Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 2 ❯ CHAPTER 62: RESURRECTION ( Chapter 31 )

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

After four months traversing the Crimean countryside, coastlines, and sea of trees, the Greil Mercenaries turned their eyes to the sky, where a familiar black wyvern was drifting out of the sky like a falling leaf. Eventually it thumped to the earth. “There you are!” Haar greeted them, immediately stifling a yawn. His wyvern shuddered into a more comfortable position, and he slid from its back.

“If it isn’t Postmaster Haar,” Titania greeted him, while Ike clasped his arm.

“General Ike,” he acknowledged them in return, “Captain Titania.”

“How’s business?” Ike asked.

“As good as can be expected,” Haar smiled with a twinkle in his one good eye. “King Caineghis and Queen Elincia keep us busy.” Turning to his saddlebags, he pushed his wyvern’s wing out of the way and extracted a bundle of letters and small packages.

“Some of these are a couple months late,” he apologized, turning back to them.

“Well, we can’t claim to make it easy for you,” Titania replied with a wave of her hand.

“How’s the mercenary business going?” Haar made conversation as he distributed the mail. Soren held back, because he never had any.

“Steady,” Ike answered. “It keeps us on the move.”

“Maybe you’ll be moving south,” Haar said with a meaningful nod. He handed the last letter to Ike. Soren noticed the intricate seal and edged closer. The emblem was that of Gallia’s fighting lion, and the ribbon binding it was Gallian jade. “I’ve been looking for you, and this is the reason,” he said. “From Caineghis. Time sensitive.”

Ike broke the seal, screwed up his eyes, and ran them over the text. When he was finally done, he passed the letter off to Soren. “Thanks for the delivery,” he said to Haar, while Soren skimmed it. As expected, Caineghis was offering a job.

“Anything going out?” Haar asked the group. “You know my rate.”

The mercenaries dropped their bags, extracting coins and putting the finishing touches on crumpled letters. Meanwhile Ike gestured for Soren and Titania to step aside. He gave her the letter so she could read it herself.

“How intriguing,” was her response.

“Should I point out the fact we’re avoiding high profile jobs?” Soren noted.

“I trust King Gallia, and he even says right there that this job needs to be kept quiet,” Ike countered. “I think it’s safe.”

Soren nodded in consent. “Then we should go. We could use the coin.” His response was clearly a surprise to both of them.

“I certainly don’t have any objections,” Titania added in a rush.

Ike smiled. “Then we head south.”

“Hold Haar a moment.” Soren glanced over his shoulder where the retired dracoknight was chatting with the other mercenaries. “I’ll write a reply.”

 

According to Caineghis, a faction of Crimean soldiers at the border had become ‘overzealous’. They were overstepping their boundaries and forcing altercations with Gallian civilians. One elderly cat laguz had been slain, and rather than turn this into a diplomatic incident, Caineghis wanted the Greil Mercenaries to eliminate the outpost in the guise of bandits. If they caused enough damage to force the soldiers to leave, and a crisis could be avoided.

Any qualms Ike and the others had about fighting Crimean soldiers were resolved once they confirmed that no old friends from the war were among those stationed here. Knowing this, the job was business as usual.

The mercenaries enjoyed dressing as bandits, and some really threw themselves into the roles. Wearing animal skins and warpaint and weaving their hair into erratic styles seemed more fun to Gatrie and Mia than dressing for Elincia’s coronation (which both had thoroughly enjoyed).

Since Caineghis had advised killing as few soldiers as possible to avoid drawing undue attention, the mercenaries had to be strategic with their every attack. They harassed the outpost for over two weeks, and each time the Crimeans pursued, the mercenaries evaded them with traps. Over time, injured soldiers were shipped north until the outpost was operating with a minimal garrison. Eventually they couldn’t operate at all, and the job was officially complete. The regional beast lord saw the mercenaries paid, and they returned north themselves.

 

Back in Crimea, most of the mercenaries were intent on spending their fresh coin. They headed for the nearest city, and it was here they first saw the signs.

“WAR IN DAEIN!” the thick letters announced.

“REVOLT OR REVOLUTION?” they asked.

“BEGNION SCRAMBLES FOR CONTROL,” they admonished.

“What in Tellius happened?” Ike growled.

“Begnion overextended itself,” Soren observed in answer. “Perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised.”

Ike fixed him with a glare. “You said it was better with Begnion in charge.”

“This was always a possibility.” He shrugged, making light of this for Ike’s sake. “Time will tell if this revolution will be a fruitful one.”

Ike turned his glare on the public notice as if the paper might be intimidated into coughing up more information.

“We must not involve ourselves,” Soren reminded him.

“I know,” Ike grumbled back, clearly unsatisfied.

  

The revolution endured far longer than anyone expected. Elincia refused to get involved, despite her alliance with Sanaki or the fact that it was disrupting trade. Supposedly a single road from Oribes Bridge to Tor Holvar was being defended as a neutral zone for envoys and traders, but reports still came in that both sides raided it constantly. As for the laguz nations, they were also staying out of the conflict—even Kilvas, who’d sided with Daein in the Mad King’s War.

As the weeks passed, rumors spread that Ashnard’s lost heir was rising to power with the help of a mysterious ‘silver-haired maiden’, but then again, there were rumors about just about everything. Soren took every bit of news with a grain of salt, and he advised Ike to do so as well.

 

They remained in Crimea—always moving, always working—and three more months slipped by. As they traveled, it was relatively easy to gather information about the ongoing conflict in Daein, which the Crimean citizenry followed like a popular traveling play. They regaled each other with its twists and turns and eagerly awaited each new detail.

Depending on who was telling the story, the hero was either a silver-haired woman who worked miracles that inspired her revolutionaries to victory, or a certain ‘General Jarod’ of Begnion: a cunning and resourceful man who’d beaten the odds to become commander of the entire Begnion army in Daein at a young age.

“Jarod?” Ike asked no one in particular. “What happened to General Zelgius?”

“I believe he stepped down as warden of New Daein some time ago,” Titania recalled, smoothing back her hair, “not long after the end of the war. It is possible he didn’t condone Begnion’s tactics.”

“He would not retreat for personal reasons,” Soren interjected, recalling what he knew about the man. “He would only have done as he was commanded.”

“Perhaps he was demoted,” Titania suggested with a shrug.

“I find that unlikely.” Ike shook his head, and his enduring respect for the man was clear.

“Not much of a point in thinking about it now, is there?” Mia offered with palms raised. “And this Jarod fellow sounds about his equal, doesn’t he?”

“I heard someone say he’s like Ike,” Boyd added, although he seemed unsure whether it was a compliment, “A strong, young guy leading Begnion’s army to crush crazy Daeins…or whatever.”

Ike was obviously annoyed with the comparison.

“Well, I’ve heard the silver-haired maiden is like Ike,” Rolf chirruped. “She’s not highborn and she’s doing whatever she has to do to protect her people, and she even teamed up with her country’s lost heir.”

This comparison also seemed to frustrate Ike. “I would never team up with Ashnard’s son,” he growled. “He might be just as hungry for power as the Mad King.”

“Tauroneo must not think so,” Soren replied calmly.

“What are you talking about?”

“He is serving as one of the revolutionaries’ top lieutenants,” Soren explained. “I saw his picture in a news pamphlet this morning.”

This made Ike hesitate, and he seemed at war in his own mind. Soren decided to give him ease: “That being said, we cannot know whether this ‘Prince Pelleas’ is legitimate. In Nevassa, Elincia and I found evidence of a deceased heir, not a living one. The Daein people are desperate for their freedom and may grasp at any charlatan willing to lead them. The rumors coming out of that country are indeed rumors—if not outright lies and speculation.”

Ike sighed and muttered, “I wonder what Queen Elincia is making of all this…”

Soren didn’t offer a response.

“And what about Lehran’s Medallion?” Ike pushed. “Another war could awaken the dark god.”

“The medallion is safe with the herons,” Titania assured.

“And if skirmishes between Daein and Begnion were enough to free the god, it would have sprung from that medallion long ago,” Soren added.

“I suppose you’re right,” Ike gave in. “But still…I have a bad feeling about this.”

 

After another month of tracing down jobs, saving their coppers, and sleeping under the stars, the Greil Mercenaries made a harrowing discovery. They were visiting a remote barracks, fishing for a contract, when Soren’s eyes were pulled toward yet another news flyer about the war. The corners were ripped where they’d been pinned to the wall, the illustration was slightly vandalized with some soldier’s crude drawing, and according to the date, it was a week old. But the print and illustration were still clearly visible.

“BLACK KNIGHT JOINS REBELLION,” said the headline.

“DAEIN RIDER BACK FROM THE GRAVE?” asked the subtitle.

The image depicted a young woman with gray hair and a yellow halo. On her right was a man armored in white: Tauroneo. On her left was a man armored in black. Both were wearing helmets, but the Black Knight’s was drawn with a crack running down the middle.

It was a quick sketch, designed to be easily replicated several hundred times and spread around the country, and yet it was enough to make the hairs rise on the back of Soren’s neck. “Ike…” he warned, but it wasn’t necessary. His friend was already staring at the notice with wide, disbelieving eyes and mouth slightly agape.

“Impossible!” Titania hissed.

“That bastard died in Nados,” Shinon spat.

“Nasir wouldn’t have given up his life for nothing!” Mist declared in a shaky voice.

“I don’t understand.” Rolf looked at his brothers’ faces in confusion. “This isn’t real is it? It has to be a story someone made up. They’re lying…”

“Maybe it’s a copycat?” Oscar suggested uncertainly.

“Enough!” Ike silenced their despairing. His fists were clenched tight, and a vein throbbed in his neck. “If it’s a lie, it’s a lie. If it’s true, then my blade will find him again.”

“Begnion might beat you to it,” Gatrie tried to lighten the mood. “According to what’s written here, they’re winning the war. The Black Knight showing up doesn’t change that.”

“If anything, means Daein’s gettin’ desperate,” Shinon offered.

“We’re going to Nados,” Ike declared, ignoring their comments. “I want to know if the Black Knight’s body was found.”

“Nados is awfully close to Melior,” Mia observed.

“And the new Royal Knights headquarters have been erected somewhere around there,” Oscar added. “That would increase our chances of being recognized.”

“It’s something I have to do,” Ike replied firmly. This was met with nods of acceptance and even encouragement.

“Of course,” Titania agreed. “Despite the risk, it is something I feel we must do as well.”

Soren agreed it was worthwhile to do some research, so they pulled up their stakes and headed toward Nados that very day.

  

The wreckage of Nados was gone, and in its place was a hilltop memorial dedicated to the lives lost in the pivotal battle. By talking to the locals, the mercenaries learned that the castle’s raw materials had been repurposed for the Knights’ new headquarters, Fort Pinell’s repairs, a sequence of stone watchtowers throughout the region, and the new wing of a noble’s mansion.

The next day, they tracked down some of the commoners who had helped with the salvage. They had doubled as grave diggers, and many of the bodies they’d found were buried in the adjacent valley.

“Not the ones with the black armor,” one gap-toothed farmer explained emphatically. “We dug a big pit an’ tossed them in, an’ when we was done, we burned ‘em all up. Some soldiers or som’n covered the mess with dirt. Think it’s a pig’s wallow now.”

“But do you remember a man covered head to toe in armor?” Titania pushed. “Even his helm fully covered his face.” She mimed the extent of the visor from her forehead to chin. “He would have been in the second floor, aft main hall of the central keep.”

The farmer cocked his head at her. “Rubble’s rubble, ma’am. Dust and stone is dust and stone, and one Daein dog is just like another.”

“What about a man with dark skin?” Ike asked suddenly. “His hair was light blue, and-”

The farmer was already shaking his head. “D’ya know what happens to som’n’s body when a building done falls on it? The skins all dark an’ smushed with blood an’ whatnot. Faces all get squished, and it’s really no use lookin’ for particulars.” Perhaps he mistook the disappointment in Ike’s expression for nausea, because he patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Sorry there, son. Shouldn’t a’said that. Was this fellow a friend of yours? Ya know, I lost my brother an’ nephew in the battle of Melior. They was very brave.”

Ike shook his head and answered simply: “Thank you for your time.” Then he pressed a silver coin in the man’s hand, and the mercenaries departed.

 

That evening, when they were camping in the wilderness, Soren got Ike away from the fire to speak with him alone. “Even if the knight is alive, we have no clearance to move freely about Daein and track him down. And even if we did, we would be putting ourselves between two warring armies to get to him. And even then, his enchanted armor would pose a serious problem, considering you no longer have the holy sword Ragnell.”

“You don’t think I realize all that?” His eyes were tired, but angry too. “Look, I’m not about to run off on some blind revenge mission.”

Soren ducked his head. “I am just making sure.”

“Say it,” Ike growled, clearly not falling for the false contrition. “I know you weren’t done yet.”

Releasing a long breath, Soren chose his next words carefully: “The Black Knight would have killed you and Mist if Nasir had not intervened. Even with Ragnell, you could not match him. If he is alive, then he is stronger than Petrine, Betram, or Bryce. He is stronger than King Ashnard, stronger than a Goldoan dragon, and stronger than any foe you have ever faced.”

Ike clearly did not like what he was hearing, but at least he was listening. “I’m stronger now too,” he finally said. “When we meet again, I will defeat him.”

“You are not stronger,” Soren replied firmly. “None of us are. We’ve grown dull since the war ended.”

Ike shook his head. “Then I will train harder.”

Soren knew no amount of training could compare to the conditioning achieved by fighting in an actual war (as the Black Knight was doing now). But he decided not to argue further. “If and when the time comes—if the Black Knight tracks you down as he did Greil…” he proposed quietly. “You must let me- let us help you. Let the mercenaries fight alongside you. Together we can-”

“No,” Ike cut him off. His voice was dead serious. “Mist and I have discussed it. The Black Knight is someone we have to defeat alone.”

“That’s foolishness!”

“He killed our father.”

Soren rubbed his temples in frustration. “Don’t you think we hate him too? We all want the Black Knight dead.”

“You want to avenge the Commander? You, Soren?”

Ike rarely accused Soren of heartlessness as the others did, and the implication stung worse than expected. But he reined in his mind and emotions before continuing: “The Black Knight is the one man in the world I can imagine killing you,” he explained coolly. It was too easy to recall the night Ike stumbled out of the Gallian forest with Greil on his back and blood seeping from his wounds. “So yes, I would love to kill him too.”

“You can’t avenge me,” Ike replied in annoyance. “I’m not dead.”

“I’d rather not have to wait until you are dead,” Soren shot back.

“Mist and I will do it, when the time comes.” The finality of his declaration caused Soren’s mouth to snap shut. “This is the last time I want to have to make this point.”

“Fine,” Soren finally hissed. “I suppose we can only hope the Black Knight is truly dead in a pit and this reappearance is a hoax.”

“Honestly…” Ike’s voice grew softer and quieter. “I hope he’s alive… I want him to die on my sword. I want to see his face, his eyes. I want to surpass my father’s killer.”

All of Soren’s anger suddenly left him, leaving him with a strange, empty ache. “I know you do,” he sighed resignedly.

“Does that make me as obsessed with strength as the Mad King?” There was a forced lightness in his voice that Soren didn’t believe.

“No,” he answered defiantly. “You are much more than that.”

Ike didn’t ask what else he might be, and Soren didn’t offer examples. Silence stretched between them, the campfire sputtered in the distance, and stars cascaded overhead. To the east, storm clouds blotted out the sky above the horizon. Soren thought about calling Ike’s attention to them, but following his friend’s gaze, it was clear he already knew they were there.

“We should batten down the tents,” he said, and the conversation was officially over. “Looks like we may be in for a rough night.”

“I’ll have Titania secure the horses,” Soren replied, and they rejoined the others at the campfire.

“That was a long piss break,” Shinon noted. He had his feet up on a stump.

“Storm’s coming,” was Ike’s only response.

 

A pair of lavender-haired cat laguz found the mercenaries later that week, which was a surprise considering they were still in Crimea. The cats introduced themselves as expert trackers (clearly very proud of themselves), who’d been sent by King Caineghis to find the mercenaries and convey a missive: another job offer.

The laguz were well-disguised for their mission, wearing long skirts, long sleeves, high-necked blouses, and cowls that cupped their entire heads. To Soren they looked like they belonged to some particularly modest sect of Ashera-worshippers. Of course, he had known they were laguz instantly, but the others hadn’t realized the truth until the two women had removed their cowls to reveal their purple cat ears.  

Since it was evening, Ike invited the pair to stay with them for the night while they decided what to do about the job. Unlike the previous offer, the king didn’t want them to fight anyone in particular. He wanted them to act as messengers, protecting a copy of a Gallian-Begnion trade agreement on its way to Sienne.

“A draft of a treaty is already on its way to Sienne,” explained one of the couriers, although the Caineghis’s letter already said as much. “Our King asks that you intercept it at Fort Mugill and ferry it the rest of the way. Here is your letter of introduction.” The other courier handed over another scroll even though Ike hadn’t accepted yet.

“Hold on a second,” Ike said, even though he took the tube of paper. “We need to discuss this.”

“If you must,” the first courier conceded, but neither moved to give the mercenaries privacy.

Ike gestured for the rest of the mercenaries to circle up, and they set about deciding whether they wanted to go back to Begnion. The mercenaries were running low on funds, and Caineghis always paid well, so Soren saw no reason not to accept. The job would take them into Gallia for a little while, but the beast land no longer bothered him as it once had.

In the end, Ike accepted the job, and the cat couriers became their escorts, urging them to Mugill at all haste.

 

The cats left them when they reached Mugill and received the treaty from the tiger carrying it there. His name was Kyza, and he seemed relieved that he would not have to travel into Begnion any further or stay in Mugill any longer. From here, a small platoon of soldiers helped escort the mercenaries through the mountainous tribal lands, although Ike tried to tell them it was completely unnecessary. This region was still doing well since they’d helped reclaim Mugill and Flaguerre, and crime rates were low.

When left on their own again, the mercenaries cut south to visit the Serenes Forest, which they hadn’t had a chance to do the last time they were in Begnion. They found houses already nestled among the trees, where Begnion civilians had decided to make the forest their own. Here they encountered signs warning of a strict no-hunting policy (out of respect for the vegetarian herons who’d once lived here), but Soren had no doubt the colonists were taking whatever they wanted from the forest.

The mercenaries, however, did not. They were careful not to disturb the land unnecessarily and didn’t harm a single furred or feathered creature (although the Serenes seemed to be teeming with them and could probably spare a few). Soren wondered where they had all come from, since the vast forest had been nothing but a dead swamp for two decades.

He also noted that it was unseasonably warm here, and most of the trees still had their green leaves. Under the canopy’s protection, the mercenaries marched without their cloaks and some even rolled up their sleeves.

 

They exited the Serenes north of Tanas and crossed the Miscale River by ferry. They skirted the mountains encasing the Grann Desert and proceeded southeast to Sienne. King Gallia was paying them well enough that they didn’t have to take on other jobs in the interim, but Ike still called on the mercenaries to lend a hand when they encountered people in trouble. The poor but grateful peasants would pay the mercenaries with food, lodging, or whatever they had to give, and in this way, the mercenaries rode a wave of goodwill south to the capital.

Almost no one knew the mercenaries were carrying an important laguz-beorc trade agreement, and so no one tried to track them and stop them. It was a decent ploy on the part of King Gallia, and Soren had little doubt other copies (or perhaps fake versions) of the treaty were being sent by other means: a Crimean ship, a Crimean pegasus rider, a Phoenician hawk messenger, or perhaps a separate Gallian envoy. In fact, Soren couldn’t be certain if the treaty he carried was the real one. But the Greil Mercenaries were being paid either way, so he didn’t care. It was an easy job.

 

When they arrived in Sienne, they found a relatively cheap place on the outskirts, and Ike and Titania carried the message of their arrival into the city. Then they needed only wait until the Gallian ambassador (a black lion named Shiraneth) came for the treaty herself. In the meantime, the mercenaries made daily voyages into the metropolis for entertainment and news of the ongoing war with Daein. But people here were generally tight-lipped about the rebellion. The Siennese seemed to pretend the conflict didn’t exist, and they certainly didn’t appreciate when the mercenaries called it a ‘war’.

There was no reason to seek an audience with Sanaki, and she didn’t contact them. Sephiran was supposedly in the court again and Zelgius was probably nearby, but Ike did not have the means to schedule a tea party with these old acquaintances even if he wanted to (and Soren was fairly sure the only person he would want to would be Zelgius). The whereabouts of Sigrun and Tanith were once again unknown, and word was that neither Tormod nor Muarim was in the city. With no friends to make staying worth their while, the mercenaries planned to head out in just a couple days. (That was about as long as anyone wanted to stay in this stuffy place.)

When Lady Shiraneth finally arrived and took custody of the trade agreement, she gave them the second half of their pay. She bid them, “Do as beorc do, and enjoy the luxuries of the city,” although her tone indicated she had no interest in such pastimes.

When she was gone, Soren and Mist divided the funds so everyone would get paid, and Mist raised an eyebrow at the hefty stack of Begnion credits Soren pulled toward himself. “Your cut is still ten shares?”

“Yes.”

“That makes yours the highest aside from company expenses.” While she said it, she pulled away the fifteen shares that constituted this amount and bound it so it could be easily placed in the company’s coffers. It equated to about eighteen percent of the total payment they’d gotten for this job. Soren’s claim was twelve percent.

“Call me a cutthroat if you wish,” he said simply, next dividing the two ten-percent stacks that would go to Ike and Titania.

“I didn’t mean that…” Mist blushed.

“When the war ended, Ike and Titania decreased their own cuts as officers and raised everyone else’s. I thought that was unnecessary, so I didn’t take part.”

Mist had just finished separating out the three seven-percent stacks that would go to Oscar, Boyd, and Mia. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that it was wrong. I was just surprised. What do you do with all your money?”

Soren started on the three six-percent stacks that would go to Gatrie, Shinon, and Rhys. (For their desertion after Greil’s death, the lance knight and archer were paid one share less than their comrades who were equal in strength. And Rhys was paid less because he was too timid to ask for a raise). While he counted, Soren thought about his answer. “Nothing in particular,” he eventually said. “Tomorrow I will go into the city and deposit most of my pay into an account with the Imperial Bank.”

Mist looked stunned. “I didn’t realize you had one of those!” Soren shot her an annoyed glance, and she had the sense to look apologetic. “I mean…you don’t have a family, right? What are you saving it for?” She immediately reddened. “I’m sorry, that was a terrible question. You don’t have to answer that.”

Soren wasn’t particularly bothered by her intrusion, and but he let her flounder for a moment while he split the remaining bills into the two five-percent stacks that would go to her and Rolf. Then he checked his work to make sure everything added up. Mist should have already done this, but she’d become distracted by her own conversation.

“I’m not saving for anything in particular,” he finally said. “I just want to be prepared for whatever might happen.” Naturally, he couldn’t explain his unpredictable longevity and how he would have to find some other way to live when he eventually left the mercenaries. He didn’t even want to think about it.

“I guess that makes sense,” Mist replied politely. Now that the task was done, she leaned back and stared contentedly up at the rafters.

Soren pushed her relatively small stack toward her and wondered at its size. “You are a fighter and a healer, Mist, and you have taken on numerous leadership duties. Even doing this with me now is not in your contract.”

Mist shook her head, which caused her braids to bounce. “Oh, I don’t mind.”

“You should ask Ike for a raise,” he said, even though he didn’t know why this idea had suddenly popped into his head or why he was giving Mist unsolicited advice.

She looked curiously at him. “You really think so? I mean, with the stock system, if I make more that means everyone else’s share will be worth less…”

Soren scoffed at her logic. “Don’t worry about anyone else. You deserve to be paid a fair wage; you are not a kid anymore. I will bring it up with Ike if you do not.”

Mist’s eyes widened in surprise, but then she laughed. “Is that a threat?” she giggled before reclaiming her voice. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

Soren nodded firmly. “I suggest getting it in writing before the next big job.”

Mist smiled to the side. “Why are you being nice?” she asked, and it sounded like a genuine question.

Soren didn’t know the answer, but neither did he feel ashamed at the accusation. So he shrugged. “No idea. But do not go telling the others—I won’t negotiate a raise for everyone.”

This made Mist giggle again. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Taking her five-percent with her, Mist rose and ambled off. Soren was surprised to find that he was happy she was happy. Perhaps it was because she was Ike’s sister or because he’d known her since they were both children. Perhaps it was because she’d fought beside him and save his life more times than he could remember. He couldn’t quite understand the reason; but he knew he wanted Mist to be bold and respected. Soren wanted her to thrive—and this feeling was confusing to say the least. He wondered if it was what Greil and Ike had felt when giving pre-battle sermons about family.