Written for SF writing Competition 3. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Fire Emblem is not mine. Nor will it ever be.

What had I done…

What had I done…

Why… why had I d-done this?

"Eliwood!" I snap out of my thoughts. I turn around, facing Marquess Ostia's younger brother, a built man by the name of Hector. "What are you doing?"

I turn away from Hector. "Nothing. Leave me alone, please." Hector looks at me skeptically, his gaze strong enough I could feel it despite not looking at him.

"Eliwood, if you need some-"

"I said leave!" I turn back to my childhood friend, my glare icy as my eyes could manage (which isn't all that icy, admittedly).

Hector seems rather taken aback by my outburst. I don't really blame him, I'm supposed to be the calm and collected one. But I'm not in the mood to speak today.

"If that's what you want…" Hector sighs. "Just come out and meet with me and Lyn in about an hour, all right? We have to plan on what to do about Nergal."

I nod. It is an acceptable offer. I would be calm by the end of the hour, knowing myself. Hector walks out of the room, shutting the door as he left. I remain seated at the desk, staring at the sword in front of me. Durandal… the Blazing Blade, the weapon of Roland from the Scouring.

I killed Ninian with this.

The sword just moved on its own, pulling my arm with it as it tried to kill the dragon before it.

It succeeded.

And I didn't want it to.

I sigh as I lift the blade again. It's heavy, much heavier than it was when the Ice Dragon that was Ninian loomed above us. The air begins to feel heavier.

"You didn't want to kill the dragon."

I jump and drop the blade, gasping as I back away from it.

"Why did you seek me out if your goal was not to eradicate dragonkind?"

My breathing is sharp and raspy as I stare at the weapon before me. The voice I was hearing was a strange mixture of creepy and melodious, a sound like that of a child and a demon singing in unison.

"W-who are you?" I demand, reaching for my rapier. Though I can see it clearly, I refuse to believe the logical answer.

"I am Durandal." The statement was so simple, so plain, yet so unbelievable that my mind continues to doubt the voice. I put the disbelief aside, as I open my mouth to speak once more.

"Why did you want to kill that dragon?" I cry. "It hadn't done anything!"

"It is what I was designed to do."

"So?" I say through gritted teeth. This is the first time in my life I've truly felt anger. Anger at this strange sword spirit. Anger at Nergal. Anger at myself.

"It's that simple. If I do not kill dragons, what else am I to do? I am a sword. A weapon, a tool used to cut flesh. Nothing more."

"You don't need to force people to use you!" I yell, the anger in my voice rising with the second.

"Weapons like me, we live, we exist, to kill dragonkin. Naturally, that action is our desire, our one objective. If our wielder sees a dragon, we will urge him on. It is our nature."

"Why do you have a will? What fire were you forged in that made you like this?" I ask the sacred relic lying on the table before me.

"It was a necessity. A necessity to ensure the humans would defeat the Demon Dragon."

"You dodged the question," I respond.

"Ah." The sword is silent. "The fires of Divine Dragons are enchanted. The Divine Generals captured one and used her flame to forge us."

"That's terrible…" I mutter. "How could you? How could they? Why is our world so… so…" I bend over, sobbing.

"Eliwood." The sword's demonic yet childish voice states my name flatly. I look at it.

"I have nothing to say to you."

"I can tell you do."

I remain silent. This sword was forged by the suffering of a Divine Dragon. This sword killed the girl I love. No, that isn't right. This sword made me kill the girl I love.

"You want to know why I test your emotions like this."

I glare at it.

"I test you because Hartmut's rebirth will soon be upon us. I want to ensure he will have it in him to kill that demonic girl. Unlike his soft predecessor."

I continue glaring, still angered, yet now intrigued by the sword's words.

"Five years from now, you will father a son. He will be the next Hartmut. If you want me to quit testing you, you will agree to raise him to kill the Demon Dragon. To not spare her."

I ponder the sword's offer. If I agreed to raise a boy who has yet to be born into a cold hearted killer, it would stop torturing me.

I open my mouth. Only one word escapes: "...No."

No. I won't give in to the sword's demand. It isn't right. If my son will truly be Hartmut's second coming, he won't be a cold-blooded killer. Even if he will not be who the sword says he will be, he will not be raised to kill one dragon.

"...Hm." The sword says this grunt simply, coldly, I can feel a malicious grin spanning the face of the invisible spirit. "Be that as it may, Lord Eliwood of Pherae. Good night."

The air lightens back to its original state, and I collapse.

"So this is Durandal, Lilina?"


"It's huge… I doubt I can wield this," the boy mumbles.

"Legend says Roland was a small man!" Lilina replies cheerily. "I think it has more to do with your sword skill than your physical strength."

"In that case…" The boy with the flaming hair reaches out and grabs me.

"Wait a second, Roy. I have to break the seal first…" The girl approaches my pedestal and lays a hand on my blade, before pulling away and allowing the boy called Roy to lift me up.

"Ugh… I definitely can't wield this yet. It feels as heavy as lead to me."

"We should head back, Roy…"


I see Eliwood truly did what he said he would...

Stuff and things I hope you liked it!