Walhart is such a fascinating character for me. Like he seems so brash and hard-hearted, but in his interactions with the female avatar, IF they were married, he is quite the opposite. Anyways, the story below is rather HIGH T to LOW M. WILL GET UP TO M IN A FEW CHAPTERS.

Warnings: Sex, non-con, possible torture (not sure on this one yet) and maybe a severe case of Stockholm's. Maybe.

A Conqueror's role is to dominate, after all!

Walhart was a conqueror. It was who he was, down to the very last drop of crimson blood in his body. Rosanne had crumbled within his mighty fist. Chon'sin and Valm were at his mercy, and it would not be long until Ylisse and Ferox followed suit, kneeling before him as obedient slaves should.

At least, that was the original plan.

It would seem that there was a small kink in his plans, a tiny little thorn that had caused a small tear in the conqueror's seamless plans. A small tear— with her silver hair and her agile mind—that might potentially unravel the entire fabric of his quest, a small tear that he needed to remedy as quickly as possible.

That was exactly what he did.

Walhart placed a knight before Excellus's pawn.

"Excellus, know you why I adore the game of chess?" Walhart said. He watched as his opponent advanced his queen from behind its barrier of rooks and devoured one of his pawns.

"Because it is an enthralling game of wits, sire?" Excellus answered. Walhart grinned slyly as he lifted his bishop and slid it across the chess board, taking Excellus's queen.

"Correct, general. There is nothing more beautiful than the brutality of chess. Each tactician is given sixteen pieces to work with: a king, whom you must protect at all cost and fifteen pawns of varying power. In chess, there is no sentimentality, no attachment of any sort. It is conquer or be conquered, and I believe we've reached a checkmate with the Ylisseans. Checkmate, general."

It was Excellus's turn to smirk, not because of the checkmate (which he knew was inevitable, tactician he might be, but in a game of chess, he was useless against his lord), but because it was he who has captured the enemy's Queen in this chess game of a war.

"Well played, my lord. How do you think the Ylisseans are faring? I bet they are in a tizzy of a panic right about now." Excellus giggled, positively tickled that the damned Ylisseans were suffering, especially since one of his strongest pawns, Yen' Fay, have been defeated by them. "Their resistance in The Demon's Ingle was impressive. However, they couldn't have expected us to pour all of our troops into that one place, as to your suggestion, milord. With the right amount of force and tactics, sire, the world is your oyster."

Walhart, however, was not listening to the tactician. He instead was admiring his opponent's queen, a piece carved out of the tusk of a Plegian elephant, a beautiful, pure white colour.

"Excellus, do you know how difficult it is to win chess without a queen? The queen is the most powerful piece in the game, and most players weep the loss of that particular piece, because in the end, strategy will only win you so many battles. The rest are claimed by force." Walhart emphasised his point by taking Excellus's king and toppling it over with a flick of his hand.

"It's not that they had much of a chance from the beginning. Yen Fay was a small loss for us. They, however, have lost their queen, and that makes them as good as defeated."

Walhart stood up from his seat and nodded his head, his version of bidding his general farewell, but not before taking the opponent's queen piece.

"I am off to see the queen."

Valm has dungeons to throw prisoners in, which were mostly empty even though Walhart's conquest was met with such resistance. Walhart's philosophy was sheer force, and in order to remove the threat of a possible revolution under his rule, he killed anyone in his way. It was as simple as that. Swear allegiance to him alone and live or disobey and die. This was where the filth not worthy of death was thrown. Thieves, liars and two-faced idiots—they deserve to rot in the dungeons of Valm, forgotten.

The queen, obviously, deserved more than such lodgings.

From the stairway of the west side of his castle, he could already hear her, her voice clear with conviction and anger, threatening to send hell hounds to the guards outside, who were beside themselves with laughter.

How disrespectful.

When the soldiers caught sight of their emperor, they straightened and saluted him. Walhart gave a grunt of disapproval as he passed them. He heard them gulp audibly as he turned the doorknob and opened the ornate doors. Damned craven idiots.

The room was one of the finest in the castle, decorated by his ancestors long ago for the queen bride of the Valmese king. The bed was carved from expensive red Nabatian wood, imported from the continent of Magvel, and embroidered with rubies and gold. The walls were covered with purple paint and trimmed with gold, and the portraits of one of the ladies that had once occupied the chamber hung above an ivory table topped with a crystal vase of roses. It was a very fitting room for royalty, especially one as beautiful as the Ylissean queen.

Rumour had it that she was found sleeping in a field by the Ylissean king, confused. She then became one of the most successful and famed tactician in the entire world by leading Chrom and his troops against the Plegians, who sought and had a short war with them. All the while she fell in love with the brash king, and after the war, they had married and she thus became the queen of all Ylisse. However, what history forgot was her beauty. Her beautiful silver hair, her porcelain grace, her alabaster skin—she was beautiful, much more beautiful than any woman. There was no question why the Ylissean king fell hard for her. Her beauty was almost divine, like she was some sort of gift from the gods themselves. Beauty, however, was skin deep. It unleashed desire in any man, sure. Walhart, however, was after her calculating mind. Her intelligence was intoxicating and aroused such want in him, to conquer something so desirable and so unobtainable that it made his blood boil hot with greedy need.

"Walhart, I demand an explanation for this!" Her voice rang. She was dressed in a white chiffon dress, with a few layers of muslin around her waist. Her silvery hair was high in a bun and decorated with seasonal flowers, which made Walhart click his tongue in distaste—he specifically asked that they leave her hair down. Those feather-brained chambermaids couldn't even get a simple request right.

He'd have to punish them later. Right now, he was salivating with desire.

"Dear tactician, I welcome you to my abode. I trust that you were…transported here well?" Walhart spoke as he approached her, eyeing the girl like a hungry man would a piece of fruit.

"If you mean handled like a piece of meat, then yes. Yes, I was." She retorted, amaranthine eyes burning in anger. Ah, those eyes of hers spoke such an aggressive sensual language, incandescent with rage, glowing with passion.

"Now, answer me, Walhart. Answer my question."

With a smirk, he replied.

"My dear, I don't think you understand. You are not in a position where you can be making demands. However, I will answer if you riddle me this. If you remove one of the legs of a chair, does it topple over?" Walhart said simply as he began to walk towards her. She, almost instinctively, went into a battle stance.

"Nothing. There are still three legs left to carry it." She shot back, distaste heavy on her tongue. Walhart fought to resist the shiver that was slowly crawling up his spine.

"What about if you removed two of the back legs?"

"It would obviously fall." She rolled her eyes.

In a second, he had crossed the vast expanse of the carpeted floor between them and was standing right before her, towering over her tiny form. She did not have enough time to put up any sort of fight.

"You, my darling Robin, are one of those legs. Emmeryn was the other. With both of you gone, Ylisse is destined to fall." Walhart could smell her. She reeked of sweet anger and the metallic perfume of blood.

"You are not taking Chrom and the Shepherds into account. They are more than capable of taking care of themselves." She asserted, refusing to be stared down by the giant beefy man before her.

"Ah, Chrom… the little mutt, clutching on to his crown desperately. See now what his ideals have won him? He has lost the two women he loved the most." Walhart spat out and was delighted to see his spitfire of a tactician bristle with fury.

"Do not talk of the king that way, you snake! He is much more deserving of his crown than you ever will!"

"He knows nothing of being a king. He's just some entitled mercenary with grandiose delusions of power. He does not, my dear, know what true power is. Why, I'll bet he's contemplating surrender right now. Utterly overcome with the loss of his precious little flower…"

"Some flowers have thorns, Walhart. Give me reason and I will pierce you through." She threatened him, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. Arousal was inevitable.

"Though, I admit." He said as he tried to cradle her face, with which she replied with a swift turn of the cheek away from his touch. "I would consider giving up for a creature like yourself. If only for a moment." He drawled, whispering into her ear. She pulled back, repulsed and disgusted.

"Don't you dare talk down to me." She growled dangerously.

"As if you're not used to it, my dear. I'll bet you were even forbidden from entering this war by your darling husband."

"…he did it for my safety."

"They don't see you for who you are. None of them do." Walhart cooed into her ear again, and she stood firm, unwilling to give way, unwilling to let him threaten or scare her.

"You are a fighter, my dear. A warrior. You need not hide behind cheap tricks to win. You have power, and lots of it. Your strength speaks for itself. A fighter to the very end."

"If it's a fight you want, then I am more than willing to give you a challenge.

"A challenge? Hah! Don't make me laugh, tactician. Tell me, what is your strategy now?" Walhart couldn't help but laugh at how pathetic the esteemed tactician was. There she was, trapped like a little mouse in the house of her enemy of war, awaiting HIS judgement for HER fate. Delicious.

"I might even end this war now!" She suddenly shouted and charged into the conqueror, who had not so much as blinked at her. She brandished a dagger, hidden under her silks and had firmly planted it on his right shoulder. She smirked.

Walhart returned her smirk with a scowl. Indeed, the beast of a man hadn't so much as flinched.

"Are you quite finished, dear? Such outbursts do not befit a queen." The beefy man sneered at the girl's pathetic attempt on killing him. What result was she expecting? She could barely reach his chest.

"H-how..?! What…? Why!? It should have hit one of your major arte—"

"My dear, you do not conquer nations while succumbing to a single flesh wound." The man suddenly grinned wickedly, a thought having crossed his mind. "But while we're acting on impulses... Let's see how you handle this."

Walhart pulled the bloody dagger from his shoulder, and jammed it down Robin's back, tearing her robes cleanly in two. Reduced to her smallclothes, Robin could only gape in utter shock as the behemoth of a man pushed her to the other side of the room, bending her over the foot of the ornate bed. She could feel him leaning into her, his massive frame crushing her, forcing all oxygen to rush out of her lungs. His body was hot. He was heavy and he was rough. Her waist was pinned down by his, the heavy armour, crushing, grinding her into the bed.

"What now, my queen?" Walhart whispered mockingly as he pulled her head up by her hair, the silver strands strained and taut with the weight of her head. He then placed a hand around her tiny neck and tightened its grip, preventing her from breathing. "What will you do now, little tactician?"

Her breathing restricted, the world becomes cloudy around her. Her vision began to swim and she felt an unfamiliar weightlessness as she slowly started to black out. Just before the darkness came for her, she was released from the vice-like grip around her neck. She clenched the bed before her, greedily gulping in massive amounts of air into her sorely aching lungs. Oh, how the world spun.

Walhart muttered something she could not hear, and she was left, gasping and panting alone on the large bed.

On the mantle above the smouldering fireplace, a lone queen piece stood.