Chapter Text
And so Naga called to Her People
“This land I have given unto you.
To nurture for all your days.”
- Book of Naga, 2:25-2:26
The Order of the Silver Scale was inexorably intertwined with the Halidom of Ylisse. When the first Exalt united the halidom under one banner the war monks of the Order served Ylisse and her people with the same dedication and ferocity with which they served the will of Naga. Through famine and feast and peace and war the Order of the Silver Scale remained a powerful force within the halidom. They swept through battlefields like a wildfire coursing through the grasslands. They fought for Ylisse. Died for Ylisse. Yet the peace the war monks sought was forever denied to them. The halidom could never truly be at peace, for mankind was never truly peaceful. No, mankind lay somewhere between the damned and the divine. The best they could do was strive to be better than they were the day before, just as those of the Order strived for peace even as they took to the battlefield.
Libra knew damnation. He knew the darkness within human hearts intimately, knew what mankind- what he- was capable of. He knew the weight of a knife in his hand, knew every Ylisstolian back alley, knew where to strike a man to make him go silent and still. He knew what it was to stab a man, steal a coinpurse, and scurry away into the darkness to live another day. Survival was all that mattered in those simple days, those simple, terrible days.
Libra might have lived all his life in that gutter if it weren’t for an intervention that could only be called divine. He might have died that day if not for the hand that reached out to him and dragged him out of the grime of Ylisstol and into the grace of the divine celestial dragon. But Libra lived. The war between the halidom and Plegia raged on, but he lived thanks to the Order of the Silver Scale and Naga’s will. He took up the axe and he lived.
Living was hard, but he learned. Libra was as good- no, better- with the axe than he ever was with a knife. His fellow monks made sure that he was fed, that he was trained, that he could read and form his letters, and that he could bash in a skull with considerable force. Naga willing it would not be necessary, but they were at war and nothing could be assured, not even a child’s safety and innocence. Libra had no illusions about safety or childhood. If he was once innocent those days were long lost to him. He traveled the countryside with his fellow monks and took part in campaigns along the western border with Plegia when he was little more than a boy.
Libra was good at killing. A priest shouldn’t be good at killing.
But the war ended. Exalt Emmeryn withdrew Ylisse’s forces from Plegia upon her ascension to the throne. The former Exalt would have wept at his successor’s decision, but the people- Libra included- were relieved. The peace was fragile and border skirmishes remained a common occurrence, but it wasn’t a war. Libra put up his axe in favor of caring for those that the war left behind, and it was here that Libra found his calling. No child would live in the gutters like he once did. No child would have to take up a knife to earn a living. Never again, not if he had a say in the matter. Libra would have been content to live the rest of his days in the isolated monastery on the hill, caring for the children who ended up on the monastery’s doorstep and never hearing from his liege again.
The Exalt’s messenger arrived with the sun.
It was a morning like any other when Libra climbed the tower to ring the bell for mass. The summer breeze blew tendrils of hair into his eyes and mouth and ruffled his robes. He spat the wisps out of his mouth and stared out of one of the bell tower windows into the countryside. The grass was green, the sky was blue, and the distant mountains were a lilac smudge on the horizon, and- Libra’s heart rose into his throat as a rider crested over the hill, the sun glinting off of his breastplate. A soldier. War. Libra clung to the windowsill as he watched the soldier ride up to the monastery.
Libra’s first instinct was to run until his feet bled with every step. His second was to bar the gate and stand before it with axe in his hand, ready to defend his home from invasion. It wasn’t until his eye fell upon the messenger’s smiling, easy expression as he brought his horse to a trot before the gate that Libra’s reason caught up with his panic. No man bearing evil intentions in their heart would smile that way, as if his soul was never burdened with hardship.
Libra’s breath returned to him when he recognized that the looping gold sigil of the Mark of Naga was emblazoned upon the banner the rider carried. He spied Brother Ferdinand stride across the courtyard to open the gate, his large arms outstretched to greet the rider warmly. Just a messenger, then, one that was expected and welcome. He was probably there to offer good wishes for the summer harvest or deliver news of the state of the halidom. Yet Libra’s rising spirits wavered when the rider dismounted and handed Brother Ferdinand a piece of sealed parchment. The rider removed his helmet and his face was illuminated by the sun. Libra read the man’s lips as he spoke with Brother Phillip.
He would beg for Naga’s forgiveness for his spying when the Exalt’s messenger left their monastery.
“No need to put yourselves out on my account,” the mysterious messenger assured the monks. “It was an easy journey here, I promise, but if you could share a meal I’d be most grateful.” With another sheepish smile the man ran a hand through his hair (green as ripe olives) as Brother Phillip opened the sealed letter. Even from this great distance Libra spied the golden seal of Her Grace Exalt Emmeryn intertwined with the Mark of Naga. When a dark expression crossed Brother Phillip’s narrow face Libra bit back a curse. This was no simple missive, then.
“This is a discussion best carried on inside,” Brother Ferdinand declared once he scanned the contents of the letter for himself. “Away from prying eyes.” While the other monks and the messenger looked around at the young initiates milling about in the courtyard, Brother Ferdinand turned his gaze to the bell tower and raised one shaggy brow.
“I see you, lad,” he mouthed, a smile playing at his lips even as he pretended to scowl. Libra flushed. Brother Ferdinand had an uncanny knack for finding him out, and the passage of time did little to dull the man’s vision. Libra retreated from his perch in the bell tower as the dark thoughts of the future and what that letter could possibly contain filled his mind.
Nothing good could come from these tidings. Nothing did, not in the years preceding Exalt Emmeryn’s reign. He supposed it was only a matter of time before this Exalt followed in the footsteps of her bloodthirsty father. That was uncharitable of him. Not all children followed in their parent’s footsteps, Libra chastised himself as he descended the narrow spiral staircase. It was unkind to think the worst of a woman he didn’t know. It was crude behavior that was unworthy of a devotee of Naga. A priest of Naga shouldn’t be so grim. A priest of Naga shouldn’t spy on his fellow man. He found himself, once again, lacking in the proper qualities of a good priest and a decent man. Libra hurried to the side chapel, keeping to the shadows before one of his fellow monks could waylay him and demand that he join them in greeting the stranger whose arrival stirred such turmoil in his soul.
He could imagine the scene that must be taking place within the monastery even now: the three elder monks of the order would confer with each other in privacy as they read over the Exalt’s letter. Perhaps they would take the messenger with them to discuss the contents of the message. They would confer and debate, Brother Phillip and Brother Thomas stubbornly at odds with each other until Brother Ferdinand would interrupt the argument with a loud cough. They would lock themselves away behind those great oak doors so they could speak of the message sent from the hand of Exalt Emmeryn herself.
Libra, however, locked himself away in the private side chapel and prayed to Naga for patience and peace: patience to dull his temper and peace to hold his querulous tongue. He was lacking in so many virtues, no matter how much time passed or how much penance he did. The black thoughts within him rose like the tide when Libra kneeled before the altar and prayed for patience, for wisdom, for Naga’s grace and forgiveness for his faults and judgments.
It was unkind of him to assume that the Exalt’s messenger brought bad luck. For all he knew the letter he carried held some message detailing the health of the royal family. Perhaps the prince’s wife had trouble during childbirth and the Exalt, who adored her sister-in-law, wished for prayers to be dedicated towards her swift recovery. Perhaps the young Princess Lucina had taken ill. Perhaps nothing was wrong at all! A messenger was only a messenger, an innocent who did not deserve Libra’s judgment or derision. This messenger was not some murderous bandit or Plegian soldier who rode in to burn the monastery to the ground. The man was only a messenger. He was not a dark shape towering in a narrow doorway wielding a sword and backlit by flame. Libra’s home was safe. There was food in the larder and bread baking in the ovens. The grapes in the vineyard hung heavy on the vine. The young initiates were outside, laughing and playing with the village children who hiked up to the monastery this morning. He wasn’t cold and starving, with hands grasping at his limbs to drag him back into the dark muck, ready to press cold steel to his throat and slice across the tender flesh-
Libra grasped the smooth wood that formed Naga’s altar and clung to it. He was here. He was whole. Blessed Naga, guide his hand and steady his heart, light his path and temper his spirit. Breathe in, out, slowly lad, slowly- The world returned to him in pieces. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows to paint the whitewashed stucco in nature’s many hues. The pale cold stone floor leeched the heat from his numb legs. Pain shot through his knees when he shifted, rose to his feet, stumbled, clung to the railing as if it was the thread that kept him sewn together. Breathe in. Breathe out. Slowly, lad, lest you choke on your own tongue. What happens will happen, and the world will turn regardless. Naga’s blessings arrived at the strangest of times and in the most unexpected of ways. There was no use worrying over the future. Yet no matter how he tried to convince himself, Libra couldn't help but be suspicious and bitter.
The arrival of the Exalt’s messenger would not bring glad tidings. Libra only wished it would.
Breakfast did little to lift Libra’s spirits. He sat at the end of the great wooden table in the great hall amongst the children their order sheltered, ensuring that they had enough to eat and weren’t sneaking bits of food to the old dog who patiently lay under the table. Libra broke bread with his brothers-in-arms and pretended that naught was amiss for the sake of the children, but the conversation from the head of the table drifted down the table like debris in a mountain stream flooded by spring’s snowmelt, and even the youngest among them was keenly aware that something was amiss.
“‘Tis a grave missive you brought to us this morning, Sir Knight,” Brother Phillip said as he passed a bowl of porridge to the man. His hands shook from nerves or his rheumatism. The knight took the bowl offered to him with a smile and dug into his meal with great gusto.
“I’m sorry about that. Really I am. Wish I could bring all of you better news, but-“ the young man shoveled porridge into his mouth like a ravenous beast. “If the need were not so great, Her Ladyship wouldn’t dare disturb your peace. You’ve more than earned it.” He truly looked regretful, his gray green eyes briefly shadowed as he stared down into his bowl.
“Aye, as you said,” Brother Ferdinand grumbled. He stroked his thick salt and pepper beard thoughtfully. Libra busied himself with dividing a honeycomb among the children as he eavesdropped. Why did the messenger come? What did the Exalt want from them now? Brother Ferdinand didn’t elaborate, however, and soon the conversation moved to other topics- the journey from the capital to their small monastery, the latest news from the capital, the knight's adventures across Ylisse as the country recovered from the war… Libra frowned and tore at his slice of bread. Despite the light conversation there was a heaviness in the air, an anxiety that stifled, that strangled, that made eating and speaking impossible.
“Ylisstol must be a grand city,” a small voice piped up from Libra’s left elbow. “You’ve been, right Libra? I heard it’s huge!” A pair of large blue eyes gazed up at him- Danielle. She was the youngest to join them at the monastery, a girl with barely ten summers under her belt and an insatiable curiosity.
“It is large,” Libra reluctantly allowed. He had few positive things to say about Ylisstol, and he was loath to destroy wide-eyed Danielle’s romantic imaginings of beautiful castles and adventure.
“There were city kids where I grew up,” another boy, Owen, said. “They said the palace was made of marble. Issit true?”
“I couldn’t say,” Libra replied. “I only saw it from a distance.” The cathedral was built of sturdy granite, slate, and oak, and the slums- no, he would not speak of the slums. Not here. Not ever. But as the children asked more questions, their voices rising into a cacophonous chorus, the knight at the head of the table took notice. His green eyes widened, a flush overtook his cheeks, he opened his mouth, and Libra gritted his teeth because he knew what was coming-
“Oh! I don’t think we’ve met, miss,” the knight politely exclaimed. The children snickered, and Libra prayed for patience and grace. He was always a skinny, stunted child, and though he eventually grew into his height he remained lithe. He preferred to wear his hair long and loose, a pale gold waterfall that hid the back of his neck and kept it warm and untouched. He liked the way the monastic robes wrapped around him and covered his skin, but the lengthy garment combined with his hair and face meant that he was often mistaken as a woman. There was no insult, no shame to be thought of as a woman, of course not. But then there were those who threw insults, made suggestions, reached out with their hands-
“Brother Libra,” Libra said firmly, and the knight flushed a bright pink. Shame, perhaps? Embarrassment? The flare of satisfaction that coursed through him was soon overtaken by his own shame- a priest of Naga ought not be so petty. But as he wrestled with his conscience the world and conversation moved onward.
“Let not his lovely face deceive you, good knight,” Brother Thomas chortled, his dark eyes dancing merrily. “Brother Libra is as strong a warrior as any of our number in our prime, and has made quite a name for himself as a great monster slayer!”
Ah, the monster slaying. You spend years dedicating yourself to prayer and aiding those in need and no one takes note, but you slay a ravenous bear and one mad wyvern, and everyone calls you a beast killer! Now it was his turn to flush as the knight lifted his head, curiosity written plain on his face, his eyes wide and full of wonder.
“It was nothing so dramatic, Sir…” Libra hesitated. What was the man’s name?
“Stahl!” The knight exclaimed. “Truly, my apologies, Brother Libra. I hadn’t realized-“
“Sir Stahl,” Libra interrupted. “I merely do my duty, as all in our order do.” And if he was one of their more practiced soldiers, well, his past was between him and Naga now. Brother Ferdinand appeared thoughtful, gazing at him with his deep brown eyes as if he could discern Libra’s thoughts through sight alone. Libra lowered his eyes to his meal. The conversation picked back up around him, Sir Stahl returning to his high spirits as soon as the children pestered him for stories about the world beyond the monastery. Yet when breakfast was over both Brother Thomas and Brother Phillip took him aside, their expressions grim. Libra didn’t know what was more alarming- that quiet Brother Phillip looked increasingly more worried, that boisterous Brother Thomas was subdued, or that the two of them seemed to be in agreement for once in Libra’s life.
“A word, Libra, if we may?” Brother Phillip murmured, his pale blue eyes flitting over towards the children who were crowded around Sir Stahl, demanding more stories.
“Of course,” Libra replied. “In a moment, if you would. Children!” He clapped his hands together, the sharp sound resonating through the dining hall.
Five small heads turned as one to face him, expressions ranging from confusion to sheepishness when they heard his voice. Owen hung onto Sir Stahl’s arm while young Danielle impatiently bounced in place. The others (Richard, Luna, Issak) stopped talking over each other as they stared at Libra with wide eyes.
“Please release our guest, Owen. He can play with all of you later. I believe there are chores to be done after breakfast?” The dishes wouldn’t wash themselves, and after that was a quick clean-up of the beds in the dormitory, and then they would have to sweep the courtyard before their lessons-
“But Li-braaaa,” came the chorus of whines. Libra folded his arms across his chest and stared at five pairs of pleading eyes. He must be stern and resolute, even in the face of the children’s desperate begging. One crack and they would sense it and press their advantage. This was for their own good, Libra reminded himself. Children required stability and routine to live happy, fulfilled lives, and he would see that they were taken care of. Which meant-
“Chores first. If you’re good I will see if Sir Stahl can take time away from his knightly duties to tell you more stories,” Libra promised. The young man seemed kind enough. It probably wouldn’t be difficult to convince him to brighten the children’s day by telling them a few tall tales- a visiting knight would be the highlight of their summer, if not the entire year. The children sighed and grumbled but acquiesced. They trudged towards the table and Brother Ferdinand, who stood waiting with dirty dishes and cutlery piled up in his broad hands. Libra returned his attention to Brother Thomas and Brother Phillip.
“Please, continue,” he murmured, turning his back to close their circle, to keep the conversation to themselves even as Sir Stahl approached them.
“It is something that must be discussed privately. It is something we believe you should… be aware of,” Brother Thomas said firmly. While his voice was as strong his broad smile was strained, as if whatever information he was privy to shook his heart greatly and he was forcing himself to bear it gracefully. And truly, what else was there that Libra could say? He had no good reason to refuse them.
Perhaps this had nothing to do with Sir Stahl and his grave message, Libra hoped. Perhaps he would be reprimanded for his sharpness towards a guest, or for not keeping a better leash on his charges who peppered Sir Stahl with questions when they should have been more respectful. But Libra was not a fool. When Sir Stahl fell into step alongside them as they strolled the hall towards the inner sanctum of the monastery Libra knew for certain that his fellow monks wished to bring him into their circle of confidants. He should feel honored, but apprehension sat in his gut like a boulder.
“Brother Libra,” Sir Stahl whispered as they walked. “Once again, I am so, so sorry for my mistake earlier-“
“Think nothing of it,” Libra interrupted. “‘tis a common misunderstanding.” It was a misunderstanding that plagued Libra all his life- dainty features and lovely hair, such a pretty thing- Sir Stahl’s cough broke the dark turn Libra’s mind took, and when Libra looked up the man was smiling again, sheepish and apologetic and terribly young. He combed his fingers through his olive green hair and grinned.
“That’s no excuse, though! I’m pretty absent-minded, but I should still put in the effort to remember who is sitting at the table with me,” he laughed, and the bright sound echoed through the empty white-washed hall.
“And you’re well known besides! I think everyone’s heard the tales of the war monk who drove back the mad wyvern in Breakneck Pass! To think, Saint Libra the Righteous lived here all this time,” Sir Stahl sighed, a mournful look crossing his open, gentle face. “I’m not exactly a lucky man, but meeting you is a stroke of good fortune. Sully will be green with envy that I found you first. She’ll never let it go.”
His woebegone expression almost coaxed a chuckle out of Libra. This Sully must truly be a fearsome woman if she made a full grown knight tremble and sigh. But he turned his head away and fought to regain control of his expression. Calm. Serene. Patient.
“I am sure that the tales of my exploits are greatly exaggerated,” Libra offered. Libra the Righteous? Saint Libra? He certainly hadn’t been canonized by the church. He doubted that most of the clergy knew he existed! Who came up with such a ridiculous title? There was no righteousness in killing. There was only cold, brutal necessity. To have made a reputation for himself as a monster slayer, as a killer- there was nothing good or glorious in it, even if Libra had a talent for such gruesome work.
“No need to be modest. Sully and I read the official reports ourselves,” Sir Stahl replied, his smile returning to his face. “You know, she wanted to deliver the Exalt’s message, but Chrom- Prince Chrom, that is- picked me. Sully’s great in a fight, but I’m a better fit as a messenger, you know!” Libra didn’t know, but Sir Stahl’s open nature was like the spring sun. It compelled him to raise his head and open up in turn.
Libra cleared his throat. “I must apologize to you, Sir Stahl. I volunteered you to entertain my charges. It is a difficult chance for even the greatest of bards, never mind knights. I am certain you have better things to do with your time-“
“Of course not!” Sir Stahl blurted out. “I, that is, that’s not something you need to apologize for. I like telling stories! And they sort of remind me of my brother. Excited about the world and everyone and everything in it.” He ran his hand through his olive green hair and smiled shyly at Libra.
“It’s- I really don’t mind. I don’t have many grand stories, but if you think the kids would like it I’ll share some stories. Let them pet Chestnut, even! He’s a pretty mellow horse. Loves attention,” Sir Stahl added.
That was a generous offer, one that Libra turned over as they walked. Sir Stahl was a perfect picture of chivalry, which was a pleasant surprise. Libra expected the Exalt’s messenger to be proud and demanding, but found Sir Stahl to be refreshingly different. Based on his horsemanship and obvious experience in the field (his gear was well-worn, taken care of but clearly used), Libra thought the man would be serious and gruff. But he was not. Sir Stahl, it seemed, moved through life the way a summer river cut through the land- slow and steady, yet pushing onwards towards their destination. Speaking of destinations… Libra stopped before the doors of the main chapel and waited for his fellow monks to open the doors and usher them in.
“We should have ample privacy here,” Brother Thomas assured them, and he pushed the doors open.
The main chapel was larger and far more ornate than the side chapel Libra favored. Dark-stained wooden benches filled the room, and the altar to Naga glowed like gold from beeswax and hours of exhaustive polishing. The wood was worn smooth from centuries of innumerable hands brushing along it, centuries of fellow monks and worshippers pressing their prayers and fears and love into the altar. Libra wished he could kneel and pray until the sun set behind the hills and the day was officially concluded. He wished he could rise and join the others for supper before he tended to the children: he would make sure they washed up and brushed their teeth and combed their hair, that they said their prayers and were tucked into bed before he retired to his room across the hall. Above all Libra wished he could avoid this great mystery that loomed before him, but Brother Thomas and Brother Phillip turned to him as Brother Ferdinand hurried into the chamber and shut the great doors behind them.
“Now, Sir Stahl. Repeat to us the contents of your message, just as you did before,” Brother Thomas insisted. “Leave nothing out.”
The lemon-colored morning sun filtered through the stained glass windows. Dust motes danced in the air. There was the faint sound of the young children shouting outside in the courtyard, having put aside their chores in favor of playing in the summer sunshine. The room smelled of incense, beeswax candles, and parchment. How many hours had Libra spent in this peaceful sacred space? How many times had he sat on those benches, kneeled at that altar, took sacrament, and gave it in turn? The monastery was his world, but the main chapel was its beating heart. To be taken to this heart to speak of darkness, of a great unnamed threat that sat on the horizon, ready to strike- Libra readied himself for whatever horror Sir Stahl was about to reveal.
“It began last month, as far as we can tell. At first it was just a few scattered reports of strange sounds being heard around Southtown. There were some torn up trees and great furrows in the earth where before there was nothing but open fields. We thought it might be an enormous bear or a pack of wolves. Maybe a family of boar. That’s happened before, which I’m sure you know all about,” Sir Stahl began slowly, his expression grave. “Then came the stories of great shadows and roars that echoed through the hills. One or two stories can be dismissed as a tall tale or a drunken mistake, but when you have dozens upon dozens it’s harder to claim it’s folk jumping at shadows.”
“Not a bear or wolf, then,” Libra remarked. Perhaps a wild wyvern was loose in the countryside around Southtown, a small farming community of little importance to the wider world. Libra knew it, having traveled there in the years before Lady Emmeryn was crowned as Exalt of the Halidom. Wyverns were rare, especially in the relatively flat plains of Southland. Yet a singular wyvern could make a cozy living in the region around Southland. There were plenty of sheep, few predators, and a few large hills and caverns where one could ostensibly make a cozy home. A wyvern in and around Southtown would make sense, but if the community was plagued by a solitary wyvern the Exalt and her brother would not have sent a messenger to their monastery.
“We thought the villagers spied a wyvern, or perhaps a young manakete who wandered far from home,” Sir Stahl explained. “Under the Exalt’s orders Prince Chrom gathered us Shepherds to investigate the region and report back. We thought it would be a simple task. However…” Sir Stahl hesitated then. Breathed in. Brother Phillip lay his wrinkled, claw-like hand on the young man’s broad shoulder and squeezed it gently.
“Go on, Sir Stahl,” he encouraged the knight. Sir Stahl’s green eyes stared out, fixed on a distant point above the altar.
“Kellam found the scales. Long as my thumb, nearly three times as wide, black as pitch. They were scattered all around a great pine. Vaike believed- believes- the beast might be shedding. Needed to scratch the scales off,” Sir Stahl said, his voice soft, shaking as he recalled what he saw.
“Then we all saw it. The beast. It emerged at dusk, and spread its wings so wide it covered the moon. And its roar-” Sir Stahl shuddered. “Like a thousand foxes screaming all at once. Flew north, but it couldn’t have gone far. It was still being spotted when I left: A great black dragon.”
“A dragon,” Libra repeated. A black dragon in the Halidom. While Naga was the Holy Dragon, the protector of mankind, there was another who rivaled her in might, a twisted reflection of her holy light who loomed large in scripture and myth: Grima, the Fell Dragon. His cunning was only matched by his loathing for mankind. Grima was said to be an enormous beast with six eyes and a maw full of a thousand razor sharp teeth. His scales were said to be as black as the night. Perhaps it was nothing, but a black dragon in the countryside, when the Halidom of Ylisse was still putting itself to rights after the bloody reign of the former Exalt and the war with Plegia to the west, was a terrible omen indeed.
“I see why the Exalt sent you, Sir Stahl. We all do,” Libra finally said. A black dragon in the halidom! Of course the Exalt would send for help from the Order of the Silver Scale when she heard of such a beast. The order might be smaller than it was in its glory days, but the elderly monks that made up the majority of their order were able fighters. Beyond that, the need was so great. Surely the order would mobilize, young and old alike, in defense of the Halidom and the Exalt.
“We will stand by your side and provide what aid we are able,” Brother Thomas assured Sir Stahl.
Part of Libra, the part that was the devout priest, agreed with his entire soul. They would push this threat back and protect the land and her people, for it was Naga’s will. Another part of Libra- cynical, small, the bitter child from the gutter- wanted to scream. They were a dying order of old men and children, with barely ten members to their name after the war and the last few winters! Why should they send the elderly and children to face a dragon? What had the Exalt done to warrant their devotion? Why should they go? Abbot Benedict could barely stir out of his bed nowadays. Brother Phillip’s rheumatism prevented him from taking up his bow. Brother Thomas’ eyes were failing him. Brother Ferdinand’s arthritis slowed him down. And the children… they couldn’t send out children to fight a battle, nevermind sending them to face off against the fell dragon!
But Libra… Libra could make the voyage. Brother Ferdinand trained Libra until he was almost as skilled at wielding an axe as him. He was capable. He was willing. And he… he was the only one who could go. It was all so obvious. Slaying a dragon, especially one that looked like the great dread wyrm, was not a task for a child of ten or an old man of sixty. But a youth of twenty-some winters with a wealth of experience in battle… he may very well drive the creature back. The order could not send all their monks, but they could send someone who could make a difference.
They could send Libra, and Libra would go.
“You have my blade,” Libra informed Sir Stahl. “I will go with you to Southtown.”
The relief in Sir Stahl’s eyes was enough to convince Libra that his words provided some measure of comfort. The tight smiles on his fellow monks’ faces, however, spoke to Libra’s doubts and concerns. Had the fell dragon ever appeared before without Naga answering his challenge and driving him back? Where was her champion? Where was the sacred blade Falchion or the holy shield, the Fire Emblem? Did they not stir when the dragon awakened? Perhaps that was a good sign. Perhaps this dragon was not That Dragon. Or perhaps… Perhaps it was more sinister than they feared. Perhaps they were all too late, finished before their journey had scarcely begun. Yet Sir Stahl smiled on, relief evident on his friendly face.
“Oh, good! It’s about five days of riding before we reach Southtown,” Sir Stahl exclaimed. “If we leave after lunch we can make it there that much sooner, right Brother Libra?”
In the face of Sir Stahl’s bright smile and his fellow monks’ encouragement, what else could be said?
“Of course, Sir Stahl. Let us pray for a swift and safe journey,” Libra replied.
“The roads should be peaceful. With Sir Stahl at your side there will be little trouble,” Brother Ferdinand said as he packed provisions with broad, trembling hands. Sitting on the bench with his back against the wall was almost nostalgic. If Libra closed his eyes he could pretend, for a brief moment, that time stood still in the kitchen. He was a child again, snarling at the world and everything in it, as Brother Ferdinand coaxed him out of the kitchen corner with food and gentle words. How things changed!
“It is fortunate that it is summer,” Libra remarked. “No snow storms.” Brother Ferdinand grimaced. His tight steel gray curly hair shimmered in the sunlight like a celestial crown.
“Get stuck in one storm and you never let it go, do you, lad?” Brother Ferdinand grumbled, though there was a slight smile on his lips.
“Never,” Libra promised. It was not as if he wanted to forget that trip. Despite all of the hardship it was a precious memory. The biting cold and roaring wind was difficult, but the snow was beautiful and the people they came across were kind. Seeing the world beyond Ylisstol’s alleyways stirred a hunger within Libra. He starved in the gutters, but once he was carried out from behind Ylisstol’s walls he knew his hunger was for more than food. Libra experienced warm sunlight and the cool evenings and grass meadows and craggy snow covered mountains and forests of pine, and his soul devoured the experiences greedily. And through it all Brother Ferdinand was his guide: calm, reliable, a rock on which Libra could stand upon and grow.
He wished he could take Brother Ferdinand with him for this journey as well, but he could not. Once they were finished here they would have to speak with the children of his departure and make his farewells. He would have to tell them about this journey to Southtown. It was for the best if they kept the story vague: there were sightings of a great beast in the countryside, and the Exalt requested the aid of one of Naga’s priests to unravel the mystery. Libra didn’t want to lie to his charges, but if they knew what sort of creature Libra was hunting… Well, tales of the fell dragon were the sort of thing nightmares were made of.
Libra, for his part, hoped it was all some great misunderstanding. A black dragon with wings large enough to blot out the moon… he fixated on Brother Ferdinand’s trembling hands, on the way he slowly wrapped a loaf of bread in linen, tucking the loose end of fabric into a fold in the cloth. He remembered when those fingers weren’t curved with arthritis, when they were steady and strong, when they wrapped bandages around Libra’s cut throat and washed the dirt from his skinny limbs until the water in the wooden tub ran black and his hair gleamed like winter sunlight. He remembered how those hands presented him with an ax, how they led him in prayer, how they always stayed within his sight whenever Libra flinched away from another’s touch. Libra had no father he would name, but Brother Ferdinand was the one man who, in his eyes, earned that title.
“With Naga’s blessing, you will return to us soon,” Brother Ferdinand added gruffly. “The little ones will tolerate us old men, but it is you they love, lad.”
“Naga willing it will be a short trip,” Libra agreed. He reached for a small jug of wine and slipped it into his pack. Not for him, but perhaps Sir Stahl would appreciate the gesture. He pretended not to notice when Brother Ferdinand wrapped up a jar of honey to go with the bread. The monastery was known for its warrior monks, true, but their more peaceful pursuits were the ones Libra enjoyed the most: beekeeping, managing a vineyard, farming their small plots of vegetables, maintaining the orchard- it was difficult work to be sure, but it was good, worthy work. If the need was not so great, or the threat so dire… Libra frowned when Brother Ferdinand added a pouch of dried fruit to the pack, then another loaf of bread, dried meat, dried fish- did the man think Libra was going to feed an army?
“I am only going to Southtown, Brother Ferdinand,” Libra said. “You need not go to such trouble for my sake.”
“I will always go to such lengths for you, lad,” Brother Ferdinand replied. “If I were a decade younger and had full use of my limbs, I would gladly take your place.” He meant it, too. Libra could tell from the grim set of the man’s jaw, visible even under his thick white beard. The steely expression in his brown eyes did not abate, even as he struggled to pull the top of the pack over the gaping opening of the sack. How it must frustrate him to have a heart so willing to go but a body that could not answer that call.
“And I would follow you,” Libra murmured as he took the sack. “Always.” He would feel far more confident in their odds if Brother Ferdinand was there with him, if only to share a few pearls of wisdom and commiserate with him. But he couldn’t ask the man to come, and besides he was needed at the monastery. This was Libra’s burden to bear.
“Ah, well. On with you, lad,” Brother Ferdinand gestured towards the doorway, out to the courtyard and the world beyond the monastery. “It is a good thing that you will have Sir Stahl keeping you company on your journey. A cheerful travel companion is a boon not to be taken lightly.”
Said cheerful companion was saddling up his horse as he spoke with Brother Thomas in the courtyard. It seemed that nothing, not even the threat of complete and total annihilation at the jaws of the dread wyrm Grima, could weigh Sir Stahl’s spirits down for long. Naga blessed him with an easy nature, or very little good sense.
That was an unkind thought, Libra reprimanded. It was an unkind and unworthy thought about a man who had seen something truly blood chilling around Southtown. Libra eyed the donkey that Brother Thomas had prepared for him, saddlebags draped over the mare’s back like a mountain. The poor dear looked rather ridiculous next to Sir Stahl’s great bay warhorse, but she stood placidly by as Brother Thomas fastened the saddle around her round stomach.
“Old Pennyroyal isn’t up for making the trip, but Violet has a wanderer’s spirit,” he explained to Sir Stahl as Libra approached, Brother Ferdinand following close behind. “She’s fond of apples and has a love of mischief, so don’t be fooled by her docile appearance!”
“Seems we have much in common, then!” Sir Stahl exclaimed. “Don’t worry, we’ll manage just fine.”
They would have to, wouldn’t they? Libra was ready to argue that he didn’t need to bring Violet as a mount, that walking served him well and the monastery needed their donkey more than he did, but Brother Thomas’ small smile stilled his tongue.
“I think we will all feel better if you take her with you, Brother Libra. Naga bless her, Violet shares your stubborn streak. She’ll make sure you come back to us safe and sound,” he murmured as Libra approached them. “Go, and with our blessing.”
“May Naga watch over you both,” Brother Phillip added. “Abbot Benedict sends his blessings and love.”
“Take care, lad,” Brother Ferdinand said.
“I will return, once the beast is dealt with and Southtown is at peace,” Libra promised. The sooner he ventured out, the sooner he could return to the monastery. The sooner he could return home. He clambered onto Violet’s back and followed Sir Stahl out of the courtyard towards the gates. As they rode away the children shouted their farewells as they waved.
“Tell us all about the Exalt!” One boy shouted.
“And the monster!” A girl yelled.
“Don’t forget us, Libra!”
“You’ll come back soon, right Libra?” One child (Luna, Libra was certain of it) sniffled. “Who else will tuck us in if not you?”
“Come back again, Sir Stahl!”
“You promised to teach us how to ride a horse! You promised!” One boy cried out, the last shout that Libra was able to understand clearly. They reached a bend in the road and Libra spared one final look back over his shoulder towards the monastery.
It stood proudly on the hill. The great wooden gates were thrown wide open like arms that beckoned him to return home. The slate gray stone walls surrounded the pale stucco buildings and hid them from sight, yet he spied the red-tiled roofs of the main chapel, the dormitories, the kitchen, the main hall. Then there was the bell tower, a spire that towered above the walls. The great brass bell gleamed in the afternoon sun like a treasure trove. This was his home. He was leaving home for the unknown to face a terrible enemy, and this might be the last time he would see this place. He stared and tried to carve the sight of the monastery into his soul: red roofs, pale stone, the sun’s rays turning all to gold, the bright green of the trees and the clear blue skies above-
“I want to say it again, before we ride off. Thank you, Brother Libra. And sorry. Again,” Sir Stahl said, breaking Libra’s concentration. He turned his head, looked up at the knight upon his horse, and blinked rapidly to push the tears back into his eyes. No tears, not now. Not when the journey had scarcely begun!
“It is forgotten, Sir Stahl. And call me Libra, please,” Libra said. “We should not hold ourselves to such formality when we are traveling companions.” They also might die as brothers-in-arms on the battlefield against a dragon. Clinging to titles seemed absurd in the face of such a grim future.
“Stahl, then,” Stahl replied. “I am surprised that you’re the Saint Libra from all the tales. Apparently a spring popped out of the earth where the wyvern fell in Breakneck Pass, or something like that. Which is amazing! I mean, it’s a good sign. It can’t hurt to have a holy man on our side when we’re up against the fell dragon.”
The fell dragon again. If Libra hadn’t heard the tale from Stahl’s mouth, hadn’t seen the fear in his eyes as he recounted what he saw that night in the countryside, Libra might dismiss it all as a tale brought on by too much drink. But there was sincerity in Stahl’s speech that Libra could not ignore. And if Grima was flying about the countryside, ready to swoop down and burn all to ash… as a member of the Order of the Silver Scale and as a priest of Naga Libra could not let such a threat go unanswered.
The dark, selfish underbelly of his being screamed that he was a liar of the highest order. He didn’t want to protect the halidom out of the goodness of his heart, out of some universal love for mankind. No, when he saw the blank horror in Stahl’s eyes Libra’s stomach dropped. Whatever terrified a stout knight like Stahl was not likely to remain content in far off Southtown. No, it would travel, move inland. It could come here, to the peaceful monastery that was his home for neigh on a decade. It would set fire to the roofs and slit the throats of every man, woman, and child in the settlement, and it would grab Libra and drag it down into the depths with it, finishing the job that the slums of Ylisstol failed to do.
“If there is anything else you remember about your encounter with the beast, do let me know, Si- Stahl,” Libra said. He turned back one final time to catch a last glimpse of his home, one final assurance that the horror he imagined hadn’t come to pass, but the monastery had been swallowed up by the trees.
They kept a steady pace as they rode, dust coating them in a fine layer of grit as they made their way south. As the sun began to set in the west they finally stopped for the night in the meadow off the road. It was a common campsite for travelers, a good spot between the villages and towns to set up a camp. Stahl cared for his horse as Libra unsaddled Violet and brushed her deep brown wiry coat with a heavy horse brush. The donkey nuzzled his arm with her muzzle and huffed loudly. Her warm breath permeated the heavy wool layers of his cape and robes.
“Patience, Violet. I am almost done,” he murmured as he continued to brush the donkey’s coat in long strokes down her flanks. She huffed again and flicked her long velvety ears, but she stood still and let him fuss. Animals were truly so much easier to handle than people, Libra mused. If you were quiet and patient and listened to them they told you exactly what they needed. People were… complex. They hid so much, and there was such darkness hidden within the hearts of men-
“I’ve some apples in my saddlebag, if you need them,” Stahl abruptly offered. “Sorry for setting such a brutal pace. I normally wouldn’t rush like this, but… y’know. Fell dragon and all.” His broad smile was slightly strained, and in the half-light of dusk Libra couldn’t tell if the shadows in Stahl’s eyes were caused by worry or were merely a trick of the light.
“The looming threat of the fell dragon burning the world to ash does change things,” Libra said wryly. “We must have faith in Naga and in your fellow soldiers, that they can continue to keep the threat at bay until we arrive to assist them.” And they would arrive to help them. They would, Naga guide them, find this beast that hounded the countryside and, if necessary, kill it. With some luck they would all be proven wrong and the sighting of the fell dragon would have been highly misinterpreted and exaggerated. With any luck Libra would be home within the fortnight.
“Yes. You’re right, of course. It’s been difficult, having to leave everyone else behind in Southtown while I went off. I’m not a great warrior, not like Vaike or Sully or Chro- Prince Chrom, I mean. I know that I’m average, but I can make a difference,” Stahl explained as he set his saddlebags on the ground. “I can support a friend in battle. I can even patch them up afterwards. And I can always cook a meal when the dust settles. Not being there is… it’s hard.” Stahl reached into his saddlebags, pulling out items as he spoke. He set down a pot, a variety of linen packages, wooden utensils, bowls… it was as if the man carried a miniature kitchen on his person! Libra was planning to feast on some bread and sleep, but it seemed Stahl had other plans.
“Not that I’m complaining, of course! Someone had to ride out here and raise the alarm, and Chestnut and I were up to the task. And you're able to help, so that’s even better news! Help from Saint Libra himself!” Stahl continued. “We heard that the Order all died in the war, so it’s nice to be proven wrong. Not that we want a war again! It’s just… you really might be able to help us. All of us.” He smiled again, a softer, smaller smile than the ones he flashed before. The pile of items at his side grew larger as he unpacked the saddlebag.
“... you care for your friends,” Libra said slowly. “Of course your heart wishes to be with them.” He began searching for a flint in his own bags. The copse of trees nearby would surely have some fallen branches so they could start a fire, and Libra wasn’t about to have Stahl take on all the hard work of setting up camp by himself. His hand closed around the flat bit of stone towards the top of his pack, and he slipped it into his pocket and stood up.
“Exactly!” Stahl exclaimed. “Not that I’m unhappy here. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Libra. Nice to put a face to all the stories.” Stahl started unwrapping some of the linen packages and setting them in the cast iron pot: root vegetables, dried meat, dried lentils… it was shaping up to be quite a luxurious meal for the road, and Libra’s mouth began to water. The morning’s breakfast was a world away, and he held off the worst of the hunger pangs on the road with an apple. A hot meal was most welcome, but he hadn’t expected it to taste good.
“Half of those stories should be attributed to Brother Ferdinand, I’m sure,” Libra murmured. “He is my mentor. Without him I would not be who I am.” Without Brother Ferdinand Libra would be dead. His hand drifted up to his throat, up to the livid scar that remained hidden under his high necked black tunic.
“Heard stories about him as well,” Stahl offered. “But I think all the halidom heard about you and the wyvern. Did you really face him with nothing but a branch?” The question was posed casually, as if he didn’t truly care about the answer, but the curiosity in Stahl’s bright eyes told Libra how eager he was for the story. Libra kneeled down in the dirt, next to the fire pit. Some enterprising soul recently used it, for the ashes and burnt fragments of wood remained within the circle of soil and rock. There was, however, a lack of nearby firewood. Someone would have to fix that, but in the meantime Libra cleared out a spot in the ashes.
“For a while, until I could recover my axe,” Libra replied. “I held the wyvern off until a wyvern rider assessed the situation.” The creature could not be spared, for it had taken to hunting the local livestock and it was feared the beast would soon seek more vulnerable prey. But they tried. By the gods they tried, and Libra was thankful to the young wyvern rider who flew out of her way to assist him. He doubted that an older warrior would have listened to his request, never mind agree to save the wild wyvern. It didn’t work in the end, but they tried. In a kinder world they may have succeeded.
“I… will gather firewood,” Libra offered. “Seeing as you’re cooking.”
“Shout if there’s a problem. I didn’t run into trouble on the journey here, but you never know,” Stahl absently replied as he poured water from his canteen into the pot. “Chestnut might get there before me, but he’s a smart horse. He will help you.”
Libra left him and the horse and donkey behind as he made his way towards the trees. He was mindful of roots and low-hanging branches, and he was wary of anything that might lurk in the shadows. Yet there was nothing to fear. The warm air was filled with the song of insects, and the moon hung low and large in the sky like a great golden melon. It was a peaceful summer evening in the countryside, and if Libra didn’t know what lay ahead of them he would be perfectly content to lay back in the tall grass and observe the stars dancing in the heavens.
Instead he gathered branches, carried them back to the campsite, and started a fire. He sat on the ground next to the fire and watched Stahl cook. The various ingredients he threw into the pot seemingly at random transformed into something that was not only edible but delicious. Should his career as a knight come to an end, Stahl had a promising career as a chef. Libra couldn’t remember the last time he ate such a hearty meal on the road. After the meal Stahl fed an apple to his horse, then offered another to Violet. The donkey delicately took the fruit and chewed it, her ears wiggling in what had to be equine delight.
“I do have one question, Stahl,” Libra said as the fire died down to embers. He curled up in his bedroll and stared across the hot coals at the gentle slope of Stahl’s side. For a moment he thought the knight was asleep, the day’s rigors having drained his energy. But then the man stirred, rolled onto his back, and turned his head to face Libra.
“Mmm?” Stahl hummed sleepily as he blinked, drowsy eyes staring back over the fire pit towards Libra.
“The… the dragon. How many eyes did it have?” It was silent for a time, so quiet that Libra was certain the knight had fallen asleep again, but then-
“I only saw it from a distance, but I’m positive… I’m almost one hundred percent certain… that there were only two eyes. Lots of spikes, though. Lots an’ lots… of spikes… and teeth…” Stahl trailed off, finally losing his battle against slumber. His soft breathing- snoring- filled the air.
Libra rolled onto his back and gazed up into the heavens, counting the stars as he turned the information around in his mind. Two eyes, not six. Black scales and massive wingspan aside, a two-eyed dragon was worlds away from being the six-eyed terror and eternal enemy of holy Naga. A two-eyed dragon couldn’t be Grima, and Libra held onto that small hope. A mere man stood little chance against the fell dragon, the god of annihilation itself, but a normal one? A dragon could be spoken to and dealt with. A dragon could be killed.
“Blessed Naga, please grant me the strength to see this task through,” Libra murmured into the night, hoping for an answer but knowing full well he would not receive one. He prayed fervently for nearly half of his life and never once heard the divine dragon whisper to him. He never once felt her guide his hand. Surely her silence meant she found Libra lacking in some fundamental way. Perhaps she was insulted that a murderous gutter rat dared to wear her holy vestments and wage battle in her name. Perhaps she found the very idea of him absurd, a man capable of horrific bloodshed but incapable of bearing even a whisper of a touch upon his skin. Libra shut his eyes and curled into a tight ball on his side. Whatever it was that Naga found lacking with him, it could only mean one thing: Libra was truly a terrible priest.