Story Second Chance

[Tangerine]

Second Chance

The sun filtered through the natural canopy of the leaves, leaving a speckled path for the fleeing man to follow. A crescent of wrought metal slipped past his eyebrows, causing caustic sweat to drip into his eyes. He hastily wiped the offending liquid away, while pushing the crude tiara back up. The dull, distant metallic steps hounded every step he took with his aching legs, and his lungs protested beneath the too-tight garment that bound his ribs. A faint rustle and a tug broke his stride, as the impromptu cape he wore snagged on a tree branch.

Marth was easily identified by both tiara and cape, and as the decoy, Frey wore the latter. The tiara refused to stay on the larger man's head, so Abel had cobbled together something that was metal and somewhat tiara-shaped. Both Cain and Jagen worked to quickly let out the seams in Marth's shirt, which made the garment just big enough for Frey to squeeze into. Frey needed to run as fast and as far away from the young Marth as he could, so he surrendered everything except for the clothes on his back. Malledus had been the one to suggest the crazy plan to use a decoy. Though the clanking of the troops of Grust and Gra spelt his personal doom, Frey could not help but smile at the sound. As long as they pursued him, they would be unable to catch the real Marth.

With a few quick tugs, the cape spilled out of the tree's embrace, but not without harm. It did not matter that the cape had a tear the size of his hand on it. Frey quickly bundled up the offending piece of cloth and forced his legs to move. Every step he took would be another step that the armies would have to retrace if they wished to catch their true quarry. The dried leaves on the ground cried out, only to be silenced by the ringing of armor. Three figures clad in plate mail barred his path. The forest echoed with metallic clanks, no doubt more of the heavy knights of Gra.

"Who are you?" one of the metal-clad figures demanded.

"Sure as hell ain't the prince," another one chimed in. The third one roughly grabbed Frey's arm, crushing any hopes the decoy had of escaping his captives. Two more soldiers joined the trio.

"His Highness is gonna have a fit when he sees this," one of the newcomers grumbled. "Bring 'em over anyway. This cur oughta know where the real prince went!" Another soldier took a hold of Frey's other arm, and Frey bit back several curses as he was unceremoniously dragged back to where he'd run from. Despite their armor, his captives marched in time, which caused every last pebble to scrape against the failed decoy's legs. After the twentieth pebble or so, Frey's arms were freed without warning. He slowly raised his head, and met the scowl of a man that looked to be roughly twenty years his senior. A startling full head of snow-white hair crowned the older man, but did little to hide the wrinkles on his forehead. His thick white eyebrows, knitted with anger, framed a pair of sharp brown eyes and a sharper nose. A well-trimmed beard accented the scowl. His black armor was punctuated by a high-collared shirt, and his equally dark cape was somehow draped around and over his shoulders.

"This is...the wrong prince?" the older man roared. Though Frey was surrounded, his enemy made no move to run after the real prince. Perhaps he could delay the armies a while longer, but he wouldn't be able to do so with his legs.

"I'm certain His Highness will grow up to be just as charming and handsome as I am," Frey replied, as much sarcasm as he could muster in his voice.

"Sir, perhaps he knows where the prince went?" a soldier spoke up sheepishly.

"SILENCE!" The soldiers shrank away from the white-haired man. "You will lead us to your prince, cur. I might even...forgive your foolishness if we capture him alive."

"Ah, what a lovely cape," Frey spat out. "How DO you keep that thing around your shoulders without a brooch?" Frey grunted as something blunt and heavy smacked his ribs. When he looked up, he saw the tip of a lance levelled at his face.

"You dare make a fool of me?" the older man demanded.

"But I thought you needed me alive to lead you to the prince," Frey continued, with a chuckle that caused his newly-bruised side to scream in protest.

"A reasonable response," the head of the captives mused.

"I don't trust 'em," one of the soldiers piped up.

"Maybe this swine thought he could outrun us, bein' bogged down with this armor," another one said. "An' now that he's faced with death, he changed his tune."

"Yeah, but if he's willin' to sell out his liege so fast, then how long will it be before he betrays us?" a third one asked.

"I'M THE ONE IN CHARGE HERE!" the white-haired man shouted. "Where is Prince Marth?"

"It should be obvious, even for an old coot like you," Frey started. The corners of his lips turned up as the older man's face darkened. "NOT. HERE."

"Kill him!" the older man roared. "Make the faux prince SUFFER!"

"YES SIR!" A lance butt laid him out on the ground, as a metal-clad foot fell on one of his arms. He looked up to the sky, which was obscured by the helmets of Gra's soldiers. A lance point struck true, and the last thing Frey remembered was the warm rush of fluids along his stomach, which did nothing to ease the wrenching pain he felt.

---

Death was supposed to be a release from one's suffering, and yet the sharp pain in his stomach refused to go away. Perhaps he wound up in a place reserved for traitors, condemned to suffer for eternity. His parched lips parted, seeking any sort of relief. Something cool reached his dry tongue, which forced his eyes open.

"You're awake!" a shrill voice called out. He slowly moved his neck to the source. Though he couldn't see the person's face, the hunched shoulders, white hair, and plain dress indicated that the speaker was an old woman. She turned towards him, jowls gently waving with each step she took. With a grace of a woman half her age, she lifted the cup to his lips. He let the cool liquid flow into his mouth and down his cotton-filled throat. His lips cracked as he smiled in thanks.

"Rest now." Though the statement was little more than a raspy whisper, he was more than happy to oblige her.

---

Sometimes, he'd stay awake for a few moments before drifting off to sleep. Soon, those moments stretched into parts of the day, as his caretaker added broth to his diet of water. When he croaked out his first words of thanks, she turned to him and smiled warmly.

"It's no problem, stranger," she replied, the tone of her voice smoothing over its aged rattle. "My name is Naomi. What is your name?"

"My name...ah..." What was his childhood like? How did he spend his years as an adult? Try as he might, he couldn't think of an answer to either of those questions, let alone his name!

"Is something wrong?" He met her worried gaze with his own.

"I don't have a name," he admitted sheepishly. The wrinkles on her face darkened as she frowned.

"That's no good!" she exclaimed. She opened her mouth, then closed it when a knock sounded through the room. "Just a moment!" she called out.

"G'day to you, Naomi," the pink-hair girl on the other end greeted cheerily. "Oh, he's awake!" she continued, her girlish giggle brightening the room.

"Good day to you too, Norne," the older woman responded. "What brings you here?"

"I was out huntin', and though that you'd like these!" Norne produced a fistful of greenery from the pouch on her waist. Naomi let out a chuckle and wrapped the younger girl in a deceptively strong embrace.

"That's exactly what I was looking for! Thank you! What I'd give to have such a reliable granddaughter like you." The man with no name bit back a giggle as Norne let out a playful grunt before returning the hug.

"You're makin' a scene in front of a guest!" Norne gasped out. "It's, uh, nice to meet ya--ah, what's your name?" Naomi shot a pained look at the man she'd nursed back to health. He averted his eyes.

"I don't know," he answered. The girl's pink brows furrowed.

"Well, why don't we give ya a name, then? How 'bout somethin' like Dua?"

"Dua?" he repeated back at her, a slight frown on his face.

"Yeah, 'cause you got a second chance at life!" she explained brightly.

"That's better than no name at all. Thank you," the newly-named Dua replied with a chuckle. His mirth was soon replaced by agony, as the gash on his chest and hole in his stomach protested to the sudden movement. "Guess I'm not up to full strength yet," he muttered to himself.

---

"Oh, look at you. First you took up sweeping, then drawing water, and now you're cutting my wood! You must've made your mother proud!" Naomi exclaimed, as Dua brought in another armful of chopped wood.

"It's the least I can do after you gave my life back to me," he replied with a small smile.

"Perhaps it was fate that led me to you, with two of the strongest men in the village as my guards," she mused.

"We got trouble, miss!" a voice yelled from outside. One of the village boys, barely tall enough to reach Dua's chest, stood in the doorway, hands on his knees.

"How many times must I tell you to stand up straight, Emil? What's with the yelling?" Naomi demanded.

"S-sorry, Mrs. Naomi! But we got bandits!" he spat out.

"Bandits? Again?"

"With no soldiers in the fort, the bandits are makin' their rounds. Or somethin' like that. But you gotta hide!" the boy insisted.

"I thought we picked those corpses clean!" Naomi snapped back. Emil shrank away from her outburst.

"Maybe they're mad 'cause we took away their armor and weapons and other shiny stuff?" he asked.

"Bah, they're nothing but pests. I'm staying right here!" the older woman insisted, arms crossed.

"I knew it was a waste of time to warn ya, but I had to try," the boy sulked, before turning tail and walking off.

"Looting corpses?" Dua asked warily.

"The dead have no use for such things," Naomi responded, no remorse in her voice. "It also keeps it out of the hands of bandits."

"Then you should have a weapon or two that I can use." Naomi took a step back, her face pale.

"You're going out to fight? I-I'm not sure if that's such a good idea, since you're not at full strength..."

"I won't die out there. Everyone's been so kind to me, so I can't sit around and let this village be overrun," he explained softly.

The older woman's face fell, before she turned her back on him. "Well..if you must..." When she turned around, she held a sword. "This'll serve you better than the woodcutter's axe."

"Thank you. I should be back in time for dinner."

As Dua left the house, he chuckled as he heard the familiar sound of a knife hitting a stone cutting board.

---

"What're you doin' out here?"

Dua hefted the blade he'd been given. "Came here to get rid of some vermin. But what are YOU doing out here, Norne?"

She took down her bow with a flourish. "My bow's good for shootin' targets, whether they run on four legs or two," she replied. "An' there's the first one!"

The arrow she fired found its way into a bandit's leg. He stopped his advance, and howled in pain. Four more set their eyes on the archer who fired that arrow, and rushed towards her. As she ran back towards the village, she fired another arrow towards the group, and cursed under her breath as it went wide. Two of the village men intercepted the bandits before they could reach Norne, as she nocked another arrow. Out of the corner of his eye, Dua saw a figure slip around the group. The bandit had just enough time to turn before Dua's sword laid him open. With that threat out of the way, he rejoined the others in repelling the main group. One bandit staggered as an arrow found his shoulder, which gave the villagers more than enough time to cut him down. Dua cleanly parried the next bandit's strike and impaled him, before kicking the still-twitching corpse off of his sword and moving on to the next foe. It didn't take long before the rest of the bandits fell. The one that tried to flee had his life cut short by an arrow through his back.

"You're pretty good," Norne said, her bow back on her shoulder. "We could learn a thing or two from ya!"

"I'm not sure I'd be a very good teacher," he said with a sigh. "I can't even remember my own name."

He looked up to clear a strand of hair from his eyes, and briefly locked gazes with one of the men who helped to defend the village. His heart skipped a beat as the other man glared at him.

"Hey, you okay?" Norne asked, hands behind her back and worry in her eyes.

"Just a little tired from the fight. I'm going back to get something to drink." Dua saw Norne's eyebrows knit, but kept his silence as he walked back alone.

---

"Fifth day it's happened," Dua grumbled to himself, gently lowering the wood he'd gathered to the ground. "This can't be a coincidence."

"Pay 'em no mind. They're scared, but I think you're a good man," Naomi countered, broom in hand.

"Everyone's either avoiding me or glaring at me. Why are they doing that?" A knock on the door interrupted them. Norne stood in the doorway, her usual smile replaced by thinly-pursed lips.

"Uh, no offense, Mr. Dua, but I gotta talk to Naomi alone." Dua nodded, and dragged a chair near the far wall. Norne's gaze wandered between Naomi and somewhere over her shoulder.

"HOGWASH!" Dua choked back a yelp at Naomi's statement. Norne quickly put a finger over her lips, and glanced behind her. "THAT'S NOT ALL THE SAGE IN THE FOREST! GO BACK AND DO IT RIGHT, YOU LAZY GIRL!" For a split second, Norne smiled, before ducking her head and slinking off. Naomi faced Dua, the wrinkles on her face accentuating her frown.

"Those imbeciles think you're an enemy soldier, and that you're just waiting for the right moment to signal your comrades and raid the village. How COULD they?!" she seethed through gritted teeth. "I don't care who you were in the past! You're here now, and you've done everything you could for this village!"

Dua felt a lump form in his throat. He'd shown up near a fort that had been occupied by non-Altean soldiers, with no memories. Yet when given a sword, he was able to fend off bandits easily. It made perfect logical sense, but that didn't stop him from biting his lip. He met Naomi's eyes, which were far brighter than he'd ever seen them.

"My apologies. I've definitely overstayed my welcome," he said slowly. "You've been very kind to me, and I don't want the rest of the village to turn against you because of me."

A firm hand on his shoulder kept him from rising. Naomi looked at him briefly, before her shoulders slumped. "I knew you'd say something like that, and so did Norne. They'll be looking for you to leave about now. She's gone out to hunt something big. Once she returns, she'll have them bring it into the village. That's your chance to leave," the old woman explained, resignation in her voice.

"Even though I've caused all of you a lot of trouble, you're still looking out for me. Thank you...for everything," Dua said softly.

Naomi hastily turned towards the pot that hung over the fire. "But if you're going out, I might as well send you off with some food," she said, a quiver in her voice.

"Then I should return this," Dua added, placing the sword on the table. The weapon's metallic ring echoed through the abode.

"No, you keep that," Naomi said, her back still towards him. "No one else can use it, and it won't serve anyone by collecting dust."

"Surely, there's some way I can repay you for this!" Dua protested.

Naomi abruptly turned towards him. "Repay? Well, you can clean out every last rat's nest you come upon! Without bandits, we wouldn't need to fight!" she snapped.

Dua's breath caught in his throat. "I...very well," he said, his eyes dropping towards the table.

---

The men had departed with Norne, no doubt to help her with the boar she'd somehow managed to bring down. Most of the women stayed indoors, preparing salads and hasty soups that would accompany the boar. A boar that size would normally be slow-roasted over the course of a day, but there was no time for that. Instead, the carcass would be butchered, and all the families in the village would attempt to prepare the smaller pieces of meat. It meant that everyone was busy doing something, which meant that no one glanced up when Dua walked out of the village. The sun's rays filtered through the tree trunks, casting long shadows down the path he chose.

With his sword on his hip, and a makeshift pack full of food on his shoulders, he turned away from the place he thought of as "home", and began walking.

[Jedi]

A very interesting telling of what happened to Frey after the sacrifice plot happened. I quite liked the characterization and his confidence and sarcasm in the face of danger was so cool!

[Balcerzak]

So when does he meet up with Unil and Trim?

All jests aside, this was beautifully written. Aside from a few small things that would get caught in another round of proofing (I think you used "captives" when you meant "captors" and missed the "ed" in "pink-haired" were the two that stood out to me), I really can't think of anything to offer as improvement.

[Jotari]

A wonderful idea for a story I must say. One thing I will comment on is that there's quite a lot of dialogue and most of it between more than two characters. I think a little more could have been done to establish who's talking each time. Though admittedly I am reading this pretty late so it might be my fault for skimming it a bit. Another thing is just a personal opinion, the amnesia is a little unnecessary, cliched and doesn't add much (though giving him one of the replacement names was a nice touch). I think if Frey awoke with his memories in tact he still wouldn't leave the village immediately because the entire countryside is filled with enemy troops and (forgive me if I'm wrong and they did make this clear in game) he doesn't have a good idea where exactly Marth is...Actually now I've just had an idea for a story where Frey tries to reunite with Marth and explores the continent and is frustratingly one step behind him on every occasion. But other than that, great concept and good characterisations. Keep it up!

[eclipse]

The amnesia, sadly, is canon (blame FE12).

[Jotari]

The amnesia, sadly, is canon (blame FE12).

Ah, shame. Not much we can do about that then.