Author's Note: I had a good deal of this written several months ago before hitting a wall, and it's taken me until the last week to come back to it and finish it off.

I have been unsure just how much longer I would continue this story, especially as the next Fire Emblem title being on the horizon kind of makes it feel like Awakening is getting consigned to a shelf. But recently, I've come to believe that my mind simply isn't done with Lucan and Tharja yet. Even if I go long spells without working on this, I think I'll keep coming back to it.

Anyway, hope you enjoy...

11: Renewal

It was late afternoon, but the yard was busy at most times of the day.

The sounds of clashing metal, straining grunts and shouts of encouragement could be heard across the open space as soldiers trained together: some sparring in pairs or completing drills in small groups, while at one end even-spaced ranks of novices repeated movements under Frederick's barking instruction. Around the edges of the practice area a number of people loitered to watch, shifting in the cold while others glanced over curiously as they passed by. The weather here wasn't as harsh as elsewhere in the region, but there were still thin patches of snow in places.

A few weeks had passed since Basilio's carriage fleet had sped them from the Midmire back into Feroxi land. In less than a week they had gone from the arid airs of Plegia's dusty barrens to the frigid climes of the khans' territories. Thankfully, their remaining troops and baggage train had made it back safely after them, unharassed by Plegian forces, though questions yet remained over what Gangrel's armies were doing now – questions they would hopefully have answers for soon.

Lucan watched as Sully bullied yet another soldier from one end of the yard to the other. She had been in particularly fiery spirit ever since their return from Plegia; Lucan supposed she was itching to turn her blade on Gangrel's minions again, and was tireless in venting her impatience on the training ground.

"Is that all you got!?" he heard her shout. "Those dastards are gonna stick you like a pig on the battlefield! Again! And try not to die so many times!"

The long process of healing had begun. Quickly after their return to Arena Ferox the Shepherds had gathered in the khans' throne room to grieve together. Lucan had finally found the nerve to face Chrom with his failings, but his friend had forgiven him. As one they had restated their loyalty to each other, veteran Shepherds and new recruits alike, and now they were ready to move forward. The shadow of Emmeryn's loss still hung over them all; it was there in Chrom's pensive moments, in the sharp edge of Frederick's and Sully's aggression, and in Vaike's slightly more subdued bravado… But slowly, the Shepherds were recovering, taking the remnants of their sorrow and forging it towards a new purpose – putting an end to the Mad King's war and restoring peace to the continent.

"Lucan!" a voice called.

He turned to see the latest addition to the Shepherds running up to him.

"Olivia… What can I do for you?"

"Oh, um, nothing actually…" The dancer girl fiddled with her hands as she spoke. "I just have a message from Khan Basilio. He wanted you to know that another group of recruits has arrived, from Port Ferox."

"I see. Thank you, Olivia." He paused. "I didn't know you were running messages around camp."

"Well, I'm not good for much other than flailing my limbs around, so I'm just trying to help out with the little things…"

"Hey, you shouldn't sell yourself short! Khan Basilio speaks highly of you, and I've seen you dancing in the square of an evening with the other performers – you're really quite something!"

"Stop!" she pleaded, reddening. "It's embarrassing to think about people watching me."

He smiled. "Heh. Sorry…"

"Aaaaanyway, I'm going to see if the quartermaster needs any help."

"All right. Thanks again for the message."

The Feroxi girl fled.

For all Basilio's warning they would have to strike back at Gangrel quickly, there was no escaping that the preparations of war took time. Their forces had returned to Ferox depleted and in ragged state, and now they waited here in the kingdom's headland, slowly gathering more supplies and mustering new troops. Even with no immediate threats bearing down upon them, Lucan was still run off his feet with duties to carry out. Inventory reports from the quartermaster and his assistants needed to be checked; daily shifts on the work rota needed to be completed, whether it was helping to gather supplies or cooking in the kitchens; the billeting of their increasing numbers and calculations for the army's finances were a constant challenge, and on top of that, he was still trying to plan for every possible scenario once the fighting resumed…

He was at least finding a bit of time for himself again. As well as continuing to read any text on military science that he could find, he had started sneaking other books into his day once again, including some that would hopefully provide clues about his past. He'd even found moments to return to the journal where he'd been recording his life since Chrom found him. He had stopped writing in it during the Plegian campaign, eventually too busy to fill the pages, but now he was adding to its content once more. It was also good to back at the training yard again – he'd forgotten how much he enjoyed swordplay when his life didn't depend on it.

Sleep, however, was still a problem. With everything that needed doing he was tired all of the time, and only caught rest at irregular hours. Even when he did, his nights were often troubled by disturbing dreams. Dim images of murder… writhing forms lying in a blood-soaked darkness… six lights, glowing balefully in the black, that somehow filled him with a sense of terror.

He tried to tell himself the nightmares weren't getting more frequent.

His attention returned to the present when an infantryman from the training yard approached him.

"Sir! Would you mind sparring with me?" He wore the military clothing of the Ylissean soldiery and carried one of the wooden training swords. His face was lean and serious.

The request took Lucan by surprise. "Oh. Uh, of course. But you don't need to call me 'sir'."

The soldier nodded. "Very well." He turned and walked back towards the middle of the yard.

Lucan followed behind, feeling oddly nervous. He hadn't been very successful at fitting in training during the Plegian campaign, and since their return to Ferox he had mostly kept to drills and repeated techniques. Aside from a bit of practice earlier when he narrowly bested Vaike, this would be his first proper sparring session in some time. Normally it wouldn't have been an issue, and he wasn't sure why it would be now, but he was nonetheless conscious of how many people were around to see.

Once they were in reasonable space, the man turned and went into stance. "Is first to three hits acceptable, sir? Lucan," he added, remembering.

Lucan nodded. "It is." He still held his own practice sword from earlier. He adapted his posture, faint tension sitting uneasily in his gut. "Let's go."

The soldier wasted no time coming at him. He advanced with rapid, cautious steps, taking care not lapse from his stance. In the few seconds it took him to close the distance, Lucan's mind had already summarised –

– late 20's, left handed, 120 pounds, slightly taller, 5 centimetres' longer range, wary and offense-minded –

– and he waited.

The soldier moved for a diagonal cut only to feint and launch the attack in a high horizontal line. Lucan read it and moved to block, shifting his feet to move away again after the clack of their practice weapons hitting.

The soldier came on again immediately, and once more Lucan turned the strike aside. The movements felt at once familiar and slightly awkward. He initiated an attack of his own, without much commitment. The strike was deflected adequately.

They continued to dart back and forth in the middle of the yard, Lucan distantly aware that more were stopping their own training to observe the contest. Occasionally comments or calls of encouragement would come from the watching bystanders. An anxious part of him didn't want a grand audience to witness the army's illustrious but out-of-practice tactician getting beaten across the yard by a man whose name he didn't even know, but gradually he started to find his ease. The hesitation was leaving his techniques, and he was starting to learn the soldier: he had little patience for waiting, and his feints were always slightly given away in their execution.

Again he gave ground to the man, then waited, already suspecting what would come next. His opponent began another cut and Lucan closed in, reading the signs of the feint and catching the man with a hit to his sword arm as he was changing the line of attack.

The man suppressed a grunt and took a step back, while some of the onlookers voiced scattered approval.

Landing the first hit settled some of Lucan's nerves, and when they resumed the duel he moved with more of his usual fluency. Again Lucan let the soldier press the offensive. He was neither as fast as Lon'qu nor as imposing as Chrom or Frederick, and it wasn't long before Lucan scored the second hit, landing a thrust at the man's torso when he again took an extra half-second to change attack.

One more and the match was his. As he walked back to his starting point, his eyes fell upon some of the individuals watching. Sully had stopped bludgeoning her hapless partner to observe the contest with an appraising frown. Nowi waved enthusiastically from the sidelines. Vaike gave him a thumbs-up.

Standing there, between some of the other onlookers at the edge of the yard, was Tharja.

With everything he'd had to do since their return, he hadn't spoken much with the dark mage in the last week – just a few chance encounters here or there around camp – but she was starting to develop an intimidating reputation. He'd heard others talking about her odd, aloof behaviour: coldly brushing people aside, weaving cryptic hand gestures in front of them in a disconcerting way, threatening curses in order to get what she wanted. There were also rumours of a confrontation with some Feroxi warriors back in Plegia that had apparently left one of the men horribly maimed and traumatised. Lucan knew little about any of it, but if it was true he wondered at the motives that might lie behind such behaviour.

Even if her manner did leave something to be desired, there was no denying her usefulness as one of the Shepherds. He thought back to the conflict in the Midmire, when the two of them had stood alone together against nearly a full brigade of wyvern riders. They'd worked well together, better than he'd expected, and though he was alarmed by the viciousness of her dark magic, he couldn't help but admire her power. He could still picture her standing in the rain, raised arms surrounded by a faint purple aura, an unnatural wind blowing her hair about her…

The soldier in front of him came in with another feint. Lucan read it again, adjusting his guard to meet the changed attack. He started to move apart again, only for his opponent to shift within the reach of his sword and catch him with a sharp elbow to the temple. A few of the spectators gave a pained groan.

The force made Lucan half turn and stagger one step, stinging from the hit as well as the surprise of it. For a fleeting second he felt angry about the strike, but it quickly passed. Unarmed attacks were a part of combat, and it was his own fault for getting distracted. He would have seen it coming if he'd been paying full attention.

"Nicely done," he made himself say.

He didn't let himself falter for the rest of the sparring match. He took his time after the restart, waiting patiently for signs of an opening, letting several half-chances go by before choosing his moment. He left the man to launch one attack after another without response, letting him dominate the contest until Lucan anticipated a thrust early, simultaneously shifting off right and catching his opponent on the head with an unexpected riposte before he could react.

There was muted applause from those watching, along with a couple of cheers and an appreciative "Har!" from Sully. "Nice work, Lucan!" a male voice called. He didn't know who. He nodded awkward thanks to the crowd in general.

The soldier took his sword in his right hand and walked up to him, left arm held out. "Thank you, s– Lucan," he said as they shook hands. "It was a challenging contest. I would train with you again in future, if you please."

Lucan smiled. "Sure, I'd like that. I'll look for you next time I'm out here."

As he took his leave and started walking back to the edge of the yard, his gaze happened to move across some of the spectators on the far side.

Tharja was still among them, huddled in her cloak. She was looking straight at him.

He quickly looked away again.

From the yard he went straight back to his tent. Although the army was currently stationed at a town, the limited space meant that the majority of their following were still based in their campaign lodgings on the outskirts of the settlement. Chrom and Lucan were no exception, though now they tended to hold council with Frederick and the khans within the chambers inside Arena Ferox.

He walked over to his desk and looked down at one of the topmost sheets of parchment – a scrap he was using to make lists of things to do. He opened his current ink pot, dipped a nearby stylus in it then ticked off some completed tasks from the day's list, before adding a note to conduct an audit on the skills and equipment of the new arrivals from Port Ferox.

He was considering what job to tackle next when someone called from outside his tent.

"Yo, Bubbles. You in here?"

This was pleasant surprise. "Come in, Gaius," he replied. He hadn't expected to hear back from the man so soon, and he was eager to know what Gaius had found.

The thief stepped through the opening flap, the handle of a candy stick protruding from the corner of his mouth.

"How did it go?" Lucan asked him, expectant.

Gaius offered him a sly grin. "Jackpot, Bubbles." With a flourish he produced two slim, hard-backed books from under his cloak and held them out.

Lucan took them. The first was bound in green, with gold tracery near the spine. Semiotics from the Continent of Ylisse read the title. The second was an unassuming text in dark leather with no writing. He opened the front cover and read Analyses of Religious Symbolism on the first page.

They were both rare finds. He'd seen the titles mentioned in other books, but hadn't been able to get copies of his own until now.

"This is great… Thank you, Gaius!"

"My pleasure."

Only a few days ago Gaius had been sent out on a mission, using his wits and network of contacts to ascertain whether any Plegian spies were operating in this part of Ferox. He'd also been asked to see if he could procure certain books for Lucan's own purposes. Manuscripts, particularly rare ones, weren't always easy to come by in Ferox, but Lucan had given him an outline of what to look out for. These volumes weren't just valuable for filling some gaps in his knowledge – there was a good chance they would contain information relating to the mark on his hand, and therefore clues about his past.

"So, uh," Gaius began, "this makes us even, right?"

For a moment Lucan didn't know what he meant. Then the realisation hit him with an inward groan.

"Gaius, I already told you I'll keep your secret," he sighed. "I'm not interested in blackmailing you!"

The thief grimaced, his candy stick tilting upwards between the grip of his teeth.

"So this still isn't enough for you, eh?" he said. "Crivens, you're a ruthless one, Bubbles."

Lucan didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or scream at him. "Stop! Just…" He closed his eyes and fished for words he thought this paranoid man might believe, but ultimately couldn't find any. "Argh… Look… How did the rest of your mission go?" Evasion might be the best tactic, at least for now.

"Nothing doing, from what I hear. If the bad guys are up to something around these parts, my sources don't know about it. And if they don't know, chances are it ain't happening."

"Right. Good to know… Have you reported to Chrom about it yet?"

"Oh yeah, I ran into Blue earlier. Actually, he told me to tell you you're needed for a meeting with the head honchos."

"Oh? When?"

"Right now, I guess."

"Did he say what it was about?"

"Nnnope. Didn't ask."

That was unexpected. He, Chrom, Frederick and the khans were always in daily contact, either in person or through messages, and the five of them convened every few days to discuss plans, but they hadn't agreed on meeting today.

"Well, I suppose it must be pretty urgent. I'll head over in a second. Thanks again for the books."

"And you're sure it's… y'know… not enough?"

Lucan took a long breath. "We'll talk about it another time," he said after a pause. "I need to go see what Chrom wants."

Gaius shrugged, then sketched a casual salute before leaving. "'Til next time then, Bubbles."

Lucan gazed at the two books in his hands, flicked through the pages to look at the rubrics and headings. Details about the origins of certain motifs; the iconography of different religious sects, families and other social groups; a catalogue of symbols and their variations, along with annotations about the nuances in meaning…

It was perfect. The answers to some of his questions probably lay somewhere within these pages. It was so tempting to begin looking through in detail now, but he needed to see Chrom.

Frustrating as it was, his quest for information on the past would have to wait a little longer.

He set the books down on his desk and left the tent.

She was drifting alone through a pale world, a ghost woman walking silently by the fleeting people around her.

They had spent a few weeks here, camped at this hinterland Feroxi town. It was cold. Colder than Tharja thought any sensible person would want to endure. Patches of snow still covered the ground in places, mostly hard-packed into a grey-black ice by the constant tread of feet, while the hills and countryside beyond were an almost constant blanket of white. It was terrible. Tharja was working on putting together the ingredients for a hex that would help her stay warm, at least for a time.

She shuffled through the dismal town, cloak wrapped tightly around her and peering cautiously at the people walking by. For the most part they seemed to ignore her, but there was always someone who glanced her way with a look that could only be distaste. She met their gaze long enough to glare disdain before looking away.

Her new allies were another source of discomfort. As expected, word of her had spread after the confrontation in Plegia, to say nothing of her more recent interactions with some of the Ylisseans. Now, the looks she received had turned from intrigued and suspicious to outright fearful and wary. It was a change for the better, but it didn't alter how uneasy she often felt being surrounded by these people, feeling their gazes itching into her back whenever she stepped outside. She was doing her best to discourage contact. For the most part they had got the message, but one or two had made misguided attempts at approaching her. The other day, the weepy pegasus girl she'd observed in Plegia had actually asked her how she was – as if any of them cared how she felt! She was a foreigner to them, an enemy. Or otherwise an oddity, to be inspected and then spurned when their curiosity was satisfied. Trying to get close to these people would be a waste of time, even if she'd wanted to.

She took only a passing interest in some of them, and in most none at all except as guinea pigs for her curses: she was gradually working her way through Chrom's following, testing hexes on each one, finding out who was easy to afflict and who she needed to work on. A couple were proving useful for ingredients; the dragon girl Nowi had provided her with an ample supply of talon clippings, and there was one rather simple village boy who had recently helped her find a source of fresh newt eyes.

For the most part, though, they were just an annoying distraction from her ultimate preoccupation – Lucan.

They hadn't been around each other much since coming to this place. Only a handful of thrilling and terrifying encounters had lightened the greyness of her days – a brief greeting, a short but meaningful moment of eye contact, a fleeting smile as he walked by. They hadn't been here very long, but already it felt like an eternity. Time crawled in Lucan's absence. The world and everything in it chafed against her when she wasn't near, and so she endeavoured to remain in his shadow, observing his ways and experiencing his life at a distance. Every day she learned more about his habits, his mannerisms, the way he behaved in different situations. He was a caring, attentive man, ever ready to help others, and she could see the consideration he put into every word and action. She cherished and catalogued each new discovery, and her mind became a growing encyclopaedia on the topic of Lucan.

Yet no matter what she learned, she needed to know more. Lucan was still a mystery. It wasn't simply that no one knew his origins, nor was it the uniqueness of his talents. Something in him was… different, on a level that transcended anything physical or magical. It felt like there was a connection between them, and falling for Lucan had given Tharja the maddening sense that some profound truth about life and love was now hiding in the corners of her mind, one that escaped her every time she tried to focus on it.

It was her imperative to try and make sense of it all. For now, that meant trying to reach some approximate revelation by learning who Lucan was, right down to the smallest facts about his life.

Which was why she was here.

She'd stopped at a spot where she could watch the opening of his tent, and had seen him leave a short while ago. The day was drawing to a close, and there were fewer people coming and going. It took a lot of effort, but ultimately she found the nerve to step into his tent while there was no one around.

There she stood in the shady interior, the closed entrance flap just behind her, almost reeling from the fearful joy.

It wasn't the first time she had been here of course. There had been a few restless nights when longing had kept her from sleep, and she'd eventually gone to see the one person who could soothe it, contriving an excuse to visit and hoping in vain he might still be awake. When she'd found Lucan asleep, she had stayed anyway. The first time had been terrifying. She'd sat there in total darkness watching him sleep, shaking with trepidation but unable to tear herself away.

After that, she had come back several times. Now it was becoming easier, almost a compulsion, but she'd never before come in during the daytime. It was even more frightening than the night visits, but she needed to be here. Within this tent she could learn things about Lucan she would never know from simply watching him outside.

She started with the books. Stacked neatly on their sides atop a rectangular cabinet near the desk was his expanding library of reading material. She already knew he loved books like she did, but so far she hadn't had the opportunity to learn what sort of things he read. In a half-daze she stepped over to the cabinet and scanned the titles inscribed on the spines, picking up and opening one or two that had no obvious name. The material was as diverse as it was intricate: volumes on military strategy, the science and mathematics of engineering, historical chronicles, spell tomes and treatises on the metaphysics of magic, even one or two collections of short verse.

It gave her a surge of elation. Not only was it more evidence of how brilliant and learned he was, she also knew most of the magic texts – a couple of them were her own go-to volumes! It would give them something to talk about in the future.

From there she went to the desk, probably the inner sanctum of this tent – if not the whole army. There was hardly an inch of it not covered by something: a globe and a small gathering of half-melted candles, in addition to the spread of various notes, parchments and open manuscripts. Two books lay on top of everything: Semiotics from the Continent of Ylisse and Analyses of Religious Symbolism. She vaguely recognised the names. For a moment she wondered what he would want with these, until a leap of intuition came to her. That mark on his hand; he's trying to find out what it means. She hadn't yet got a close look at it herself, but she had an uncomfortable feeling she knew roughly what it was.

She set her spell tome down and took her time sifting through the sprawling pages. Aside from the books, there were letters drafted to nobles and powerful figures in Ylisse, Ferox and even Plegia who might be persuaded to support the cause or change sides; long and complicated calculations relating to siege engineering, the distribution of the army's finances, the volumes of supplies they will require, or projected journey times to listed destinations; there were collections of maps of Plegia and Ferox, some on a smaller scale than others, many annotated in a miniscule hand where Lucan had made notes about his own considerations of the terrain and army logistics; there were still more pages tied or pinned to the canvas wall in different places, separated by theme and all pertaining to some aspect of strategy.

The scale and depth of it made Tharja's head spin. Being in here was like being in Lucan's mind itself, and she could only marvel at the grandness of what she beheld: a seemingly endless vault of knowledge and learning, of cerebral gears constantly turning with the purpose of maintaining an entire warhost almost by themselves. Gods, this army would fall to pieces without him…

She did a half-turn, taking in the rest of the furniture. There was a smaller table near the entrance with two sets of carved wooden soldiers assembled on it. Yet more carvings lay on a low bench by one of the walls, cut from pieces of trunk and branch that must have been picked up on travels, along with a modest range of small knives and woodworking tools. Some of the projects were smooth and finished pieces, others still half-emerged from the rough wood. Did Lucan really make these? She'd had no idea he took an interest in carpentry, but she supposed it wasn't surprising that such an extraordinary man would have a creative outlet.

Close to the bench were three spare swords of varying length and type, all resting in scabbards. She knew well by now that Lucan used weapons as well as magic in battle. But only swords. Earlier, she'd had the rare delight of witnessing him in action on the training yard. Busy as he was with all of his administrative duties, he still made a dashing swordsman. She had rejoiced inside as she watched him defeat the noisy axe-lugging oaf that was constantly challenging Chrom, and then the presumptuous nobody who had tried to best him. She'd been less pleased about seeing the pretty dancer girl rushing up to talk to him, and the way she'd made him smile…

In the far corner behind the screen was his bed, a wash basin and looking glass resting on the nearby stool. She was about to turn away when she noticed something else. Another book, very small and unassuming, half-covered by the creases of the bed blanket.

Tharja walked over and picked it up. No words on the cover. Two sheets of additional parchment protruded along the side, slotted in near the front as an afterthought.

She opened the cover. In the middle of the front page, written in a clear and deliberate hand, was a small message:

Don't be afraid. Your name is Lucan, and you are among friends here. I don't know how much you'll remember, so I've written your life as I know it on the following pages. I tried to be a good person. I hope you will be too.

An ache of sadness went through her heart as Tharja read the words. Lucan had no recollection of his past, or how he came to lose his memories. Of course he would be scared of it happening all over again. She should have realised!

She spent a couple of minutes flicking through some of the following pages, opening up the extra folds of parchment and skimming some of the passages written there. Everything about Lucan's life that he recalled was here, enticing details about his experiences before she met him…

She wanted to read it all, but forced herself to put the journal back. At some point she would look at it in depth and relive all he had been through, but she had learned enough for now and she couldn't stay any longer. There was no telling when Lucan would come back, and she didn't want to be caught snooping around.

Besides, reading the message he'd written to himself had made her restless. She wanted to help him, to find a way of unlocking his past, or at least easing some of his worries.

She went to the entrance flap and peered out, making sure there was no one in sight before walking out.

Vague ideas were beginning to take shape in her mind.

"I got here as soon as I could," Lucan explained to the others. "Has there been news?"

As usual, they were meeting in a small chamber within the Arena designed for private conversation. The room was sparsely furnished, an imported tapestry on the wall and an empty weapon rack in the far corner being the only decoration. Dominating most of the space was a plain wooden table, where Chrom and Frederick sat with the two khans.

"There has," Chrom told him. His tone didn't bode well. "It isn't anything concrete, but it's disturbing all the same."

"What is it?" Lucan asked. "Is Plegia making a move again already?"

"Thankfully not, Lucan," Frederick replied. "I remain concerned for the wellbeing of Ylisse in our absence, but for now it seems Gangrel's forces are staying put. No message has come from our scouts indicating otherwise."

"Good. What's the news then?"

"Word has reached us from the east," Khan Flavia explained. Her expression was severe. "Some travellers arrived this morning. They've been journeying across Regna Ferox, heading this way through the Aurelian territories. On their way they have heard stories of bandits and Risen roaming at will across the land, and they report seeing many of the villages on their route abandoned or completely destroyed."

"If true, this would explain why we have had slow progress with gathering more troops and supplies from the east," Frederick added.

"We're here to discuss what we're going to do," Chrom finished.

Lucan felt his spirits sink as he took a seat with the others. "Gods…" Having to worry what Plegia was up to was bad enough; this was the last thing they needed. "How trustworthy are these reports?"

Chrom answered. "We can't confirm anything yet, but there's no reason for these people to lie."

"It is not impossible for them to be Plegian spies sent to distract us with a ruse," Frederick remarked. "However, Gangrel's previous attempts at trickery have not been so subtle."

"Can they give us specific locations?" Lucan asked. "Names of the villages they saw ruined?"

"Unfortunately not," Flavia said. "They aren't familiar with the smaller settlements. The rumours they heard from others on the road weren't very detailed either."

"Hmmm… That leaves us in an awkward position."

"We can't sit around and wait for Gangrel to make the next move," Basilio stated. "We need to hurry up, but we can't do anything until we know what the hell's going on back there."

"I have a good mind to go back there and teach the dastards a lesson myself!" Flavia said.

Basilio scoffed. "You? Aren't you a little old for vendettas in the snow? Besides, you're needed here, woman! You're the Khan Regnant now."

"I would fare better than you, oaf. But this decision concerns everyone. That's why I convened this meeting."

"Even if we could be sure there's a problem," Lucan ventured, "we can't afford to move an army like this across Ferox's countryside in these conditions. The logistics would be too disruptive – we'd lose soldiers simply from the journey."

"I agree with Lucan," Chrom said. "The Shepherds are better suited for a job like this. Our numbers could cover the ground more easily, and we're strong enough to deal with any trouble we encounter."

Flavia regarded him solemnly. "You are sure of this, Chrom? I would be putting the lives of my people in your hands."

"You can count on us," Chrom vowed. "If there is trouble in East Ferox, we'll put an end to it."

Lucan nodded. "It would also be a good opportunity to test some of our new recruits, strengthen our bonds. The better we know each other, the better we'll fight as a unit."

"There is still the problem of not knowing what danger, if any, is out there," Frederick reminded.

He was right. East Ferox was massive, easily a quarter of a continent. They couldn't afford the time or the effort to strike out blindly without any knowledge of where they should be heading – if they should be heading anywhere. They could take scouts with them, fast-moving riders to survey the land ahead, but they still needed an initial destination. That meant…

"Of course, we do have scouts already in the field," Frederick continued. "Milord, if this is our course of action, I would advise we wait until they return. If there are bandits or Risen roaming at large, they are likely to have more information about where."

"You're right, as usual Frederick. Lucan, you've been in regular contact with the scouts. Am I right in thinking we have a group due back from the east soon?"

"In the next couple of weeks, all being well."

Basilio looked grim. "Preparations have already taken us too much time. I'm not convinced we can afford to wait that long. What if they don't make it back and we're stuck here waiting for them?"

"Our scouts came off the better against Plegia's wyverns and outriders almost every time," Lucan said. "If they have run into any problems out there, I'm confident at least some will make it back to us."

"That still leaves the problem of time."

"We could lose the same or more if we rush into this blindly," Flavia said. "Our Ylissean friends have the right of it. Much as it pains me to wait around when there are dogs to put down, we should stay put until we have more detailed reports. But we can't wait forever – if we haven't received word by the end of the week, we will need to act."

Chrom nodded. "Very well."

"Meanwhile, Basilio and I will remain here with the main army and oversee the rest of the preparations. If Plegia tries anything while you're away, we'll make them pay for it!"

"I'd like to speak with some of the travellers tomorrow," Lucan added. "There might still be details in their accounts that help us pin down locations, or give us clues about what we're facing."

"As you wish, Lucan," Flavia told him. "I will introduce them to you."

They remained a while longer to confirm other organisational details: profiles on the latest newcomers to join the infantry, updates on which recruiting captains were still afield, and a brief discussion on how best to manage and guard the treasury. When they were done they went their separate ways, Lucan walking with Chrom and Frederick until they reached the command pavilion.

From there he headed back to his own tent. It was getting late, and he was achingly weary, but he couldn't rest yet. He would dare an hour or so looking into his new books, then snatch some fitful sleep before returning to work.

Tonight could well be the night when some of his perennial questions, questions about who he truly was, were finally answered. And he had waited long enough.

Author's Note: Apologies if the exposition in the middle proves uninteresting. I need it in there even if you don't. There will be a lot more from Tharja in the next chapter, if or when it gets written.