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fic: The Lost Children: III. Fae Children
Title: The Lost Children: III. Fae Children (Ten)
Fandom: FE9Au
Day/Theme: January 18th – warm strangers
Character/Pairing: Ike, Soren, Mist, Oscar, Boyd, Sephiran
Rating: PG
Word Count: 5,147
Chapter Summary: Three brothers travel through a small forest after the death of their parents. The youngest swears he saw faeries, the middle child is skeptical and the oldest finds methods of taming even the wildest of creatures.
A/N: Later than I wanted it to be...urf. Oh well, Nano allows little time for revision thus if I’d posted it then it would’ve been very rough indeed. Christmas had me busy with more Christmas gifts so yeah.
I hope to hurriedly finish the fourth chapter before the end of the month to catch up. Hopefully, might not make it, though as I have another project to get though–
Fae, Faery, Fairy and Faerie are all used in here and all apply. Let’s say..there’s no true translation of the world in this universe so even if one paragraph uses Fae and another uses Faery (or one uses it differently within the same sentence) any can and will apply. It’s not lazy writing, it’s an actual choice on my point.
Just putting that out there.
The Lost Children
III. Fae Children (Ten)
It was warmer with Soren curled up with them. Soren had brought blankets and supplies so when they bedded down all three of them burrowed into the leaves in the hollows of trees and the wind howled and raged but blew over their hideaway.
Soren had more experience, and without him, they might have quickly starved. His memory was vice-like and he could tell apart the edible mushrooms, roots and berries from the poisonous ones.
“We need to keep searching,” Ike said.
“I can lead you there,” Soren said. He didn’t look at Ike as he said it, which was an anomaly. He always looked deep into the eyes like he was searching for something left there long ago.
“Which way are you headed? North should take us back to Crimea, far enough south and we’ll go into Goldoa, a place a myths and supposed dragons.”
“Well, we’re looking for father,” Ike replied.
“But where?” Soren said.
“We’ll find them where we find them,” Ike said.
If anyone else had said such a thing Soren would’ve rolled his eyes at such a careless notion. But as it was Ike, Soren said nothing. Even if their search party consisted of little more than a haphazard path of checking under every rock, Soren would lead Ike to every single rock in the land if need be.
“I can map out a path, we’re near to a town,” Soren said.
“You haven’t gotten lost once since we started, you must be really lucky, Soren,” Ike said.
“Hmm, Luck,” Soren said.
Hadn’t it been said so many times in paraphrase? Luck favored the bold, luck was tenacity of purpose. It hadn’t been luck that had lead him to Ike, it had been determination — and yes –– a certain element of chance.
It wasn’t luck that lead him now through these forests, it was something deeper and unknown. Something intrinsic, an instinctual knowledge of mapping within wild places.
Ike and Mist never questioned Soren’s knowledge. He seemed so experienced compared to them. He had seen parts of the world that they hadn’t, and it was a very bleak world indeed. It was as if all those years of quiet had kept bottled up a well of bitterness that burst into the air when unstopped. Soren found fault in everything and questioned every motive. His tongue was sharp and his opinions were always bitter. Unless it related to Ike, where he softened enough to be civil and even kind.
If Soren’s devotion to Ike was a river, his grudging acceptance of Mist were the streams that tapered off to the sides. She was Ike’s kin, and thus inexorably bound to the silent promise he had made to protect Ike, thus he accepted her every whim, no matter how unappealing.
“Faerie princess Soren!” she cried as she put flowers behind his ears and wove them into the ties on his robes.
Soren gave Ike a desperate look, but Ike was too busy trying to tame the flint and make it obey his command. As much as he struck it, only smoke and a few sparks that went out just before they drifted to the tinder.
“Let me,” Soren said. He brought out a book and stared directly at the tinder. He whispered nothings and moved his hands at exactly the right points. A spark lit fell to the wood and consumed it. A flower fell from his headdress and turned inwards as the flame licked at this offering. The smoke that rose was sweet smelling, and beloved to all of them.
“That’s amazing! ” Mist said.
“That’s great, Soren! We won’t be cold anymore now and the animals won’t bother us at night,” Ike said.
Soren found as always, a way to put a cynical side on things. “The tome will eventually break. We can’t misuse it.”
“Yeah, but for now we’ll have fire and hot meals,” Ike said. His optimism was catching.
Mist twirled around with flowers in her hair. She danced around the flame in ancient lost revelry. It did not solve the whole problem of food, however. Soren had managed to collect roots and berries, but they had a dry, chalky consistency and left an unpleasant aftertaste. Ike’s attempts at hunting hadn’t gone anywhere, though Soren had begun to weave and build snares.
They’d only caught a small sparrow, one that Mist couldn’t bear to eat and cried until they set it free. After that Soren thought maybe it would be best if any meat they caught was cleaned and indiscernible before she saw it.
They were still surviving. Without Soren they would have likely died hundreds of possible deaths without his small, bony hand to guide them.
They wandered for days through the forests of Gallia. The usually temperate woodland seemed endless, a living, breathing wave of trees and moss and ground that had sprung up around and surrounded them. What had once started as a grand adventure of heroes quickly turned less appealing as the nights turned colder. Autumn was not far away and with it would come winter. Soren had survived winter on the streets. He knew how the cold could penetrate skin and rags and how everything turned into a mere sliver of life. Survival was the only thing, even talking or thinking seemed a waste of precious resources.
Winter brought out the animalistic part in everyone. Soren found the best way to survive such a time was to find some place with live-in work. Monasteries, some innkeepers or shops would allow temporary help. Some were honorable, but others tended to ignore certain aspects of the contract, such as paying or allowing the worker to leave when the Spring came.
Perhaps, Soren thought, it would’ve been a wiser idea to stay with Father Radolphus.. At least when Winter was bearing down upon them with its grinning fangs glittering in the cold moonlight. Frost silvered over the grasses in the night. They huddled closer as the days lessened and gold began to line the falling leaves. Soren counted each day with foreboding.
--
Mist knew that there was something different about Soren. Whether fae or spirit, she didn’t know, But she noticed the little things: his hair was like a raven’s feathers, while seeming to be a coal black, it shone a greenish hue in the sunlight. His skin was too ashen and once she had seen Soren cut himself on a tree branch. The blood was red only for an instant before it turned deep black, like lava cooling and hardening after a fire storm. His deep blood-red eyes seemed to be inhuman, almost monstrous even down to the cat-like way they reflected light in the dark that gave them the impression of glowing red in the moonlight.
But far from afraid, she was elated to have a new fae or magical playmate. She promised she’d keep that secret safe. And she kept that well, so well she even kept it from Soren himself.
--
Hoofbeats were the loudest sound in the deepening forest. Bird’s cries, the nightly chorus of insects all seemed background music to their old dun mare. Their steed patiently obeyed her rider’s odd request of over the rough path of the forest. She no doubt thought her owners madmen, but followed their command nonetheless. Oscar patted her flank as he walked on beside her.
“Good girl,” he said in that same soothing, calm voice. She nickered.
“Are we there yet? I’m getting seriously sick of trees,” Boyd said.
“Soon enough, Boyd. Soon enough.”
“Can I ride again?” Rolf, the youngest brother said. “I’m tiiiiredd.”
Oscar dismounted and Rolf let out a yippie as he sat astride their dun mare again. They rode on even as the sun drew sleepily into the horizon. The light peeked through the dark finger like branches that reached up as if they were in praise of the creation.
It wasn’t long before they came to an enclave of sorts. It was on the banks of a shallow stream that cut through the woods in zigzag tears across the face of the dark, damp earth. It was soft enough, and suitable enough with no apparent dangers so Oscar deemed it good enough.
“I suppose it is getting late. We should stop for the night,” Oscar said.
“I’ll go collect firewood!” Rolf chirped.
“Not alone you won’t,” Oscar said.
“Me? But I was the one walking all day, he was the one who rode!” Boyd said.
“Boyd.,” Oscar said.
“Alright, alright.”
Oscar unloaded the dun mare and tied her reins to a tree. He lead her to the stream where the cool water filtered through the pebbles. It was slightly brown, but she drank gratefully.
That being done, he unloaded the heaviest of their belongings, and the most precious. Each iron or steel pan was laid about with care as he brought out another helping of their dwindling supplies.
With that, he began to work his magic. He drew the water and touched the bundle of the precious flint-sticks – the necessary tools of the non-magicians. Soon he’d be feeding licking flames and stewing their dinner. Not quite yet, but soon.
Still, it couldn’t hurt to get prepared. Oscar drew water and readied it to be boiled. He washed and began to slice the potatoes using a small knife he had purchased two towns ago. Soon the bag would be empty, they were also running low on vegetables.
There was enough for a few more days but after that they’d either have to reach their destination fast or survive off of the woods. Oscar lifted his head as he heard the crashing of Boyd stomping in and dumping a pile of sticks as willing offerings for the fire. Soon Rolf came in carrying a smaller load.
“Just in time,” Oscar said with a smile. He piled them un in a triangular form, like an altar and scraped the flint-sticks. It took several tries and sparks before the flame caught. They built it a flame-mansion and fed it as much as it desired. In the firelight Oscar brought forth the tools of his trade and began to boil his concoction.
--
Rolf snuck off in the morning, determined to do his share of the work. Boyd had spent his share of the stick collecting doing little but complaining. In the end Rolf had picked up most of the sticks
He heard a humming beyond the other path, the one with flowers growing near the large scarred rock. Everyone knew that rocks with flowers growing beside them were gateways to another world, a place where fae lived in endless reveling and days passed like years for the eternally young. There had been many a tale told of those blessed and cursed to lay their head at the Fae queen’s lap. When they returned, their families, their friends – all had long since died as time steadily wound its way on without them.
Still, Rolf’s curiosity got the better of his story filled fear. Just think how jealous Boyd would be when he found out that Rolf had been the one to see the beautiful fae girl and not him—
He pushed aside the reeds, and caused more noise than he intended to. Still, the humming persisted. Either this faerie was very brave and not shy at all like the tales told, or she hadn’t heard him (or assumed him a woodland creature. A mouse, or a quail of some kind)
She had flowers in her light brown hair, a color like caramel or thick warm buttery spring chocolate. Her dress was a dandelion yellow, but had been marred by all kinds of stains and rips so much so that the color was almost lost.
“Are you a little fae girl?”
She giggled. “Have you come to my lands, mortal boy?”
“I come to seek knowledge of your ancient race!”
They both collapsed into a fit of giggles.
“You look like you’re my age, are you really hundreds of years old?”
“Hundreds and hundreds!” Mist said.
“I’m five,” Rolf said.
“I’m five-hundred,” Mist said.
“I’m looking for sticks,” Rolf said.
“So am I. For magic. Here, I’ll show you. I’ve got lots of practice, being five-hundred and all.”
They picked up firewood together sicking traditional childhood songs. She wove flowers into his hair when they had finished (“They’re magic,” she’d said) He thought she must have been fae considering that he lost a whole morning and afternoon as they passed by with such speed that he didn’t even realize the time had vanished on him. Rolf left after that, with
--
Rolf ran so fast that most of the flowers fell from his hair during the wild stumble through the forest. Upon reaching camp again he dropped the sticks to the ground.
“Rolf! We were worried,” Oscar admonished. “You shouldn’t run off like that. I sent Boyd off to find you and he got lost. I had to go find him.”
Rolf was still far too wrapped up in his cocoon of euphoria to take note of such admonishments. “You won’t believe it! I met a faerie girl!”He cried.
Boyd looked up from his seated position on a crumbling log. “Rolf, have you been eating the mushrooms around here again?”
“No! I really did! She was small and had flowers in her hair!”
“Haha, you wish!” Boyd shot back. “It was probably just a reflection of the light. Or little Rolfie was having dreams again.”
“Boyd–! Cut it out! You know I’m telling the truth!”
“Behave, you two,” Oscar warned.
“She was real. I’ll show you,” Rolf grumbled.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Oscar said.
With that, he searched through the dwindling food supplies. Taming animals was easiest done when they were hungry, and something told Oscar that these ‘fae children’ were just that. Well, it wouldn’t take much to send his brothers out to supplement for this strew. Oscar began by gathering some of the stream water and filtering and putting it up to boil. He stirred it in gentle strokes.
As the day turned into twilight the scent seemed to carry farther in the incoming night air.
He used the remaining most savory onions and meat for the stew, and cooked it slowly, stirring in the best, most aromatic spices he had left.
This was his enchantment. He watched the stew bubble and kept the fire burning strong. It was harder to accomplish in an open area where things could be overturned or where any errant wind could blow out their fire. Still, he’d had enough training to be a proficient cook in or out of the kitchen.
It took slightly longer than he had expected, but it wasn’t long before Oscar heard rustling in the bushes. He did not have to turn around to know that these footsteps were not those of wild animals. He did not have to turn to see those three small pairs of eyes that watched his every move. Oscar went on cooking as if he knew nothing of them there. He smiled knowingly to himself.
He heard voices behind, but nothing sounded particularly special about them. They did not jingle like bells or scatter into the air like a melody. Children, they might have been but fae was doubtful.
When he served up the helpings, it seemed their bellies got the better of them.
A girl stepped forward, in her stained sunshine dress and wilted flower headdress, she might pass as a royalty to the gypsies.
“Fae children, come to dine at our table?” Oscar said with the hint of concealed laughter in his voice.
“Fae girl!” Rolf cried. “See, I told you she was real, Boyd!”
“Just because there’s a girl doesn’t mean she’s a fae,” Boyd shot back.
There was the hiss of indiscernible conversation as another boy entered. A blue haired boy with a perpetual frown, as if he was squinting into the sun. With him followed another, far different child. He had the appearance of a creature that came from one’s nightmares, and he in truth did look like some darker fae creature. A goblin, a gremlin or something even blacker in the realm of the dark fae things.
“There’s enough to share,” Oscar said. He smiled, as always. This seemed to only make the sour-looking boy that much more suspicious.
Still, hunger got the best of whatever cautious restraint they had. The little girl and blue haired boy ate with relish. They ate like it was the best meal they had ever had or could remember and given their stare, that very well could be true. The boy looked suspiciously at him. He did not drink the stew with the desperation of a drowning man finally finding air. He sipped at it cautiously, as if it might bite back or contained some noxious poison hidden beneath the spices.
The little girl chatted with Rolf between bites. Soup spilled down her dress and added even more to the menagerie of stains. The blue haired boy was not quite as amiable, but that was more because when he ate his entire attention was laid to the food. The smaller, paler and darker boy said nothing whenever possible. If he was spoken to he gave little more than scornful, monosyllabic and suspicious answers.
When they had all finished their bowls (the blue haired boy came for seconds after finishing the leavings of the smaller boy’s portion)
“I don’t believe I know your names,” Oscar said.
“Oh, I forgot. I’m Ike, and this–” he pointed at the girl “is my sister Mist.”
“Hiii,” she said.
“This is Soren,” he motioned to the bitter boy “we found him along the way and he travels with us now.”
“Is that so..” Oscar said.
He didn’t mention their youth or how unsuited they were to traveling the woods alone. Beasts prowled here. Without his spear and Boyd’s skill with an axe, they might not have dared to come this way. Three children, two of them on the fragile side.. They were practically helpless. Oscar’s innate motherly instincts were already awakened.
“So why are you guys traveling out here anyways? Aren’t you a bit scrawny for this kind of thing?” Boyd burst in.
Oscar sighed internally. He had wanted to skirt such issues and gently convince them to stay a while longer. Boyd had metaphorically thrown a boot at the precious piece he had been attempting to painstakingly build.
Mist was unaffected in as she was lost in her bright world of faeries and princesses but Soren looked especially taken back by this. Before Ike could answer, he stopped him.
“You first,” he said tersely.
“Our dad died so Oscar pulled out of the knights and started to support us. We’re going to a job right now. After that we had an assignment in back near Crimea again,” Boyd interjected.
“We’re looking for our father,” Ike said before Soren could stop him.
“He’s a mercenary named Greil. He started a whole big mercenary group and it’s named right after him,” Mist piped in, somehow momentarily distracted from the faery world she had drawn Rolf into.
“Greil? That was the contractor we were going to check next, right Oscar?” Boyd said.
“Yes, that’s definitely the one.”
“You know our father?” Ike said.
“Not officially, no .I heard from another mercenary group that he was hiring. After taking care of a job for them, I was going to see if he would take us in,” Oscar said. He leaned on one elbow and supported his chin in a thoughtful manner.
“How coincidental,” Soren said in a rough voice that implied he thought it was anything but.
“I think it’s fate, or fae,” Rolf said. “How else would we have met like this? I bet if we stayed together good things will happen!”
“No thanks. We’ve got to find my father,” Ike said
“No? At least you could stay until we get out of this forest,” Oscar said. “We seem to be going the same way.”
Ike and Mist looked to Soren for guidance. He seemed to be utterly repulsed by the idea, but then most things seemed to repulse Soren.
“I suppose...it would be acceptable. But only until we’re free from Gallia..”
“Yippieee!” Rolf cried. “We’ll make flower bracelets and play make believe and oh! You can show me the berries to make for pie! Oscar makes such a yummy pie like you wouldn’t believe!”
“I don’t think we’ll be having any pie out here, Rolf. I don’t have any crusts. A kind of jam, however might be possible.”
Oscar smiled. They were smiling again, though it took some time to lift the sorrow from their shoulders where it had caught. It’d only been two weeks since he’d found out about their father’s untimely demise. During that time Rolf had cried until his eyes were swollen and red and Boyd had turned especially irritable. Oscar was too old for crying and now the one in charge. He couldn’t let himself become angry at nothing like Boyd had turned to. So Oscar smiled. And smiled and smiled until it felt like the muscles of his face might stretch and break into pieces. He banished all unhappy memories with the jobs and plans of what was to come. But with these travelers, these little fae strays it was the first night all three of them were truly happy. Rolf hadn’t cried himself to sleep and Boyd and Rolf had stopped arguing for two whole minutes or even more.
And Oscar, he had cooked until he burned himself and cut his fingers and had three new charges to take care of. Even if they only stayed a little while, these little fae ones were bound to bring some much needed good luck to them all.
--
Sephiran was drawn to the energy of the village. Burning ashes were all that was left of this highland, Daein village. Ruined, fallen out buildings and the wafting, lingering remains of these people’s last misery.
Where was their Goddess now with all her kindness and justice and shining mercy?
Sephiran walked through the ashes his footsteps crunching over bone fragments and the leavings of house walls. The wind echoed through this place, the sound was like a banshee’s cry of agony. It whipped at his hair and blew back the dark coal strands into his face. Sephiran listened through the sad screams of the night to the rustling he had first heard when flying over this ruined place. Fate had lead him here, and now he waited on its whim. He heard a sound and placed his hand on the door to the second house on the right. The wood itself was jammed and it took some force to free it.
Sephiran felt the disturbance in the air. This was a spirit’s dwelling. It had not taken long after humans had left this house for the spirits from the ether to take residence in this drafty, cold place. Smoke curled up from the middle in great grey plumes, though there was no visible fire to be see.
A boy sobbed in the corner of a ruined house. Tears made paths over his filthy cheeks. Already a red mark placed over the boy’s forehead, like a fingerprint left in blood. He had been touched by a spirit of this enclave. The mark was almost like that of a Dragon’s child, but not quite. It was only a true researcher who could tell the difference of such things.
“Come with me, child,” Sephiran said gently.
The boy lifted his eyes upward, fearful and hopeful all at once. He drew back like a frightened animal at the sight of Sephiran. His navy hair was so matted that it was hard to distinguish whether it was truly curls or simply a nest of burrs woven through his silky hair.
“I’ll take you home.”
“Mama?” he said.
“Soon, soon. She’s been waiting for you. She’s horribly worried.”
“Mama,” the boy sniffled.
He lifted the boy up carried him out of the bones of the town. Soon the child gave into the comforting embrace of sleep.
--
It took two day’s walk to go to the villa of the queen. The king, even in his madness had at least the mercy to let her live. Though, it was debatable if that was truly mercy when she was forced to live a life devoid of everything she had ever held precious. He pushed open the heavy vine-strangled gates and slipped into the garden. There was no guard and he guessed that there was at most, one or two servants. No one dared rob the mad queen,
He supposed it would be hard even finding servants who would be willing to work for a person with such a colored past. The local people always found ways of filling mysterious spaces with the most fanciful, yet horrifying of explanations.
He held the boy’s hand and guided him past rusted out fountains with dirty water. Weeds had overtaken the gardens and spread hungry limbs over the spaces in the stone path. A knocker made of a gargoyle’s head cast in dark metal was there. Black metal framed over the sides of the heavy, dark-tinged door. When no answer came, he tried opening it.
She stood within the lounge and stared out at the window. She was blank, uncomprehending and so far off within another world that it seemed a crime to disturb her. Still, disturb he must.
The furniture was draped in sheets like a child pretending to be a ghost. She herself looked like a specter amidst the dust and memories of this room.
He drew closer in approach of this mad woman of past. She had once been great and feared but now she was just a legend, a thing to warn children of and leave them shivering in their beds.
“Greetings, queen.” Sephiran bowed. “I’ve found your son.”
The fallen queen whirled around to face him. In her eyes was the fierceness of a spirit pushed farther than the limits of her body could stand. He could feel the power of her, unhinged, a fiery explosion waiting to happen.
She still remained proud despite her imprisonment. While the cage may have been of gold, she was little more than a bird that had kept his attention for a short while but had been cast aside when his expectations were not met. She wore all black, as if in perpetual mourning. A veil covered her oval shaped face, but it was translucent enough that he could still see her eyes. Those eyes were full of a mix of sadness and fury, a constant fluctuation of hot and cold, emotions twirling and dancing in the confines of her madness.
It could only lead to a storm.
“My child,” she gasped.
She looked at the child with searching eyes and for one brief moment Sephiran wondered if the deception would fail. Still, her powers were dulled enough by the madness and human-touched corruption of her powers. She could no longer sense her own blood continued.
“There requires the payment,” Sephiran said. His voice was cold and clear, like a winter’s night. She turned back from her child to face him again. Any warmth her face might have contained before at the sight of the boy had vanished.
“Payment?” she spat out. “Trust be your kind to demand more.”
“Your dragonstone,” Sephiran said.
“You’d take the last lifeblood from me? I have lost everything but my dear, sweet son,” she said.
“And isn’t his life a fair payment for that?”
She remained silent, her mouth twisted downwards in grim, hateful petulance.
“You know it is the will of the goddess,” Sephiran said.
“The goddesss sleeps. How would you know her wishes?!”
“I know many things,” Sephiran said. “Soon, soon enough she will wake. Do you wish to be part of her judgement?”
She gave him one last scornful glance before she reached into her dress. She procured a large, blood-red crystal and with it handed over a part of herself. No longer would she be a danger to the people of Daein. She would not vent her wrath upon them.
The boy ran to her, a long lost lamb that clung and snuggled against her. He was so starved that he would accept any mother or person that would loved him.
“My dear, dear son. We’ll never be apart now.”
The boy sniffled and buried himself against her. He clung for all that was worth. It wouldn’t hurt her to know that she had been given a substitute, a lamb that looked and smelled just like her own child. If it made her happy, what was the matter of blood?
When the villa and the queen’s madness was far behind him, Sephiran withdrew the payment. He felt the dragonstone glow underneath his fingers. The untold power of dragons... Dragons that had learned to contain their energy and walk among men.
Some had even married and intertwined their blood with the human’s more frail heritage. They were known by many names – Scalelings, halfbreeds, and Dragon’s children
“Now lead me to your new owner,” he whispered. “Show me her true blood child.”
The red stone turned clear and an image appeared within its angles. A forest, three children he knew well. A child whose hand he had guided without even realizing the full extent of that gesture.
Sephiran half smiled. Even he hadn’t foreseen such an irony.
“Fate, she works in mysterious ways.”
--
Fandom: FE9Au
Day/Theme: January 18th – warm strangers
Character/Pairing: Ike, Soren, Mist, Oscar, Boyd, Sephiran
Rating: PG
Word Count: 5,147
Chapter Summary: Three brothers travel through a small forest after the death of their parents. The youngest swears he saw faeries, the middle child is skeptical and the oldest finds methods of taming even the wildest of creatures.
A/N: Later than I wanted it to be...urf. Oh well, Nano allows little time for revision thus if I’d posted it then it would’ve been very rough indeed. Christmas had me busy with more Christmas gifts so yeah.
I hope to hurriedly finish the fourth chapter before the end of the month to catch up. Hopefully, might not make it, though as I have another project to get though–
Fae, Faery, Fairy and Faerie are all used in here and all apply. Let’s say..there’s no true translation of the world in this universe so even if one paragraph uses Fae and another uses Faery (or one uses it differently within the same sentence) any can and will apply. It’s not lazy writing, it’s an actual choice on my point.
Just putting that out there.
III. Fae Children (Ten)
It was warmer with Soren curled up with them. Soren had brought blankets and supplies so when they bedded down all three of them burrowed into the leaves in the hollows of trees and the wind howled and raged but blew over their hideaway.
Soren had more experience, and without him, they might have quickly starved. His memory was vice-like and he could tell apart the edible mushrooms, roots and berries from the poisonous ones.
“We need to keep searching,” Ike said.
“I can lead you there,” Soren said. He didn’t look at Ike as he said it, which was an anomaly. He always looked deep into the eyes like he was searching for something left there long ago.
“Which way are you headed? North should take us back to Crimea, far enough south and we’ll go into Goldoa, a place a myths and supposed dragons.”
“Well, we’re looking for father,” Ike replied.
“But where?” Soren said.
“We’ll find them where we find them,” Ike said.
If anyone else had said such a thing Soren would’ve rolled his eyes at such a careless notion. But as it was Ike, Soren said nothing. Even if their search party consisted of little more than a haphazard path of checking under every rock, Soren would lead Ike to every single rock in the land if need be.
“I can map out a path, we’re near to a town,” Soren said.
“You haven’t gotten lost once since we started, you must be really lucky, Soren,” Ike said.
“Hmm, Luck,” Soren said.
Hadn’t it been said so many times in paraphrase? Luck favored the bold, luck was tenacity of purpose. It hadn’t been luck that had lead him to Ike, it had been determination — and yes –– a certain element of chance.
It wasn’t luck that lead him now through these forests, it was something deeper and unknown. Something intrinsic, an instinctual knowledge of mapping within wild places.
Ike and Mist never questioned Soren’s knowledge. He seemed so experienced compared to them. He had seen parts of the world that they hadn’t, and it was a very bleak world indeed. It was as if all those years of quiet had kept bottled up a well of bitterness that burst into the air when unstopped. Soren found fault in everything and questioned every motive. His tongue was sharp and his opinions were always bitter. Unless it related to Ike, where he softened enough to be civil and even kind.
If Soren’s devotion to Ike was a river, his grudging acceptance of Mist were the streams that tapered off to the sides. She was Ike’s kin, and thus inexorably bound to the silent promise he had made to protect Ike, thus he accepted her every whim, no matter how unappealing.
“Faerie princess Soren!” she cried as she put flowers behind his ears and wove them into the ties on his robes.
Soren gave Ike a desperate look, but Ike was too busy trying to tame the flint and make it obey his command. As much as he struck it, only smoke and a few sparks that went out just before they drifted to the tinder.
“Let me,” Soren said. He brought out a book and stared directly at the tinder. He whispered nothings and moved his hands at exactly the right points. A spark lit fell to the wood and consumed it. A flower fell from his headdress and turned inwards as the flame licked at this offering. The smoke that rose was sweet smelling, and beloved to all of them.
“That’s amazing! ” Mist said.
“That’s great, Soren! We won’t be cold anymore now and the animals won’t bother us at night,” Ike said.
Soren found as always, a way to put a cynical side on things. “The tome will eventually break. We can’t misuse it.”
“Yeah, but for now we’ll have fire and hot meals,” Ike said. His optimism was catching.
Mist twirled around with flowers in her hair. She danced around the flame in ancient lost revelry. It did not solve the whole problem of food, however. Soren had managed to collect roots and berries, but they had a dry, chalky consistency and left an unpleasant aftertaste. Ike’s attempts at hunting hadn’t gone anywhere, though Soren had begun to weave and build snares.
They’d only caught a small sparrow, one that Mist couldn’t bear to eat and cried until they set it free. After that Soren thought maybe it would be best if any meat they caught was cleaned and indiscernible before she saw it.
They were still surviving. Without Soren they would have likely died hundreds of possible deaths without his small, bony hand to guide them.
They wandered for days through the forests of Gallia. The usually temperate woodland seemed endless, a living, breathing wave of trees and moss and ground that had sprung up around and surrounded them. What had once started as a grand adventure of heroes quickly turned less appealing as the nights turned colder. Autumn was not far away and with it would come winter. Soren had survived winter on the streets. He knew how the cold could penetrate skin and rags and how everything turned into a mere sliver of life. Survival was the only thing, even talking or thinking seemed a waste of precious resources.
Winter brought out the animalistic part in everyone. Soren found the best way to survive such a time was to find some place with live-in work. Monasteries, some innkeepers or shops would allow temporary help. Some were honorable, but others tended to ignore certain aspects of the contract, such as paying or allowing the worker to leave when the Spring came.
Perhaps, Soren thought, it would’ve been a wiser idea to stay with Father Radolphus.. At least when Winter was bearing down upon them with its grinning fangs glittering in the cold moonlight. Frost silvered over the grasses in the night. They huddled closer as the days lessened and gold began to line the falling leaves. Soren counted each day with foreboding.
--
Mist knew that there was something different about Soren. Whether fae or spirit, she didn’t know, But she noticed the little things: his hair was like a raven’s feathers, while seeming to be a coal black, it shone a greenish hue in the sunlight. His skin was too ashen and once she had seen Soren cut himself on a tree branch. The blood was red only for an instant before it turned deep black, like lava cooling and hardening after a fire storm. His deep blood-red eyes seemed to be inhuman, almost monstrous even down to the cat-like way they reflected light in the dark that gave them the impression of glowing red in the moonlight.
But far from afraid, she was elated to have a new fae or magical playmate. She promised she’d keep that secret safe. And she kept that well, so well she even kept it from Soren himself.
--
Hoofbeats were the loudest sound in the deepening forest. Bird’s cries, the nightly chorus of insects all seemed background music to their old dun mare. Their steed patiently obeyed her rider’s odd request of over the rough path of the forest. She no doubt thought her owners madmen, but followed their command nonetheless. Oscar patted her flank as he walked on beside her.
“Good girl,” he said in that same soothing, calm voice. She nickered.
“Are we there yet? I’m getting seriously sick of trees,” Boyd said.
“Soon enough, Boyd. Soon enough.”
“Can I ride again?” Rolf, the youngest brother said. “I’m tiiiiredd.”
Oscar dismounted and Rolf let out a yippie as he sat astride their dun mare again. They rode on even as the sun drew sleepily into the horizon. The light peeked through the dark finger like branches that reached up as if they were in praise of the creation.
It wasn’t long before they came to an enclave of sorts. It was on the banks of a shallow stream that cut through the woods in zigzag tears across the face of the dark, damp earth. It was soft enough, and suitable enough with no apparent dangers so Oscar deemed it good enough.
“I suppose it is getting late. We should stop for the night,” Oscar said.
“I’ll go collect firewood!” Rolf chirped.
“Not alone you won’t,” Oscar said.
“Me? But I was the one walking all day, he was the one who rode!” Boyd said.
“Boyd.,” Oscar said.
“Alright, alright.”
Oscar unloaded the dun mare and tied her reins to a tree. He lead her to the stream where the cool water filtered through the pebbles. It was slightly brown, but she drank gratefully.
That being done, he unloaded the heaviest of their belongings, and the most precious. Each iron or steel pan was laid about with care as he brought out another helping of their dwindling supplies.
With that, he began to work his magic. He drew the water and touched the bundle of the precious flint-sticks – the necessary tools of the non-magicians. Soon he’d be feeding licking flames and stewing their dinner. Not quite yet, but soon.
Still, it couldn’t hurt to get prepared. Oscar drew water and readied it to be boiled. He washed and began to slice the potatoes using a small knife he had purchased two towns ago. Soon the bag would be empty, they were also running low on vegetables.
There was enough for a few more days but after that they’d either have to reach their destination fast or survive off of the woods. Oscar lifted his head as he heard the crashing of Boyd stomping in and dumping a pile of sticks as willing offerings for the fire. Soon Rolf came in carrying a smaller load.
“Just in time,” Oscar said with a smile. He piled them un in a triangular form, like an altar and scraped the flint-sticks. It took several tries and sparks before the flame caught. They built it a flame-mansion and fed it as much as it desired. In the firelight Oscar brought forth the tools of his trade and began to boil his concoction.
--
Rolf snuck off in the morning, determined to do his share of the work. Boyd had spent his share of the stick collecting doing little but complaining. In the end Rolf had picked up most of the sticks
He heard a humming beyond the other path, the one with flowers growing near the large scarred rock. Everyone knew that rocks with flowers growing beside them were gateways to another world, a place where fae lived in endless reveling and days passed like years for the eternally young. There had been many a tale told of those blessed and cursed to lay their head at the Fae queen’s lap. When they returned, their families, their friends – all had long since died as time steadily wound its way on without them.
Still, Rolf’s curiosity got the better of his story filled fear. Just think how jealous Boyd would be when he found out that Rolf had been the one to see the beautiful fae girl and not him—
He pushed aside the reeds, and caused more noise than he intended to. Still, the humming persisted. Either this faerie was very brave and not shy at all like the tales told, or she hadn’t heard him (or assumed him a woodland creature. A mouse, or a quail of some kind)
She had flowers in her light brown hair, a color like caramel or thick warm buttery spring chocolate. Her dress was a dandelion yellow, but had been marred by all kinds of stains and rips so much so that the color was almost lost.
“Are you a little fae girl?”
She giggled. “Have you come to my lands, mortal boy?”
“I come to seek knowledge of your ancient race!”
They both collapsed into a fit of giggles.
“You look like you’re my age, are you really hundreds of years old?”
“Hundreds and hundreds!” Mist said.
“I’m five,” Rolf said.
“I’m five-hundred,” Mist said.
“I’m looking for sticks,” Rolf said.
“So am I. For magic. Here, I’ll show you. I’ve got lots of practice, being five-hundred and all.”
They picked up firewood together sicking traditional childhood songs. She wove flowers into his hair when they had finished (“They’re magic,” she’d said) He thought she must have been fae considering that he lost a whole morning and afternoon as they passed by with such speed that he didn’t even realize the time had vanished on him. Rolf left after that, with
--
Rolf ran so fast that most of the flowers fell from his hair during the wild stumble through the forest. Upon reaching camp again he dropped the sticks to the ground.
“Rolf! We were worried,” Oscar admonished. “You shouldn’t run off like that. I sent Boyd off to find you and he got lost. I had to go find him.”
Rolf was still far too wrapped up in his cocoon of euphoria to take note of such admonishments. “You won’t believe it! I met a faerie girl!”He cried.
Boyd looked up from his seated position on a crumbling log. “Rolf, have you been eating the mushrooms around here again?”
“No! I really did! She was small and had flowers in her hair!”
“Haha, you wish!” Boyd shot back. “It was probably just a reflection of the light. Or little Rolfie was having dreams again.”
“Boyd–! Cut it out! You know I’m telling the truth!”
“Behave, you two,” Oscar warned.
“She was real. I’ll show you,” Rolf grumbled.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Oscar said.
With that, he searched through the dwindling food supplies. Taming animals was easiest done when they were hungry, and something told Oscar that these ‘fae children’ were just that. Well, it wouldn’t take much to send his brothers out to supplement for this strew. Oscar began by gathering some of the stream water and filtering and putting it up to boil. He stirred it in gentle strokes.
As the day turned into twilight the scent seemed to carry farther in the incoming night air.
He used the remaining most savory onions and meat for the stew, and cooked it slowly, stirring in the best, most aromatic spices he had left.
This was his enchantment. He watched the stew bubble and kept the fire burning strong. It was harder to accomplish in an open area where things could be overturned or where any errant wind could blow out their fire. Still, he’d had enough training to be a proficient cook in or out of the kitchen.
It took slightly longer than he had expected, but it wasn’t long before Oscar heard rustling in the bushes. He did not have to turn around to know that these footsteps were not those of wild animals. He did not have to turn to see those three small pairs of eyes that watched his every move. Oscar went on cooking as if he knew nothing of them there. He smiled knowingly to himself.
He heard voices behind, but nothing sounded particularly special about them. They did not jingle like bells or scatter into the air like a melody. Children, they might have been but fae was doubtful.
When he served up the helpings, it seemed their bellies got the better of them.
A girl stepped forward, in her stained sunshine dress and wilted flower headdress, she might pass as a royalty to the gypsies.
“Fae children, come to dine at our table?” Oscar said with the hint of concealed laughter in his voice.
“Fae girl!” Rolf cried. “See, I told you she was real, Boyd!”
“Just because there’s a girl doesn’t mean she’s a fae,” Boyd shot back.
There was the hiss of indiscernible conversation as another boy entered. A blue haired boy with a perpetual frown, as if he was squinting into the sun. With him followed another, far different child. He had the appearance of a creature that came from one’s nightmares, and he in truth did look like some darker fae creature. A goblin, a gremlin or something even blacker in the realm of the dark fae things.
“There’s enough to share,” Oscar said. He smiled, as always. This seemed to only make the sour-looking boy that much more suspicious.
Still, hunger got the best of whatever cautious restraint they had. The little girl and blue haired boy ate with relish. They ate like it was the best meal they had ever had or could remember and given their stare, that very well could be true. The boy looked suspiciously at him. He did not drink the stew with the desperation of a drowning man finally finding air. He sipped at it cautiously, as if it might bite back or contained some noxious poison hidden beneath the spices.
The little girl chatted with Rolf between bites. Soup spilled down her dress and added even more to the menagerie of stains. The blue haired boy was not quite as amiable, but that was more because when he ate his entire attention was laid to the food. The smaller, paler and darker boy said nothing whenever possible. If he was spoken to he gave little more than scornful, monosyllabic and suspicious answers.
When they had all finished their bowls (the blue haired boy came for seconds after finishing the leavings of the smaller boy’s portion)
“I don’t believe I know your names,” Oscar said.
“Oh, I forgot. I’m Ike, and this–” he pointed at the girl “is my sister Mist.”
“Hiii,” she said.
“This is Soren,” he motioned to the bitter boy “we found him along the way and he travels with us now.”
“Is that so..” Oscar said.
He didn’t mention their youth or how unsuited they were to traveling the woods alone. Beasts prowled here. Without his spear and Boyd’s skill with an axe, they might not have dared to come this way. Three children, two of them on the fragile side.. They were practically helpless. Oscar’s innate motherly instincts were already awakened.
“So why are you guys traveling out here anyways? Aren’t you a bit scrawny for this kind of thing?” Boyd burst in.
Oscar sighed internally. He had wanted to skirt such issues and gently convince them to stay a while longer. Boyd had metaphorically thrown a boot at the precious piece he had been attempting to painstakingly build.
Mist was unaffected in as she was lost in her bright world of faeries and princesses but Soren looked especially taken back by this. Before Ike could answer, he stopped him.
“You first,” he said tersely.
“Our dad died so Oscar pulled out of the knights and started to support us. We’re going to a job right now. After that we had an assignment in back near Crimea again,” Boyd interjected.
“We’re looking for our father,” Ike said before Soren could stop him.
“He’s a mercenary named Greil. He started a whole big mercenary group and it’s named right after him,” Mist piped in, somehow momentarily distracted from the faery world she had drawn Rolf into.
“Greil? That was the contractor we were going to check next, right Oscar?” Boyd said.
“Yes, that’s definitely the one.”
“You know our father?” Ike said.
“Not officially, no .I heard from another mercenary group that he was hiring. After taking care of a job for them, I was going to see if he would take us in,” Oscar said. He leaned on one elbow and supported his chin in a thoughtful manner.
“How coincidental,” Soren said in a rough voice that implied he thought it was anything but.
“I think it’s fate, or fae,” Rolf said. “How else would we have met like this? I bet if we stayed together good things will happen!”
“No thanks. We’ve got to find my father,” Ike said
“No? At least you could stay until we get out of this forest,” Oscar said. “We seem to be going the same way.”
Ike and Mist looked to Soren for guidance. He seemed to be utterly repulsed by the idea, but then most things seemed to repulse Soren.
“I suppose...it would be acceptable. But only until we’re free from Gallia..”
“Yippieee!” Rolf cried. “We’ll make flower bracelets and play make believe and oh! You can show me the berries to make for pie! Oscar makes such a yummy pie like you wouldn’t believe!”
“I don’t think we’ll be having any pie out here, Rolf. I don’t have any crusts. A kind of jam, however might be possible.”
Oscar smiled. They were smiling again, though it took some time to lift the sorrow from their shoulders where it had caught. It’d only been two weeks since he’d found out about their father’s untimely demise. During that time Rolf had cried until his eyes were swollen and red and Boyd had turned especially irritable. Oscar was too old for crying and now the one in charge. He couldn’t let himself become angry at nothing like Boyd had turned to. So Oscar smiled. And smiled and smiled until it felt like the muscles of his face might stretch and break into pieces. He banished all unhappy memories with the jobs and plans of what was to come. But with these travelers, these little fae strays it was the first night all three of them were truly happy. Rolf hadn’t cried himself to sleep and Boyd and Rolf had stopped arguing for two whole minutes or even more.
And Oscar, he had cooked until he burned himself and cut his fingers and had three new charges to take care of. Even if they only stayed a little while, these little fae ones were bound to bring some much needed good luck to them all.
--
Sephiran was drawn to the energy of the village. Burning ashes were all that was left of this highland, Daein village. Ruined, fallen out buildings and the wafting, lingering remains of these people’s last misery.
Where was their Goddess now with all her kindness and justice and shining mercy?
Sephiran walked through the ashes his footsteps crunching over bone fragments and the leavings of house walls. The wind echoed through this place, the sound was like a banshee’s cry of agony. It whipped at his hair and blew back the dark coal strands into his face. Sephiran listened through the sad screams of the night to the rustling he had first heard when flying over this ruined place. Fate had lead him here, and now he waited on its whim. He heard a sound and placed his hand on the door to the second house on the right. The wood itself was jammed and it took some force to free it.
Sephiran felt the disturbance in the air. This was a spirit’s dwelling. It had not taken long after humans had left this house for the spirits from the ether to take residence in this drafty, cold place. Smoke curled up from the middle in great grey plumes, though there was no visible fire to be see.
A boy sobbed in the corner of a ruined house. Tears made paths over his filthy cheeks. Already a red mark placed over the boy’s forehead, like a fingerprint left in blood. He had been touched by a spirit of this enclave. The mark was almost like that of a Dragon’s child, but not quite. It was only a true researcher who could tell the difference of such things.
“Come with me, child,” Sephiran said gently.
The boy lifted his eyes upward, fearful and hopeful all at once. He drew back like a frightened animal at the sight of Sephiran. His navy hair was so matted that it was hard to distinguish whether it was truly curls or simply a nest of burrs woven through his silky hair.
“I’ll take you home.”
“Mama?” he said.
“Soon, soon. She’s been waiting for you. She’s horribly worried.”
“Mama,” the boy sniffled.
He lifted the boy up carried him out of the bones of the town. Soon the child gave into the comforting embrace of sleep.
--
It took two day’s walk to go to the villa of the queen. The king, even in his madness had at least the mercy to let her live. Though, it was debatable if that was truly mercy when she was forced to live a life devoid of everything she had ever held precious. He pushed open the heavy vine-strangled gates and slipped into the garden. There was no guard and he guessed that there was at most, one or two servants. No one dared rob the mad queen,
He supposed it would be hard even finding servants who would be willing to work for a person with such a colored past. The local people always found ways of filling mysterious spaces with the most fanciful, yet horrifying of explanations.
He held the boy’s hand and guided him past rusted out fountains with dirty water. Weeds had overtaken the gardens and spread hungry limbs over the spaces in the stone path. A knocker made of a gargoyle’s head cast in dark metal was there. Black metal framed over the sides of the heavy, dark-tinged door. When no answer came, he tried opening it.
She stood within the lounge and stared out at the window. She was blank, uncomprehending and so far off within another world that it seemed a crime to disturb her. Still, disturb he must.
The furniture was draped in sheets like a child pretending to be a ghost. She herself looked like a specter amidst the dust and memories of this room.
He drew closer in approach of this mad woman of past. She had once been great and feared but now she was just a legend, a thing to warn children of and leave them shivering in their beds.
“Greetings, queen.” Sephiran bowed. “I’ve found your son.”
The fallen queen whirled around to face him. In her eyes was the fierceness of a spirit pushed farther than the limits of her body could stand. He could feel the power of her, unhinged, a fiery explosion waiting to happen.
She still remained proud despite her imprisonment. While the cage may have been of gold, she was little more than a bird that had kept his attention for a short while but had been cast aside when his expectations were not met. She wore all black, as if in perpetual mourning. A veil covered her oval shaped face, but it was translucent enough that he could still see her eyes. Those eyes were full of a mix of sadness and fury, a constant fluctuation of hot and cold, emotions twirling and dancing in the confines of her madness.
It could only lead to a storm.
“My child,” she gasped.
She looked at the child with searching eyes and for one brief moment Sephiran wondered if the deception would fail. Still, her powers were dulled enough by the madness and human-touched corruption of her powers. She could no longer sense her own blood continued.
“There requires the payment,” Sephiran said. His voice was cold and clear, like a winter’s night. She turned back from her child to face him again. Any warmth her face might have contained before at the sight of the boy had vanished.
“Payment?” she spat out. “Trust be your kind to demand more.”
“Your dragonstone,” Sephiran said.
“You’d take the last lifeblood from me? I have lost everything but my dear, sweet son,” she said.
“And isn’t his life a fair payment for that?”
She remained silent, her mouth twisted downwards in grim, hateful petulance.
“You know it is the will of the goddess,” Sephiran said.
“The goddesss sleeps. How would you know her wishes?!”
“I know many things,” Sephiran said. “Soon, soon enough she will wake. Do you wish to be part of her judgement?”
She gave him one last scornful glance before she reached into her dress. She procured a large, blood-red crystal and with it handed over a part of herself. No longer would she be a danger to the people of Daein. She would not vent her wrath upon them.
The boy ran to her, a long lost lamb that clung and snuggled against her. He was so starved that he would accept any mother or person that would loved him.
“My dear, dear son. We’ll never be apart now.”
The boy sniffled and buried himself against her. He clung for all that was worth. It wouldn’t hurt her to know that she had been given a substitute, a lamb that looked and smelled just like her own child. If it made her happy, what was the matter of blood?
When the villa and the queen’s madness was far behind him, Sephiran withdrew the payment. He felt the dragonstone glow underneath his fingers. The untold power of dragons... Dragons that had learned to contain their energy and walk among men.
Some had even married and intertwined their blood with the human’s more frail heritage. They were known by many names – Scalelings, halfbreeds, and Dragon’s children
“Now lead me to your new owner,” he whispered. “Show me her true blood child.”
The red stone turned clear and an image appeared within its angles. A forest, three children he knew well. A child whose hand he had guided without even realizing the full extent of that gesture.
Sephiran half smiled. Even he hadn’t foreseen such an irony.
“Fate, she works in mysterious ways.”
--
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Love the Soren as dark creature parts - and oh my, a Dragonstone. I always wondered what would happen if he had one of those...
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“Faerie princess Soren!”
XDDDDD I really, really want somebody to draw fan art for this. You don't know how much. XD Would he tell Mist her cooking is good because Ike wants him to be nice?
I also found Mist's secret knowledge and her willingness to accept it really kind of sweet and interesting. And the details she noted about Soren make his appearance so much more interesting in my mental picture. He has a niec character design and all, but the cat-like eyes, for instance, really add depth.
Oscar's idea of bait is really awesome. I love your Oscar! And and-- what kind of stew? And he could find some herbs out in the forest I bet - or Soren could, and I mention it because that's like, bonding time or whatever passes for such when it's with Soren, which means it's one-sided. I guess wild herbs depend on the region, so that might not be wise to ask for. :P
Lehran, that is-- that's just harsh. Really. That's just not nice. I'm impressed. You're even hotter when you're evil~ <3
This made me think just now - and I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner - he must have known all along he was screwing Almedha over, and... well, he's Dheginsea's friend, so I assumed he had some affection for the guy's children. GUESS I WAS WRONG.
Are the stones described in the games, or did you make that up? Or is this different from the seeing stones Almedha and Kurth used to communicate?
God, I just realized Almedha is going to shape Pelleas from early childhood. He's going to be as crazy as she is.
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This was a chapter I was really looking forward to just for that Oscar part. I liked writing him a lot. There's this sort of constant bemused quality to him which is subtle yet interesting to write.
Actually, this is an aspect of Rekka/Fire Emblem 7 I incorporated into the larger scheme of this AU. In various FEs (I believe it started at FE6) you can eventually get a Mamkute/Manakete to join you. They're these dragons in human form to save energy and transform back via a crystal which holds their energy called a dragonstone. Tellius had the overall Laguz tribes which expanded it, and they don't require stones to transform.
Well, I'd like to think that while it was hardly fueled by just compassion, he was trying to basically save her from herself. Because seriously she was one mood swing away from being the Godzilla to Daein's Tokyo. Now she just goes about her Villa, braids her hair and hums and holds Pelleas close and goes My preeeecioooouuuusss. I'm sure Pelleas will become quite the neurotic mama's boy, but his crazy will be the harmless gentle kind.