Thicker Than Water

A Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword novelization.

Part I: A Meeting

i have never been one to stay in a single place all my life –

the winds of fate have kept me moving always.

It was not often that she found herself far from the remains of the Lorca encampment. The frigid winter following the massacre had seen to that, and she still marveled at how she had managed to survive on her own during those long cold months.

She stopped walking and took a moment to allow her eyes heavenward, lips murmuring a soft prayer in praise of the earth and sky and all the powers that surrounded them. Though she had no training in the seeing-arts of the shamans and wise-women of her people she still fancied that she could feel the thrum of life-energy surrounding her – in the long blades of the plainsgrass and the insects and rodents that buried beneath the soil and the birds that soared high overhead.

She thought she heard it too, a far-off cry that sounded increasingly human with each passing second. Without warning the sound stopped, and she felt a thrill of unnamed energy run through her just as it had half a year ago. Something was going to happen, she realized with a start. Something, though she did not know if it would be good or bad.

She ran instead.

The first thing he noticed was the pain – sharp and biting in the shallow wounds that covered his face and arms and harsher in the deeper cuts, the throbbing in his muscles, and the dull ache in his leg that had been his constant companion for the last fourteen years.

Pain was pain. He could live with it – lessen it with a few or more pints if he could – and then it would be gone. At least he was alive.

Awareness came next. He was lying beneath some kind of blanket. The fabric was rough but not unpleasant to the touch, and beneath him he could feel the comforting hardness of a bedroll of some sort. At least he wasn't out in the open anymore, left for the buzzards and other scavengers.

But if he wasn't where he had fallen, someone must have moved him – for all he knew, he was still in danger. He couldn't afford to let his guard down.

He opened one eye and then the other, then slowly raised himself to a sitting position. He seemed to be in a dwelling of some sort – a small fire burned in the middle of the dirt floor and he raised his eyes to see the smoke trailing lazily out of the small space through a hole in the ceiling; afternoon light shone in through the small opening. Aside from the bedroll he lay on and a crudely made stool there was no furniture – a few mats around the small fire for sitting and a pile of animal-skin bags resting against the dwelling's circular wall.

The flap of the dwelling opened and a girl crawled in. She looked at him warily but smiled nonetheless.

"So you are awake," she said. She spoke the common language of Elibe, but her words were thick with the lilting accent of the plainsmen.

He nodded slowly. "Mm. I suppose I am."

The girl took a seat beside the fire and looked at him. "I am Lyn," she said. "Of the Lorca tribe. I found you on the plains."

"Mark." A pause. "Of everywhere and nowhere." He looked at the girl – Lyn. "I'm a traveler."

Lyn nodded. "I guessed as much from your clothing, but you seem too poorly equipped to be travelling on your own."

Mark looked away and scratched his chin; the rasp of his nails against his whiskers filled the small dwelling. "What's it to you?" he asked shortly.

She clenched her jaw. "When I found you, you were passed out on the ground, covered in cuts and bruises. The only thing I could find was this." Lyn stood up and walked to the circular edge of the dwelling, stooping for a moment to pick something from the floor before returning to her place by the fire. "Here," she said. "Is this yours?"

Mark looked at the item in her hands and felt a jolt as he recognized the smooth dark wood and the numerous nicks and cuts across its surface, even though it had been broken unevenly into three separate pieces. He ran a hand over one of the splintered ends. "Yes," he told her, "it's mine."

"What is it?"

"My cane." Mark ran a hand over one of the broken ends and swore as splinter pricked the flesh at the base of his thumb. "Ah, shit." He raised his hand to his mouth.

Lyn blinked. "A… cane?"

Mark simply lifted the corner of the blanket and pointed at his left leg; even under the material of his breeches she could see how it bent awkwardly to the side in the middle of his shin – he was a cripple.

"I – I am sorry," she said. "I did not mean to pry…"

He shrugged. "I've been living with this damned leg for over ten years – it's all right."

Tucking her skirt beneath her legs, Lyn crossed her arms over her chest and looked at Mark curiously. "I do not mean to pry," she said, "but what – "

Her words were cut off by a loud crash and the sound of men yelling. Lyn rose to her feet quickly, her expression suddenly wary. "Stay here, Mark," she said. "I will be back." She turned and lifted the entry flap to the dwelling cautiously, poking her head out slowly before scrambling back in.

"What is it?" Mark asked as Lyn bustled around, pulling small packets from a bag on the floor and tucking them into a pouch at her waist and strapping a long sheathed blade to her side.

"Bandits." She pulled on her gloves and knelt at the entrance flap again. "They are probably from the mountains – they do not look too dangerous, but somebody must stop them before they do anything." Lyn lifted the dwelling's flap and looked at Mark pointedly. "Stay here," she said to him. "There are only a few of them; I will be back soon." With that she crept silently out of the dwelling, and then she was gone.

Mark looked at the spot where the girl had knelt earlier. "Damn," he muttered as he threw the covers off him and struggled to stand up. His left leg throbbed in protest but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. "Sometimes I'm too nice for my own good."

He used the curved walls of the dwelling to support him as he limped to the entrance flap. With a groan he lowered himself until he could pull himself through, his bad leg dragging uselessly behind him.

The bright sunlight was harsh after the cool darkness of the dwelling and as Mark lifted a hand to shield his eyes he spotted a flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye – Lyn. The girl was swiftly creeping away from a still body lying on the dry grass, body close to the ground to avoid detection from the other to bandits who waited in the clear space between the two huts; her blade glistened wetly with spilled blood.

So she could handle herself well in a fight. Mark watched silently from the safety of the dwelling's entrance as Lyn swiftly cut down another bandit; the man managed to gurgle a warning to another waiting at a similar circular dwelling – a ger, he thought they were called now that he had a better look at it – before dying, and Mark froze as the brigand turned toward Lyn and glared.

"That son of a bitch," Mark said through clenched teeth as he recognized the brigand Lyn fought. The girl was holding up well against the brigand, and Mark found himself grinning in grim satisfaction when the big man finally fell. With the bandits dead he raised himself, supporting his weight on the wall of the hut behind him as Lyn made her way back.

"Mark!" Her face was flushed and shiny with sweat. "I told you to wait for me inside."

He shrugged and began to limp toward the body of the fallen brigand at the other ger. "Oh well," he said gruffly.

Lyn followed after him. "Where are you going?"

Mark pointed to the slain brigand. "That bastard and his cronies left me to die in the middle of nowhere."

"What?" Lyn slowed her pace and fell into step beside him.

"They stole my horse, took my supplies, broke my cane and beat me and left me to the vultures, all for their own amusement." He looked down at the girl beside him and then at the ger. "Help me over there."

Lyn obliged wordlessly and let Mark lean on her as they made their way to the run-down hut, passing the broken and charred remains of other structures that had started to become overrun with grass.

"What happened here?" Mark muttered. "Everything seems so dead…"

Beside him Lyn tensed up and the subject was dropped; neither said anything until they reached the brigand's body and Mark asked Lyn to help him to the ground.

As Mark began to search the body Lyn wandered around the ger – behind it she found a gray gelding tethered to an old post, eyes rolling in fear as he struggled at his bonds.

She approached the beast cautiously, one hand raised to placate him. "Hush, brother," she said softly. "You are safe now." She placed her hand on one warm flank, murmuring softly in the tongue of her people until the gelding finally calmed down. She soon heard Mark's limping gait as he approached them behind the ger with his hands full of items from the brigand's corpse, his bad leg dragging uselessly through the tall grass.

"That's Elec," he said. He shifted so that his weight remained on his right leg.

Lyn nodded. "He is a good horse," she told him. "It is a good name."

Mark gave her a strained smile. "It was my son's."

The ger was silent that evening as Mark sat alone inside while Lyn prepared the evening meal at the larger fire pit outside. Every now and then he heard Elec's soft whinnies through the walls of the hut; he was still skittish from his time with Batta's group.

Lyn stooped inside the ger and handed him a bowl of some sort of stew. "Eat while it is still warm," she told him. She closed her eyes and murmured something – a prayer, he assumed – before fishing her fingers in the bowl and pulling out a piece of meat, chewing on it thoughtfully as she gazed at the small fire in the center of the ger.

Mark mimicked her actions, fishing a piece of meat out of the bowl with his fingers and putting it in his mouth; it was well-cooked, if not a little bland. They ate together in silence, and when the bowls had been cleaned and stacked in a corner each went to their own bedroll – Mark's had been recovered from a pile of items the bandits had hidden in the old ger, along with many of his other belongings. A broken shaft of a wooden beam they found had served Mark as a walking stick as they moved the items between the dwellings and now rested within reach beside his bedroll.

Sleep had almost claimed Mark for the night when he heard Lyn's voice in the darkness. "Mark?" she asked. "Are you still awake?"

"I am now, lass," he answered gruffly. He sat up and looked at her. "What do you want?"

"You are a traveler, yes?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I thought we established that earlier."

Gesturing to the pile of retrieved items by Mark's bedroll, Lyn tucked her legs beneath her. "You said you were a traveler, but you do not seem like any traveler I have ever known."

"So?"

"You carry no weapon with you, nothing to defend yourself with if the need arose. It is no wonder that those brigands took advantage of you."

Mark clenched his jaw. "It was an unfortunate accident– that's all."

Lyn continued to watch him. "You are hiding something," she said quietly.

"I'm not," he replied. "But what about you? You're only a child, but you're living alone out here by yourself. How old are you anyway, lass? Fifteen, sixteen?"

"This will be my eighteenth summer," she said. "I am no child."

He nodded. "Eighteen years old," he said sarcastically, "and already so knowledgeable in the ways of the world. What about your parents? Your family?"

The girl looked away and was silent for a few moments before she responded. "They are dead. My parents and my tribe – they are all gone. I am all that is left."

"...I see. You're alone too."

Lyn looked at him. "What did you say?"

Mark shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "Get some sleep, lass." He lay back down and turned away so that his back faced the girl.

She did not respond; the only thing Mark heard before sleep overcame him was the crackle of their small fire in the lone wilderness of the plains.

The following morning found the pair packing silently in the hour before dawn. Neither of them carried much – they would restock in Bulgar, and from there it would be Fate who dictated where they would turn next.

As the sun began to rise over the endless horizon Lyn turned to Mark, her expression unreadable. "Will we leave soon?" she asked.

Mark shrugged and adjusted something in one of the saddlebags. "I'll need help getting Elec ready, but we can go whenever you're ready."

Lyn nodded. "Thank you – there is something I must do before we go." She crossed to the large fire pit, still smoldering from the night before, and from it pulled a piece of burning wood before turning to the ger. She simply looked at it for a moment and raised her arm forward.

Before Mark realized what was happening the ger was alight.

"Idiot girl!" he yelled as he struggled to stand. He made his way to where Lyn stood, the bright flames reflected in her deep green eyes. "What in hell's name are you doing?"

"The dead must burn," she said. "They burn, and then they will be reborn from the ashes, just as the plains during the first rainfall after drought and lightning strike the land and drain it dry."

Mark said nothing and only stood with her as they watched the flames lick at the sky above.

"They came six months ago," Lyn told him when they stopped to make camp the first night. "The Taliver. They poisoned our water, and when everyone was ill they attacked us. They did terrible things – I was one of the only survivors."

Mark nodded. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"My father was our chief," she continued. "After he died I tried to keep the Lorca together. But my people are old fashioned – to follow a woman is unheard of."

"But you're so young," Mark said. "Doesn't that have anything to do with why your people wouldn't follow you?"

She shrugged. "My father was seventeen when he was made chief. My mother was nineteen when I was born."

"But… You're eighteen, you said? That would make you just a few years older than my girl…"

Lyn blinked at him. "You have a family?" she asked.

"I used to."

They stopped at a small stream the next day for a short rest. Lyn led Elec to the water's edge and watered him as Mark sat on the bank and cooled his feet in the water, his breeches rolled up to his knees. She found herself looking at his misshapen leg, her eyes drawn to it against her will. Mark caught her watching and gave her the same strained smile from before as he leaned down and massaged the twisted muscle.

"I was twenty-four," he told her. "A soldier. I was young – a damned fool, strutting all over the place like a cock in a henhouse. They were going to promote me. And then I got my leg snapped clean in two – that was the end for me."

Lyn patted Elec's flank fondly; the gelding nickered softly in response. "I am sorry," she said.

"Mm." Mark leaned down further and cupped the water in his hands before letting it trickle from between his fingers. "Me too."

The eve of the third day found them camping under the great expanse of the Sacaen sky. Lyn sat at the fire they had built earlier, keeping an eye on the stew bubbling quietly in a small pot she had brought with them as she watched Elec feeding contentedly on the abundant plainsgrass.

"Poor beast," she said, "to bear the burden of two. But he is strong, and he is swift."

Mark looked at her from his bedroll where he was applying a foul-smelling salve to his leg; the day's ride had agitated it more than usual. "He's fine," he replied. "He loves the feel of the wind in his face. You can tell he enjoys it, running free across the plains without a care in the world."

"Yes." Lyn smiled. "Freedom – just a taste of it is enough to make any creature feel alive."

On the fourth day the city of Bulgar finally came into view just as the sun began to set. They would camp in the flatlands outside the city gates that night and would enter the city in the morning.

"I cannot believe that we are finally here," Lyn said as she handed Mark a piece of Lorcan flatbread. Even with their meager supplies they had rationed well; should the need arise there was enough bread and dried meat left for a day or two.

He accepted it and ripped a small piece off. "You ever been to Bulgar?" he asked before popping the crust in his mouth.

Lyn nodded. "Only once, when I was very small. He came to do trade here and I begged and pleaded for days before he agreed to let me come." She smiled at the memory. "It was amazing – it was a festival day, and the streets were decorated with colored streamers and banners. I have always wanted to come back, if only to make sure that it wasn't a dream."

Mark chuckled and leaned back on his bedroll. "A dream, eh?" he said quietly. "Dreams are nice. Nothing bad ever happens in them."

"Did you say something?" Lyn asked.

He shook his head and stuffed the rest of the bread in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a few moments before swallowing. "Time for bed, lass," he said. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

Hello; Marius here. This is my attempt at a novelization of Fire Emblem 7: Blazing Sword. Thank you for reading the first chapter. Notes can be found on my Livejournal.

Feedback and critique are welcome. Thank you again for reading.

Note: I apologize for the scene breaks; I have gone through and reformatted the most glaring errors but if anyone finds any I may have missed I would be grateful if you would inform me. Thank you once again.