Maybe the Man Never Returned

[royaltyjunk]

Summary:

"Maybe it is all for naught." Only Lyon, resting in the heavens, hears his words. Written for FE8 Week on Tumblr.

Author's Ideas: *flashes a thumbs up*

I love FE8 and Knoll

The themes for this fic are "return/disappear", and why not do both?

I will never stop making all the FE8 royals/the people who like them suffer, so yes, this is part of "Wishing Until My Heart Goes Cold" (my FE8 series find it on AO3)

Well the AO3 link is up there-ish, the FF.net is right there, and here's the Tumblr version.

Disclaimer: Man do I love FE8 and I love Knoll but no I don't own it

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Maybe the Man Never Returned

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He returns to Grado after the war, led by one man and riding with another.

The wind batters at his face, knocking his hood off of his head for the millionth time. Knoll doesn't bother trying to put it up again. As they approach the ruined Grado Keep, the winds will only get stronger.

"...Tired?" Duessel inquires.

"No. Not quite," Knoll responds.

"Good," Duessel says, and they fall into a terse silence again. Genarog growls softly from the sky, and Cormag reaches forward, scratching at his wyvern's neck mechanically.

"Hush, Genarog," Cormag's voice drifts down from the sky, and the wyvern lets out a cry akin to a whimper.

Knoll doesn't say anything, simply staring ahead.

"How are you, Cormag?" Duessel calls from behind Knoll.

"Well, I suppose," Cormag replies, dipping down from the sky.

"I see. We'll stop for the night when the sun sets."

"Will you be standing watch tonight, General Duessel?" Knoll asks.

"Yes," Duessel responds. "You two seem rather tired. I would rather be tired than drag the two of you past the point of exhaustion."

"Thank you, General," Knoll breathes, and he really means it. He knows that he does not have the best physical constitution, that he gets weared down easily. He cannot speak for Cormag, but judging by the wrinkles and the stress behind his brown eyes, the skies have worn the youthful wyvern rider down as well. Knoll clenches his fist, his hands hidden by his long robes.

Neither of them speak again until the sun sets along the horizon, sending stripes of yellow, orange, pink and the tiniest hint of purple across the sky. The wearied warhorse Knoll and Duessel are riding on clops to a slow stop, and Genarog lands beside it.

Duessel dismounts from the warhorse, and Knoll slips off of the mount. Cormag unsaddles Genarog, sighing as he dumps the leather saddle on the ground, tangled in straps of leather and buckles of metal. With an aggravated look on his face, Cormag opens one of his bags, pulling out a folded tent cloth. Knoll sighs, reaching for a bag along Duessel's horse.

The purple-haired man pulls out the wooden stakes, and Cormag accepts them, along with the small hammer Knoll hands him.

Slowly, the two men set up the large tent, and Duessel returns from the forest. Knoll starts a fire, and they roast the game the old general has hunted. Duessel takes the roasted deer and goes to stand guard, and Cormag and Knoll are left sitting around the fire. As though they share a mind, the two men stand. Knoll puts out the fire, and they slip into the tent.

Knoll falls back onto his makeshift bed on the grassy floor, sighing as he holds his hand out in front of him.

There's a gentle scraping sound on the other side of the tent, and Knoll forces himself to concentrate, slowly conjuring a wisp of dark magic from his hand. It flickers and wavers before settling against his palm.

"...What will happen to Grado?" Cormag asks suddenly, setting down his knife and the wood figurine in his hands.

"I don't know," Knoll murmurs, closing his hand to extinguish the dark flame in his palm. "I truly… don't know." He glances over, looking at the wood shavings scattering Cormag's blanket, and Knoll blinks. "I never knew you were skilled at wood carving."

Cormag dusts the wood shavings onto the floor beside him, scooping them up and throwing them out of his tent. He sighs, pulling his blankets over himself and staring up at the ceiling of the tent.

"Yes. Glen and I… we used to…"

Knoll doesn't say anything when Cormag swears and turns on his side, his back facing Knoll, and chokes back a few sobs.

"...Sorry," Cormag whispers. "I just… it's only now hit me."

"What has?" Knoll asks cautiously.

"I was so focused on revenge… I never even mourned my brother's death once." Cormag snorts, but there's a bitter tinge to the sound. Knoll just turns onto his side, staring at the other side of the tent.

"Knoll."

There's a voice echoing through the air. It's not Cormag's.

"Knoll."

It's something so familiar, so warm and comforting that it's disconcerting.

The sky rumbles, the earth crumbles, the towns and cities collapse into the fields that open up to reveal the blood of the earth - lava that spills over the disintegrating earth, devouring crops and destroying the civilization that had once been called Grado and corroding away at the prince who disappears beneath the world Knoll had once known.

Then he's staring at the ceiling of their tent, sweat drenching his face, his blankets twisted at the end of his makeshift bed, and he realizes it's all just a dream; a dream that seemed too real to not be true.

Knoll rests the back of his hand against his forehead. Cormag snores away on the other side of the tent. His skin is sticky with sweat, and he closes his eyes.

"Maybe it is all for naught."

Only Lyon, resting in the heavens, hears his words.

~ / . / . / ~

He returns to his hometown when the Great Calamity strikes, sent off by Duessel and Cormag who go to their own homes.

Knoll borrows a horse from the stables of Grado Keep and offers his companions a farewell, galloping away over the splintered earth and the crumbling ground until he breaks into the forest surrounding his village, and the woods begin to look familiar.

He breathes heavily, sighing as he dismounts the horse and ties it to a nearby tree stump. Knoll runs a hand through his hair, staring at the destroyed village just feet away.

"Knoll?"

He glances to the side, his fingers tangled in his hair. A young lady stands beside him.

"It's you, isn't it? Knoll…"

"Elizabeth," he whispers. "You're still here?"

"Of course," she replies softly. "Knoll-"

"I'm sorry. I… I didn't come home to see you. I-"

"You found someone else, didn't you?"

The words make Knoll freeze, and he blinks slowly, looking at the ground beside Elizabeth's feet. "Yes. But… I don't think I will ever find anyone like them again. And so…"

"Oh, Knoll… I don't blame you, Knoll… I… Won't you stop by? When you're free, of course."

"I wouldn't want to impose on you, but I can come by to help you. It is times like these… that I came to help."

Knoll shares a smile with his childhood friend, tugs on his hood, and then turns and walks down the dirt road that winds through the torn down village, along the stone roads that wind through the destroyed market, all the way up to a tiny house along the edge of the village that's been devastated.

There are two people standing beside the rubble, surveying it with dismayed eyes, as if it were their first time viewing such wreckage. Knoll approaches them, gravel crunching loudly beneath his feet. They turn, and there's a moment of tense silence between all of them.

"Knoll?" The woman inquires cautiously. The man shifts uncomfortably.

"Mother. Father."

"Knoll…" his mother says shakily, then wipes her eyes. "You're alive… my son is alive…"

"I am," he croaks, then coughs.

His mother walks forward with a sense of urgency in her steps, pulling him into a passionate hug.

"Thank the gods… I was so worried. After everything that happened…"

"I…" Knoll looks away ashamedly. "I'm sorry. I worried you."

"It doesn't matter. You're here now."

So he doesn't care about anything, just wrapping his arms around her mother and hugging her tight.

"Knoll," his father murmurs when he lets go of his mother, and he glances at his father.

"Father…" he curls his hand into a loose fist, glancing at his palm. "...What will we do now?"

"We can only rebuild our village from the ground up," his father replies, scratching the back of his head.

Knoll's mother purses her lips.

"I'm sorry, Knoll. You come back to… this."

"It's okay, Mother. I came to help you. If we need to rebuild this village from the ground up… then I will help."

"Knoll…" his mother murmurs, and the dark mage turns to his father.

"Father? What do you want me to do?"

His father sighs, turning to face his son. In his right hand is a bottle of ale.

"Right now… why don't we have a drink?"

Knoll raises an eyebrow at his father. "Do we… truly have time for such an act?"

"Please, Knoll. It is a time for drinking, either of celebration or loss."

Knoll doesn't say anything, simply accepting the bottle from his father. Knoll just stares at the bottle of ale, his eyes on his reflection in the glass.

"I've never been much of a drinker," Knoll remarks softly.

"What was that, my boy?"

"...Nothing," Knoll looks away.

"How was your life at the castle?" Before Knoll can respond, his father jumps in with another question, a completely unashamed tone in his voice. "What of your friend, the prince?"

"...He was a good friend," Knoll whispers, and then takes his first and last sip of ale.

~ / . / . / ~

He disappears from his home when his parents begin to skirt around him, when they stare at him strangely and don't come to his aid when he accidentally wounds himself.

He knows why they do. There's a hidden fear they hold of their son. It might have always been there, it might not have, but he knows it appeared the day he told them of his work during the War of Stones.

It's not a fear of his works. It's not a fear of his power. It's a fear of him. That he could snap his fingers and drain their life from them in an instance of seconds. That their son has become a monster - no longer the sweet boy they raised.

So he leaves. There's news of King Joshua and Queen Natasha in eastern Grado, and he has nowhere else to go.

Even from miles away, he can see the flames that rise over the horizon from the city that's being rebuilt from candles and torches. The light radiates from the ruins, and in response he cloaks himself in darkness, slipping past the drunken soldiers and cheering villagers until he stands at the doorway of Joshua and Natasha's house.

Slowly, he raises a darkened fist and knocks gently. There's a gentle murmuring inside the house, and then the door opens. It's Natasha, with long golden hair and a veil on her head, and she seems like she hasn't aged a day. She blinks.

"Is someone there?"

Then Knoll remembers he's covered in darkness, and shakes off the shadows that cling to him. Natasha covers her mouth with her hand, a look of terror in her eyes that transforms into warmth, and then joy, overwhelming joy.

"Master Knoll?"

He nods slightly, looking into her eyes. She smiles widely, ushering him into the living room before rushing to her bedroom. "Joshua!"

The red-haired man grumbles in the background, and Natasha scoffs. When he walks into the living room, a smile grows across his face.

"Master Knoll?"

Knoll shifts on his feet uncomfortably before murmuring, "I am just… Knoll now."

The Jehannan king laughs before pulling him into an affectionate hug.

"It's nice to see you again," Joshua remarks as he pulls away, and Knoll gives him a small smile.

"Yes… It has been a while since we last saw each other."

"I had been wondering how you were doing," Natasha murmurs, gently squeezing his hand as she presses her cheek against his. "It does me good to know that you are still well."

"Thank you… how ought I address you, now that you are a queen?"

Natasha smiles softly. "Sister Natasha is fine. You need not treat me differently simply because I have risen in status." She pauses, then speaks up again. "Would you like to speak with me? In private?"

"If you could spare the time… yes," Knoll says hesitantly. Natasha nods.

"Please, have a seat in the dining room. It's down the hall. Joshua…" Natasha glances over at her husband, and he takes a step closer. Knoll takes that as a sign to depart, and leaves the room. His ears catch their words slightly, a lover's quarrel, but he blocks them out as quickly as he can.

Their voices echo through his ears, gentle words that hold no intonation of love in them. He wishes so badly that they didn't remind him of his own love, how it had ended in his world.

"Knoll?" Natasha asks, and he starts, turning. There's a worried look in her eyes, and she tilts her head. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. My apologies. I just… your lord husband and you…"

"Joshua and I… yes." Natasha looks away with a despondent veil over her brown eyes, but shakes her head. "Perhaps not now. Would you like tea? I had been brewing tea when you came. I thought you might like some."

Knoll nods, and Natasha takes a teapot from above the fire crackling in the fireplace, placing the teapot on the table. She sets out two teacups, pouring them both tea.

"...Are you feeling alright?" Knoll questions.

"I wish I could say yes," the queen of Jehanna mutters. "If… If I could tell you, I would."

"I'm sorry," Knoll tightens his hands around his teacup. "...I wish I could have realized back then."

"Realized?"

"...Prince Lyon," Knoll murmurs, and something lights up in Natasha's eyes, something close to realization and awe.

"I see. So you always-"

"Yes," Knoll breathes. "And I wish I could have realized so much sooner. Perhaps… I would have believed in faith then."

Natasha takes a small sip of her tea, sighing. "I wish I could have believed in that power of knowledge you hold."

He blinks. "Sister Natasha?"

"It's like you told me many years ago, Knoll. I believe in the power of faith. You believe in the power of knowledge. Light and dark magic are opposites. Perhaps we were both mistaken in our beliefs?"

Knoll glances up at Natasha, a veiled but curious look in his eyes.

"I used to think that faith was the most powerful weapon I had… yet now, I stand in doubt of that."

"...I see." Knoll touches his hand to the strands of his hair falling in front of his face. "Thank you, Natasha," he whispers. The queen of Jehanna smiles.

"Thank you, Knoll. For coming to see me. Would you care to join Joshua and I for dinner?"

~ / . / . / ~

He disappears from the records of history entirely, his soul unseen by any man ever again.

He spends the rest of his years in an abandoned house along the edge of the great Grado River. It's a weary old house, but anything would work fine for a man who's lost his purpose in life.

Knoll flips through the tome in front of him, nearly used up.

Gleipnir, one of the Sacred Twins of Grado. He felt the tome was so old, it might dissolve at any touch.

His fingers graze the parchment and his eyes follow the ancient language spilled across the pages. His heart throbs, and he sighs.

It's been happening a lot, recently. His soul has begun to feel drained - has begun to feel sorrowful and strange. Knoll already knows what's happening.

He's giving up his soul. To pursue the power of knowledge he had promised that he'd follow, he was giving up his soul. The one thing Knoll couldn't understand was why it was all happening so suddenly. He'd expected a slow burn, something different than what he was experiencing.

He takes a deep breath, planting his hand on the cover of the book. He ignores the spine of the inside of the book where the remnants of multiple torn pages remain, simply gripping his fingers taut around the parchment.

Then he realizes, in the foggiest depths of his cluttered mind.

It was Gleipnir. It had always been Gleipnir. From the first spell to the nineteenth, it had always been there.

And now he was going to pay for it.

His heart beats rapidly, his blood pounds loudly in his ears. There's no turning back.

He tears out the last page of Gleipnir, his hand trembling, and the world crushes him, slamming him to his table. He lets out a shaky breath, watching the parchment in his hand become consumed with the dark magic that blooms from his hands, his fingers, his own power.

Knoll closes his eyes, and the last thing he feels is his hair brushing against the arch of his eyebrows and the gentle touch of Lyon's fingers against his forehead.

~ / . / . / ~

The knell rings for him, a fitting action for a man by the name of "Knoll".

The former general ringing the knell stops pulling on the rope slowly when he sees the teal-haired man riding to the church in the distance.

Eventually, the sound of horseshoes hitting the ground grows louder, and the old man can't help but flinch every time he hears them. The man inside the sanctuary doesn't react.

"Duessel?" Ephraim's voice drifts inside the church's sanctuary from outside, and Duessel pushes the door open. The young king's face brightens, and he pulls Duessel into a hug. "It does me good to see you still alive, Duessel."

"Thank you, King Ephraim."

"I came as quickly as I could. What's happened?"

Duessel blinks, and his face twists with pain. "It… It is Knoll. Come inside. I think you will understand the circumstances much better if you see…" Duessel cuts himself off and pulls open the door to the church.

Ephraim steps into the sanctuary, looking around with awe. "How beautiful…" The stained glass windows paint the pictures of the Five Heroes, and picture the events of the recent War of Stones. Sunlight falls through the windows, filtered with color and the reflection of glass.

"King Ephraim," Duessel calls from the altar. Ephraim turns his head, and his eyes grow wide. His feet take him closer to his former mentor, until he is standing right in front of him.

Standing there beside Duessel is Knoll, and not a statue or a ghost. It's Knoll.

Except it's not Knoll. His eyes are a shadowy black, his face covered with a dreary expression and his arms hanging limply by his side.

Ephraim doesn't say anything. He knows the fate that has befallen Knoll all too well.

"So he's finally gone," Ephraim whispers.

"Yes," Duessel agrees softly. "When we found him, his house had been destroyed in a blaze of black magic. His soul has been corrupted in his quest for knowledge. There is no Knoll in this world anymore, save for the empty body beside me."

"What will… he," Ephraim gestures vaguely at the sentient body of Knoll, "do?"

"He will do nothing unless we force him to. He will stay here and wither away, until the body is ready to join the master."

"I see."

"I will leave him in the care of the clergy. They know of his situation, and have promised to take care of him."

"That's… very kind of them," Ephraim comments, his gaze drifting over to Knoll's shell of a body. Knoll blinks rapidly for a second, and Ephraim opens his mouth, about to say something, before stopping himself.

"King Ephraim?" Duessel questions.

"I… Apologies. I have come to realize that Knoll often blinked rapidly whenever he wished to speak, and I was about to ask him what he wished to say."

Duessel shakes his head, an understanding look on his face. "Do not worry, King Ephraim. I have found myself doing similar actions. I suppose… we will never realize how well we know someone until they are gone."

"Yes…" Ephraim murmurs, his hand clenching into a fist.

Duessel watches on sadly as the king walks forward, approaching the soulless body at the front of the altar of the church.

"Knoll…" Ephraim whispers, laying a gentle hand on Knoll's shoulder. His skin is cold beneath his thin shaman's robes, and Ephraim's fingers tense up, tightening around Knoll's shoulder. His nails dig into the other man's skin.

The sentient body doesn't react, simply staring ahead blankly. Ephraim lets his hand fall to his side, turning his head to look at Duessel.

"Duessel… I'm sorry. I cannot stay here any longer."

"No need to apologize, King Ephraim. Thank you… for coming to see Knoll. Or, what is left of him."

Ephraim purses his lips, nodding. Slowly, he walks away, his footsteps echoing through the church sanctuary. He pushes open the doors with gentle hands, something so not… Ephraim. A soft wind blows through the church, kicking at Ephraim's cape and ruffling Knoll's robes. The king of Renais looks over his shoulder, a bitter look on his face.

"My apologies, Duessel… Knoll…"

"It was an honor to see you again," the elderly man bows, so very unlike the general he had once been. His graying hair slips from its combed back state, and he sighs. "I am getting old… Perhaps it is time I retired, eh, Knoll?"

Silence greets his humorous words, and Duessel curses gently under his breath.

"It's going to be hard… getting used to seeing someone as passionate as you… like this." Duessel's face falls, looking away. "I'm sorry, Knoll. I think… Prince Lyon will welcome your presence," Duessel murmurs, glancing at the body in shaman robes.

For a moment, the soul of the man once named Knoll returns to his body, and his eyes brighten, his lips pulling up into a small smile. But as quick as it returned, it disappears, until all that's left is the shell of the man who once loved Lyon.