Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem-Path of Radiance: Love Sonata ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )

Falchion1984: Hey there. Well, it took some time in traction, a little rehab, a good bit of dieting, quite a lot of painkillers and the soap in my mouth so long necessitated that my taste buds undergo reconstructive surgery, but I'm back. Here we go again! Now, this chapter will get into the Festival itself and set the stage for Ike and Elincia to have their overdue chat. This chapter will also involve a good bit of cultural interchange that should…

 

Caineghis: *Rides pasts on an imaginary horse followed by Ranulf who's banging two empty halves of cocoanuts together*

 

Falchion1984: What the…?

 

Janaff: *On castle parapet* Halt! Who goes there?

 

Caineghis: It is I, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot. King of the Britons, defeater of the Saxons, Sovereign of all England!

 

Janaff: Pull the other one!

 

Caineghis: I am,... *Gestures towards Ranulf* and this is my trusty servant Patsy.

 

Ranulf: *Grumbles*

 

Caineghis: We have ridden the length and breadth of the land in search of knights who will join me in my court at Camelot. I must speak with your lord and master.

 

Janaff: What? Ridden on a horse?

 

Caineghis: Yes!

 

Janaff: You're using coconuts!

 

Caineghis: What?

 

Janaff: You've got two empty halves of coconut and you're bangin' 'em together.

 

Caineghis: So? We have ridden since the snows of winter covered this land, through the kingdom of Mercia, through--

 

Janaff: Where'd you get the coconuts?

 

Caineghis: We found them.

 

Janaff: Found them? In Mercia? The coconut's tropical!

 

Caineghis: What do you mean?

 

Janaff: Well, this is a temperate zone.

 

Caineghis: The swallow may fly south with the sun or the house martin or the plover may seek warmer climes in winter, yet these are not strangers to our land?

 

Janaff: Are you suggesting coconuts migrate?

 

Falchion1984: Oooookay. Why don't you read the chapter while I figure out what's going on here. Oh, DISCLAIMER: I don't own Fire Emblem or the movie that the Laguz are reenacting, but I do own the O.C's, the Demosthene dance and the game of Doraven. Read on to find out what these are.

 

 

(Ike)

 

Settling his shovel aside, Ike seated himself against the newly cleaned cistern. One callused hand wiped at his moistened brow, doubtless streaking grime across his already dirty forehead, and an exhausted breath escaped his lips. His arms were tired from the labor, he had a cramped muscle or two and he was positive that the long hours of working in the hot sun left him smelling simply terrible. Still, it was worth it. Now that the cistern was cleared of rubble and dust, it would help to provide water to at least several homes nearby.

 

`Speaking of which,' a suddenly thirsty Ike thought.

 

His arms were too sore and stiff at the moment to permit him to heave himself upright, so he decided to simply catch his breath. He drew in a long breath through his nostrils, which promptly confirmed his theory regarding how he presently smelled, and let his eyelids descend. Disregarding the hardness of the stone, he leaned against it and let his head tilt backwards to allow the rays of the fierce sun to warm his tanned face. The humid air, combined with his exhaustion, caused him to relax and, despite the noise of the construction, nearly lulled him to sleep. An impossible sensation of repose came over him as he let his body relax for the first time in too long, drawing in his toils as if air gathered via inhalation, and then letting it fountain out again taking the strains and hardship of the day's work with it.

 

His thoughts began to wander, mostly in the direction of the coming Festival, and his mind's eye began to fill with images of him and Elincia during the dance. Almost as if his thoughts had conjured her in full, he could perceive the silken coils of her emerald hair, the rich vanilla aroma of her perfume and the sweet, if soft, sound of her voice. As if his imaginings had also conjured the feel of her lips against his, warmth climbed his cheeks and a small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

 

“Ah, there you are,” a familiar voice rang out.

 

Suddenly, Ike's arms didn't feel stiff anymore nor was he sleepy. His eyes shot open and he heaved himself to his feet.

 

“Sephiran!” Ike greeted, grinning and bounding over to his old friend.

 

The sight of the Prime Minister of Begnion, clad in the robes of ivory silk and violent sash that characterized his illustrious post, shaking hands with the bare-chested and wildly perspiring Ike assuredly made an interesting sight. If Sephiran was at all perturbed by Ike's appearance, or his smell for that matter, it was invisible.

 

“I see you've been busy,” Sephiran commented, his nose crinkling slightly.

 

Ike chuckled, unable to suppress a feeling of mischievous delight in Sephiran's minor discomfort. He knew that, despite Sephiran's Noble breeding, he had a streak of rudeness in him and the two would often take playful jabs at one another.

 

Still, all their conversations eventually turned serious. And, Ike already suspected where this one would head.

 

“What brings you here?” Ike asked. “I thought Tanith was acting as Begnion's representative.”

 

“True,” Sephiran answered, his serene smile dawning on his features. “This is more of a…personal errand.”

 

Ike didn't bother asking what that errand was, he already knew.

 

“Are you coming to the Festival?” Ike inquired.

 

“Indeed,” Sephiran replied. “I suspect that it will be a celebration of particular interest.”

 

Again, Ike did not inquire as to what Sephiran was getting at. Sephiran already knew about Ike's plans to ask Elincia to marry him. In fact, he'd played a major role in helping the notion to form in Ike's mind.

 

“You intend to go through with your plan then?” Sephiran asked.

 

“Tonight,” Ike answered firmly, “at the Festival.”

 

Sephiran accepted this with a nod, and another chuckle escaped Ike's lips.

 

“I wanted to do this long ago,” Ike admitted. “But, I needed to think over some things first.”

 

Sephiran gazed at Ike as if suddenly uncertain whom he was speaking to.

 

“Ike thinking before acting?” Sephiran asked in mild astonishment. “A precedent has been broken.”

 

The corners of Ike's mouth drew downward. These frequent insinuations that he too rarely thought before acting, although true, were getting old.

 

“Hey,” Ike interjected, trying not to sound irritated, “I needed to set things to rights. The Greil Mercenaries already knew about me and Elincia, Heck, they knew before I did, but we needed to get the Company settled. The Fort's finally rebuilt, Titania is going to take over as Commander, and we've managed to figure out where jobs are most likely to crop up. Also, Zihark, Ilyana and Astrid have moved back to Crimea and have joined the Company. And…well, I wanted to spend some time with Mist. Losing father was bad enough but finding out about Lehran's Medallion, and how mother died, hit her hard and I wanted to make sure that she's alright. She DOES seem better, she and Mia are already picking out wallpaper and tablecloths for the Fort and she's started replanting her flower garden.”

 

Ike was aware that, for the first time in his life, he was just babbling. He'd always been a direct man, sometimes to the point where it could be considered rude, but this was an exception. Saying goodbye to the Greil Mercenaries, even if they had already given him their blessing, had been hard. They were his family and, beyond saying what might be final farewells, he wanted to ensure that they were well taken care of. It had almost been redundant, the Greil Mercenaries still enjoyed the reputation of War Heroes. They had jobs aplenty and, even after the expenses of rebuilding the Fort, funding was practically a non-issue. Add in Zihark, Ilyana and Astrid having joined up and the Greil Mercenaries seemed to be in the best shape they'd been since their founding.

 

This had gladdened Ike's heart. Even if he was leaving his family, he still loved them and, as the inscription on the scabbard they'd given him had said, bonds of love and brotherhood are eternal. Though Ike was venturing into a new world and a new life, the bonds he shared with the Greil Mercenaries would remain in his heart always.

 

“What about the ring?” Sephiran asked.

 

Ike, brightening, reached into his pocket.

 

“Right here,” he replied.

 

Ike had the ring box out and was about to open it when a familiar voice rang out from behind him. A very familiar voice.

 

“My Lord Ike,” the voice called out.

 

Ike, surprised, whirled to face the approaching Elincia, hastily stuffing the ring box back into his pocket. Thankfully, she was far away enough that she didn't notice anything odd.

 

Still, that had been entirely too close.

 

As was often the case, she wore her orange gown and her emerald hair hung to her shoulders with two tendrils framing her delicate face. And, this sight made Ike suddenly self conscious. A long day spent rebuilding houses and shoveling out cisterns had left him slathered in sweat and grime and smelling terrible. He also had a funny feeling that there was some sort of correlation between his shirtless state and the faint blush on Elincia's face.

 

He also had another funny feeling that Sephiran found this circumstance to be rather amusing.

 

Straightening up, inclining his head respectfully and hoping that she wasn't downwind of him, he smiled and greeted her.

 

“Elincia,” he began, “it's good to see you.”

 

As had been the case in the past, he didn't realize he'd called her by her name until after the fact. But, he consoled himself with the knowledge that, when he'd done so during his confrontation with Apostle Sanaki and while talking to Elincia just before the Liberation of Melior, she had liked being called such. Again, it wasn't intentional, but it felt good. In fact, Elincia had been trying to show him the same courtesy.

 

Still, old habits die hard.

 

“My Lor…,” Elincia began, seeming to catch herself. “Ike, I was wondering. Are you planning to come to the Festival tonight?”

 

“Of course,” Ike replied, brightening. “I'm looking forward to it.”

 

Indeed, he was looking forward to the Festival. He was rather eager to show Elincia just how much.

 

“Oh…wonderful!” Elincia replied, unable to conceal her surprise. “I…I was wondering if you'd be interested in being my escort.”

 

Ike blinked. The Queen had no escort? He'd half expected dozens of Nobles to be running one another through for what she'd just freely offered him. But, then again, such was probably too much to hope for.

 

“I'd be honored,” Ike replied.

 

Ike's response was automatic for his thoughts had migrated elsewhere and he was barely conscious of the moment. In his mind's eye, it was already that evening and he was already at the Festival. And, he was already asking for her hand in marriage. His inattention toward the present moment cost him for, by the time the warning shouted from the scaffold above jarred him back to reality, it was too late. His vision was suddenly, and rather completely obscured by what he strongly suspected was an overturned pail of mortar that had fallen from above to engulf his head.

 

He jerked the pail up and over his head, extracting it from the thick, cement-like mixture, and began to carefully wipe at his eyes and spit out the mortar that managed to get into his mouth. After that, he assessed the damage, which was considerable. The mortar had slathered his face and torso in thick, gray paste and had radically altered the coloring of his pants and boots.

 

`Oh,' he inwardly groused, `that will help me make a good impression.'

 

“Oh goodness!” Elincia exclaimed. “Are you alright?”

 

“I'm fine,” Ike replied, still rather embarrassed.

 

He glanced up at the scaffold from which the pail must've fallen. A Beorc laborer on the second tier had moved close to the edge and was gazing down at him. He looked stricken and decidedly nervous.

 

“Ach, goodness, gracious me!” he exclaimed in the thick burr characteristic of Crimea's northern regions. “Are ye alright Milord?”

 

Ike brought up one hand to shade his eyes, half to see the laborer against the sun's glare and half to make sure that the mortar still in his hair didn't get in his eyes.

 

“I'm alright,” Ike shouted back. “And…”

 

“Don't call ye that,” the laborer finished. “Beggin' yer pardon Mi…laddie, old habits be hard to break.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ike muttered in resignation. “Is anyone hurt up there?”

 

“Nay,” the laborer replied, “just clumsiness. I was backin' up to let young lad Riley go past me `n me foot knocked the pail over. Beggin' yer forgiveness.”

 

Ike inwardly growled, he could hardly blame the laborer for what was simply an accident. Still, why did that have to happen now?

 

Ike turned back to face Elincia and Sephiran. Sephiran, naturally, looked as if he was struggling not to burst out laughing. Ike had to fight down the urge to hurl a glob of mortar in the offender's face.

 

In fact, Ike was so focused on ignoring Sephiran that he didn't notice Elincia moving closer to him until he suddenly felt her fingertips on his chin.

 

Ike, surprised at suddenly finding Elincia's face inches from his own, found his cheeks becoming warm. Very warm. Elincia had snatched the coarse cloth that Ike kept on his belt, and began working to wipe away some of the excess goop from his face. Ike tensed briefly, he always did when under a healer's ministrations, but he soon relaxed despite the scratchy feel of the coarse cloth against his skin. They'd had contact like this often during the war, when Elincia would act as a healer following battle and would often roll bandages and apply salves to a battered Ike. Remembering those moments, Ike felt himself briefly relax. Briefly because he saw Sephiran's face out of the corner of his eye, one eyebrow cocked and trying to keep a straight face. Ike suddenly felt that sense of self-consciousness return.

 

Elincia also worked to keep a straight face as she spoke.

 

“You might want to wash up and change before the Festival though,” she told him, the barest hint of a giggle in her voice.

 

“Yes,” Sephiran concurred. “It is free dress, but not that free.”

 

`That's the last straw,' Ike inwardly snarled. `The next pail of mortar I find has his name on it.'

 

After a few moments of being wiped down by the coarse cloth, Ike was as clean as he was likely to get until he could find a wash basin or a stream. Elincia examined her work, nodded approvingly and, surprising herself as much as the two men, pecked Ike on the cheek.

 

“I'll see you at the Festival,” she told him, somewhat breathlessly, and hurried off.

 

Ike waved at her, though doubted that she saw, and let out a contended sigh. His contentment, however, was brief.

 

“You know Ike,” Sephiran cut in, his words punctuated by the occasional chuckle, “this might be a blessing in disguise. Perhaps the mortar will enhance your stony, chiseled countenance.”

 

Sephiran laughed hard at his own pun, Ike did not join in.

 

Ike extended his thumb and forefinger, holding their tips a minute distance apart from one another.

 

“You're about this close to getting a free sample, if you get my meaning,” he said warningly.

 

(Lucia)

 

“Not bad,” Lucia quipped. “Not bad at all.”

 

As the sun's westward descent painted the sky with orange and gold, the work in Melior slowly came to a halt as the hour of the Festival approached. More than a few had to be encouraged to leave, protesting that they wanted to `get in one more nail' or `set a few more bricks' or some such thing.

 

`Men,' Lucia mused tritely, `so single-minded.'

 

The Festival was a rather modest affair. The Gryphion Plains, the rolling grasslands between Melior and Fort Pinell, had been converted into a small village of tents, banquet tables and an arc of chairs, music stands and instruments intended for use by the various musicians that could be recruited for the affair. At the heart of this `village' was an empty area that would, assuredly, brim over when the dancing commenced. It was a far cry from the gaudy balls that Lucia had attended since taking her place as a Courtier, but that was alright.

 

She had a funny feeling that this was going to be a memorable occasion.

 

Lucia began to walk about the Festival grounds, glancing about at nothing in particular as she tried to take in the scene as a whole. The first thing that caught her eye was, oddly enough, a hastily made sign that read `No Dogs Allowed.' When she inquired, she learned that the sign had been added following an altercation at a nearby farming village involving Ranulf, five hunting dogs, eight wolfhounds, twelve sheepdogs, eighteen golden retrievers, forty seven St. Bernards and one Pug.

 

The witnesses had been visibly disinclined to offer details.

 

The tables were covered with various foods, most were a variety of interesting looking dishes made from combinations of Gallia's wild fruits and Crimean fish and vegetables. A few others were meat dishes, some salted and others basted with a sauce so spicy that the vapor billowing off them made her eyes water.

 

`That should please Ike,' Lucia inwardly snickered.

 

She had, on one occasion, seen the heavily spiced meat that was Ike's preference but she didn't sample any. She was in no mood to risk an acute case of heartburn. Besides, the candied apples looked far more appealing to her.

 

There were very few pastries, aside from a few experimental dishes made from the mountain berries that Phoenicis had begun to export in small quantities and, rather than wine, there was spring water and lemonade. Through gaps in the spread of plates and platters, Lucia could see the tables themselves. They were…rather mismatched. Gathered from whether they could be purchased or borrowed or loaned out, they were all of differing styles and shapes, degrees of ornamentation and wear, types of wood, length, width and height. When Lucia looked closer however, she noticed something: someone amongst the staff had compensated for the mismatched tables by arranging them in a fashion that crudely mimicked the Marhaut Range, the rugged land where the Crimean Liberation Army had united with Gallia's Army, with the taller tables emulating the mesas and plateaus while the lower tables acted as the canyons and gorges.

 

This, slightly eccentric, display of creative ingenuity elicited a small grin and a nearly inaudible laugh from Lucia. Now that she thought about it, the display actually acted as a small representation of Crimea itself.

 

So many mismatched parts that, when put together in the right way, could be made into something good. Rather like the burgeoning alliance between the Beorc and the Laguz, or the Crimean Liberation Army and its various allies.

 

`And,' Lucia mused with a snicker, `probably like a certain Mercenary-turned-General and a certain Queen.'

 

A snatch of speech caught Lucia's ear and, turning, she found herself facing the first arrivals. The musicians that had been recruited, ranging from toddlers to elders, found their instruments of choice and began to practice.

 

Others were beginning to trickle in, including the first few guests. Some began to mingle, looking for a familiar face or an interesting stranger to converse with, while others tried to make their way to the food spread across the creatively arranged tables, only to be deterred by the Head Waiter who informed them that the Festival would start at sundown and no sooner.

 

Lucia suspected that this declaration had caused more than a few to think unkindly of the Head Waiter.

 

The man who would be conducting the improvised orchestra had also arrived; he was now looking over his new charges with the barest hint of surprise. Not that he could be blamed; the orchestra players were even more mismatched than the tables. Most of the woodwind players looked too young to even be allowed outdoors at this hour, only two or three of them reaching past Lucia's waist in height. The bass drum player was a brawny and almost clumsy looking man, reminding Lucia of a marginally leaner Brom, who looked as one more at home chopping wood or plowing than playing music. Finally, the harpist was so aged and scrawny that he resembled less a man and more a skeleton covered in a clay of muscle and sinew. An oddity about him was that he seemed to have no lips.

 

Lucia once considered Oscar's perpetual squint to be unaccountably scary, but that had nothing on the near-skeletal grin eternally visible through the man's lipless mouth.

 

Still, the Conductor watched and listened as the players rehearsed. After a few minutes of silent listening and contemplation, he gave a small shrug coupled with a relieved smile which found a twin on Lucia's face. What the improvised orchestra lacked in looks, it made up for in talent. The Conductor took his Baton in one hand, adjusted his grip and assumed his place. He seemed anxious to see just what this mismatched orchestra could do.

 

As the sun finally vanished into the briny depths of the sea, and the first few stars began to punctuate the darkening sky, the Festival began in earnest. There was only one last detail that had to be attended to.

 

Still, those last details tended to be the tricky ones.

 

(Elincia)

 

“Are you…quite certain?” Elincia asked, her tone verging on pleading.

 

“I'm afraid so,” Lucia replied. “Well, it isn't required, but it is expected. Besides, I'm sure you can manage it. That speech you gave just before the Liberation of Melior was excellent.”

 

Though Elincia was inwardly in near hysteric dread at the prospect of giving a speech, the outward effect was confined to a trembling of the lower lip. Ike had met her at Castle Crimea, as promised, to escort her to the Festival. When she beheld him, she had to struggle to keep her jaw from dropping. It wasn't that Ike had altered his clothes; he still wore his blue tunic, white leggings, leather boots and his distinctive red cloak. It wasn't that he had cleaned himself up, which he had. It wasn't that he'd splashed some cologne on his face, though it had certainly surprised her and she couldn't help but think that the spicy aroma suited him. It was, perhaps, the way he'd smiled when he saw her. Maybe it was the way he extended his hand for her to take, or the feel of his fingers against her own. It might have been the feel of his hand about her waist. Perhaps it was the way he had, somehow, avoided calling her `Queen,' `Milady,' `Your Highness' or `Your Majesty' all evening.

 

Or, maybe it was something else. Something less definable.

 

The two of them made their way to the Festival, conversing lightly about recent goings-on. Ike had seemed halfway between amused and sympathetic while she spoke of the morning's Council Meeting. Elincia had been deliberately brief, talking with amusement about Silok's less-than-successful attempt at playing the Sax and with frustration over the eternal infuriation that was La Roche. This had elicited a groan from Ike.

 

Ike had also met La Roche on a few occasions, all of which had likely been quite unpleasant, but Ike had been hesitant to offer details.

 

Elincia, in turn, had asked about how the Greil Mercenaries were doing and Ike's reply carried an odd flavor of nostalgia. He relayed to her the rebuilding of the Fort and Soren and Titania researching where jobs were likely to crop up as well as Zihark, Ilyana and Astrid's return to Crimea and their joining the Company. She and Ike also shared a good laugh as he expressed some comically exaggerated dread about Mist and Mia's plans for decorating the new Fort. Titania had anticipated that the Company siding with Crimea would cause their stock to rise, and she'd been right.

 

Jobs were cropping up left and right and the Greil Mercenaries would soon have more gold then they'd know what to do with. Elincia was only too willing to credit this to Ike's leadership, even though he'd surely disagree.

 

One thing that struck her as odd was that, as he concluded his talk about the Greil Mercenaries, Ike said `they'll do fine.'

 

Why `they'll' as opposed to `we'll?'

 

Elincia felt a sudden, irrational surge of hope but she dispelled it. He was, more likely, talking about Rolf and Mist who were now official members of the Company. Or, for that matter, he might've been talking about Mia, Ilyana, Zihark and Astrid fitting into the group. She took care to reassemble her usual, calm expression before Ike noticed anything untoward.

 

They reached the Festival just as the orange and gold of the sky began to give way to the stars, the Gryphion Plains now roiled with celebration. The orchestra, whose wildly varied membership had caught both their attention, was playing a lively tune to which many were dancing to at dizzying speeds. Other Beorc and Laguz were scattered about talking, laughing and enjoying the modest but delicious refreshments. More than a few had congregated around Soren and Ranulf who were engaged in a game of Doraven, the spectators murmuring excitedly as the game continued.

 

Doraven was, at least to Elincia's eyes, a fascinating game bearing some similarity to Beorc Chess. She never had mastered that game, and she rather doubted she'd understand Doraven either. She did know the rules however. The pieces used in Doraven were tiny wooden figurines affixed to a circular wooden base, and the figurines had been carved and painted with incredible skill. The Cat Laguz acted as the Pawns, the Raven Laguz were the Rooks, the Tiger Laguz were the Knights, the Hawk Laguz were the Bishops and the Dragon Laguz and Heron Laguz acted as the Queen and King respectively. All the pieces were in their humanoid forms, but that would change.

 

Like their flesh and blood counterparts, the Laguz used in Doraven could transform into deadly Beast forms. And, this added a new level of complexity to the game. On one side of the table was a pair of small racks adorned with images of the pieces and filled with blue counters inscribed with numbers. The counters were made of a material that was difficult to identify. They were smooth, multifaceted and partly transparent, which gave the impression of tinted glass. Yet, Elincia had yet to see a Beorc craftsman with the skill to form tinted glass into such small vessels. And, when she'd had the opportunity to handle one of the counters, it felt more like crystal than glass and much sturdier than its appearance suggested.

 

As each new turn began, these counters were replaced with new ones with a lower number. When the number zero was reached, a piece of the corresponding type would transform and the blue counters would be replaced with red ones to denote how many turns before the transformed piece reverted to normal. While transformed, a Cat Laguz/Pawn could move one space in any direction rather than forward only and a transformed Tiger Laguz/Knight gained the ability to move in one L shaped pattern followed by a second. A transformed Hawk Laguz/Bishop would gain the ability to move vertically and horizontally in addition to diagonally while the reverse occurred for the transformed Raven Laguz/Rook. The Dragon Laguz/Queen and the Heron Laguz/King gained interesting abilities after transforming. The Dragon Laguz/Queen gained the ability to bypass friendly pieces in its path, much the same way a Tiger Laguz/Knight did. And, after the Heron Laguz/King transformed, if its move stopped next to a friendly piece then that piece could immediately move.

 

The artistic skill that was invested in designing something as simple as a game left many bewildered. Knowing that this was created by Laguz, combined with Doraven becoming a veritable craze in Crimea, had dealt a surprising blow to the stereotypes labeling Laguz as unthinking animals.

 

Soren, ever the harsh critic, had researched the game's rules and tactics with interest but claimed that the meticulous crafting of the pieces and counters served no practical purpose.

 

Lethe was handling the counters and switching out the normal pieces for the transformed ones and vice-versa. As always, her face was a mask of impatience and aggravation.

 

Elincia understood the rules of Doraven but doubted that she'd last five minutes against either of the two competitors. In fact, to her amateur's eye it looked as if Ranulf and Soren were evenly matched.

 

When Lucia had suddenly appeared and asked to speak with her privately in one of the tents, Elincia had been abruptly struck with a sense of déjà vu. She hoped it was just her imagination, but she was wrong.

 

“Well,” Elincia began, her speech degenerating into stutters, “I…um, that is to say…when I gave that speech I was emulating Count Bastian.”

 

This was the truth, largely. When she was asked to address the combined Beorc/Laguz Army, she was near frozen with dread. Much as Ike dreaded that a tactical blunder on his part would cost a friend's life, she feared that the wrong words from her would cause the Army's morale to flag. Not having many options, she thought of the people she knew to have great charisma, namely her father, her uncle and Count Bastian, and tried to imagine what they'd say and do in her position.

 

She still had no idea why she'd decided upon Count Bastian but, strangely, it worked. At first, there was a quaver in her voice and her body was trembling invisibly. But, gradually the words seem to come to her more easily and her voice became steadier. And, as it ended, she felt a cool wave of relief wash over her. Ike though, he was another story altogether. He was as direct and straightforward as ever and yet there was a concealed eloquence in his speech, when he shared the meaning of Greil's words at the same time that he finally understood them.

 

The force of Beorc and Laguz soldiers were a family, but bound by bonds of brotherhood, common goals, a shared enemy and mutual respect garnered from shared experience, rather than by blood ties. They would fight for one another, they would support each other and one that fell would be mourned as if of their own flesh and blood.

 

Did the words come that easily to Ike naturally or because he was speaking for Greil? Elincia could not guess.

 

As these thoughts finished chasing one another through Elincia's mind, Lucia's face had taken on a curious expression. It looked as if she were trying to smirk and cringe at the same time.

 

“That…,” Lucia began, her tone somehow neutral, “is probably…not a technique worth reusing.”

 

Elincia, somehow, found herself laughing lightly at Lucia's reaction. Bastian had made no secret that he was enchanted by Lucia, but Lucia had rebuked his every advance. Not that this stopped him from coming back, however. Still, Elincia suspected that Lucia had decided that she had way too much of Bastian in her life as it was.

 

Strangely, she suddenly felt better. And, oddly enough, her mind suddenly seemed clearer, as though the cold fog of dread that had lingered upon her mind had suddenly coiled back upon itself, permitting her thoughts to form and flow rather than be frozen away. The words she needed suddenly came to her, almost as if they were there all along but that she'd been too flustered to notice them.

 

“Well,” Elincia began, “I suppose that I cannot disappoint them.”

 

Lucia responded with an approving smile and moved alongside her.

 

“Let's go then,” Lucia replied.

 

The two women exited the tent and made their way toward the Festival, which was still in full swing, in fact it seemed more festive now than it had when Ike and Elincia had arrived. The expanse of grassland which had been empty mere hours ago, and teeming with guests minutes before, was now jammed with people conversing, laughing, dancing, eating and generally enjoying the occasion to the fullest. The music was also remarkably beautiful, what the orchestra lacked in looks they made up for in skill. The music of the orchestra mingled with the crowd's own music, a song of laughter, relief, contentment and optimism that readily complemented the horns, woodwinds, strings and drums of the orchestra. They made their way to the podium, which the Conductor readily relinquished.

 

Elincia took the podium and suddenly became aware that everyone had turned in her direction, well, except for Ranulf and Soren who were determined to have their contest reach a decisive conclusion. The sudden scrutiny caused a hint of terror to curdle in her bones. That familiar fear, the dread that the wrong word would be fatal, spread frost through her chest that threatened to freeze away her voice. Then, her eyes met Ike's. The aqua gaze with which he regarded her, much as it was on the day of her Coronation, was calm, patient and silently conveyed his faith. The frost in her chest thawed and, taking a deep breath, she began.

 

“I trust that you are all enjoying yourselves?” she inquired, deciding that a simple start would be best.

 

Shouts of agreement, so loud that it disrupted one of Ranulf's moves, erupted in reply.

 

“I am glad to hear that,” Elincia replied, feelingly. “When I spoke to you two years ago, before the Liberation of Melior, I vowed that I would thank each and every one who had struggled and toiled for Crimea. This…falls far short of what you deserve, but I hope that it is at least a start.”

 

More than a few of those in attendance took this as a display of ironic humor, but there was nothing funny about it. It was true that Crimea owed its troops, its laborers and its allies more than this modest Festival, more than Crimea itself could hope to repay, but the promise she'd made had been made in earnest. And, she hoped to ultimately keep it.

 

“I still remember,” she continued, “when the Crimean Liberation Army crossed Riven Bridge, when I realized just how little I knew of my own country. While the Army marched, and as we passed the cities and villages that had been ruined in the War, I could not even guess what those places looked like beforehand. But, I could see the looks on the faces of Crimea's soldiers. They looked at these places with anger or horror or sadness or regret and I realized just how beautiful those places used to be. And, I feared that that beauty was lost to us.”

 

Here, she had to pause. Those terrible memories were still fresh, and not just for her. Many of the Crimean soldiers who'd joined the Crimean Liberation Army had, in fact discovered their homes in ruins and their families either scattered or dead. Vengeance burned in their blood and, during the Liberation of Melior, many of them sought to strike at Ashnard in retribution for these crimes. Of those who tried that, few survived.

 

“However,” she interjected, “I stand corrected. Many times I have looked out onto Melior from Castle Crimea's balcony, and it never ceases to amaze me how much Melior changes every time I look. When the Reconstruction began, the Commons Quarter was a pile of rubble, now it's standing and everyone who was forced to flee has moved back in. Two weeks ago, the Market Quarter was in ruins. Yesterday, it was open and it was full. I can't even guess at the labor this meant, I cannot conceive the toil that these tasks demanded. But, I know this: if my father were still here he would be proud beyond words of all of you.”

 

Contemplation of her father caused Elincia's eyes to grow hot and she had to blink back tears before she continued.

 

“But,” she went on, “the success of the Reconstruction isn't the only miracle that has come to pass. Another spectacle I witnessed was the Crimean Beorc finally coming to trust their Laguz allies. This was no small matter, nor did it come easily. Yet, there were a few that knew that the Beorc and Laguz need each other in order to survive, that they can accomplish great things together and that they could become friends and brothers. Travel anywhere in Crimea and you can see it: Beorc and Laguz cooperating, coming to trust one another and turning this country into a dream, a promise, made real.”

 

Cheers and applause burst forth from the guests, louder and louder until one at a distance might've mistaken the sound for a summer storm.

 

Elincia barely noticed.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she was watching Ike. Why this was so, even she could not say. Perhaps she sought his approval. Maybe, believing that Ike still wanted to leave, she wanted to show him that his task was done and that he was free to go. Or, quite possibly, she simply found it difficult to avert her eyes from him. Whatever the reason, it wasn't until the applause died down that she snapped back to attention and concluded her speech.

 

“Our labor isn't over,” she admitted, “but, after seeing what has been achieved over the past two years, I know that this task can be accomplished. For now, however, let us enjoy this respite. You have all earned it many times over.”

 

Once again, there was a veritable eruption of applause. Elincia stepped down from the podium, letting out a long sigh of relief and rubbing at her temples. That went better than she'd thought but, all the same, she found herself hoping she wouldn't be asked to give another speech for some time.

 

Then, she suddenly felt very tired. So incredibly tired, as if that speech had sapped the last of her strength, which had been sorely tested by the countless issues cropping up in the Council and her unceasing worries about Ike. Unseen by the party goers, she braced herself against on of the buffet tables and lowered her face into her upturned hand.

 

(Ike)

 

Ike was at her side in an instant, one hand gently gripping her shoulder.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked, “You look pale.”

 

She jumped slightly under his hand and there was a sharp intake of breath at his sudden appearance.

 

“Sorry,” Ike apologized, a bit sheepishly. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

 

Elincia turned to face him, and he was forced to mentally revise his earlier statement. She wasn't just pale, her face had taken on the bloodless ivory coloring he had once been positive he'd only see on Reyson or Leanne. And, she kept rubbing at her temples as if to banish some chronic pain.

 

She looked, now that he came to think about it, much like she did when he found her in the Throne Room after her Coronation, frozen with dread. Even when she composed her face into her usual expression of serenity, it seemed unconvincing to his eyes and the voice that replied to him was tired and shaky.

 

“It's nothing My Lor…,” Elincia cut herself off, an embarrassed laugh escaping her lips. “Thank you Ike, but I'm fine.”

 

Ike wasn't convinced, one thing he and Elincia had in common was that they were both terrible liars. Still, Ike accepted this with a nod and made a mental note to stay close to her.

 

Not that such wasn't part of the original plan, of course.

 

“Maybe you should sit down for a bit,” Ike suggested, searching in vain for a chair.

 

He suddenly found himself wondering if it would be wise to go through with his plan. It was obvious that the young Queen had been working herself too hard, Mist and Titania had commented on it to Ike once or twice and Ike did not envy one who had to deal with a room full of politicians day in and day out.

 

Ike had once thought that he'd trade places with her in an instant if he thought it would help her, but then was forced to laugh at the absurdity of the notion. Even after leafing through those books on politics and Court Etiquette, and even attaining a basic understanding of them, the image of him chairing a Council Meeting was too ridiculous to envision.

 

Inwardly chuckling at the notion, he put one arm around Elincia's shoulder and let her lean on him.

 

“No,” Elincia protested, a bit more forcefully. “I'm alright. It's just…it's just been a trying day.”

 

Again, Ike wasn't quite convinced. While his perceptions were hardly subtle, he could sense that Elincia was profoundly troubled. It might've been her unnatural paleness, or maybe how shaky her voice had seemed earlier. Perhaps it was how she seemed strangely tense in his grip, in contrast to her seeming fatigue. Or, something else. Something less definable. Still, he trusted Elincia enough to tell him what was wrong when she was ready.

 

“Alright,” Ike relented, somewhat hesitantly, “just let me know if you don't feel well.”

 

Elincia replied, unexpectedly, with a slight laugh. One of Ike's eyebrows arched in puzzlement, though Elincia didn't seem to notice.

 

“Ike,” Elincia began, for once remembering to drop the `My Lord,' “I appreciate your concern but I can handle myself now.”

 

Ike blinked in surprise. There was something in Elincia's tone that he hadn't heard before. He could still detect the air of underlying fatigue but there was more to it than that. It was deeper than he remembered, firmer and, oddly enough, it sounded as if she was saying that more to herself than to him. Yet, he could also detect an odd hesitation in her words, as though she was forcing herself to say them.

 

`Where did that come from?' Ike couldn't help but wonder.

 

That musing was left incomplete as the attention of the two was then diverted to the orchestra. The Beorc players were relinquishing their places to their Laguz counterparts who'd arrived equipped with a number of horns, woodwinds, drums and stringed instruments that were assuredly unknown to the Beorc amongst the audience. Ike, however, was an exception/ Besides the Sax, Ike recognized a peculiar horn that Ranulf had dubbed the Bone and a stringed instrument referred to as the Base as well as others he could not yet name.

 

The tune the Laguz played, though alien to Elincia, was well known to Ike.

 

In fact, it had grown on him of late.

 

“That's the Demosthene,” Ike told her, extending an upturned hand. “It's supposed to be a `Dance of Rebirth,' or something like that. It's…pretty wild. Are you up for it?”

 

The impossibly long instant that followed saw a whiff of nostalgia flash through Ike's mind, as he recalled a similar moment in the Throne Room of Castle Crimea. There, after he gave an amusingly curt but strangely effective speech to help her gather her courage, she had smiled radiantly, taken his hand and they left to greet the people. Looking into Elincia's face, he found a very different expression there. It was calm, accepting of this unspoken challenge, but there was a strange wistfulness beneath that worried him. Forlorn, almost sad, and Ike was suddenly, inexplicably certain that this had nothing to do with her `trying day.'

 

He also had a funny feeling that there was some sort of connection between this oddity and her earlier statement.

 

This puzzled him, bothered him. Still, he trusted her to confide in him when she was willing and led her to the dance floor. Well, `dance floor' was probably an exaggeration, there was no floor at all but no one seemed to mind.

 

The music, as was customary in Laguz composition, was unpredictable in both tempo and rhythm. At least, it was such to the amateur's ear and Ike suspected that the Festival was replete with amateurs. Sometimes the rhythm was regular, either swift and vigorous or slow and sinuous, but then it would alter completely and seemingly without warning. And, the actual movements of the dance were, as Ike had put it, a little wild.

 

Ike had been instructed in some of the finer points of Laguz dance days earlier, though he'd been astonished at some of the steps involved. Compared to the slow, he dared say stiff, waltzes that were common in Beorc society, the Laguz dances seemed chaotic, exhausting and…irresistible. They involved a great deal of flexing, spinning, short jumps and…rather interesting hip motions.

 

While these moves were difficult to master, and were certainly taxing upon one's stamina, they seemed freer, more alive and, now that Ike came to think about it, well suited to the occasion.

 

The Demosthene was, at least as far as Ike knew, some sort of Dance of Rebirth and what better place for it than Crimea, a nation that, in a manner of speaking, was being born again? The wild moves also made a ready complement to the liberation of Crimea both from Ashnard and from the animosities of the past. And, this Dance of Rebirth also had the feel of literal meaning in it. Almost as though, if a crippled man suddenly found himself able to walk again, then this would be an expression of his joy and ecstasy.

 

`When did I pick up on this stuff?' Ike suddenly found himself wondering as he concluded his philosophical musings.

 

Ike suspected that, had he said this aloud, especially with Ranulf present, people might've started wondering if some imposter had replaced him.

 

`Stupid Cat,' Ike mused sarcastically, remembered an amusing barb of Ranulf's that he'd once received that had gone just like that.

 

Ike turned his attention back to Elincia, and readily noticed that her gown and slippers were not designed for a dance like this. When Ike made a small jump to one side and then the other, parting his knees in a half crouch and then bringing them together again for another jump, Elincia couldn't follow his move perfectly. Her gown didn't allow her legs the flexibility she needed and the corset she wore beneath doubtless obstructed her attempts to bend forth and back in rhythm with her partner. And, Ike was fairly certain she winced a bit when she touched down from the sideways hops she preformed.

 

Not that this stopped her, she kept on going.

 

Eventually, she seemed to get the hang of it. Slowly, without either of them truly noticing, their movements resolved into harmony and, in remarkable synchrony, they continued to jump and spin and flex in rhythm with the music. Watching his partner's motions, watching her lithe form contort, the exertion redden her no-longer-pale complexion and seeing the dusking sun fabric of her gown pull tight about her bosom sent a pulse of adrenaline surging through Ike's veins like a feral river of energy and made him wish the song would go on longer. It set his heart beating like a bass drum, sent trickles of sweat down his forehead, made his breathing to go short and ragged and caused a hardness to form between his legs.

 

`On second thought,' he realized, `maybe an encore isn't the best idea.'

 

Many of the other dancers, all of whom were breathing hard and quite a few of which were picking themselves off the ground after one of their sideways bounds had gone wrong, offered wordless agreement. Still, the two of them weren't the only pair that had been able to figure out this peculiar dance. Rolf and Mist, Rhys and Mia and Zihark and Ilyana had also taken up the challenge. Watching Mist, as her petite figure wriggled, contorted and bounded in near flawless harmony with the music, Ike suddenly found himself wondering if she'd also received instruction in the Demosthene. He also found himself suddenly worried that her motions, coupled with the way her short yellow skirt left her slender legs exposed, might cause some of the younger men present to get ideas. Rolf, whom had partnered up with her, matched her steps with the same surprising stamina and determination that he had shown during the War.

 

Well before the dance had ended, Rolf's face was thoroughly flushed. Though whether this was attributable to the strenuous motions of the dance or his partner's sinuous moves and exposed legs could not be determined.

 

Mia, ever her hyper and bouncy-as-hell self, left the dance area bouncing from foot to foot and singing an atonal rendition of the Laguz orchestra's music while Rhys followed, an occasional wheeze parting his lips. Mia was saying something to Rhys and, though the din of the music and dancing seemed to swallow her words, Ike suspected it was something to the effect of `great exercise for my destined archrival' and `let's do this more often.'

 

Rhys' reply was also deflected from Ike's ear by all the noise, but he was positive that it was something to the effect of `oh dear.'

 

Ike couldn't decide what impressed him more, that the once sickly Rhys had managed to dance like that without fainting or that he had the patience to tolerate, much less fall in love with, such an explosive and unpredictable woman. Still, as mismatched as the two were, it somehow worked. When Rhys and Mia had first conversed, she'd terrified the living daylights out of him by hurling at her sword at him intending for him to catch it. When Ike learned of the logic behind this, or rather the lack thereof, it all seemed so ridiculous that Mia would consider the frail and oft ill Rhys as her destined archrival. And yet, to everybody's astonishment, Rhys actually took up the challenge. He trained with Mia in the ways of the Myrmidon, even though most such sessions left him nursing a dozen odd cramps, and even began to enjoy her company. By the end of the War the two of them were good friends and a lethal team.

 

When Mia had ambushed Rhys with her trainer at the signing of the Treaty of Serenes, Rhys had actually succeeded in disarming her and knocking her to the ground with his staff. Just before retiring that same night, Mia had suddenly kissed him.

 

The others in the Mercenary Company had never let Rhys live that down.

 

Still, Ike was happy for them and grateful that, as horrible as the War was, at least some good had come out of it.

 

Zihark and Ilyana had been less fortunate, though their attempt had certainly been memorable. One of Zihark's sideways leaps had gone awry, leaving him balancing unsteadily on one foot and flailing his arms to keep himself upright. Ilyana, apparently mistaking the motion for a dance step, mimicked his motion. Her legs spread, one rising from the ground at an angle, her arms pin wheeling and her head and neck craning back so that her small bosom jutted forward.

 

This sight made Zihark smirk invisibly.

 

His instant's distraction cost him as his equilibrium was lost and he fell over backwards. Oddly enough, one of his hands found one of Ilyana's. More interesting still, his fall pulled her down to land on top of him. And, as they landed, his arms mysteriously snaked around her waist so that his grizzled face and her normally ivory pale countenance, which had taken on the coloring of a ripe apple, were now a hairsbreadth apart.

 

This elicited another smirk from Zihark, but this one was far from invisible.

 

Ilyana would claim long afterward, indignantly and often, that Zihark did all that on purpose.

 

And she was probably right.

 

Eventually, the song ended. Blowing out a tired breath, Ike mopped at his brow and offered a hand to Elincia. She took it, somewhat eagerly, and allowed him to lead the way.

 

***************************************************************** *******

 

Falchion1984: Well, I hope you guys enjoyed that. I'm still trying to figure out what's going on with the cast here. The idea for the Demosthene came from some jazz dance videos I saw on YouTube and Doraven was the product of brainstorming on what Laguz chess would look like. Essentially, I took the Laguz participating in battle and mingled it with chess, adding in the counters and a third player to handle them. Doraven might reappear in later chapter, and later fics, though I should probably brush up on my own chess game so that I can use it realistically. Now, let's get this confusion straightened out.

 

Reyson and Tibarn: *Walk onto the scene dressed in filth covered clothing, Tibarn pulling a cart loaded with dead bodies while Reyson clangs a bell.*

 

Reyson: Bring out your dead!

 

Naesala: *Walks over carrying Ulki over his shoulder* Here's one.

 

Reyson: Ninepence.

 

Ulki: I'm not dead!

 

Reyson: What?

 

Naesala: Nothing. Here's your ninepence.

 

Ulki: I'm not dead!

 

Reyson: 'Ere. He says he's not dead!

 

Naesala: Yes, he is.

 

Ulki: I'm not!

 

Reyson: He isn't?

 

Naesala: Well, he will be soon. He's very ill.

 

Ulki: I'm getting better!

 

Naesala: *To Ulki* No, you're not. You'll be stone dead in a moment.

 

Reyson: Oh, I can't take him like that. It's against regulations.

 

Ulki: I don't want to go on the cart!

 

Naesala: *To Ulki* Oh, don't be such a baby.

 

Reyson: I can't take him.

 

Ulki: I feel fine!

 

Naesala: Well, do us a favor.

 

Reyson: I can't.

 

Naesala: Well, can you hang around a couple of minutes? He won't be long.

 

Reyson: No, I've got to go to the Robinsons'. They've lost nine today.

 

Naesala: Well, when's your next round?

 

Reyson: Thursday.

 

Ulki: I think I'll go for a walk.

 

Naeala: *To Ulki* You're not fooling anyone, you know. *To Reyson* Look. Isn't there something you can do?

 

Ulki: *Singing* I feel happy. I feel happy.

 

Reyson: *Clubs Ulki with the bell*

 

Naesala: Ah, thanks very much.

 

Tibarn: *Loads Ulki onto the cart*

 

Reyson: Not at all. See you on Thursday.

 

Falchion1984: This is giving me the creeps *Spots Mist* Oh, finally!

 

Mist: *Wearing headphones and jamming to the music* If I should take a notion to jump into the ocean, `tain't nobody's business if I do. If I go to church on Sunday then cabaret on Monday, `tain't nobody's business if I do.

 

Falchion1984: Mist?

 

Mist: *Still singing* If my friend ain't got no money and I say `take all mine honey,' `tain't nobody's business if I do. If I give her my last nickel, and that leaves me in a pickle, `tain't nobody's business if I do.

 

Falchion1984: Mist!

Mist *Still singing* There ain't nothing I can do, or nothing I can say, that the folks don't criticize me; but I'm gonna do just as I would do anyway, and I don't care if they all despise me!

Falchion1984: *Under his breath* Yeah, speaking of despising. *Yanks off Mist's headphones* MIST!

Mist: Jeez, no need to yell.

Falchion1984: *Gestures at strange acting Laguz* What's going on here!

Mist: Oh, that? For the cultural interchange, they gave me a Tomas Waller's jazz album and I gave them a copy of `Monty Python and the Holy Grail.'

Falchion1984: Oh, good grief. Well, please review and maybe I'll have this straightened out by next chapter. Maybe. For parting words, Elincia DID, in fact, emulate Count Bastian when she gave her little speech just before the final level. Don't believe me? Read that portion of the game script, and then read Bastian's dialogue from the game script and his Supports. See the resemblance? Yeah, and Ranulf is troublesome, huh? I don't know if a dog would be able to tell the difference between a Cat Laguz and a real cat, but it stands to reason that the scent would rile them up. Well, please review and wish me luck getting some sense into this place.