Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 2 ❯ CHAPTER 38: CONQUEST ( Chapter 7 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

The Crimea Liberation Army took control of the capital. The poor folk finally emerged from their hovels, and some townspeople returned to the city with their tails between their legs. Elincia made a public announcement that they meant the citizenry no harm and would reward anyone who came forward with useful information. But no one did.

The mercenaries, laguz, and surviving Begnion soldiers made themselves comfortable within the castle walls. There was food in the kitchens, fresh water in the wells, baths and beds aplenty, and storerooms packed with any supplies they might need. Days passed, and most of the mercenaries and soldiers focused on recovering after the grueling battle.

But Soren didn’t have that luxury. He organized the interrogation of prisoners (which included the surrendered soldiers, the castle staff, and Nasir of course), but to no avail. He continued search efforts for Ena, but she seemed long gone. He visited the castle library repeatedly, looking for anything about Palmeni Temple, records of Daein military and government officials (to be sure they’d defeated or imprisoned anyone who would oppose them), and anything else that could shed light on Ashnard’s strategy or goals. Unfortunately, he found nothing of significant use.

Most of all, he met with Ike, Elincia, and the rest of the army’s leadership as they attempted to plan their next move. The only course of action now seemed to be marching on Crimea directly, the very thing they’d hoped to avoid by taking Daein. Approaching from the east was better than arriving by sea, but their modest army had been decimated by the invasion. With less than eight hundred troops remaining, they would be hard-pressed to defend Nevassa Castle if they were attacked, let alone fight their way into Crimea and dislodge the king.

The latest report from Begnion intelligencers indicated that Daein was preparing to invade Gallia, corroborating Nasir’s claim. This meant time was running out if they wanted to defeat Ashnard before he struck the beast kingdom. On the other hand, if they waited, they would have a better chance of retaking Crimea after Ashnard had already moved the bulk of his armies into Gallia.

When Soren suggested the latter, Ike and Elincia adamantly refused. “King Caineghis is my ally,” the princess said with her hands balled into fists, “I will not use his people’s peril to my advantage!”

He countered by pointing out that they couldn’t count on Gallia’s help in retaking Crimea. After all, Nasir had been their point of contact with the beast nation and he’d turned out a traitor. But Ike and the others still had faith in the laguz. Titania suggested they ask Lethe and Mordecai for their perspective, and the pair soon reported to the parlor that had become their strategy headquarters.

“The King will stand by his vow to Princess Elincia,” Lethe said, “But the beast lords owe her nothing. If Daein’s Mad King is planning to attack Gallia, they may refuse to weaken their defenses by moving their armies into Crimea.”

Mordecai bobbed his head in time with her words. “We cannot know what they will decide,” he added unhelpfully.

Ike dismissed them and next summoned Reyson and the hawk laguz. Janaff sat down gingerly and was apologetic in his response: “As of now, Phoenicis isn’t directly implicated in King Daein’s shenanigans, right?” His voice contained only a shade of its usual brightness. “I think the King did all he could by sending us along to help.” Ulki and Reyson agreed, and Ike sighed. He thanked them for their continued aid and dismissed them too.

Finally Ike called in Tanith, asking if she thought Sanaki would send them more troops. “I cannot speak on behalf of the Apostle,” she answered, “Nor do I know her mind. But I can write to Commander Sigrun and ask that she speak to her.”

“I have drafted a letter to Empress Sanaki,” Elincia replied, “But if you could send your own missive, I would be most grateful.”

Tanith saluted, and Ike dismissed her. He obviously wasn’t heartened by the idea of letters being exchanged. He wanted action, not waiting.

“We must not allow the troops to lose morale while we wait for our next opportunity to present itself,” Soren advised. “You must raise their spirits and their thirst for battle. Far too many were counting on this to be their last.”

Ike nodded once, furrowed his brow, and brought his hands together. For a moment, he looked just like Greil. “What do you suggest?”

Soren shook his head uncomfortably to indicate he had no specific suggestions, but Titania spoke up to save him:

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? We must throw a party!” She grinned widely at everyone assembled. “We must congratulate the troops for their hard work and celebrate our victory over Nevassa.”

Ike nodded twice in agreement. “Alright then, I think that could work.”

Elincia laughed. “What fun!”

Soren rolled his eyes. Even if this was more or less what he’d had in mind, he had no desire to be party-planner-in-chief. “While you do that, I will continue investigating our hostage options.”

Elincia’s mood darkened. “Hostage options?” she repeated.

Soren exhaled impatiently. Perhaps she hadn’t heard that particular word, but she knew the plan. “Clearly Ashnard does not care about his own nation and his people. We have sent him a letter demanding the exchange of Crimea for Daein, but we do not expect a response. Therefore, we need to find something that he does care about and use that as leverage instead.”

“Oh…right.” Elincia didn’t seem pleased by the prospect.

Ike frowned. He’d already made clear his distaste for this plan.

Soren found himself capitulating to their moral naivete. “Do not worry,” he said, “As far as I can tell, Ashnard has no family or anyone he can be said to ‘care’ about at all. It is unlikely we will find such a person. Invasion is still our best option.”

Elincia frowned again. Soren knew she hated the idea of invading her own country, but that was exactly why he’d phrased it that way. With that, Ike adjourned the meeting.

After Ike, Titania, and the Begnion lieutenants had gone, the princess approached him. “May I join you in the library today?” she asked. “I am a quick reader.”

“You are the princess,” he replied, “You can do anything you want.”

In response, she held her back straight and said pleasantly, “Then I shall be joining you in the library today. Please, after you.”

 

The library was exactly as he’d left it. Picking up the book he’d put down before the briefing, he resuming his search through the marriage, birth, and death records of the noble houses. He was attempting to reconstruct Ashnard’s misshapen family tree. The Gerent family and adjoining noble houses had been disproportionately affected by the plague twenty-one years ago, a twist that made it colloquially known as the King’s Plague. Thanks to the fallout, a young man named Ashnard—seventh in line for the throne—had been crowned king after his father’s untimely demise at the hand of petty assassin. In the years after the plague, a dozen other people with remote claims and tenuous attachments to the royal line had befallen freak accidents, faced fatal mistakes on the battlefield, or been robbed and killed by unknown brigands. In sum, Ashnard had no siblings, cousins, aunts or uncles, nor nieces or nephews to whom he might be partial.

“Are we looking for anyone in particular?” Elincia asked after the first quarter hour.

“Tauroneo said there were rumors of a wife in the early years of the king’s reign,” Soren answered without looking up.

“Daein has a queen? My father never mentioned-”

“Not a queen,” Soren cut her off. “A consort. Apparently she was married to the king but not coronated herself. Under Daein law, she didn’t have to be. The citizenry didn’t know about her, and she was never seen in public. After a while, she disappeared entirely. Now she is just a rumor.”

“Do you believe it?” Elincia asked, intrigued.

“I think it is unlikely such a woman exists, and even less likely we would be able to find her. Even if we did, there would be no guarantee Ashnard would be willing to give up his ambitions in Crimea and Gallia save just one person.”

“But that is the idea, isn’t it?” Elincia said hopefully. “If we find someone he loves?”

 “You should know better than anyone what Mad King Ashnard is capable of.” Soren finally looked at her. “Do you think such a person exists?”

Elincia’s gaze dropped to the documents in front of her. “Perhaps not.”

Just then, Zihark came in. “Oh hello, Princess,” he said, clearly surprised to see her.

Elincia smiled magnanimously. “Ah, good to see you Sir Zihark. Are you recovering well?”

“Indeed I am,” he answered politely.

“I did not know you were a literary man,” she continued. “Have you come to read something?”

“Well, actually-”

“He comes to vandalize the books,” Soren explained. “It is his crusade to replace every instance of ‘subhuman’ with the term ‘laguz’ before we leave Nevassa.”

“It’s true.” Zihark smiled sheepishly. “I’m correcting history as I go, too.”

“It’s annoying.” Soren turned back to his work. “All I can hear is the scratch of his quill.”

“Well, I think that is a lovely idea!” Elincia exclaimed. “I do believe bigotry stems from ignorance. Please continue to correct these texts. If I come across any document with such derogatory language, I will send it your way.”

“Thank you, Princess.” With a small bow, Zihark took his place at the table just beside the one Soren and Elincia shared.

The library fell into silence, save for the thump of heavy volumes, the shuffle of scrolls, the crinkle of old pages, and of course, the definitive scratch of Zihark’s stylus as he vigorously marked up a pile of books.

“You know,” Elincia broke the silence after another quarter hour. “My father hid the documents of my own birth and those indicating that I was his chosen heir. He and my mother thought it better to wait and reveal these items when the court was, well…on steadier ground.”

Soren paused and leaned back in his chair. “You think Ashnard hid the records of his marriage?”

“I do,” Elincia answered resolutely.

“And do you have a suggestion where we should search?”

“Well, Father left one copy of the documents with me, so I might be able to prove my identity. And he entrusted the other copy with Uncle Renning.”

“So it is reasonable to assume the woman will have a copy with her, wherever she is, and a member of Ashnard’s court will have another?”

“I do not think her existence would only be a rumor if proof of her existence were available in the state library.”

“I don’t know,” Soren mused, “the people of Daein are not as well-read as those in Crimea. It’s possible no one thought anyone would come here to look.” His words were meant as a jest, but Elincia didn’t smile or laugh. On second thought, he didn’t know why he wanted her to. He grew serious again. “If you are right, then we must consider who Ashnard would trust with such a thing.”

“A man like Ashnard?” she touched her finger to her chin in an exaggeration of thinking. “I imagine the trivialities of paperwork are something he pushes onto his clerks and executors. It doesn’t need to be someone he trusts as much as Father trusted Uncle Renning, just someone he trusts to do their job.”

Soren was surprised by her insight. “We have locked up a handful of royal officials. But they were running the government on minimal staff while Ashnard was away—all we have are a few treasurers, clerks, and chamberlains. We could interrogate them again, specifically on this issue.”

“That may not be necessary,” Elincia replied with a smile. “Do we know which chambers used to be theirs? We need only search.”

Soren nodded, warming up to this plan. “I do not know, but we can find out. I’ll have Volke help us.”

Elincia stood, patting down her skirts. “You must be running up quite a bill for that man,” she joked.

“You have no idea.” Soren shook his head. “But he is well worth the expense.”

 

The unlikely trio spent the rest of the day searching, and Tauroneo ‘helped’ for a couple hours in the middle. He knew the castle better than any of them, but Soren still didn’t entirely trust him. While he helped, he also needed to be watched carefully, which meant wasted time.

By the end of the day, Soren had discovered secret love letters, hidden jewels, and evidence of miscellaneous bureaucratic crimes. But it was Volke who found what they were looking for.

“Secret compartment of a chest in a hidden room within locked quarters. That’s four locks, if you’re counting,” he said before handing Soren the roll of papers.

“I’m counting,” Soren assured dryly.

Elincia sidled up beside him, with her fingers were intertwined in excitement. “Oh, what does it say?”

Volke had already broken the seal, so Soren skimmed the documents as quickly as he could, aware that Elincia was doing the same. “So it is true,” he finally said.

“Lady Almedha?” Elincia read aloud. “No surname, and yet she has been affixed the title of lady. Was she a commoner?”

“Perhaps,” Soren replied. “That might explain why the marriage was kept under wraps.”

“A love marriage then? How romantic!”

“Remember who you’re talking about,” Soren shot back.

Elincia’s froze, and her face fell. “Oh, right.”

“There are other documents here.” Soren brought the other two sheets to the front and read them just as quickly. “The birth and death certificates of their unnamed child. They’re dated only five days apart, roughly two years after the marriage”

Elincia skimmed the documents and nodded. “Do you think they had any more children?”

“I don’t know, but there are no other birth certificates here, so it is unlikely.” He rolled up the documents again. “Tomorrow I will return to the library, to see if her name is mentioned in any directives Ashnard may have given. If he ferried her to safety or had her killed, there might be a military record of it.”

“Had her killed?” Elincia repeated in astonishment.

“She bore him a son, and the infant died. Past monarchs have considered that a crime punishable by death.”

“Centuries ago, surely!” Elincia scoffed.

“I would not put anything past the Mad King, would you?”

Elincia grew somber once more. “You don’t have to keep reminding me,” she said, looking at the floor. “I was there when he…when he attacked my home. I know what kind of man he is.” She raised her chin and met his gaze again. “But he is a man, not a monster. It helps me to remember that he is mortal, that he can be defeated.”

“Helps you do what?” Soren replied, not giving her the benefit of his sympathy.

“Ha,” Elincia let out an odd bark and pushed back a lock of her emerald hair. “Get by day to day?”

“Was that a question?”

“You know, I think it was.” She was smiling despite her wide eyes. She smoothed back the same lock of hair. “Thank you for your dedicated service, Sir Soren.” With a small shake of her head, she walked slowly away.

Soren watched her go and then turned to Volke, who’d melted into the room’s shadows. “Can I trust you not to go telling stories about the princess losing her mind?”

“I don’t think she’s losing anything,” Volke said softly, much to Soren’s surprise. “She seems to be handling everything that’s happened to her with remarkable elegance.”

“Oh, I hadn’t realized you’d stepped out,” Soren replied sarcastically. “I thought you’d caught that display.”

“You pushed her to show some of the emotion she keeps hidden,” Volke answered, leaning against the wall. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Since Soren didn’t know what he wanted, and because he wasn’t used to Volke giving opinionated responses, he left without another word.

 

Their search had ended just in time for Soren to bathe and dress for the night’s festivities. When Tauroneo had joined their search, he’d told them about Ike’s party plans, and Ike himself had appeared to ask occasional questions throughout the day. Due to these visits, Soren had a pretty good idea what to expect.

Apparently Titania had discovered a troupe of musicians in the Nevassan streets and escorted them to the castle, and Soren was almost sorry he hadn’t seen her march the terrified fiddlers through the front gate. (She was at her most frightening when she was excited about something.) Meanwhile, the rest of the mercenaries had helped prepare the feast. Oscar had lorded over the kitchen, and the strongest had heaved barrels of beer and mead out of the cellar. Some of the soldiers had sought permission to bring dancers and prostitutes into the castle, and Ike had permitted it as long as these civilians were searched for weapons and poison before entering. (Naturally, the soldiers had been elated that stripping the strippers had just become an assigned task).

By the time Soren entered the ballroom, everyone was drinking and laughing and the first plates of food were being carried in. The hall itself was indistinguishable from the battleground it had been just a few days ago. The floors had been washed of blood, the wyvern bone chandeliers had been lit, and the tables had been dragged into place.

Throughout the room, soldiers and mercenaries reminisced about past battles, told jokes, and shared stories. They sparred and danced, and in Mia’s case, these activities occurred at the same time, with or without a partner. Aimee and Calill jumped onto the tables to dance above everyone else, and Nephenee and Ilyana were just two of the unsuspecting victims dragged up to join them.

Most of the troops—most prolific of whom were Gatrie and Shinon—had already found local girls smitten with the conquering soldiers (or who at least pretended to be for a bit of coin). They draped their arms and legs over the men and women who bought their affection, and they danced and feasted as if they didn’t belong to the city that had just been conquered. Soren couldn’t fault them; they were adapting to survive, same as any intelligent creature.

While watching these antics, he ate his fill but didn’t drink any of the lager that splashed across the hall’s long tables. He didn’t take part in the dances nor the war ballads Kieran belted out. He stayed near the walls and doors, tracking who was coming and going. He watched his comrades make fools of themselves. This party was nothing but a temporary bandage over an untreated wound. It was distracting the soldiers from their fear, worry, grief, and disappointment. Perhaps the others needed this to keep them fighting another day, but Soren did not.

As the evening hours drew on, he stayed only to keep an eye on things. He watched Tauroneo to be sure the new recruit wasn’t acting suspiciously. He monitored Sothe and the friends he’d brought in from the streets to be sure they didn’t make off with the silverware. (And he was similarly watchful of Gatrie and Shinon’s girlfriends.) Most of all, he watched Ike and hoped the young commander knew not to have too much fun. Despite how much he’d grown this past year, his height and muscles didn’t change the fact that he was only seventeen and had little experience with alcohol. He was even less experienced with women, and Soren was relieved to see he wasn’t enticed by the prostitutes trying to swoon into his wallet. Nor did he seem affected by his comrades pressuring him into proving his manliness by bedding one of them.

That being said, Ike did seem to be enjoying himself. He was quick to smile, and his soldiers joked that their usually grim general had a secret fun side (while his friends retorted that it was no secret at all). 

Lost in these thoughts and observations, he didn’t hear the soft approach of footsteps until their owner spoke: “You don’t fit in with this roving band of beorc, do you? Your stone sticks out from the wall.”

He jumped in surprise but quickly reclaimed himself. Stefan leaned against the threshold beside him. “Oh. It’s you again,” Soren noted disinterestedly. He’d made a habit of avoiding the hermit the entire campaign, despite his persistent attempts at conversation and camaraderie. Making excuses to leave had been easy when constant battles had occupied his time, but now Soren could think of no pretext for escape. Stefan was staring at him intently, so Soren turned his face to the party.

“Come down to the colony in the Grann Desert, when this is over. Others live there. Others like you” Stefan paused a moment, offering Soren the chance to say something, but he remained silent. “You know…the Branded.”

Soren twisted around, his mind and body revolting against that word. “I don’t know what you’re blabbing about, but you’re embarrassing yourself. I belong here, thank you.”

“I see…” Stefan sighed. Then he tugged his mouth into an appeasing smile and raised his palms. “Well, if that’s the case, I won’t twist your arm.”

Soren felt an overwhelming desire to stalk off, to put as much distance between them as possible. But he didn’t want to be the first one to move; that would be defeat. He glared at Stefan until he left the ballroom. When he was well and truly gone, Soren cursed the hermit and departed for his room. The entire walk back, his adrenaline surged and his fists clenched as waves of anger, hatred, fear, and disgust pulsed through him.

He had been able to avoid thinking about his mixed blood for months. All he’d had to do was focus on the war and exhaust himself each day so he could immediately fall into a dreamless sleep at night. But now he was thinking about it, and he couldn’t stop.

Lying in bed, he stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Stefan’s words echoed in his mind. The hermit had confirmed he was a Branded himself, and he’d mentioned a colony back in the Grann where they’d found him. The idea caused a shiver to run over Soren’s arms and legs, and he clenched his coverlet tightly. A group of Branded living in the heart of Begnion had to be the surviving offspring of slaves. Apparently not all abominations had been exterminated. Images floated through his mind of marked children ganging together, and then those children growing into adults. Everything around them withered and died, and they drove everyone away—until they stood alone at the center of a desert.

No, Soren reprimanded his overactive imagination. No. The Grann Desert is as old as Begnion itself. The Branded didn’t make it. I’m being a fool. And yet the image lingered in his mind.

His thoughts churned in a different direction, and he began thinking about his own parents, not for the first time. He’d been raised by Galina here in Nevassa, which indicated Daein was the home of his beorc parent. But if so, what had the other—the subhuman—been doing here? Slavery had lasted in Daein for less than a hundred years, back when it had still been a territory of the Begnion Empire. And when it had been abolished, it had been no pleasant affair. All laguz had been killed, driven out, or sold off to slaveholders in Crimea or central Begnion. Hundreds of years later, the nation still prided itself on barring entrance to all laguz-kind.

Soren turned his mind to the state of Tellius at the time. In the three or so years before his birth, Begnion had freed its slaves, Crimea had begun an exchange program with Gallia, a plague had struck Daein, the Apostle had been assassinated, Serenes had been burned, and the herons had been massacred. It had been a tumultuous time for both races, and yet there was no reason a subhuman should have made its way into Daein only to spawn an unholy life. 

Of course, there was another possibility. One of his parents could have been Branded too, whether they knew it or not. The curse spanned generations and could skip them. Soren wondered if a subhuman grandparent or great-grandparent was the source of his contamination. The thought was no less disgusting. He couldn’t imagine himself partnering with a beorc, even if he were interested in women. He was nothing like the people in the ballroom downstairs. As Stefan had pointed out, he didn’t belong among humans. He didn’t fit in.

Soren wondered, for the millionth time, if Galina had known what he was. He wondered why she’d taken him in. He wondered if she was still alive, and if so, if she might have the answers to his questions. Never in his life had he wanted to return to that miserable old woman. But here he was, only a few blocks away; he’d have to be a coward not to try.

 

The sun rose on a sleepy castle the next morning, and those hungover from last night’s festivities insisted on staying in bed. Those who’d been forced to wake for their guard shifts yawned and groaned at their posts. Soren passed them on his way to the state library in the castle’s northern wing. 

He’d woken early, after a terrible night’s rest, and at least the library promised a distraction. He read and re-read old records, but he had trouble concentrating and found no references to the king’s consort or dead child. With nothing else to do, he left the library and wandered the halls to get his thoughts in order before the day’s strategy meeting.

But his mind kept returning to Galina, and his plan to see her. He would have to leave the castle undetected and travel to the western slums without making a scene or being recognized. He would have to ask about Galina without seeming suspicious and return to the castle without anyone noticing his absence and wondering where he’d gone. 

Eventually the hour came for the meeting, and Soren was the first to arrive in their headquarters parlor. Not long after, Titania arrived, yawning. Then the Begnion lieutenants came trickling in. Elincia appeared, looking quite refreshed, and she was accompanied by a stern-looking Tanith. Finally Ike entered, appearing unusually disheveled. “Any news? Any new intel?” he began.

Titania shook her head. “There have been rumblings in the surrounding towns and among the townsfolk, but I do not expect violence to arise.”

Ike nodded and turned to Soren.

“The princess and I have ascertained that King Daein once had a consort, but her whereabouts are unknown and it appears she has not been seen in the capital in almost twenty years. I will continue to look into this if you wish, but I do not think it is a viable path for us.”

Ike nodded again. “Understood. Sounds like we should just let it go for now.” Silence stretched between them and it was Ike who eventually spoke again. “So what about that Palmeni Temple Nasir mentioned?” Soren could tell he was restless; he wanted to move, to fight.

He’d located the temple and done some cursory research, but finding nothing immediately suspicious, he’d avoided discussing the matter with Ike. He knew he would want to run off and explore it himself, but that was out of the question. Soren was considering how to explain that it was impossible to leave the castle unguarded (without making it sound like they were prisoners here) when Titania spoke up:

“I don’t think we can trust anything that traitor has to say.” Naturally, her reason was emotional rather than logical. 

Soren shook his head. “While not for the same emotionally-clouded reasons as Titania, I must assert that we have more important objectives at the moment. If I were one to rely on miracles, perhaps I would suggest visiting a temple, but that is not the case.”

Ike shook his head. “Fine, fine-”

He was cut off when a soldier suddenly burst into the room. “General Ike! Sir, reinforcements have arrived from Begnion!”

“Reinforcements?” Ike leapt to his feet. “I haven’t heard anything about this. Have you, Princess Elincia?”

“No, not a word.” Getting to her feet, Elincia stood with her hands pressed against the center of her chest.

Soren stood as well, and his mind was already churning.

“Are you sure they’re Begnion troops?” Ike asked, echoing Soren’s thoughts.

“Yes, sir!” the soldier replied enthusiastically. “They fly the imperial insignia. There can be no doubt of their authenticity. And the man in command is one of Begnion’s most beloved heroes, General Zelgius! There’s no mistaking him, sir!”

“Allow me to meet with him first,” Ike said, tightening his sword belt and straightening his clothes. Soren could tell by the brightness in his eyes that he was trying not to get his hopes up, but there was no hiding his relief.

Titania looked unabashedly hopeful, and Elincia appeared dumbstruck. Soren knew what they were thinking—this could be the godsend they were waiting for.

But Soren had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. As he counted the days it would take to march here from Begnion and re-counted that number into the past, he realized Sanaki must have deployed the army when they’d been struggling through swamplands weeks ago. And she had sent them without first sending word. This was an army designed to finish the job—to seize Daein for Begnion if Crimea failed to win it for itself.

But Crimea had succeeded, and now the Begnion army was here anyway. Soren wondered if they would still try to take the prize they’d come for. He wondered if this General Zelgius would feign friendship, and if he did, would Ike and the others believe it?