to dodge, and the bardiche caught him in the shoulder. His armor, light as it was, managed to protect him for now, however; with an onslaught of attacks, it wouldn't hold up for long. The downsides of bringing light armor into battle, he supposed. He lunged for her with his sword, swiping horizontal at her. Poled weapons were usually not so useful for attacks like that, however; she seemed to block it with ease.
Mercer gritted his teeth together. He wasn't going to have the energy for this. Something had to give, one way or another. At least her companion hadn't joined in on the battle, and seemed content to let her do most of the work. She continued a barrage of attacks at him, blocking and parrying every attack he threw at her until she'd mostly had the upper hand. If something didn't give, soon, she was going to win this battle.
“Mercer!" Sorcha's attempt to interfere was blocked by the large man, but she did manage to fling a healing spell his way before she was forced to leap back and draw Areadbhar. “You're not allowed to die!" she called, staving off a heavy swing of the large man's blade with the pole of the Relic. “Your life is mine, right?! You better keep it safe for me!"
She swung the spear with a mighty heave, clearly fighting to get through to where he was, to help him, but an armored bulwark like that man wouldn't go down quickly or easily, not even to Sorcha.
He would have laughed, really. He wasn't allowed to die, was he? “Yeah, Mercer! You're not allowed to die, you stupid fish face!" it was Thea's voice, next, and Mercer blocked an attack from the general with a little more ease as Thea appeared. It seemed that she was helping Sorcha, now, and Mercer felt a strong wave of relief wash over him. Two people might be able to bring the man down, but Mercer focused his attention on the woman. Her eyes narrowed at him, and she thrust her bardiche at him once more, however; unlike him, she had no one to fling a healing spell towards her. No one to help her. Mercer might have felt bad about it, but he couldn't afford to.
Not when so many lives were at stake.
He pushed back, swinging with a bit more vigor in her direction, forcing her back until she was on the defensive, now. He could hear Sorcha and Thea working together, Amyr and Areadhbar both clashing with the man's weapon, however; with a final thrust, his blade slipped past her poled weapon, finding a home past her chest armor, and into her heart. Her eyes widened with surprise as her grip on the bardiche loosened and it fell from her hands.
“You won't... win," she spat, gripping the blade with her hand. “He won't let you... win," she spoke before her arm fell limp at the same time the large man screamed. He was silent afterwards. Mercer sighed, putting his foot to the woman's shoulder and pushing her off of his blade. In the distance, he could hear the cries of victory, the joyous ringing of a bell somewhere, however; he turned his attention to where Thea and Sorcha were, and smiled.
“Come on, then," the new voice belonged to Vi. “I'd best finish patching you up; no one's going to want the man of the hour bleeding all over the carpet."
Sorcha giggled, the lightest sound she'd made since they found her. “I dunno. Scars are kind of heroic, right?"
“I can always leave them if you want," Vi drawled.
Mercer pursed his lips together. He opened his mouth to say something, however; someone else spoke first.
“Attractive. I think the word you're looking for is attractive," Senka spoke, smirking in Mercer's direction as she stood next to Thea and folded her arms over her chest. Her arm seemed to be healed, probably due to the plethora of healers on the team there were, or by herself.
“I think I'd rather be healed so I don't bleed to death, heroic or otherwise," he deadpanned. This brought a light laugh forth, though, and Mercer felt a weight lift from his shoulders. This... he missed this.
Teach took a moment more to join them, but seemed to have caught the end of the conversation at least. “Probably for the best. They take some work to keep limber, and no one wants to pass out from blood loss." He stuck the butt end of the Arrow into the ground and let out a long, slow breath, reaching over to press a brief kiss to Sen's temple, heedless of any blood or battlefield dirt.
“I found Reynard and Alaric," he added. “They're both all right, and ready to welcome us into Derdriu as soon as we're keen to make an appearance."
Vi stepped back, his healing so unobtrusive Mercer almost hadn't noticed him doing it, and shrugged. “I'm ready when our fearless leader is. And he's not bleeding anymore."
“Oh, good. I could use a bath, now," he stated, smiling brightly at his friends. “And as your leader," he spoke, glancing towards Cyril and Senka in particular, “you two have to cook because the gods know we've all missed it. And I think it'll serve as a good victory feast for troop morale and all that."
“Only because our fearless leader said it must be done," Senka huffed softly.
“Great, now let's go because we're all filthy and need a bath."
This was it.
The beginning of their new future.
A better future.
He wanted it to last.
Needed it to last.
It was why this battle would be a deciding point for their future. If they couldn't take back Derdriu, then they'd likely lose a war they were fighting so hard to win. Needed to win. Pulling in a breath, he calmed himself before addressing the group.
“You all know what to do. We're going to be reinforcing Alaric's group with ours, and pushing for a pincer attack. As far as we know, the Imperial army isn't expecting us, and are unaware we've arrived. Let's use it to our advantage while we still have it. Sorcha and I will take the skies," he began, shifting his gaze towards her and smiling softly.
“Teach, you and Sen take the right flank with Devon and Sylvi. Vi, you and Thea take the left flank with Sofia and Deirdre. Keep them reinforced until we know we're pushing them back. We don't know if they have demonic beasts or golems with them, however, so keep an eye on the field. We all know how to handle beasts, however," he paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, “if you see a golem, don't engage it recklessly. We can't afford to have any of you dying senselessly."
As their leader, he wouldn't be able to bear it.
Teach wore a subtle little smile on his face, offering Mercer a slight nod. “As you say, general," he replied, a certain lightness to it despite the solemnity of the moment. Perhaps that was fitting, really—they had for so long been a team, always confronting together things that seemed at the time beyond them, from that first night in the forest with Sorcha and Vi through to the siege of Garreg Mach and now beyond it. Somehow, even when it hadn't seemed possible, they'd all survived, and managed to keep something of themselves. Something that had bowed under the pressure of five years since, but had perhaps not broken. Could still unbend.
“And if you do see a golem," he added, “remember that the large glowing stone beneath the carapace is its weak point. Worst case scenario, your goal should always be to destroy that, or cause enough damage to disable it so you can get away."
That little tidbit of information was courtesy of Sorcha, who had spent rather a lot of her time in captivity forced to listen to Cornelia's ramblings. At least some of it was useful.
The others all managed some combination of nods and verbal affirmations, and they were ready to go.
“Most of all," he spoke, making sure he made eye contact with every single one of them, “survive. Watch each other's backs and make sure you live to see another day." They nodded once more as Mercer nudged Sir towards the capital. Taking in a deep breath, he murmured, “we're coming, Al. Just hang out a little longer," and Sir took to the skies. With the dying light, it was going to be a bit more difficult to see, however; they still had enough of it that the way he and Sorcha would fly would make them look like tiny specks in the sky. If even that, really. The sun would be used to their advantage, a camouflage of sorts.
Up ahead, he could hear the battle. People were shouting orders, pointing in every direction as if they meant to using a pinning movement to wipe out a small handful of soldiers. Mercer pursed his lips.
“Sorcha," he called out to her, low but still enough that she could hear him. “We're going for that group, there," he stated, pointing towards the soldiers. “We'll free them up so they can be added to the pincer attack," because at this point, they needed as many able bodies they could get. He pulled his bow from his back, and took a breath, fitting an arrow to it. “We'll stay in the skies, though. We can't afford to get knocked off, either."
“Understood." Her bow was already in one hand, but she let go of Liev's reins with the other, steering with her legs as she nocked an arrow to the string. Her old hesitation was gone now; she shot without needing to think about where the arrow was going to go, on an instinct he'd spent nearly a year trying to hone in her.
It was different, though, from even a month ago. She grimaced as she released the shot, lining up the next even as it whistled through the air, catching one of the enemy commanders in the eyeslit of his helm. It toppled him, and the Alliance soldiers in the spot took advantage, swarming that part of the enemy line and punching through. It wasn't enough to break the pin, but a few more like it and they'd be in business.
He followed suit, releasing an arrow to take out another soldier. He wasn't going to make her do all the killing, after all. If he had the choice, he'd have let her sit this one out. But he also knew that Sorcha wouldn't have wanted that. She would have wanted to come, no matter what. Taking a breath, his Crest glowed on his wrist as he narrowed his eyes on the next commander, releasing the arrow and catching the woman in the base of her neck, severing her spine in the process. Quick deaths. Easy deaths.
A few more soldiers were dropped, and the Alliance soldiers were finally able to push free from the pin. He nodded in their direction as they made their way towards the part of the army where Teach was. At least that meant they'd be reinforced from there, if they needed it. He nudged Sir forward, intent on making it to the frontlines to see if he could see Reynard or even Alaric. He knew that Alaric wouldn't be sitting out the battle. That just wasn't the type of person he was.
Alaric fought alongside his soldiers.
The battle seemed to begin in earnest, now. With the freed up soldiers he and Sorcha were able to get to that were added to both Teach's side, and Vridel's, the plan to attack could commence. He glanced in Sorcha's direction, pulling his sword from its sheath. He wanted to reserve his arrows, for now, and he wanted to be on the ground, spearheading the charge alongside the others.
“This is it, Sorcha. Fall back and let the others know we're going to push forward now with the pincer. We need to get to Alaric and Rey. To the others. Join me when you've done so," because he wasn't sending her away. On the contrary, he wanted her beside him when this happened, however; he needed the others to know that now was the time.
“Okay," she said, brows furrowing a little but nodding nevertheless. “Be safe, Mercer. I'll be back soon." Wheeling Liev, she guided the pegasus to her top speed, leaning low over her neck until they were a blur across the sky.
It didn't take long for the message to ripple through the ranks, Teach and Vi leading their flanks towards Mercer for the charge. Sorcha landed next to him a moment later, slinging her bow across her back and drawing Areadbhar. Her eyes were fixed on the field in front of them, the blue hard but no longer cold. Not even close.
“Ready when you are."
He nodded, taking a breath and glancing out in front of him. This was it. This was going to be the deciding battle in who was going to emerge victorious. To be the ones who emerged with a future. He glanced towards Sorcha, before steeling himself.
This was it.
He slid off of Sir's back, and motioned for the wyvern to leave. Sir regarded him with an even stare before taking off. He'd whistle if he needed Sir, back, and they both knew that. Shifting the sword in his hand, he glanced at the battlefield. “Let's do this," he spoke, lunging forward as the soldiers behind him followed suit.
He barreled into the first soldier, quickly plunging his blade into the soldier's abdomen. He pulled it out and moved on to the next. He could hear a few wind spells being used, saw a saggitae, either Sen's or Vi's, and could hear the thrumming of Areadhbar near him. He countered an attack aimed for him, parried another, and cut down another soldier. He could feel the warm blood splash across his face as he grimaced slightly. He had to keep pushing through. Had to keep going.
Alaric was waiting for them. Reynard was waiting for them. Their future was waiting for them.
Around them, the battle roared, his friends visible as little more than glimpses in one moment gone in the next. There, Cyril felled a broad swath of soldiers with a thoron, throwing the Arrow through another's heart and launching himself into another cluster with nothing but his hands, fighting like a man possessed, blank faced and bloody.
There, Vridel, a bright flash of white amidst the muddled colors of the field, bright magic flashing along the blade of his sword, hewing down another and whirling to fling a spell over Thea's shoulder to stagger her opponent. Not far away, Sofia, setting her tower shield against a flank attempt, lance lashing out over the edge to catch those who tried to get around her at Deirdre.
Sylvi had her axe, abandoning her gauntlents, perhaps, in favor of the range the axe provided her, and caught a soldier in the shoulder. Deirdre was flinging fire spells and wind spells to help stagger soldiers who were trying to flank the others. Senka was much flurry as Vi was, using Blutgang to either disarm her opponent's weapons, or literally disarm them. She caught a few with her blizzard spell, and Mercer could see Thea using Amyr more as a throwing axe, occasionally ducking behind the shield she had with her before she recalled Amyr to her.
They were pushing forward. They were succeeding. He grit his teeth, though, and before he could move forward, someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him out of the way. The arrow that would have lodged in his neck was now lodged in Sen's arm, as she held it in front of her, the tip of the arrow just inches away from her face. If it pained her, she didn't show, and it looked like it had hit her arm that wasn't her dominant sword one. She'd be okay, for now.
“Go," she spoke, breaking the arrow in half and pushed the other half out of her arm. She held it, though, as she glanced in his direction. “The general was spotted further up. If you and Sorcha can reach him, we have a chance of routing their forces," she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly at him. He motioned towards her arm, but she shook her head. “You need to end this, Mercer. Be careful, he doesn't appear to be your typical general," she stated, her brows furrowing deeply. He nodded his head, and she disappeared back into the fray.
Mercer glanced in Sorcha's direction. “Let's end this, Sor," he spoke, pushing forward until he could see the general. He was a rather large man, taller than Teach, perhaps, by an inch or two. Maybe three. It was hard to tell from this distance. He was situated atop an Imperial charger, and donned heavy armor. The shoulders were spiked slightly, almost reminiscent to the Death Knight's armor, however; the difference was the coloring. Where the Death Knight's armor was black, this general's armor was mostly gold with silver trimmings. He donned a large zweihänder at his back. The blade was rather thick for one, however; Mercer had a suspicion it was mostly for show rather than use.
But the man was muscled. He looked like he could swing the weapon with just one hand. Grimacing slightly, he gripped his blade just a little tighter. “With a weapon like that, he's not going to be able to swing as fast. Sor, cover me with whatever arrows you have. If we can keep him on his toes, it shouldn't be too difficult to take him out," he stated. It would require a lot of work, but Mercer believed they could do this.
“Okay, but I'm getting in there if it looks like too much," she said, meeting his eyes intently for a moment. Areadbhar found one of the leather loops at her back, and then drew her bow again, nocking an arrow and setting about the task of clearing his path forward.
To their sides their friends still fought on, bloodier and wearier than they had been at the outset. Devon was limping, but still firing arrows; Vridel's hair and clothes had turned red and pink in places, though how much of it belonged to him was hard to say. Sofia was still hunkered behind her shield, her motions flagging a little but steady. Where Teach had gone was unclear, but from the free space on their left flank, it was a fair guess he'd pushed the line back a bit.
He nodded in response and lunged forward. Even he was starting to feel the effects of a prolonged battle, but he couldn't show it. He had to keep pushing forward until they had won. Or died.
When he'd made it to the man who was, supposedly, the general, Mercer fixed him with a harsh stare. He simply lifted his blade towards the man who drew his own from his back, however; a hand placed itself on his arm as if to stop him. Beside him, hidden from view, was a smaller person. Feminine from the way her armor was made. Her silver helm had a long black feather from it, and she regarded him with cold dead eyes. She pulled her bardiche from her back, and leveled it at Mercer. Was she the actual general?
Whatever it was, he readied his sword. The larger man moved back as if to give them room for this strange duel he'd silently agreed to with this woman. She lunged towards him, quick and smooth-like. Mercer barely had enough time to dodge, and the bardiche caught him in the shoulder. His armor, light as it was, managed to protect him for now, however; with an onslaught of attacks, it wouldn't hold up for long. The downsides of bringing light armor into battle, he supposed. He lunged for her with his sword, swiping horizontal at her. Poled weapons were usually not so useful for attacks like that, however; she seemed to block it with ease.
Mercer gritted his teeth together. He wasn't going to have the energy for this. Something had to give, one way or another. At least her companion hadn't joined in on the battle, and seemed content to let her do most of the work. She continued a barrage of attacks at him, blocking and parrying every attack he threw at her until she'd mostly had the upper hand. If something didn't give, soon, she was going to win this battle.
“Mercer!" Sorcha's attempt to interfere was blocked by the large man, but she did manage to fling a healing spell his way before she was forced to leap back and draw Areadbhar. “You're not allowed to die!" she called, staving off a heavy swing of the large man's blade with the pole of the Relic. “Your life is mine, right?! You better keep it safe for me!"
She swung the spear with a mighty heave, clearly fighting to get through to where he was, to help him, but an armored bulwark like that man wouldn't go down quickly or easily, not even to Sorcha.
He would have laughed, really. He wasn't allowed to die, was he? “Yeah, Mercer! You're not allowed to die, you stupid fish face!" it was Thea's voice, next, and Mercer blocked an attack from the general with a little more ease as Thea appeared. It seemed that she was helping Sorcha, now, and Mercer felt a strong wave of relief wash over him. Two people might be able to bring the man down, but Mercer focused his attention on the woman. Her eyes narrowed at him, and she thrust her bardiche at him once more, however; unlike him, she had no one to fling a healing spell towards her. No one to help her. Mercer might have felt bad about it, but he couldn't afford to.
Not when so many lives were at stake.
He pushed back, swinging with a bit more vigor in her direction, forcing her back until she was on the defensive, now. He could hear Sorcha and Thea working together, Amyr and Areadhbar both clashing with the man's weapon, however; with a final thrust, his blade slipped past her poled weapon, finding a home past her chest armor, and into her heart. Her eyes widened with surprise as her grip on the bardiche loosened and it fell from her hands.
“You won't... win," she spat, gripping the blade with her hand. “He won't let you... win," she spoke before her arm fell limp at the same time the large man screamed. He was silent afterwards. Mercer sighed, putting his foot to the woman's shoulder and pushing her off of his blade. In the distance, he could hear the cries of victory, the joyous ringing of a bell somewhere, however; he turned his attention to where Thea and Sorcha were, and smiled.
“Come on, then," the new voice belonged to Vi. “I'd best finish patching you up; no one's going to want the man of the hour bleeding all over the carpet."
Sorcha giggled, the lightest sound she'd made since they found her. “I dunno. Scars are kind of heroic, right?"
“I can always leave them if you want," Vi drawled.
Mercer pursed his lips together. He opened his mouth to say something, however; someone else spoke first.
“Attractive. I think the word you're looking for is attractive," Senka spoke, smirking in Mercer's direction as she stood next to Thea and folded her arms over her chest. Her arm seemed to be healed, probably due to the plethora of healers on the team there were, or by herself.
“I think I'd rather be healed so I don't bleed to death, heroic or otherwise," he deadpanned. This brought a light laugh forth, though, and Mercer felt a weight lift from his shoulders. This... he missed this.
Teach took a moment more to join them, but seemed to have caught the end of the conversation at least. “Probably for the best. They take some work to keep limber, and no one wants to pass out from blood loss." He stuck the butt end of the Arrow into the ground and let out a long, slow breath, reaching over to press a brief kiss to Sen's temple, heedless of any blood or battlefield dirt.
“I found Reynard and Alaric," he added. “They're both all right, and ready to welcome us into Derdriu as soon as we're keen to make an appearance."
Vi stepped back, his healing so unobtrusive Mercer almost hadn't noticed him doing it, and shrugged. “I'm ready when our fearless leader is. And he's not bleeding anymore."
“Oh, good. I could use a bath, now," he stated, smiling brightly at his friends. “And as your leader," he spoke, glancing towards Cyril and Senka in particular, “you two have to cook because the gods know we've all missed it. And I think it'll serve as a good victory feast for troop morale and all that."
“Only because our fearless leader said it must be done," Senka huffed softly.
“Great, now let's go because we're all filthy and need a bath."
This was it.
The beginning of their new future.
A better future.
Riegan Manor - Afternoon - Overcast
Senka Rinaldi
Satisfied that Liev was well-groomed, Senka set the brush down and laid a hand on the pegasus's neck. It was still strange to her, even nearly four years later, how she used to be afraid of the creatures. She felt a twinge of guilt in her heart, then, as Liev nudged her hand softly. If she hadn't been so scared of them... maybe they would have been able to escape. Her thoughts still plagued her about that day. All the ifs that floated about were more torment than she'd ever admit, but she couldn't change the past. She couldn't undo all the things that happened; all she could do now, was move forward and hope that she'd be able to make up for all of it, somehow.
As if sensing her thoughts, Liev nickered softly and nudged her again, causing a small smile to flicker across Senka's lips. “Alright, I'm done," she spoke, giving Liev one last pat before making her way towards the training grounds. It wasn't quite the academy training grounds; the von Riegan manor had one built for training a proper army, and not students. Mercer had made accommodations to it, though. There were practice weapons so that those who didn't know how to fight, could train without harming themselves.
It was here that she encountered Thea, working up a decent sweat, it seemed. “Oh, hey, Sen!" she greeted once she'd spotted Senka. “Did you come to train, too?" she asked, causing Senka to shake her head.
“I was just passing through," Senka replied.
“Oh, well if that's the case, how about we go for lunch? Vi is with Mercer and Professor talking with Duke Goneril about the upcoming battle, so he won't be back for awhile," she stated, grinning lightly. Senka huffed lightly at the statement. Thea spent almost all of her time with Vridel, but Senka could understand. They had been separated for almost five years, and she knew what that had felt like. Senka wasn't naive enough to believe that everything between her and Cyril was fixed. She knew they still had some ways to go, but that was something she was willing to do. She wouldn't have asked him to marry her, to stay with her and be with her if she didn't believe in him. In them.
“We should see if Sorcha would like to join us," Senka stated suddenly. She and Sorcha had not been able to reacquaint themselves ever since she was found alive. It broke Senka's heart that her friend had forgotten her, but... some part of her thought that it was for the best. She'd failed Sorcha, however; she had resolved herself to get her friend through this. To help her remember who they were to her because Senka needed to apologize properly.
“That's a good idea! Let's go see if we can find her," Thea stated as she placed the practice axe back on the weapon rack.
It took a while to locate her, as Sorcha was not in any of the practice areas, nor the stables, nor the room she presently shared with Mercer. People were definitely talking about that—it wasn't exactly something done until a couple was married, because of what it was assumed it entailed. Of course, the standards were relaxed a little during wartime, but Mercer and Sorcha were under more scrutiny than most just because of who they were.
If Sorcha had even noticed it, though, she'd never said anything to Senka about it.
Eventually, they did find her, seated outside to enjoy the weather, perhaps, working with a carving knife and some other supplies to make arrows, it looked like. There was a pile of unused fletching next to her, and a small jar of adhesive. She seemed to be frowning at her metal hand, though from the way it moved, it was no less dexterous than her other.
At their approach, she looked up, her expression changing little except to soften just the slightest bit. “Hello Senka, Thea. Are you looking for something?"
“You, actually," Thea replied first, causing Senka to nod her head in agreement. “Sen and I were going to get lunch and wanted to know if you'd like to join us," she continued, smiling brightly in that way she did so many years ago. It was nice to see that Thea still had that kind of smile. Senka was still trying to get hers to be like it was, but she was managing small traces of it. It was easier to do in Cyril's company, or when they were poking fun of their friends, but sometimes it just... lacked.
“If not lunch, perhaps we can help you with the arrows," Senka added, glancing towards the pile Sorcha had already made.
“Oh, but say you'll go to lunch with us! I'm so hungry," Thea murmured, frowning just lightly enough to pass for a pout.
“Uh, no, it's fine," Sorcha said, pursing her lips slightly down at the fletching. “It's easy to do wrong, which is why it's taking forever—" she seemed to backtrack, as though afraid of insulting them. “Uh, hm. Just—easier for archers, I guess." She cleared her throat. “Lunch sounds... good? Fine. Good. Sorry."
Her expression was genuinely apologetic, and she sighed quietly as she collected the materials, bundling them carefully under her arm. “I... forget, sometimes," she admitted. “Whether I've eaten or not. I don't know if I used to do that."
“Sometimes," Senka answered honestly. “It usually happened when you were too focused on something else. Moments when you were either having too much fun, or if... you were stressing about something," she continued. There were times when the only reason why Sorcha remembered to eat was because Senka would tell her it was time for lunch or dinner. During their academy, days, though, it was different. They always knew when to eat because they'd always go to lunch with their friends. It was a happier time, but Senka pushed that thought to the back of her mind.
“Regardless, we're going to lunch, now. And you don't have to apologize, silly," Thea stated happily enough as she turned towards the outside breakfast area. It served mostly as a lunch area now since most people ate their breakfast on the go, or in their room or study if they didn't have time elsewhere.
“Sorcha should at least put her arrows away, first, Thea," Senka called out, shaking her head softly as Thea turned around and tilted her head.
“Oh, that's right. Uh, well, while Sorcha does that, I'll set the table up! Sen, you help me with that, too!" she stated, causing Senka to arch a brow, and fold her arms across her chest.
“You know, I usually only let one person boss me around like that, but," she smiled somewhat, “I suppose I can let you do it just this once." Thea snorted softly as she shook her head.
Sorcha returned just as they finished with the table, looking around curiously. “Shouldn't we have... gone to the mess hall or something? Are they even still serving food from the main kitchen?"
“Usually," Thea began, setting a plate down, “we do, however; this is a special occasion between friends. So, we're going to eat lunch together." Senka wasn't entirely sure when the last time they'd been able to do that. Was it before the attack on the academy? Had it been that long? Pushing a sigh through her nose, she nodded her head with Thea.
“We used to do this all the time, though there were days when it was just the three of us," Senka added. Thea nodded her head, this time, and smiled at Sorcha.
“Yep, and since we're all friends, I think it's time we had lunch together, again. It's... been so long."
Sorcha considered this for a moment, clearly hesitating. Most likely about the obvious thing, which she confirmed when she spoke next. “I—it's okay? It's just... I don't really remember any of that, exactly, and I don't want to... to bring the mood down, I guess." Her lips compressed together in a thin line.
“I'm sorry I don't know how to do this anymore. I really am."
“It's alright, Sorcha," Senka spoke softly, trying to soften her features as best as she could. “You don't have to remember how to do this. We can start slowly, and reintroduce you to it," she continued, keeping her voice as calm as she could. She could feel the slight tremor to it, though. It didn't hurt any less that Sorcha had forgotten them, but she still had to try.
“Yep. And of course it's okay, Sorcha. You're our friend and we love you very much. We're here to help you in any way we can because, well... you're important to us," Thea added, nodding her head as if it were the most sage-like thing she's ever said. Senka huffed lightly, but nodded her head as well.
“Very important and dear to us, especially me. You... saved my life when we were younger," Senka spoke softly, smiling still as she kept her gaze with Sorcha. It was true in more than one way. Senka was certain the soldiers would have killed her if Sorcha hadn't appeared. Hadn't taught her what it was to be a person, someone who wasn't defined by the actions of others. It had taken her a long time to think herself worthy of Sorcha's kindness. Her friendship. But she had. She did.
And now it was her turn to help Sorcha in the way she'd helped her all those years ago, even if the circumstances were different.
It seemed to be enough to convince her, anyway. “Okay," Sorcha said quietly, little more than a murmur. She settled at the table, next to Senka and across from Thea. “Maybe if—maybe if I do more things like this it'll help me remember, anyway. I want to remember. I can't imagine what it must be like, to be on the other side of this, but... I'm trying, you guys."
She glanced down at her hands, then back up. “I do remember some things though, you know. I think... one time there was a courtyard, and a blanket on the grass? We teased Thea, about... about something. Something funny."
Senka could not speak for Thea, but for her, it was slightly painful. Painful because it had left her conflicted. Would it have been best if Sorcha forgot about her, at least? Would it make things easier? It had taken some time, but Senka had learned that it was neither of those things. It wouldn't have made things easier, and it wouldn't have been for the best. Thea pinked a little in the cheeks as she seemed to recall that particular memory.
“Indeed. We were teasing Thea about her crush, then, on Vridel," she stated, causing Thea to puff her cheeks out a bit. “But then, it's not a crush any longer since they are engaged to be married," she stated, arching a brow in Thea's direction.
“And you're still horrible, Senka," Thea stated.
“I try."
“Ha. Ha. You're also not funny. Anyway, yes. You were both teasing me about my crush on Vi because at the time I didn't know what a crush was, and it was all relatively new to me. You didn't stop there, either. There was a time when you teased me about when I said he was very skilled..." she trailed off there, and blushed a very deep shade of red. “Not. That. He... oh goddess, why do I do this to myself," she stated, hiding her face behind her hands. Senka snorted softly.
“Skilled?" Sorcha repeated, obviously at a loss, but then her eyes shifted from Senka's face to Thea's, and her eyes narrowed in contemplation. After a moment, she abruptly hit the table with her hand, forgetting it was the metal one, apparently, and making a sound loud enough to startle herself. “Sorry, but—safe and skilled! I remember that!" She huffed softly, the tiniest of smiles playing at the corner of her mouth.
“And I don't know. I think you can still have a crush on someone you're engaged to, right? It's just... more, too?" She looked genuinely worried, the reason why clear enough. It had to be complicated, sorting all of that out with such gaps in her recollection.
It was still something, though, and Senka would take that. Thea, on the other hand, looked like she was about to die from embarrassment. “I think it's a little more than just a crush, now. Crush implies that you have vague feelings for that person, but Thea is in love with Vridel. Just as I am with Cyril, and..." she paused, feeling the smile falter for just a moment. She furrowed her brows softly as she contemplated whether or not she wanted to say what she was going to.
“Just as you are with Mercer," she spoke softly. Even if she didn't remember that, she could at least be reminded of it little by little. Senka had no doubt that Mercer was trying his best to help Sorcha remember him, too, and the feelings they had for each other. It must not be easy for him, but from his willingness to stand by Sorcha, well... Senka had a newfound respect for him.
“Though they certainly do more," she continued, feeling a smirk cross her features as Thea made a vague startled noise.
“Don't act like you don't, either, Sen!" Thea stated, trying, it seemed to embarrass Senka. She merely shrugged her shoulders, though.
“Of course I do. Why would I deny it? There's no shame in it, Thea. On the contrary, it's a very beautiful thing. You, of all people, should know that." Senka felt her smirk inch up just a little further.
Sorcha looked contemplative, but there was a light flush on her face, too. “I see," she said quietly. Her fingers traced the pattern on the tablecloth, brows furrowed. “So if it—if it feels... fluttery. And silly, sometimes, that's not enough?" She bit her lip. “Even if there's more behind it? I don't understand any of this, really. Maybe I'm just wasting his time, if it should be different than this." She shook her head a little, clearly perturbed by the way the distinction had been drawn for her.
Senka felt her expression turn more thoughtful as she tried to dissect Sorcha's statement. “I think it's different for everyone, how they feel. If it's fluttery and silly, with more than that behind it, for some people, that might be enough. Others might want a little more than that, but I think it comes down to how you feel. And you're not wasting his time, Sorcha," she stated, furrowing her brows in Sorcha's direction. Something felt like it was misinterpreted somewhere, and maybe that was Senka's fault.
So, she took a deep breath and cleared her expression to resemble the soft one she had earlier. “There is no doubt that Mercer loves you. The more that comes with it will be when the both of you are ready. If he wanted that more with you, now, it... I don't think he believes it would be right because..." she paused to purse her lips together, “I think he's waiting on you to be ready, Sorcha. He doesn't seem to be the type to want to rush things, especially with how... delicate the situation is."
“Senka's right, in a way," Thea added. “I think what she's trying to say is that, everyone progresses at a different pace, some faster than others. Mercer is content to let things progress slowly because he respects you, Sorcha. He's willing to wait until you feel like you're ready to give more to him rather than try and rush you into something you might not be."
“Love is confusing, isn't it?"
“Sometimes, yes."
Sorcha groaned softly, leaning her head down into her arms on the table so that her face was hidden from view. “I wasn't asking about that," she grumbled, the words coming out muffled by her positioning. “But... never mind." She didn't seem to want to talk about it anymore, though she still seemed a little flustered, turning her face to the side so that her cheek was pressed to the tablecloth and she could blow a lock of hair out of her eyes.
“Where's the food, anyway? I'm kind of hungry."
“That's a good question. I could have sworn I told someone to go get it before you returned," Thea stated, turning a light glare in Senka's direction.
“Oh, you did, but I already told you I was only letting you boss me around that one time," Senka stated, brushing her arm as if there were some invisible dust there and it needed to be brushed off.
“And I reiterate that you're still horrible," she stated. Senka merely smiled.
“Of course I am."
It would be a slow process, but from what she was able to see, Senka believed, in that moment, Sorcha would be okay. Perhaps she should have gone to get the food, though. She was kind of hungry, too.
As if sensing her thoughts, Liev nickered softly and nudged her again, causing a small smile to flicker across Senka's lips. “Alright, I'm done," she spoke, giving Liev one last pat before making her way towards the training grounds. It wasn't quite the academy training grounds; the von Riegan manor had one built for training a proper army, and not students. Mercer had made accommodations to it, though. There were practice weapons so that those who didn't know how to fight, could train without harming themselves.
It was here that she encountered Thea, working up a decent sweat, it seemed. “Oh, hey, Sen!" she greeted once she'd spotted Senka. “Did you come to train, too?" she asked, causing Senka to shake her head.
“I was just passing through," Senka replied.
“Oh, well if that's the case, how about we go for lunch? Vi is with Mercer and Professor talking with Duke Goneril about the upcoming battle, so he won't be back for awhile," she stated, grinning lightly. Senka huffed lightly at the statement. Thea spent almost all of her time with Vridel, but Senka could understand. They had been separated for almost five years, and she knew what that had felt like. Senka wasn't naive enough to believe that everything between her and Cyril was fixed. She knew they still had some ways to go, but that was something she was willing to do. She wouldn't have asked him to marry her, to stay with her and be with her if she didn't believe in him. In them.
“We should see if Sorcha would like to join us," Senka stated suddenly. She and Sorcha had not been able to reacquaint themselves ever since she was found alive. It broke Senka's heart that her friend had forgotten her, but... some part of her thought that it was for the best. She'd failed Sorcha, however; she had resolved herself to get her friend through this. To help her remember who they were to her because Senka needed to apologize properly.
“That's a good idea! Let's go see if we can find her," Thea stated as she placed the practice axe back on the weapon rack.
It took a while to locate her, as Sorcha was not in any of the practice areas, nor the stables, nor the room she presently shared with Mercer. People were definitely talking about that—it wasn't exactly something done until a couple was married, because of what it was assumed it entailed. Of course, the standards were relaxed a little during wartime, but Mercer and Sorcha were under more scrutiny than most just because of who they were.
If Sorcha had even noticed it, though, she'd never said anything to Senka about it.
Eventually, they did find her, seated outside to enjoy the weather, perhaps, working with a carving knife and some other supplies to make arrows, it looked like. There was a pile of unused fletching next to her, and a small jar of adhesive. She seemed to be frowning at her metal hand, though from the way it moved, it was no less dexterous than her other.
At their approach, she looked up, her expression changing little except to soften just the slightest bit. “Hello Senka, Thea. Are you looking for something?"
“You, actually," Thea replied first, causing Senka to nod her head in agreement. “Sen and I were going to get lunch and wanted to know if you'd like to join us," she continued, smiling brightly in that way she did so many years ago. It was nice to see that Thea still had that kind of smile. Senka was still trying to get hers to be like it was, but she was managing small traces of it. It was easier to do in Cyril's company, or when they were poking fun of their friends, but sometimes it just... lacked.
“If not lunch, perhaps we can help you with the arrows," Senka added, glancing towards the pile Sorcha had already made.
“Oh, but say you'll go to lunch with us! I'm so hungry," Thea murmured, frowning just lightly enough to pass for a pout.
“Uh, no, it's fine," Sorcha said, pursing her lips slightly down at the fletching. “It's easy to do wrong, which is why it's taking forever—" she seemed to backtrack, as though afraid of insulting them. “Uh, hm. Just—easier for archers, I guess." She cleared her throat. “Lunch sounds... good? Fine. Good. Sorry."
Her expression was genuinely apologetic, and she sighed quietly as she collected the materials, bundling them carefully under her arm. “I... forget, sometimes," she admitted. “Whether I've eaten or not. I don't know if I used to do that."
“Sometimes," Senka answered honestly. “It usually happened when you were too focused on something else. Moments when you were either having too much fun, or if... you were stressing about something," she continued. There were times when the only reason why Sorcha remembered to eat was because Senka would tell her it was time for lunch or dinner. During their academy, days, though, it was different. They always knew when to eat because they'd always go to lunch with their friends. It was a happier time, but Senka pushed that thought to the back of her mind.
“Regardless, we're going to lunch, now. And you don't have to apologize, silly," Thea stated happily enough as she turned towards the outside breakfast area. It served mostly as a lunch area now since most people ate their breakfast on the go, or in their room or study if they didn't have time elsewhere.
“Sorcha should at least put her arrows away, first, Thea," Senka called out, shaking her head softly as Thea turned around and tilted her head.
“Oh, that's right. Uh, well, while Sorcha does that, I'll set the table up! Sen, you help me with that, too!" she stated, causing Senka to arch a brow, and fold her arms across her chest.
“You know, I usually only let one person boss me around like that, but," she smiled somewhat, “I suppose I can let you do it just this once." Thea snorted softly as she shook her head.
Sorcha returned just as they finished with the table, looking around curiously. “Shouldn't we have... gone to the mess hall or something? Are they even still serving food from the main kitchen?"
“Usually," Thea began, setting a plate down, “we do, however; this is a special occasion between friends. So, we're going to eat lunch together." Senka wasn't entirely sure when the last time they'd been able to do that. Was it before the attack on the academy? Had it been that long? Pushing a sigh through her nose, she nodded her head with Thea.
“We used to do this all the time, though there were days when it was just the three of us," Senka added. Thea nodded her head, this time, and smiled at Sorcha.
“Yep, and since we're all friends, I think it's time we had lunch together, again. It's... been so long."
Sorcha considered this for a moment, clearly hesitating. Most likely about the obvious thing, which she confirmed when she spoke next. “I—it's okay? It's just... I don't really remember any of that, exactly, and I don't want to... to bring the mood down, I guess." Her lips compressed together in a thin line.
“I'm sorry I don't know how to do this anymore. I really am."
“It's alright, Sorcha," Senka spoke softly, trying to soften her features as best as she could. “You don't have to remember how to do this. We can start slowly, and reintroduce you to it," she continued, keeping her voice as calm as she could. She could feel the slight tremor to it, though. It didn't hurt any less that Sorcha had forgotten them, but she still had to try.
“Yep. And of course it's okay, Sorcha. You're our friend and we love you very much. We're here to help you in any way we can because, well... you're important to us," Thea added, nodding her head as if it were the most sage-like thing she's ever said. Senka huffed lightly, but nodded her head as well.
“Very important and dear to us, especially me. You... saved my life when we were younger," Senka spoke softly, smiling still as she kept her gaze with Sorcha. It was true in more than one way. Senka was certain the soldiers would have killed her if Sorcha hadn't appeared. Hadn't taught her what it was to be a person, someone who wasn't defined by the actions of others. It had taken her a long time to think herself worthy of Sorcha's kindness. Her friendship. But she had. She did.
And now it was her turn to help Sorcha in the way she'd helped her all those years ago, even if the circumstances were different.
It seemed to be enough to convince her, anyway. “Okay," Sorcha said quietly, little more than a murmur. She settled at the table, next to Senka and across from Thea. “Maybe if—maybe if I do more things like this it'll help me remember, anyway. I want to remember. I can't imagine what it must be like, to be on the other side of this, but... I'm trying, you guys."
She glanced down at her hands, then back up. “I do remember some things though, you know. I think... one time there was a courtyard, and a blanket on the grass? We teased Thea, about... about something. Something funny."
Senka could not speak for Thea, but for her, it was slightly painful. Painful because it had left her conflicted. Would it have been best if Sorcha forgot about her, at least? Would it make things easier? It had taken some time, but Senka had learned that it was neither of those things. It wouldn't have made things easier, and it wouldn't have been for the best. Thea pinked a little in the cheeks as she seemed to recall that particular memory.
“Indeed. We were teasing Thea about her crush, then, on Vridel," she stated, causing Thea to puff her cheeks out a bit. “But then, it's not a crush any longer since they are engaged to be married," she stated, arching a brow in Thea's direction.
“And you're still horrible, Senka," Thea stated.
“I try."
“Ha. Ha. You're also not funny. Anyway, yes. You were both teasing me about my crush on Vi because at the time I didn't know what a crush was, and it was all relatively new to me. You didn't stop there, either. There was a time when you teased me about when I said he was very skilled..." she trailed off there, and blushed a very deep shade of red. “Not. That. He... oh goddess, why do I do this to myself," she stated, hiding her face behind her hands. Senka snorted softly.
“Skilled?" Sorcha repeated, obviously at a loss, but then her eyes shifted from Senka's face to Thea's, and her eyes narrowed in contemplation. After a moment, she abruptly hit the table with her hand, forgetting it was the metal one, apparently, and making a sound loud enough to startle herself. “Sorry, but—safe and skilled! I remember that!" She huffed softly, the tiniest of smiles playing at the corner of her mouth.
“And I don't know. I think you can still have a crush on someone you're engaged to, right? It's just... more, too?" She looked genuinely worried, the reason why clear enough. It had to be complicated, sorting all of that out with such gaps in her recollection.
It was still something, though, and Senka would take that. Thea, on the other hand, looked like she was about to die from embarrassment. “I think it's a little more than just a crush, now. Crush implies that you have vague feelings for that person, but Thea is in love with Vridel. Just as I am with Cyril, and..." she paused, feeling the smile falter for just a moment. She furrowed her brows softly as she contemplated whether or not she wanted to say what she was going to.
“Just as you are with Mercer," she spoke softly. Even if she didn't remember that, she could at least be reminded of it little by little. Senka had no doubt that Mercer was trying his best to help Sorcha remember him, too, and the feelings they had for each other. It must not be easy for him, but from his willingness to stand by Sorcha, well... Senka had a newfound respect for him.
“Though they certainly do more," she continued, feeling a smirk cross her features as Thea made a vague startled noise.
“Don't act like you don't, either, Sen!" Thea stated, trying, it seemed to embarrass Senka. She merely shrugged her shoulders, though.
“Of course I do. Why would I deny it? There's no shame in it, Thea. On the contrary, it's a very beautiful thing. You, of all people, should know that." Senka felt her smirk inch up just a little further.
Sorcha looked contemplative, but there was a light flush on her face, too. “I see," she said quietly. Her fingers traced the pattern on the tablecloth, brows furrowed. “So if it—if it feels... fluttery. And silly, sometimes, that's not enough?" She bit her lip. “Even if there's more behind it? I don't understand any of this, really. Maybe I'm just wasting his time, if it should be different than this." She shook her head a little, clearly perturbed by the way the distinction had been drawn for her.
Senka felt her expression turn more thoughtful as she tried to dissect Sorcha's statement. “I think it's different for everyone, how they feel. If it's fluttery and silly, with more than that behind it, for some people, that might be enough. Others might want a little more than that, but I think it comes down to how you feel. And you're not wasting his time, Sorcha," she stated, furrowing her brows in Sorcha's direction. Something felt like it was misinterpreted somewhere, and maybe that was Senka's fault.
So, she took a deep breath and cleared her expression to resemble the soft one she had earlier. “There is no doubt that Mercer loves you. The more that comes with it will be when the both of you are ready. If he wanted that more with you, now, it... I don't think he believes it would be right because..." she paused to purse her lips together, “I think he's waiting on you to be ready, Sorcha. He doesn't seem to be the type to want to rush things, especially with how... delicate the situation is."
“Senka's right, in a way," Thea added. “I think what she's trying to say is that, everyone progresses at a different pace, some faster than others. Mercer is content to let things progress slowly because he respects you, Sorcha. He's willing to wait until you feel like you're ready to give more to him rather than try and rush you into something you might not be."
“Love is confusing, isn't it?"
“Sometimes, yes."
Sorcha groaned softly, leaning her head down into her arms on the table so that her face was hidden from view. “I wasn't asking about that," she grumbled, the words coming out muffled by her positioning. “But... never mind." She didn't seem to want to talk about it anymore, though she still seemed a little flustered, turning her face to the side so that her cheek was pressed to the tablecloth and she could blow a lock of hair out of her eyes.
“Where's the food, anyway? I'm kind of hungry."
“That's a good question. I could have sworn I told someone to go get it before you returned," Thea stated, turning a light glare in Senka's direction.
“Oh, you did, but I already told you I was only letting you boss me around that one time," Senka stated, brushing her arm as if there were some invisible dust there and it needed to be brushed off.
“And I reiterate that you're still horrible," she stated. Senka merely smiled.
“Of course I am."
It would be a slow process, but from what she was able to see, Senka believed, in that moment, Sorcha would be okay. Perhaps she should have gone to get the food, though. She was kind of hungry, too.
Goneril Territory - Late Evening - Cool
Cyril Eisner
The first couple days of marching had been largely uneventful. A couple of small skirmishes, but for the most part, Duke Goneril's lands had been bypassed as the imperial army made a straight shot for the capital, so there weren't a lot of forces here. They'd been moving carefully nevertheless, not wanting to be caught by a scout group who could run a message to the forces occupying Gloucester's territory. Hopefully, House Ordelia would be willing to mop up behind once their own territory was liberated on this march, because otherwise they were going to hit the bridge only to be flanked from behind.
He had no doubt that concerns like this were heavy on everyone's minds, and it was with this in his thoughts that he'd hatched a plan with Senka: though by this point dinner was made for the army in small groups, he proposed that the two of them cook for their friends, including Duke Goneril, and eat dinner as a group again.
There was no mistaking that in some ways, the five years between the end of their academy time and now had strained things a great deal, but even now Cyril could tell just from watching them all that the bonds were still there. Rusted, maybe, or buried by years, but strong beneath that. Sure. And he thought it was worth trying to rediscover those. They worked best when everyone supported each other, after all, not merely in the physical sense that came about on battlefields, where they'd never been more effective, but outside of it also. Emotionally, among other things.
It was hardly the work of a day, but that was exactly why it was best to take one day at a time, and go slowly. Everyone had to eat anyway; they might as well do it together, and let others take care of pitching the extra tents or doing the equipment checks for once. There would be plenty of time to fret over those things later.
To this end, He and Senka had commandeered a corner of the mess tent, laying out their dishes on the table for everyone to serve themselves freely from, and at some point today he'd talked to each individual person, to make sure they knew the invitation was personal, and from him. He expected they'd be willing to put aside a bit of time for their former Professor, after all.
Mercer was the first to arrive, glancing back and forth between the food and Cyril. He grinned at the two of them, causing Senka to arch a brow. “Am I allowed to actually serve myself or do I have to wait for the others to not be smacked," he spoke, referencing to something that happened years ago. When Senka had smacked his hand when he tried to serve himself some pastries in Reynard's home. She rolled her eyes softly at him.
“Do what you want, Mercer. I promise I'm not going to smack your hand this time. Just... don't eat until the others are here, alright? That way we can all enjoy it together," she spoke, offering Mercer a small smile. He snorted softly, though, and nodded his head.
“Yes, mom," he spoke, causing her brows to furrow and her eyes to narrow. “And I'm not falling for that. I'm going to wait for someone else to try and get food before I do," he added. Senka shrugged.
“Suit yourself."
Vridel walked in next, deep purple circles beneath his eyes. It was hard to say why the march seemed especially taxing on him, except that his general health seemed to be in decline. Cyril knew well what that meant, or might mean, but it wasn't the kind of thing one could simply ask about like it was nothing.
Unlike Mercer, he seemed to have no wariness about dishing himself some of the food. “I swear it's been five years since I had this and I almost died," he said wryly, scooping himself some of Cyril's spiced rice pilaf. “Brigid food is excellent, don't get me wrong, but still." He readily took a seat, but despite his apparent enthusiasm, did not immediately tuck in.
“There's enough for seconds, if you want, Vridel," Senka spoke. Mercer did his best to smile at Vridel, but it seemed he found it difficult. Apparently deciding it was safe, though, Mercer made himself a plate as Thea walked in, smiling brightly at the group. Out of them all, she seemed to have been the least affected, but even so, it was easy to tell it hadn't been easy on her.
“Oh, this looks so good! You two always make the best things," she spoke, taking a seat next to Vridel once she'd grabbed a plate. She nudged him softly with her elbow before she glanced around. “Guess we're still missing a few people," she stated. Sylvi was the next to arrive, walking with Deirdre, apparently. It looked like they were talking about something before they glanced at the group already forming. They said their hellos and took their seats.
Goneril was the next to arrive, blinking slowly and seemingly out of place. He was a new addition, if anything, to the group. His eyes softened slightly as he nodded his head in Senka's direction. She smiled back at him, as Goneril took a seat without grabbing a plate. He looked... nervous, if anything.
“You don't have to be so tense, Al. You're in good company," Deirdre stated, rolling her eyes as she filled her plate. Sylvi chuckled lightly as she made herself a plate as well.
“I'm not tense," he murmured, pursing his lips together.
“Yes you are. Even I can see it," Senka replied, setting an empty plate down in front of him. Mercer snickered softly as he pushed his food around on his plate, quite content on not eating yet until the last of them arrived.
Sorcha and Devon filed in a bit later, having come right from some bit of camp setup from the slight exertion still obvious in their faces. Sofia wandered in and sat next to Deirdre—her preferred dish had always been one of Senka's vegetable roasts.
Last to wander in was Reynard, hair a little windswept from the ride he'd no doubt taken about the perimeter of camp. He was in charge of positioning the watches, and he took it very seriously. He took one look at Goneril and rolled his eyes, fixing up the empty plate in front of him with a bit of everything on it and setting it back down in front of the other man, whacking him in the shoulder softly with the fork before resting it next to him. "You can be excused for not knowing the rules this once, but when the Professor and Sen cook, we eat."
He made himself a plate next, taking the spot next to the Duke.
That left only Cyril and Senka to serve themselves, which they did, and then it was a free-for-all as far as eating went.
“Oh, man, I missed this," Deirdre spoke first, taking another bite of her food as to savor it. Sylvi snorted softly, and took a bite of her own food, smiling brightly as she glanced towards Cyril and Senka.
“I agree with Deirdre. It's been so long since we've had your food. It should be a crime that you two cook so well," she murmured before shoving another spoonful into her mouth. Mercer chuckled lightly, still pushing his food around as he glanced between everyone.
“I don't know, Syl," he began, arching a brow in her direction, “I think it's mostly good because we are in good company, as Deir said." It was at this point that Goneril finally took a bite out of his own food, and his eyes seemed to light up.
“This... is..." he didn't seem to know how to say what he wanted to, and cleared his throat. “This is very good. I did not know you could cook so well," he spoke softly, taking another bite.
“One of the benefits of being at the academy was being able to enjoy the days when Sen and Professor would cook," Thea stated as if to explain to Goneril. “I think the entire academy was in love with the both of them when they were on kitchen duty. I don't think I'd ever seen the dining hall so filled as I had on those days."
“Hm, and it was chaotic just trying to get in. If you weren't there early enough, you had to eat in your dorm room because students even filled the gazebos," Deirdre added, arching a brow in Sofia's direction. “I think we actually ate at the docks because there really wasn't anywhere else to go."
Sofia nodded. “More than once. I seem to recall some experimental fused cuisine that was especially popular."
Cyril huffed softly, glancing at Senka out of the corner of his eye. “We put those together when Senka wanted to cook dishes from Duscur, so it wouldn't be obvious that's what they were." It had been a small thing he could do at the time, to help her feel connected to the culture she had to hide, and share it with others. So she could see that they enjoyed it. Fortunately, if anyone had ever made the connection, they hadn't said anything about it.
Sorcha ate with what seemed to be great focus, and Cyril could almost understand that. They said that smell was the sense most linked to memory, and taste had a lot to do with smell. It was possible it would be nostalgic for her in a slightly different way from the others.
“Okay but I never asked: where did you two even learn to cook, anyway?"
Cyril shrugged. “Personally I taught myself. A lot of trial and error. But if I wanted to eat very well back with my father's company I had to make it happen. We only had cooks at bases, not on jobs." He felt a slight twinge at the mention of his father—it seemed so much closer an event to him than it really was, but with time the pain faded, as most things did.
Senka had been in the middle of taking a bite of her food as she glanced towards Vridel. She swallowed her food before she answered, “I learned from both of my parents. We... used to cook whenever they had time, but father was the one who taught me the most about cooking. He even taught me how to bake. Bomboloni are what those jelly-filled donuts are called, the ones you seem fond of the most." There was a smile on her face, though it didn't hold the tinge of melancholy to it that it used to when she talked about her parents.
“Oh! Speaking of, you need to make those again. It's been so long," Mercer stated, putting an emphasis on the last word. “I haven't had a good dessert in such a long time," he continued, taking a bite out of his food. Senka rolled her eyes softly, but the smile on her face remained.
“As I've told Thea, there's only one person I allow to boss me around. If you ask nicely," she began, earning a soft snicker from Deirdre, “I might make some more for you. Maybe the ones with chocolate, too."
“If it's not too much," Goneril stated, glancing up from his plate, “I'd like to try those as well. They sound delightful."
“That's because they are. Lyanna loves them, too!" Thea stated in an enthusiastic manner.
“What about you, Teach? Do you know how to bake or are you only good at cooking?" Mercer asked, arching a brow in Cyril's direction in what seemed to be curiosity.
“I can bake," he said with a shrug. “Though it's not something I've had much opportunity to practice. Proper ovens aren't something I had a lot of access to." Most of what he'd used were open flames of one sort or another, and the various kinds of thing that could be fit over them. The monastery had been rather luxurious by comparison, and he knew even they didn't have quite as much as a proper castle kitchen or anything.
"Did I ever tell you I had to learn to cook—and bake—for an infiltration job once?" Reynard remarked, glancing at the others. "I was spying on this fellow who was set to host the Prime Minister for a dinner, and because he was minor nobility the easiest way in was through the temporary kitchen workers he hired. I almost burned the roast my first night on the job. Once the chef was done having a heart attack, she made me personally assist her from there on out. I learned a lot."
“But did you get the information?" Sofia asked with a little grin.
"Of course," Rey replied. "And then some. The lord's son wrote me awful poetry for a good year afterwards." He rolled his eyes.
Vridel coughed, and shot a look at Mercer.
“Probably has that in common with Mercer. He was the one who wrote the poetry for Senka because... well, I'm not well-versed in it and..." Goneril stated, coughing lightly into his hand as he glanced at his plate, seemingly more interested in it than anything else.
Deirdre snorted fairly hard before she doubled over with laughter, her forehead resting against the table as she took in a deep breath. “Are you kidding me? Al... you big dope. You had Mercer, of all the people available to you, write poetry. Poetry!? Even I could have told you that was a horrible decision."
Senka shrugged her shoulders lightly. “I don't know, Deir. I thought it was rather nice, but at the time I thought it was from Alaric. If I'd known it was Mercer's doing... well, I suppose that would have made more sense. It did sound like he was referencing things to Sorcha, now that I think about it. Were you thinking about her when you wrote that, Mercer?"
“Yep. Not gonna deny it," he replied smoothly.
Sorcha glanced up sharply as soon as her name was referenced, to a few chuckles, including one of Cyril's own.
“W-wha? Poetry?"
Vridel snickered. “The levels of idiocy involved in this story are just ridiculous," he said, shaking his head. “Never change, any of you." He easily included Goneril in the lot, which might well have been the source of Rey's subtle smile. That or he was just in agreement.
Senka smirked a bit as she arched a brow in the Duke's direction. “That's nothing compared to what happened when Alaric asked me to dinner," she stated in a nonchalant fashion. “He tried reciting the poem back, but couldn't remember the words. He was as red as his hair during the whole thing," she continued, taking a bite of her food as if it were the easiest thing to say. Goneril, however, pursed his lips together as he frowned a bit.
“I wasn't exactly sure what to do, then. I was nervous. Could you really blame me?" he murmured softly before taking a bite of his food. Mercer huffed lightly at his statement.
“Oh, you'll get used to it, Al. Senka teases just about everyone she likes," he stated as if to console the Duke.
“It's true, I do."
“Most of this lot do," Cyril noted, gesturing vaguely to the table. “So by all means consider yourself welcome. And do feel free to dish out whatever you receive." He lifted his spoon to his mouth, spice tingling on his tongue, and shrugged.
"Well that's the Professor's stamp of approval right there, so I guess you're stuck with us now," Reynard noted, throwing an amused glance in Goneril's direction. "I'd apologize, but I'm really not that sorry."
Deirdre snorted. “Al? Tease someone? You're more likely to get a fish to start singing," she stated, snickering softly as Goneril furrowed his brows deeper. “Besides, he's really bad at it. His way of showing his favor to someone is by being overly protective and very motherly," she added as an after thought.
Mercer huffed lightly as if he were trying not to laugh, but was failing. “That explains... so much," he managed between laughs.
Rey was regarding the other man with a raised eyebrow and a little half smile, but it faded quickly as he shook his head. Cyril chuckled softly; the scene, save for the ages of his students, could have played out on any evening in the dining hall at Garreg Mach. This—silly though it was—was precisely the sort of warmth he'd been trying to recapture in inviting them all here. They were all as relaxed as he'd seen them in months, most smiling or laughing, even those less inclined to such expressions wearing softer versions of their faces than usual.
Beneath the table, he took Senka's hand and gave it a soft squeeze, letting the conversation flow around him for a while. Tomorrow, they'd be back on the march and as strained as ever, but tonight...
Tonight they could be this instead.
He had no doubt that concerns like this were heavy on everyone's minds, and it was with this in his thoughts that he'd hatched a plan with Senka: though by this point dinner was made for the army in small groups, he proposed that the two of them cook for their friends, including Duke Goneril, and eat dinner as a group again.
There was no mistaking that in some ways, the five years between the end of their academy time and now had strained things a great deal, but even now Cyril could tell just from watching them all that the bonds were still there. Rusted, maybe, or buried by years, but strong beneath that. Sure. And he thought it was worth trying to rediscover those. They worked best when everyone supported each other, after all, not merely in the physical sense that came about on battlefields, where they'd never been more effective, but outside of it also. Emotionally, among other things.
It was hardly the work of a day, but that was exactly why it was best to take one day at a time, and go slowly. Everyone had to eat anyway; they might as well do it together, and let others take care of pitching the extra tents or doing the equipment checks for once. There would be plenty of time to fret over those things later.
To this end, He and Senka had commandeered a corner of the mess tent, laying out their dishes on the table for everyone to serve themselves freely from, and at some point today he'd talked to each individual person, to make sure they knew the invitation was personal, and from him. He expected they'd be willing to put aside a bit of time for their former Professor, after all.
Mercer was the first to arrive, glancing back and forth between the food and Cyril. He grinned at the two of them, causing Senka to arch a brow. “Am I allowed to actually serve myself or do I have to wait for the others to not be smacked," he spoke, referencing to something that happened years ago. When Senka had smacked his hand when he tried to serve himself some pastries in Reynard's home. She rolled her eyes softly at him.
“Do what you want, Mercer. I promise I'm not going to smack your hand this time. Just... don't eat until the others are here, alright? That way we can all enjoy it together," she spoke, offering Mercer a small smile. He snorted softly, though, and nodded his head.
“Yes, mom," he spoke, causing her brows to furrow and her eyes to narrow. “And I'm not falling for that. I'm going to wait for someone else to try and get food before I do," he added. Senka shrugged.
“Suit yourself."
Vridel walked in next, deep purple circles beneath his eyes. It was hard to say why the march seemed especially taxing on him, except that his general health seemed to be in decline. Cyril knew well what that meant, or might mean, but it wasn't the kind of thing one could simply ask about like it was nothing.
Unlike Mercer, he seemed to have no wariness about dishing himself some of the food. “I swear it's been five years since I had this and I almost died," he said wryly, scooping himself some of Cyril's spiced rice pilaf. “Brigid food is excellent, don't get me wrong, but still." He readily took a seat, but despite his apparent enthusiasm, did not immediately tuck in.
“There's enough for seconds, if you want, Vridel," Senka spoke. Mercer did his best to smile at Vridel, but it seemed he found it difficult. Apparently deciding it was safe, though, Mercer made himself a plate as Thea walked in, smiling brightly at the group. Out of them all, she seemed to have been the least affected, but even so, it was easy to tell it hadn't been easy on her.
“Oh, this looks so good! You two always make the best things," she spoke, taking a seat next to Vridel once she'd grabbed a plate. She nudged him softly with her elbow before she glanced around. “Guess we're still missing a few people," she stated. Sylvi was the next to arrive, walking with Deirdre, apparently. It looked like they were talking about something before they glanced at the group already forming. They said their hellos and took their seats.
Goneril was the next to arrive, blinking slowly and seemingly out of place. He was a new addition, if anything, to the group. His eyes softened slightly as he nodded his head in Senka's direction. She smiled back at him, as Goneril took a seat without grabbing a plate. He looked... nervous, if anything.
“You don't have to be so tense, Al. You're in good company," Deirdre stated, rolling her eyes as she filled her plate. Sylvi chuckled lightly as she made herself a plate as well.
“I'm not tense," he murmured, pursing his lips together.
“Yes you are. Even I can see it," Senka replied, setting an empty plate down in front of him. Mercer snickered softly as he pushed his food around on his plate, quite content on not eating yet until the last of them arrived.
Sorcha and Devon filed in a bit later, having come right from some bit of camp setup from the slight exertion still obvious in their faces. Sofia wandered in and sat next to Deirdre—her preferred dish had always been one of Senka's vegetable roasts.
Last to wander in was Reynard, hair a little windswept from the ride he'd no doubt taken about the perimeter of camp. He was in charge of positioning the watches, and he took it very seriously. He took one look at Goneril and rolled his eyes, fixing up the empty plate in front of him with a bit of everything on it and setting it back down in front of the other man, whacking him in the shoulder softly with the fork before resting it next to him. "You can be excused for not knowing the rules this once, but when the Professor and Sen cook, we eat."
He made himself a plate next, taking the spot next to the Duke.
That left only Cyril and Senka to serve themselves, which they did, and then it was a free-for-all as far as eating went.
“Oh, man, I missed this," Deirdre spoke first, taking another bite of her food as to savor it. Sylvi snorted softly, and took a bite of her own food, smiling brightly as she glanced towards Cyril and Senka.
“I agree with Deirdre. It's been so long since we've had your food. It should be a crime that you two cook so well," she murmured before shoving another spoonful into her mouth. Mercer chuckled lightly, still pushing his food around as he glanced between everyone.
“I don't know, Syl," he began, arching a brow in her direction, “I think it's mostly good because we are in good company, as Deir said." It was at this point that Goneril finally took a bite out of his own food, and his eyes seemed to light up.
“This... is..." he didn't seem to know how to say what he wanted to, and cleared his throat. “This is very good. I did not know you could cook so well," he spoke softly, taking another bite.
“One of the benefits of being at the academy was being able to enjoy the days when Sen and Professor would cook," Thea stated as if to explain to Goneril. “I think the entire academy was in love with the both of them when they were on kitchen duty. I don't think I'd ever seen the dining hall so filled as I had on those days."
“Hm, and it was chaotic just trying to get in. If you weren't there early enough, you had to eat in your dorm room because students even filled the gazebos," Deirdre added, arching a brow in Sofia's direction. “I think we actually ate at the docks because there really wasn't anywhere else to go."
Sofia nodded. “More than once. I seem to recall some experimental fused cuisine that was especially popular."
Cyril huffed softly, glancing at Senka out of the corner of his eye. “We put those together when Senka wanted to cook dishes from Duscur, so it wouldn't be obvious that's what they were." It had been a small thing he could do at the time, to help her feel connected to the culture she had to hide, and share it with others. So she could see that they enjoyed it. Fortunately, if anyone had ever made the connection, they hadn't said anything about it.
Sorcha ate with what seemed to be great focus, and Cyril could almost understand that. They said that smell was the sense most linked to memory, and taste had a lot to do with smell. It was possible it would be nostalgic for her in a slightly different way from the others.
“Okay but I never asked: where did you two even learn to cook, anyway?"
Cyril shrugged. “Personally I taught myself. A lot of trial and error. But if I wanted to eat very well back with my father's company I had to make it happen. We only had cooks at bases, not on jobs." He felt a slight twinge at the mention of his father—it seemed so much closer an event to him than it really was, but with time the pain faded, as most things did.
Senka had been in the middle of taking a bite of her food as she glanced towards Vridel. She swallowed her food before she answered, “I learned from both of my parents. We... used to cook whenever they had time, but father was the one who taught me the most about cooking. He even taught me how to bake. Bomboloni are what those jelly-filled donuts are called, the ones you seem fond of the most." There was a smile on her face, though it didn't hold the tinge of melancholy to it that it used to when she talked about her parents.
“Oh! Speaking of, you need to make those again. It's been so long," Mercer stated, putting an emphasis on the last word. “I haven't had a good dessert in such a long time," he continued, taking a bite out of his food. Senka rolled her eyes softly, but the smile on her face remained.
“As I've told Thea, there's only one person I allow to boss me around. If you ask nicely," she began, earning a soft snicker from Deirdre, “I might make some more for you. Maybe the ones with chocolate, too."
“If it's not too much," Goneril stated, glancing up from his plate, “I'd like to try those as well. They sound delightful."
“That's because they are. Lyanna loves them, too!" Thea stated in an enthusiastic manner.
“What about you, Teach? Do you know how to bake or are you only good at cooking?" Mercer asked, arching a brow in Cyril's direction in what seemed to be curiosity.
“I can bake," he said with a shrug. “Though it's not something I've had much opportunity to practice. Proper ovens aren't something I had a lot of access to." Most of what he'd used were open flames of one sort or another, and the various kinds of thing that could be fit over them. The monastery had been rather luxurious by comparison, and he knew even they didn't have quite as much as a proper castle kitchen or anything.
"Did I ever tell you I had to learn to cook—and bake—for an infiltration job once?" Reynard remarked, glancing at the others. "I was spying on this fellow who was set to host the Prime Minister for a dinner, and because he was minor nobility the easiest way in was through the temporary kitchen workers he hired. I almost burned the roast my first night on the job. Once the chef was done having a heart attack, she made me personally assist her from there on out. I learned a lot."
“But did you get the information?" Sofia asked with a little grin.
"Of course," Rey replied. "And then some. The lord's son wrote me awful poetry for a good year afterwards." He rolled his eyes.
Vridel coughed, and shot a look at Mercer.
“Probably has that in common with Mercer. He was the one who wrote the poetry for Senka because... well, I'm not well-versed in it and..." Goneril stated, coughing lightly into his hand as he glanced at his plate, seemingly more interested in it than anything else.
Deirdre snorted fairly hard before she doubled over with laughter, her forehead resting against the table as she took in a deep breath. “Are you kidding me? Al... you big dope. You had Mercer, of all the people available to you, write poetry. Poetry!? Even I could have told you that was a horrible decision."
Senka shrugged her shoulders lightly. “I don't know, Deir. I thought it was rather nice, but at the time I thought it was from Alaric. If I'd known it was Mercer's doing... well, I suppose that would have made more sense. It did sound like he was referencing things to Sorcha, now that I think about it. Were you thinking about her when you wrote that, Mercer?"
“Yep. Not gonna deny it," he replied smoothly.
Sorcha glanced up sharply as soon as her name was referenced, to a few chuckles, including one of Cyril's own.
“W-wha? Poetry?"
Vridel snickered. “The levels of idiocy involved in this story are just ridiculous," he said, shaking his head. “Never change, any of you." He easily included Goneril in the lot, which might well have been the source of Rey's subtle smile. That or he was just in agreement.
Senka smirked a bit as she arched a brow in the Duke's direction. “That's nothing compared to what happened when Alaric asked me to dinner," she stated in a nonchalant fashion. “He tried reciting the poem back, but couldn't remember the words. He was as red as his hair during the whole thing," she continued, taking a bite of her food as if it were the easiest thing to say. Goneril, however, pursed his lips together as he frowned a bit.
“I wasn't exactly sure what to do, then. I was nervous. Could you really blame me?" he murmured softly before taking a bite of his food. Mercer huffed lightly at his statement.
“Oh, you'll get used to it, Al. Senka teases just about everyone she likes," he stated as if to console the Duke.
“It's true, I do."
“Most of this lot do," Cyril noted, gesturing vaguely to the table. “So by all means consider yourself welcome. And do feel free to dish out whatever you receive." He lifted his spoon to his mouth, spice tingling on his tongue, and shrugged.
"Well that's the Professor's stamp of approval right there, so I guess you're stuck with us now," Reynard noted, throwing an amused glance in Goneril's direction. "I'd apologize, but I'm really not that sorry."
Deirdre snorted. “Al? Tease someone? You're more likely to get a fish to start singing," she stated, snickering softly as Goneril furrowed his brows deeper. “Besides, he's really bad at it. His way of showing his favor to someone is by being overly protective and very motherly," she added as an after thought.
Mercer huffed lightly as if he were trying not to laugh, but was failing. “That explains... so much," he managed between laughs.
Rey was regarding the other man with a raised eyebrow and a little half smile, but it faded quickly as he shook his head. Cyril chuckled softly; the scene, save for the ages of his students, could have played out on any evening in the dining hall at Garreg Mach. This—silly though it was—was precisely the sort of warmth he'd been trying to recapture in inviting them all here. They were all as relaxed as he'd seen them in months, most smiling or laughing, even those less inclined to such expressions wearing softer versions of their faces than usual.
Beneath the table, he took Senka's hand and gave it a soft squeeze, letting the conversation flow around him for a while. Tomorrow, they'd be back on the march and as strained as ever, but tonight...
Tonight they could be this instead.
Myrddin Bridge - Afternoon - Overcast
Amalthea von Kreuz
Thea pursed her lips together. They were just in sight of the Myrddin Bridge, and had taken the moment to pause. They were going over the strategy they were going to use in order to retake it. She could see a few tents below; it appeared that whoever held the bridge had made a point to establish at least troops to keep it. There were quite a few of them, easily moreso than the ones Thea's group currently had, however; if they did this right, they could take Myrddin back.
In doing so, it would provide a great advantage, one they desperately needed. She turned Sunny back towards where they were currently going over the plan. She dismounted and made her way to stand next to Vridel, glancing up at him for just a moment before turning her attention towards Mercer and Professor.
Vridel set a hand gently on her head, letting it linger for a few seconds before dropping it away. Like her, though, his attention was largely devoted to the discussion.
“You all know the plan, right?" Mercer spoke, causing a few of them to nod their heads, including Thea. “Good. This is just a reminder; Thea and Vi, you'll be taking Deirdre and Sofia and approaching the camp from the right side. Devon and Reynard, you two need to get their attention. You're the best infiltration we have to take them by surprise. I want Devon to regroup with Teach's group after you've captured their attention."
“Rey, you do what you do best. Keep them confused while Sor and I will take the skies. Teach, Sen, and Sylvi, you two take the left flank while Al keeps their attention at the middle," Mercer glanced the group over, eyes somewhat hardened as he regarded everyone. He hadn't changed much in that aspect, Thea supposed. He still cared enough to want to keep them safe, but at this point, everyone knew the dangers of these battles. Everyone was at risk of being harmed, or worse, dying. They just had to trust each other enough to have each other's backs.
And to count on each other.
"Now that I've gotten a look at what we're dealing with," Reynard said, frowning slightly beneath the fabric covering his nose and mouth, "I think I'm going to free their horses and such. They've got them penned, and this far out the pens are pretty makeshift. So be aware that there are likely to be extra horses and fliers about. I think the chaos will be to our advantage, especially now that you can plan for it, and denying the reserves their mounts shouldn't hurt."
Vridel nodded. “We'll look for ways to throw them off like that too. I think it'll help if we can create as much chaos for them as possible."
Mercer nodded his head. “The more chaos the better. We'll be able to pick off their numbers in the confusion which will help level the playing field, a bit," he stated, his eyes sweeping over the group. “Be on the lookout for the one leading them. We don't know who they are or what they're capable of," he seemed to add. Thea supposed he had a point. It would have been beneficial if Bergliez had been able to come through on his part of the deal. If he'd been able to get them information, this might have been easier. But they didn't have time for what ifs. They had a battle to fight, now, and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to try her hardest for this. They had a lot riding on this recapture of Myrddin Bridge, after all.
“If everyone is ready to march, we'd better do it now before we lose the element of surprise," he stated, seemingly dismissing them. Thea glanced towards Vridel and reached over to squeeze his hand.
“Let's go show them what we're made of," she stated as she smiled up at him. She moved, then, to pat Sunny's neck, motioning the horse to leave. She couldn't risk being seen on the horse, nor being heard. It would be easier for the fliers of the group, but a cavalry would likely be noticed before any of them were able to carry out their plans. They needed to wait, however, for Reynard and Devon to start the chaos. For the first time in years, Thea felt nervous. She wasn't entirely sure why, but she was.
She pulled Amyr in front of her, and gripped the hilt tightly.
Vridel led them into position, breaking their group and the soldiers following them off from Alaric's central group. They had to be careful not to be spotted, but they couldn't afford to still be standing around in place when the chaos began, either. Fortunately, Vridel himself had part of the solution, laying down a mass silence spell that should at least muffle most of the sounds of their passage. It was still better not to take the horses—he hadn't quite figured out how to get rid of all noise, after all. But this combined with everyone's efforts to be quiet seemed to be more than enough.
They skirted just beneath the crest of a hill to prevent themselves from being seen. Even as they arrived, though, a cry of alarm went up from the other side. There were no words to it, only a shout, and soon another followed from another direction.
“Supplies! The supply tents are on fire!"
A few of the soldiers made to move, but Vridel's outstretched hand halted them. “They don't know they're under attack yet," he said quietly. “Let's give them enough time to prepare to fight the fire. Then we can go over first, and the Professor's flank can come in from behind." It made sense for them to be the first attackers; their unit had a lot of heavier-armored people in it, like Thea and Sofia, and a lot of heavy-hitting casters, like Deirdre and Vridel.
It was a good strategy, Thea thought. Let them put out the fire, and then be taken by surprise. They wouldn't be able to defend themselves, and had they been anyone else, Thea might have felt bad about it. But they were fighting people who did not value life the same way. They valued... well, Thea wasn't sure, exactly, but she knew they had to die. When the enemy troops seemed occupied enough with the fire, Thea glanced towards Vridel and nodded.
“Now," she murmured loud enough that he could hear her, but not the enemy. She wasn't even sure if they could given the fact that they were preoccupied.
She took the charge, catching the first person by surprise with Amyr. From the way they had glanced at her, they probably thought she was help. She could hear Deirdre behind her with a wind spell, knocking a soldier off their feet as Thea followed up, twirling Amyr enough so that it caught the fallen soldier in the neck. He wouldn't be getting up from that.
She moved on to the next person, ducking to avoid a lance that still managed to nick her cheek. The cut was thin, so she wasn't too worried about it. They had other things to focus on right now, after all.
Vridel, as he so often was in situations like this, was right behind her, slinging magic over her shoulders to thin out the ranks of her opponents before they could ever meet her in melee. He added fire to Deirdre's wind, something that would no doubt only sow more chaos still. As the group of them charged down the hill to crash into the side of the encampment, Reynard must have reached at least a few of the pens, because loose horses were roaming about, spooked by the noise and the fire, no few of them knocking into tent poles, shrill whinnies piercing the air and adding to the raucous shouting.
It was hardly a surprise that the enemy was disoriented, doubly so when the Professor's flank came in from just the opposite direction, though they were too far away yet to make out individual figures, she could see flashes of light and bursts of darkness as various magic went off. An alarm finally sounded, the watchman in the short tower at the gate's entrance falling from it in the next moment with an arrow in his throat.
Overhead, a familiar black pegasus and white wyvern swept by, and tough no doubt the troops behind the gate and on the bridge proper were rallying, it looked like the forward camp would be almost entirely gone before the reinforcements had the chance to arrive.
But maybe that was too optimistic of a thought. Someone was shouting, though from the voice alone Thea couldn't tell if it was someone from their group, or the enemy's. It became apparent, though, when a large group of soldiers descended upon their group, almost circling them. Thea gripped Amyr tightly in her hands as she regrouped with Vridel. It looked like they had been anticipating the attack, as if they knew beforehand that they were going to be engaged in combat.
“We're going to need to change the plan a bit," she muttered once she was close enough to Vridel, blocking an incoming attack before cutting the soldier down. “If we don't fan out, we'll be surrounded and they'll have the upper hand."
Thea didn't have to know much about strategy to know that if they were surrounded, they would all be killed. It was a pincer move, but not quite enough so. They could break through this if they were careful enough and Thea didn't doubt Mercer and the others were coming to the same conclusions themselves.
"Where did they come from?" Sofia wondered, grimacing. There was a cut on her cheek, but she otherwise seemed largely uninjured.
“Over the gate, I expect." Vridel replied. “Sacrificed the forward camp to split us up, then the fliers carried the ground troops over to surround us. We need to meet back up with the others. Their plan only works if they can isolate us from each other."
Sofia nodded. "Then let's punch a hole through their line and meet up with Alaric's people first." They were supposed to be in the middle, roughly, so that meant they'd be closest.
“Well let's get to it, then," Deirdre gritted through her teeth. She had a few cuts on her arms, probably from when she had to defend herself without the use of her spells, but like Sofia, looked relatively unharmed. Thea nodded her head, and pushed forward. If they could get to Goneril in time, then they had a better chance at getting through this.
Deirdre flung a few fire spells mixed with wind spells in order to keep some of the soldiers at bay. The ones with heavy shields, like Sofia's, used them to resist, though. “There he is!" Thea shouted as she glanced towards Goneril's group. It looked like they were on the verge of being surrounded, but Goneril was spearheading a charge. His lance in hand, he managed to catch a soldier in the throat before twisting the lance around and catching another in the shoulder. One of his soldiers, however, managed to finish off the enemy before he continued charging through.
Thea's group reinforced Goneril's though, and managed to push back the first wave that came forward. It would only be a matter of time before they were besieged by another wave, though. “Gloucester leads them," Goneril stated, lips pursed into a fine line as he approached Vridel and Thea's group. “One of the scouts saw the banner for their Crest, but they did not see Matteo. Only Fiona," he continued as if he were explaining the situation.
“Then we need to go for Fiona. If we can get her..." Thea didn't need to finish that statement for them to understand. Defeating Fiona meant a small victory, and they'd be able to retake the bridge that way.
“There's only one problem. She has an altered golem with her that she's using as a sort of guard. We'd never be able to get past it without losing a majority of our forces."
Thea grimaced as she glanced towards Vridel. “We'll need the help of the others to take the golem's attention, then, if we're going to have a chance. You, Professor, and Senka all took one down not too long ago, right? You all can do it again." This, Thea truly believed.
Vridel clicked his tongue against his teeth, squinting down the rest of the field.
"That precise combination isn't going to be possible." The new voice was Reynard's; he seemed to materialize from nowhere at the Duke's elbow. He seemed to have taken a few more hits than most of them: along with a large scrape on his forehead, there was some blood soaking the light leathers on his left side. "Fiona's focusing the majority of her forces on that wing. I think she's wary of the Professor. Mercer and Sorcha have gone to reinforce them—I think they'll be fine, if we can handle this lot and that."
He pointed with one of the knives in his hands even as the lurching silhouette of the golem detached itself from the shadow of the bridge. It was nearly as tall as the gate; each step it took seemed to reverberate in the ground. The few horses remaining about the camp spooked and fled at top speed, heedless of what or whom they crashed through, mindless with fear. It trampled tents and corpses alike beneath it, its metal carapace the same dull grey as the sky overhead. Through small gaps in the iron shell, Thea could see a pulsing blue light, evidence of some great roaring engine inside.
“The average soldier's got nothing on that," Vridel said grimly. “It's going to have to be the six of us."
“We shouldn't waste time, then. We need to head out and meet it so it doesn't get any further," Alaric stated, glancing towards Vridel and then Reynard. His eyes seemed to soften for a second before he glanced out towards the golem that was still coming their way.
“We can't just take it head on, though. We'd be going straight to our deaths that way," Thea stated. They didn't have much time to strategize, either. Taking in a deep breath, she glanced towards Sofia and Deirdre. “Sofia, Deirdre and I will cover from its left side. You three take its right. If we can keep it from becoming centralized on either group, we might have a chance at taking it down."
“It's risky, though," Deirdre stated, her brows furrowing.
“Risky, but we don't have much of a choice, either. We need to destroy that thing, one way or another," Alaric stated as he gripped his lance tightly. “Shall we?" he stated, pointing towards the golem. Thea nodded her head and glanced in Vridel's direction.
“Be careful," she stated reaching out to touch his forearm before they took off towards the golem.
“And you," he murmured, touching her with a healing spell as she pulled her arm away.
Alaric's group was the faster one by a fair margin, and it was they who reached the golem first. Vridel cycled through various types of magic, no doubt trying to figure out what, if anything, would bring it down. Reynard didn't seem to attack right away, instead circling the thing as if studying it, knives in his hands but for the moment making no attempt to hack at the creature's great armored legs. It was unlikely they'd have done much of anything anyway.
Deirdre seemed to be doing the same thing as Vridel, throwing spell after another, but nothing really seemed to be affecting it. It took a swing at Alaric, but he was much faster than it, dodging out of the way, and swinging his lance towards its arm. It merely retracted its arm, and tried again. Thea pursed her lips together as she rolled out of the way of one of its attacks, throwing Amyr into the crook by its elbow. The axe bounced off like it was just a mere practice axe, and she recalled it to her.
“Nothing seems to be working," Deirdre gritted through her teeth. Thea furrowed her brows, but she couldn't disagree. They needed to be able to get underneath its armor if they wanted to defeat it, somehow.
“Rey," Thea called out to him. He had a better chance of at least getting on the creature. If he could, then they could possibly distract it long enough so he could, at least, peel off one of the armored plates around its chest, or even its back. Wherever that would lend them the advantage. Thea could hear the others in the distance, engaging with their enemies. No doubt Fiona was likely taking the field where the others were.
“Alaric and I are going to make it swing for us. Try and climb it if you can," she stated, nodding in the direction of Alaric who nodded his head as well. She trusted the others to do the same. The focus was to be on them while Reynard did what he could to give them the advantage they needed. Thea swung Amyr for the creature's legs while Alaric used his lance more to jab towards it rather than swing or slice. It was meant to antagonize, if anything.
Vridel and Deirdre switched their focus to cold spells, things that would make it harder for the golem to move, concentrating these at its joints. Sofia took a third vantage behind it, but then dropped to a crouch, hefting her tower shield with both hands until it was on her back like a turtle's shell.
“Reynard!" she called.
He seemed to know what she meant, and stowed his knives, backing up and then exploding forward into a sprint. He jumped at the end of it, and as soon as he hit the shield, Sofia surged upwards beneath him, boosting him as high as she could.
It was just high enough, combined with the force of his own jump. Reynard caught onto one of the golem's legs near the top, ascending its torso quickly. He must have seen something earlier that got his attention, because he was clearly climbing with purpose. The golem swayed, thrashing in what was almost slow motion, too large to be any quicker. Its great lurches occasionally forced Reynard to pause; a have to the right left him hanging on with one hand, legs scrabbling frantically to regain purchase. He managed it, somehow, and propelled himself up towards its shoulder.
Drawing a knife, he slammed it hard into what seemed to be some kind of joint, the blade heating to a cherry red color with some kind of spell Thea didn't know. Sidling over the thing's shoulders in a crouch, he peeled the top of the armored panel off like peeling the skin from a fruit. At some point, the knife hit an obstacle and Reynard lost his grip on it, fitting his hands inside the new gap and jumping down to pull with his bodyweight.
With a great screeching sound that stung their ears, the panel tore away, slowing Reynard's descent just enough that he stopped abruptly about ten feet from the earth, hanging by the bent-back panel, still attached along the bottom seam. It didn't matter though—he'd exposed a large swath of its core along its back-left side—a large enough target for all of them to hit.
Vridel struck first, hurling a bright spell right for the spot. On impact, the golem stiffened and swung towards him, Reynard just barely jumping clear. The move exposed the weak spot to Thea and Alaric.
They wasted no time.
They couldn't afford to.
Thea hurled Amyr for the spot with as much force as she possibly could, more than she'd ever used before, as Alaric did the same with his lance. Their weapons landed true, and immediately, Thea called Amyr as quickly as she could, willing her legs to go as fast as they could so she could get one last throw into it. With the momentum used, the second hit shattered the core, stilling the golem. Its eyes no longer glowed, nor did it make any attempt to move, after.
Thea tried to catch her breath, her shoulders heaving slightly as she turned towards her group. “Let's go catch up with Professor's group," she stated. In the distance, she could hear the fighting. It seemed, however, that someone had the upper hand. Mercer could be heard, just barely, giving an order. Deirdre glanced towards Sofia and the others, before nodding her head.
It was clear, however, when they did approach Professor's group, Fiona was on the ground, dead, and everyone seemed to be wearing exhausted smiles. They'd won their battle to take the bridge back, and Thea felt a wave of relief wash over her. Taking in a deep, slow breath, she turned towards the group and smiled. Some of them were covered in battle wounds, some more profound than others, but she and Vridel could take care of some of the healing until the others could be attended to, properly.
“It looks like we did it."
“A battle won does not make a war finished, though. We can breathe easier, now, though, that we have the bridge back. We have the advantage, and that's what we really needed the most," Mercer spoke, a great burdern being lifted from his shoulders, it seemed. At least that's the way it appeared when he finally slumped his shoulders, losing all tension in side of them.
Sorcha wiped a trickle of blood away from her nose; it looked to have been broken in the fight, and her face was smeared with crimson, but she seemed to be in reasonably good health otherwise. The Professor's left arm was limp at his side, oozing blood into a growing puddle on the ground, and Devon was limping, but... they were alive. One more obstacle surmounted. Somehow.
"You all owe me... so many drinks." Grimacing, Reynard popped his own arm back into its socket; it seemed to have been wrenched out when he fell.
“We owe you more than that, Rey," Alaric stated, smiling somewhat as he shook his head. Thea managed a small smile on her face, then.
They were all alive, and that's what mattered.
“Alright, who wants to be healed first?!" because she could do that much with her Crest activated.
In doing so, it would provide a great advantage, one they desperately needed. She turned Sunny back towards where they were currently going over the plan. She dismounted and made her way to stand next to Vridel, glancing up at him for just a moment before turning her attention towards Mercer and Professor.
Vridel set a hand gently on her head, letting it linger for a few seconds before dropping it away. Like her, though, his attention was largely devoted to the discussion.
“You all know the plan, right?" Mercer spoke, causing a few of them to nod their heads, including Thea. “Good. This is just a reminder; Thea and Vi, you'll be taking Deirdre and Sofia and approaching the camp from the right side. Devon and Reynard, you two need to get their attention. You're the best infiltration we have to take them by surprise. I want Devon to regroup with Teach's group after you've captured their attention."
“Rey, you do what you do best. Keep them confused while Sor and I will take the skies. Teach, Sen, and Sylvi, you two take the left flank while Al keeps their attention at the middle," Mercer glanced the group over, eyes somewhat hardened as he regarded everyone. He hadn't changed much in that aspect, Thea supposed. He still cared enough to want to keep them safe, but at this point, everyone knew the dangers of these battles. Everyone was at risk of being harmed, or worse, dying. They just had to trust each other enough to have each other's backs.
And to count on each other.
"Now that I've gotten a look at what we're dealing with," Reynard said, frowning slightly beneath the fabric covering his nose and mouth, "I think I'm going to free their horses and such. They've got them penned, and this far out the pens are pretty makeshift. So be aware that there are likely to be extra horses and fliers about. I think the chaos will be to our advantage, especially now that you can plan for it, and denying the reserves their mounts shouldn't hurt."
Vridel nodded. “We'll look for ways to throw them off like that too. I think it'll help if we can create as much chaos for them as possible."
Mercer nodded his head. “The more chaos the better. We'll be able to pick off their numbers in the confusion which will help level the playing field, a bit," he stated, his eyes sweeping over the group. “Be on the lookout for the one leading them. We don't know who they are or what they're capable of," he seemed to add. Thea supposed he had a point. It would have been beneficial if Bergliez had been able to come through on his part of the deal. If he'd been able to get them information, this might have been easier. But they didn't have time for what ifs. They had a battle to fight, now, and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to try her hardest for this. They had a lot riding on this recapture of Myrddin Bridge, after all.
“If everyone is ready to march, we'd better do it now before we lose the element of surprise," he stated, seemingly dismissing them. Thea glanced towards Vridel and reached over to squeeze his hand.
“Let's go show them what we're made of," she stated as she smiled up at him. She moved, then, to pat Sunny's neck, motioning the horse to leave. She couldn't risk being seen on the horse, nor being heard. It would be easier for the fliers of the group, but a cavalry would likely be noticed before any of them were able to carry out their plans. They needed to wait, however, for Reynard and Devon to start the chaos. For the first time in years, Thea felt nervous. She wasn't entirely sure why, but she was.
She pulled Amyr in front of her, and gripped the hilt tightly.
Vridel led them into position, breaking their group and the soldiers following them off from Alaric's central group. They had to be careful not to be spotted, but they couldn't afford to still be standing around in place when the chaos began, either. Fortunately, Vridel himself had part of the solution, laying down a mass silence spell that should at least muffle most of the sounds of their passage. It was still better not to take the horses—he hadn't quite figured out how to get rid of all noise, after all. But this combined with everyone's efforts to be quiet seemed to be more than enough.
They skirted just beneath the crest of a hill to prevent themselves from being seen. Even as they arrived, though, a cry of alarm went up from the other side. There were no words to it, only a shout, and soon another followed from another direction.
“Supplies! The supply tents are on fire!"
A few of the soldiers made to move, but Vridel's outstretched hand halted them. “They don't know they're under attack yet," he said quietly. “Let's give them enough time to prepare to fight the fire. Then we can go over first, and the Professor's flank can come in from behind." It made sense for them to be the first attackers; their unit had a lot of heavier-armored people in it, like Thea and Sofia, and a lot of heavy-hitting casters, like Deirdre and Vridel.
It was a good strategy, Thea thought. Let them put out the fire, and then be taken by surprise. They wouldn't be able to defend themselves, and had they been anyone else, Thea might have felt bad about it. But they were fighting people who did not value life the same way. They valued... well, Thea wasn't sure, exactly, but she knew they had to die. When the enemy troops seemed occupied enough with the fire, Thea glanced towards Vridel and nodded.
“Now," she murmured loud enough that he could hear her, but not the enemy. She wasn't even sure if they could given the fact that they were preoccupied.
She took the charge, catching the first person by surprise with Amyr. From the way they had glanced at her, they probably thought she was help. She could hear Deirdre behind her with a wind spell, knocking a soldier off their feet as Thea followed up, twirling Amyr enough so that it caught the fallen soldier in the neck. He wouldn't be getting up from that.
She moved on to the next person, ducking to avoid a lance that still managed to nick her cheek. The cut was thin, so she wasn't too worried about it. They had other things to focus on right now, after all.
Vridel, as he so often was in situations like this, was right behind her, slinging magic over her shoulders to thin out the ranks of her opponents before they could ever meet her in melee. He added fire to Deirdre's wind, something that would no doubt only sow more chaos still. As the group of them charged down the hill to crash into the side of the encampment, Reynard must have reached at least a few of the pens, because loose horses were roaming about, spooked by the noise and the fire, no few of them knocking into tent poles, shrill whinnies piercing the air and adding to the raucous shouting.
It was hardly a surprise that the enemy was disoriented, doubly so when the Professor's flank came in from just the opposite direction, though they were too far away yet to make out individual figures, she could see flashes of light and bursts of darkness as various magic went off. An alarm finally sounded, the watchman in the short tower at the gate's entrance falling from it in the next moment with an arrow in his throat.
Overhead, a familiar black pegasus and white wyvern swept by, and tough no doubt the troops behind the gate and on the bridge proper were rallying, it looked like the forward camp would be almost entirely gone before the reinforcements had the chance to arrive.
But maybe that was too optimistic of a thought. Someone was shouting, though from the voice alone Thea couldn't tell if it was someone from their group, or the enemy's. It became apparent, though, when a large group of soldiers descended upon their group, almost circling them. Thea gripped Amyr tightly in her hands as she regrouped with Vridel. It looked like they had been anticipating the attack, as if they knew beforehand that they were going to be engaged in combat.
“We're going to need to change the plan a bit," she muttered once she was close enough to Vridel, blocking an incoming attack before cutting the soldier down. “If we don't fan out, we'll be surrounded and they'll have the upper hand."
Thea didn't have to know much about strategy to know that if they were surrounded, they would all be killed. It was a pincer move, but not quite enough so. They could break through this if they were careful enough and Thea didn't doubt Mercer and the others were coming to the same conclusions themselves.
"Where did they come from?" Sofia wondered, grimacing. There was a cut on her cheek, but she otherwise seemed largely uninjured.
“Over the gate, I expect." Vridel replied. “Sacrificed the forward camp to split us up, then the fliers carried the ground troops over to surround us. We need to meet back up with the others. Their plan only works if they can isolate us from each other."
Sofia nodded. "Then let's punch a hole through their line and meet up with Alaric's people first." They were supposed to be in the middle, roughly, so that meant they'd be closest.
“Well let's get to it, then," Deirdre gritted through her teeth. She had a few cuts on her arms, probably from when she had to defend herself without the use of her spells, but like Sofia, looked relatively unharmed. Thea nodded her head, and pushed forward. If they could get to Goneril in time, then they had a better chance at getting through this.
Deirdre flung a few fire spells mixed with wind spells in order to keep some of the soldiers at bay. The ones with heavy shields, like Sofia's, used them to resist, though. “There he is!" Thea shouted as she glanced towards Goneril's group. It looked like they were on the verge of being surrounded, but Goneril was spearheading a charge. His lance in hand, he managed to catch a soldier in the throat before twisting the lance around and catching another in the shoulder. One of his soldiers, however, managed to finish off the enemy before he continued charging through.
Thea's group reinforced Goneril's though, and managed to push back the first wave that came forward. It would only be a matter of time before they were besieged by another wave, though. “Gloucester leads them," Goneril stated, lips pursed into a fine line as he approached Vridel and Thea's group. “One of the scouts saw the banner for their Crest, but they did not see Matteo. Only Fiona," he continued as if he were explaining the situation.
“Then we need to go for Fiona. If we can get her..." Thea didn't need to finish that statement for them to understand. Defeating Fiona meant a small victory, and they'd be able to retake the bridge that way.
“There's only one problem. She has an altered golem with her that she's using as a sort of guard. We'd never be able to get past it without losing a majority of our forces."
Thea grimaced as she glanced towards Vridel. “We'll need the help of the others to take the golem's attention, then, if we're going to have a chance. You, Professor, and Senka all took one down not too long ago, right? You all can do it again." This, Thea truly believed.
Vridel clicked his tongue against his teeth, squinting down the rest of the field.
"That precise combination isn't going to be possible." The new voice was Reynard's; he seemed to materialize from nowhere at the Duke's elbow. He seemed to have taken a few more hits than most of them: along with a large scrape on his forehead, there was some blood soaking the light leathers on his left side. "Fiona's focusing the majority of her forces on that wing. I think she's wary of the Professor. Mercer and Sorcha have gone to reinforce them—I think they'll be fine, if we can handle this lot and that."
He pointed with one of the knives in his hands even as the lurching silhouette of the golem detached itself from the shadow of the bridge. It was nearly as tall as the gate; each step it took seemed to reverberate in the ground. The few horses remaining about the camp spooked and fled at top speed, heedless of what or whom they crashed through, mindless with fear. It trampled tents and corpses alike beneath it, its metal carapace the same dull grey as the sky overhead. Through small gaps in the iron shell, Thea could see a pulsing blue light, evidence of some great roaring engine inside.
“The average soldier's got nothing on that," Vridel said grimly. “It's going to have to be the six of us."
“We shouldn't waste time, then. We need to head out and meet it so it doesn't get any further," Alaric stated, glancing towards Vridel and then Reynard. His eyes seemed to soften for a second before he glanced out towards the golem that was still coming their way.
“We can't just take it head on, though. We'd be going straight to our deaths that way," Thea stated. They didn't have much time to strategize, either. Taking in a deep breath, she glanced towards Sofia and Deirdre. “Sofia, Deirdre and I will cover from its left side. You three take its right. If we can keep it from becoming centralized on either group, we might have a chance at taking it down."
“It's risky, though," Deirdre stated, her brows furrowing.
“Risky, but we don't have much of a choice, either. We need to destroy that thing, one way or another," Alaric stated as he gripped his lance tightly. “Shall we?" he stated, pointing towards the golem. Thea nodded her head and glanced in Vridel's direction.
“Be careful," she stated reaching out to touch his forearm before they took off towards the golem.
“And you," he murmured, touching her with a healing spell as she pulled her arm away.
Alaric's group was the faster one by a fair margin, and it was they who reached the golem first. Vridel cycled through various types of magic, no doubt trying to figure out what, if anything, would bring it down. Reynard didn't seem to attack right away, instead circling the thing as if studying it, knives in his hands but for the moment making no attempt to hack at the creature's great armored legs. It was unlikely they'd have done much of anything anyway.
Deirdre seemed to be doing the same thing as Vridel, throwing spell after another, but nothing really seemed to be affecting it. It took a swing at Alaric, but he was much faster than it, dodging out of the way, and swinging his lance towards its arm. It merely retracted its arm, and tried again. Thea pursed her lips together as she rolled out of the way of one of its attacks, throwing Amyr into the crook by its elbow. The axe bounced off like it was just a mere practice axe, and she recalled it to her.
“Nothing seems to be working," Deirdre gritted through her teeth. Thea furrowed her brows, but she couldn't disagree. They needed to be able to get underneath its armor if they wanted to defeat it, somehow.
“Rey," Thea called out to him. He had a better chance of at least getting on the creature. If he could, then they could possibly distract it long enough so he could, at least, peel off one of the armored plates around its chest, or even its back. Wherever that would lend them the advantage. Thea could hear the others in the distance, engaging with their enemies. No doubt Fiona was likely taking the field where the others were.
“Alaric and I are going to make it swing for us. Try and climb it if you can," she stated, nodding in the direction of Alaric who nodded his head as well. She trusted the others to do the same. The focus was to be on them while Reynard did what he could to give them the advantage they needed. Thea swung Amyr for the creature's legs while Alaric used his lance more to jab towards it rather than swing or slice. It was meant to antagonize, if anything.
Vridel and Deirdre switched their focus to cold spells, things that would make it harder for the golem to move, concentrating these at its joints. Sofia took a third vantage behind it, but then dropped to a crouch, hefting her tower shield with both hands until it was on her back like a turtle's shell.
“Reynard!" she called.
He seemed to know what she meant, and stowed his knives, backing up and then exploding forward into a sprint. He jumped at the end of it, and as soon as he hit the shield, Sofia surged upwards beneath him, boosting him as high as she could.
It was just high enough, combined with the force of his own jump. Reynard caught onto one of the golem's legs near the top, ascending its torso quickly. He must have seen something earlier that got his attention, because he was clearly climbing with purpose. The golem swayed, thrashing in what was almost slow motion, too large to be any quicker. Its great lurches occasionally forced Reynard to pause; a have to the right left him hanging on with one hand, legs scrabbling frantically to regain purchase. He managed it, somehow, and propelled himself up towards its shoulder.
Drawing a knife, he slammed it hard into what seemed to be some kind of joint, the blade heating to a cherry red color with some kind of spell Thea didn't know. Sidling over the thing's shoulders in a crouch, he peeled the top of the armored panel off like peeling the skin from a fruit. At some point, the knife hit an obstacle and Reynard lost his grip on it, fitting his hands inside the new gap and jumping down to pull with his bodyweight.
With a great screeching sound that stung their ears, the panel tore away, slowing Reynard's descent just enough that he stopped abruptly about ten feet from the earth, hanging by the bent-back panel, still attached along the bottom seam. It didn't matter though—he'd exposed a large swath of its core along its back-left side—a large enough target for all of them to hit.
Vridel struck first, hurling a bright spell right for the spot. On impact, the golem stiffened and swung towards him, Reynard just barely jumping clear. The move exposed the weak spot to Thea and Alaric.
They wasted no time.
They couldn't afford to.
Thea hurled Amyr for the spot with as much force as she possibly could, more than she'd ever used before, as Alaric did the same with his lance. Their weapons landed true, and immediately, Thea called Amyr as quickly as she could, willing her legs to go as fast as they could so she could get one last throw into it. With the momentum used, the second hit shattered the core, stilling the golem. Its eyes no longer glowed, nor did it make any attempt to move, after.
Thea tried to catch her breath, her shoulders heaving slightly as she turned towards her group. “Let's go catch up with Professor's group," she stated. In the distance, she could hear the fighting. It seemed, however, that someone had the upper hand. Mercer could be heard, just barely, giving an order. Deirdre glanced towards Sofia and the others, before nodding her head.
It was clear, however, when they did approach Professor's group, Fiona was on the ground, dead, and everyone seemed to be wearing exhausted smiles. They'd won their battle to take the bridge back, and Thea felt a wave of relief wash over her. Taking in a deep, slow breath, she turned towards the group and smiled. Some of them were covered in battle wounds, some more profound than others, but she and Vridel could take care of some of the healing until the others could be attended to, properly.
“It looks like we did it."
“A battle won does not make a war finished, though. We can breathe easier, now, though, that we have the bridge back. We have the advantage, and that's what we really needed the most," Mercer spoke, a great burdern being lifted from his shoulders, it seemed. At least that's the way it appeared when he finally slumped his shoulders, losing all tension in side of them.
Sorcha wiped a trickle of blood away from her nose; it looked to have been broken in the fight, and her face was smeared with crimson, but she seemed to be in reasonably good health otherwise. The Professor's left arm was limp at his side, oozing blood into a growing puddle on the ground, and Devon was limping, but... they were alive. One more obstacle surmounted. Somehow.
"You all owe me... so many drinks." Grimacing, Reynard popped his own arm back into its socket; it seemed to have been wrenched out when he fell.
“We owe you more than that, Rey," Alaric stated, smiling somewhat as he shook his head. Thea managed a small smile on her face, then.
They were all alive, and that's what mattered.
“Alright, who wants to be healed first?!" because she could do that much with her Crest activated.
Myrddin Traning Grounds - Morning - Warm
Sorcha Blaiddyd
Sorcha grimaced, tucking the letter away in a pocket of her tunic and exiting her tent. Whoever delivered it had probably known she didn't regularly sleep in it, and yet last night, when she had, they'd somehow—
She shook her head, feeling a chill settle alongside her spine. She wasn't really sure what to do about any of this, wasn't even entirely sure what the words could really mean, and yet they stirred something in her memory. Something far less pleasant than her memories of her friends. More akin to those she got sometimes of Faerghus, before she'd met any of them except Senka.
Unsure exactly what she was doing, or what she should do, she found herself wandering almost aimlessly, thoughts unable to even out. It was unsettling, deeply so, but she didn't know if it was really worth bothering anyone else about that. She had the sense by now that most of them would worry, and she didn't want to cause them any of that. There were plenty of other things to worry about without adding strange letters into the mix. The one thing that made her unsure was the fact that someone had got into camp to deliver it. If they could do that, they could easily get in to do other, much worse things, and the security breach seemed like something people should know about.
So how to tell them that without all the other questions that would go along with it?
Her feet had somehow carried her to the practice ring at the barracks. Not really surprising when she thought about it—she understood on some level that she'd always found comfort and solace in the exertion of practice. This ring was not unoccupied, however—it looked like Thea and the Professor were having a sparring match inside. Or rather, the Professor was wielding a tower shield for defense, and Thea was trying to get past it.
It had stopped surprising her a while ago, the way he could do anything well enough to teach them about it. She remembered this because, somehow, she remembered a great deal about the Professor. It was like whatever Cornelia had tried to do had gone person-by-person, almost, and she'd just... failed to erase him, even from someplace so insignificant as Sorcha's recollection. Like his existence would not be denied, magically or otherwise. Thea, too, she'd regained a lot of memory of, for some reason, and however it had come to be it meant that she felt... comfortable, around them, in a way she couldn't yet be with the others.
Sorcha drew to a stop outside the ring, bracing her hands against it and barely registering the way sensation was different in one set of fingers from the other. For the moment, she just... watched the match.
They hadn't seemed to notice her, at least not immediately. Thea kept her focus on the Professor, holding Amyr in one hand and pursing her lips together. She had a thin coat of sweat as she took a slow breath. She blinked, though, and her attention was turned towards Sorcha. Thea raised her hand to wave in Sorcha's direction before turning her attention back to the Professor, seemingly calling for the spar to end for the time being.
“Hi, Sorcha!" she greeted once she was in range. She leaned on the other side of the ring, folding her arms over it and smiled at Sorcha. “What brings you out here? Did you want to practice with Professor and I? Oh, if you did, we can bring a lance in for you or a bow," she continued, the smile never really leaving her face.
Sorcha shook her head. “Ah, no, that's all right," Sorcha said, grimacing slightly. “I was just walking around, and I wouldn't want to interrupt what you're working on anyway." She knew it wouldn't necessarily be seen as an interruption, but she figured there was probably a good reason they were doing this particular kind of practice, and she didn't want to get in the way of it. She wasn't sure she was in the right mood to practice herself anyhow.
The Professor had eased in his stance as soon as Thea halted the match, and now let the tower shield rest casually on the ground, propping his arm along the top of it and resting his chin on that. “Are you feeling all right?" he asked quietly.
Something about the keenness of his eyes convinced her he already knew the answer to his own question. Maybe it was just the strangeness of them, the way they were brighter than any human's eyes should be, and slitted like a cat or a lizard. Perhaps they always looked like he knew the answer, but she didn't think so. More like... more like he could read her unease off something she didn't even know she was projecting. Her body language maybe, or tone of voice or something.
“I'm... honestly not sure," she admitted.
Thea pushed herself away from where she was and tilted her head. “Would you like to talk about it? You don't have to if you don't want to, but Professor and I are here for you if you need to just talk. I promise I'll just listen if that's what you need," Thea spoke with a strange warmth to her voice. She was still smiling, so she probably meant what she said.
“Or if you'd like, we can just... uh, sit?" she chuckled nervously. “I'm sorry, I'm just rambling now, but if you'd like to do something or talk about something, I'd be more than happy to do it!"
Sorcha pursed her lips, expelling a breath through her nose. “I... probably do need to tell someone, honestly. I think there's been a security problem. Someone came into my tent last night when I was sleeping, and left this." She pulled the note from her tunic and handed it to Thea.
Honestly, she could hardly make sense of it herself. All she knew was that the writer was, well... obsessive, in some way. Presumably with the person she'd used to be, because Sorcha was fairly sure she'd have noticed it if someone had felt this way abut her since her return. There were vague insinuations, unsubtle assertions of possession, and generally-uncomfortable insults to Mercer and to some minor degree her other friends as well.
The content was disturbing, to say the least, but Sorcha found it more disturbing that someone had been able to enter her tent in the middle of the night to leave it behind. Whether the unidentified writer or someone who agreed to do it for them. “I have no idea who could have written it—I'd have noticed if it was someone in camp, right?" Though she knew very little anymore, she firmly believed that none of the people who called her their friend would ever do something like that... but that still left an awful lot of people.
Thea looked about as disturbed as Sorcha felt. Her eyes were slightly wide, and her mouth was open as if she were trying to say something. “This is... it's..." she couldn't seem to figure out the words she wanted to say, and handed the letter to Professor. “Who would say such things? The... only person that could come to mind is Gloucester. He is the only one I know who harbors that much malice towards Mercer, and who would say those things about... well, you," she continued, furrowing her brows.
“This isn't good. If someone managed to sneak into our camp to leave this, who knows what else they might try to do," she stated, glancing back towards Sorcha. “We'll have to increase patrols to fix this breach. I think... I think it's best if you stay with someone else for the duration of this march to Gronder, Sorcha. Stay with Mercer at night, or even Senka or myself, or one of the others. It'll be safer that way, I think, for you. At least until we can get something sorted out." Thea looked vaguely worried before she shook her head.
Sorcha nodded slightly. She'd taken to sleeping by herself again once she'd realized the trouble rumors were causing Mercer, but... well, she didn't really want to pull one of the others away from their fiancé, but she'd figure something out. “Yeah," she said, knowing some kind of response was expected. “You're so sure it's... Gloucester?"
The Professor expelled a heavy sigh. “Reasonably, yes. He... didn't take it well, the last time you met. You and Mercer outsmarted him rather publicly. More to the point, though, Mercer got a letter the other day, too, which also seemed to be from him. I don't know how it was delivered, but he made no mention of a security concern, so I suspect this is an escalation. Perhaps he's angry there has been no response." He pursed his lips.
“I think it would be safest if we posted guards outside your tents. Easier if you're sharing, but please don't feel any pressure if you don't want to." He looked up, from the letter to her, a certain softness in his expression.
Sorcha wasn't quite prepared for the wave of gratitude that came over her then. They cared, her friends, truly. And the Professor at least seemed to understand why it might not be as straightforward as imposing on someone else to protect herself. She nodded softly.
“Okay."
“Don't worry, Sorcha," Thea spoke, a small smile forming on her lips. “We'll get this sorted out, one way or another. And once we do, you'll be much... much safer," Thea seemed to believe that, somehow. She took a deep breath, though, and tilted her head as if she were thinking of something.
“Well, I'm kind of hungry, now. Do you want to go get breakfast with us? I'm sure a nice hot meal is just what today has ordered, right?" she grinned at Sorcha before turning her attention to the Professor.
He huffed softly, but seemed amenable to the course of action, a tiny smile playing at the edges of his mouth.
Sorcha released a breath, feeling some part of her relax just a bit. “Sure, Thea," she said with a faint shake of her head. “Let's get breakfast."
She shook her head, feeling a chill settle alongside her spine. She wasn't really sure what to do about any of this, wasn't even entirely sure what the words could really mean, and yet they stirred something in her memory. Something far less pleasant than her memories of her friends. More akin to those she got sometimes of Faerghus, before she'd met any of them except Senka.
Unsure exactly what she was doing, or what she should do, she found herself wandering almost aimlessly, thoughts unable to even out. It was unsettling, deeply so, but she didn't know if it was really worth bothering anyone else about that. She had the sense by now that most of them would worry, and she didn't want to cause them any of that. There were plenty of other things to worry about without adding strange letters into the mix. The one thing that made her unsure was the fact that someone had got into camp to deliver it. If they could do that, they could easily get in to do other, much worse things, and the security breach seemed like something people should know about.
So how to tell them that without all the other questions that would go along with it?
Her feet had somehow carried her to the practice ring at the barracks. Not really surprising when she thought about it—she understood on some level that she'd always found comfort and solace in the exertion of practice. This ring was not unoccupied, however—it looked like Thea and the Professor were having a sparring match inside. Or rather, the Professor was wielding a tower shield for defense, and Thea was trying to get past it.
It had stopped surprising her a while ago, the way he could do anything well enough to teach them about it. She remembered this because, somehow, she remembered a great deal about the Professor. It was like whatever Cornelia had tried to do had gone person-by-person, almost, and she'd just... failed to erase him, even from someplace so insignificant as Sorcha's recollection. Like his existence would not be denied, magically or otherwise. Thea, too, she'd regained a lot of memory of, for some reason, and however it had come to be it meant that she felt... comfortable, around them, in a way she couldn't yet be with the others.
Sorcha drew to a stop outside the ring, bracing her hands against it and barely registering the way sensation was different in one set of fingers from the other. For the moment, she just... watched the match.
They hadn't seemed to notice her, at least not immediately. Thea kept her focus on the Professor, holding Amyr in one hand and pursing her lips together. She had a thin coat of sweat as she took a slow breath. She blinked, though, and her attention was turned towards Sorcha. Thea raised her hand to wave in Sorcha's direction before turning her attention back to the Professor, seemingly calling for the spar to end for the time being.
“Hi, Sorcha!" she greeted once she was in range. She leaned on the other side of the ring, folding her arms over it and smiled at Sorcha. “What brings you out here? Did you want to practice with Professor and I? Oh, if you did, we can bring a lance in for you or a bow," she continued, the smile never really leaving her face.
Sorcha shook her head. “Ah, no, that's all right," Sorcha said, grimacing slightly. “I was just walking around, and I wouldn't want to interrupt what you're working on anyway." She knew it wouldn't necessarily be seen as an interruption, but she figured there was probably a good reason they were doing this particular kind of practice, and she didn't want to get in the way of it. She wasn't sure she was in the right mood to practice herself anyhow.
The Professor had eased in his stance as soon as Thea halted the match, and now let the tower shield rest casually on the ground, propping his arm along the top of it and resting his chin on that. “Are you feeling all right?" he asked quietly.
Something about the keenness of his eyes convinced her he already knew the answer to his own question. Maybe it was just the strangeness of them, the way they were brighter than any human's eyes should be, and slitted like a cat or a lizard. Perhaps they always looked like he knew the answer, but she didn't think so. More like... more like he could read her unease off something she didn't even know she was projecting. Her body language maybe, or tone of voice or something.
“I'm... honestly not sure," she admitted.
Thea pushed herself away from where she was and tilted her head. “Would you like to talk about it? You don't have to if you don't want to, but Professor and I are here for you if you need to just talk. I promise I'll just listen if that's what you need," Thea spoke with a strange warmth to her voice. She was still smiling, so she probably meant what she said.
“Or if you'd like, we can just... uh, sit?" she chuckled nervously. “I'm sorry, I'm just rambling now, but if you'd like to do something or talk about something, I'd be more than happy to do it!"
Sorcha pursed her lips, expelling a breath through her nose. “I... probably do need to tell someone, honestly. I think there's been a security problem. Someone came into my tent last night when I was sleeping, and left this." She pulled the note from her tunic and handed it to Thea.
Honestly, she could hardly make sense of it herself. All she knew was that the writer was, well... obsessive, in some way. Presumably with the person she'd used to be, because Sorcha was fairly sure she'd have noticed it if someone had felt this way abut her since her return. There were vague insinuations, unsubtle assertions of possession, and generally-uncomfortable insults to Mercer and to some minor degree her other friends as well.
The content was disturbing, to say the least, but Sorcha found it more disturbing that someone had been able to enter her tent in the middle of the night to leave it behind. Whether the unidentified writer or someone who agreed to do it for them. “I have no idea who could have written it—I'd have noticed if it was someone in camp, right?" Though she knew very little anymore, she firmly believed that none of the people who called her their friend would ever do something like that... but that still left an awful lot of people.
Thea looked about as disturbed as Sorcha felt. Her eyes were slightly wide, and her mouth was open as if she were trying to say something. “This is... it's..." she couldn't seem to figure out the words she wanted to say, and handed the letter to Professor. “Who would say such things? The... only person that could come to mind is Gloucester. He is the only one I know who harbors that much malice towards Mercer, and who would say those things about... well, you," she continued, furrowing her brows.
“This isn't good. If someone managed to sneak into our camp to leave this, who knows what else they might try to do," she stated, glancing back towards Sorcha. “We'll have to increase patrols to fix this breach. I think... I think it's best if you stay with someone else for the duration of this march to Gronder, Sorcha. Stay with Mercer at night, or even Senka or myself, or one of the others. It'll be safer that way, I think, for you. At least until we can get something sorted out." Thea looked vaguely worried before she shook her head.
Sorcha nodded slightly. She'd taken to sleeping by herself again once she'd realized the trouble rumors were causing Mercer, but... well, she didn't really want to pull one of the others away from their fiancé, but she'd figure something out. “Yeah," she said, knowing some kind of response was expected. “You're so sure it's... Gloucester?"
The Professor expelled a heavy sigh. “Reasonably, yes. He... didn't take it well, the last time you met. You and Mercer outsmarted him rather publicly. More to the point, though, Mercer got a letter the other day, too, which also seemed to be from him. I don't know how it was delivered, but he made no mention of a security concern, so I suspect this is an escalation. Perhaps he's angry there has been no response." He pursed his lips.
“I think it would be safest if we posted guards outside your tents. Easier if you're sharing, but please don't feel any pressure if you don't want to." He looked up, from the letter to her, a certain softness in his expression.
Sorcha wasn't quite prepared for the wave of gratitude that came over her then. They cared, her friends, truly. And the Professor at least seemed to understand why it might not be as straightforward as imposing on someone else to protect herself. She nodded softly.
“Okay."
“Don't worry, Sorcha," Thea spoke, a small smile forming on her lips. “We'll get this sorted out, one way or another. And once we do, you'll be much... much safer," Thea seemed to believe that, somehow. She took a deep breath, though, and tilted her head as if she were thinking of something.
“Well, I'm kind of hungry, now. Do you want to go get breakfast with us? I'm sure a nice hot meal is just what today has ordered, right?" she grinned at Sorcha before turning her attention to the Professor.
He huffed softly, but seemed amenable to the course of action, a tiny smile playing at the edges of his mouth.
Sorcha released a breath, feeling some part of her relax just a bit. “Sure, Thea," she said with a faint shake of her head. “Let's get breakfast."
Alliance Territory - Early Evening - Windy
Senka Rinaldi
Senka sighed softly, closing her eyes to enjoy the cool breeze that passed through. They were still several days out from Gronder, but they had at least liberated one village from Empire occupation. It was there that Danae and Reynard were finally able to make contact with Bergliez. He'd sent them a message, telling them that he had important information, but had to tell them in person. The skeptical part of Senka didn't quite believe it, but the more rational side of her believed him. They were supposed to meet him in the next village they passed. Sauin Village, if she remembered correctly.
They were close by, however; when Senka opened her eyes, she could see a small line of smoke coming from over the trees. She pursed her lips together, a feeling of dread settling over her. Perhaps they were making a bonfire of sorts? Shaking her head softly, she nudged Liev a little faster to catch up with Mercer and the others at the front. When she arrived, she could see Mercer's lips pursed into a fine line. He wasn't on Sir today, and instead, was mounted on a horse. Something about letting Sir stretch his wings before the upcoming battle. He glanced in her direction, though.
“We don't know what we'll be walking into. It's best if everyone is prepared for anything," he stated, causing Senka to nod her head. “Did any of the scouts report anything about Sauin being occupied or targeted?" he asked. Senka shook her head, though.
“None. The only information that they received was that Bergliez was supposed to be meeting us there," she replied. Mercer sighed heavily.
“What about you, Rey? Anything?" he asked. Senka understood, really. Reynard was the best scout they had. He would have likely found something out that the others might have missed.
Reynard's mouth pulled down into a frown. "Nothing since the initial message," he said simply. "We avoided sending scouts too far ahead for fear that Bergliez was being watched. We didn't want to spook the imperials into going after him if they spotted us, but it means we've got next to no idea what's going on down that way."
Vridel, also mounted for travel, shook his head faintly. “Then I suggest we get down there, quick and careful," he said. “Because I don't think that's recreational fire."
Mercer nodded his head, and urged his horse forward. Senka followed behind. She was tempted to have Liev take to the air, but that was a risk they couldn't afford. If she were spotted, she'd give away their position, and that was the last thing she wanted to do.
They were able to reach the village within a few minutes, and Senka's eyes widened. It was clear from the rubble and debris strewn about that something had happened here. Something on the level of, perhaps, a demonic beast rampaging or even one of the golems. She couldn't be too sure. To her side, she could hear Thea take in a sharp breath, a soft gasp if anything, as Senka focused at the scene in front of her. There were people who were struggling to pull dead bodies from the rubble, and others were injured greatly.
“Have the healers do what they can for those that are injured," Mercer stated, causing one of the soldiers to nod their head and head towards the back. His expression was grim as he glanced towards Reynard. “See what you can find out. The rest of us are going to do the same, as well," he stated, sliding off of his horse. Senka followed suit. She could at least treat some of the injured, too, while Mercer and the others asked around.
Grim-faced, Sorcha took to the air, probably to look quickly for any other survivors in need of assistance. Ordinarily, the black-armored figure on the dark-winged pegasus might have looked ominous herself, but in a context like this, any possible chance of help was probably welcome. Reynard disappeared in the way he did, and the others fanned out to assist, either using magic to help put out fires or helping to move pieces of rubble away.
The town was in utter ruins, more of its residents dead than alive, it seemed. Those few that did remain were in poor shape, many huddled together with expressions of dull shock on their dirt-streaked faces.
A sharp shot drew much of the attention not far from where Senka was. There, a small child was scrabbling away from Vridel, who'd leaned down to help her up, it seemed. “N-no! Stay away! Go away!" Tears streamed down her face, carving swaths through soot and ash.
Vridel froze, eyes wide, then took a large step back. “I'm not going to—"
Whatever reassurance he was trying to give was cut off by another shrill scream; the girl covered her ears and turned her face away, cowering as though she expected him to strike her down at any moment.
Senka made her way towards the young girl about the same time as Thea did. She had been closer, though, and was already kneeling down towards the girl, holding out a hand towards her. “Hey, it's alright. We're here to help you. He's not going to hurt you, alright?" Thea spoke softly. Before she could say anything further, though, another villager appeared, and pulled the young girl into his arms. He was staring wide-eyed in Vridel's direction, though, as if he were seeing a ghost of some sort.
“You've done enough damage! Go away!" the man shouted as he held the young girl closer to him.
“Sir, please, we're just trying to help," Thea continued, trying to seem less threatening, it seemed. It wasn't hard for her to do, really, but Senka took a step next to Thea.
“What happened?" Senka decided to ask. It was, perhaps, not a delicate way to approach the situation, and the man and child were rightly fearful. But that didn't explain why they were being hostile towards Vridel.
“That man right there! He destroyed our village! He's a monster!" he shouted, causing some attention to shift towards them. A small group of villagers were surrounding them, too, and were seemingly agreeing with the man.
“That's not true. How could he have done that if we've all been with him this entire time?" Thea stated, but Senka placed a hand on her shoulder. She could tell that the accusation was making her upset, but they needed to be the ones with level heads.
Vridel looked stunned to be accused of as much. “I assure you, I may not be of the Alliance, but I—"
“Liar! I don't know why you came back here, but we know what to expect this time!" A teenage boy hurled a brick for Vridel, who grimaced. Clearly they didn't want to alarm these people, but the brick would probably hit one of the other villagers if he just got out of the way, so he took the hit instead, letting it collide with his armor with a thunk.
“What's going on here?" Cyril approached, and as people tended to do, the gathering crowd parted for him.
Apparently, something about him was recognizable enough, because another villager addressed him. “You've a traitor on your army," the man holding the child snarled, pointing at Vridel. “That's him what led the attack on this village!"
Cyril's eyes narrowed. “How are you so sure?"
“You ever seen white hair like that on a young man?"
Vridel's eyes rounded. “Impossible."
Senka furrowed her brows. It was a known fact that Vridel had signature white hair; no one else had ever had that before, but Senka didn't think it meant anything in particular. Maybe it was a fault in his genetics or something that caused his hair to be white, she couldn't be too sure. She narrowed her eyes at the villagers, though. They were accusing her friend of something she knew he would never do.
“Are you certain it was him? Take a good look, and I mean a good look at him. Are. You. Certain?" Senka was never really the type to be a threatening figure, but these people needed to know that Vridel would never do that. And if their current state of fear was going to make them irrational, then Senka felt she really had no choice but to be a little... well, harsh.
“Of course we are! It was a young man with bone white hair that destroyed our village. How could we forget?!" another villager shouted.
“How could we ever forget those cold blue eyes!" they continued shouting, turning their attention towards Vridel. Senka furrowed her brows. It was a lot of information, but that statement struck out the most. She glanced towards Vridel and stared at him.
“His eyes are violet; they're not blue," she stated, turning her attention back towards the villagers. It was at this point that Mercer appeared, his face pulled into a grimace.
“Bergliez is dead; we just found his body," he muttered softly. He turned his attention towards the villagers though, a handful of them seemed to recognize him. “Vridel is not the one who did this," he stated, trying to help defuse the situation, it seemed. Maybe they would listen to their Leader?
A collective frisson of doubt seemed to go through those assembled at the mention of the wrong eye color, but blue and violet were not so far from one another, and there was some discontent murmuring, too. A few people clearly recognized Mercer, backing off when he added his support into the discussion, but there were still those who held their places, glaring at Vridel with the pain of grieving family members.
He sighed softly, and opened his arms, as if in invitation.
“Then take your satisfaction," he said quietly. “If you really believe I am the one who hurt the ones you love, then I understand. In your position, I would want revenge, too. But make sure you're certain—blood never really washes off."
The words were met with a thick silence. The teenager looked about ready to throw another brick, but the quiet was cut by the child's sobbing, her face buried into the man's shoulder. Vridel's face contorted; he sighed quietly. “She has a cut on her leg," he informed the man. “I understand she doesn't trust me, but please at least let my fiancée look at her." He set a hand on Thea's shoulder and nudged her a little forward.
“If anyone would be willing to let me treat them, I'll be over there." He pointed to a spot just outside the bounds of the village, and took his leave.
Thea looked a little torn when Vridel left, and Senka didn't blame her. She couldn't really blame the villagers, either. They were frightened, and a collective group of frightened people were more dangerous than any of them could be. At least not intentionally. She sighed softly, though, as Thea took a look at the girl's leg, using her magic to heal it. Senka narrowed her eyes slightly at the group, before taking her leave with Mercer. It seemed they were both concerned about Vridel. For different reasons, maybe, but concerned still the same.
When they managed to find Vridel, it was Mercer who spoke first. “Hey, you alright?" he asked, grimacing slightly at his own words, it seemed. “We all know you didn't do it, but they're scared, Vi. They don't mean anything by it. You know how people get when they're scared."
“I do, and it's fine." Vridel shrugged, affecting an unconcerned demeanor, but it was at least partially just that: an affectation.
Senka knew that; she was certain almost everyone did, really. “It's concerning, though, because the only thing linking you to this is the color of your hair. Who else could have white hair and still be considered young?" she asked. She knew Vridel was innocent, but there was another person out there who seemed to either be trying to tarnish Vridel's name, somehow, or trying to make others fearful of Vridel and their group.
Vridel exchanged a significant look with Mercer, then, pursing his lips. “IT is entirely possible that Volkhard has had Those Who Slither in the Dark do to someone else what they did to me," he said simply. “The premature white hair was a side-effect of that, not something that is naturally mine."
Mercer sighed heavily, while Senka furrowed her brows. They did something to Vridel that caused his hair to turn white? Is that why... she pushed the thought from her mind, for now. They had other things to worry about at the moment.
“If that's the case, then someone is running around with two Crests. Who would be stupid enough, though, to get that procedure? Desperate enough?" Mercer questioned. Senka was confused by the information. Two Crests? Procedure? It was... a lot to take in, really.
“What does that mean? Having Two Crests? Is it supposed to make whomever has them, stronger?" she decided to ask. Mercer glanced towards Vridel, though, and pursed his lips together.
“Well it means they have the powers of two Crests, so... yes." Vridel shrugged. “I, for example, have my family's usual Crest, but also a Major Crest of Noa. Handy for spellcasting." He was playing something down, but shook his head without much of a pause.
“As to who would do it... who do we know that's insane and flames-bent on revenge at all costs?" It was obvious he was leading them to a specific answer.
“That idiot," Mercer muttered softly, placing an open palm on his forehead and shaking his head. “Of course he'd do something that stupid. After all, what has he to lose, now? If he can use that advantage, I'm sure he thinks it was worth it," he continued, causing Senka to furrow her brows. She was being left out of something, she knew that, but that wasn't important.
“So... Gloucester has two Crests," she began, sighing softly. “That means he has an advantage as far as power goes, but... why attack the village? Isn't he Leicester, as well? Why attack his own people?" she continued. Mercer heaved his shoulders, and slumped a bit.
“Well, firstly, it's obvious that it was a recent acquisition. He probably wanted to test it out. Given that we found Bergliez dead, it was likely that he set us up, here. Destroy a village, make the people hate Vridel, and in turn, try and give us low morale."
“Might've also found out about Bergliez," Vridel added, rubbing his nose. “Two birds, one stone. Either way, it's worked. We don't have whatever information he wanted to give us, and I don't think anyone's taking this especially well."
Senka supposed he had a point. They didn't have whatever Bergliez was going to take them, and she knew that those who were witnessing the village still burn, still pull its dead from the rubble, wasn't exactly heartening. Even she could feel it tugging at her heart, but she couldn't afford to become emotional about it. A casualty of war, unfortunate as it may be. She pulled in a breath, though, and shook her head.
“This sucks," Mercer stated, shaking his head as well. “We were doing so well, too," he continued, causing Senka to huff lightly.
“While I will agree that it does suck, we're still doing well enough, Mercer. None of us are dead, yet," she stated, narrowing her eyes softly in his direction. “Just because we hit a bit of a snag, doesn't mean we're not doing well. We're still here; still trying. That's enough, right?" Mercer huffed slightly.
“Well, there's no point in really saying otherwise. We'll just have to be more careful from here on out. Even if we don't have the information Bergliez was going to give us, at least we know that Gloucester has two Crests and is potentially more dangerous. I'll take that as a win, I guess. What about you, Vi?"
“I'd feel more like we were winning if the village wasn't on fire," he replied flatly. “But the sooner we put it out and move on, the sooner we can get rid of the root cause."
Mercer snorted softly. “Good point. Sen, care to go give them a hand with that? You might be able to make use of your blizzard and wind spells to help on that," he stated, glancing in her direction. She huffed lightly, and nodded her head.
“You take care of him, then, while I go help them. Thea would be quite upset if you let something happen to her fiancé, even if he's quite capable on his own," she replied, shooting Vridel a small smile. Mercer chuckled lightly.
“Yeah, sure thing. I'll take care of his highness," Mercer replied, arching a brow at Vridel.
“Oh good. A babysitter."
They were close by, however; when Senka opened her eyes, she could see a small line of smoke coming from over the trees. She pursed her lips together, a feeling of dread settling over her. Perhaps they were making a bonfire of sorts? Shaking her head softly, she nudged Liev a little faster to catch up with Mercer and the others at the front. When she arrived, she could see Mercer's lips pursed into a fine line. He wasn't on Sir today, and instead, was mounted on a horse. Something about letting Sir stretch his wings before the upcoming battle. He glanced in her direction, though.
“We don't know what we'll be walking into. It's best if everyone is prepared for anything," he stated, causing Senka to nod her head. “Did any of the scouts report anything about Sauin being occupied or targeted?" he asked. Senka shook her head, though.
“None. The only information that they received was that Bergliez was supposed to be meeting us there," she replied. Mercer sighed heavily.
“What about you, Rey? Anything?" he asked. Senka understood, really. Reynard was the best scout they had. He would have likely found something out that the others might have missed.
Reynard's mouth pulled down into a frown. "Nothing since the initial message," he said simply. "We avoided sending scouts too far ahead for fear that Bergliez was being watched. We didn't want to spook the imperials into going after him if they spotted us, but it means we've got next to no idea what's going on down that way."
Vridel, also mounted for travel, shook his head faintly. “Then I suggest we get down there, quick and careful," he said. “Because I don't think that's recreational fire."
Mercer nodded his head, and urged his horse forward. Senka followed behind. She was tempted to have Liev take to the air, but that was a risk they couldn't afford. If she were spotted, she'd give away their position, and that was the last thing she wanted to do.
They were able to reach the village within a few minutes, and Senka's eyes widened. It was clear from the rubble and debris strewn about that something had happened here. Something on the level of, perhaps, a demonic beast rampaging or even one of the golems. She couldn't be too sure. To her side, she could hear Thea take in a sharp breath, a soft gasp if anything, as Senka focused at the scene in front of her. There were people who were struggling to pull dead bodies from the rubble, and others were injured greatly.
“Have the healers do what they can for those that are injured," Mercer stated, causing one of the soldiers to nod their head and head towards the back. His expression was grim as he glanced towards Reynard. “See what you can find out. The rest of us are going to do the same, as well," he stated, sliding off of his horse. Senka followed suit. She could at least treat some of the injured, too, while Mercer and the others asked around.
Grim-faced, Sorcha took to the air, probably to look quickly for any other survivors in need of assistance. Ordinarily, the black-armored figure on the dark-winged pegasus might have looked ominous herself, but in a context like this, any possible chance of help was probably welcome. Reynard disappeared in the way he did, and the others fanned out to assist, either using magic to help put out fires or helping to move pieces of rubble away.
The town was in utter ruins, more of its residents dead than alive, it seemed. Those few that did remain were in poor shape, many huddled together with expressions of dull shock on their dirt-streaked faces.
A sharp shot drew much of the attention not far from where Senka was. There, a small child was scrabbling away from Vridel, who'd leaned down to help her up, it seemed. “N-no! Stay away! Go away!" Tears streamed down her face, carving swaths through soot and ash.
Vridel froze, eyes wide, then took a large step back. “I'm not going to—"
Whatever reassurance he was trying to give was cut off by another shrill scream; the girl covered her ears and turned her face away, cowering as though she expected him to strike her down at any moment.
Senka made her way towards the young girl about the same time as Thea did. She had been closer, though, and was already kneeling down towards the girl, holding out a hand towards her. “Hey, it's alright. We're here to help you. He's not going to hurt you, alright?" Thea spoke softly. Before she could say anything further, though, another villager appeared, and pulled the young girl into his arms. He was staring wide-eyed in Vridel's direction, though, as if he were seeing a ghost of some sort.
“You've done enough damage! Go away!" the man shouted as he held the young girl closer to him.
“Sir, please, we're just trying to help," Thea continued, trying to seem less threatening, it seemed. It wasn't hard for her to do, really, but Senka took a step next to Thea.
“What happened?" Senka decided to ask. It was, perhaps, not a delicate way to approach the situation, and the man and child were rightly fearful. But that didn't explain why they were being hostile towards Vridel.
“That man right there! He destroyed our village! He's a monster!" he shouted, causing some attention to shift towards them. A small group of villagers were surrounding them, too, and were seemingly agreeing with the man.
“That's not true. How could he have done that if we've all been with him this entire time?" Thea stated, but Senka placed a hand on her shoulder. She could tell that the accusation was making her upset, but they needed to be the ones with level heads.
Vridel looked stunned to be accused of as much. “I assure you, I may not be of the Alliance, but I—"
“Liar! I don't know why you came back here, but we know what to expect this time!" A teenage boy hurled a brick for Vridel, who grimaced. Clearly they didn't want to alarm these people, but the brick would probably hit one of the other villagers if he just got out of the way, so he took the hit instead, letting it collide with his armor with a thunk.
“What's going on here?" Cyril approached, and as people tended to do, the gathering crowd parted for him.
Apparently, something about him was recognizable enough, because another villager addressed him. “You've a traitor on your army," the man holding the child snarled, pointing at Vridel. “That's him what led the attack on this village!"
Cyril's eyes narrowed. “How are you so sure?"
“You ever seen white hair like that on a young man?"
Vridel's eyes rounded. “Impossible."
Senka furrowed her brows. It was a known fact that Vridel had signature white hair; no one else had ever had that before, but Senka didn't think it meant anything in particular. Maybe it was a fault in his genetics or something that caused his hair to be white, she couldn't be too sure. She narrowed her eyes at the villagers, though. They were accusing her friend of something she knew he would never do.
“Are you certain it was him? Take a good look, and I mean a good look at him. Are. You. Certain?" Senka was never really the type to be a threatening figure, but these people needed to know that Vridel would never do that. And if their current state of fear was going to make them irrational, then Senka felt she really had no choice but to be a little... well, harsh.
“Of course we are! It was a young man with bone white hair that destroyed our village. How could we forget?!" another villager shouted.
“How could we ever forget those cold blue eyes!" they continued shouting, turning their attention towards Vridel. Senka furrowed her brows. It was a lot of information, but that statement struck out the most. She glanced towards Vridel and stared at him.
“His eyes are violet; they're not blue," she stated, turning her attention back towards the villagers. It was at this point that Mercer appeared, his face pulled into a grimace.
“Bergliez is dead; we just found his body," he muttered softly. He turned his attention towards the villagers though, a handful of them seemed to recognize him. “Vridel is not the one who did this," he stated, trying to help defuse the situation, it seemed. Maybe they would listen to their Leader?
A collective frisson of doubt seemed to go through those assembled at the mention of the wrong eye color, but blue and violet were not so far from one another, and there was some discontent murmuring, too. A few people clearly recognized Mercer, backing off when he added his support into the discussion, but there were still those who held their places, glaring at Vridel with the pain of grieving family members.
He sighed softly, and opened his arms, as if in invitation.
“Then take your satisfaction," he said quietly. “If you really believe I am the one who hurt the ones you love, then I understand. In your position, I would want revenge, too. But make sure you're certain—blood never really washes off."
The words were met with a thick silence. The teenager looked about ready to throw another brick, but the quiet was cut by the child's sobbing, her face buried into the man's shoulder. Vridel's face contorted; he sighed quietly. “She has a cut on her leg," he informed the man. “I understand she doesn't trust me, but please at least let my fiancée look at her." He set a hand on Thea's shoulder and nudged her a little forward.
“If anyone would be willing to let me treat them, I'll be over there." He pointed to a spot just outside the bounds of the village, and took his leave.
Thea looked a little torn when Vridel left, and Senka didn't blame her. She couldn't really blame the villagers, either. They were frightened, and a collective group of frightened people were more dangerous than any of them could be. At least not intentionally. She sighed softly, though, as Thea took a look at the girl's leg, using her magic to heal it. Senka narrowed her eyes slightly at the group, before taking her leave with Mercer. It seemed they were both concerned about Vridel. For different reasons, maybe, but concerned still the same.
When they managed to find Vridel, it was Mercer who spoke first. “Hey, you alright?" he asked, grimacing slightly at his own words, it seemed. “We all know you didn't do it, but they're scared, Vi. They don't mean anything by it. You know how people get when they're scared."
“I do, and it's fine." Vridel shrugged, affecting an unconcerned demeanor, but it was at least partially just that: an affectation.
Senka knew that; she was certain almost everyone did, really. “It's concerning, though, because the only thing linking you to this is the color of your hair. Who else could have white hair and still be considered young?" she asked. She knew Vridel was innocent, but there was another person out there who seemed to either be trying to tarnish Vridel's name, somehow, or trying to make others fearful of Vridel and their group.
Vridel exchanged a significant look with Mercer, then, pursing his lips. “IT is entirely possible that Volkhard has had Those Who Slither in the Dark do to someone else what they did to me," he said simply. “The premature white hair was a side-effect of that, not something that is naturally mine."
Mercer sighed heavily, while Senka furrowed her brows. They did something to Vridel that caused his hair to turn white? Is that why... she pushed the thought from her mind, for now. They had other things to worry about at the moment.
“If that's the case, then someone is running around with two Crests. Who would be stupid enough, though, to get that procedure? Desperate enough?" Mercer questioned. Senka was confused by the information. Two Crests? Procedure? It was... a lot to take in, really.
“What does that mean? Having Two Crests? Is it supposed to make whomever has them, stronger?" she decided to ask. Mercer glanced towards Vridel, though, and pursed his lips together.
“Well it means they have the powers of two Crests, so... yes." Vridel shrugged. “I, for example, have my family's usual Crest, but also a Major Crest of Noa. Handy for spellcasting." He was playing something down, but shook his head without much of a pause.
“As to who would do it... who do we know that's insane and flames-bent on revenge at all costs?" It was obvious he was leading them to a specific answer.
“That idiot," Mercer muttered softly, placing an open palm on his forehead and shaking his head. “Of course he'd do something that stupid. After all, what has he to lose, now? If he can use that advantage, I'm sure he thinks it was worth it," he continued, causing Senka to furrow her brows. She was being left out of something, she knew that, but that wasn't important.
“So... Gloucester has two Crests," she began, sighing softly. “That means he has an advantage as far as power goes, but... why attack the village? Isn't he Leicester, as well? Why attack his own people?" she continued. Mercer heaved his shoulders, and slumped a bit.
“Well, firstly, it's obvious that it was a recent acquisition. He probably wanted to test it out. Given that we found Bergliez dead, it was likely that he set us up, here. Destroy a village, make the people hate Vridel, and in turn, try and give us low morale."
“Might've also found out about Bergliez," Vridel added, rubbing his nose. “Two birds, one stone. Either way, it's worked. We don't have whatever information he wanted to give us, and I don't think anyone's taking this especially well."
Senka supposed he had a point. They didn't have whatever Bergliez was going to take them, and she knew that those who were witnessing the village still burn, still pull its dead from the rubble, wasn't exactly heartening. Even she could feel it tugging at her heart, but she couldn't afford to become emotional about it. A casualty of war, unfortunate as it may be. She pulled in a breath, though, and shook her head.
“This sucks," Mercer stated, shaking his head as well. “We were doing so well, too," he continued, causing Senka to huff lightly.
“While I will agree that it does suck, we're still doing well enough, Mercer. None of us are dead, yet," she stated, narrowing her eyes softly in his direction. “Just because we hit a bit of a snag, doesn't mean we're not doing well. We're still here; still trying. That's enough, right?" Mercer huffed slightly.
“Well, there's no point in really saying otherwise. We'll just have to be more careful from here on out. Even if we don't have the information Bergliez was going to give us, at least we know that Gloucester has two Crests and is potentially more dangerous. I'll take that as a win, I guess. What about you, Vi?"
“I'd feel more like we were winning if the village wasn't on fire," he replied flatly. “But the sooner we put it out and move on, the sooner we can get rid of the root cause."
Mercer snorted softly. “Good point. Sen, care to go give them a hand with that? You might be able to make use of your blizzard and wind spells to help on that," he stated, glancing in her direction. She huffed lightly, and nodded her head.
“You take care of him, then, while I go help them. Thea would be quite upset if you let something happen to her fiancé, even if he's quite capable on his own," she replied, shooting Vridel a small smile. Mercer chuckled lightly.
“Yeah, sure thing. I'll take care of his highness," Mercer replied, arching a brow at Vridel.
“Oh good. A babysitter."
Gronder Field - Morning - Overcast
Mercer von Riegan
Mercer felt Sir nudge his back a little. He placed a hand on the wyvern's snout, pushing him gently as he surveyed the field in front of him. It was hard to believe that they were all here almost five years ago for very different reasons. It was a house battle, and the Blue Lions had taken the win. He hadn't been upset at the loss. He kind of expected to lose that battle since he wasn't particularly trying. That he got as far as he did was another matter though.
But there was no time for reminiscing. They were all here for a very different reason. One that was going to decide whether or not they would succeed in changing the world, or perishing alongside it. Mercer had no intentions of dying, but... he couldn't exactly predict the future, or anyone's fate. He could only go into the battle with a clear head, and try not to get himself killed. And to also keep the others alive. He turned his attention towards the group, a wry smile crossing his lips. They were wearing such somber expressions, but he couldn't blame them, really.
Even Alaric stood, his signature cloak tied to his back, with a bit of a forlorn expression. It hadn't taken much, honestly, to convince Mercer to bring Alaric along with the front group. He'd expected that Alaric would have taken a particular stance against being left behind, but he pushed the thought out of his mind.
Those that had mounts, were all currently standing beside them. Senka had a hand on Liev's neck, Thea held Sunny's reins in her hand a little tightly, and Sir nudged Mercer once more as he took in a breath. “You all know what you're getting into. Stay safe, protect each other's backs, and... just try to stay alive, alright? We know they have golems, and they have beasts. We need to make sure those who are capable of dealing with them, are doing so. We need to make sure that the main body of the army is at least able to push forward through Gloucester's."
Thea nodded her head and glanced in Vridel's direction, smiling somewhat before she took his hand and squeezed it. Deirdre and Sylvi spared a glance towards each other, but nodded their heads nevertheless.
“Same goes for you, too, Mercer. No running into this like a headless chicken, alright?" Deirdre stated, causing him to huff lightly. He wasn't that reckless, at least not anymore.
Teach had in fact borrowed a wyvern for the battle, due to the need for more air control. Oskar, as he was called, was a rather large creature, but also quite young. He'd been too skittish for his last rider, but in that weird way he had, Teach seemed to be able to keep the animal focused. He rubbed at the scales on Oskar's nose, now, eyes narrowed out at the field.
“Something's off about the formation on the hill," he murmured. “Looks like they've got a few ballistae set up, so watch yourselves getting in close."
Next to Mercer, Sorcha was grim-faced. They'd never found out exactly who had left Gloucester's note to her, but she'd eventually shown it to Mercer. If it troubled her, she'd kept quiet about it, but there was a tension to her now that suggested this battle, at least, worried her. Catching his eye, she half-smiled, the expression still somehow serious.
"They're coming," that was Reynard, riding towards them quickly on the scout-horse he used for quicker reconnaissance. He dismounted while the animal was still in motion, giving it a smack to direct it back to the rear lines. "And there's a lot of them."
Mercer pushed a breath through his nose. “Alright, everyone get in to position. Sor, you and I are taking the skies. We're going to provide aerial support while also looking for Gloucester. Teach, you and Sen keep an eye out as well for any place that you can assist since the two of you have fliers. Vi, Thea, Sofia, and Deir, you take the left flank and keep it reinforced as well as you can. Everyone else," he glanced towards Alaric, Reynard, Devon, and Sylvi.
“You'll provide support to the right flanks. Keep an eye on the hill and stay as far away from those ballistae as you can. If you see any beasts or golems," he paused, pursing his lips together, “do what you can to ensure they don't attack the soldiers. Keep their attention fixed on you so that the others can keep pressing forward."
He would also be providing support for his soldiers, but his main concern was Gloucester. As with any battle, getting to the enemy general was enough to end a battle. And Mercer wouldn be lying if he said this wasn't a little personal. Gloucester had left him a note, and Sorcha. He didn't like the things Gloucester had said about Sorcha, and he wasn't about to let him live for that. He couldn't afford to, especially if Gloucester underwent the same procedure that Those Who Slither performed on Vridel.
“Well... let's get to it, then," Sylvi spoke, causing some of the others to nod their heads. Senka mounted Liev as Thea mounted Sunny. Thea glanced in Vridel's direction, though, and held a hand out towards him.
“You're coming with me until we get further in," she stated, her lips pursed into a fine line. Mercer would have rolled his eyes, but he mounted Sir and nodded his head in Sorcha's direction.
Vridel huffed a little, but didn't argue, accepting the hand and swinging up behind her.
The battle was about to begin in earnest.
Sorcha ran an armored hand through her short hair, nodding slightly and taking up her position on Lady's back. Never one to cower while others were in danger, she urged her mount into the sky first, and that was everyone's signal to move.
Just in time, too, as the front line of Gloucester's army appeared on the horizon in the same moment. The two forces spilled forth onto the field, Mercer's splitting around the hill while several of Gloucester's went right for it, to man the siege weapons. A heavy bolt whistled through the air towards Sorcha, but Lady was far too nimble to be hit by it, and banked to the side, Sorcha sending an arrow down in retaliation.
That was when the first, too-familiar screeches rent the air. Demonic beasts, as expected. Several dark shapes towered just behind the main lines, with a few breaking off at once into the air. Teach shouted something to Sen that Mercer couldn't hear, but the implied meaning was clear enough—they needed to intercept those creatures.
She seemed to understand as she nudged Liev in the direction of the air borne beasts. She held Blutgang tightly, nudging Liev faster, it seemed, before she was engaged with one of the first beasts. It screeched, trying to use its talons to claw at Liev's wings and rip Senka from her perch.
Mercer focused his arrows on the ground troops below. He trusted Sen and Teach to be able to handle the beasts in the air, for now. He knew they were capable, but he didn't know if these beasts would be as much trouble as the ones they'd faced in Duscur. Those had been slightly altered. Knowing Gloucester, though, these beasts were as well. He would use every advantage to his disposal, and Mercer had to counter around it.
Senka released a few dark spells at the beast she was engaged with. They managed to clip its wing, but only served to anger it. It was spewing flames from its mouth, and from the looks of it, it was getting ready to use its flame breath. Senka barely maneuvered Liev out of the way, using a blizzard spell as a buffer, however; another creature took the opportunity to flank her. Its claws gripped at her arm, and Mercer could see that they pierced the flesh there. She didn't scream, and switched Blutgang to her other hand, using it to cut the beast's foot from her arm.
Oskar and Teach got in really close with the next, the large wyvern still smaller by a fair margin than the beast but apparently unconcerned, colliding midair and scrabbling for a hold with his claws, leaving deep gouges in the more birdlike creature. Teach took the opportunity to joust, spearing the creature in the eye with the Arrow, a heavy bolt of electricity lancing along the length of the weapon and no doubt frying the Demonic Beast's brain. Oskar disengaged just in time, and the creature fell heavily to the ground—right on top of one of the enemy ballistae, taking the huge weapon out of the fight with a splitting crack.
Already, they moved to engage the next.
Sorcha focused her fire on the left flank, where the ground-bound beasts seemed to be concentrating their assault. Vi, Thea, Sofi, and Deirdre were doing their best to draw their attention, but there were three of them, and more on the way. Even as an arrow arced in towards one of the bigger ones, its claws rent a massive hole in Sofi's tower shield. From the way it dropped, the claw had done significant damage to the arm underneath, too, and she took a large step backwards, thrusting outwards with her lance, a hard, determined grimace on her face.
Thea seemed to be engaged with a beast of her own, Deirdre doing her best to reinforce Sofia as best as she could. She was flinging fire spells towards the beast that was closest to Sofia. Thea swung Amyr over her head, lodging the axe in the beast's leg. It roared and swiped at her, catching her in the leg as she tried to dodge from it. There was a large gash in the armor, but it didn't seem to have cut too deeply into her leg. She was bleeding, though.
Deirdre managed to catch one of the beasts in the eye, blinding it temporarily for Sofia to get the advantage over it with her lance. Mercer tried to provide support as well, shooting an arrow for one of the beast's eyes. It managed to lodge itself near its eyelid, and it swiped at the arrow to try and dislodge it. Thea took the opportunity it provided her, and with as much strength as she could muster, slid Amyr across the creature's neck. It was apparently enough strength to cut the creature's throat wide open, causing it to fall over.
Thea moved to the next one to help with Vridel's beast, though from the way her shoulder looked, it might have been dislocated from the force she'd used.
Vridel himself was burning the candle at both ends, quite obviously. Both Crests were active, and he was slinging magic so thick and fast, interspersed with darting maneuvers and sword blows, that he'd felled one beast already and was well into the second. Not, apparently, without cost: blood soaked into the ground around him, mostly the beasts', but there was no mistaking the rivulets of it running down Vi's armor, either, and from the end of his nose. He was quickly slowing down, his movements growing heavier as he fought just to stay upright. He'd stopped relying on physical attacks entirely, plunging his blade into the ground and hurling magic with both hands instead, by the time Thea reached him.
Thea seemed to have white magic laced at her finger tips when she reached Vridel, touching his shoulder briefly before she flung herself back into the fray. Mercer could tell that it wasn't enough to heal Vridel completely, but he supposed they would be alright for now. Mercer focused on the next set of ground beasts, doing his best to conserve his arrows as well. He couldn't risk running out before they found Gloucester, but he also couldn't risk the lives of his friends. Grimacing slightly, he urged Sir forward, dodging a couple of arrows that had been aimed for him. He retaliated with arrows of his own, cursing slightly when one arrow found a home in his shoulder.
He pulled it out, and let it fall to the ground. Taking in a deep breath, he continued surveying the ground. He needed to find Gloucester.
“Mercer!" Sorcha's call caught his attention; she pointed to a spot near the edge of the field, where a cluster of archers had raised their bows as one, flaming arrows arcing through the sky. They didn't seem to be aimed at anything in particular, but—
Suddenly, Teach's observation at the hill made perfect sense. Just as the Alliance army had begun to overtake Gloucester's forces for control of it, the burning arrows landed, and all at once the hill was roaring with flames, hungry tongues of fire consuming enemy and ally alike. Thick plumes of smoke rose into the air, obscuring their view of what was occurring beyond.
“Shit," Mercer cursed beneath his breath as he brought Sir to a halt. He could hear the screams of his soldiers as they were being burned to death, and he could see a few of them scrambling to get away from the fire. It was just like Gloucester to sacrifice his troops in order to win a battle. But at what cost? He was losing soldiers, too. Mercer pursed his lips into a fine line, and glanced towards Sorcha.
“We need to get some of the others directed to help out," he stated, glancing in Sorcha's direction. It was just as he said that, three golems broke from the army and made a beeline for the central force of Mercer's army. “Shit," he muttered. He could see Alaric already directing some of his troops away from the golems as they came in. He glanced towards Sylvi, who nodded, and both made their way towards the golems. Mercer didn't like their chances. They'd only ever dealt with one golem, before, and these three were a lot faster.
Alaric swung his axe, Freikugel, around one of the golem's legs, catching it behind the calf area. It didn't seem to faze it at all, and instead, it swung one of its fists in Alaric's direction. Sylvi was there a second later to help block the incoming attack, but it was obvious the strain was a bit much on her. Her legs were shaking as were her arms as Alaric tried to get its attention towards him.
A pair of arrows knocked into the side of the golem's head; one bounced off its armor plating but the other seemed to stick, having found its way into a seam in the creature's construction. Still riding towards it at full tilt, Devon shouldered his bow and drew a sturdy shortsword, swinging at he went past. The clang of impact was audible even to Mercer; it had to have wrenched hard, but Dev only grit his teeth and wheeled around.
“Their armor's weaker!" Sorcha shouted. “Focus on the joints to peel it off!"
It was hard to tell if they'd heard her, but for the moment, they'd contained the creatures, Reynard jumping onto the back of the third, which had tried to break off from its companions and get at the much less-hardy soldiers in the middle of the field.
Sorcha, meanwhile, had rallied a small group of pegasus knights, who were now helping the Leicester soldiers get clear of the burning hill. Gloucester's gambit had hurt, their army more than his, but it hadn't crippled them as he'd probably expected it to.
Mercer winced slightly when he was struck with another arrow, but he ignored it. Instead, he focused his eyes towards the field activating his Crest to help him see better. There was still no sign of Gloucester, which probably meant that he was at the back of his battalion. Alaric and the others, however, seemed to have taken Sorcha's advice, attack the joints of the golems as best as they could until they'd brought one down. They continued their assault on the others, Alaric breaking off to assist Reynard, it seemed.
“Sorcha, we'll need to go a little deeper. Gloucester isn't at the front," he shouted towards her. He nudged Sir forward after that, intent on finding Gloucester. This needed to end. And he had a score to settle with Gloucester once and for all.
She flew right beside him, reaching over to tap him with a bit of white magic, a rueful smile crossing her face for only the briefest moment before it disappeared. She turned her eyes out to the field. “I think... the burning may have had another purpose. He could be setting something up behind the smokescreen. We should be careful." To the left, another flying beast fell from the sky, trailing crimson ribbons of blood behind it. Teach and Sen were holding steady, at least, but not even they'd last forever.
She was right, of course. Gloucester could be using the smokescreen to prepare something for those who went past it, however; they couldn't afford to keep this up, either. Vi and the others felled another of their beasts from the sounds of it, and were moving on to another. From what he could see, they were all injured in one way or another. Thea's arm still looked like it was slightly out of place, Deirdre was limping slightly with large puncture marks in her leg, and even Sylvi looked to be dragging her leg slightly. It could have been from a direct hit from one of the golems, but Mercer couldn't be too sure.
“Stay behind me, then," he stated. She could follow up with an attack if something happened to him, first. He wasn't risking his life; he needed to see what they were up against. If Gloucester was at the back of the army, preparing some sort of ambush, then at least Sorcha would be a little more prepared than he would. It was a risk he was willing to take. Necessary, even.
“If anything happens, you'll know what to expect. Let's put an end to this, alright?" he stated, spurring Sir forward.
She nodded, but her concentration seemed to be elsewhere. She'd shouldered her bow for some reason, brows furrowed in concentration. She followed him into the smoke, though, steering Lady with her legs and murmuring something under her breath.
The moment they cleared the smoke, Mercer understood that Gloucester had predicted them perfectly. The barrage of arrows that flew towards them couldn't possibly be dodged; there were just too many of them over too wide an area, and they were coming in right for him.
“There," Sorcha exhaled, expelling a heavy breath as the first of the arrows neared—
and bounced off of... nothing?
No, some kind of shielding spell. The others followed, ricocheting with rippled of light off the same barrier—Sorcha's barrier. It was mostly transparent, only lighting up when something hit it, allowing him to see through to the other side of the field. There, at the very edge of Gronder, accompanied by what had to be his best snipers, was Gloucester.
And his hair was stark white.
This wasn't going to be easy.
Gloucester had the advantage of being surrounded by troops, however; Mercer was banking on one thing: pride. He was hoping that Gloucester would agree to the duel he'd suggested in his letter not too long ago. He withdrew his sword from its sheath and pointed it in Gloucester's direction.
“Gloucester," he shouted loud enough to be heard. “Here I am. Let's do this if you're still up to it," he continued. To any other person, it might have sounded like Mercer was taunting Gloucester, but he wasn't. He was as serious as he could be. His troops were dying, and he didn't know how much longer his friends could hold out. He was lucky enough to still have stamina to fight Gloucester, however; even Mercer didn't know how that would end.
He could easily see Gloucester's expression lift into a sneer; he remained seated on his horse, tilting his head only slightly to track Mercer and Sorcha's motion through the air. Almost lazily, he held up a hand to stop his men from firing again. Mercer didn't know how long Sorcha's shield could last, but it was certainly useless to fire on them until it was gone, and no doubt the other man had realized the same thing.
The sounds of battle raged around them, but blanketed by smoke it was like they were in their own little pocket of things, somehow isolated from the rest. The cause of this wasn't clear, not until Gloucester shifted his other hand and the plumes thickened, forming something like a dome around them.
“Mercer, we have to descend," Sorcha warned. The dome did seem to be herding them, closing them in and forcing their mounts to the ground unless they wanted to contend with smoke inhalation on top of everything else.
That was fine by Mercer. He urged Sir towards the ground, dismounting once they landed, and held his sword at his side. He stared at Gloucester, his eyes occasionally flickering around at the soldiers that surrounded them. This was a situation where only one of them would live and one of them would die. He gripped his sword a little tighter. Mercer had too much to live for. He wasn't going to allow himself to die here. Not when there were so many other things he needed to do, wanted to do.
“I'm ready when you are, Matteo," Mercer stated, lifting his sword up in a defensive stance. He'd let Gloucester have the first move.
Gloucester's lip curled, but the provocation had the desired effect: he dismounted his warsteed and hefted the bladed staff and shield with which he was equipped. Even through the haze of smoke, light caught on the glimmering silver of his armor and the pale, snow-white of his hair. It was with confidence well across the line into haughtiness that he took up a spot about ten feet from Mercer.
“Mercer," he hissed, and his voice hardly sounded human. Somehow it was almost more akin to the one Maurice had used, or that Kleiman woman before rather than after her transformation. He didn't seem to be in any danger of doing the same, though—the weapon he bore was a Relic, to be sure, but it had his own crest stone on it; another seemed to have located itself on his forehead, not immediately identifiable, but certainly not the one he'd been born with.
“And you brought Sorcha. Convenient. Cornelia wants her back, you know, but I'm inclined to keep her."
“You sure you want to do this?" Sorcha quite ignored him to ask the question of Mercer. “If we fought him together, it'd be easier." She must've picked up on the fact that he intended a duel here.
Mercer ignored Gloucester as well and glanced in Sorcha's direction. It would be easier to fight him together since Mercer knew that two Crests did make someone a bit stronger. Mercer knew he was strong, but he wasn't strong enough to defeat Gloucester on his own. But he also didn't want to drag Sorcha into this. She was strong, he knew, and together, they did have a real chance of defeating Gloucester, but...
“Alright, we do this together," he spoke, turning his attention towards Gloucester. “Sorcha and I will be your opponents, Matteo. Unless, of course, you don't think you can handle the both of us," he stated, almost baiting Gloucester. It was a taunt, after all.
Gloucester snorted. This close, it was obvious that he was not the same man he'd once been. Though there was cunning left in him still, his eyes were wild, fevered in a way they never had been. He flicked his eyes between them and barked a laugh. “If the prize would like to join the fight on her own behalf, so be it. Wouldn't be the first time."
Sorcha's eyes narrowed; she hefted Areadbhar in both hands, giving the heavy lance a spin and stepping up beside Mercer. “I'll keep his shield busy," she offered.
Mercer refrained from a retort to Gloucester. He was trying to bait Mercer by saying things that Mercer would have answered to, however; now was not the time to lose his head. “Keep his shield busy, but don't take any unnecessary risks," he replied. Taking a deep breath, he decided to make the first move, and lunged towards Gloucester, swinging his sword to at least keep him busy with a weapon.
Gloucester went to block, but as promised, Areadbhar was there, interfereing with the lift of his kite shield, and so he was forced to adjust on the fly and block with his sword instead. The hit was hard enough to jar Mercer's arm, sending a reverberation through the blade in his hands. Gloucester stepped hard on the ground, which seemed to be nothing more than a gesture of frustration until the both of them were abruptly slammed by some kind of shockwave, not entirely dissimilar to the one Sorcha produced from her weapon sometimes.
As if she'd been thinking of it, too, she rolled to her feet first, lightning crackling along Areadbhar's length before she swung forward with it, releasing the wave. Gloucester met it in midair with one of his own, and the resulting sound was loud enough to leave their ears ringing. Gritting her teeth, Sorcha lunged again, swinging two-handed for the face of the shield like she was trying to break it in half.
Mercer continued his assault with his sword, coming in behind Sorcha as quickly as he could. With the two of them on the constant offensive, it was bound to put Gloucester on the defensive. And that was what Mercer wanted. Keep him occupied enough that he couldn't get the full effect of his two Crests. Failnaught would not provide any support for him here, and he almost cursed his Relic for being a bow.
The duel seemed to go on for hours, though in reality, it had only been at least an hour. Mercer felt something in his wrist was sprained from the force he'd exerted trying to get Gloucester to drop his guard. If he could only get his guard down for just a second, that was all he needed. Sorcha kept Gloucester's shield busy until she was finally able to break it. Not in half, fully, but enough so that it was cracked.
Mercer gritted his teeth together, hearing something pop out of place as he brought his sword down on Gloucester. His wrist was broken, now, he could feel it. The pain was enough to cause him to pause momentarily in his assault, which seemed to give Gloucester the chance to switch to the offensive. With every attack he blocked, he could feel his wrists ache. They wanted to buckle under the strain of the pain, but Mercer willed them not to. Instead, he ducked his head to avoid Gloucester's weapon from taking it. It may have been a staff, but Mercer knew that it was still sharp.
Mercer grimaced once more as he held up his sword to block an attack from Gloucester. If they could get Gloucester's weapon away from him, it might prove to be the advantage they needed. So when Gloucester went to attack once more, Mercer allowed the weapon to pierce his left shoulder, and brought his right hand to connect with Gloucester's face.
“Sorcha, now!" he shouted, hoping she would know what to do. The weapon was, after all, stuck in his shoulder bone.
Like they'd practiced it, she brought Areadbhar down in a low sweep, pulling Gloucester's legs out from underneath him and stabbing downwards, hard, into the less-protected portion of his abdomen beneath his halfplate. The lance went right through him, impaling him to the ground, but she abandoned it immediately, concern scrawled so clearly across her features it was as though it were five years ago and she'd never forgotten anything she felt at all.
“You idiot!" she cried, turning towards him with glowing hands only for her left knee to buckle. She'd taken a hard shield bash to it earlier in addition to several major body-blows, and paid for them now, toppling over and just barely catching herself on her hands before she could smash facefirst into the dirt. Coughing, she brought up blood, and groaned softly, red dripping to the ground from between her lips. “Dammit."
Mercer grimaced slightly as he pulled Thrysus from his shoulder, throwing the Relic to the ground as he staggered towards Gloucester. He pulled his sword up, and stabbed downward into his throat, ensuring that he would not get up again. Leaving his blade behind, he made his way towards Sorcha and fell to his knees, holding a hand on her back.
“Hey, now, this idiot just won us the war," he spoke softly. “Well, technically you did since it was Areadbhar that's sticking out of Gloucester's gut, there. So that makes you an idiot, too," he huffed lightly before falling onto his back.
Fuck, I hurt was the only thought that passed his mind as he glanced up at the sky. Some of the smoke was clearing and he could see parts of the blue in the sky.
It seemed clearer somehow.
But there was no time for reminiscing. They were all here for a very different reason. One that was going to decide whether or not they would succeed in changing the world, or perishing alongside it. Mercer had no intentions of dying, but... he couldn't exactly predict the future, or anyone's fate. He could only go into the battle with a clear head, and try not to get himself killed. And to also keep the others alive. He turned his attention towards the group, a wry smile crossing his lips. They were wearing such somber expressions, but he couldn't blame them, really.
Even Alaric stood, his signature cloak tied to his back, with a bit of a forlorn expression. It hadn't taken much, honestly, to convince Mercer to bring Alaric along with the front group. He'd expected that Alaric would have taken a particular stance against being left behind, but he pushed the thought out of his mind.
Those that had mounts, were all currently standing beside them. Senka had a hand on Liev's neck, Thea held Sunny's reins in her hand a little tightly, and Sir nudged Mercer once more as he took in a breath. “You all know what you're getting into. Stay safe, protect each other's backs, and... just try to stay alive, alright? We know they have golems, and they have beasts. We need to make sure those who are capable of dealing with them, are doing so. We need to make sure that the main body of the army is at least able to push forward through Gloucester's."
Thea nodded her head and glanced in Vridel's direction, smiling somewhat before she took his hand and squeezed it. Deirdre and Sylvi spared a glance towards each other, but nodded their heads nevertheless.
“Same goes for you, too, Mercer. No running into this like a headless chicken, alright?" Deirdre stated, causing him to huff lightly. He wasn't that reckless, at least not anymore.
Teach had in fact borrowed a wyvern for the battle, due to the need for more air control. Oskar, as he was called, was a rather large creature, but also quite young. He'd been too skittish for his last rider, but in that weird way he had, Teach seemed to be able to keep the animal focused. He rubbed at the scales on Oskar's nose, now, eyes narrowed out at the field.
“Something's off about the formation on the hill," he murmured. “Looks like they've got a few ballistae set up, so watch yourselves getting in close."
Next to Mercer, Sorcha was grim-faced. They'd never found out exactly who had left Gloucester's note to her, but she'd eventually shown it to Mercer. If it troubled her, she'd kept quiet about it, but there was a tension to her now that suggested this battle, at least, worried her. Catching his eye, she half-smiled, the expression still somehow serious.
"They're coming," that was Reynard, riding towards them quickly on the scout-horse he used for quicker reconnaissance. He dismounted while the animal was still in motion, giving it a smack to direct it back to the rear lines. "And there's a lot of them."
Mercer pushed a breath through his nose. “Alright, everyone get in to position. Sor, you and I are taking the skies. We're going to provide aerial support while also looking for Gloucester. Teach, you and Sen keep an eye out as well for any place that you can assist since the two of you have fliers. Vi, Thea, Sofia, and Deir, you take the left flank and keep it reinforced as well as you can. Everyone else," he glanced towards Alaric, Reynard, Devon, and Sylvi.
“You'll provide support to the right flanks. Keep an eye on the hill and stay as far away from those ballistae as you can. If you see any beasts or golems," he paused, pursing his lips together, “do what you can to ensure they don't attack the soldiers. Keep their attention fixed on you so that the others can keep pressing forward."
He would also be providing support for his soldiers, but his main concern was Gloucester. As with any battle, getting to the enemy general was enough to end a battle. And Mercer wouldn be lying if he said this wasn't a little personal. Gloucester had left him a note, and Sorcha. He didn't like the things Gloucester had said about Sorcha, and he wasn't about to let him live for that. He couldn't afford to, especially if Gloucester underwent the same procedure that Those Who Slither performed on Vridel.
“Well... let's get to it, then," Sylvi spoke, causing some of the others to nod their heads. Senka mounted Liev as Thea mounted Sunny. Thea glanced in Vridel's direction, though, and held a hand out towards him.
“You're coming with me until we get further in," she stated, her lips pursed into a fine line. Mercer would have rolled his eyes, but he mounted Sir and nodded his head in Sorcha's direction.
Vridel huffed a little, but didn't argue, accepting the hand and swinging up behind her.
The battle was about to begin in earnest.
Sorcha ran an armored hand through her short hair, nodding slightly and taking up her position on Lady's back. Never one to cower while others were in danger, she urged her mount into the sky first, and that was everyone's signal to move.
Just in time, too, as the front line of Gloucester's army appeared on the horizon in the same moment. The two forces spilled forth onto the field, Mercer's splitting around the hill while several of Gloucester's went right for it, to man the siege weapons. A heavy bolt whistled through the air towards Sorcha, but Lady was far too nimble to be hit by it, and banked to the side, Sorcha sending an arrow down in retaliation.
That was when the first, too-familiar screeches rent the air. Demonic beasts, as expected. Several dark shapes towered just behind the main lines, with a few breaking off at once into the air. Teach shouted something to Sen that Mercer couldn't hear, but the implied meaning was clear enough—they needed to intercept those creatures.
She seemed to understand as she nudged Liev in the direction of the air borne beasts. She held Blutgang tightly, nudging Liev faster, it seemed, before she was engaged with one of the first beasts. It screeched, trying to use its talons to claw at Liev's wings and rip Senka from her perch.
Mercer focused his arrows on the ground troops below. He trusted Sen and Teach to be able to handle the beasts in the air, for now. He knew they were capable, but he didn't know if these beasts would be as much trouble as the ones they'd faced in Duscur. Those had been slightly altered. Knowing Gloucester, though, these beasts were as well. He would use every advantage to his disposal, and Mercer had to counter around it.
Senka released a few dark spells at the beast she was engaged with. They managed to clip its wing, but only served to anger it. It was spewing flames from its mouth, and from the looks of it, it was getting ready to use its flame breath. Senka barely maneuvered Liev out of the way, using a blizzard spell as a buffer, however; another creature took the opportunity to flank her. Its claws gripped at her arm, and Mercer could see that they pierced the flesh there. She didn't scream, and switched Blutgang to her other hand, using it to cut the beast's foot from her arm.
Oskar and Teach got in really close with the next, the large wyvern still smaller by a fair margin than the beast but apparently unconcerned, colliding midair and scrabbling for a hold with his claws, leaving deep gouges in the more birdlike creature. Teach took the opportunity to joust, spearing the creature in the eye with the Arrow, a heavy bolt of electricity lancing along the length of the weapon and no doubt frying the Demonic Beast's brain. Oskar disengaged just in time, and the creature fell heavily to the ground—right on top of one of the enemy ballistae, taking the huge weapon out of the fight with a splitting crack.
Already, they moved to engage the next.
Sorcha focused her fire on the left flank, where the ground-bound beasts seemed to be concentrating their assault. Vi, Thea, Sofi, and Deirdre were doing their best to draw their attention, but there were three of them, and more on the way. Even as an arrow arced in towards one of the bigger ones, its claws rent a massive hole in Sofi's tower shield. From the way it dropped, the claw had done significant damage to the arm underneath, too, and she took a large step backwards, thrusting outwards with her lance, a hard, determined grimace on her face.
Thea seemed to be engaged with a beast of her own, Deirdre doing her best to reinforce Sofia as best as she could. She was flinging fire spells towards the beast that was closest to Sofia. Thea swung Amyr over her head, lodging the axe in the beast's leg. It roared and swiped at her, catching her in the leg as she tried to dodge from it. There was a large gash in the armor, but it didn't seem to have cut too deeply into her leg. She was bleeding, though.
Deirdre managed to catch one of the beasts in the eye, blinding it temporarily for Sofia to get the advantage over it with her lance. Mercer tried to provide support as well, shooting an arrow for one of the beast's eyes. It managed to lodge itself near its eyelid, and it swiped at the arrow to try and dislodge it. Thea took the opportunity it provided her, and with as much strength as she could muster, slid Amyr across the creature's neck. It was apparently enough strength to cut the creature's throat wide open, causing it to fall over.
Thea moved to the next one to help with Vridel's beast, though from the way her shoulder looked, it might have been dislocated from the force she'd used.
Vridel himself was burning the candle at both ends, quite obviously. Both Crests were active, and he was slinging magic so thick and fast, interspersed with darting maneuvers and sword blows, that he'd felled one beast already and was well into the second. Not, apparently, without cost: blood soaked into the ground around him, mostly the beasts', but there was no mistaking the rivulets of it running down Vi's armor, either, and from the end of his nose. He was quickly slowing down, his movements growing heavier as he fought just to stay upright. He'd stopped relying on physical attacks entirely, plunging his blade into the ground and hurling magic with both hands instead, by the time Thea reached him.
Thea seemed to have white magic laced at her finger tips when she reached Vridel, touching his shoulder briefly before she flung herself back into the fray. Mercer could tell that it wasn't enough to heal Vridel completely, but he supposed they would be alright for now. Mercer focused on the next set of ground beasts, doing his best to conserve his arrows as well. He couldn't risk running out before they found Gloucester, but he also couldn't risk the lives of his friends. Grimacing slightly, he urged Sir forward, dodging a couple of arrows that had been aimed for him. He retaliated with arrows of his own, cursing slightly when one arrow found a home in his shoulder.
He pulled it out, and let it fall to the ground. Taking in a deep breath, he continued surveying the ground. He needed to find Gloucester.
“Mercer!" Sorcha's call caught his attention; she pointed to a spot near the edge of the field, where a cluster of archers had raised their bows as one, flaming arrows arcing through the sky. They didn't seem to be aimed at anything in particular, but—
Suddenly, Teach's observation at the hill made perfect sense. Just as the Alliance army had begun to overtake Gloucester's forces for control of it, the burning arrows landed, and all at once the hill was roaring with flames, hungry tongues of fire consuming enemy and ally alike. Thick plumes of smoke rose into the air, obscuring their view of what was occurring beyond.
“Shit," Mercer cursed beneath his breath as he brought Sir to a halt. He could hear the screams of his soldiers as they were being burned to death, and he could see a few of them scrambling to get away from the fire. It was just like Gloucester to sacrifice his troops in order to win a battle. But at what cost? He was losing soldiers, too. Mercer pursed his lips into a fine line, and glanced towards Sorcha.
“We need to get some of the others directed to help out," he stated, glancing in Sorcha's direction. It was just as he said that, three golems broke from the army and made a beeline for the central force of Mercer's army. “Shit," he muttered. He could see Alaric already directing some of his troops away from the golems as they came in. He glanced towards Sylvi, who nodded, and both made their way towards the golems. Mercer didn't like their chances. They'd only ever dealt with one golem, before, and these three were a lot faster.
Alaric swung his axe, Freikugel, around one of the golem's legs, catching it behind the calf area. It didn't seem to faze it at all, and instead, it swung one of its fists in Alaric's direction. Sylvi was there a second later to help block the incoming attack, but it was obvious the strain was a bit much on her. Her legs were shaking as were her arms as Alaric tried to get its attention towards him.
A pair of arrows knocked into the side of the golem's head; one bounced off its armor plating but the other seemed to stick, having found its way into a seam in the creature's construction. Still riding towards it at full tilt, Devon shouldered his bow and drew a sturdy shortsword, swinging at he went past. The clang of impact was audible even to Mercer; it had to have wrenched hard, but Dev only grit his teeth and wheeled around.
“Their armor's weaker!" Sorcha shouted. “Focus on the joints to peel it off!"
It was hard to tell if they'd heard her, but for the moment, they'd contained the creatures, Reynard jumping onto the back of the third, which had tried to break off from its companions and get at the much less-hardy soldiers in the middle of the field.
Sorcha, meanwhile, had rallied a small group of pegasus knights, who were now helping the Leicester soldiers get clear of the burning hill. Gloucester's gambit had hurt, their army more than his, but it hadn't crippled them as he'd probably expected it to.
Mercer winced slightly when he was struck with another arrow, but he ignored it. Instead, he focused his eyes towards the field activating his Crest to help him see better. There was still no sign of Gloucester, which probably meant that he was at the back of his battalion. Alaric and the others, however, seemed to have taken Sorcha's advice, attack the joints of the golems as best as they could until they'd brought one down. They continued their assault on the others, Alaric breaking off to assist Reynard, it seemed.
“Sorcha, we'll need to go a little deeper. Gloucester isn't at the front," he shouted towards her. He nudged Sir forward after that, intent on finding Gloucester. This needed to end. And he had a score to settle with Gloucester once and for all.
She flew right beside him, reaching over to tap him with a bit of white magic, a rueful smile crossing her face for only the briefest moment before it disappeared. She turned her eyes out to the field. “I think... the burning may have had another purpose. He could be setting something up behind the smokescreen. We should be careful." To the left, another flying beast fell from the sky, trailing crimson ribbons of blood behind it. Teach and Sen were holding steady, at least, but not even they'd last forever.
She was right, of course. Gloucester could be using the smokescreen to prepare something for those who went past it, however; they couldn't afford to keep this up, either. Vi and the others felled another of their beasts from the sounds of it, and were moving on to another. From what he could see, they were all injured in one way or another. Thea's arm still looked like it was slightly out of place, Deirdre was limping slightly with large puncture marks in her leg, and even Sylvi looked to be dragging her leg slightly. It could have been from a direct hit from one of the golems, but Mercer couldn't be too sure.
“Stay behind me, then," he stated. She could follow up with an attack if something happened to him, first. He wasn't risking his life; he needed to see what they were up against. If Gloucester was at the back of the army, preparing some sort of ambush, then at least Sorcha would be a little more prepared than he would. It was a risk he was willing to take. Necessary, even.
“If anything happens, you'll know what to expect. Let's put an end to this, alright?" he stated, spurring Sir forward.
She nodded, but her concentration seemed to be elsewhere. She'd shouldered her bow for some reason, brows furrowed in concentration. She followed him into the smoke, though, steering Lady with her legs and murmuring something under her breath.
The moment they cleared the smoke, Mercer understood that Gloucester had predicted them perfectly. The barrage of arrows that flew towards them couldn't possibly be dodged; there were just too many of them over too wide an area, and they were coming in right for him.
“There," Sorcha exhaled, expelling a heavy breath as the first of the arrows neared—
and bounced off of... nothing?
No, some kind of shielding spell. The others followed, ricocheting with rippled of light off the same barrier—Sorcha's barrier. It was mostly transparent, only lighting up when something hit it, allowing him to see through to the other side of the field. There, at the very edge of Gronder, accompanied by what had to be his best snipers, was Gloucester.
And his hair was stark white.
This wasn't going to be easy.
Gloucester had the advantage of being surrounded by troops, however; Mercer was banking on one thing: pride. He was hoping that Gloucester would agree to the duel he'd suggested in his letter not too long ago. He withdrew his sword from its sheath and pointed it in Gloucester's direction.
“Gloucester," he shouted loud enough to be heard. “Here I am. Let's do this if you're still up to it," he continued. To any other person, it might have sounded like Mercer was taunting Gloucester, but he wasn't. He was as serious as he could be. His troops were dying, and he didn't know how much longer his friends could hold out. He was lucky enough to still have stamina to fight Gloucester, however; even Mercer didn't know how that would end.
He could easily see Gloucester's expression lift into a sneer; he remained seated on his horse, tilting his head only slightly to track Mercer and Sorcha's motion through the air. Almost lazily, he held up a hand to stop his men from firing again. Mercer didn't know how long Sorcha's shield could last, but it was certainly useless to fire on them until it was gone, and no doubt the other man had realized the same thing.
The sounds of battle raged around them, but blanketed by smoke it was like they were in their own little pocket of things, somehow isolated from the rest. The cause of this wasn't clear, not until Gloucester shifted his other hand and the plumes thickened, forming something like a dome around them.
“Mercer, we have to descend," Sorcha warned. The dome did seem to be herding them, closing them in and forcing their mounts to the ground unless they wanted to contend with smoke inhalation on top of everything else.
That was fine by Mercer. He urged Sir towards the ground, dismounting once they landed, and held his sword at his side. He stared at Gloucester, his eyes occasionally flickering around at the soldiers that surrounded them. This was a situation where only one of them would live and one of them would die. He gripped his sword a little tighter. Mercer had too much to live for. He wasn't going to allow himself to die here. Not when there were so many other things he needed to do, wanted to do.
“I'm ready when you are, Matteo," Mercer stated, lifting his sword up in a defensive stance. He'd let Gloucester have the first move.
Gloucester's lip curled, but the provocation had the desired effect: he dismounted his warsteed and hefted the bladed staff and shield with which he was equipped. Even through the haze of smoke, light caught on the glimmering silver of his armor and the pale, snow-white of his hair. It was with confidence well across the line into haughtiness that he took up a spot about ten feet from Mercer.
“Mercer," he hissed, and his voice hardly sounded human. Somehow it was almost more akin to the one Maurice had used, or that Kleiman woman before rather than after her transformation. He didn't seem to be in any danger of doing the same, though—the weapon he bore was a Relic, to be sure, but it had his own crest stone on it; another seemed to have located itself on his forehead, not immediately identifiable, but certainly not the one he'd been born with.
“And you brought Sorcha. Convenient. Cornelia wants her back, you know, but I'm inclined to keep her."
“You sure you want to do this?" Sorcha quite ignored him to ask the question of Mercer. “If we fought him together, it'd be easier." She must've picked up on the fact that he intended a duel here.
Mercer ignored Gloucester as well and glanced in Sorcha's direction. It would be easier to fight him together since Mercer knew that two Crests did make someone a bit stronger. Mercer knew he was strong, but he wasn't strong enough to defeat Gloucester on his own. But he also didn't want to drag Sorcha into this. She was strong, he knew, and together, they did have a real chance of defeating Gloucester, but...
“Alright, we do this together," he spoke, turning his attention towards Gloucester. “Sorcha and I will be your opponents, Matteo. Unless, of course, you don't think you can handle the both of us," he stated, almost baiting Gloucester. It was a taunt, after all.
Gloucester snorted. This close, it was obvious that he was not the same man he'd once been. Though there was cunning left in him still, his eyes were wild, fevered in a way they never had been. He flicked his eyes between them and barked a laugh. “If the prize would like to join the fight on her own behalf, so be it. Wouldn't be the first time."
Sorcha's eyes narrowed; she hefted Areadbhar in both hands, giving the heavy lance a spin and stepping up beside Mercer. “I'll keep his shield busy," she offered.
Mercer refrained from a retort to Gloucester. He was trying to bait Mercer by saying things that Mercer would have answered to, however; now was not the time to lose his head. “Keep his shield busy, but don't take any unnecessary risks," he replied. Taking a deep breath, he decided to make the first move, and lunged towards Gloucester, swinging his sword to at least keep him busy with a weapon.
Gloucester went to block, but as promised, Areadbhar was there, interfereing with the lift of his kite shield, and so he was forced to adjust on the fly and block with his sword instead. The hit was hard enough to jar Mercer's arm, sending a reverberation through the blade in his hands. Gloucester stepped hard on the ground, which seemed to be nothing more than a gesture of frustration until the both of them were abruptly slammed by some kind of shockwave, not entirely dissimilar to the one Sorcha produced from her weapon sometimes.
As if she'd been thinking of it, too, she rolled to her feet first, lightning crackling along Areadbhar's length before she swung forward with it, releasing the wave. Gloucester met it in midair with one of his own, and the resulting sound was loud enough to leave their ears ringing. Gritting her teeth, Sorcha lunged again, swinging two-handed for the face of the shield like she was trying to break it in half.
Mercer continued his assault with his sword, coming in behind Sorcha as quickly as he could. With the two of them on the constant offensive, it was bound to put Gloucester on the defensive. And that was what Mercer wanted. Keep him occupied enough that he couldn't get the full effect of his two Crests. Failnaught would not provide any support for him here, and he almost cursed his Relic for being a bow.
The duel seemed to go on for hours, though in reality, it had only been at least an hour. Mercer felt something in his wrist was sprained from the force he'd exerted trying to get Gloucester to drop his guard. If he could only get his guard down for just a second, that was all he needed. Sorcha kept Gloucester's shield busy until she was finally able to break it. Not in half, fully, but enough so that it was cracked.
Mercer gritted his teeth together, hearing something pop out of place as he brought his sword down on Gloucester. His wrist was broken, now, he could feel it. The pain was enough to cause him to pause momentarily in his assault, which seemed to give Gloucester the chance to switch to the offensive. With every attack he blocked, he could feel his wrists ache. They wanted to buckle under the strain of the pain, but Mercer willed them not to. Instead, he ducked his head to avoid Gloucester's weapon from taking it. It may have been a staff, but Mercer knew that it was still sharp.
Mercer grimaced once more as he held up his sword to block an attack from Gloucester. If they could get Gloucester's weapon away from him, it might prove to be the advantage they needed. So when Gloucester went to attack once more, Mercer allowed the weapon to pierce his left shoulder, and brought his right hand to connect with Gloucester's face.
“Sorcha, now!" he shouted, hoping she would know what to do. The weapon was, after all, stuck in his shoulder bone.
Like they'd practiced it, she brought Areadbhar down in a low sweep, pulling Gloucester's legs out from underneath him and stabbing downwards, hard, into the less-protected portion of his abdomen beneath his halfplate. The lance went right through him, impaling him to the ground, but she abandoned it immediately, concern scrawled so clearly across her features it was as though it were five years ago and she'd never forgotten anything she felt at all.
“You idiot!" she cried, turning towards him with glowing hands only for her left knee to buckle. She'd taken a hard shield bash to it earlier in addition to several major body-blows, and paid for them now, toppling over and just barely catching herself on her hands before she could smash facefirst into the dirt. Coughing, she brought up blood, and groaned softly, red dripping to the ground from between her lips. “Dammit."
Mercer grimaced slightly as he pulled Thrysus from his shoulder, throwing the Relic to the ground as he staggered towards Gloucester. He pulled his sword up, and stabbed downward into his throat, ensuring that he would not get up again. Leaving his blade behind, he made his way towards Sorcha and fell to his knees, holding a hand on her back.
“Hey, now, this idiot just won us the war," he spoke softly. “Well, technically you did since it was Areadbhar that's sticking out of Gloucester's gut, there. So that makes you an idiot, too," he huffed lightly before falling onto his back.
Fuck, I hurt was the only thought that passed his mind as he glanced up at the sky. Some of the smoke was clearing and he could see parts of the blue in the sky.
It seemed clearer somehow.
Great Bridge of Myrddin - Evening - Clear
Cyril Eisner
It had been three whole days before the army was in any shape to march.
The battle with Gloucester had been successful, but ultimately costly. Fully a third of their ground troops had been killed, and another half of what was left were injured in some capacity. Fortunately, the majority of those who'd survived were seen to relatively quickly, and were at least mobile again, though for some, the road to anything like a full recovery would be... considerably longer.
As for himself... he felt almost guilty, somehow. With or without the assistance of magic, his wounds seemed to simply close on their own, his bleeding to stem and his flesh to knit and his bruises to pale and his bones to mend. Not immediately, of course, but almost as though a constant stream of healing magic were coursing through his system. It had begun as a trickle, the kind of thing that helped him recover from his near-death within a few months. It was steadier now, though, and while he'd started off in better shape than a lot of the others, he was now completely fine.
Lifting the flap into the infirmary tent, he stepped carefully in, steaming bowls of soup lined up on the large tray in his other hand. “Dinner's here," he announced. “If you can walk feel free to come and get it; otherwise I can bring it to you."
Devon, Vridel, Mercer, Thea, Deirdre, and Sofia were among the walkers, though the young Emperor especially looked more dead than alive. Sort of understandable, when you had to contribute to the healing effort along with being healed.
Sorcha's knee was still broken, so he walked hers over to her. Reynard had apparently nearly had a leg torn off by one of the golems when it got hold of him; the whole thing was in a splint, so he wasn't up and about yet, either. Both were fine sitting up, though, which not everyone had been as little as a couple of days ago, so Cyril would count that a good thing.
Sylvi's hip had been dislocated from where one of the golems had managed to hit her, but luckily it wasn't shattered. It still needed a few days to heal properly before she'd be able to walk again, but she didn't seem to mind. She was smiling, if anything, as she waved towards Cyril. Senka had a broken arm and leg, mostly from when she'd ran Liev into the side of one of the aerial beasts. She was healing rather quickly, perhaps aided by her own healing magic. She tended to those who were in reach, of course, but she didn't really move anywhere.
Mercer had two broken wrists so it seemed he was going to have a bit of trouble eating his food. He walked over towards Cyril and Sorcha. “Hey Teach, put mine with Sor's. I want her to spoon feed me," he stated, pulling up a seat next to Sorcha. Deirdre snickered but rolled her eyes at him.
“You leave Sorcha alone, and let her eat her food, jerk. Have someone else spoon feed you, or get a straw and drink it. It's soup," Deirdre stated as she shook her head.
“But it's not quite as fun, now is it? You'd want Sofi to spoon feed you if you couldn't hold up a spoon, wouldn't you?" he retorted. Deirdre rolled her eyes harshly and proceeded to ignore Mercer. Sylvi and Senka both chuckled as Thea joined Deirdre in rolling her eyes as well.
“Lord Fishface, let Sorcha eat her food. If she wants to feed you after she eats, that's her call," Thea supplied as she made her way to Vridel.
“I don't mind," Sorcha said quietly when Cyril looked towards her in inquiry. Reynard huffed softly and cracked a smile, but offered no commentary.
Vridel did, though. “Lucky you, Lord Fishface," he said. “Otherwise it probably would have been the Professor."
Cyril snorted. “Look I might not be in charge of you lot anymore, but I'm just here to deliver the food. You've got to eat it yourselves." He would have, of course, taken care of any of them in whatever way they actually needed him to, but the fact that they were joking around about it was a good sign, to his mind. The last few days had been... quiet. Everyone had to process what it meant to lose so many, to find themselves more vulnerable than they'd been in a while. They were so much more than the average person could be that he was sure it seemed at time as though they were... not invincible, but as close to it as fragile humans ever got.
To be reminded that their bones broke and skin tore as easily as anyone's, in such a way, well...
He was glad they had the victory to lean on, because if had come as part of a loss, he didn't want to think about what it would have done to them all.
Cyril passed out the remaining bowls as instructed, pausing only to lay a gentle kiss on Senka's forehead, threading a touch of healing magic into it. The real work was yet to come for the evening, but if it soothed the stings and aches even a little in the meantime, he'd consider it worth it.
“Just sit here; it's easier," Sorcha added, shifting over on her cot to leave space for Mercer to squeeze in with her.
Mercer merely puffed out his cheeks in Vridel's direction before grinning. “You're just jealous that Thea's not doing that for you," he replied, taking the seat next to Sorcha, though he seemed to leave a bit more room for her so she could be more comfortable. He had two broken wrists, she had a broken knee, so it seemed to make more sense for him to do that.
“If Vi wanted to be spoon fed, he'd ask. I'm not going to just foist it upon someone without asking first, stupid fishface," Thea retorted, earning a chuckle from Sylvi.
“Now you've done it; you seem to have earned the ire of everyone here, Merc," Sylvi stated, taking a bite of her soup.
“It's a specialty of his," Senka replied as if it were the most obvious thing. She was smiling softly, though before she shook her head.
“Hey, now. She said yes, so I don't know why you're all jealous," he murmured. Senka gave him a flat look, though.
“No one said we were jealous, Mercer. Only that you should ask beforehand. It's considered polite," she retorted, causing Mercer to roll his eyes.
“You're all just jealous."
By this point, Sorcha looked rather like she wished for the conversation to focus on anything else, pink faced and not making eye contact with anyone, but she did indeed gamely dip the spoon into the bowl and lift it nonetheless.
Cyril chuckled softly. “All right, all right," he said, waving a hand nonchalantly. “Who's feeling up to helping with the healing after dinner?" He'd warned them all rather sternly not to overdo it, as they were all still recovering as well, but the fact remained that the best way to get better was to quite literally help each other do it.
“I can," Vridel said, sounding a little weary but not moreso than Cyril expected. Sorcha nodded as well.
“Oh, I can definitely help, too," Thea stated, smiling somewhat as she placed a hand on Vridel's arm. Deirdre pursed her lips together before shrugging her shoulders.
“I'm not that good with white magic, but I know one healing spell. I suppose I can help out," Deirdre stated. Sylvi merely pursed her lips together, though, and shook her head. She didn't know any healing spells, so it was obvious as to why she was shaking her head. That, and she couldn't walk.
“Well, if you're willing to help me around," Senka began, glancing in Cyril's direction. She looked quite serious before she continued, “I can help with some of the healing."
Mercer held up his wrists, though, and shook his head. “Sorry Teach. These hands won't be much help doing anything, but I can probably help with other things. Things that don't really require me to move my hands much," he stated.
Cyril didn't mind helping Senka move around at all; he could carry her with next to no effort anyway, and while he'd have to be mindful of her injuries, he knew he could do so without jostling anything.
Of course there were some of his students who didn't know any white magic to begin with, and that was fine. He wasn't especially adept in it himself, preferring the dark arts. But there were other things that could be done, and it was fine just to rest, too.
“Works for me, then," he said simply. “Let's get started."
The battle with Gloucester had been successful, but ultimately costly. Fully a third of their ground troops had been killed, and another half of what was left were injured in some capacity. Fortunately, the majority of those who'd survived were seen to relatively quickly, and were at least mobile again, though for some, the road to anything like a full recovery would be... considerably longer.
As for himself... he felt almost guilty, somehow. With or without the assistance of magic, his wounds seemed to simply close on their own, his bleeding to stem and his flesh to knit and his bruises to pale and his bones to mend. Not immediately, of course, but almost as though a constant stream of healing magic were coursing through his system. It had begun as a trickle, the kind of thing that helped him recover from his near-death within a few months. It was steadier now, though, and while he'd started off in better shape than a lot of the others, he was now completely fine.
Lifting the flap into the infirmary tent, he stepped carefully in, steaming bowls of soup lined up on the large tray in his other hand. “Dinner's here," he announced. “If you can walk feel free to come and get it; otherwise I can bring it to you."
Devon, Vridel, Mercer, Thea, Deirdre, and Sofia were among the walkers, though the young Emperor especially looked more dead than alive. Sort of understandable, when you had to contribute to the healing effort along with being healed.
Sorcha's knee was still broken, so he walked hers over to her. Reynard had apparently nearly had a leg torn off by one of the golems when it got hold of him; the whole thing was in a splint, so he wasn't up and about yet, either. Both were fine sitting up, though, which not everyone had been as little as a couple of days ago, so Cyril would count that a good thing.
Sylvi's hip had been dislocated from where one of the golems had managed to hit her, but luckily it wasn't shattered. It still needed a few days to heal properly before she'd be able to walk again, but she didn't seem to mind. She was smiling, if anything, as she waved towards Cyril. Senka had a broken arm and leg, mostly from when she'd ran Liev into the side of one of the aerial beasts. She was healing rather quickly, perhaps aided by her own healing magic. She tended to those who were in reach, of course, but she didn't really move anywhere.
Mercer had two broken wrists so it seemed he was going to have a bit of trouble eating his food. He walked over towards Cyril and Sorcha. “Hey Teach, put mine with Sor's. I want her to spoon feed me," he stated, pulling up a seat next to Sorcha. Deirdre snickered but rolled her eyes at him.
“You leave Sorcha alone, and let her eat her food, jerk. Have someone else spoon feed you, or get a straw and drink it. It's soup," Deirdre stated as she shook her head.
“But it's not quite as fun, now is it? You'd want Sofi to spoon feed you if you couldn't hold up a spoon, wouldn't you?" he retorted. Deirdre rolled her eyes harshly and proceeded to ignore Mercer. Sylvi and Senka both chuckled as Thea joined Deirdre in rolling her eyes as well.
“Lord Fishface, let Sorcha eat her food. If she wants to feed you after she eats, that's her call," Thea supplied as she made her way to Vridel.
“I don't mind," Sorcha said quietly when Cyril looked towards her in inquiry. Reynard huffed softly and cracked a smile, but offered no commentary.
Vridel did, though. “Lucky you, Lord Fishface," he said. “Otherwise it probably would have been the Professor."
Cyril snorted. “Look I might not be in charge of you lot anymore, but I'm just here to deliver the food. You've got to eat it yourselves." He would have, of course, taken care of any of them in whatever way they actually needed him to, but the fact that they were joking around about it was a good sign, to his mind. The last few days had been... quiet. Everyone had to process what it meant to lose so many, to find themselves more vulnerable than they'd been in a while. They were so much more than the average person could be that he was sure it seemed at time as though they were... not invincible, but as close to it as fragile humans ever got.
To be reminded that their bones broke and skin tore as easily as anyone's, in such a way, well...
He was glad they had the victory to lean on, because if had come as part of a loss, he didn't want to think about what it would have done to them all.
Cyril passed out the remaining bowls as instructed, pausing only to lay a gentle kiss on Senka's forehead, threading a touch of healing magic into it. The real work was yet to come for the evening, but if it soothed the stings and aches even a little in the meantime, he'd consider it worth it.
“Just sit here; it's easier," Sorcha added, shifting over on her cot to leave space for Mercer to squeeze in with her.
Mercer merely puffed out his cheeks in Vridel's direction before grinning. “You're just jealous that Thea's not doing that for you," he replied, taking the seat next to Sorcha, though he seemed to leave a bit more room for her so she could be more comfortable. He had two broken wrists, she had a broken knee, so it seemed to make more sense for him to do that.
“If Vi wanted to be spoon fed, he'd ask. I'm not going to just foist it upon someone without asking first, stupid fishface," Thea retorted, earning a chuckle from Sylvi.
“Now you've done it; you seem to have earned the ire of everyone here, Merc," Sylvi stated, taking a bite of her soup.
“It's a specialty of his," Senka replied as if it were the most obvious thing. She was smiling softly, though before she shook her head.
“Hey, now. She said yes, so I don't know why you're all jealous," he murmured. Senka gave him a flat look, though.
“No one said we were jealous, Mercer. Only that you should ask beforehand. It's considered polite," she retorted, causing Mercer to roll his eyes.
“You're all just jealous."
By this point, Sorcha looked rather like she wished for the conversation to focus on anything else, pink faced and not making eye contact with anyone, but she did indeed gamely dip the spoon into the bowl and lift it nonetheless.
Cyril chuckled softly. “All right, all right," he said, waving a hand nonchalantly. “Who's feeling up to helping with the healing after dinner?" He'd warned them all rather sternly not to overdo it, as they were all still recovering as well, but the fact remained that the best way to get better was to quite literally help each other do it.
“I can," Vridel said, sounding a little weary but not moreso than Cyril expected. Sorcha nodded as well.
“Oh, I can definitely help, too," Thea stated, smiling somewhat as she placed a hand on Vridel's arm. Deirdre pursed her lips together before shrugging her shoulders.
“I'm not that good with white magic, but I know one healing spell. I suppose I can help out," Deirdre stated. Sylvi merely pursed her lips together, though, and shook her head. She didn't know any healing spells, so it was obvious as to why she was shaking her head. That, and she couldn't walk.
“Well, if you're willing to help me around," Senka began, glancing in Cyril's direction. She looked quite serious before she continued, “I can help with some of the healing."
Mercer held up his wrists, though, and shook his head. “Sorry Teach. These hands won't be much help doing anything, but I can probably help with other things. Things that don't really require me to move my hands much," he stated.
Cyril didn't mind helping Senka move around at all; he could carry her with next to no effort anyway, and while he'd have to be mindful of her injuries, he knew he could do so without jostling anything.
Of course there were some of his students who didn't know any white magic to begin with, and that was fine. He wasn't especially adept in it himself, preferring the dark arts. But there were other things that could be done, and it was fine just to rest, too.
“Works for me, then," he said simply. “Let's get started."