No, I do not own Fire Emblem, blah blah blah disclaimer. I'm probably going to burn in the fires of FanFicHell for giving Naesala a soul, but whatever. I also really, REALLY wanted to make this a second chapter to "Perhaps Later"... but just couldn't. It's a standalone. And I bit my nails for almost a week before posting it. This story is kind of my baby. (If you know the words to the Gershwin song, sing along.)
Also, a warning: since Fire Emblem wikis and websites are made of fail in terms of detailed backstory/events... I made some stuff up. Gasp.

Anyway.

Oh, your daddy's rich, and your mamma's good-lookin'

So hush, little baby, don't you cry

He'd promised them: "Let me settle things. Then you can do with me what you wish."

Tibarn had acquiesced with the barest of nods; even Skrimir, with unusual reserve, had merely grunted assent and turned away. He'd watched them leave, Skrimir pounding southwards, Tibarn a distant shape on the northern horizon, flying toward Serenes. But that had been almost a year and a half ago, just after Ashera's demise, and he didn't expect their patience to hold out much longer.

"By the goddess," he said softly, and reached out with a finger to touch their daughter's cheek. "How... I never..." He paused, grinning at his own wordlessness. "It always gets me. They're so beautiful."

Leanne smiled brightly at their son, cradled breathlessly in his arms. "You're funny. Of course they're beautiful. She is the first heron born since... well, since me. And how could your son be any less good-looking than his father?"

His heart tore at that, and he looked down at the children; was that a smirk on the boy's face, as he slept, or was it just Naesala's imagination? The girl was awake, batting at her mother's hair with a look of intense concentration, immense green eyes trying to focus on that shiny gold lock. He'd never spent much time around children, and it came as something of a surprise that he was already so attached to these two. Particularly because it probably wouldn't even matter if they weren't his own.

"No, it's probably just their mother's face shining through there," he countered, more out of habit than real conviction. "Have you already decided on names?"

"Of course not," she answered, sounding surprised. "Don't you think you should have something to do with that?" Their daughter suddenly yawned cavernously, tiny eyes squeezing shut in that soft, round face. "Ooh, looks like it's time for bed, no?"

He followed her across the room, helped her lay the children down. "I had given some thought to it, to be honest," she added, pulling up the blankets over their son's tiny wings, "but I didn't know if there was anyone you wanted your son named after. Or your daughter. But I was thinking..." She hesitated, then plunged on. "Lillia. For my sister."

She didn't add the obvious: that he had known her sister better than she herself had. More than that... what he wasn't willing to yet admit. "It's a beautiful name," he said, hoping the words didn't sound too strangled. "I'm sure your father would rejoice, as well." What had Lorazieh's reaction been to finding out that his daughter had been captured, kept prisoner, and had died in a squalid jail cell? It hadn't been the first time Naesala had wondered that, and he squirmed to think that he could have been there, could have helped Lillia... whom he had loved until the moment he laid eyes on Leanne.

Leanne was watching him closely, and abruptly he realized that she knew: that she had known for some time. "You're a man of secrets," she said now, unable to stop a small smile, "but none of them are from me."

He laughed in relief. "That is not something I regret. I have much to atone for."

"Not to me," she said firmly. "And if anyone has to know, I would much rather it be me. Speaking of which." She said nothing else, and his heart sank.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I'll have to go soon. I've kept Tibarn and his people waiting for far too long. Not to mention Skrimir and the Gallians."

"Just not in Serenes." She took his hands in her own, moss-green eyes dry but sad. "This forest has seen enough bloodshed, and if you fools are going to cause more trouble over honor and revenge, go somewhere else to do it. Please?" He nodded, head bowing. She kissed his forehead, hugging him to her, and added, "And if it is at all possible, come back alive. Their anger might have cooled, but they may... forget themselves. Don't let them do any more than is necessary." It was only half a joke.

"Are you suggesting," he said into her shoulder, "that I would allow anyone to give me more than my fair share of abuse?"

She giggled at his muffled voice, and pushed him away, trying to be serious. "Yes. So to speak. You know yourself as well as I do."

"If you say so," he answered, and they were silent for a moment. Naesala looked up. "Would you... would you sing? For the children... and for me?"

Leanne's smile faded, her face shining with love. "Of course."

He sent word by way of a single, discreet messenger, one of his old friends from Kilvas; much as he despised protecting his role as a diplomat, it just wouldn't do for word of this to circulate. Tibarn's message came back within a matter of hours: the summons location was far east of Serenes, past the rivers and well into Begnion. At least they had gone along with his demand that this take place somewhere besides Serenes.

"If you're not back in three days..." Leanne said, tightly clasped hands the only sign of her unease.

"If I'm not back in three days, find your brother," Naesala interrupted her, his throat tightening at the thought. He didn't bother to specify which brother; she knew he meant Reyson. "But I will be. Two days, at the most. And the majority of that will be flying time."

She looked stricken, and he realized that she wasn't really expecting him to come back at all. Or at least... he cringed. She didn't expect him to be flying back. "Leanne," was all he could say, gathering her in his arms.

"I'll be here," she said finally, into his chest. "I'll be waiting."

He landed quietly and transformed, glad of the darkness. It made things difficult to see, and he'd had the devil of a time finding this particular copse of trees... but he was embarrassed to find that he was, in fact, embarrassed. Proud as he was to finally square this inequity with Tibarn, this reckoning was certain to be deeply humiliating: it was that same pride that made him wince in anticipation of what the hawk king might have decided. The darkness, the feeling of being hidden, would make this easier to bear.

"Glad to see you're here," said a dry voice, far to his left, and he turned, heart racing, to see the dim shadow of a beast laguz, emerging from the trees. He squinted: as the figure came closer, he recognized Ranulf. Damn the cats and their night vision!

Taking a deep breath, Naesala steadied himself. "I might be a raven, but I do occasionally have morals, you know." He was glad to hear that his voice sounded strong, even confident, and added a trace of sneer. "How long should I expect to be kept waiting?"

"Not long," said Ranulf patiently. He glanced toward the skies; his presence as King Gallia's right hand was clear indication of Skrimir's decision to leave this between the birds. "Any moment now, in fact." Naesala looked up: nothing was visible for a moment. Then a pale white blur came into view, and he groaned. Ranulf looked over at him sharply, followed his gaze, and shrugged.

"Were you expecting any less?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice as Tibarn and his two retainers touched to the ground... followed immediately by Reyson. Naesala couldn't see the heron's expression, but his good-brother's body language told him enough.

"I suppose I shouldn't have," he answered, trying to match Ranulf's dry tone and failing. "Well, now, the party's assembled."

"Try not to make this any more difficult than it has to be, Kilvas," said Tibarn evenly, making no movement toward him. "The fires of my anger have cooled somewhat, particularly since learning certain things. But I am not here for revenge. I am here for justice. You will only make it harder on yourself and all of us if you employ your famous sharp tongue."

"I fail to see where this is going to be hard on you, Phoenicis," Naesala answered boldly. Tibarn stiffened; it was more than habit that had made them address each other by the names of their dead, abdicated kingdoms. "From my perspective, you're looking at atonement for more than one loss. You might even enjoy this." He glanced at Reyson. "And I suppose you've got a right to do so."

The heron prince couldn't meet his eyes. Damn it all! Were they really planning to kill him?

"Was it really just for the blood pact?" Tibarn asked quietly. "My people, sacrificed? I'd like to think that you did it for your kingdom, that your sole motivation was saving the few lives you could protect... but your behavior in previous years seems to suggest something more than that." He paused. "Selling Reyson to that senator... then selling yourself and your services to Petrine-" he spat the beorc's name out in distaste. "We weren't sure then if your motivations were anything other than mere greed... now we ponder whether or not you served Daein for your own purposes... or for Begnion's."

Naesala felt a flush of anger at the mere thought of being yet another Begnion lackey, then an equal rush of shame, remembering the revolting Tanas affair. Coolly, he replied, "Tibarn, my friend... let me assure you that any of my misadventures with were entirely due to compensation for my father's one great mistake. Though I admit that natural tendencies may have led me to some paths rather than others." He put a hand to his face and said through his fingers, blandly, "The only exception being Petrine. I wouldn't have worked for her, had she not been a bastard relative of mine. A cousin, to be specific."

He let the point sink in; everyone but Reyson was hiding their feelings behind an impenetrable expression, but he could feel it nonetheless. He knew for a fact that each one of them had bastard relatives wandering about the continent. He hadn't exactly been proud of his own - Petrine, in short, had terrified him - but there was a certain amount of responsibility attached to any relative, half-breed or no.

"The point, nonetheless," said Ranulf, suddenly, "is that you say your involvement with the beorc countries was strictly in terms of what the blood pact demanded. You became the pact's executor once your father died... what, twenty years ago? Just before the massacre in Serenes?"

Naesala, about to respond, froze in shock. Reyson's expression was the only one to have suddenly changed, and in a brief flash of horror Naesala realized Ranulf's implication.

The horror, though, gave way almost immediately to blazing wrath. "You..." he almost choked on the word. "You think I had anything to do with Serenes?" He strode forward; Tibarn and Ranulf stood their ground, but their eyes wavered. It was an effort not to transform and throw himself at them right now, damn the consequences; Naesala could feel his wings clenching with the effort, and didn't bother to stop himself from shouting at them. "If you think I could do such a thing, to stand by and watch the entire heron clan burn, let alone help those human beasts, and live with myself for twenty years, you might as well just kill me now and rid yourselves of the lowest, greediest, most shameful, proud thing that ever lived!"

"Naesala." He started; it was Reyson's voice. The heron stepped forward, looking like he would rather be anywhere else in the world. "If you had been held by the blood pact to aid Lekain..."

"I was not!" He closed his eyes, lips tight, and ran a hand through his hair. The motion was soothing, but it wasn't enough to ease the pain in his heart that Reyson was causing. "I swear before you now, Kilvas never partook in the massacre. Begnion never asked. We..." He swallowed. "I mourned. However little you all like me or believe me, it is the simple truth." Well, perhaps not the simple truth. His heart ached to have Leanne by his side... if for no greater reason than to prove his honesty.

After a short silence, Reyson spoke. "I know. Or rather, I knew." He turned to Tibarn. "And now so do you."

The hawk king nodded slowly, eyes now unwavering, and Naesala felt the pressure ease. To his surprise, he felt a solitary tear tracing its way down his face. Rather than wipe it away, he let it stay. Let them see that for once, he was hiding nothing.

Tibarn sighed. "Well, it is settled. We won't argue motivations any longer. You still know there is something to be settled between our two countries, though?"

It was only half a question, and was not without irony, but Naesala nodded, acquiescing. In a quick motion, he unbuckled the belt to his tunic and slid the garment off. The atmosphere was finally satisfactory; none of them wanted to be here. "May I request that you leave enough of me for my wife to piece back together?"

Reyson shuddered, but Ranulf looked amused, and Tibarn smiled grimly. They had each, after all, blankly stared in surprise when Leanne had insisted upon marrying him. "Don't worry. She may not be happy with your looks before we're finished, but if she wants you alive, we won't argue."

"And besides," Ranulf said, almost lazily, "who would want to rid Tellius of its most charming politician?"

In the end, all four of the birds escorted him home the next morning, Ranulf loping southwards to bring information back to Gallia. Naesala didn't remember much of the trip: mostly that he kept wishing his broken wings would fall off rather than go on hurting like they did.

Forcing one eye open, he saw Leanne plummeting down from the tower room, wings brilliant in the cheery mid-morning sunshine. The paradox of trying to tell her to go away until he could at least talk was too much, and as Janaff and Ulki set him down in the courtyard, he gratefully sank to the warm flagstones. Now if only they would all go away, and let him be at peace.

Leanne knelt next to him, fingers lightly tracing his face; his mind registered, almost in amusement, that her round face, usually so cheerful, was tight with worry and anger. She stood and rather ungracefully stepped over him, long dress trailing on his bare chest; a sharp slap resounded, and Tibarn grunted in surprise. "That's for your cursed sense of revenge," she said, using the common language. Then another slap sounded, followed by a stiff silence. Naesala tried to look up to see who else she was staring at now, but it was too much of an effort, and he dropped his head again. It must have been Reyson. What a shame: Leanne had ruined her beautiful gown with bloodstains.

"Leave my home, Tibarn." Her voice rang out, commanding, but pitched high in fury. "Help my husband inside, and then leave." Until you are called for, her tone added.

Naesala heard feathers rustle as the hawk king bowed. "I will. All is settled; though I beg your forgiveness, Leanne."

"In time," was all she said. They dragged him up once more, and Naesala gritted his teeth to not cry out before her. She spoke once more, then came in after them. "Brother. Inside."

He sort of hazed out until the point where she touched his face again, calling his name. "Stay awake for a few more minutes, please?" she was saying, very softly, eyes just in front of his. The room behind her was blurring gently, and Reyson's form was a vague white shape against the darkness.

He nodded, as best he could. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, but she turned away to speak with her brother. Naesala closed his eyes, everything dizzily spinning; at least he could hear clearly, if nothing else. "What did they do, Reyson?" she asked. "How can I... Reyson, look at me."

After a moment's silence, as he ostensibly obeyed her, she repeated, "What did they do?" Naesala would have grimaced at the thought, but his mouth hurt too much. It hadn't been anywhere near his worst expectations, he reflected. They hadn't resorted to beorc tools, anyway: Ranulf's claws and Tibarn's talons had sufficed for scourges, and he felt a faint pride at having stayed silent through so much of it. Of course, he'd screamed each of the three times when they broke parts of his wings... but Reyson had fled into the forest at that point, so it hadn't felt so awful.

Reyson's voice was very softly recounting the events of the night, and from the sound of it, he was weeping as he did so. Well, let him feel guilty for now, Naesala thought vaguely; he can do Tibarn's share of that.

He tried to shift his weight off his ribs: a mistake, since the movement not only twisted his wings, but his legs, which were in an equitable state. Tibarn and Ranulf had been quite scientific. They hadn't bothered to bind his hands: the Eyes and the Ears had been there to hold them, of course, but he had stayed quite still on his own. Now streams of fire were carousing up and down the bones of his legs, and he quite regretted having let them go as far as they did. Leanne had been wrong, though: they could have done much more, and he'd asked them to stop. For her sake.

"Stop moving!" she said to him suddenly, interrupting her brother.

He opened his eyes and managed to smile at her. "That counts as moving," she said sternly, but her smile in reply was gentle. She bent to kiss him, and looked back at Reyson. "I'll not stop you from going now. If you will, tell the hawk that in a month's time he should return... for the childrens' naming ceremonies." She hesitated, then added, "But not until then."

"I will tell him," he answered, voice rough. "I... may I?" His eyes, fairly brimming with shame and sorrow, flitted to Naesala, then rose back to his sister.

Leanne nodded, and her brother moved forward to kneel by the bed. "I... I truly beg your forgiveness, Naesala," he said, head bowed.

Naesala wished he could have rolled his eyes, but it wouldn't have done. Very carefully, he extended a hand, opened in invitation. Reyson seized it in his own, though gently, and finally looked him in the eye. Naesala cocked an eyebrow, letting his own smile linger - the goddess, what he must look like, with the blood from his forehead running down his bruised face. The young heron took a deep breath, and nodded, very simply. Without another word, he stood and left.

Leanne, in the subsequent peace, leaned down to matter-of-factly rip a large piece of her dress off; he frowned at the indignity, and she did roll her eyes then. "Oh come, now. It's already ruined." Reaching for the ewer on the bedside table, she wet the cloth and began dabbing at his forehead. "I could simply kill you. You and the rest of them. This is going to make a spectacular scar."

"Probably," he said, almost inaudibly, unable to bother not talking anymore just because it hurt his lips. The scar was the point, after all: but hopefully very few other diplomats of the realm would recognize the laguz way of branding someone as a traitor. The symbol Tibarn had chosen was quite obscure.

He suddenly realized she was crying, and closed his hand over hers. "No!" she cried, tears cascading. "No, don't try to convince me this was right, or that you deserved it, or especially that you fools should be allowed to dispense your own forms of justice and revenge! We all know why you did what you did, it was because you had to!" Even her use of the ancient language was beginning to deteriorate into coarse repetition.

She tried to pull her hand from his grip, but tenaciously he retained it, and she gave up, evidently afraid that she would hurt him. "You let them... the goddess, I can't believe you..." She stretched out the other hand toward his wings, but instantly snatched it back. Her anger clearly got the better of her, and she punched him on the shoulder hard enough for him to actually register that it hurt, even comparatively. "Your beautiful wings... How could they even do it?" She bowed her head low, to his face. "How could you let them do that, you stupid, graceless coward?!"

"Leanne," he whispered, wishing he could speak more strongly, more eloquently, to comfort her. It was enough for him to feel embarrassed, without her worrying about what he looked like, too. "You are being ridiculous." She gave a laugh, almost a hiccup. "Two weeks... no?"

She ran a hand down his back, one of the only places that didn't hurt (thanks to her punching his shoulder), and he closed his eyes to sigh. "Maybe," was all she said, her fingers lightly running up and down his spine. She knew as well as he that it would be even less than that, especially if she sang. His skin prickled; she was humming now, and even that was enough to give him relief.

He opened his eyes suddenly: apparently he had fallen asleep, just for a moment, because she had picked up the cloth again, and was cleaning the marks on his chest, silently shaking her head. "Stop it!" he said, as forcefully as he could, ribs aching from it. "If I'm not allowed to say this was right... then you are not going to get upset over it." Everything hurt too much: he just couldn't talk anymore.

"All right," she said after a moment. Then she cleared her throat a little, took a deep breath, and smiled. "I'll be right back. And don't try to stay awake: you'll need sleep." She stood, took one more swipe at his chest with the now-sodden rag (the cuts had almost closed already), and flitted from the room.

It seemed to be moments later when he felt a warm, solid weight against him, and reaching up with a hand found the slumbering body of his daughter, her face nestled comfortably into his collarbone. Leanne was singing a song so old that he remembered it from his own childhood, quiet and bittersweet in the bird-laguz tongue. He clasped an arm gently around his child and slept: without a doubt, things were set aright.