Archive of Our Own ^beta

Laslow made too many promises to too many people. It's probably the only thing that keeps him from half-assedly letting a Faceless eat his sword arm, then other more important parts. Vicious fights with legions of the shambling beasts are not what he fears - the adrenaline turns him into a lethal swordsman then - it's the routine fights against midling groups that drain at his spirit.

It's just boring, and that's something he never thought to ready himself for. He sees a Faceless rip a young girl to pieces once - literally pull a thin, short arm from its socket - and he almost can't stifle a yawn.

If only Lucina could see her degenerate brother now.

Odin and Selena keep him grounded most of the time. Watching them bicker never fails to bring a smile to his lips, though he suspect even that's become a bit of a habit. Once, Selena grilled him for not giggling at some silly comment of Odin's, and he doesn't want to repeat the experience so he keeps interjecting with snorts and laughs at appropriate lulls in their conversations. He doesn't like lying. Not to them. Not when he does it constantly to everyone else.

"This world . . . it's worse than our future, isn't it?" Selena asks him one day as they watch a tepid sunset. Though 'asks' is perhaps too strong a word.

No one can really say why Nohr and Hoshido are at war. There's the issue with the kidnapped nobles, but everyone seems to agree that hostilities started long before that. No one seems to recall when, much less why. Maybe there wasn't much of a reason for the wars back home either, but Laslow tries not to think too much about that. It's scary to realize that every day he has more trouble recalling details of home.

Laslow treasures every mirror he can get his hands on. His mother swore he resembles his father, and everyone insisted that Lucina was the spitting image of Chrom. As for his mother . . . he'll remember her dances always. It will have to be enough.

To anyone not used to reading his moods, Odin probably seems a beacon of cheer. His voice alone grates, especially in a land where people are prone to throwing knives at sudden noises, but Laslow knows better.

"The dark power coursing through my veins must be leashed!" Odin tells an old woman trying to gift him a pound of wheat. He'd just slaughtered a Faceless about to destroy her home. "If I accept rewards for wanton destruction, my soul will be assaulted by greed. I have no strength to resist more vices."

Tame, considering the nonsense Odin has been ranting lately. Owain had never been so ominous, not even during the most hopeless battles of their terrible future.

Indulging some dark drive more sinister than anything Odin can conjure, Laslow starts trekking to the outskirts of Nohrian villages without alerting his friends. He tells himself that it's for stealth's sake. No one trusts groups of unknowns in Nohr, no matter how small. It wouldn't do for the three of them to attract attention to themselves before they reach the Nohrian capital.

But the truth that Laslow has been taking more and more solace in solitude. Even fights, which don't exactly thrill him and never have, seem easier when doesn't have to worry about Selena or Odin noticing that he just can't give it his all anymore.

It's no surprise that his luck runs out one cold evening.

They'll reach the capital soon, and Laslow feels like the walls of the inn are closing in on him. Heedless of the locals' warnings about increasing skirmishes with Faceless that have broken free of their masters, Laslow leaves, making sure to avoid Selena and Odin.

Three streets away, the pained groan of an injured Faceless hits him. Against what little judgement he has left, Laslow follows the sound. There might be people, orphans most likely, fleeing from the beasts.

There are no people. Laslow finds a short Faceless (short by monster standards) fending off a group of larger fiends. Moonlight glints off their sickly green skin, somehow freezing Laslow in place until he senses something approaching his back.

He ducks, barely escaping another beast's claws, and whirls. His sword catches the Faceless' belly, fouling the ground with the creature's rancid entrails. Laslow doesn't have time to cringe at that. The remaining Faceless have forgotten their runt and focused their furious attention on him.

It's all wrong. Laslow's heart doesn't beat as quickly as it should; his limbs don't ache with frantic urgency. He kills two more of the Faceless, evading their strikes with a helpless sense of annoyance clouding his judgment. One of their swipes catches his sleeve. A monstrous claw rips into his skin, though not so deep that he can't swing his sword and drive it through his opponent's chest.

What a waste. He couldn't have given the thing a bigger opening if he'd tried.

The two biggest monsters are left. Laslow catches one from the corner of his eye, whirls around with a wide sword arch that catches the beast's belly, follows with a punch. The Faceless catches his fist, pulls him forward so that Laslow has to swing his sword wildly. The monster falls, but Laslow knows he won't be fast enough to evade the last one. Finally, his heart thunders in his chest, but it's too late--

A beam of thick darkness, accompanied by a broken screech pierces the Faceless as it reaches for Laslow's head. It screams a moment before the darkness beams away, and the it falls to the ground in a swirl of purple mist that poisons the air with a rancid aftertaste. A horse brays loudly.

Laslow looks towards the sound, heart bounding in his throat.

"You shouldn't be out alone so late at night," says the knight on the horse, sheathing a heavy broadsword that glimmers with darkness.

"I can take care of myself." Laslow frowns. Considering he'd been a fingerbreath from death, he sounds like the silly half of a cheap romance couple. "But thank you."

"You have an admirable swordarm, and remarkable agility," says the knight. "Nohr needs men like you. Don't let yourself die in a moment of silly pride or arrogance."

Laslow almost throws his good manners to the wind, but the knight is already going on his way. With a tired sigh, Laslow follows his lead. He needs to check his arm before returning to the inn to make sure it's not a wound that might attract Selena's attention. Or Odin's.

If they notice the rip on his shirt, they say nothing about. Laslow's grateful for the reprieve. His mood improves further when they learn that Nohr's crown prince is visiting the city.

Anankos will look for a king to manipulate. The smog of despair and hunger clinging to Nohr, together with the rumors of its warmongering ruler make it the most likely nation under the evil dragon's grip. All three of them have decided that fighting their way to prominence in the Nohrian military is their best chance to make a difference.

Laslow wonders if he has the energy for that kind of mission, but he knows he doesn't have the energy to turn his back on Odin and Selena. He's worrying about how he's supposed to work up the charisma of a successful shoulder when the Nohrian prince is visiting the town plaza, apparently trying to recruit soldiers in his father's name. Their eyes meet.

It's the knight from the alley, looking brighter and blunder under the harsh light of the midday sun. Laslow waves at him, and he nods.

"Where did you meet him?" asks Selena after the Prince Xander finishes his speech.

"I just ran into him while fighting a few Faceless," says Laslow. "Nothing serious or anything. He helped me."

"So you think the crown prince is an honorable man?" asks Odin.

"I exchanged a few words with him," says Laslow. "How would I know?" But Prince Xander is rounding up soldiers for his father's plundering wars, so Laslow is keeping his expectations low.

They take the opportunity to officially enlist in the Nohrian military, relieved that the process involves little investigation into their past or citizenry. Selena berates Laslow for not bothering to properly introduce himself to Xander when he had the chance, but Laslow is glad that his connection to the crown prince is all but nonexistent. Xander's recruitment speech, while fairly generic, put him on edge. A few tweaks here and there, and it would've sounded like the kind of spectacle Chrom used to make shortly before his death to cheer their despairing troops.

In a move that reminds Laslow of Chrom even more, Xander declares that they'll take the long way to the Nohrian capital, making sure to stop at any city or village requiring their help. It'll give them a chance to bond as comrades, and to foster goodwill between the people of Nohr and its army.

"He is acting like a man worthy of a crown," says Odin as they get ready to march. "There might be hope for this ravaged kingdom yet."

Maybe, Laslow concedes. But he's not ready to say it out loud.