By: Manna (Kitten Kisses)


She never would have guessed, in a million years, that this "little" journey of theirs would leave her absolutely, positively speechless. She could feel the weariness in her bones, spreading out like a spider's web, to reach every corner of her being. She felt rather old, at the moment, trudging along in the drizzling rain, her hair plastered to her neck, and her eyes nearly closed in fatigue.

It was one of those times when she almost missed her childhood, especially the other kids that she would play with as they chased a leather ball around in the small courtyard of the abbey that they all had called home.

A year ago, home was Castle Ostia. The high stone walls protected the people inside, and she could admit (to herself, mostly) that she was relatively happy there. She was treated with respect, and her help was needed often enough with the people of Ostia. Despite the fact that the Lord whom she served was an oaf, he treated her nicely enough, if he felt like it at the time.

Now, however, her home consisted of the cold hard ground, among a bunch of strangers (half of which she just knew didn't even like her), fighting a war. If that blathering goose Sain wasn't all over her (or all the other women, really), she sometimes felt oh-so alone.

It wasn't as if she felt that she needed a man of all things. Just someone… a person… anybody, really, who would let her be quiet, or loud, depending on her mood. Some people called them friends.

Serra wondered- her thoughts a little bleak, now- if she even had any of those, anymore. Had she ever had any to begin with? Well, she supposed, Matthew could be considered a friend of sorts, when he wasn't running in the opposite direction (maybe she should leave him to his own devices, once in awhile?), and perhaps Erk, when he wasn't sighing and staring at his feet.

She nearly threw her arms in the air in defeat, as the drizzle started to turn into a light summer shower. Okay, so she honestly had no friends whatsoever! But she had tried to make some. But becoming friends with someone wasn't always as easy as she had originally thought it to be.

People hated her when she talked, but if she didn't talk, they thought she was suicidal.

"Don't insult Serra today, Hector," their tactician would say, her voice almost a whisper. "She seems rather down right now. Don't go pushing her over the edge!"

Yeah, as if Lord Hector was the only one who insulted her on an almost-daily basis… Not so, not so at all! Most of the camp did, actually, and now that she'd pretty much ruined her chances at being a well-liked member of their little army, she was certain that she had absolutely no chance of finding a friend.

'A friend would walk next to me, so I don't feel so awful in this cold rain… though, my feet are absolutely on fire!' she thought, spotting Lord Hector and Lady Lyndis walking at the front of the group, talking (actually, she was sure they were arguing) with one another.

The further she walked, the wetter the ground was, and she just knew her shoes were completely ruined… though, to be fair, it didn't really matter anyway, since the army couldn't really afford to buy anyone new shoes at the moment. She would just have to clean the mud off of them when morning came, and perhaps complain a little to Lord Oaf, who would then insult her (as always). Then, she could act offended, and argue with him, just as Lady Lyndis did.

A part of her knew, however, that their argument would be a real one (at least to Hector), and not friendly banter at all.

Damn it all! It was cold, and wet. She was friendless, her feet burned, she missed her childhood, she missed Castle Ostia, and she missed not being muddy and miserable!

She continued to trudge onward. They would walk until Eliwood said to stop, no matter how much she complained about it. And she didn't really feel like talking about that, anyway.


His horse's hooves made sucking, sloshing sounds as the little army made its way down the almost-road to nowhere. Honestly, though, it led somewhere, but to him, it didn't really matter. He was here to fight for his people and his pride, as a Sacaen.

He was used to the rain. The light summer shower that was sprinkling on them would have been accepted with much celebration on the sometimes rather dry plains of the people of Sacae. This drizzle was nothing compared to the downpours that he could remember seeing as a child, holed up in a cave as he watched the heavy winds blow the long grass to the ground, and the rain pelt mercilessly against the dry Mother Earth.

He had been lagging behind the group, almost enjoying the weather that the others' seemed to hate so much. Ahead, he could only barely make out a few stragglers, ducking their head against the light breeze; their forms slouched in weariness.

One in particular made him stop; a woman. He felt nothing for any of the people, even when he tried being perfectly honest with himself. The Lady Lyndis was a proud Sacaen, just as he, himself was… and he occasionally found himself admiring her from afar… but as for the others… they were his allies. He would protect them, and help them. But he would never really be one of them.

But this one woman caught his eye for a big reason. Their Cleric. Why was she so far behind the group? Didn't she realize that she was an easy target at the back like that? From the way she walked, he could tell it was because she was tired. Her feet fairly dragged across the muddy earth, and her shoulders were slumped, almost in defeat.

For a moment, he was torn. He had a strong horse that was used to the rain, from a life traveling across the plains of Sacae, and he would be fine, he hoped (since she could talk anybody's ear off), for a few hours… But he certainly didn't want to start anything that he couldn't finish.

Sighing in defeat, he knew what he would do. Heaven forbid that she try to get to know him, and talk him to death later, as he knew she often did to the others'.

He lightly pushed his knees into his horse's sides, and the proud animal moved forward a little faster, towards the lone girl just ahead of him. He moved a few feet ahead of her, and turned his steed to the side, twisting his head to look at her.

Reaching his hand out, he said nothing, and he could see the gratitude in her eyes as she hesitated for a second, before putting her hand in his. After only a moment, she was seated behind him.

The silence was uncomfortable for her, he was certain, but he was definitely used to hearing it. The sound of the rain slapping against the ground, and their skin, was almost soothing to him, in a strange sort of way.

After a few minutes passed, he could feel her shift a bit behind him, and he knew she was going to talk.

"Why do you never talk, Sir Rath?" she asked him, her voice soft, as if she were lost in thought.

"There is no need," he answered her, and he knew he was right. Words were not always necessary. Though, sometimes, it helped to hear them.

"Thank you." She dropped her voice into silence, and stared into the grey sky, pondering on what he had said. She always seemed to talk so much, unlike her companion at the moment. Perhaps she talked a little too much, if it were possible. She would have to remember to do better, next time.


Author Notes:

Ahhh! I can't believe I wrote something for Fire Emblem. I must be sick or something. Well, actually, I started replaying the game (I had to go to a family thing, and I brought it in case I got bored, and of course…I got bored).

Thoughts and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!

Also, I have a writing journal now. If you want to check it out and voice your opinions on stories to come, go to my bio to check it out.

Thanks for reading!