Chapter Text
About a month after the death of Grima came the biggest news of all. Oliva was going into labor two months early. Luckily for them, Lissa was there in one of her frequent visits to the frozen country.
“Get out Lon’qu.” Lissa told him.
“I want to be here for Olivia.”
“You are making her nervous with how whitefaced you are.” Lissa jerked her head towards the door. “Get out, go get some fresh air. She’ll be fine.”
Olivia could only nod weakly with pain in her eyes.
Olivia gave birth to a boy who weighed 5.5 lbs after nine hours of labor. Lissa assured the couple that he would be fine even if he was a bit underweight. He seemed very healthy.
They named the child Laslow. And yes, this is the same Laslow that we both know and love with us today.
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Robin reappeared once more in the same field Chrom and Lissa had found him in the first, and there was much rejoicing. Robin was brought to life when so many Ylissian, Feroxian, Plegian, Chon'sinese, and Valmic soldiers died. Were his bonds so much greater than theirs? Would future warriors simply focus on the works and deeds of this one mysterious hooded tactician and forget the soldiers that died while he lived?
My namesake, Owain, he was the final nail in the coffin. He wrote the historical piece called: “Awakening The Fire Emblem.” And soon people forgot about the other soldiers outside the shepherds. Even the shepherds themselves all became footnotes in the tale of Robin, Chrom, and Lucina. But everyone has a tale. So I decided to add the tale I know like breathing to the mix as well.
None more interested in this tale than Old Basilio. Cheating death twice seemingly wasn’t enough for the old donkey. Especially one who left the second opportunity to cheat death lame.
He sees them. The wolves circling the old, wounded animal he had become. All looking for an opportunity to eat his strength, to take his flesh into themselves and grow in power for themselves. Because that was the biggest flaw in Ferox. The biggest flaw in this world that they had created for themselves. They eat each other.
And so the old guard looks upon his impending doom, and holds a small infant boy in his arm. One he fully he considers his grandson. This babe, all soft in his calloused, warworn hand. One that he could never properly cradle because of the limp thing that lay by his side that he once called an arm. And the boy-- man he considers his son looking across from him, the pride in his eyes mirroring his own.
Basilio knew his work was done. Basilio knew his time was over. Now it was time to chose who would slaughter him and reap the rewards of his flesh.
“This boy is going to be strong like his father.” Basilio smiled at the little thing yawning in his arms. “Olivia still asleep?”
“Labor took a lot out of her.” Lon’qu confirmed. “But yes. She will be fine.”
“I’m so proud of you.” Basilio nodded in silence for a moment. “I… have a request for you. One last order for my right hand man.”
“One last?”
“Surpass me. Challenge me to a duel for the Khanship. Before someone else who isn’t worthy of the title does it first.”
This was abrupt. They had not spoken of this prospect previously. Lon’qu was the least ambitious person propelled to power that I have ever heard of. Because this discussion happened. Only in Ferox could this have happened. Where a warrior so undesiring of power could ever hope to grasp it.
“...No one else would dare.”
“No one else knows about this yet.” Basilio gestures his head toward his limp arm. “It’s only a matter of time…
“No.” Lon’qu responded.
“Do you think that any warrior who would slay me now would keep such a powerful fighter as you alive?”
“I wish them luck in killing me. I always sleep with one eye open.”
“And what about Olivia? Your son? They would just target them. ...You know better than anyone that keeping people alive isn’t just as simple as being good with a blade.”
“...But I can protect them now.”
“The best way to protect them is to kill me Lon.”
“I could never do that.” Lon’qu shakes his head.
“Boy, I’ll be fine. Invisible bonds brought Robin back to life, Invisible bonds will bring me back too. I’ll bet my brown Feroxi arse on it. Because no one has a stronger bond than you me and Olivia.”
That’s the trouble with pinning “Invisible bonds” as the power to end all powers. You get misunderstandings like this. Grima and Robin were separate entities, and by killing Grima, Robin killed the Grima within himself as well. From what I understand anyway. Not everything is a clean literary theme like that. Not that they shouldn’t be.
The end result is that Lon’qu inevitably agreed. And the duel was set for that day. That one day where it all began. The arena.
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Here is what the history ultimately says of the duel:
“Later, he apparently challenged the West-Khan to a duel, though no record remains of why it was fought or who emerged the victor.”
My counterpart certainly had a flair for the dramatic. Hopefully his history will not be the only thing that remains, valuable as it is. As you know, the Feroxi keep records of all their duels. And this one, this turning point in history shows the day that Lon'qu rose.
The record states that was hot, at least by Feroxi standards. It was also the sort of day that made one feel as if they were swimming through the air. Basilio, as the defender, entered first.
This was Basilio's first public appearance since being injured, and his weakness showed. His dead arm was withering-- twisting and warping into something unrecognisable as arm or hand. And the years of warfare did not sit well on his shoulders. He looked his almost seventy winters for once. He looked tired. He looked ready for rest.
Lon'qu entered. He looked like the future. Trim. In his prime. Twin blades came unsheathed-- a pair of curved teeth poised to kill. The audience knew who would rule tomorrow. He was already victorious.
When the battle began, Basilio struck out hard. It left a scar in the dirt floor of the arena six inches deep. But not a drop of blood was to be seen. And the fangs rested on either of the giant’s shoulders.
“Yeild.” Lon'qu ordered.
“You don't seem to understand, boy.” The axe smacked both of the blades into the air and Basilio continued the assault with a strike that Lon'qu had to duck underneath. “This ends with one of us on a pyre!”
Lon'qu rolled back a few feet, scooping up one of his blades as he went. Basilio was already slowing. Perhaps if he showed his superiority further…
Lon'qu disarmed Basilio. And rested a razor sharp edge on his neck.
“Yeild.” He said again. He got a fist the size of a ham to the stomach for his efforts.
Basilio lifted the axe, and chopped into where Lon’qu was. Lon’qu understood now. ...He had to end him rightly. He had to kill him.
Patricide. Regicide. Assisted Suicide. Call it what you will. But the end result of that day stays the same.
Because Lon’qu blindly swang his blade, and the muscled stomach of the declining West Khan split open. Basilio stood for a moment in disbelief, then smiled… then collapsed to the dusty ground where blood and viscera and dirt mixed in a sort of grimy soup.
Basilio’s eyepatch slipped, revealing a second working eye… filled with pain and pride.
“Finish it… I’ll… be back…”
Lon’qu didn’t have to. Because something gave out within the old oaf in that moment. He was dead before a healer could even arrive to save him.
I’ll be back… I’ll be back… That sort of vanity to assume that one could repeat Robin’s miracle. “I’ll be back.”
And so Lon’qu, slave, street rat, warrior, champion, shepherd, princess guard, master of the sword, slayer of Walhart, Audience of Naga, father, and now Khan, wept intensely at the cost of his actions. For in order to live, others must die. And isn’t that how all our stories end?