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The Crimean army advances faster and faster, day by day.
Shiharam Fizzart knows his death comes; at whose hands... well, it doesn't matter. Whether he'll be hit by a stray arrow, fall from his faithful wyvern after a thunderbolt hits them, tried and executed by Crimea or Daein for whatever reason they might find...
(And there are many--so, so many)
Well. Suffice to say, he thinks as he stands in front of the floodgate mechanism, this will just be one more unforgivable sin added to his list of crimes.
He takes a rare, indulgent moment to himself to curse everything; General Petrine, Daein, King Ashnard, Begnion, the goddess-forsaken senate, Haar and all their men for still being here when Shiharam told them to leave and save themselves so many, many times--
And, of course, himself.
After yesterday, when Haar grimaced and confessed that he had seen--even met with--Jill among the Crimean ranks, standing not as a prisoner, but a soldier... he knew that at least one of his greatest sins is being remedied. And thus, he has made peace with his inevitable death.
"Jill... please, wherever you are... forgive your craven father," he whispers to nobody. "May we not meet today; I love you."
He takes a deep breath, and prepares to release the floodgate's lever, and damn himself yet more.
His palm wraps around the lever, and he--
Ah!
A bright flash of light blinds him suddenly and he winces, covering his eyes. As he blinks away the discomfort, he suddenly realizes he's... not in the floodgate control room anymore.
Before his confusion and panic can even begin to overwhelm him, a small gasp from behind him makes him tense up and reach for the axe on his back, instinctively entering a battle stance.
But...
There's only a youth dressed in slightly oversized robes, looking at him with no small amount of wonder and surprise. The silence stretches for a few moments, before they scramble and stutter, nervously running a hand through their hair. Shiharam lowers his axe, utterly baffled.
"Sir... um... sorry, this was supposed to..."
They trail off, but then they visibly collect themselves. "Welcome to Askr. Forgive me for so abruptly..."
Merciful Goddess Ashera, in her righteous judgement, has apparently deemed him unfit to die as of yet.
Shiharam lets out a rueful chuckle.
The entire afternoon has passed with the youth--Kiran, as he learned their name is--explaining exactly what happened and why; most of it in such a practiced tone that Shiharam realized, even before they mentioned it, that this is a regular thing.
... Aside from the constant apologies and awkward, yet well-meaning assurances, that is. He can tell that Kiran is a very genuine sort.
Shiharam sighs. If Ashera delivered him from an almost certain death, however temporarily, and onto the doorstep of a nation in distress... well, there is but one thing to do, isn't there? He will be in good company as well, as Kiran mentioned; many people have taken up their weapons to aid the Kingdom of Askr, and reside in this spacious castle-turned-barracks.
He stretches his legs lightly as he sits in a small hall, where Kiran told him to wait for someone to "give him a tour". The look on their face was odd, to say the least.
Peculiar people aside, Shiharam starts truly thinking about the other part of Kiran's long introduction: warnings and assurances about the flows of time, his return home, and meeting people he might know at some point or another.
"Everything is possible, sir. Everything."
His world--the continent of Tellius--is apparently one of the more common places to call upon heroes and helpers from, and it makes Shiharam more than a bit baffled and nervous. There was also one point where Kiran mentioned that there are even multiple people around at this very moment that are, essentially, the same person. The thought of meeting himself is a... he wants to say it would be a strange sight, but he knows from his aversion to looking into a mirror for too long that it probably wouldn't be quite pretty on either side.
His reverie is broken by the sound of heavy boots echoing on the stone steps, and it takes him a startled moment to realize that that gait is very, very familiar. And, sure enough, he glances upwards to see unkempt hair, an eyepatch, and a practiced look of boredom only broken by the smallest of smiles.
"... Commander."
Shiharam smiles back, relieved. "Haar... it has been some time since I heard that title from you. It's good to see a familiar face around this... um, place."
Haar visibly hesitates, before he chuckles. "Yes. It is."
That's all the warning Shiharam gets before Haar grabs his arm and pulls him up into a tight hug. Confused, he hugs back, and Haar huffs out a suspiciously shaky breath. "Good to see you, Commander. Missed you."
"Well, I... I saw you not ten minutes before I was summoned here, so I can't quite say the same. Or..." he trails off, remembering a part of Kiran's speech. "It wasn't you, was it?"
Haar pulls back, that sometimes-insufferable smirk on his face again. "Probably not. Would be quite the coincidence if it was actually me-me, not another-me."
Shiharam shakes his head in confusion. "This whole... thing...? I had some time to come to terms with it after that lengthy introduction, but..."
"Yeah, I know. Come on, Commander, time to show you around. You hungry?"
"Not very... I had some breakfast before all this," he says, gesturing vaguely around him.
Haar nods. "Got it. Whenever you're hungry, you can go to the mess hall right... here," he says as they walk past one large, open door. Some people notice Haar walking past and wave at him, which he returns. "There's always someone on shift in the kitchen, you just need to ask for something... or you can try a shift yourself sometime. Across the hall is the common room for when you don't feel like being alone."
He says that last thing with a pointed look, and Shiharam chuckles ruefully. "Duly noted."
"Good. Now let's get you settled in. I badgered Kiran into giving you quarters near me."
Shiharam squints at Haar suspiciously. "Badgered?"
"They were gonna get someone else, but... well, kid can't keep a secret to save their life. Was in the room when they barged in talking about another person from Tellius; however, they kept glancing at me while debating who'd be your escort, so... I figured it out and went myself."
A slow, foreboding feeling starts creeping up Shiharam's spine. "... Why would they not want you to see me?"
Haar snorts. "They're the way-too-considerate sort, as you might have already guessed. And..." he trails off for a moment, looking down onto the floor. "Like I said; I missed you, Commander."
Ah.
Shiharam closes his eyes, pained. "I... I should have expected that," he says, sighing. "I'm sorry, Haar."
He shrugs. "No worries. Me, Jill, the squad... we've had some time to come to terms with it..." he pauses, narrowing his eye. "... Expected?"
"I didn't really expect to survive today, all things considered."
Haar closes his eye, a grimace growing on his face. "Talrega. Winter of 645. That's where Kiran pulled your ass from, didn't they?"
"... So I was right. I won't survive when I return," he says. A very, very bitter sort of humor wells within him. "Good to know."
Haar throws him a fierce look. "Don't!"
He doesn't.
They don't speak another word until Haar stops in front of an unassuming door in one of the castle's wings, and Haar then turns to him with a look so genuinely tired, with none of his usual obfuscation, that Shiharam is too shocked to comment.
"Commander... Sorry. Shouldn't have shouted."
"It's alright. It was something you needed to say."
Haar huffs. "Stop being so understanding. I-- Commander... it's not that you-- I'm not pissed all these years later that my beloved mentor died; I'm pissed, and always will be, that he was forced by people unworthy of even licking his goddess-damned boots to tear his soul apart, and then himself... all for absolutely fucking nothing."
Shiharam doesn't know what to say to that.
So he doesn't.
Haar sighs once more. "Sorry... I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast, alright? Here's your room. Take care, Commander."
And with that, Shiharam is finally alone once more.
He doesn't know how long he stands there, mind ablaze with shame and self-hatred, before he sighs and opens the room door. Inside is... surprisingly comfortable for a barracks, but he guesses that it is a castle housing the royal family of Askr, first and foremost.
As he tries to stifle his thoughts enough to sleep, he wonders what the tomorrow he didn't think he'd see will bring.
The dining hall is spacious, as he'd expected, but what surprises Shiharam is how little fanfare there is about getting a meal. Back in the Daein army, it was all 'Wait for your turn and if you complain about the lacking gruel you are not made for the Daein army'. They were lucky if some kind villagers from around their guard posts decided to treat them to some fresh vegetables, or even luxuries like milk or honey.
Here, though? All he apparently needs to do is walk up to the counter and tell the person on duty what he'd like.
"Excuse me?" he asks as he approaches the counter. "Is... some fresh vegetables and fried fish an option?"
"Sure thing, pal," says the relaxed-looking, ginger man. "I'll get Blue to handle that for you. Anything that's out of the question?"
"Oh, thank you, but anything is fine."
"You got it," he says, and goes to peek through the kitchen door. "Hey, Blue? Give me some fried trout and a dish of greens." A barely audible voice responds. "Hm? Yeah, gotcha. Don't worry, the cake is not gonna burn, you know me." Another response. "Yeah, yeah, the kiddos will be over the moon... I'll be back in fifteen minutes, but call me just in case."
The man goes back to cleaning plates, and glances back at Shiharam. "Give it about ten minutes."
"Thank you, Sir...?"
He snorts. "No sirs here, pal. Name's Gaius. I'm the guy to talk to when you need baking."
Shiharam chuckles. "Shiharam Fizzart, pleased to meet you."
Gaius nods. "So, I assume you're new, since I haven't seen you around here before. Where are you from?"
"Dae-- wait, um... Tellius, that is."
"Ahhh, gotcha. You guys usually gather around the tables over there, on the middle left, if you wanna hang out with your own folks."
"I... hm. I don't have many friends back home, so I don't know if that would be the best of ideas."
The man gives him a discerning look. "Yeaaaah, I know the feeling, pal... but that just means you gotta actually make some friends, y'know? Easier said than done, but..."
"Hm..."
The low buzz of the rest of the dining hall gets drowned out by a large man taking a seat next to Shiharam, sighing in relief. "Hey, Gaius."
"Heya, Cap. What'll it be today?"
"Got any more of those, uh... damn, what were they called... the curly cakes? I barely stopped Byleth from knocking your door down in search of more."
"Pfft, 'do I have any more', he says... be right back."
The man sighs in relief as Gaius retreats into the kitchen. "Thank the fucking goddess..."
Shiharam snorts. Nostalgia wells up as he remembers that one time Haar blasphemed so brazenly in front of a senator that he made the man faint.
The man's attention turns to him, and he grins, offering a hand. "New guy, huh? Name's Jeralt, from Fódlan. Mercenary captain, and winner of drinking contests everywhere."
He shakes it. "Shiharam Fizzart, at your service. I lead my wyvern corps in Daein, in Tellius."
"Daein, Daein... right, that's the uhhh, the northeastern country, right?"
Shiharam blinks. "Why, yes."
"Hey, managed to remember at least something from my talks with you bunch... my memory's going in my old age," he says, a wry smirk on his face. "Hmm, your armor... would that eyepatch guy I always see around be one of yours? He's a real force of nature."
He snorts. "Yes, Haar is brilliant... when he feels like it."
"Hah! Reminds me of some of my company members..." Jeralt says wistfully. "Miss those idiots."
"I assume you've been here for a while?"
"Nah... A few weeks, really, but that bunch's been under my command for over two decades. Living without them is fucking weird, I tell you."
Shiharam's nostalgia wells up yet again, and he gives a wistful sigh of his own. "I understand that... my men are..."
He trails off, but it's enough for Jeralt to undestand and nod. "Yeah... like your own kids, they are." he says, pulling out a flask from his belt and taking a small sip. "So! What do you think of this place?"
"... Bewildering."
Jeralt barks out another laugh. "Yep, it'll do that to you... still can't get used to some of the shit that goes on with that Kiran kid's powers, y'know?" he says, taking another sip. "A few days after me and Byleth--my daughter--got here we were tired after some cleaning and we tried to go and fish, but we ran into... guess what? Not one, but two copies of her! Only thing that prevented me from just fainting was that they were also fishing... kinda shook me out of it, the normalcy of it all."
Shiharam shakes his head. "I can't imagine..."
"Byleth, though... love that kid. She just blinked once and sat down to join them. She's eccentric, but the best kid in the world, " Jeralt says fondly, a proud smile on his face. "Heh, sometimes I wonder how she ended up such a good kid with me and my damned company as her parents, y'know?"
The spike that's been lodged into Shiharam's heart since he escaped to Daein drives itself slightly deeper, yet again.
He must have been silent for a bit too long, because when he looks over Jeralt is giving him a long look. "Hoo boy... alright, buddy, that looks like some mighty serious shit on your face," he murmurs, tapping his index finger around his flask. "You need some help?"
Shiharam shakes his head. "It is not anything new, sir. I thank you for your concern."
Jeralt says nothing for a while, then takes another small sip from his flask before he caps it and stows it away. "You got kids?"
The suddenness of the question startles him. "Um-- yes. One."
"... Thought so. Thinking about everything you did wrong, yeah?"
His jaw clenches reflexively. Merciful Ashera, please--
"Heh. Yep, right in one... Right then, lemme tell you straight up, one fuck-up of a father to another: kid ain't gonna hate you, no matter how much you sometimes wish they would," he says gravely, then claps his hand on a stricken Shiharam's shoulder. "You might feel like you deserve it, but... it's up to them, in the end. Yeah?"
How can he even explain?
How can he explain that Jill's scorn would be deserved thrice over? How can he explain that he stranded himself and his family, his riders, in yet another corrupt country after fleeing the first one, simply because they could run nowhere else?
... How can he even begin to explain that he was forced to watch his daughter turn into a monster because of his mistakes? That she would be made an example of if he said but a word against Daein's 'policies' regarding Laguz and she yelled it back at someone in a blaze of righteous fury? That every time she came home excited about coming back from a patrol or a Hunt, his mind screamed at him to grab her and run somewhere, anywhere, and yet he did not?
How?
The silence stretches on for a long time, until the kitchen door opens and Gaius comes back with a box of something. "Here you go, Cap, one fresh batch of--" he trails off, feeling the mood. "Oooookay... what in blazes happened here?"
Jeralt gets up, and Shiharam absently feels him squeeze his shoulder before letting go and standing up. He takes the box from Gaius gratefully, giving him a smile. "Just some advice sharing, Gaius. Thanks a bunch! And you..." he addresses Shiharam one last time. "Hang in there, alright? See you around."
With that, Shiharam is only left with his chaotic thoughts and a concerned chef.
"Well... your lunch'll be here in a few minutes." Gaius says a bit awkwardly. "You okay?"
"... I don't know."
Gaius tsks, letting out a sympathetic sound. "Just holler if you need anything, alright? We take care of each other around here. Got it?"
He doesn't.
What he does say is "Thank you," and eats his (divine) meal in silence when it comes.
He goes into the training field for the afternoon, and tires himself out enough to match his soul. After a short bath to rinse the grime and sweat off, he decides to go back to his room and sleep if he can, restless thoughts or not.
That is put to a halt almost immediately when Haar bumps into him around a corner, and they almost send each other sprawling.
After a moment to recover, Haar blinks. "Oh... Commander. Heya." he says, slightly awkwardly. "Sorry about that..."
"It's fine, Haar... no harm done. How are you today?"
He chuckles. "Same as ever; time for the daily routine. You finished for today?"
Shiharam nods. "Yes. I was just heading to my room to rest."
The moment he says that, Haar shifts almost imperceptibly, and if Shiharam hadn't been his mentor for over two decades now, he might have missed it. However...
"Haar... what's the matter?"
He looks like he just bit into a lemon, and looks away. "I... you might have a visitor today. That's all."
Shiharam blinks. "A... visitor?"
"Sorry, Commander, but I really need to go finish my routine if I'm to get my nap in. Take care!" Haar says quickly, and if Shiharam wasn't bewildered by his demeanor, he might've tried to stop him and get a better answer. As it is... he shakes his head in puzzlement, and continues his way back.
Haar's strange behavior sets his thoughts into motion yet again, and they keep him busy on his way to his room, until--
He stops.
There is indeed someone waiting in front of his room, and his mind skids to a halt as he registers the painfully familiar features of the tall woman in front of him. She looks at the door as if it'll burn her if she touches it, and blessed Ashera, the moment she looks away she'll see him.
And she does.
There is much he can do in that moment; stand or run, say a million words or none, and yet... what he does is he--
--blinks tears back rapidly and hesitates to pull the damned lever, because of course he does.
Shiharam tries, tries, tries to do it. Another squeeze of his shaking hand on the lever, but...
His growl of despair and frustration surprises even him at how raw and pained it is, and he slumps against the stone wall, sliding down and sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. Shaky breaths and dry sobs wrack his body, and Shiharam realizes he's finally done it; he's finally hit his limit. His cowardice has finally reached his conscience and shook it free of its trappings of--dear Goddess, merciful and just Ashera, what was it all for? Nothing! He can't let it all be for nothing!
And yet...
He doesn't know how long he sits there before the door creaks open. Haar's familiar gait sounds across the stone floor, and Shiharam looks up at him with desperate tears streaking across his cheeks.
"... Commander."
Shiharam looks away from that terrifying, understanding look on his deputy's face. "You... you haven't called me that in years, Haar."
Haar lets out a small grunt as he sits next to him, and blows out a heavy breath. "The Crimeans are at the entrance to town. What are your orders, Commander?"
The lump in Shiharam's throat feels like a boulder as he swallows it. "Tell... tell everyone to lay down their weapons. I don't want anyone dying today."
A few terrifyingly silent moments pass before Haar chuckles quietly. "Understood, Commander," he says softly, and after a moment, he stands up. He claps Shiharam's shoulder comfortingly. "I'll tell the Crimean generals to wait for you in the middle of town, alright?"
He leaves Shiharam with his shattered thoughts.
An hour, or two, or none passes, and Shiharam finally picks himself up and straightens his back; if he's going to abandon Daein, he might as well do it with the little dignity he has left. He exits the floodgate tower, and the snow crunches loudly under his feet as he walks down the slope; he can practically feel the judgment from all sides possible, and somehow manages to hold his head high.
Step.
Step.
And another step.
All the way until he stands in front of a small detachment, and the people who step forward are a green-haired young girl (and damn him if it isn't obvious that it's the Crimean princess), and a lanky, but muscular youth with blue hair (bodyguard?). He stops in front of them, silence in their fading steps' wake.
It stretches, and stretches, and stretches, and they look at him, judge him, take his measure, until the boy huffs impatiently. "I thought we didn't have to do this kind of posturing on our own time?" he grumbles.
Shiharam blinks, while the Princess lets out a startled laugh. Even some of the troops around them are too surprised to rein it in.
Princess Crimea regains her composure, and looks Shiharam in the eye with a fire he knows all too well. "General Ike means well, General, but he is not wrong. To put it briefly, I thank you; I abhor needless lives lost."
... This lad is the general? He tries not to think about how young he is to have such a title. "As you say. My orders were-- it doesn't matter. I have failed, and await whatever judgment lies ahead," he says, unstrapping his axe and laying it on the ground. "I am yours to do with as you wish, as long as my riders are free to leave Daein unharmed."
"G-General! What--"
"You can't be serious!"
"You think we'd just--"
He raises his hand, trying to muster his remaining dignity forth. They, Ashera bless them, listen for once. He returns his attention to the two leaders. "Are we agreed?"
"We are, General. So long as they do not raise their weapons against Crimea and its friends again, they are free to go wherever they wish." the Princess says, in a trembling, but still commanding voice. "And you? Do you not wish to leave as well?"
"I..." he begins, then stops. He lets out a resigned sigh. "I am a coward, not a fool, Your Highness. I know what awaits me wherever I go."
She stares at him with sad, sad eyes for what feels like an eternity. "I see. So you merely await punishment for whatever your sins are? That is what you will do?"
"Yes."
The princess shares a look with the frowning general, then turns back to Shiharam and clears her throat. "Do you hereby place yourself in our custody, General Fizzart?"
"Yes, I do."
Strangely, she smiles at that. "General Ike? Please take General Fizzart somewhere comfortable, and get someone to guard him."
The lad looks at her quietly for a moment, then nods firmly. "C'mon. Follow me."
They pass soldier upon soldier, and every single gaze is turned upon him; his composure almost breaks... but he, yet again, holds on and on with the barest shred of dignity he has left.
The general leads him to an innocuous tent, where a few chairs and a table are set up. He turns towards Shiharam, his expression implacable. "Wait here."
He does.
The courage he had mustered has receded somewhat, and he practically collapses in one seat from exhaustion; he puts his face in his hands and inhales sharply, letting what he has just done wash over him.
It's not long before the tent flap rustles and his erstwhile warden enters. They say nothing, and Shiharam frowns, wondering whether he should look up and address them.
So he does.
And the sight before him nearly breaks him into pieces, because blessed Ashera--
"J-Jill Fizzart, reporting back after-- after absence, General," his daughter says, voice trembling with so, so much, and damn everything and damn himself forever, nothing else matters in that moment other than giving his shaking daughter a hug.
And so, he does.
She wraps her arms around him in return and he tries his best to soothe her shaking shoulders and relieved sobs, reassures her, and everything else a good father would do.
... And while he isn't one, and will gladly bear any judgement from her in the coming days when they sit down and talk frankly and honestly, she comes first and foremost; she needs her father, and his life's duty calls him to do something.
And thus, fate nor gods, against all the world's odds... he does.