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Fire Emblem 7 - Lyn's Tale - Chapter 1
Uhh, so here's more of this, I guess.
I feel sort of like I slip into boring bits and unfunny bits and I worry that parts come off as gratuitously OOC. :x I guess some of you wanted to see this though.
Lyn's Tale (Fire Emblem 7) - Chapter One
Genre: Humor/Drama
Word Count: ~2000
PG-13 for profanity and violence and bad jokes.
Prologue here.
When I was a child, the tribe's shaman foretold that I would never be Chief of the Lorca. I was profoundly upset, and so were my parents, for my mother's womb was wounded in bearing me. As much as she tried, she never bore another child. And yet Hassar's child would not be Chief -- what could that mean?
The realization of that prophecy was as ill as we dreaded. But, before that, my father did a great deal of consulting with the wisemen and speaking to the Earth, and he said that it had been spoken to him that I should still rise to greatness -- not by birth, but my own accord.
My father was a very practical man. If he hadn't revered the spirits he would have called it bullshit. (He said it was bullshit anyway, and later that year his favorite horse's hoof caught in a burrow and nearly killed both of them.) Becoming chief had always been a matter of strength as much as birthright, and if I hadn't been born for any sort of greatness why should I achieve it at all?
My mother took it in stride and tried to convince him that it was possible to be great without doing anything. They didn't talk to each other for roughly a week after the ensuing argument.
In any event, after the Taliver attack, I tried all the lower forms of divination to seek some guidance in how any greatness could come from me after my tattered tribe would sooner disperse than follow me.
Charred bones either told me that I should skin a mole and feed its entrails to a dragon while singing a Nabatan hymn, or strip while eating a desert lizard in a bar. The signs were rather unclear. I had plans to do neither of those things.
The stars told me that I may find myself dealing with new people soon. I may be chosen to see that everything runs smoothly. I should accept sacrifices and put my mind to overcoming obstacles, and I may enjoy dinner away from home that evening. (I ended up finding nothing to eat that particular night.)
Finally, while gazing half-heartedly into a half-empty cup of tea, I saw the silhouette of Bulgar, along with a number that, in the Sacaen calendar, corresponded to the day after Mark's arrival.
No prophecy ever mentioned Mark. I imagine I would have found my fate even if I had skewered Mark for trying to steal my willow-tea and finished my journey alone. Mark was my own foresight. Since “Mark” is now rotting in his own filth in an Etrurian prison as I enjoy myself behind the throne of Ostia, I believe it has been well worth the trouble.
So, when we set off the next morning, I told him that we should stop by in Bulgar for supplies. I had just finished bartering with a particularly obstinate merchant when a man cried, "Oh, my heart! What a dazzling vision of loveliness!"
I turned and beheld a lecherous green-garbed brunet, clopping through the streets on a distinctly overworked horse. Look, Mark, your future self!
"Wait, O beauteous one! Would you not favour me with your name? Or better yet, your company?"
I decided that Mark alone was sufficient for my purposes, and I wasn't sure how many more of him I could bear. "Where are you from, sir knight, that you speak so freely to a stranger?"
Beside me, Mark gave the knight the international signal for "She's taken" with his eyes.
As a rough approximation of what he said, he said he was from Caelin, home to men so virile that women fell to their knees before them within seconds.
Tactically veiled, of course. And so I briefly insinuated that they were the ones with skilled tonguework, and left him (and Mark) gaping as I found my way through the crowd.
When we were out of earshot, Mark said, "That was awesome." I shrugged. "No, really. I've never met a woman like you before."
I was tempted to reply, Yes, I've always found the Bernese to have particularly dull wits. Instead I asked, "Did you find tinderboxes?"
He looked at me blankly. "Tinderboxes?"
"Yes. For starting a fire on the road."
"You're an arsonist?" Yes, Mark, I asked to join you in aimless meandering across the continent for the sole purpose of lighting passing caravans on fire.
I briefly fantasized about letting Mark be eaten by a wolf. "For campfires. To keep away mosquitoes and animals. You didn't get one, did you." He shook his head, and as I sighed and led us back to the market, I considered replacing him with the knight. Lecherous might be better than daft. However, it was possible that the knight was daft as well as lecherous and if I were to seek a replacement I would prefer him to be none of the above.
Upon approaching the market, there were two knights in the middle of the road. Clearly knights multiplied like fleas.
"Excuse me! You’re blocking the road. If you would be so kind as to move your horses..."
"Of course. My apologies..."
I considered replacing Mark with the flea knight until he asked me if we had met before, the daftest attempt at lechery ever conceived by man. I bought the tinderboxes and left Bulgar feeling distinctly cheated. Perhaps my tea leaves had sat too long in the jar. Did that make a difference?
Then Mark said something generic and irritating. When I looked back to address him, I saw a group of men headed straight for us. "Run! We're being pursued!" I yelled, wondering if Mark had stolen something from someone.
"Lyn! Slow down!" he whined.
I did not slow down. I darted over the plains with such speed that I ran straight into the group of bandits waiting for me.
One stepped forth and said, "Heh heh hehhh... Aren’t you the pretty one! Your name is Lyndis, is it not?"
Why am I always surrounded by daft, lecherous men?
And for that matter, who told him my name?
"Such a waste. An absolute waste. The things I’d do for gold... Ah, well. Time to die, darlin’! C’mon out, boys!"
He had three underlings. Three. Clearly he was not bright enough to save most of his men for the ambush, and sent too many in the pursuit.
Maintaining this farce was already tiring. In hindsight, I could understand why my mother detested it so much that she would go so far as to leave with my father. At that particular moment, however, I knew nothing about that. I was busy singing the tune of a damsel in distress, for Mark's ungrateful benefit.
"Oh no! There are more than I can handle... But I’ll not give up!"
And then, as if I had rang the alarm bell of a maiden in danger, I heard a voice behind me.
The flea knights.
"Whew... Finally caught up... Hold! You there! What is your business? Such numbers against a girl? Cowards, every one of you!"
There is a well-known Sacaen proverb that roughly translates to, "In times of danger, throw the most disposable people into the bonfire and hope the spirits are satisfied." My people considered it an antiquated and uncivilized saying. So did I. Usually.
I mustered up the strength for one last attempt at decency. "No! This is my fight! Stay out of my way!'
At which point the red flea knight turned to Mark and said, "I have a solution. You there, command us. I am Kent, a knight of Lycia. My companion is Sain. We will follow your orders in this battle. Is that acceptable, milady?"
I had never before met anyone so eager to be thrown into the fire.
"Yes, it is," I finally managed. "Mark and I will lead! Let’s go!"
As it happened, the flea knights were reasonably skilled fighters. The lecherous one, Sain, was well-trained if stupid (but Mark's -- my -- orders solved that problem). The lecherous daft one, Kent, fought as if it would be disgraceful to go home alive.
I was not amused at the amount of salve it took to tend to him after the battle. Unfortunately, in light of the journey before him, letting him die his noble death was not an option.
"Accompany us to Caelin. Continuing on this way is dangerous," Kent said, with eyes that said he was either loyal enough or insane enough to die so that I would not have to suffer the indignity of a single bruise. No, but that wouldn't do. I needed him around to he could die so I would not have to suffer the indignity of losing an arm. I would have to communicate this to him, eventually. Perhaps a line such as "You shouldn't take such risks. You're too important to me." Something like that.
For now, I told him, "I feel I have little choice. I will go with you."
And so I took the flea knights into my company as we headed to take my birthright in Caelin. For my departed father, I murmured in Lorcan, "This is total bullshit." His spirit nodded sagely to me from across the river of death.
As I finished tending to Kent's innumerable injuries – Sain, for all Kent's chastising, emerged from the battle remarkably intact, although his horse should be replaced at our soonest luxury – I saw Mark hunched over, his eyes contemplative. Perhaps he was weighing the costs now: Were amorous relations with me worth the danger of leading a tattered group against my uncle's army?
“Mark," I called to him, soft as the sound of willow-tea plants crushed under his foot. "I’m sorry. This changes everything. What do you want me to do, Mark?"
"The hell do I care," he mumbled.
Ever the gentleman. Pretending not to hear his tone of voice, I said, "You... want me to decide?"
And honestly, I was not sure if I wanted him here. We had just begun. At this moment, he was infinitely replaceable. He had shown himself to be talentless, irritating, and now? Perhaps even undedicated. I could replace him with a word, and if the Lady of Chance were not irate, his replacement would be better.
If I did not seek to replace him now, it might soon be too late.
I tested these words to myself: "Of course, your companionship would do much to ease my journey, but... it’s going to be so dangerous." I stressed my voice in different parts to make it sound genuine, but I could not even fool myself. "You’ll come? ... Are you sure? ... Thank you! ... Let me ask once again for your friendship and your aid."
No. No, this would not do.
I eyed Mark. He, in turn, was eying the pouch of coins hanging from Kent's saddle.
"If you want to go," I said tersely, "go."
He looked at me with surprise. "What?" he said simply.
"I'd rather you leave now than sneak away later," I said. "If you do not wish to travel with us, then don't." Leave before you steal anything, I added silently.
He glanced again at me, at the knights, and at the land behind me – the mountains of Bern. "Are you for real?"
"Yes."
When he said nothing more and left, I knew I had made the right choice. I returned to the company of the flea knights and smiled.
I feel sort of like I slip into boring bits and unfunny bits and I worry that parts come off as gratuitously OOC. :x I guess some of you wanted to see this though.
Lyn's Tale (Fire Emblem 7) - Chapter One
Genre: Humor/Drama
Word Count: ~2000
PG-13 for profanity and violence and bad jokes.
Prologue here.
When I was a child, the tribe's shaman foretold that I would never be Chief of the Lorca. I was profoundly upset, and so were my parents, for my mother's womb was wounded in bearing me. As much as she tried, she never bore another child. And yet Hassar's child would not be Chief -- what could that mean?
The realization of that prophecy was as ill as we dreaded. But, before that, my father did a great deal of consulting with the wisemen and speaking to the Earth, and he said that it had been spoken to him that I should still rise to greatness -- not by birth, but my own accord.
My father was a very practical man. If he hadn't revered the spirits he would have called it bullshit. (He said it was bullshit anyway, and later that year his favorite horse's hoof caught in a burrow and nearly killed both of them.) Becoming chief had always been a matter of strength as much as birthright, and if I hadn't been born for any sort of greatness why should I achieve it at all?
My mother took it in stride and tried to convince him that it was possible to be great without doing anything. They didn't talk to each other for roughly a week after the ensuing argument.
In any event, after the Taliver attack, I tried all the lower forms of divination to seek some guidance in how any greatness could come from me after my tattered tribe would sooner disperse than follow me.
Charred bones either told me that I should skin a mole and feed its entrails to a dragon while singing a Nabatan hymn, or strip while eating a desert lizard in a bar. The signs were rather unclear. I had plans to do neither of those things.
The stars told me that I may find myself dealing with new people soon. I may be chosen to see that everything runs smoothly. I should accept sacrifices and put my mind to overcoming obstacles, and I may enjoy dinner away from home that evening. (I ended up finding nothing to eat that particular night.)
Finally, while gazing half-heartedly into a half-empty cup of tea, I saw the silhouette of Bulgar, along with a number that, in the Sacaen calendar, corresponded to the day after Mark's arrival.
No prophecy ever mentioned Mark. I imagine I would have found my fate even if I had skewered Mark for trying to steal my willow-tea and finished my journey alone. Mark was my own foresight. Since “Mark” is now rotting in his own filth in an Etrurian prison as I enjoy myself behind the throne of Ostia, I believe it has been well worth the trouble.
So, when we set off the next morning, I told him that we should stop by in Bulgar for supplies. I had just finished bartering with a particularly obstinate merchant when a man cried, "Oh, my heart! What a dazzling vision of loveliness!"
I turned and beheld a lecherous green-garbed brunet, clopping through the streets on a distinctly overworked horse. Look, Mark, your future self!
"Wait, O beauteous one! Would you not favour me with your name? Or better yet, your company?"
I decided that Mark alone was sufficient for my purposes, and I wasn't sure how many more of him I could bear. "Where are you from, sir knight, that you speak so freely to a stranger?"
Beside me, Mark gave the knight the international signal for "She's taken" with his eyes.
As a rough approximation of what he said, he said he was from Caelin, home to men so virile that women fell to their knees before them within seconds.
Tactically veiled, of course. And so I briefly insinuated that they were the ones with skilled tonguework, and left him (and Mark) gaping as I found my way through the crowd.
When we were out of earshot, Mark said, "That was awesome." I shrugged. "No, really. I've never met a woman like you before."
I was tempted to reply, Yes, I've always found the Bernese to have particularly dull wits. Instead I asked, "Did you find tinderboxes?"
He looked at me blankly. "Tinderboxes?"
"Yes. For starting a fire on the road."
"You're an arsonist?" Yes, Mark, I asked to join you in aimless meandering across the continent for the sole purpose of lighting passing caravans on fire.
I briefly fantasized about letting Mark be eaten by a wolf. "For campfires. To keep away mosquitoes and animals. You didn't get one, did you." He shook his head, and as I sighed and led us back to the market, I considered replacing him with the knight. Lecherous might be better than daft. However, it was possible that the knight was daft as well as lecherous and if I were to seek a replacement I would prefer him to be none of the above.
Upon approaching the market, there were two knights in the middle of the road. Clearly knights multiplied like fleas.
"Excuse me! You’re blocking the road. If you would be so kind as to move your horses..."
"Of course. My apologies..."
I considered replacing Mark with the flea knight until he asked me if we had met before, the daftest attempt at lechery ever conceived by man. I bought the tinderboxes and left Bulgar feeling distinctly cheated. Perhaps my tea leaves had sat too long in the jar. Did that make a difference?
Then Mark said something generic and irritating. When I looked back to address him, I saw a group of men headed straight for us. "Run! We're being pursued!" I yelled, wondering if Mark had stolen something from someone.
"Lyn! Slow down!" he whined.
I did not slow down. I darted over the plains with such speed that I ran straight into the group of bandits waiting for me.
One stepped forth and said, "Heh heh hehhh... Aren’t you the pretty one! Your name is Lyndis, is it not?"
Why am I always surrounded by daft, lecherous men?
And for that matter, who told him my name?
"Such a waste. An absolute waste. The things I’d do for gold... Ah, well. Time to die, darlin’! C’mon out, boys!"
He had three underlings. Three. Clearly he was not bright enough to save most of his men for the ambush, and sent too many in the pursuit.
Maintaining this farce was already tiring. In hindsight, I could understand why my mother detested it so much that she would go so far as to leave with my father. At that particular moment, however, I knew nothing about that. I was busy singing the tune of a damsel in distress, for Mark's ungrateful benefit.
"Oh no! There are more than I can handle... But I’ll not give up!"
And then, as if I had rang the alarm bell of a maiden in danger, I heard a voice behind me.
The flea knights.
"Whew... Finally caught up... Hold! You there! What is your business? Such numbers against a girl? Cowards, every one of you!"
There is a well-known Sacaen proverb that roughly translates to, "In times of danger, throw the most disposable people into the bonfire and hope the spirits are satisfied." My people considered it an antiquated and uncivilized saying. So did I. Usually.
I mustered up the strength for one last attempt at decency. "No! This is my fight! Stay out of my way!'
At which point the red flea knight turned to Mark and said, "I have a solution. You there, command us. I am Kent, a knight of Lycia. My companion is Sain. We will follow your orders in this battle. Is that acceptable, milady?"
I had never before met anyone so eager to be thrown into the fire.
"Yes, it is," I finally managed. "Mark and I will lead! Let’s go!"
As it happened, the flea knights were reasonably skilled fighters. The lecherous one, Sain, was well-trained if stupid (but Mark's -- my -- orders solved that problem). The lecherous daft one, Kent, fought as if it would be disgraceful to go home alive.
I was not amused at the amount of salve it took to tend to him after the battle. Unfortunately, in light of the journey before him, letting him die his noble death was not an option.
"Accompany us to Caelin. Continuing on this way is dangerous," Kent said, with eyes that said he was either loyal enough or insane enough to die so that I would not have to suffer the indignity of a single bruise. No, but that wouldn't do. I needed him around to he could die so I would not have to suffer the indignity of losing an arm. I would have to communicate this to him, eventually. Perhaps a line such as "You shouldn't take such risks. You're too important to me." Something like that.
For now, I told him, "I feel I have little choice. I will go with you."
And so I took the flea knights into my company as we headed to take my birthright in Caelin. For my departed father, I murmured in Lorcan, "This is total bullshit." His spirit nodded sagely to me from across the river of death.
As I finished tending to Kent's innumerable injuries – Sain, for all Kent's chastising, emerged from the battle remarkably intact, although his horse should be replaced at our soonest luxury – I saw Mark hunched over, his eyes contemplative. Perhaps he was weighing the costs now: Were amorous relations with me worth the danger of leading a tattered group against my uncle's army?
“Mark," I called to him, soft as the sound of willow-tea plants crushed under his foot. "I’m sorry. This changes everything. What do you want me to do, Mark?"
"The hell do I care," he mumbled.
Ever the gentleman. Pretending not to hear his tone of voice, I said, "You... want me to decide?"
And honestly, I was not sure if I wanted him here. We had just begun. At this moment, he was infinitely replaceable. He had shown himself to be talentless, irritating, and now? Perhaps even undedicated. I could replace him with a word, and if the Lady of Chance were not irate, his replacement would be better.
If I did not seek to replace him now, it might soon be too late.
I tested these words to myself: "Of course, your companionship would do much to ease my journey, but... it’s going to be so dangerous." I stressed my voice in different parts to make it sound genuine, but I could not even fool myself. "You’ll come? ... Are you sure? ... Thank you! ... Let me ask once again for your friendship and your aid."
No. No, this would not do.
I eyed Mark. He, in turn, was eying the pouch of coins hanging from Kent's saddle.
"If you want to go," I said tersely, "go."
He looked at me with surprise. "What?" he said simply.
"I'd rather you leave now than sneak away later," I said. "If you do not wish to travel with us, then don't." Leave before you steal anything, I added silently.
He glanced again at me, at the knights, and at the land behind me – the mountains of Bern. "Are you for real?"
"Yes."
When he said nothing more and left, I knew I had made the right choice. I returned to the company of the flea knights and smiled.
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/trollface.jpg
Look, Mark, your future self!
Lolol
Beside me, Mark gave the knight the international signal for "She's taken" with his eyes.
International signal, huh. XDDDD Coming from Mark I wonder... Speaking of Mark, you should doodle yours. I'll bet he's a real winner. I keep picturing some cross between a tiny Sain and a tiny Erik and it's kinda scary.
I briefly fantasized about letting Mark be eaten by a wolf.
I fantasize about this a lot, myself.
"Lyn! Slow down!" he whined.
Shit son, just gotta outrun your companion to live!
The flea knights.
Not fleas but I am picturing the flies from Racing Stripes now and I would like to punch myself in the face. XDDD But this nickname is a good one imo.
"You shouldn't take such risks. You're too important to me." Something like that.
HAHAH she is so delightfully evil/conniving/et cetera. So much win.
Now this can't be the end of Mark. He'll be back. For Round III. And I'll be ready.
WITH POPCORN.
Another delightful chapter. MOAR PLEASE
God I'm so greedy what
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HAH.
Yay, more. OK, you win-- I'm actually looking forward to Chapter 3.
A couple of parts seemed forced, but lines like this-- "Perhaps a line such as "You shouldn't take such risks. You're too important to me." Something like that."-- completely made up for it.
Also, oddly enough, this gave a better sense of the people Lyn's parents might have been than most serious novelizations. Heh.
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