Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had only been a small skirmish with a couple of Emblian soldiers. Kiran, Alfonse, Roderick, Luke, Katarina – they had been traversing the border as a small group under Kiran’s guidance, since it was the most discreet path back from the gate to the World of Mystery.

They hadn’t expected Embla to strike under the falling veil of night. “An ambush!” Someone cried, and they had scattered.

At least the summoner had ducked off somewhere with Alfonse, and they – Roderick, Luke, Katarina – were plenty aware of the Askran prince’s ability to fight and hopefully defend the summoner. But they had their own situation to face; a bristling wall of axes and spears, reflecting the dancing firelight under an ink-black sky, and faceless silhouettes shifting and moving through the night.

But they were trained, and the Emblian soldiers stood no chance. They were a force to be reckoned with on their own – they fought back like the knights they aspired to be, measured and precise and playing back every step like they would in a spar. Roderick and Luke’s lance and sword gleamed red and gold against the firelight, cutting gleaming arcs through the air, and Katarina’s Elfire tome set the writhing shadows ablaze, forcing them to scatter. The Emblians were no match for them–

They should’ve stood no chance.

When their guard would slip during their knight training in Altea, their injuries ranged from bruises to sprains to even broken bones. Painful, yes, but that was the deal with blunt weapons; and they could all be healed by the castle’s clerics anyway.

So maybe it was the fact none of them – most of them – were not well-acquainted with the consequences of war that led to the tip of the lance slipping past their ranks, twisting with just enough precision or perhaps by just some accident–

It took Roderick a couple of seconds to actually feel it. Cold – like a frigid lump of ice, lodged just beneath his ribs like a particularly irksome stone in one’s boot. The next breath he took, or at least tried to take, was cut short by a jagged, hot pain that strangled all sound from his throat, and next, everything was slipping from his reach.

The spear had been withdrawn from his abdomen long before he hit the ground and his lance had slipped from his numb grip. There were dark spots splitting his vision – red and gold like fire and armour, painfully lurid yet not so – and oh, there was red on the floor, bright and speckled like pebbles under a clear river.

There was something liquid bubbling up in his throat and suddenly he couldn’t even find the energy to properly breathe. Filling his lungs like air but not quite – it burned like fire and it hurt, and it was choking him and sapping the strength from his body and–

Fatigue; at the corner of his vision, fire and shadows and blue and fire – his vision, blurring and hazing over with a film of grainy darkness. It was hot and cold and hot again, everything obscured by the darkness, and he might’ve welcomed it and the way it was chasing the agony away and replacing it with cold, a wonderfully numbing cold…

Fire danced across his sight. Red and gold; he could almost imagine her for a moment, like an angel on the back of a majestic steed and a sword of liquid gold in her hand…

“…Cecil?” He might’ve heard himself say, choked out past this wet liquid stickiness that clung to his throat with an iron-metallic tang–

His vision had hazed over again with darkness before he could think anymore.

At the jaws of death – cold, bony fingers, dragging icy claws through his entire body, what body? – a primal fear had plunged through his chest and tightened in his throat.

And there was something else, warm and bright and snatching him away–

Roderick blinked.

There was a cloud of smoke around him that was already dissipating into the night sky, and a stray feather that had been clinging to his hair drifted away and landed in the blackened grass, already losing its ethereal blue hue and turning dull upon the soot-coloured ground.

Smoke trickled from the legendary weapon Breidablik, clutched between the summoner’s gloved hands. Kiran lowered it – why are they pointing it at me? – their expression shadowed.

“Rody…” Oh, there was Luke – his horse was nowhere to be seen, strangely enough, Roderick could’ve sworn he was on his horse’s back just a moment ago–

Everything hit him at once.

Ghost-tendrils of pain and agony just beneath his ribs and spreading through his body, the tang of iron on his lips, salt and bitterness suddenly welling up at the back of his throat–

He clapped a hand to his mouth, doubled over and dry-heaved into the grass.

Fear tasted like bile and the echoes of the bitter, iron tang of blood.

Roderick’s consciousness – at least, some semblance of proper thought – returned to Luke rubbing his back comfortingly and Katarina looking on with an expression of sympathy.

“How are you?” Luke spoke again, concern lacing his tone.

“I feel… terrible.” Roderick reached up to scrub away the tears that had formed from his episode of fruitlessly trying to rid himself of his nausea. “I could remember everything – right up to the moment I – I died.”

…I died. I should’ve died. What happened…?

He lifted his head. A couple of meters away – where waves of soldiers had previously been present, their Emblian uniforms like a dark sweep of a raven’s wing in the near-darkness – was a large patch of dry grass that had escaped the fire and destruction. It was unusually quiet from the sounds of war just moments before.

Something glistened in the flickering light of Katarina’s torch. The grass was matted, he could see it from where he was kneeling – but the droplets of blood, still fresh, stained the fronds red. His lance lay a meter from the pool of blood that had soaked into the dark earth, and there was the clear imprint of where a body had lain in the flattened grass and blood.

“That’s–”

“Just focus on how you’re feeling now.” Katarina moved to block his vision, but it still didn’t stop him from feeling sick all over again.

“…but how am I not dead?” He asked weakly, suddenly feeling all strength – if there had been any at all – draining from his limbs. There was that fatigue again, cold and relentless and seeping through his veins like ice.

“The fact that Breidablik can revive Heroes… it’s not something I’ve actually had to do until today.” It was Kiran who spoke up this time – their muted voice, low and quiet in a way that invited no response. “I was told – that the lives of the Heroes I summon are… attached to Breidablik, and in extension me, but… I’d hoped that I would never have to try.”

“Unfortunately, it’s a tool we will have to end up using.” Alfonse said gravely. “Our small numbers of Heroes… we stand no chance against the Emblian Empire alone. But the Legendary Summoner’s power to revive them…”

“I–” Kiran cut themselves off at that. Even with the hood shadowing their face and their back turned, they could all still hear the waver in their voice.

“…I know.”

“We can talk about that later.” Luke said, cutting them off with a wave of his hand. “We still have to get back to the castle, and we all need a break. Here, Roderick – I’ll help you take off your armour. I think you, out of everyone, deserve that rest the most…”

“I don’t want to die again and again.”

“…Roderick?”

He could feel his nails biting into his palm, and he knew he sounded like a – a petulant child, even – but he just couldn’t stop shaking and his breaths were coming rapid and shallow, but there was no lance stuck through his abdomen this time.

“Being revived like this, again and again – that just means we’re going to have to die that many times, over and over again.” He said, breathless and angry and terrified all at once. “An army of soldiers that can be revived again and again – it might sound an extraordinary thing to an army’s commander, that we’re expendable just because we can be resurrected and sent back out to war again after it’s all over, but… but…!”

“Whoa, hey, calm down, Rody.” Luke was at his side again, rubbing soothing circles against his back with one hand while the other moved to unbuckle his pauldrons and breastplate. “It’s been a long day. Just take a break for a moment, okay? Just breathe – deep breaths now, in, out…”

“I’ll go pick up everything we dropped earlier.” Katarina said softly, rising to her feet and turning away.

“Yeah, sure, go do that.” Luke said absentmindedly, tossing the first pauldron to the ground. “Could you go find his horse as well? I think it bolted off somewhere over there…”

Kiran watched the scene unfolding before them, their fingers tight against the corner of their sleeve and lip trembling.

“Tell me, Alfonse,” they whispered, without turning around. “…Is it wrong of me? I’m the one sending all these people to their deaths… they’re hardly older than we are, and already it’s cost us a life under my watch. Even if I can revive them… All I do is sit back and watch them get killed for me.”

“Kiran, you know we can’t… you know it’s a sacrifice we have to make.” Alfonse said seriously, raising a hand to set on their shoulder–

“A sacrifice we have to make, or a sacrifice that they’re forced to make for us?”

“I…”

“I’m the one who tore them away from their home worlds, away from the people they actually know – to force them to fight for Askr, for these… complete strangers. And sure, maybe they might see our cause is honourable, but honourable enough to force them to die for it?”

Kiran closed their eyes and choked out a bitter laugh. “And never mind that – why am I even the one leading them anyway? I’m not fit to be commander of any sort of army when I don’t even give up half as much as they do for me. I’m no tactician when my soldiers die under my watch. Hell, I’m not even fit to be called a ‘Legendary Summoner’ – the only reason anyone’s caring about my existence here is because I can hold this thing.”

Alfonse stared at Breidablik as it dangled from Kiran’s grasp. The gold etchings gleamed like rivers of molten copper in the night.

“And – ugh, self-pity isn’t going to get anyone anywhere. Just wallowing in my own regrets isn’t going to keep any more people from having to suffer under my cause.” Kiran turned, eyes bright with unshed tears. “This isn’t going to be the last time I’ll have to witness this, Alfonse. He’s right, you know – an army of soldiers that can be revived again and again… it really does sound like a tactician’s dream, to expend as many soldiers as you want to do anything. But that’s because we’re not the ones being thrown into war again and again, and because we’re not ‘expendable’…”

Kiran heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, Alfonse. I’m being unfair to you – you sacrifice just as much and throw yourself into battle just like all the other Heroes, and even without my ability to revive you…”

“No, I understand.” Alfonse glanced away. The glitter of Katarina’s firelight against the droplets of blood, caught on the fronds of grass, reflected back his face in a thousand refracted images. “…myself, Sharena, Commander Anna… if we die, that’s the end of us. We’re not bound to your contract like the Heroes are to Breidablik. But… and this is just ‘if’, but if we die, then we only have to go through that pain once. We don’t have to suffer again and again at the end of some sword or lance, or from fire or arrows – in some way, not being able to be resurrected is… almost a blessing. Not that I plan on dying anytime soon, but…”

“…I know.”

Kiran said nothing more. They only slid Breidablik back onto their belt and tugged their summoner’s robes closer around themselves as a particularly chilly gust of wind picked up.

The grass whispered. The only other sound was the quiet murmuring of conversation from the three Heroes behind them, and the quiet nickering of horses.

“…I’ll apologise to them later for my – my poor command.” Kiran glanced off into the distance, at where the silhouette of Askr Castle loomed. “I – I don’t think any of them want to see me right now. Not after what I’ve made them go through…”

“I doubt they truly blame you for it.”

Kiran’s hand curled against their coat. “…Please.”

Alfonse remained quiet. Kiran let loose another shaky breath and walked away.

Chapter Text

As tactician, there are multiple things you have to consider. To start, the size of your army. This often determines how expendable your troops are. You must weigh up the costs of your aim to the costs to your resources, and how quickly you can replenish said resources–

Kiran slammed the book shut.

A couple of tables away, Robin gave them a concerned look but Kiran waved off his worry with what they hoped was an apologetic smile.

I have to get better at this. I need to become a better tactician and army commander for my Heroes… my – my…

“They’re not just expendable resources or… or anything!” Kiran hissed under their breath. Already, they could feel their hands shaking – just as much when they’d wielded Breidablik that night, when they’d heard Luke screaming their name and this staggering pain like some unseen force had torn a chunk out of their soul – but they shoved their hands under the table and tried to focus something else: the curling script on the book’s cover, the gentle flicker of candlelight, the musty scent of the library.

“I can’t make an apology of empty words. If I’m going to promise I won’t let this happen – that I’ll do better… I have to prove it.”

Even as they mumbled those words to themselves, though, they could already see the stack of books they had ‘discarded’ on their table. Tactician’s manuals and the like that Kiran just couldn’t bear reading any further – which consisted of practically all the books that they had brought with them to the table earlier, hours before.

“…oh, good afternoon, Robin.”

Kiran jumped at the voice.

“Good afternoon to you too, Katarina. Are you here to read again?”

“Oh – actually, I was looking for the summoner. I heard they were here, so…”

Kiran did their best to shrink beneath the pile of books they had stacked up on their table.

“If you’re looking for them, they’re right there.”

Darn it. Kiran tried to wipe the grimace off their face and replace it with an easygoing smile as Katarina turned their direction, but it clearly was not working.

“Kiran…”

“I’m fine.” Kiran said automatically, before realising that she hadn’t asked anything at all. Kiran ran their hands over their face and tried not to sigh audibly. “No, forgive me. What is it?”

“I think we should be asking you that, though.” Katarina said. “Kiran… are you still beating yourself up over last night?”

“…no.” Kiran turned their face away. “Besides, why are you here anyway? You’ve already seen how much of a failure at a tactician I am, and the fact still stands is that it was because I was such a failure, Roderick ended up dying yesterday because of me. You should be hating me right now for leading you all into an ambush like that. I’m sure Luke is, and you don’t even need to ask if Roderick feels the same. I saw it in his eyes yesterday, when he–”

It probably might’ve occurred to them that they had, in fact, confirmed exactly what Katarina had said, but Katarina made no mention of it. “Kiran, they don’t blame you for it. Nobody could’ve predicted we were going to be ambushed, and nobody was prepared. In fact, we should be grateful to you for saving our lives–”

“Resurrecting someone after they’ve died is not ‘saving a life’.”

“Perhaps, but the fact stands that we’re all still alive. And this resurrection… we truly are grateful for it, even if it is some divine power we don’t understand.”

Kiran couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at that. “Yeah, like anyone could be grateful for making them suffer again and again–”

“In fact, we’d actually talked about this last night.” Katarina continued, interrupting Kiran. “We gave it some thought. Roderick admitted he snapped back at you unjustly; it isn’t your fault that you were given the power to revive Heroes; in fact, it’s a good thing, that people we know won’t have to also go through the agony of losing someone they love…”

“…you guys aren’t even fully fledged knights yet.” Kiran muttered. “You shouldn’t have to experience death like this, during a time where – where you should’ve been safe back home in Altea, during peacetime…”

“Oh…” Katarina let out a soft chuckle at that – melancholic and knowing, all at once. “…maybe they’ve told you their side of their story – that they were squires training in Altea under the knight training programme alongside the rest of the Seventh Platoon – but, well, me… but I’m not from their world. I’m actually older than them, and I don’t mean just by age – I come from another world where… where a second war broke out. So I understand this concept of death at least more than they do, especially when – when I’ve seen it happen before me… which is why I’ve come to find you before they did.”

She shook her head. “Never mind that – that isn’t what I’m here to talk about. But they already know about the fact I’m not ‘their’ Katarina, and… well, we talked, and we agreed that – yes, while what he said does hold some meaning, that nobody wants to have to experience death again and again…”

Katarina met Kiran’s downcast gaze. “The fact is that we still have loved ones, both here and – and for them, back home, and we don’t want to see them suffer because of our deaths. In the end, it’s your power that helps us to do that… and we’re grateful, because that means we’ll wake up the next day to see everyone we love again, and that we’ll be able to continue living and breathing and experiencing life.”

Kiran was quiet for a long moment as they processed her words.

“So… that was about it. We just wanted to thank you for yesterday, for keeping us – for… me – from having to experience another loss of someone we care for. And I’ll pass on Roderick’s apologies to you too, since you’re here now – he wanted to apologise for speaking to you so harshly yesterday, and that it was unfair of him to do so when it was about something that isn’t in any of our power.”

Katarina shot Kiran a small smile; wistful and understanding. “But… if I may add my own thoughts, do try and forgive him. Death is hard to face for anyone… I know that myself, no matter how many times I’ve seen it before. It’s no surprise an experience like that would make anyone – even the most stoic of people – react so strongly.”

“I – wait, hold on, why… why does he want to apologise to me? I should be the one…”

“You mean, apologising about being a ‘failure of a tactician’, as you called it?”

Kiran flinched.

“Kiran, we all have much to learn.” Katarina said gently. “As knights, as Heroes, as tacticians. As your soldiers… we constantly have to train, to get better, to keep something like that from happening to ourselves again. Whatever situation we might end up in, that’s something we personally have to learn.”

She placed a hand on the closed book on Kiran’s desk. “As tacticians… well, I’m not an actual tactician right now, but from my personal experience… there is so much to learn, all while having to balance the lives of those under your command. It’s not your fault that we were put into an undesirable situation – it happens to the best of us. But of course, as tacticians, it is best for us to learn from these situations, so we know what to do or even try to prevent them altogether… and you have so many other sources of information as well.”

Katarina glanced over at where Robin was still reading… well, staring intensely at his book and probably eavesdropping – and turned back to Kiran. “There are many tacticians from other worlds here, and I’m sure you’ll end up summoning more. If you’re so keen on learning to become a better tactician to try prevent your soldiers from dying… then perhaps talk to some of them. I know I’ve been learning a lot from Robin, and he can surely introduce you to some other tacticians as well.”

“I – I suppose…”

“Maybe you might not be the most skilled or wise tactician now, and maybe you could have said or done something yesterday that might’ve changed the course of the whole battle.” Katarina rose from her seat. “But that’s in the past, and what we have to focus on is the future. So… you don’t have to just rely on yourself. Speak to the other tacticians and learn from them – their strategies, their methods, so you can become a better tactician from before.”

Katarina smiled. “I’m sure you’ll end up seeing Luke and Roderick today. They probably have their own pieces to say, too – mostly apologising about yesterday’s outburst, I’d take it – but do keep in mind what I’ve said.”

“I mean, it still doesn’t excuse the fact that you all got hurt yesterday because I walked everyone right into an ambush, but… I’ll try. And I’ll still apologise, of course – but…”

“The power to revive people isn’t something that is your fault.” Katarina finished for them – or interrupting whatever Kiran was about to say. She offered a wave as she turned around. “I’ll tell them where you are if you want to talk to them now. And you don’t have to worry about it too much – they’re very grateful for what you did yesterday.”

“…before you go.” Kiran lifted their head. “Katarina, could you – could you answer something?”

“What is it?”

“…when I summoned you all, when I tore you away from your home worlds and made to fight for Askr’s cause… please, tell me. Is it wrong of me to do that? To force you to sacrifice yourselves for… for a world you’ve never known?”

“Well…” Katarina tilted her head curiously as she contemplated. “As I said before, none of this is in any of our power. As you’ve told us before, you were summoned here yourself to be the Legendary Summoner… so how about you answer your own question?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, you’re technically just like all of us, really. You were taken from your own world to fight – or work for – Askr’s cause… so do you feel that it’s wrong?”

“W-well… I mean… I don’t regret it. It’s an honourable cause, and I’d – I’d certainly be more useful here…”

Katarina turned back around, folding her hands in front of herself. “Then let me give you my own answer. I feel exactly the same as you – I would be more useful here than where I was before. And I can’t speak for everyone here, but I know that I’d be happy to give up anything I need to for Askr’s cause, for people as honourable and kind as you, Prince Alfonse, Princess Sharena…”

Kiran sighed; though this time, it was as if something had been lifted of their chest. “I… I see. Thank you, Katarina…”

“Don’t worry about it.” She shook her head. “I’ll go find Luke and Roderick and direct them down here now, alright? Just give me a few minutes – I’m sure they’ll have a lot to say too. Ah, and Kiran…”

Katarina offered a warm, reassuring smile. “I hope you understand how I feel. And always know that all of us – we’re here for you just like you’re here for us in battle, so if there is anything you need, please feel free to speak to us… at least, I hope I speak for all the Heroes when I say that, but who knows?”

A soft chuckle spilled from her lips. “Anyway, I should actually leave now. I’ll see you around!”

Kiran watched her disappear around a bookshelf in a flutter of purple fabric.

Every one of the Heroes – they’re their own people, their own individuals. They are not expendable resources or ‘revivable soldiers’ just for the sake of war.

“It falls to me to be a better tactician for them, then.” Kiran said aloud. “If I can… I’ll do my best to not let anyone die under my watch again. I swear I’ll do my best, and – and if I can’t…”

Breidablik hung heavy from their belt. Kiran let their hand rest against the cool surface of the divine weapon; it seemed to thrum in response, tendrils of energy creeping up through their fingers and lacing through the air.

“…even if I can revive them, that doesn’t mean they’re expendable.” Kiran repeated. “I swear… I’ll do my best to prevent them from suffering under my command… I promise.”