Chapter Text
Fiora took a deep breath as she approached the campfire where her new contractors were gathered for dinner. The smoke from the crackling fire merged with the starry sky above, forming a hazy veil.
'Quite the lively group,' she thought as she walked slowly toward them, her tired body aching.
Fiora pulled her linen coat tighter around her shoulders. She had endured far crueler winters in Ilia, yet the cold settled deep beneath her skin that night. The smell of blood and smoke still lingered in her memory. She sat down, huddled in her robes, silently beside her sister Florina, who was just as quiet but far more at ease. Someone handed Fiora a cup of wine, which she accepted with a nod, and then she opened her knapsack, pulling out pieces of bread and chicken. She ate in silence, forcing herself to slow down between bites.
Her thoughts drifted back to the field where her squad had fallen, had been sitting there for a while, lost in thought, not even noticing Florina nudging her. She was finally pulled out of her reverie by the crackling of the fire and realized that someone was speaking to her.
"So... my lady, are you from Etruria?" asked Eliwood, subtly curious. Eliwood had made a habit of learning the names of those who rode beside him, and the Ilian knight had already drawn his attention.
"Ilia, my lord," Fiora corrected him, pride tinging her voice.
"What are you doing here, little lady? You don’t look like a mercenary," Hector observed bluntly.
"Excuse me... but why?" Fiora looked at him, confused and slightly annoyed.
"You all look too frail to be mercenaries," Hector scoffed, holding out his glass for more drink and turning his attention back to the fire.
"And you don’t look much like a nobleman... my lord," Fiora retorted, the wine loosening her tongue. She would later regret those words.
Lady Lyn stifled a laugh, but Florina’s expression twisted with concern. She didn’t want her sister to fall out of favor with the lords.
Hector, however, laughed heartily, sounding accustomed to such banter.
"Florina is a capable Pegasus rider. I’m quite sure that Fiora is as talented as her sister," Eliwood intervened before Hector could say anything more, trying to prevent further argument.
"Thank you, my lord," Fiora murmured, relieved.
The words soured in her mouth almost immediately; it was inappropriate behavior for someone of her status. On most days, she would have given a polite response, but she was not in a good mood. The deaths of her comrades still weighed heavily on her, and questioning her abilities only made her feel worse.
"Excuse me, my lords, I beg your leave," She lowered her voice.
“Granted,” Hector barked out a laugh.
She withdrew earlier than most, retiring to her tent. Sleep brought little rest. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw blood spreading across snow and the shadow of dragons overhead.
The days passed, and Fiora was at the front lines of every battle, riding her Pegasus, even though she advised her younger sister, Florina, to stay back. She felt an intense urge to protect her comrades and fought with all her might to prove herself worthy of their respect. The memories of her squad being slaughtered still haunted her. She didn’t want any more of her kind to die.
In a fateful moment, Lord Eliwood found himself surrounded and struck by several enemy arrows. Fiora was one of the few close enough to help him. Without waiting for any direct order, she knew she had to save her commander.
She glanced back briefly, checking on Hector and Lyn—they were safe, out of danger. She couldn’t afford to fail again. Without hesitation, she charged forward, rushing toward Lord Eliwood, who was surrounded by four enemies. He was still on his horse but had already been hit by several arrows in the chest and arm.
Through the chaos of the battlefield, Eliwood’s red hair stood out among the enemy ranks.The archers were distracted and didn’t see her coming. Fiora pierced the enemy line and grabbed the commander, lifting him onto the back of her Pegasus, and flew away from the battlefield, avoiding any counterattacks with her spear. Pressing a piece of his cloak against his wounds, she urged her mount back to the camp. Once they reached the healers’ tents, she left the lord in their care.
Blood soaked through the bandages almost as quickly as the healers wrapped them.That night, sitting in the tent beside him, the Pegasus rider breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the soldiers returning to camp and the trumpet announcing yet another victory. The sound of returning soldiers eased the tightness that had gripped her chest since leaving the battlefield. Eliwood, however, was injured and delirious with fever. The healers had managed to remove the arrows from his body, and they had done their job well, but Fiora feared the worst.
“Poison,” one of the healers whispered to the apprentice Serra.
But Eliwood was strong, and within two nights, he woke up.
A bit disoriented and squinting against the candlelight, his gaze fell on the beautiful lady beside him. They exchanged few words, but he recognized her from that night at the campfire and remembered how agile she had been on the battlefield.
"What happened?" he asked weakly.
"Sir, you were nearly defeated on the battlefield. You were struck by a poisoned weapon," Fiora explained, leaning closer to inspect the wound.
"And this lady here broke through enemy lines and saved you," came Serra's high-pitched voice, startling them both as she entered the tent.
Eliwood looked at her quietly for a long moment.
“You carried me out of there.” He seemed to search for something else to say. “I owe you my life.”
"If you want to thank me, live, my lord," Fiora spoke after a brief pause
Eliwood was weak, but he would survive. While the lord recovered, thanks to the sorcerers' magic and the priestesses' prayers, Fiora rarely rested after that. When sleep refused to come, she walked the camp alone beneath the dim torchlight.
Each evening, Fiora stopped by the healer’s tent under the excuse of checking his recovery. He had to live. On these visits, she often found another girl already sitting beside him. Her name was Ninian. The melancholy in Ninian’s eyes made Fiora uncomfortable, so she rarely stayed long after seeing her.
"Wait! My lady! You don’t need to leave so soon!" Eliwood would always plead.
"I have unfinished tasks to attend to," Fiora would reply, always finding an excuse.
One day it was that she needed to see her sister. Another day, she was grooming her Pegasus. Or training. Patrolling. Doing odd jobs around the fort. Perhaps fixing some barracks.
Each visit left her quieter than before. Somewhere along the way, concern had become something far more dangerous.
She sighed, mentally reminding herself that he was a prince and she was the daughter of a mercenary and a fisherwoman.Years of hardship had taught Fiora exactly where people like her stood in the eyes of nobles. As the descendant of commoners and former slaves. Most importantly, she longed for peace of mind.