Fire Emblem 7 - Lyn's Tale - Chapter 2
It's stupid how easy this is to write.
Lyn's Tale (Fire Emblem 7) - Chapter Two
Genre: Humor/Drama
Word Count: ~2000
PG-13 for plentiful innuendo and violence.
Prologue - Chapter One
Even with the company of the flea knights, the afternoon was surprisingly peaceful. I suggested we stop by the altar near Bulgar to pray. I wanted to give my father assurance that I had both been born into greatness and would now earn it. I wanted to rage with my mother at the difficulties of politics, all while seeking her forgiveness for gleefully running back to them. She and I had never seen eye to eye on that.
“For whatever you'll gain through twofacedness,” she would say, “you'll bear thrice the agony within you.”
My mother's aphorism must have foretold my experiences with “Mark”.
We were nearing the altar when our path crossed with another traveler's. At seeing us, he pushed back the hood of his green traveler's cloak to reveal a passingly handsome face under a head of brown hair, too well-trimmed considering his rough, sprouting beard. “I beg your pardon, milady.” He spoke every word as sharply and carefully as if he were the narrator of a shadow puppetry act. In that, somehow, he sounded feminine. I cannot tell you why. “Are you headed east? To the altar?”
I did not make a habit of being too honest with strangers, especially given the day's earlier encounter, but if he had some news from the altar I needed to hear it. “Yes, we are indeed.”
“Then you must hurry and help the priest there. I saw a band of local ruffians head in there not too long ago. They seemed intent on stealing the altar’s sacred sword!”
How dramatic. With equal drama, I gasped, “The Mani Katti… They’re going to steal it? I cannot allow this to happen!”
Without missing a beat, he pleaded, “You look like a virtuous group. Please, help him!”
Finally, Sain interjected, as if he could not imagine why we were putting on such a show, “Lyndis, what are you planning?”
I considered chastising him for revealing my full name to a stranger, given the warrant for my head, but I would speak to him about that later. I didn't want to let the traveler know that.
“If you go to the priest's aid, we'll need to prepare,” Kent said obviously.
“My name is Mark,” said the traveler with a flourishing bow, “and I trust you will require my skill in strategy.”
Without hesitation, I replied, “You're right.”
Please, let me explain why I so eagerly took this theatrical nuisance into our band. You may have concluded by now that I desire greatness. In a manner of speaking, I do. But greatness has more than one part to it, one of which being fame. I could do without the adoration and timeless legend of fame. It would not be worth fame's shadow: a life spent wary of assassination.
And so I sought a fool who desired fame, and I would freely give him all of it. Apparently these fools were often named Mark.
I did not, however, trust his knowledge in any matter of strategy. Nor the lay of the land. “Say, Mark,” I began deferentially, “There are some homes to the south of us. Perhaps we should go there and question the residents.”
The woman I spoke with advised breaking down the altar's wall. I thought about the last time my father had transgressed against the spirits, and wondered if it would affect Lycians differently.
I suggested to Mark to suggest to the flea knights that they break down the altar wall to engage the lawless desecrators on the other side. Sain eagerly took this chance to thrust his lance into the shrieking hitherto pure and unmolested wall until it acquiesced to his rhythmic careening with an explosion of pure energy.
It was like some sort of spiritual seal had broken. The explosion was so forceful that I was pelleted with bits of holy rock as I struck down a bandit several paces away. Spirits, forgive me. Claim the soul of this ruffian who has not harmed your sanctity and let it sate your hunger for vengeance, for I will certainly not be dying here to appease you. And I will need Sain for later, so you cannot have him either.
The flea knights proceeded to spring over the rubble, and I hopped in behind them.
“Who do you think you are?” the hollow-cheeked man at the altar sputtered. His focus left the ornate sword on the altar entirely and turned to us. Coarse though he was, he seemed surprised that we had just torn down part of the wall. As Sain and Kent charged in with lances drawn, he shrieked as an animal would bade its fur to stand on end, “What chance do you think you have against me?”
After Glass had fallen to the altar floor like a blood offering, a timid priest poked his head out from the backroom's door. I bowed to him. “Ah, your clothing... Are you of the Lorca tribe?”
“I’m Lyn, the chieftain’s daughter. Are you hurt, sir?”
“Thanks to you, I am unscathed. You have my gratitude.”
I turned to the altar proper and ran my eyes over the patterned sheath of the sword. “And the sword? Is it safe?”
“Yes, I have sealed the sword safely away. Until I remove my spell, the sword cannot be drawn.” Really? It was this priest's petty spell, and not one of the spirits themselves? “Now, as a token of my gratitude, I shall allow you to lay hands upon the Mani Katti. Touch the blade’s pattern, and pray for a safe journey.”
Perhaps he thought that the other party had done the damage to the altar. I wasn't about to correct his misconceptions. “Oh, thank you so much!” As I laid my hands upon the blade, I hoped the truth-knowing spirits were not enraged.
You have freed me, a hoarse voice whispered.
I looked behind me, where Mark stood not too far away with scrutinizing eyes. “What? Did-”
A flash from below. In my astonishment I could not help but mindlessly murmur, “The sword... It's... glowing.”
They have bound me for aeons at this altar. You have freed me from this prison.
“It’s the power of the spirits. Lyn, they have looked into your soul, and they call out to you.” It was true, at least, that it was calling to me.
“What does that mean?”
“You are its rightful owner. You are to wield the Mani Katti.” Perhaps the priest had never been informed of the true history of the sword.
It was a sword of a spirit, true. But I was not convinced that this spirit was benign. Perhaps it would grant me ill fate on my journey rather than good luck. “No,” I insisted, in an attempt to return the sword without alienating my party, “I can't... I couldn't.”
“It is the sword’s wish.” That much, I agreed with. “If you require proof, draw it from its sheath.”
“Um...” I placed one hand on the hilt and planned to make a great show of being unable to draw it. To my dismay, the sword itself moved my hand and slid from its sheath like a wad of soap through a toddler's hand. Trying my best not to be sarcastic, I marveled, “It came out... effortlessly.”
“I never dared hope that I might meet the wielder of the Mani Katti in my life. I am indeed fortunate to see your sword reach your hands.” Yes, for it was no longer his burden. I could feel the spirit pulsing against my hands, testing my limits, probing for my weaknesses.
“My sword, hm,” I murmured. Better that it was my sword rather than I should be the sword's wielder.
“It is time for you to go, Lyn. You face a great many ordeals. Grip this sword, and meet your destiny head-on.” He clasped his hands and applied the gesture directly to his forehead.
Mark gave the priest an approving look. I considered giving Mark the dramatically endowed blade. If this is what the prophecy meant by greatness of my own accord, I wanted nothing of it. It was Sain who broke the wall, anyway.
I was awoken in the middle of the night by a silhouette in my tent. I grabbed the sword beside me and leapt to my feet. Too late I realized that it was the Mani Katti in my hand. An unfamiliar sword, at this time of danger?
By the sword's soft luminescence, I saw Mark standing unfazed before me.
“It suits you well,” he said.
I considered his impassive, confident features, made ominous by the sword's light from below. He was as much of a holder of secrets as I was. But perhaps he did not know about mine. In a damsel's voice, I said, “What? Mark?” as I lowered my sword. “At this time of night?”
His gaze did not follow the sword as I lowered it to my side. The sword stirred, probing at me almost curiously.
Steadily, he said, “I merely wished to visit you, milady.”
When he placed a hand on my shoulder, my disgust was real as I shook off his arm. It took all my self-restraint to say something so demure as, “Mark, please. So quickly?”
“For you, milady, I can try to be patient.” He smiled as he left.
When my repulsion cooled, I thought about our encounter. It was not for the sake of lechery. He had been trying too hard not to look at the Mani Katti. The circumstances of our first meeting were too convenient. I suspected something then, something between Mark and the sword.
For that reason, I would keep the sword by my side until I found out exactly what that was.
I was awoken a second time that night. This time, I had my comfortingly plain iron sword by my side. As I held the silhouette at swordpoint, in the dark I heard Sain exclaim, “Lady Lyndis! It is only I!”
“Sain? What are you doing here?” As if there were a plenitude of reasons why lecherous knights visited attractive women at night.
“I wished to consult you for an urgent matter!” he said, sounding rather hurt. I lowered my sword, but still kept it by my side. “I require a woman's touch, you see!”
“I'm afraid I cannot help with that,” I replied dryly.
“You wound me. I am speaking of drama! The arts! Upon taking Mark into our company, I have been touched by inspiration divine. I shall pen our tale, and it will be told throughout the ages!”
I considered the chances that his work would be a success. If it would be successful, it would be well worth shaping its form to serve my needs. And if it were not, I would have wasted several hours of precious rest. Or...
“Perhaps we can talk tomorrow while we march?” I suggested. “It is rather late.”
“Ah! Forgive me, forgive me. The glory of my artistic vision blinded me to the time. Sleep well, milady!”
I bid him good-night and went back to sleep. Perhaps some spirit of the arts reached out and touched me as well, and I thought to myself that the truth was too perfect to rot with me after my death.
Lyn's Tale (Fire Emblem 7) - Chapter Two
Genre: Humor/Drama
Word Count: ~2000
PG-13 for plentiful innuendo and violence.
Prologue - Chapter One
Even with the company of the flea knights, the afternoon was surprisingly peaceful. I suggested we stop by the altar near Bulgar to pray. I wanted to give my father assurance that I had both been born into greatness and would now earn it. I wanted to rage with my mother at the difficulties of politics, all while seeking her forgiveness for gleefully running back to them. She and I had never seen eye to eye on that.
“For whatever you'll gain through twofacedness,” she would say, “you'll bear thrice the agony within you.”
My mother's aphorism must have foretold my experiences with “Mark”.
We were nearing the altar when our path crossed with another traveler's. At seeing us, he pushed back the hood of his green traveler's cloak to reveal a passingly handsome face under a head of brown hair, too well-trimmed considering his rough, sprouting beard. “I beg your pardon, milady.” He spoke every word as sharply and carefully as if he were the narrator of a shadow puppetry act. In that, somehow, he sounded feminine. I cannot tell you why. “Are you headed east? To the altar?”
I did not make a habit of being too honest with strangers, especially given the day's earlier encounter, but if he had some news from the altar I needed to hear it. “Yes, we are indeed.”
“Then you must hurry and help the priest there. I saw a band of local ruffians head in there not too long ago. They seemed intent on stealing the altar’s sacred sword!”
How dramatic. With equal drama, I gasped, “The Mani Katti… They’re going to steal it? I cannot allow this to happen!”
Without missing a beat, he pleaded, “You look like a virtuous group. Please, help him!”
Finally, Sain interjected, as if he could not imagine why we were putting on such a show, “Lyndis, what are you planning?”
I considered chastising him for revealing my full name to a stranger, given the warrant for my head, but I would speak to him about that later. I didn't want to let the traveler know that.
“If you go to the priest's aid, we'll need to prepare,” Kent said obviously.
“My name is Mark,” said the traveler with a flourishing bow, “and I trust you will require my skill in strategy.”
Without hesitation, I replied, “You're right.”
Please, let me explain why I so eagerly took this theatrical nuisance into our band. You may have concluded by now that I desire greatness. In a manner of speaking, I do. But greatness has more than one part to it, one of which being fame. I could do without the adoration and timeless legend of fame. It would not be worth fame's shadow: a life spent wary of assassination.
And so I sought a fool who desired fame, and I would freely give him all of it. Apparently these fools were often named Mark.
I did not, however, trust his knowledge in any matter of strategy. Nor the lay of the land. “Say, Mark,” I began deferentially, “There are some homes to the south of us. Perhaps we should go there and question the residents.”
The woman I spoke with advised breaking down the altar's wall. I thought about the last time my father had transgressed against the spirits, and wondered if it would affect Lycians differently.
I suggested to Mark to suggest to the flea knights that they break down the altar wall to engage the lawless desecrators on the other side. Sain eagerly took this chance to thrust his lance into the shrieking hitherto pure and unmolested wall until it acquiesced to his rhythmic careening with an explosion of pure energy.
It was like some sort of spiritual seal had broken. The explosion was so forceful that I was pelleted with bits of holy rock as I struck down a bandit several paces away. Spirits, forgive me. Claim the soul of this ruffian who has not harmed your sanctity and let it sate your hunger for vengeance, for I will certainly not be dying here to appease you. And I will need Sain for later, so you cannot have him either.
The flea knights proceeded to spring over the rubble, and I hopped in behind them.
“Who do you think you are?” the hollow-cheeked man at the altar sputtered. His focus left the ornate sword on the altar entirely and turned to us. Coarse though he was, he seemed surprised that we had just torn down part of the wall. As Sain and Kent charged in with lances drawn, he shrieked as an animal would bade its fur to stand on end, “What chance do you think you have against me?”
After Glass had fallen to the altar floor like a blood offering, a timid priest poked his head out from the backroom's door. I bowed to him. “Ah, your clothing... Are you of the Lorca tribe?”
“I’m Lyn, the chieftain’s daughter. Are you hurt, sir?”
“Thanks to you, I am unscathed. You have my gratitude.”
I turned to the altar proper and ran my eyes over the patterned sheath of the sword. “And the sword? Is it safe?”
“Yes, I have sealed the sword safely away. Until I remove my spell, the sword cannot be drawn.” Really? It was this priest's petty spell, and not one of the spirits themselves? “Now, as a token of my gratitude, I shall allow you to lay hands upon the Mani Katti. Touch the blade’s pattern, and pray for a safe journey.”
Perhaps he thought that the other party had done the damage to the altar. I wasn't about to correct his misconceptions. “Oh, thank you so much!” As I laid my hands upon the blade, I hoped the truth-knowing spirits were not enraged.
You have freed me, a hoarse voice whispered.
I looked behind me, where Mark stood not too far away with scrutinizing eyes. “What? Did-”
A flash from below. In my astonishment I could not help but mindlessly murmur, “The sword... It's... glowing.”
They have bound me for aeons at this altar. You have freed me from this prison.
“It’s the power of the spirits. Lyn, they have looked into your soul, and they call out to you.” It was true, at least, that it was calling to me.
“What does that mean?”
“You are its rightful owner. You are to wield the Mani Katti.” Perhaps the priest had never been informed of the true history of the sword.
It was a sword of a spirit, true. But I was not convinced that this spirit was benign. Perhaps it would grant me ill fate on my journey rather than good luck. “No,” I insisted, in an attempt to return the sword without alienating my party, “I can't... I couldn't.”
“It is the sword’s wish.” That much, I agreed with. “If you require proof, draw it from its sheath.”
“Um...” I placed one hand on the hilt and planned to make a great show of being unable to draw it. To my dismay, the sword itself moved my hand and slid from its sheath like a wad of soap through a toddler's hand. Trying my best not to be sarcastic, I marveled, “It came out... effortlessly.”
“I never dared hope that I might meet the wielder of the Mani Katti in my life. I am indeed fortunate to see your sword reach your hands.” Yes, for it was no longer his burden. I could feel the spirit pulsing against my hands, testing my limits, probing for my weaknesses.
“My sword, hm,” I murmured. Better that it was my sword rather than I should be the sword's wielder.
“It is time for you to go, Lyn. You face a great many ordeals. Grip this sword, and meet your destiny head-on.” He clasped his hands and applied the gesture directly to his forehead.
Mark gave the priest an approving look. I considered giving Mark the dramatically endowed blade. If this is what the prophecy meant by greatness of my own accord, I wanted nothing of it. It was Sain who broke the wall, anyway.
I was awoken in the middle of the night by a silhouette in my tent. I grabbed the sword beside me and leapt to my feet. Too late I realized that it was the Mani Katti in my hand. An unfamiliar sword, at this time of danger?
By the sword's soft luminescence, I saw Mark standing unfazed before me.
“It suits you well,” he said.
I considered his impassive, confident features, made ominous by the sword's light from below. He was as much of a holder of secrets as I was. But perhaps he did not know about mine. In a damsel's voice, I said, “What? Mark?” as I lowered my sword. “At this time of night?”
His gaze did not follow the sword as I lowered it to my side. The sword stirred, probing at me almost curiously.
Steadily, he said, “I merely wished to visit you, milady.”
When he placed a hand on my shoulder, my disgust was real as I shook off his arm. It took all my self-restraint to say something so demure as, “Mark, please. So quickly?”
“For you, milady, I can try to be patient.” He smiled as he left.
When my repulsion cooled, I thought about our encounter. It was not for the sake of lechery. He had been trying too hard not to look at the Mani Katti. The circumstances of our first meeting were too convenient. I suspected something then, something between Mark and the sword.
For that reason, I would keep the sword by my side until I found out exactly what that was.
I was awoken a second time that night. This time, I had my comfortingly plain iron sword by my side. As I held the silhouette at swordpoint, in the dark I heard Sain exclaim, “Lady Lyndis! It is only I!”
“Sain? What are you doing here?” As if there were a plenitude of reasons why lecherous knights visited attractive women at night.
“I wished to consult you for an urgent matter!” he said, sounding rather hurt. I lowered my sword, but still kept it by my side. “I require a woman's touch, you see!”
“I'm afraid I cannot help with that,” I replied dryly.
“You wound me. I am speaking of drama! The arts! Upon taking Mark into our company, I have been touched by inspiration divine. I shall pen our tale, and it will be told throughout the ages!”
I considered the chances that his work would be a success. If it would be successful, it would be well worth shaping its form to serve my needs. And if it were not, I would have wasted several hours of precious rest. Or...
“Perhaps we can talk tomorrow while we march?” I suggested. “It is rather late.”
“Ah! Forgive me, forgive me. The glory of my artistic vision blinded me to the time. Sleep well, milady!”
I bid him good-night and went back to sleep. Perhaps some spirit of the arts reached out and touched me as well, and I thought to myself that the truth was too perfect to rot with me after my death.