Fire Emblem Awakening: Chronicles of the Fell Dragon War

Author's Notes: I'm back once again, everyone! Hopefully I didn't keep you guys waiting too long? Anyways, welcome to the sixth chapter of the Fell Dragon Chronicles! Before we begin, I just want to note one thing: This chapter, out of every chapter in the game, is the ONE that made me a fan of FE:A to begin with. This chapter got me interested in the story: it had me hanging on the edge of my seat, making me want more and more. In short, I LOVE Chapter 4: Two Falchions! So, this chapter might be slightly longer than previous ones, just so you know.

Now, with that out of the way, let me warn you of this: the Arena fight that occurs will be VASTLY different than how it's portrayed in the game. Now, let's get rolling!

Disclaimer: All rights are reserved by Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. I do not own any of the characters, places, or names (except for my OC's).

Chapter Six

Raimi stared at the blade against her throat, then her eyes wandered up to its wielder. The Feroxi Knight couldn't even begin to comprehend how this young man could've easily bested her in single combat. There was no way a mere brigand had the strength, skill, or speed to outmatch her. Unless…

Their claims were true, she realized at that moment. How foolish she was, mistaking the Prince of Ylisse and his guard for common thugs! She chucked softly, before it became a full-blown laugh. Not just at her own hubris, but also at how well the man had fought. "Hah!" she said after the laughter had subsided. "Spoken like a true Feroxi!" She paused for a moment, allowing her face to return to a more serious mode, before continuing. "I yield, sir."

The young man removed the blade from Raimi's throat, before offering her a helping hand-one that she humbly took. "I'm glad we've come to an understanding, Raimi," he said. "My name's Drake." As the Knight stood, she turned her head towards the wall's edge, and called out to the field in her most authoritative voice.

"FEROXI GUARD, HOLD!"

Chrom and Sumia hovered over the Longfort, astounded by the spectacle they had just witnessed. They knew Drake was strong, but for him to singlehandedly take on the Longfort's commander, and win so easily? That was something neither of them had expected.

"Wow…" Sumia said in awe. "That was…" Chrom could only nod his head in agreement: there were no words that could describe what he was feeling right now.

"Where among you is Prince Chrom?" he heard Raimi call out to the battlefield. "I wish to speak with him." With a nod to Sumia, the Prince and the Pegasus Knight descended to the wall, landing in front of Raimi and Drake.

"I'm right here," he told the Feroxi woman, sliding down from the winged horse's back. "I hope we've come to an understanding?" The Knight nodded.

"Yes, we have. After all," she turned to the Tactician as she spoke, "Only royalty could hope to hire someone as talented as this young man here.

"I must apologize, however." She bowed before the Prince as she spoke. "Like I said, we have had problems with bandits posing as you for the past month. We had to take precautions." Chrom nodded, finally understanding the reason for the hostility.

"It's fine Raimi: I'm certain that Emm wouldn't pin any blame on you." The Knight stood, and nodded.

"Thank you, Prince Chrom. Please, allow me to escort you the rest of the way to the Coliseum." Without waiting for a response, Raimi walked back into the castle, presumably to open the gates and allow the Shepherds to pass. Chrom sent Sumia to gather the others, and lead them through the Longfort. Once she was gone, Chrom and Drake followed the Feroxi Knight into the fort.

Chrom opened his eyes, and blinked in confusion as he stared up at a brown-red ceiling, and not the tan canvas of his tent. What the hell? He thought to himself. He blindly reached to his hip for Falchion, but felt nothing but straw. As he sat up, he noticed a large door directly across from him, and, situated all over the room, the other Shepherds, each lying on a makeshift straw bed, save for Frederick and Raimi, each of whom slept with their backs against the wall. Wait, now I remember!

Yesterday's events came rushing back to him, like a flood bursting through a dam. The group of Ylissians and Raimi had set out from the Longfort after lunch, and had made good time until they ran into a blizzard that had formed out of nowhere. While blizzards were pretty common in Regna Ferox, they were mostly small and quick, usually never lasting for more than an hour or two. This one, however, was monstrous! The winds were strong enough to tear Miriel's hat to shreds if she hadn't kept it stored in the caravan, and the sky had been darkened by the sheer amount of snow that was being swept around them. It was a miracle that they had survived through the bitter cold storm.

If Drake and Raimi hadn't found this barn, I'm certain we all would've died out there. At that thought, the Prince took another glance around, and noticed that Drake was nowhere to be seen. That's odd, where did he go? He heard some grunts coming from outside, and decided to investigate. Moving as quietly as he could so as not to disturb the others, the Prince exited the barn to look for his Tactician.

He didn't have to look far, however. Outside their sanctuary, about ten feet away from the door, eight planks of wood stood in a twelve-foot circle, and in the center of the circle stood Drake. His hands crackled with lightning as he repeatedly cast Thunder spells at the boards, swiftly turning every few seconds to hit a different one. Chrom watched the Tactician practice for about ten minutes before approaching him.

"Drake, there you are!" The Tactician turned his head towards the Prince, and nodded in response, before firing an Elfire spell at his feet, causing a small explosion that knocked all the boards over at once. Panting from exhaustion, he turned back to the Prince.

"Sorry, Chrom," he apologized. "Did I wake you or the others?"

"No, not really," the Prince replied. "I just woke up about ten minutes ago." He looked at each of the boards, and whistled softly. "Man, you really did a number on these planks." Drake laughed, and scratched the back of his head.

"Yeah, I've been out here for some time. I'm trying to work on my magical capabilities; my swordsmanship is okay, but I feel like I'm falling behind when it comes to spellcasting." Chrom shook his head in disbelief.

"Falling behind? Are you kidding me? With the way you used those Wind spells to scale the Longfort, I'd say your spellcasting is fine where it is. Hell, even Miriel is impressed with your skill, and that's saying something." The two of them laughed for some time, before Chrom's eyes drifted back to the planks of wood. "You want me to help you set these back up?"

"Sure. Thanks, Chrom." They set to work placing the boards back into position. As they were working, a thought crossed Drake's mind, and it made him worry. "Can I ask you something, Chrom?" The Prince placed the board he was carrying into the ground and chuckled.

"Uh-oh. Should I be nervous?" Despite his joking tone, he knew what Drake had to say was probably important, and decided to be serious from that moment onward.

"When you found me in that field, collapsed and without memory, why did you take me in?" Drake's question caught the Prince off-guard: nobody had ever brought up Drake's amnesia after Sully had told the rest of the Shepherds about it. Hell, he was almost certain that everyone had forgotten that Drake even had amnesia to begin with. So to hear him bring up the topic was…surprising, to say the least.

"Well…" he said, deciding to answer truthfully, "Because you were collapsed and without memory?" Drake sighed sadly.

"That's it? Pity was your reason?" Chrom tilted his head in confusion.

"Isn't that enough of a reason?" The Tactician shook his head.

"Not for me, it isn't." He paused, his face growing grimmer by the second. "Did you never stop to consider that maybe my being there was some kind of ruse? Some kind of trap, or the setup for an ambush?" Chrom chuckled: had Drake forgotten what he told him that first night, when the Risen first appeared?

"Heh, that's what I have Frederick for." Drake still shook his head.

"But why didn't-!"

"Drake." Chrom's voice cut off the Tactician before he could finish his question. Drake looked the Prince in the eye, and saw that he was really being serious this time, not joking around like he had been before. "Listen to me: if I see someone who's been hurt or is in need, then I'm going to help them. That's just who I am, and there's no changing that." Chrom then smiled wryly. "Or would you have preferred it if I had left you there, lying in the muck?" Drake laughed at the Prince's dry humor.

"No, of course not. I'm thankful for what you did; I truly am." Even so, he was still troubled by the Prince's response. "But it still scares me all the same. Chivalry and longevity don't often go hand-in-hand." Chrom actually snorted, trying to hold back a laugh.

"Ha! I wish I had a gold coin for every time I got this lecture." Drake shrugged.

"I can only offer advice, I'm afraid. You really should be more careful in the future." Chrom shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but no," he apologized. "If it happened again today, I'd do the exact same thing…"

"But-!" Chrom held up a hand, stopping Drake mid-retort.

"Peace, Drake. I've heard your counsel, and I know you mean well. But as I said, this is who I am. I can't change that, nor would I want to."

"I…" Drake said, before sighing. "I understand. If that's your decision, then so be it. Just…do try and be careful. For my peace of mind, if not your own?" The Prince nodded, and they shook hands.

"I will, my friend. I promise." They finished setting up the boards, and Chrom watched Drake practice for another hour, before they returned to the barn in order to rouse everyone. As they left, however, neither of them noticed a blue-clad figure watching them from the trees.

"...And so it begins…" Marth muttered to himself, before dashing off to the west.

It took the Shepherds another day to reach the center of Feroxi power: the ancient fortress known as the Coliseum. The Shepherds all stared at the massive stone amphitheater as they grew ever closer to it; not even Ylisstol Castle was as big as the colossal edifice that stood before them. Drake noted that the place looked more like a fortress than a sporting arena, let alone a seat of power: the only visible way into the Coliseum, as far as he could tell, was a large gate set in the center of the towering, curved walls, and there were an innumerable amount of alcoves for Archers and Snipers to stand guard.

Raimi looked up proudly at the fortress; obviously the Coliseum was a great source of pride for the Feroxi people. "Welcome to the seat of Feroxi power, Prince Chrom," the Feroxi woman said to the Prince.

As they passed under the gates, Drake thought he saw a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye. When he turned to look, however, he saw nothing. "Must be my imagination…" he muttered to himself.

Their escort led the Shepherds into a large receiving hall; it wasn't as elegant as the one Grant had led them to in Ylisstol, Drake noted, but it was still impressive. A large, blue carpet ran across the length of the room, and along the walls hung the pelts and skulls of many a ferocious beast. At the back of the room was a large throne, forged from stone and lined with furs, and on the wall above it hung the crest of Regna Ferox: a grey wolf and a brown bear rearing up at each other, locked in combat, while two swords crossed behind the animals.

Raimi summoned a couple of attendants, both of whom were dressed like the Soldiers at the Longfort, except with fur caps instead of helmets, and had them lead most of the Shepherds to a dining hall, where they could relax and wait for Chrom. Vaike was slightly dejected as he was separated from his rival, but perked up almost immediately at the mention of an 'all-you-can-eat buffet', and Drake heard him challenge Stahl to an eating contest.

"Prince Chrom, please wait here while I summon the Khan," Raimi stated, bowing slightly before leaving the hall through a door behind the throne, leaving the Prince alone with Frederick, Drake, and Lissa. Of course, Kellam was there too, standing just behind the Princess, but nobody noticed him, despite how much he shouted and waved his arms.

Chrom fidgeted with the hilt of Falchion as he waited for the Khan to appear: he was nervous, to be sure, more nervous than he had been when he had been appointed as the leader of the Shepherds.

"The Khan is away?" Drake asked the Prince. Chrom shrugged his shoulders, grateful for the distraction.

"Out training, I'd wager," he replied. Frederick nodded in agreement.

"Just like the rest of the nation, the Khans are said to prefer battle over politics. In fact, most of the politics here are settled by battle; Regna Ferox is a warrior nation, after all." Drake chuckled lightly, before crossing his arms behind his head and turning his back to the throne.

"A warrior ruler, huh?" he mused. "Ah, I can picture him now: a giant of a man taller than Kellam, with arms as thick as my head. In his hand, he swings an axe that would take four average men to lift, and his chest, a forest of thick hair…"

"Am I now?" a voice, very much feminine, laughed from behind the group. "I don't know about the chest hair, and I'm honestly more of a swordswoman than an axe-wielder. But please, do go on." Drake and Chrom both turned to face the direction that Raimi had left in, and Drake grew deathly pale while Lissa and Chrom tried their hardest to stifle their laughter at his reaction, although Chrom was having more success.

Leaning against the throne in a sassy manner was a woman of about thirty-five years. She was almost as tall as Drake, and she struck an imposing figure in her masterfully crafted red and silver armor. Her skin was a light tan, her eyes were a piercing silver color, and her long, blonde hair was tied back in a messy ponytail. Chrom noted the Silver Sword that was sheathed at her hip, making a note to restock on weapons at the next possible convenience. The woman walked up towards the quartet, Raimi following behind her, and Chrom noted that, despite her apparent age, she carried herself with the spring in her step of a much younger woman.

"Oh, do calm yourself, boy," she laughed as the Tactician tried to make himself appear as small as possible beneath his cloak. "I'm not offended; rather, I'm impressed by all the flattery." She laughed again, and Drake slowly emerged from hiding, chuckling at his own foolishness.

"You're the Khan, I'm assuming?" Frederick asked matter-of-factly, in no way affected by the humor going on before him.

"One of them, yes," the woman responded, turning and eyeing the Great Knight with slight disinterest. She then turned to Chrom, and gripped his wrist in a warrior's embrace-a gesture he quickly returned. "My name is Flavia, the Khan of East Ferox. I heard about the debacle at the Longfort, and I apologize for my subordinate's actions." She said the last part of that sentence while glaring at Raimi, who was now trying to hide herself in her armor, before turning back to the Prince. "You and your Shepherds are always welcome in Regna Ferox."

Chrom nodded, before a thought struck him. "Raimi said that you've had problems with bandits posing as myself for the past month." Flavia nodded grimly.

"Yeah, those Plegian scumbags," she spat out, distaste written clearly on her face. "To be honest, I wasn't entirely certain until I personally took to the field and heard the accent myself. No Ylissian speaks the way those Plegian dogs do, no matter how good of an actor one thinks they are. Their king probably sees some benefit in setting our nations against each other." Chrom's grip on Falchion tightened as his anger grew.

"Damn them!" he growled in irritation. Realizing a moment too late what he said, he bowed to Flavia apologetically. "I…Forgive me, Khan Flavia. That was indelicately put." The Khan, however, laughed heartily, taking no offense at Chrom's outburst.

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "Damn them-and damn delicacy as well! Here in Regna Ferox, we prefer plain speech, Prince Chrom."

"Well then," Chrom stated as he stood up from his bow, "You should probably have a word with your damn border guards!" Flavia laughed even louder than she had before, pulling the Prince into a friendly headlock.

"Yes, I can tell that I like you already! You understand Feroxi diplomacy!" Before the two rulers could continue the child-like display, Frederick and Raimi, both irritably annoyed with their charges, cleared their throats simultaneously. A moment of silent passed, before Flavia released the Prince and coughed lightly.

"Ah, forgive me, Prince Chrom. I know why you're here." The Khan sighed before continuing. "Unfortunately, I can't provide you with the reinforcements that you've come seeking." Drake honestly expected Chrom to do something that would cause him to lose face in front of the Khan after hearing that. What he didn't expect was Frederick to beat his charge to the punch.

"And why not?" the Great Knight growled menacingly. Flavia shook her head sadly.

"I lack the authority," she spoke in a nonchalant voice. Frederick reached for his lance, but was stopped as Lissa whacked his head with her staff.

Now Chrom was growing confused. "I don't understand," he said, making it a point to ignore the events going on behind him. "I thought you said that you were the Khan?"

"Like I said," the Khan casually explained, "I'm one of the Khans. Regna Ferox has two major Khans: one who leads East Ferox, and one who rules over West Ferox. One of us acts as the Khan-Reagent, getting command of the armies of the lesser Khans and clan leaders, with the throne switching between us every so often. Currently, it's the West-Khan who's in power, and he'd be the one who would have the final say in whether you get your troops or not." Chrom's hopes started to deflate, as it looked like they would be alone in an impending war with Plegia.

"So we're to receive no help at all?" At this point, Frederick was at the breaking point, and looked about ready to throttle the East-Khan.

"Not necessarily, Chrom." All eyes in the room turned to Drake, who stood with a confident grin on his face, and both arms crossed over his chest. "She said that power changes hands every so often. The way that happens is through a tournament that's held every few years or so. Both Khans send forth a predetermined number of champions into the arena to represent them, since the Khans don't necessarily participate themselves. The tournament is fought in a 'last man standing' sort of style; however, to minimize casualties, the aim isn't to kill your opponents. Rather, you have to disarm your adversaries and force them to concede. Whichever team wins has their represented Khan get the top job." He opened his eyes, and noticed everyone staring at him with questioning looks-or in Frederick's case, a distrusting glare.

"What?" he said with a confused frown. "I read up on Feroxi traditions before we left." He then smiled sheepishly. "Granted, it was in the middle of the night, and I don't remember most of what I read, but I memorized that one segment like the back of my hand. I figured it would come in handy." He was met with silence, before a booming laugh escaped Flavia's lips.

"Ha! Your Tactician's smarter than Raimi said he was, Prince Chrom!" she exclaimed, nudging him with her armored elbow. "Yes, we do hold a tournament every few years. And, as luck would have it, the tournament takes place this afternoon. Now all I need are two champions who'd be willing to represent me." She turned around, and started to walk away slowly, before stopping at the throne.

"But where am I going to find two willing people who are strong enough, swift enough, and smart enough to fight for me?" Her tone of voice suggested that she already knew the answer, and was deciding to play hard to get. Drake and Chrom looked at each other, and nodded, before addressing the East-Khan.

"We'll do it," they said in unison.

The time for the tournament was at hand. Drake and Chrom stood at the edge of the dirt arena that was the location for many of Regna Ferox's political 'debates'. The two Shepherds looked around at the stands; already the stands were packed, and the crowd's roar was deafening. Drake spotted Lissa's unmistakable pigtails up near the front of the crowd, and was pleased to know that all the other Shepherds-even Kellam-were unharmed, although Vaike looked to be a little sick to his stomach. Given the goofy grin he saw plastered onto Stahl's face, it was obvious that Vaike had bitten off more than he could chew by challenging the green-armored Cavalier to an eating contest.

"Drake, are you ready for this?" the Prince asked, taking Drake's attention back to the upcoming fight. The Tactician nodded in response. "Remember, we're fighting for our alliance here; if we win, Ylisse gets the troops that she needs. But if we lose…" Chrom shook his head; he didn't want to think about what should happen if they failed.

"We won't lose, Chrom," Drake said confidently. "You and I are two of Ylisse's best warriors. It'd take more than just two Feroxi to take us down." He then smiled jokingly. "But, if by some ungodly chance we do get our arses handed to us on a silver platter, we can always just suck up to the West-Khan, and petition him for an alliance." Chrom punched the Tactician lightly in the shoulder.

"Royals don't 'suck up' to others, moron," the Prince said in mock anger, before laughing. Drake quickly followed suit, before the two calmed down and set their focus on the other side of the arena.

Two figures emerged from the other end of the arena. The first was a male Myrmidon of twenty-four years, with messy, brown hair, and black eyes that looked to have seen terrible things at a young age. He wore a navy blue coat that was lined with light tan furs around the collar and sleeves. At his hip hung a curved, katana-esque blade that was familiar to Drake; he had seen a sword of the exact same make in the Shepherd's barracks before they left, but the blade's name remained a mystery to him.

The Tactician was so focused on the Myrmidon, that he almost jumped a foot into the air when Chrom nudged him. "Drake, look," the Prince whispered softly, gesturing towards their second opponent. Drake looked, and silently gasped.

Their other opponent…was Marth.

"I see him…" Drake said, gripping the handle of his Steel Sword tightly. Before either of the Shepherds could address their opponents, they heard the loud bang of a gong, and, knowing that the battle had begun, drew their swords.

And just in time, too, as the Myrmidon wasted no time in dashing towards the Prince and the Tactician, quickly unsheathing his blade and slashing at them in the same moment. Chrom rolled quickly to the left, while Drake brought his blade up at an angle to block the attack. As the two weapons connected, Drake felt the blow vibrate through his arms, and almost dropped his sword right then and there; it was only through sheer willpower that he held onto the weapon. Not even being given a rest, the Tactician was forced to backpedal quickly as the Myrmidon preformed three quick slashes, trying to knock Drake or the sword he carried to the ground.

Chrom got up from his roll, and turned to help Drake, before noticing that Marth hadn't taken his blade from its sheath, and was staring at the Prince intently. "So," he asked the mysterious traveller, "You're to be my opponent?" Marth nodded curtly.

"I am," he said. Chrom nodded.

"Very well; I would like to speak first before we begin, Marth. However, something tells me that you're not the talkative type." The masked man nodded, agreeing with Chrom's deduction. "You saved Drake's life when we first met, so I'll attempt to show you mercy." Chrom grabbed Falchion's hilt, and drew it with an over-the-shoulder flourish. Marth drew his blade in the exact same fashion as Chrom only a second later. As he finished, Chrom caught his first good glance at the blade, and gasped.

"Where…Where did you get that sword?" he asked in shock. He couldn't believe his eyes, but he wasn't dreaming.

As impossible as it was, Marth was wielding an exact copy of the Falchion.

"There's no way…" Both swordsmen dashed at each other, and their blades connected in a deadlock. Chrom broke the stalemate and side-slashed at Marth, hoping to catch him off guard. Much to his shock, and chagrin, however, the masked man parried the strike almost perfectly, before thrusting the faux Falchion at the Prince. He only barely avoided the blow by sidestepping away, but was not prepared as Marth slammed his armored shoulder into Chrom's chest, although the former hissed slightly in pain.

"Tell me," Chrom grunted as he recovered from the cheap shot. "Who taught you to fight like this?" Almost immediately afterwards, Chrom leapt into the air, and dived at Marth in a vertical spin, forcing the younger man to dodge backwards in a flip. As Chrom hit the ground, he looked up, and saw the masked man preforming the exact same move on him.

"My FATHER!" Marth cried out as he came down faster than Chrom would've been able to dodge. He could only turn so his shoulder guard took the brunt of the blow, and as the blade hit the metal, he could feel a bone or two in his upper arm fracture. It hurt like hell, but he had to power through the pain, for Ylisse.

Drake was having a little better luck against the Myrmidon, but not by much. His speed was incredible, and he never let the Tactician have more than a moment's rest, constantly keeping him on his feet. Plus, the number of times Drake had to block the Myrmidon's swings left his arms increasingly fatigued. He's relentless, the Tactician thought to himself. Sooner or later, I'm the one who's going to slip up and make a mistake. Perhaps we underestimated our opponents…Or overestimated our own skills…

"You're the one who beat Raimi, correct?" the Myrmidon spoke for the first time in the duel, and the fact that he was conversing with the Tactician left him stunned.

"Yes, why do you ask?" he replied cautiously, not sure if the gruff-voiced man was trying to lower his guard or not. The Myrmidon grunted.

"Your skills aren't showing it. When I heard her talk about how easily you bested her, I figured you would be a worthy opponent." He shook his head sadly, before gripping his blade tighter. "It seems my faith was misplaced." With one step, he thrust the katana towards Drake, who tried to dodge, and escaped mostly unharmed. However, he heard the sound of fabric ripping, and looked down to see his precious cloak, one of his only possessions, get torn.

His gaze rose back up to the Myrmidon's, and now the gruff-voiced man was scared. Where the Tactician's eyes had been violet before, now they glowed blood-red for a second, before returning to their normal color. Drake growled menacingly; he was through playing games.

"No one…Ruins my cloak…And gets away with it!" With a growl, he dashed at the Myrmidon, all fatigue forgotten, and unleashed a flurry of blows that his opponent now had trouble keeping up with. He forced the Myrmidon back, until an upward slash sent the katana flying out of the Myrmidon's hands, and into the wall behind them. With one final flick of the wrist, Drake's blade was planted on the Myrmidon's chest, and both were panting from exertion.

"…Perhaps I was mistaken," the Myrmidon said finally. "Your skill is equal to that of what Raimi said, if not more so." The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, before he turned and walked to the arena's sidelines. "By the way, my name's Lon'Qu."

Drake heard a small, barely audible scream coming from the stands, and turned towards the source, surprised to see that it was Lissa. She was tearing up, and slowly pointed behind the Tactician when she saw him glancing up at her. He turned, and a small gasp escaped from his lips.

The Falchion had been knocked from Chrom's hands, and Marth stood before him, his blade-which looked very similar to Chrom's sword, he noted-at the Prince's throat. Silence coursed through the arena for what felt like hours, before Chrom slowly raised his hands in surrender, although not without some pained hissing, backed away from the masked man's blade, picking up his own, and retreating from the battle. Marth stared after the Prince for a few moments, as if making sure he was actually retreating, before turning to the Tactician.

"…Just you and me now," he said, aiming his faux Falchion at the Tactician. Drake quickly glanced at the masked man, and then raised his blade in anticipation for the fight ahead.

Marth wasted no time, and as soon as he saw the other man's blade rise, he dashed towards him, hoping to end the battle quickly. To his surprise, however, the Tactician directed the faux Falchion away; it wasn't a perfect parry, but it still caught the masked man off guard, since he believed that all of Drake's energy had been used just to survive Lon'Qu's onslaught.

From there, the battle continued, with neither side gaining an advantage, although Drake had little opportunity to do anything but defend. Marth's breathing grew heavier and heavier, as he kept striking hard and fast. Although he knew he could win, Marth couldn't help but feel as if he was being played. It was almost like the Tactician was scoping him out, and drawing him in for the kill. Marth thrust forward, and Drake dodged to the side, a glint of victory in his eyes. The masked man caught the glint, and finally realized that he'd been had.

"Damn…" was all that he could say, before the Tactician sprung his trap.

Drake swept his left leg out, and tripped up the blue-masked swordsman, before thrusting his sword through the hole in the faux Falchion's hilt. With a flick of his wrist, Drake flung the blade from Marth's hand, and into the ground behind him, only feet away. Marth slammed into the ground hard, and mere seconds later, the cold tip of Drake's blade was planted firmly against his stomach.

The entire attack had lasted only a few seconds, but, with the silence that reigned through the arena, it felt like an eternity. Finally, Marth spoke.

"Impressive…if not surprising," the masked man said. "I yield, sir." Drake nodded his head, and removed the blade from the man's stomach. Marth stood, and backed away from the Tactician, collecting the faux Falchion as he left the arena.

Drake sheathed his sword, and turned towards Chrom, who was walking over to the Tactician. "We did it," he told the Prince when he was close enough. However, Chrom shook his head.

"No, you did it," he replied. "You were the one who took out both the Myrmidon and Marth." He grabbed his upper left arm, where the fractured bones were. "All I did was get my royal arse handed to me on a silver platter." Drake placed a gloved hand on Chrom's other shoulder.

"First, you might want to get that arm looked at. And second…" He took Chrom's right hand in his, and raised them into the air, at which the silence of the arena erupted into a monumental uproar. Thousands of voices cheered for the victors, and a smile came to Drake's face. "Had you not weakened Marth, I wouldn't have been able to take advantage of him and win. So, in fact, we did it." Chrom smiled softly, before laughing.

"Heh, you're right!" The two Ylissian warriors lowered their outstretched arms, and Drake fell back onto the ground. "You okay, Drake?" The Tactician didn't respond for a few moments, but finally answered Chrom's inquiry.

"You got any water on you?"

After satiating his thirst and getting Chrom's arm healed, Drake and Chrom were escorted back to the throne room, where Lissa, Frederick, Raimi, and Flavia were already waiting. As soon as she saw them, Lissa ran up to her brother and tackled him in a huge hug, practically crying tears of joy upon seeing he was okay. Frederick shook his head in exasperation, although Drake thought he saw a ghost of a smile form on the Great Knight's lips for a moment. Flavia just laughed, and approached the Tactician.

"That was a spectacular display, Tactician," she said. "You've earned my respect, and more to the point, your alliance. Ylisse will have her troops, and I'll lead them personally." Chrom finally managed to get his sister off of him, and approached Flavia, shaking her hand.

"Thank you, Khan Flavia," the Prince said.

"Hah! I should be thanking you and your Tactician, Chrom. It's felt like forever since I last held full power over Regna Ferox!" She released Chrom's hand, and started walking out of the throne room. "Come, friends! Tonight, we celebrate Feroxi style!" And before anyone could ask what 'Feroxi style celebrations' entailed, she was gone, Raimi chasing after her like a nanny chasing her granddaughter.

A loud grunt came from behind the four Shepherds, and they turned towards the throne. Leaning against it was the living embodiment of Drake's original description of the Khan: tall-though only half a head shorter than Kellam (putting him at eye level with Frederick), his arms brimming with muscles and masculinity. He wore gold armor that left his entire torso vulnerable to weapons and the cold, and along the neck was a mass of white fur. He wore an eyepatch over his left eye, and his visible one was of a similar color to his skin.

"Bah!" the Feroxi man grumbled. "Any excuse to get drunk, and that woman jumps on it. Then again, I'm no different…"

"I'm sorry, have we met?" Chrom asked the giant. He turned towards the Prince, and approached him.

"No, but I'm the West Khan," he said darkly. "You know, the one you just deposed!" He sighed. "And just when I got my chambers the way I wanted them…" The dark look on the giant's face faded quickly, however, and he laughed heartily, offering his hand to the Prince.

"But I'm quick to forgive and forget! You and your Tactician are quite skilled for ones so young." Chrom took the man's hand, and shook it firmly. "The name's Basilio, and it's an honor to meet you, Prince Chrom." The Prince laughed: he liked the West-Khan. He was similar to Flavia, yet very different; both were loud, and obviously charismatic, but Basilio seemed…wiser, almost as if he had seen some things early in life no person should ever see.

"And at least this means those annoying advisers will stop following me around for a few years," the West-Khan continued. "At least until I get my throne back, that is."

"Khan Basilio," Frederick interrupted, "May I ask why you're associating yourself with milord, the man who, in your words, deposed you?" The former Khan stared at the Great Knight like he had just grown a second head, and then laughed.

"Like I said, I'm quick to forgive and forget. And besides, we were only enemies for the duration of the tournament. Now that it's over, everything's back to normal." Then, he turned to the Tactician. "Also, your Tactician wanted to know more about that Marth kid, or so an attendant told me." Drake nodded.

"That's right, Khan Basilio. Any information you give us is appreciated." The West-Khan laughed.

"Please, just call me Basilio. Everyone does, even when I was Khan!" Afterwards, he shook his head. "Sadly, I don't have that much on him. All I know is that he's some sellsword with delusions of grandeur. He just showed up one day and kicked my other champion's arse to kingdom come and back, so I asked him if he wanted the job." Basilio then laughed heartily. "It was love at first sight, and I'm too old for such things, I'd say!"

He shook his head afterwards. "Anyways, the kid's gone. Up and left as soon as the tournament ended."

Drake and Chrom nodded, while Lissa sighed absentmindedly.

"He's so dark and mysterious…" she said, her face all starry-eyed. Drake gripped his blade's hilt tightly, growing increasingly frustrated at the thought that another man was winning Lissa's heart.

Wait, what the hell am I thinking?! Drake thought, the mental image of Lissa in a wedding dress popping into his mind again. Why am I thinking this?! She's a princess, and a teenager at that; let her swoon over whoever she wants! Besides, you're an amnesiac nobody; she's too good for you! He shook the image out of his head.

"Heh, seems like the sellsword's got a fangirl!" Basilio said jokingly, earning himself a glare from Frederick. Lissa blushed profusely.

"Hey!" she stammered. "I-I'm just saying, he's kind of dreamy, right?" Chrom shook his head.

"And you're kind of dreaming, Lissa!" he sighed, rolling his eyes and earning another booming laugh from Basilio as Lissa held her hands up in mock surrender.

"Geez, well excuse me, big brother for being human!"

"Am I the only one who thinks that Marth was way too effeminate?" Drake said to himself, although Chrom apparently caught it, and shook his head.

Frederick coughed, clearing his throat and grabbing the Prince's attention. "Well," he said tonelessly, "This conversation has been…interesting, to say the least. But I fear we must be leaving for Ylisse immediately. The Exalt must be informed of the reinforcements with all due haste." He turned to leave, but Basilio stopped him.

"That wouldn't be a good idea," he said gravely as he moved back to lean against the throne. "My scouts reported this morning that the area surrounding the Coliseum will be trapped in a powerful blizzard for the rest of the day, into tomorrow morning. Leaving now would mean getting caught in that storm." He laughed loudly after that. "Besides, you'd also miss the feast that Flavia's no doubt set about planning!"

"Exactly!" Lissa quickly agreed with the West-Khan. "Besides, you already took one feast away from me. And as your princess, I order you not to deprive me of another one!" Drake had to admit, it was both funny and cute, seeing Lissa glare up at Frederick, when she only came up to about his chest.

"I'm sorry, milady. But we must make all haste." Suddenly, Flavia appeared behind Frederick, and pulled him into a friendly headlock; no small feat, considering she was a head shorter than him.

"Ah, don't worry about it," she told the Great Knight. "I took the liberty of sending a messenger bird to Ylisse, informing the Exalt of our alliance." She laughed, her voice lively and carefree. "By the time you get your Shepherds organized and ready to move, she'll have been to Ylisse and back twice!" Chrom sighed.

"Well," he said, "We could use the break…" Frederick glanced at his liege, then sighed in defeat.

"Very well. We can stay for the celebration." Lissa cheered animatedly, and hugged Frederick.

"YES!" she exclaimed. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" The others laughed at Lissa's antics, each one glad to know that they had an ally in the event of war.

That night, the party was in full swing. Despite the raging blizzard outside (or maybe because of it), the Coliseum and the town that surrounded it were packed. It almost felt like all of Regna Ferox had shown up just for the celebration. Drake glanced down at the city from the balcony he was on, and breathed in the cool night air. Quickly, he glanced back into Khan Basilio's chambers.

When he first saw them, he couldn't believe how massive it was; at best, he estimated it to be about the same size as the Shepherds' Barracks, except at least twice as tall, and not counting the stables. Looking back now, the size still impressed him. Flavia and Basilio had been kind enough to escort the Shepherds here for the celebration, where Basilio promptly challenged Vaike, Flavia, Sully, and Chrom to a drinking match. They were already three drinks in, and Vaike was out, with Sully and Chrom looking a little tipsy. Sumia and Virion were off playing something that looked similar to chess, while Lissa and Frederick kept a close eye on the drinking match, specifically watching Chrom. Miriel and Stahl sat away from the group, talking with each other, though Drake couldn't hear the conversation, and Kellam was nowhere to be seen.

Another hectic day, the Tactician thought to himself. We competed in a tournament, got involved with another country's politics, and nearly got beaten in said tournament. He sighed. Maybe we should be training harder…The bandits and Risen will only be growing stronger by the day…

"Copper for your thoughts, Drake?" Sumia's voice startled the Tactician out of his reverie, and he turned to the brunette Pegasus Knight.

"Oh, hey Sumia. I'm just…" Drake sighed before continuing. "I'm just thinking about…things." He wasn't sure what to say after that.

"You're worried about how tough the battle today was, and whether we're all strong enough to handle the increasing difficulty." He looked at the brunette as if she had just told him that he would marry royalty someday. She had guessed his thought process exactly!

"Yeah…How did-?"

She shrugged. "Just a lucky guess, I suppose." Sumia placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry; as long as we have you leading us, I think we'll be alright." Drake smiled at Sumia.

"Thanks, Sumia." She nodded, and the two of them stepped back into the warmth of the Khan's chambers.

Back at the Longfort, no guards stood at watch; most of them had either retired for the night, or gone to watch the tournament, and stayed for the celebration. This allowed Marth to scale the walls of the border fort unopposed, before stopping and looking back in the direction of the Coliseum.

"Just a little longer," he muttered to himself. "A little longer, and tragedy can be averted." He shook his head, before jumping to the ground, and rushing back into the snowy forest.

Everyone say it with me: ServantofGrima! Has! No! Time! Management! Skills!

I gave myself (and a reviewer) an approximate date on which the next chapter will be released. So what happens? I release it an entire MONTH after the date! The only good news is that it wasn't an EIGHT MONTH WAIT! …College is really sucking my time away…

But hey, I feel like this is my best chapter yet! The whole month of working on it was spent getting the chapter as close to perfection as I could, so there wasn't any time wasted there.

Anyways, next chapter will HOPEFULLY not take as long, so until then, this is ServantofGrima, signing out!

Frederick: "It would please both me and milord if you would rate, review, favorite, and follow this tale."