#i was gonna have him be a bow knight but horseback riding can be stressful- ESP with a weapon

[todayisafridaynight]

was thinking about fire emblem (sorry) and thought about your arakawa family posts so here. what classes would the arakawa family be if they were in an fe game...

arakawa = as if i gotta fuckin say it. assassin

sawashiro = dread fighter

ichi = As If I Gotta Fuckin Say It Part II. hero

masato = sniper, exclusively equipped with crossbows. maaaaaaaybe bowknight if he doesn't get tired riding the horse

aoki = sage

mitsu = bard

[teacupfulofstarshine]

pattonella part 10: in which the author cannot write a fight scene to save her life but attempts to do so anyway

cw: cartoon/fantasy violence, injury, passing out, death of unnamed background villains, swearing

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9 // read it on ao3!

in the end, it’s patton who stays behind. 

“you don’t have any battle experience,” virgil says. 

“you don’t either!”

“i’ve been trained in self-defense my whole life,” virgil says. “i used to have to spar against dorian when he was learning. and i have magic to compensate for when my skills fail me. you don’t have either of those things.”

“not to mention, roman will become distracted enough when he sees us ride to his rescue,” logan says. “if he realizes you are there as well, his distraction will be heightened, and the likelihood of his injury will increase.” 

virgil watches patton open his mouth to argue, tense his shoulders, and bow his head. “you’re right,” he says. “but - but roman is my - my - i care about him, and i care about you too, logan, and - and virge, you’re my brother! what if something happens?”

“nothing is gonna happen to us, pat.” virgil holds his hand out, and a shimmering purple hexagon appears over his palm. “i’ve got magic to shield us and keep us safe. logan and i will come home safe, and we’ll bring roman back to you alive. i promise.” 

patton wrings his hands anxiously, reaching forward and making small grabby hands at his brother. virgil surges forward and pulls him into a hug, wrapping one hand tightly around patton’s waist and letting the other one weave up into his hair. “it’s okay, pat. just wait here with nate, and i promise we’ll bring roman back.”

“i trust you,” patton says. “i always trust you, you know that. i just - i’m -”

“hey, you’re talking to the living embodiment of anxiety,” virgil jokes. patton laughs wetly into his shoulder. virgil leans back and presses his forehead to patton’s. it’s the most intimate display of love and trust between family, one that had taken virgil years to be fully comfortable with. patton exhales shakily. 

“i trust you,” patton says, softer this time, he kisses virgil’s forehead and smiles, eyes watering. “come home safe, okay vee?” 

“of course, pat.”

“i love you.”

“i love you too, pat.” 

patton looks to the doorway, where nate is waiting. virgil smiles when he sees patton’s family crest sewn over nate’s heart. patton squeezes virgil’s hand before following nate out of the armory. virgil exhales and turns to look at logan. the second prince has a crossbow strapped to his arm, two quivers slung over his shoulders, a box of crossbow bolts on each hip, and a proper bow in his hand. 

“that’s a lot of weaponry.”

“these are the weapons in which i am most proficient,” logan says. “do you have a weapon of choice?” 

virgil looks at all the weapons hanging on the walls. there are halberds bigger than he is, morning stars so heavy he doubts he could lift them, battle axes with blades thicker than his arm. he carefully selects a slender basket-hilted sword and straps the belt around his waist. he also pulls a few daggers off the wall and tucks them into the straps on his belt. 

“an interesting choice of weaponry,” logan says. “knives take a great deal of speed and skill to use properly in battle.”

“you’ve got one, don’t you?” 

“my weapons are primarily long-range,” logan says. “they are fired from horseback. i do not engage in direct combat if i can help it. that is not my area, not like it is roman’s. i do far better with the strategy of war than the actual fighting.”

“bet that’s why you’re so good at chess, huh?” virgil teases. logan smiles and steps forward. 

“i find that i would very much like to kiss you now, virgil.”

“i think that’s acceptable,” virgil says. logan gently holds his face with one hand, and virgil leans into logan’s long, cool fingers. his thumb strokes gently beneath virgil’s eye, and then logan leans in and kisses him. their noses bump together, and when virgil loops his arms around logan’s neck his fingers brush the fletching of the arrows.

“nothing is going to happen to roman,” virgil says. “nothing is going to happen to you. i won’t let it. i’ll die before i let that happen.”

“please do not die,” logan says, voice strangled. 

“i don’t plan to.” logan looks like he wants to argue more, but virgil kisses the words right out of his mouth.

*~*~*~*~*

thomas comes down to see them go. 

he watches logan saddle up his dappled grey horse, watches virgil tentatively pat the nose of his black horse, watches them load up saddlebags of supplies. logan is wearing chainmail, leather gloves, and leather arm guards, but virgil doesn’t have any armor on. 

“is that wise?” thomas asks. logan turns to face him. 

“virgil insisted that he did not want to be weighed down with armor.” 

“i notice your armor is fairly light as well.” thomas tries not to sound disapproving. judging by logan’s facial expression, he has not succeeded. 

“virgil has layered additional protection spells on both of us. heavy armor will only slow me down.” 

“patton is not with you.”

“he has less combat experience than we do, so he is staying in the castle.” logan’s face darkens with emotion so quickly that thomas can’t pinpoint what exactly he’s feeling. “thomas . . . please keep an eye on him?”

“of course, lo.” thomas wants to hug him tightly, wants to press his face into logan’s hair and beg his little brother to come home safely, but they are in the very public courtyard and he thinks it unwise. instead, he grips logan’s shoulder and squeezes just a touch too tightly. “be careful.”

“i always am,” logan says softly. 

thomas watches logan mount his horse, taking the reins with an expert hand. virgil takes a few more tries to get onto his horse, gripping the reins a little more tightly than logan does. he wathes them kick their horses into action and canter out of the castle courtyard. 

he curls his fingers tightly in the hem of his shirt and exhales a short, sharp prayer to whatever god may be listening. please, let them come home safe. all of them.

*~*~*~*~*

the village roman left to defend is roughly a day or two’s ride away from the castle at a measured pace. when they break at noon for lunch, logan spreads a map out and weighs it down with two rocks and curses. “this is nowhere near enough progress,” he curses. 

virgil looks up at him, and logan tries to release some of the stress from his tone. there’s no point in taking out his frustration on virgil; it isn’t his fault. “i know that there is no way for us to know when your vision will occur, but the sooner we can get to roman, the sooner we can protect him. what if we get there, and your vision has already transpired?” 

he kicks angrily at the grass, and virgil sets down the bread he’d been eating. logan feels a hand on his and a head leaning against his shoulder, and he exhales slowly. “roman is my baby brother,” he says softly. “even though he is the captain of the guard and he is the knight, i have always seen it as my responsibility to care for him and keep him safe. when - when our mother -”

logan cuts off, swallowing once, twice to control his emotions. “when our mother passed on, roman was . . . too young, really, to remember her. but thomas and i, we remember. we were there, shortly before the illness took her, and she made thomas promise to take care of me, and she made me promise to take care of roman. i take that very seriously.”

“i get it,” virgil says. “i take care of patton, even though he’s older than me.” 

“he is my brother,” logan repeats. he feels stupid for not being able to articulate his feelings more clearly, but virgil nods against his shoulder. 

“i understand.” 

he gently kisses logan’s neck, which makes logan shiver, and steps away. “maybe i can help.”

“what do you mean?” 

“i’m magic, l.” virgil carefully approaches the horses and lifts his hands. purple light begins to swirl around him, escaping in wisps from his fingertips and shining from every lock of his hair, which ruffles in some nonexistent wind. the horses toss their heads nervously, but virgil speaks a single word in that ancient, lost-to-time magical language, and they calm almost instantly. 

virgil lifts his hands, and he speaks. 

logan has studied many languages extensively. his role in life has always been perfectly clear: thomas is the crown prince, destined to be the next king; roman is the knight, the protector; logan is the diplomat, the lawmaker. even if he cannot speak a language, he can usually understand or at least recognize it. 

he doesn’t think anyone has ever heard the language virgil speaks to use magic. he doesn’t even know if virgil is consciously aware of the fact that he is speaking another language. logan can’t tell a noun from a verb from an adjective when virgil speaks, but he usually gets so enthralled in the way all of virgil’s speech flows together seamlessly to look for individual words. 

logan is not prone to figurative language. however, he thinks that if he had to assign a simile to his feelings when he listens to virgil speak magic, he would probably compare it to an orchestra. he could listen to pick out each instrument and its contribution to the whole, but it disrupts the collective genius of the whole. for once in his life, logan closes his eyes and stops trying to actively examine every single piece of the input he’s receiving. 

he just listens as virgil speaks. 

virgil finishes the spell with a flick of his wrists. purple magic speeds out from each hand and coils around the hooves of the horses before dissipating into sparkles. “what was that?” logan asks. 

virgil’s hair settles around his face, and when he turns to look at logan his irises gleam with the faintest spark of purple. “a speed spell, with any luck. i never really had any formal magic training, so for the most part i just kind of guess? i dunno, i concentrate really hard on the effect i wanna have and then the words just . . . come to me.” 

logan means to ask virgil if he can run some tests on this phenomenon once they have rescued roman and returned home safely. what comes out of his mouth is, “you are the single most fascinating creature on this planet.” 

virgil’s pale skin flushes pink to red to scarlet, and he rubs the back of his neck. “oh - geez, l, i - uh - really?”

“i would not say it if i did not mean it,” logan says earnestly. virgil’s eyes skitter from his shoulder to his ear to his face, and logan steps forward to kiss him gently. 

“we - we should finish eating,” virgil says. “and we should get going.”

“i agree.”

*~*~*~*~*

virgil breathes a quiet sigh of relief when he realizes that his speed spell works. the countryside passes them by in streaks of blurred color, even though their horses don’t appear to be moving any faster than a normal canter to either him or logan. when they dismount outside the village, virgil feels faintly dizzy, but logan is right there with a steadying hand on his elbow. 

“do you hear that?” he whispers. 

virgil does not, but logan slides his bow off his shoulder and grips it tightly. “distant fighting. i do not see any signs of conflict in the village, which means it must be elsewhere.” his hands shake ever so slightly, and virgil reaches up and takes logan’s free hand in his before he knows what he’s doing. 

“it’s okay,” he says. “we’re here. we’ll find ro, we’ll keep him safe, we’ll bring him home, okay?” 

logan lets out a long, controlled exhale. “okay. you are right, of course, my love.” virgil feels a pleasant fire curl in his chest at the nickname. “is the speed spell still on the horses?” 

“no, it dissolved when we got here. i could try and put it back on?”

logan shakes his head. “conserve your magical energy for the fight. if we can hear the battle, they cannot have gotten too far from us. we will lead the horses into town and ask if anyone has seen the prince.” 

virgil takes his horse’s reins in his hand and walks beside logan. as they enter the village, logan’s entire demeanor changes. he pushes his shoulders back, lifts his head, sets his jaw; his eyes become hard and focused. he looks less like logan, virgil’s . . . boyfriend? fiancé? partner? . . . and more like the kingdom’s second prince. 

a young woman looks up from sweeping the street in front of her house, catches sight of logan, and immediately drops into a deep curtsy. “your highness!” logan lifts a hand in greeting. 

“rise,” he tells her. “this is my consort, virgil. we are looking for my brother, his highness prince roman, who was dispatched here with some knights eight days ago to resolve a bandit situation.” 

“his highness lead the knights and some of our able-bodied villagers into the woods to ambush the bandits,” she tells them. “we hear the distant fighting, but we have no news. they left mid-morning.” 

logan nods. “thank you.” she curtsies again as logan swings up onto his horse. virgil grips his saddle and pulls himself up onto his own horse as best he can. “virgil, we must hurry.” 

“yeah.” 

they follow the path into the woods, hearing the sound of battle grow louder and louder. logan stops abruptly, dismounting and tying his horse up to a nearby tree. “we will be faster and less conspicuous on foot,” he whispers. virgil quickly dismounts and ties his own mount next to logan’s. he draws his sword, flexing his fingers around the hilt; logan pulls an arrow from one of his quivers and notches the arrow. 

virgil listens to the battle grow louder and louder and prays that they aren’t too late. 

*~*~*~*~*

dodge, roll, parry parry thrust slash shield up and block , spin and counter, thrust forward and bash and bring your sword up and then down, flat on your back with the wind knocked out of you, no time to recover bring your sword up now and block the strike, kick out and knock him down, spring up, sword down - 

roman loses himself to the rhythm of the fight. he can feel claire at his back, feel the adrenaline singing in his veins. these are his people; he swore an oath to defend them. he cannot let them down. he will not allow himself to be defeated. 

in the corner of his eye, he sees movement behind him. there is movement all around him in the chaotic ocean of battle, and he has to focus on the three bandits bearing down on him from the front. he has no time to turn and look behind him, and then -

an arrow sprouts out of the neck of the largest bandit. he gasps, chokes, drops his weapon and fumbles for his throat as he drops to his knees. roman is confused. he doesn’t remember bringing any archers in his encampment. he squints at the arrow and realizes that it’s fletched with dark blue. 

only one archer in the kingdom uses such arrows. 

the other two bandits grip their weapons more tightly. roman lifts his sword, and then -

“roman, get down, NOW!” 

roman whirls around in time to see an enemy archer in the trees. they fire, and he freezes; he can’t get out of the way in time, he won’t make it -

the arrow strikes a shimmering purple hexagon and drops harmlessly to the forest floor. behind him, roman hears a dull metallic thunk, spinning on his heel to see the weapons of the remaining bandits hit a wall of purple hexagons. two more dark-blue-fletched arrows sprout from their necks, and they drop like flies. 

logan is nowhere to be seen, but the enemy archer falls out of the tree with a cluster of arrows in her chest. virgil bursts into the clearing, hands glowing bright purple. he draws the sword hanging at his hip, and purple light spirals down the blade. “come and get me, motherfuckers!” he shrieks, head wreathed in purple fire, eyes glowing. 

bandit after bandit falls to logan’s arrows, but none of them can seem to find where, exactly, the second prince is. virgil is swarmed by bandits, but he stabs his sword into the ground and produces a shockwave of purple magic that sends them all flying. the wounds he leaves glow with purple light, and any bandits bearing such wounds stagger to an unconscious halt within minutes, no matter how slight the wound. 

virgil slashes his way across the battlefield. his hair whips around him, and a string of rotating purple hexagons swirl around his body. whenever an attack comes towards him, whether it be an arrow or a sword or a fist, a hexagon detaches from the string and grows and blocks the attack. roman can feel himself beginning to flag, but he finds himself face to face with virgil. he lifts his glowing sword and touches the tip to roman’s chest. 

roman inhales sharply as strength and vigor begin to flood into him. “i have dispatched the enemy,” virgil rumbles. “take their energy and drive them out.” roman connects the power in hie veins to the comatose bandits on the forest floor and grins. virgil smiles back at him, feral and unhinged, and whirls around to bring his sword crashing down on the head of a bandit attempting to sneak up behind him. 

another arrow blooms from the shoulder of a nearby bandit, and roman raises his sword. 

*~*~*~*~*

the battle goes swiftly with virgil and logan’s assistance. 

roman hoists his sword high over the clearing as the last of the bandits flee and fall beneath his forces. “victory!” he cries. the rest of his knights lift their weapons and echo his sentiment. he sees claire across the battlefield, wincing as she makes her way over to him. 

“are you injured?” 

“a few cuts, probably a mild sprain. i’ll be alright, your highness. you?” 

roman looks down at his arms and inhales shakily. there are a few small cuts littering his hands and forearms, but as he watches purple light travels across them and leaves clean, unbroken skin in its wake. he looks up to see virgil, still glowing with an almost unholy light, sword almost too bright to look at. 

“i have more energy than i can contain,” virgil says. his eyes are solid purple, glowing as he stares at roman. “if his highness permits it, i will heal his knights.”

“will it hurt you?” roman asks. 

“i have the energy to spare.”

roman looks at claire, then back to virgil, and nods. “do it.” 

virgil nods. “as you wish.” he turns his back to logan, heaves his sword up with two hands, and drives the blade into the earth. another shockwave of purple magic ripples out over the battlefield. instead of damge, however, this one bathes roman’s knights and the villagers who’d accompanied them in soft purple light. gasps of shock echo across the battlefield as tendrils of magic wrap around any injuries sustained in battle and carefully heal them. 

“roman!” 

roman whirls around to see logan drop from a tree and sprint across the battlefield. he’s breathing heavily; there’s a slice on his cheek from where his bowstring must have rebounded, and his fingers are bruised and rubbed raw. logan drops his bow and grips roman’s shoulders. 

“are you alright?! have you sustained any serious injury?!”

“what are you doing here?” roman asks. 

“virgil had a vision,” logan says. “you were struck by an arrow and killed in battle. we could not let that happen, roman, i -”

roman drops his sword, decorum be damned, and throws himself forward to hug his brother. logan stiffens at the sudden contact, but quickly melts to hold him tightly. “i was so scared,” logan murmurs. “i know you are a competent swordsman, but when virgil told me you were fated to die, i -”

“i know,” roman murmurs. he pushes his face into logan’s neck; his brother is sweaty and too-warm, but roman refuses to let go. “i know, but i’m here. i’m okay.” 

logan pulls back and studies him critically. “are you injured?”

“i was.” 

“what do you mean, wa - virgil?!” 

virgil slowly approaches them, still surrounded by ethereal purple light. “beloved,” he says. logan swallows, hard. “you are injured. allow me to help you.” he steps forward, brings his glowing hands up, and pulls logan into a deep kiss. logan’s eyes widen in shock before slipping shut. virgil supports logan as he dips him backwards, and purple light travels through logan. roman watches his cuts seal up and his injuries heal themselves. 

logan brings a hand up to touch his lips when virgil finally breaks the kiss. “i . . . you . . . wh . . .”

virgil smiles. it’s different than the feral grin he’d had in the heat of battle; this one is soft and loving. “beloved,” he says again. virgil blinks, and the purple light dissipates from him all at once. he sways on his feet, looking completely and utterly exhausted, and pitches forward into logan’s arms. 

“virgil!” logan gasps, catching him and slowly lowering them to the ground. 

“shit, is he -”

logan already has two fingers on his neck looking for a pulse. “his pulse is weaker than i would like, but he is breathing. i suspect he overexerted himself during that fight. i have never seen him use that much magic at once.”

“the doc will be able to help him, right?” 

“most assuredly,” logan says. he looks up at roman and sighs. “would you care to return home, roman?” 

roman thinks of patton, bright and smiling, running to greet him in the courtyard. he pictures sweeping patton off his feet and spinning him around and showering his round face in kisses before connecting their mouths and thoroughly reacquainting himself with the taste of his beloved. 

“yeah, lo. let’s go home.