Knoll came to know of Lyon through service.

A chance. Some knowledge. A promise that he would be rewarded handsomely. Knoll jumped at all these chances, without considering the consequences of what he was going into. It would involve the Sacred Stones, he heard Lyon murmur, but he didn't care. So long as he was working. So long as he wasn't restlessly pacing the large castle, wondering why he was in this place with no purpose.

Lyon barely spoke during their work, only looking up to ask for some ingredient, or, if he was tired and the data easy to analyze, a book from a shelf. Knoll came to understand that Lyon didn't trust him, even though Lyon said himself that his father entrusted him to the work. But Knoll didn't question him. After all, it seemed, Lyon knew more about the dark arts than he did, working with ancient and dusty texts as if it was the colloquial of the region. So Knoll never interjected, never really even questioned what he was doing. Mix this, mix that. He did all of it.

A strange exchange. Once, and why he remembered he couldn't fathom even now.

"Knoll."

Knoll glanced at Lyon. His name was never mentioned before, he faintly realized. But he didn't say anything.

"Have you ever had friends?"

Knoll looked at Lyon, this time, strangely.

"I… think I may have had some," he said carefully.

Lyon nodded. "Friends are really good, aren't they?"

Knoll looked at the floor. "I can't say. I've never had a good one."

"Well, I believe they are."

Knoll shrugged. He never was good with optimistic outlooks, so he remained silent. Lyon glanced at him several more times, before sighing, hunching over what remained of the text he was reading.

Knoll supposed that he told the truth. He may have had some friends, way back. But they were gone now. He may have forgotten what friendship was. But it was no matter. He was a mage, and he worked for Lyon. That was all.

Several months later, Lyon's father died.

Observer.

Though he became much more intertwined with what Lyon considered to be noble research afterwards, Knoll remained one, looking, analyzing, but never part of the action of what plot Lyon had for Grado, or the world for that matter. Lyon's father died. Lyon went into mourning. Then Lyon was determined more than ever to revive his father. Though Knoll thought it was foolish, Lyon probably knew more and thus Knoll remained silent. But that didn't necessarily mean that he was stupid. Or naïve, or a fool, like the way he heard other mages whisper about him.

Lyon was smart and intelligent, but he was also obsessed and maybe even fanatic, if such a word could be allowed in his head. But Knoll learned to not take heed of such small details. When Knoll strangely stopped talking about Sacred Stones and started talking of the power of the Dark Stone, Knoll pretended that it was normal that such an evil artifact was being coveted. When he noticed Lyon's skin, getting paler and paler in the dim light of the dungeon, he pretended not to notice. Once he did, and suggested they go outside. Lyon snapped, screaming at him and threatening him with imprisonment and execution.

That was the last time Knoll told Lyon his observations.

"I like you," Lyon once said. "Everyone else would be all over me, telling me that this is evil. But I understand what good it is for Grado. And I know you understand as well."

Outside, Knoll nodded. Inside, he realized. Lyon didn't like interferers, didn't like the way they tore at the fabric of his plan and twisted his elaborate scheme. No, he liked observers, silent people who may or may not understand. But Knoll understood. And yet, he couldn't get from the fact that he still respected, admired Lyon and maybe something more. He must be twisted. And passively, he accepted the fact without questioning it.

Several days later, Lyon resurrected his father.

Knoll supposed that everything went downhill from there.

It wasn't just about saving his father anymore. It was about saving Grado, about spending ceaseless hours at night studying the effects of the corrupt and artificial excuse of a Stone. It was about being a strong ruler, about protecting a country from the effects of a vague and far-off natural disaster. And though Knoll wanted to believe, or even hope, in Lyon's claims, he knew better. And as Lyon acquired generals with less than scrupulous ambitions and cruel warriors who didn't know when to stop wielding the blade, Knoll felt, more and more, that he could no longer be an observer

Lyon sometimes confided in him, about strange affairs with strange countries, and a blue-haired man and his sister who used to be his friends, but were now enemies. Knoll faintly recalled them, confident, idealistic twins who once talked with Lyon. He felt a faint nostalgia rise up, and maybe regret for what was passed. But then Lyon would outline new ways, new methods of how to focus the power of the Stone, or how to harness it. And Knoll would fade back to being an observer, a recorder of methods and trials and errors and a mere pawn.

A pawn.

Knoll played with the idea. As an observer, he was immediately a pawn. And he envisioned himself, a mere ceramic model on a checkered and bloodstained cloth. And as he watched scores of soldiers enter and leave the castle, he decided to venture with an idea he had, an idea Lyon told him a long time ago.

Lyon sneered when Knoll brought it up.

"Friends?" Lyon said, "I have no need for them. Don't you realize, they only turn on you in the end." Unlike you, who just sits and surveys, who is an observer and a…

Knoll felt something shatter in him.

And he knew, then, he could no longer be an observer.

Underneath his fingers, he felt the fabric tear.

"You should stop."

The curve of lips into a smirk. "Are you questioning me?"

Knoll felt himself stop, like a deer in the lamplights. For a moment, he couldn't speak. And then he remembered. And then….

"You're going to destroy us." As if you care, because you already did that to so many others, to people you knew, to me...

For a moment, the deafening silence. The look on Lyon's face was incredulous, shocked, maybe shattered. But before Knoll could even tell if it was real, Lyon's face had settled back into the initial smirk.

With one hand, he gestured.

"Take him to the dungeons." To Knoll. "Your execution will be tomorrow."

Because you are no longer an observer, you are useless.

Knoll laughed, silently, at the irony as the guards dragged him down to the dungeons.

Down in the dank and dark dungeon, he waited, consigned to what he was used to. Rendered silent, unmoving, without power.

He once thought himself important. Maybe even smart and cunning.

He was naught.

But at least he could pretend. Unlike now. When the truth was presented to him in the overwhelming blackness, he could see clearly, despite the inky darkness, that he was still naught.

Knoll waited for the morning to come.

There, he could pretend once more that he could observe.

A/N: Meh, didn't go so smoothly as I first imagined it; it sort of careened down a 30 degree slope and crashed into a tree after the first several paragraphs. As another note, this is my first Fire Emblem fanfic. Because I am not familiar with fanon or canon, it would be incredibly helpful if you could point out various flaws in my fic, i.e. review. Again, thanks for wasting time to read this not very coherent on-the-rush-from-finals fanfic.