Chapter 60

The air is thick with the last humid days of summer. Beyond the shade that envelops me, the neighborhood is bustling with activity. The laughter of children flows and ebbs through a current of adult voices blended together in one full ocean brimming with city life. The sounds of normalcy, trivial as it, creates a comfort for me. While we scheme and speak of the unnatural, life continues on around us as a sure sign that what we're fighting to preserve is just as real as the nightmare that haunts our waking moments.

It's because of this shared history that we gather together: Lucina, Asche, Sigrún, and I. It is the only moment we have had to share in the flurry of activity that followed my reunion with the Shepherds. Words and emotions cannot describe the long night that followed, nor the day after with the information we had to share. I was given an update to the larger world beyond Arcos' walls, and I to them a clearer view of the machinations working within. I believe both parties had enough stories to tell and leave the other in some state of surprise, whether it be the quick possession of Plegia's front by our Feroxi allies, or how badly they misinterpreted the true schemes occurring by Thibault's hand. But, that is for me to reminisce on later. In this moment, I've managed to finally include my closest ally on an abridged account of what really happened in my time away from the others.

Even that has yet to be fully disclosed, the emphasis more about our new time-traveling friends and their story. If I am to bring up the complete truths of what I endured and what I learned among Grima's own, it will be a place alone when a night's battle is not on the horizon. I have a feeling, a most dreadful one, that Lucina will need time alone to comprehend what I have yet to tell her. Time to...grieve. To mourn. To understand just how unfair things have become.

Not now, though. Not while Arcos is a hurtle we have yet to overcome. So, I let the younger generation speak among themselves about their own points of view from a cycle I had no part of. An outsider I was from the beginning of this, and one I remain while watching over their discussions. It's hardly my place to speak. I gained more in listening than participating. Even so, for what time we've managed to grab, Lucina continues to struggle with the easiest of facts; that of her acquaintances' true identities.

"In summary...Sir Kellam has children." Lucina plays with the words over her tongue, a thought still so strange to her that it warrants multiple utterances to comprehend.

"Yes," Asche nods politely, though he is doing a poor job suppressing the teasing smile that's emerging.

"Children who I have never met before this cycle." Lucina looks between the two Feroxi siblings, strangers she had met once before on their home soil during a chance encounter.

"Also yes."

Lucina releases the hand from the bridge of her nose, red indentations left behind on her skin from the pressure of her squeeze. "Children with the power of light magic and lost Einherjar on their side."

I empathize with Lucina. She's in the same overwhelmed state I was upon meeting Kellam and Raimi's offspring. And, given the short time we have for secrecy, she's cramming in a lot. Her brain is practically leaking out her ears as it storms to fit these new pieces in to our already bizarre dilemma.

"Your skill of the obvious is unprecedented," Sigrún utters with an annoyed flick of her hair, once again displaying the polar opposite in personality the brother and sister share.

"Sigrún, please," Asche implores, drawing a guilty look from the offending sibling.

The four of us sit tucked away in the furthest part of the shed attached to the living abode of Vaike's family. The space is part barn, part workshop, and part storage. Two goats stand in a makeshift stall chewing up hay across from us, the stench of their natural coats mixing with those of tanning oils and dye powders on the shelves. A professional loom belonging to Xian'li takes up space along the back and left walls for textile production. Our quartet is wedged between it and a small, crude furnace the men use for repairing equipment. Several times I've had to push loose textile away from the bolts hanging overhead and in my face.

Distressed by his sister's response, Asche dips his head and presses his hands together toward Lucina. "I apologize, Princess. This must be a shock for you. We had every wish to unveil ourselves, but there are many paths we have followed, none of which crossed permanently with your own until now."

"There is no need to apologize. If anything, it is I who should be doing so. My companions and I owe you a debt of gratitude. Without your intervention in Regna Ferox, I would not be standing here," Lucina says.

"Yes, the run in with Grima's servants. It is lucky my sister is as skilled in magic as I. Her arrow was imbued with a potent dose of light magic." Asche's expression falters. He casts a hazy glance at Sigrún, who in turn wraps both hands around the leather strap of her bow holster.

"Without it, I doubt that kid would have flinched in the face of a normal arrow." Sigrún works her shoulder around, readjusting the length and position of her bow. The act brings her some sense of security. I can feel the air warm in a pleasant way, the glitter of her light magic ghosting over the fingertips tracing each woven thread lining the surface of the leather. "It barely fazed her even then."

Lucina's voice dips, along with her face, in a whisper of memory. "I remember well. Grima's generals are feared rightly for their power. I dread the day we may cross paths with them again."

For a moment, all three future survivors share the same down turned look of despair. Just the way Lucina grasps her fists so firmly at her sides, or the way both siblings cling white-knuckled to their weapons, betrays just how much fear they have over the twins. It makes my skin crawl knowing just weeks prior the same two had been waiting hand and foot as to my every need. Two agreeable, if peculiar, young adults just barely coming into the first vestiges of maturity. The same two whose dark side I have to see in person, yet carries a reputation fearful enough to haunt the strongest girl I know.

"Yeah, we definitely don't want to run across them anytime soon," I mumble to the sky, averting all eye contact with the children. Even with my vision focused on the cotton balls drifting high and lazy overhead through a open hole in the thatch roof, I can feel the curious gazes of the two siblings landing on me. An unspoken quiet bears a heavy moment between us. They were not expecting me to keep the knowledge of the twins hidden from Lucina, and their confusion is palpable. They don' t know the truth like I do. I bite down the inside of my cheek, guilt swarming over me until it leaves me flushed with the knowing shame of omitted facts.

Lucina, oblivious to this, shakes her hair, a few strands of blue coming free from under her hood to settle before her face. She clasps her hands together and bows deep at the waist, lower than is acceptable for a noble like her to offer a pair of commoners. Asche and Sigrún lose interest in me, both displaying varying degrees of shock at Lucina's sudden action.

"I must thank you, profoundly," the princess states. "Your aid in Robin's return to our company is a favor I can never properly return. Like yourselves, we children of Ylisse are in a position no less favorable than yours. As such, what I can offer is a proper alliance in our goals. Yours are no different than ours. What resources I can offer are yours, as is any information or protection you may need."

Asche appears truly honored by the expression. He approaches Lucina, staff in hand. Balancing against it, he places the other under her elbow and helps lift her until they stand at equal height. He carries the sweetest smile, thoroughly charmed by the offer. "Your immediate acceptance of us in your cause is most gratifying. We had hoped to join together in aid, prepared if necessary to prove our worth. Your unfettering trust in our abilities is humbling. We would accept most graciously, your offer."

Sigrún appraises the situation with a critical stare, her brown eyes almost black in how large they flare open. Pressing both hands to her hips, she steps back from the two, turning that piercing gaze on me. She rasps out a laugh, the whites off her teeth showing between the scowl.

"The only protection you should be offering is to yourself from that one." Before I can react, the rough-hewn fibers of her hunting glove wrap around my right wrist. She presents it forward, the implication of the mark hidden underneath my own glove the obvious target of her conversation. "You know what she is. What she's capable of. Why are we fostering this?"

I can see the accusation in her eyes. This is something Sigrún has been dwelling on awhile, perhaps aggravated further after Asche's rune telling. Her fingers, trained well from her days with a bow, locks in an ever tightening pressure that crushes both my physical being and my soul at the same time. Sigrún's anger, suppressed for so long, burns through demanding answers from me. I wish I could offer her some comfort, but I'm powerless.

Asche leaves Lucina, approaching his sister with tiny steps, hands up to placate her like that of a parent to an angered child. He tries to defuse the situation, his tone a soothing plea. "Sigrún, please. There is trust here, and an alliance already made between them. This is not our place to speak."

Angered further by her brother's perceived lack of clarity towards her reasoning, Sigrún's anger blisters to a heated snarl of disgust. She elbows past me, knocking me aside. She stalks up to him and throws a finger in my direction. "Like hells it is! Are your forgetting what you saw, Asche? The runes- "

"Sigrún!" In all my time with them I have never heard Asche raise his voice. The sound of it causes me to leap, the firm crack of his voice like the spark of steel over a blacksmith's anvil. Sigrún closes her mouth, but continues to remain obstinate in her logic. Asche stands just as firm, the serious press of his mouth and the firm line of his brow finally differentiating the elder and younger siblings from each other. She allows him to speak, a respect I doubt she would afford another.

"That is a private matter I share between myself and the inquiring party. Such secrecy is not only an honor to uphold, but the very law of a skuld. We are not to speak of the truths I read. Only Robin may." Even without clear vision, I know he is making a pointed exclamation in my direction. "If and when she decides the time is right."

If? Most certainly I will. When? Not before a potentially dangerous infiltration job. The revelations hanging over me are no truths I would reveal if I could, but I have to. To hold back would be an insult to the trust Lucina has overcome and placed in my hands.

...

Doesn't mean I relish the moment when I have to. This is going to shatter her heart. She has no one else to turn to for comfort in these moments but me, and I'm just going to remind her of the face that caused her trauma when I reveal the identities of Marc and Morgan. God help me when I get there.

"You're not wrong, Sigrún." The words feel like a damning admission on there own. The blunt honesty of it catches the young archer off guard, a surprised rise of her brow and the wordless frown around her mouth evidence of that. "I'm not trying to deny or hide anything."

Lucina walks up beside me, the gentle touch of her hand resting on my shoulder. "If anything, Robin has been more forthcoming than even I with the matters we are facing."

I look over at her, and the same blue eyes as her father's are filled with a grateful light. Lucina smiles in a soft, pleasant way I have never seen her do before. I swallow the lump in my throat, the growing warmth in my chest a strange tug of intensity I can feel all the way to my stomach. The barriers that came down have never returned, and we stand for the first time together in a way I feel as true equals. Something happened when I was away, something to all of us. The distance apart was not filled with fond longings, but deep wounds of separation that only grew worse with the days. No balm could heal that missing part of me until I was back with them, and I see now that the feelings are mutual.

"There is, however, a time and place for everything," I force out, suppressing the cold bumps rising up over my arms. Hanging just beyond the light of my happiness, the pressing weight of my knowledge threatens to shatter everything. I can feel it clawing down my spine and digging deep into my lungs, seizing the muscle in my attempt to breath. I press my eyelids together and will it away with every ounce of determination I can. I speak out loud, reasoning both to them and myself. "In the few minutes of privacy I have in this barn, before the potential battle fought among our own brethren, I think I can withhold a few minor details for later."

"Minor? Is that what you call it?" Sigrún scoffs into the air.

"Is there something..." Lucina turns her head to me again, my spirits sinking at the worried expression crossing her face, "...else here that I am not yet privy too?"

I ignore the bark of laughter Sigrún makes, which earns her a rap to the back of her head with Asche's staff. I can't find myself able to hold her gaze, my guilt as obvious as the brand on my hand. "For later, Lucina. If there is anything I can ask of you, it's that I explain myself after all this. I can't do this right now."

I flinch, biting down deep into the corner of my lip and leaving marks in the flesh. My voice cracks, my whole face cringing as I shake away the rising fear of what that knowledge could...will do to her.

"I can't," I whisper.

"I see," is all I hear Lucina say.

"Robin is correct. There is a time and place for all to be known. Unleashing a torrent of information right as we are about to leave and they to engage in battle is not ideal for such delicate matters," Asche steps forward, his staff parting Sigrún and I as a physical ally of both logic and sympathy. To make his point obvious, he thrusts a travel pack at his sister, causing her to raise both arms. She stumbles back under the weight of this, brushing back a mess of braids from her face.

Lucina watches the scene with a quiet peace I was not expecting. She takes in the exchange with her palm pressed to her chin, the edges of her gloved fingertips hiding the lower half of her face. Her gaze shifts downwards over the many grooves of the wooden boards beneath us, a sign of the way her mind is twisting for answers. Finally, her features sharpen in decision. Giving a small nod, she voices out loud her own conclusion. "You raise valid points, and I answer thus; I am aware of Robin's predicament and the dangers her whole existence causes to us."

"And?" Sigrún leans forward, expecting more.

Lucina stands tall, clasping her hands behind her back. Her thoughts are rooted deep in conviction. "That is all I have to say of the matter."

Asche's tense form relaxes, his body sagging against his staff. He turns away and walks to the last of their travel supplies, hiding a smile under wisps of golden hair.

Sigrún rolls her eyes and thrusts an arm through the strap of her bag. It swings over her shoulder and jostles the quiver of arrows already situated on the opposite shoulder. She holds tight to it with one hand, the other pointing toward Lucina as she approaches the other young woman. Nose to nose, Lucina looks no less intimidated when in the presence of Sigrún's taller, broader form.

"We had stories of you in Regna Ferox," Sigrún utters low between them. "The 'Steel Maiden', they called you. Ylisse's guardian that knew no mercy to those that allied with Grima. The ferocity of your hatred toward the creature's faction was legend, even masked and unknown as your were. In truth, I was jealous of your prowess. I wished I had half as much ability to slaughter Grima's abominations as you did in one month's time."

"What changed you, Steel Maiden?" Sigrún leans in, "Why are you protecting the very thing which will take our families and our homes again?"

"Sigrún, that is hardly appropriate- " Asche lashes out in grave horror over his sister's question.

I stop his frantic hobble forward, stepping before him and holding him by both arms. Sensing no animosity from me, Asche's cloudy eyes seem to search my face in great concern.

"Let her answer. Sigrún has any right to question me," I tell him, though my words are directed at his sister before me.

The Feroxi woman responds with a low hum, whether in interest or approval I can't say. She returns her attention to Lucina, the princess searching me for permission despite my previous statement. I offer a solemn tip of my head. Lucina closes her eyes in thought, choosing her next words carefully. She wraps her arms over her chest, fingers pressing tight into the cloth of her sleeves. Lucina turns and steps away from us all, face obscured. I can still hear the great breath she heaves, and I can see the dramatic slump of both shoulders as they fall.

"Sigrún. Regretfully, you have not been with us since the beginning. I have been interwoven in Robin's saga since the evening of her first arrival here. She is neither of this world nor of this prophecy, but a victim all together in this madness. We know not how or why she bears this curse, but she has not turned her back on survivors of the future. Instead, she has fully embraced a life wrought of nightmares and the worst of humanities sins to protect a land not her own. She is my ally, and I will not turn my back on her. No matter the reasoning."

When Lucina faces around, there is a lightness in her step. A strained levity lifts her voice, the attempt she makes to raise the mood a foreign gesture in her usual stance of sincerity in such matters. "If anything, you should be grateful to Robin. It is she who pushed Sir Kellam and the good general together in this cycle. There is no need for rockfalls and separation. Your childhoods will be blessed in a way the last time line was not."

Sigrún watches Lucina, the familiar solemn gaze of Raimi scrutinizing every inch of the other girl. Sigrún's frown disappears behind the puckering of her lips as her features settle in grave thought. She reflects heavily on something, the intents of this conversation not based from animosity, but curiosity. Despite the young archer's nature, I feel this was more about understanding than confrontation, and her desire for sincerity got the better of her. The lack of drive she harbors to continue pressing Lucina fades away, leaving behind only a pensive silence.

Sigrún's chin slips past her palm, dragging the entirety of her face into it. She signs deeply, a harsh rasp that scrapes the sides of her throat. "Time will tell if your judgment is sound, Princess of Ylisse."

Throwing back her shoulders, Sigrún adjusts one arm so her travel gear sits comfortably at her back. She casts us all a grim stare, shakes her head, and turns on her heel. With one last look in my direction, she mutters under her breath, "I pray to the ancestors you do not doom us all."

Her dark silhouette disappears beyond the shed's threshold and into the blinding sunlight outside. Left alone, we all feel the pressure of the atmosphere leave our shoulders and allow us to breath again.

"Your sister is...one of an intense demeanor. She must be a capable warrior," Lucina utters in response to the situation, the best platitude she can offer the other sibling in a way of least offense.

The sound of Asche's staff striking the wood floor boards rings hollow as he takes his sister's empty space. It is striking difference between the two, one fair and tall, the other dark and stocky. Despite that difference, their perseverance and spirits remain the same. "My sister grew too fast in becoming the provider between us, between my lack of natural sight and our orphaned state. I chose levity to overcome my grief, she solemnity."

"Reminds me of you and Owain," I mention off-hand to Lucina.

The remark causes a sad quirk of her lips. "Then we are all not so different, despite coming from different lands, in that regard of our loss."

The conversation stalls to halt, no answers left to be offered after Lucina's response. Asche seems content enough with her admission, and Sigrún never returns. We busy ourselves helping Asche bring together the last of their supplies as they expect to tail our adventures hidden once again as Feroxi soldiers. A donkey three shades shy of mud brown and beholden to a twitchy left eye waits for them outside the shed, the last few saddle bags needing to be attached. We work fast to secure the goods knowing our free time is dwindling to nothing. The warm smells of fresh bread tell us breakfast is almost ready.

I redden in embarrassment when the smell causes my stomach to rumble with anticipation of that warm texture mixed with sweet honey touching my tongue. Trying to hide the noise, I dabble in some small talk as I take a bulging sack of herbs from Asche. "Are you sure no one is going to get suspicious of you leaving?"

Asche hums in amusement, a glimmer of his usual self returning. "We have already met your friends, have we not? They seem no more interested in us besides a passing glance the last eve. We were all but forgotten this morning."

"Not even a place setting," Sigrún's low alto scoffs from the outside environment.

"By our own choosing, of course." Asche taps at one of the many charms hanging from his staff, a smaller replica of the same one that Kellam wears now. Though for their current purposes, the charm is inverted and exuding no light magic, allowing the hereditary curse the siblings bear to work its magic.

"The resemblance to their parents are far stronger than some of us other children. It is best they retreat for now as the Shepherds assemble together again," Lucina says as she walks by. She slides the bag off her shoulder and lets it fall to her feet at the doorway, wiping her hands free of hay and dust. "It will be good for Laurent to have someone to speak with again."

It's been a great while since I've seen him. He's been in Plegia all this time, collecting any sort of rumors or leads he could find. A difficult endeavor, but it confirmed a lot of the information the twins had left me, and even told me about further upon actually living with them these past weeks. I know the other children and Laurent have kept in communication by letters. However, with the war reaching its peak in Plegian territory, it's unsafe for him to linger further behind the borders. What he has with him is a great deal of information on the enemy forces and their positions. We'll be using this going forward, under the guise of scouting reports.

Asche picks his cloak off the nearby beam it hangs from and fumbles around with it as he throws it over his shoulders. "Your friend shall be in good hands. If his skills to plagiarize his enlistment documents are enough, then we shall be able to keep him hidden well among the Feroxi ranks. The roads between Khadein and Plegia are rife with Risen activity. All the previous mages from the grand academy have been arriving in scattered remnants. Your friend's 'arrival' will not be at all suspicious, no less than our return from getting scattered during the battle at the pass."

"Good luck with that," I laugh, helping him untangle from the mess he continues to make of himself with the cloak.

Shortly after, with their pack animal laden with supplies, we part ways with Asche and Sigrún. The latter only offers a gruff means of farewell at her departure, a cautious glance still thrown in my direction. She leads the animal on, her brother perched on the back and waving with the free hand not on the reins. Their path leads them to the edge of the lowest district and to the same hidden crack in the wall that Lucina and the other Shepherds used to slip through on their way in. I find it sad to see them go, even with the eerie words of Asche's rune telling still a heavy shadow in the back of my mind. But, that is for another day. My focus is in the present, for whatever is to come in this blasted meeting of the Court.

"Asche is going to get along well with Owain," Lucina says to me with a light smile after they've traveled a fair distance away. "He has a pleasant demeanor."

"Funny. I could say the same of Sigrún and Nah," I muse. The girls have such a similar temperament. With the boys, I chuckle to myself, imagining all the theatrics Asche is going to entertain Owain with. Perhaps we have a new member of the Justice Cabal?

Lucina watches the siblings disappear from view beyond the crest of the road. She catches a few strands of blue hair ruffled loose from beneath her hood and tucks them back away. "It is good to have Laurent close by again. Everyone will be together."

"Well, with you telling me Olivia is now around, technically we're only missing one Shepherd. We haven't recruited Virion's knight, Cherche, yet," I ponder, running over the list of members in my head.

"You forget, Noire's mother, Tharja," Lucina reminds me with a tone that makes me flinch. Eyeing her from the side, there is a grim look to her face. One that gives me a distinct impression Lucina has no fond thoughts of the dark mage. Given what I remember from the game, I can guess several reason why, made no worse by the later years in the war.

I see no harm in letting Lucina know about Tharja's appearance here, given she'll know soon enough with what I plan to tell everyone, though her attitude makes me hesitant to do so. It leaves me with a lot of questions. What was Tharja's relationship with the previous Robin like? Were there any problems before given...Lucina's unique blood ties to my predecessor? I'm about to open my mouth in question when a familiar head bobs out of the adjoining doorway to the main abode.

Vaike's messy bedhead spikes out and his toothy grin give him a crazed look as he beckons to us with one arm. "Hey, you two! Come get some grub while it's hot off the fire! Ma's really outdone herself today!"

Exchanging looks, we follow after Vaike. Seems our time is up. Whatever needs to be said will be done later. Truthfully, I'm glad for the interruption. Just the thought of having to explain anything else to her is enough to completely sap me of motivation. Instead, I'm going to focus on real, homemade food. The best you could ask for, right out of a mother's love.

Veira's kitchen is a war of its own this morning, hosting a chaos I could only see on the battlefield. A borrowed assortment of chairs from all over the house have been brought in to seat the round table of hungry warriors fighting over it. Silverware of different elements flash and stab through the morning rays that filter in between the holed curtains fluttering on the breeze. No corner of the table is left untouched by either plate or particle in the mad grab to fill one's plate with anything edible. The only being who seems unconcerned with the struggle is Miriel. The mage patiently sits with one leg crossed and a tome curled in the crook of her lap. She is removed completely from the table and holds a plate of various fruits in her hands, the methodical tap of her fork against the plate moving in time with each chew she makes.

Veira manages to lay down a plate of fried eggs, dodging away in a masterful pirouette between both Sully and Vaike as they make competitive stabs for the same one. She stops to take a breath, pressing the back of her hand to wipe away sweat from her brow. There is nothing but happiness in her face, the look of a woman who prides herself in keeping a full and happy family.

Van raises his head from the mystery meat he's bought at the market this morning, shaving off a slice to put on Sully's plate. He throws the tired cook a clean rag hanging off the back of his chair and chuckles. "Haven't had a house this full in a long time, eh Veira?"

His wife catches it and dabs at the space beneath her chin, her merriment reaching the sparkle in her eye. "I relish the challenge, dear."

Veira, with all the grace she can muster, dips down by the knees as Lucina and I pass, her head bowed in respect to the princess. Lucina acknowledges with a bashful wave, only to grow even more red when Van hustles over to pull a chair out for her.

I follow Lucina and take my place in one of the last open seats at the table beside her. There's no space left to put down the plates Van hands us, so we follow Miriel's example and keep them in our laps. Lucina manages to take one slice of a brown grain bread before the rest disappear in a scramble of hands. She blinks in an owl-ish fashion, shocked by how quickly the food moves about the table. Miriel, without moving her eyes from her book, flicks her wrist and captures two slices in a simple wind retrieval spell from the plates of Vaike and Sully when they're not looking. One of them floats to her, the other to my plate.

Vaike takes one bite into the apple tart in his hand and pounds a fist against the table. I wouldn't be surprised if tears of joy start streaming down his face. "You best believe I missed this food, Ma! Best you'll ever find anywhere!"

"Thank you, Vaike," Veira beams from over at the counter as she retrieves her next meal.

Sully, always a morning bird, is at the top of her prime. Her cheeks are red from the thrill of rivalry, competing against Vaike, his father, and both the children for whatever goods come around. Given their long friendship, this is probably one of many similar scenes in the past at Veira's table, breakfast or dinner. "Stop gabbin' about it and prove it instead! Gimme some of that tart, the one with the sugared fangroot."

"Naga help us," Lucina whispers to herself as she nibbles at the crust of her bread.

I hold onto my own while I wait for Veira to come over with some of the spreads for various meals. She sets down various jars of honey, jams, and a slate of butter wherever she can on the table. Dipping a knife into a sweet smelling jam, she gestures for her grandchild to hand over his plate. Jin'Hai holds it up with his little arms, the over-sized sleeves pooling around his shoulders and into his face. He sputters and shakes his round cheeks free of the scratchy material. Veira finishes with his plate and pauses, jam slipping off the edge into a puddle as she looks over the many plates around her. Seeing Miriel's plain bread, she gestures toward it. "Wouldn't you like some jam with that, Miriel? The dough we produce plumps up into something a bit dry to the tongue."

The leaf of Miriel's book flourishes to the other side, her gaze never leaving the text. "I procure an affliction of the epidermis when I ingest such botanicals. Most unpleasant."

Veira blinks.

Vaike, mouth full of tart crust, spits out all over the floor as he explains to his mother a proper translation. "Peatbog berries makes her break out in a rash, Ma."

"Thank you, Vaike," Miriel says with a simple nod. He flashes her a smile that is seeped in adoration before whipping around in a dramatic thrust of his fork to keep his sister from taking the best parts of his tart off his plate.

Vaike's parents share a look of fond disbelief, with Van leaning back in his chair with a smug twist of a smile under his beard. Veira appears equally impressed and enamored. I can see the wheels in her head turning, planning for inevitable weddings and more grandchildren. She sets her knife aside and turns away to the counters.

"Silly me. My apologies then. Would you care for some milk to dunk it in, Miriel?" she calls out to the mage.

"That would be desirable," Miriel replies, her interest no more or less affected by the prior exchange. At least, not until the screech of a chair interrupts her. Miriel peers over her glasses and into Val's glossy eyes, the two staring deep at each other as the girl leans forward with part of her fork hanging from her mouth.

"Your hair is really red," Val tells her, chewing through a rough piece of fat from her meat.

"An astute observation," the mage responds, reaching for another page.

"Are you and Vaike's babies gonna have hair that red?"

The corner of Miriel's page rips as her hand jerks at the comment. Every head in the room swivels in Val's direction, a collection of wide eyes and open mouths creating a comedic masterpiece that has me choking in laughing on my own food. My snuffles are the only sound to be heard over that of water spilling over the edge of Van's wooden cup.

"Val!" Veira shrieks in near hysteria over the embarrassment of the child's question. She erupts into a whirlwind as she darts over and swings her daughter's chair back around to the table. "I apologize for that, Miriel. That was most inappropriate. I thought I raised her better than than!"

Miriel continues to remain motionless, her features a blank canvas under her glasses. I've seen that look before. She's thinking on something deeply. Has she...never thought about a future like that with Vaike? Ever? Miriel never really struck me as someone outside of a career woman, her views on family skewered by the strict, emotionless upbringing under her scholarly mother.

Oblivious to Miriel, Vaike is suffering in his own predicament. He grabs one of Val's pigtails and gives it a little yank, the brotherly affection he plasters on barely holding together. "Heeeey, Val. Don't be askin' big bro's lady friend stuff like that."

Val gawks at him, pushing a finger into his nose and yelling, "You're just friends? I thought you two were holdin' hands and stuff last night while you was walkin'." Val leans over and beckons me. I rest on one elbow and tilt my ear in so she can whisper behind her hand in the most grow up way she can. "Stuff like that's how babies are born. Holdin' hands is seeeeerious," she says, still loud enough for everyone to hear.

Van is holding his belly hard trying to suppress his amusement, his cheeks puffed out and his shoulders shaking. Veira has lost total control of the situation and just buries her embarrassment behind the rag in her hands, Sully and I's laughter running unabashed through the kitchen.

"Where in the he-" Vaike catches his wording under the glare of his mother and drawls into a lesser expletive, "-eeeeck did you see that?"

Val flicks her chin and throws her nose high in the air. "I didn't see nuthin. I'm just repeatin' what Ji-ji said."

The rag in Veira's hands slips to the table, her voice rising several octaves in surprise. "He what?"

"Hondes?" Jin'Hai shakes his head and waves both arms in the air. His Chon'sin accent melts away as he plays more familiar Ylissean syllables over his tongue until he forms another word. "Hands?"

Van ruffles a hand through Jin'Hai's black hair, sending it askew. "Well lookit that! Ya learned a new word in both languages. Well done m'boy. Wait until Vic hears."

"Hands!" Jin'Hai says again, clapping them together as he bounces in his seat with glee. "It hands!"

"Heh, ain't that sumthin'. Like a little weed, growing up," Vaike comments about his nephew. "Vic and Xian'li are teaching Jin'Hai both Ylissean and Chon'sin. He's learnin' pretty quick now."

While Vaike's family gathers around the youngster in cheers of enthusiasm, the door in the back of the kitchen opens allowing two figures to enter. Done with the morning chores, Vic and Chrom stretch their muscles and shake off the hay caught in their clothes. Vic, a head and shoulder taller than the younger man beside him, drops a full basket of fresh eggs into his mother's waiting arms. He mumbles something to her and lumbers over to the table, dragging along a chair propped against the back wall to wedge between Vaike and his son. Vaike greets his brother by bumping his fist into the others shoulder, earning a rare flicker of emotion from the ever stoic Vic.

Throwing an arm over the back of his chair, Vaike twists around and hollers at our captain. "Hey, pal. What kept ya? Half the meal's already gone!"

Chrom ruffles his clothes back into place, stepping over a mess of fruit pits and cores to further emphasize Vaike's point. "I apologize for that. The horses were stubborn today. We had trouble hitching them to the carts."

Van pops right out of his seat like his bum suddenly went up in flames. Veira too, drops the pot in her hands meant for washing, causing a clattering of dishes.

"Your Highness," she greets in reverence, dipping into a curtsy as far as her skirts enable her. Veira's husband does the same, though his bow is less elegant and more clumsy.

Chrom flushes in embarrassment over the attention, running his hand back through his hair until his finger tangle in the longest strands at the base of his neck. "Please, none of that. Remember? We are but simple travelers at the moment."

"That is hard to obey when the hallowed blood of Naga herself is before us. She's watching us right now, I bet! We can be nothing but the best of hosts, humble as we are," Veira says, just as Sully lets out the largest belch she can. The woman's face pales as she watches the cavalier start to pick at some gristle between her teeth with the nail on her pinkie finger.

"Right ya are, luv. Righteous lot we are," Van says to her, patting her back as she shakes her head over her daughter and grandchild's giggles.

There's movement to my right, and I hear Lucina's chair scraping over the wooden flooring. She uses her body to hop the chair apart from mine, opening up a space between us as large as she can afford in the cramped area. I start to mouth out the question of what could be wrong to prompt this abrupt change in seating arrangements when a chair with a crooked left armrest slides into the gap. Chrom collapses into the back of it, resembling a discarded rag doll. He rubs at the space over each eyebrow, relishing the break from the labor he volunteered to help with this morning. After a long yawn, Chrom drops his hand and blinks wearily at the table.

"Am I truly too late?" he asks upon surveying several empty plates, save a few small crumbs.

Lucina takes the plate still in his grasp and starts to reach for some of the meager meat slices that still remain on the table. "You will find something. Whether it will fill you or not remains to be seen."

"Not all good deeds are rewarded," Chrom sighs over quoting the old Ylissean proverb. His head falls to the side, gaze landing toward the floor and over my knee. It slowly climbs until his eyes find my face. The blue of his irises brighten, clarity forming in recognition of my identity. A slow, lazy smile forms on his face, the former exhaustion slipping away.

"Morning," he whispers between us.

It feels like lightning strikes my heart. Just a simple word causes me to suck in the air and hold it tight, the beating in my chest halting for the eternity of one second's time. Sitting there relaxed with the dirt of morning chores smudged on his face and hair askew from the wind, the morning light glowing softly on a smile formed for me and only me, my brain forms the most random thought it possibly could;

Chrom looks breathtaking.

The jostle of his plate as Lucina sets it before him shatters the moment. Chrom turns back toward what food she scavenged for him, fork and knife greedy as they stab apart the contents of the plate. Ripping away my gaze, I focus hard on the top of my own plate. The fork sitting upright in my hand mimics everyone else in hollow moments, tearing apart any leftovers on it to a mush as I jab away. A thin, restrained line of air exits my nose as I exhale, my brow crinkling in alarm.

Seriously, brain. What. The. Fuck. Not the time for this!

I swallow up my stupefied rage and scrape away the pent-up anxiety until it begins to fade in time with my slowing heart rate. I'm thankful for all the activity around me, the numerous faces of friends allowing me to distance myself and forget all together with the conversations we carry on. Breakfast continues with a constant myriad of stories chasing around tales as my focus hops from one group to the next. I'll be with Miriel over-analyzing the point of a joke between her and Sully, only to be dragged into a childhood story between Vaike and Vic, then to have Val pull my shirt hem and whisper more childish anecdotes in my ear.

The whole thing is a bit surreal, to be honest. Growing up an only child, breakfasts were usually quiet, if not totally alone with my mother already gone on early patrol routes. I could have as much marshmallow and sugar coated wheat puffs as I wanted. I would eat jelly out of jar and no one would care. That carried over into my adult life, and the solidarity just became a way of life. Even when Jules and I shared rental spaces over time, it was just us. Sometimes I would be unlucky enough to share a morning coffee with the hungover remains of whatever guy or gal Jules brought home the night before, but company never grew more than that. With this packed kitchen, there is an energy here I've never felt before. The air is electric with life and laughter, filling every space with a sense of belonging that never sat with me in my own world. I find the closeness welcoming, my earlier desires of living alone seeming alien now. A piece of me is calling out to hold on to this moment and savor it, as if deep down I had always longed to be part of such an intimate scene.

Even as the food disappears and dishes are whisked away, the Shepherds remain together. We surround ourselves in idle chatter before eventually addressing the business that looms over us. The others get ready behind us, the men to the lumber grounds while his mother takes the children to the laundering pools. Vaike's family was able to let the other Shepherds know about the Count's betrayal. Even after having time to process it, my friends remain in varying states of disbelief and apprehension, their own plans now discarded and the future uncertain with this revelation.

Vaike drains his cup and wipes away the milk over his upper lip with the back of his arm, then slams his cup on the table. Throwing himself back against his chair, he rests both arms behind his head and kicks his feet up the table. "Would it hurt Naga to cut us a little luck once in a while? There's only so many surprises a man can take, even a master like ol' Teach here!"

Beside him, Miriel arranges several maps over the table. She does her best to press down the curling edges with her palms. "Given the malefactor's true nature, it is among the most unpleasant revelations we have uncovered."

At Miriel's words, all eyes move in unison to the cavalier at the end of the table. Sully rolls her eyes at the attention and folds her arms. "Don't give me that look of pity. My uncle is nothing but a sack of wet dog crap. He's been jealous of my father for years. Even though he's the older brother, his head ain't on right. He got bypassed as heir to our duchy and has done everything he could to reclaim it."

Sully rises from her chair and throws it hard against the table. She stalks through the kitchen to the far window. She rests her arm against the wall and stares out into the yard beyond, the grinding of her teeth audible in how tight her jaw clenches. "He even tried to wrestle control of the lands by claiming to be the next heir after my brothers died. I wasn't fit to rule after my father cause I couldn't be a knight." She forms a fist and rams it straight into the wall, the mocking intonation she uses full of revulsion. "Girls don't become knights, he says. They should stay home and mind the hearth since they'll never be as strong as men."

"That is a grossly inappropriate observation," Lucina says, her face scrunching up in disgust.

While Ylisse is far more modern than any medieval state I knew of in my world, vestiges of out-dated opinions still remain in the older age groups. After the Schism, women stayed away from battle, population regrowth being the main focus of humanity for a long time. As the world stabilized again, their reintroduction to battle remained constrained within certain circles that embraced a resurgence in older, traditional upbringings. Up until a few generations back, women were in auxiliary roles. Even pegasus knight, Ylisse's unique combat unit, were used for defensive maneuvers or reinforcements. They weren't seen in infantry or cavalry units until Chrom's great-grandfather put an law into place strictly forbidding the barring of academic or military entry based on gender. By then, Plegia and Ylisse were fighting again and he wanted all the able bodies he could.

Still, some of the older personnel still in power hold tight to the old ways. Sully is already at odds with her family, furious they are gaining their knighthood through pandering and favors. But it's members like her uncle that really fuel her drive for becoming a knight. Sully's goal is to prove them wrong. Given she was two months shy of her induction tests before the war broke out, Sully had the hugest chance of any of her generation in succeeding the rigorous tests.

I feel a chuckle bubble up, proud of Sully for fighting toward her dreams. "I don't feel half as bad throwing your uncle in the dungeon then."

Sully pushes away from the wall and returns to her former seat. She leans forward and rests both palms over the back of it, throwing down the heel of her foot to grind it against the floor boards. "Throw that ol' coot under your boot, for all I care."

Lucina, ever the voice of reason, steps in with a hearty reminder of the situation. "Let us not get ahead of ourselves. We will not be able to do anything to him if the castle grounds are filled with enemy forces."

A disgusted tick emits from Sully throat, and she settles back into her chair. She leans on one arm, the other hands drumming with impatience over the table top. "Should have guessed that bastard was up to something. He was always a schemer."

Chrom reclines in his chair much like Vaike, though he trains his eyes on the ceiling, his sights unfocused and far off. "I never would dare think one of our retainers would go so far as to betray us in his ambitions. Count Thibault has been a loyalist for years, to my grandmother and father both. He showed no signs of discontent when my sister came to power."

"He was not in the papers Lady Maribelle discovered among what was recovered in the late Duke's study," Lucina adds, fueling the mystery further. She references the correspondence we had uncovered in the commanding mercenary leader's possession after the Ironhold occupation. The man had pages of incriminating documents linking some of the most prolific members of the Court and guilds to Plegian activity.

"What would possess him to do this?" Chrom asks, more to himself than to the party.

I stand from my chair and join Miriel's side. I draw forward a neat stack of papers and begin thumbing through them. "According to the records Xian'li provided, one third of the overall forces remaining here are still Ylissean. Of those from Plegia, there's a higher percentage of hired mercenaries to Plegian troops. Most of the mercenaries came here after Ironhold fell. The Plegians will be the ones in the upper districts and castle during the time Court is held, essentially surrounding the Ylissean elite in a sea of enemy soldiers."

Chrom reaches out and plucks up the blueprint covering the lowest cellars of Count's main keep. He turns it over in his hands, appraising it as though it were a precious gem. "I can't believe you even smuggled those out of the castle. I'd say you were insane to risk such a maneuver, but I know you too well to expect otherwise. You continue to amaze, Robin."

God, did I need to hear that again. The praise is like a drink of water after getting stranded in the dessert. After two months of being dead weight, it's a life-giving boost to know I'm actually contributing to a cause again. I clear my throat, ignoring the flush of pride that causes a tingling warmth in the lower ends of my fingers and toes. "Arcos' castle is old Altean design. It's one of four constructed during the last years of the Age of Recovery. They were all built fast and secure for border relief. To save time, the same architectural layouts were used. Ironhold is the same as Arcos, so it wasn't hard to remember the layout."

Sully raises a brow in disbelief, enunciating slowly. "You...memorized castle blueprints?"

I look her straight in the eye, dead serious. "I memorize a lot of information. It's a talent. It's also my job."

I take a lot of pride in my memory. I mean, I have the longest standing record at the local bar for Trivial Pursuit night back home! Memorizing the mundane used to be a funny little trick for odd trivia. Now I use it to save lives. Albeit, not in this instance as the circumstances are a bald-faced lie, but I did actually familiarize myself with the maps my counterpart had transcribed in her roster, as well as several other known backdrops of potential battles. I could fabricate enough details to ensure proper authenticity of my retrieval of the documents if they pressed on, but no one has asked me to recount the details yet. Sorry again, General. Gotta steal the spotlight from you this time.

Miriel stares over the rim of her glasses at her fellow red-head. "Robin possesses an advantageous talent. May I suggest exercising similar intellectual pursuits of your own, Sully? A knight who practices a well-rounded repertoire of factual knowledge is most useful, having not to rely on mages or scholars for mission work."

"You telling me to read more, Miriel?" Sully smirks.

"Precisely such," the mage nods.

"Focus, everyone," Chrom orders from behind.

Miriel hardly lifts her head, fingers still tracing along the edges of the papers she organize. "I am ever focused, Captain."

"Sometimes too much," Vaike mutters under his breath.

"No kidding," Sully says. She tries to pull one of the sheets away from Miriel, but it glows bright green and stays rooted to the wood with the magic Miriel uses to keep it in place. Giving up, Sully shakes her hands of the situation and backs away. "How do you handle each other?"

Without missing a breath, Miriel looks up and states with no emotion, "The recreational coitus we share is deserving of praise."

I raise my hand and wave it for attention, remembering the unfortunate night I spend sharing a bedroom wall with Miriel's room in Ironhold. "I've heard."

The color drains from Sully's face, followed by utter revulsion over whatever picture her mind conjures up for her. Opposite that, both royals sitting there grow inflamed in the face, Chrom sputtering something and utterly failing to get it out.

"Oh Gods," Lucina bows her head and laments into both her hands.

Vaike has a dusting of red on his nose and face, but just shrugs his shoulders and offers a partial grin of defeat. "I ain't gonna deny it."

"Focus!" Chrom places both hands on the table, shaking the contents still on it from the force. "For the love of Naga, please!"

"Sorry, ol' pal," Vaike says, slapping him on the back.

"Alright, back to the plans, or lack thereof!" I exclaim, clapping my hands for attention over everyone. "Seems whatever you would have liked to happen has been dashed by the recent news. Anything to add on that point?"

Chrom grimaces, raising his left palm to peel the remnants of an apple rind that stuck to it after striking the table. He throws it over his shoulder. "The initial strategy was in two parts. In Ylisstol, I've had the captain of the guard, Nethys, if you recall, conduct searches into suspected individuals. She would have one of her people fly to Arcos' and deliver her findings. From there, appropriate arrests would have been made."

I rub a hand over the space of my neck, pondering his words. I knew Frederick and Chrom were discussing a course of action with Eldaran and Phila over what to do with the names we held in suspicion, but I didn't know they were willing to be so bold in their course of action. "Public arrests? That's a powerful show to display in front of the whole assembly. It's bound to ruffle feathers."

Chrom stares down at the blueprints of the keep, his mouth pressed in a grim line. "The royal family advocates peace when it can, but that does not mean we are weak. As Falchion's inheritor, it is my role to ensure the safety of both my blood and my country. I do not take betrayal lightly."

I feel my insides twist in retaliation to the words. My fingers curl deep over the table with unspoken fears, the foresight I have weighing heavily on the thoughts of the power Validar could have over me. What could that power potentially force me to do? I have to be careful. I'm not sure I could live with myself if such actions were to occur.

Chrom steps away and begins to pace along the length of the room, resting his hands over the crease of each hip. "The longer we remain away from the capitol, the more we hear. The nobility is growing bolder. Dissonance is a dangerous enemy to any monarch. There are those calling Emmeryn weak."

I scoff at the idiocy of the statement. "Anyone miss the fact she's personally leading the war?"

"The Exalt imprisons our enemy and offers them basic human comforts while under captivity. Some would see the Plegians hang on the spot. No one wants their taxes going into the mouths of Plegians." Sully admits. I wonder if the dark expression she carries means a part of her, the one full of resentment over her brothers' deaths, harbors that same desire.

"If Thibault manages to pull this off, the damage he'll do will be nigh irreparable. I don't have to elaborate on what this could do to Emmeryn, do I?" Chrom asks. I shake my head in complete understanding.

Sully kicks her boot into the floor and groans into the open air. "Hells. That old arsehead really did it this time."

Miriel presses forward the collection of blueprints in front of me, keeping the schedules and guard routes for herself. "It would be prudent to remain vigilant in the Count's company. The agenda which we were to enact has been compromised. It may be that a change in tactics will be required by the hour. A perfect exercise of your talents, Robin."

Vaike leans to the side and gives my rib a good nudge with his elbow. "Glad to be back?"

I don't get to answer him, the far off sound of the first tolling of the bells catching my attention. The chapel of the great church in the upper district always rings out at the start of the work shift, a golden voice chaining the lower districts to their routines of hard labor day after day. For the soldiers too, now is the time for them to leave the barracks and prepare for whatever routines they are assigned for. I know this because I've been visiting Tharja and the others on the training grounds every morning in an unbroken pattern. I was late once, six days ago and found Tharja halfway through the lower districts trying to find me. 'Out of worry,' she claimed.

I realize I didn't visit yesterday on the account of catching up with the Shepherds.

"Oh, shit," I startle, backing away from the table. Each echo of the metallic gong the bells emit draws the noose of fear tighter around my neck. My eyes widen and dart to the window, half expecting Tharja to be hovering in view. I repeat my earlier curse, louder than before.

There's a touch at my elbow and it causes me to jump. Lucina withdraws her hand in response to my rejection of her touch, concern written all over her body. "Robin, what is it?"

"I need to go somewhere for a short bit. Do you mind?" I don't know why I bother even asking. Stupid to even do so. Panic makes you do idiotic things!

Sully gapes at me, mouth parted in surprise. "Cause the impending betrayal of my uncle is less important than...?" She waves her hand in circle signaling me to finish the sentence with some ounce of logic.

Chrom sets the paperwork down in his hands, his forehead creased as his brows come together in concern."Yes, actually, I do mind," he challenges me, my abrupt desire to flee leaving him flabbergasted. "Is this important?"

I...

I have to be honest. I'm not even doing this out of fear that Tharja or someone else could stumble over our true identities. With all this talk of the Court going into session tomorrow and the action we'll be taking against Thibault, my fears of confrontation are on the rise. If Ylisse is told of Plegia's infiltration, as I believe Chrom will divulge to the others upon his arrival in the castle tonight, then Tharja's troop is most likely going to battle against us. All of them will.

The thought of that fills me with unbridled panic, a feeling that shouldn't be there. I press a hand over my mouth, wanting to scream at the heavens over my confusion. Tharja's cohorts are Plegian and their own hatred in Ylisse as obvious as the sun and moon in the sky. They're the enemy, for God's sake! But, I can't help remembering the more human side each one has. Serrin and Art are farmers of only twenty-two with dreams of raising a family after the war ends. There's the veterans, Gode and Jeinne, at fifty-plus years fighting on behalf of their families because they refuse to lose the grandchildren they now care for like their parents before. Ranalph has a sister conscripted by the Grimleal and joined the army just so he could be with her again. Half of the rest of the soldiers are between the ages of fifteen and twenty, barely old enough to remember there was a war over a decade ago. Then there's their captain, Vasto. The embodiment of the jerk with a heart of gold trope, Vasto is a soldier of rare merit. He looks out for his people like they were his own blood, and harbors an actual sense of conscience that he listens to. If there were a Plegian I could talk sense into, it very well could be him. It was his intervention that kept the untrained teenagers in his troop from going along with his lieutenant on their doomed trip to battle at the pass, simply on the logic to keep them from battle as long as he can.

Could I leave now without even saying good-bye?

I clench my eyes shut and exhale in defeat. My hand slips over the back of a chair and I pull it out to lean into as the strength in my knees gives out. I fold my arms over the table and rest my head upon them, relishing in the darkness that I create in my own little cavern.

"You guys might want to take a seat while I explain this."

Needless to say, things go anything but smoothly. The initial silence is hard to bear, the faces of my companions too stunned to say anything. That is, until Sully breaks from her shock and leaps to her feet in a flurry of shouts asking about my sanity. The silence is preferable to the rush of voices that follow. I ride out the panic, their aggravations born more of concern than anger.

"It was reconnaissance! I wasn't aiming to make friends with Plegians," I say in defense of my actions. "I needed information."

"There shouldn't be any befriending of Plegians, Robin," Sully argues with me.

"That's unfair! What about Henry?" I counter.

Sully grabs at the air like she is trying to strangle it. "That creepy apprentice priest? Great example."

"He gets on just fine," Chrom states in a rare moment of my defense.

"When Panne or Ricken is around, maybe. Sheesh, don't go soft on me, Chrom."

"And you would blame the whole populace for the bad ones?"

Sully shakes her head in disbelief and glares at our captain. "Farmers? No. Soldiers, yeah I will. And that's who Robin is dealing with. Enemy. Soldiers."

"Never mind who they are!" Vaike pauses in the rapid pacing he makes around the table, gesturing with one muscular arm to the kitchen around us. "What if ya brought 'em back here?"

Remorse fills me. The memories of Vaike and Sully in Regna Ferox, clouded with the hatred of my potential Plegian origins, lights a fire of panic in my belly. I rush to his side, placing my hand on the top of his crossed arms. I lean on my toes for a better height, hoping he sees the regret I carry. "Vaike, I'm aware of what I was doing. I swear on my mother's grave that I would not have done anything to endanger you're own. I owe them too much to risk their safety." I plead with him, "Believe me in that much."

Vaike, always the Shepherd full of confidence and optimism, is torn apart in the rawest form. I know what haunts him, the truth behind the dark-haired sister he loves so dearly. Trauma like that is something that never wholly leaves. His family is already courting disaster with Xian'li helping us, and they've come to accept that. I've opened a whole new matter of concerns they may not be prepared for.

"Vaike, I'm sorry. I was doing what I had to for the safety of everyone. I wasn't going to let the Shepherds, let alone the Exalt, run into Thibault's arms without proper foreknowledge of what could come."

"Crivens," Vaike gasps. He rakes a hand through his hair, looking everywhere but me. " 'course I do, Robin. But a man can't help but worry 'bout his kin. Vic's already worried over Xian'li."

"Vaike, Sully, please be mindful of the circumstances," Miriel tries to ration with them. "Barring personal discrimination, Robin's actions are exactly what was needed in the moment. A proactive countermeasure against our adversaries is the correct course of action."

"Personal- !Those same people...my family..." Vaike's shoulders hunch, his reaction hostile to Miriel's observation. His southern accent has been bleeding through the emotion as he loses his mental control over the situation. "This ain't somethin' to get all lacks-a-dandy 'bout, Miriel."

"Vaike, I did not mean to belittle your ordeal." Miriel is taken back by the withering look he gives her. She sets her papers aside and continues to explain herself. "I am only validating the rationale behind her decision. Be our enemy Plegian, Feroxi, or something all together metaphysical, information is the key to victory."

"Not when in puts my blood in danger." Vaike steps back away me and turns his back to us, hiding his discomfort from the group. Though his features are hidden, the taut strain of his back muscles betray the tension he harbors.

Miriel appears perplexed over how to deal with Vaike's emotions. Logic and words, her greatest weapons, have failed her. She looks to us for answers, but she is met with only empty stares. She leaves her chair and walks up behind him with the intent to do something, but finds herself frozen in uncertainty. It's a position Miriel never finds herself in, and the discomfort shows. First she attempts to put a hand on his shoulder, then pulls away. Then she tries to find words again, but suffers in defeat as well. The mage closes her eyes, meditating on her thoughts.

Miriel decides to do the most unMiriel-like thing I've seen; she reaches for his hand. Her long, pale fingers settle over the tanned skin of his clenched fist. Her motions are awkward as Miriel tries to mold them over and under his curled fingers. She manages to loop around his ring and pinkie finger, an unsteady bridge leading between them. Her arm remains stiff, her hold more like that of a handshake than a comforting gesture.

"I apologize for any insensitivity I may have caused. Perhaps logic is not what this moment merits," she admits, hesitation drawing out her own insecurities.

Vaike's hand unfurls completely, fingers winding together. "You actually openin' up to me, Miri?" He peers back over his shoulder, blue eyes misty like a morning on the Southern plains. "Wish it didn't take this type o' situation to do so."

"All the same," Miriel clears her throat, pulling the brim of her sun hat further over her face. "I am emphasizing with you. All the Shepherds are."

Vaike lets out something between a snort and a laugh, his shoulders rolling with small shakes from the effort. He rounds on his heel, throwing his arm out in a wide arc to catch her up before Miriel can retreat. Vaike throws his arm over her shoulder and drags her against his side, hiding a shaky grin in her hair and sending her hat askew. Miriel catches it from falling and uses it to totally cover her face from the rest of us to spare us her embarrassment.

The tension in the air melts away, and we find ourselves breathing again. No longer running hot from the ordeal, those of us not enthralled in the moment establish a calmer footing in the conversation. Sully draws me away, lowering her voice so she can leave them with a bit of privacy. "Look we ain't blaming you for doing your job. It's just...that's a helluva dangerous game to play, Robin. We know first hand what Plegians are capable of. You can't fault us for bearing a little apprehension."

"You must admit that she is right. It would have been more beneficial to alert us to your activities yesterday. That is, before a large operation in the Count's own home," Lucina says to me. She's frowning that same disappointed way she always does with me. I can see the hidden message in her words. I should have at least told her in private when we had the chance. I said no surprises between us and yet I've done so right now. Ugh, I suck.

"I'm sorry. I had a rare chance to do reconnaissance, and I took it. It was easy to portray myself the poor foreigner, so they warmed up to me. I mean, my accent is obvious." I say this more to Vaike and Sully than the other three. "Can you guys trust me on this last act? Please?"

Sully scoffs and throws up her arms. "Nuthin' else we can do but that."

Chrom tears his attention away from the two lovebirds beyond, still unsure what he just saw. He struggles to maintain a straight voice. "What's done is done. The secrecy of our arrival here, and that of the involvement of Vaike's family, must remain hidden. If you believe it prudent to interact with them as a means to prevent them from searching for you and potentially spoiling our involvement, I will not stop you- "

"Thank you," I start, only to find Chrom has yet to finish.

" -but you're not going alone."

I gape at him. What does he mean by that?

Sully claps her hands together and raises them toward the sky. "Thank Naga, someone suggested it. Last time we let you out of our sights, you nearly offed yourself on a Risen and spent two months stuck in the woods."

"We could be your cover story. You say you are hiding under the guise as a lost traveler? We shall be your lost companions reuniting with you," Lucina suggest to me.

"And ready to get the heck outta this mess," Vaike adds as he and Miriel rejoin us around the table. I notice he continues to hold her hand even as they sit, causing her no amount of bashfulness.

"How else are you to explain your sudden desire to leave?" Lucina concludes.

"Alright," I say, unable to argue her logic. I can already see the determination in her eyes. "Who's volunteering?"

Lucina starts to rise from her chair, hand pressed to her chest. "I- "

"I'll go. You've already gotten into enough trouble without me around," Chrom interrupts, earning a wide-eyed look of shock from his future daughter.

"Not a good idea. You're kind of famous," I tell him. To demonstrate, I lean over and pull at one of the flyaway strands of blue sticking out the side of this head, earning a wince from him. "Disguise or not, that hair is a give away. Blue hair is rare outside of Altea, and even that's pretty obscure to find."

He pushes me away, shaking out his hair. "I have a disguise prepared. How do you think I got here undetected?"

"Chrom I just don't think- and he's gone." I press my cheek into my hand and rest my elbow on the table. "Just great."

"Chrom's disguise is the last thing today that should worry ya," Vaike assures me.

"It is ingenious. A marvel of enchantments," Miriel's usual monotone hitches in excitement. If she has an interest in this magic, then I know it's genuine. I'll have to trust whatever plan Chrom has concocted.

"I can't believe you gotta do this," Sully tells me, slumping deep into her chair. The top of her boot bounces in irritation over her crossed leg. "You got more balls than the mythic wyvern of Desdonia."

I have half a mind to ask her just how many that is, but change my mind. "Trust me, at least one of them is going to come looking for me."

"I shall speak for all of us in asking to practice great caution in your actions today," Miriel tells me, earning a collection of sympathetic nods.

"I haven't done anything to make them suspicious up to this point, so don't worry," my lackadaisical tone gaining no extra support. Hearing the calls of the morning birds disappear outside the window, I consign myself to my mission and rise from my chair. Looking at the closed door to Chrom's room, I start my retreat. "Our fearless captain is taking forever. If you all want to get us into the castle without a problem, then I need to get this done before noon. Tell Mr. Overprotective I'll wait for him by the shed."

The farewells that follow are as heavy as if I were making a final journey of no return. Pulling the shed door behind me, I find a spot on one of the hay bales and relax until Chrom makes his appearance. What he has planned to mask his identity, I have no idea.

Even with my eyes closed, I can feel the weight of my shadow deepen, the inky subconscious of another mingling with that of my own. It's been a good day and night since we spoke, the General choosing to remain away during my reunion. I caught him sulking around this morning-

"I was not sulking," the General bristles in the empty space he cloaks himself. It's a strange thing we have, to know what the other feels without seeing.

"Excuse me, but what else am I to think with you making slow circles around the perimeter, glaring and refusing to talk? You looked like a sullen child watching from his punishment corner," I snicker under my breath.

"I repeat that I was not- " The General gives up arguing and resorts to reason. "You have been hard to get alone. There is a mage in your group. I did not wish to arouse suspicion."

"Fair enough," I project to him.

The Risen solidifies in the darkness overtaking a corner opposite me. He blends in five dimensions from torso upward. The silhouette of his lower half remains a blurred mirage of shifting darkness. He crosses his arms, eyes sparking hot in emotion. "Are you truly going to say goodbye to a group of Plegians? What good will this do?"

"It's important, trust me," I answer.

He scoffs, his visor rattling under the grainy hiss of air that causes it to jump. "You are lying to me. This is not about the mission. There is emotion wrapped up in your desire to do this."

"Tharja is important. We need her," I say, slipping back into verbal tongue, my guilt betraying me. I push away from the bale, solid floor greeting the soles of my boots. I march away from him and give him the full view of my back.

"You're anxious." He slips through the ether, appearing again full-bodied in the space beneath the loft next to me. Without any resistance on my end, our connection molds together so every pinprick of his accusation stabs deep within me. "You are worried about fighting them come this following eve."

I gasp in feigned horror and sag against the wall, holding a hand to my forehead in a mock faint. "Yes, I am. You caught me! Oh no, Robin is suffering from human emotion. Gods help us all, the fell dragon's vessel has an ounce of humanity in her!"

His arms remain crossed, one finger ticking against the metal of his armor. "I only mean to exercise caution."

"I am! Why does everyone keep treating me like I'm making bad decision?"

"You threw yourself in front of the Exalt and at the mercy of a colossal Risen with no thought of your own survival," he deadpans. "You fought an entire squadron of Plegian soldiers, including two wyverns and a Grimleal priest, by yourself."

"You," I say, jabbing a finger in his direction. "You shut up."

He says nothing more, content in making his point. I press my hip to the frame of the shed's entrance and watch a cart pass by full to the brim with bushels of apples. Children dance around the cart, waiting for the wheels to catch on a rock and bounce a few pieces of fruit free. The driver laughs and cracks his reigns over the front board, urging his horse on. The ripe, red gleam of the apples within reminds me the harvest season is just within grasp, with the chill of autumn and winter threatening the future advance of our war. We were lucky to endure a longer heat this year, the heavy sun warming fields hotter than what is usual. Even in the mountains, the nights run more comfortable. Time continues on, the grains in the hourglass drawing us closer to another cycle's end. How and when, I can't say.

"You're staying close by, yeah? You're my last line of defense if shit goes south," I tell him.

"I will do what must be done if the moment calls for action." I notice the ambiguity of his statement and frown. Our trust is still not all there, though I can't blame him if it never reaches something comfortable.

"Someone is coming," he warns me, melting away into nothing.

I have no chance to offer a farewell, his presence already gone far from my mind. I stretch my arms over my head, feeling my bones crackle over my spine from the effort. I hear the kitchen door open and shut, knowing my phony travel companion is finally ready for our ruse. I spin around chastising Chrom for his tardiness. "It's about time. I was wonder- What in the hells?"

I rub my eyes with one hand and blink away the spots, unsure I'm completely comprehending the glaring change to Chrom's profile. I squint, walking a slow circle around his smug persona. I frame his his head with both hands, trying to comprehend the alteration.

"I look less obvious, right? I could pass for a traveler now," he laughs, pulling at what was once the signature hair color of his family line. Golden blonde strands roll across his fingers, the same shade as his sisters.

"You're blonde," I garble in confusion.

"Quite, the observation. Will this do?"

I resist the urge to grab his head and shake it free of the color until the original returns, the sight too alien for me to grasp totally. "How did you do this?"

"You recall the young merchant's apprentice you hired on to handle our supply needs?" Chrom asks me. I nod dumbly, the bargain made between Anna, Donnel, and I fresh in my mind. "The young man carries many enchantments. Fascinating relics he carries. This is a potent coloring solution that can dye anything so long as it remains free of water and soap. The store of shades he had was astounding."

The merchant wagon is hiding treasures like that? I need to talk to Donnel when we get back. Better yet, I need to talk with Anna whenever she rolls back in from her little journey. Where did that woman go? She's been gone forever. I hope nothing bad happened to her...

"I guess this works," I say, a bit apprehensive over the change. "With the new hair color, it really is hard to tell it's you under all of...that," I add, gesturing around his face.

Chrom grabs at his face, running a thumb over the lower curve of his chin. He peers at his reflection in a nearby barrel of water, trying to discern my hesitations. "Hm? What do you mean?"

My face appears over his shoulder in the water. I slap both hand lightly against his cheeks, feeling the rough bristles of facial hair against my skin. The ripples in the water distort my disgusted face into something even more hideous. "It looks like something crawled on your face and died there."

"This?" Chrom reels back, mildly offended by my critique. "What's wrong with a beard. I though it was growing in nicely."

"You look three whiskers away from turning into a crazy hermit from the woods."

"Beg pardon, good lady, but a war campaign offers little time for personal grooming. For example," he counters, "when was the last time you groomed your hair?"

I jab him once in the chest. "I was lost in the woods for two months!"

"Before that, even?"

Well...I have no excuse for that. I was growing it out for reasons. I pull at the end of the ponytail just behind the base of my neck. "What's wrong with my hair? You don't like it? Does it look bad?"

Now it's my turn to panic. I untie the cord around it and fluff out the dark strands around my shoulders. Oh my fuck! Look at those split ends! I look like a goblin queen.

"I knew growing it out was bad advice, it just never looks good. Not like Sumia or Cordelia. Just not thick enough to pull off," I argue with myself. "Stupid to even try!"

"N -no. I didn't mean it like that," Chrom says beside me, though his continued protests are but a small whisper in my disgruntled state.

I start preening the ends, trying to work out some of the worse knots gathered together. "Grow your hair out, Cordelia said. It'll make you look prettier, she said," I hiss between my teeth. "It looks like birds decided to nest in it."

"Robin- "

"Is it really that bad?" I turn to him, desperate for his honesty.

"You should be who you want to be," he mouths out carefully, as bland an answer as anyone who fears instant retribution could answer.

I huff, gathering my hair up as tight as I can to wind it back up again. Honestly, I have no idea what even set off that little frenzy.

"We're getting off topic," Chrom murmurs, staring off to the side.

"Yeah, we are," I utter in defeat. Finishing with the cord, I stalk off for the far wall. I grab a bag off the wall and sling it over my shoulder, the salty tang of jerky inside for a special wyvern filling my nose. "C'mon."

Chrom's footsteps are a brisk crunch of hay and soil as they work to catch up with my fast retreat.

"These Plegians you mentioned, you've known them two weeks. Must you seek them out?" he whispers between us.

"If I'm being honest, I've grown fond of a few them. One of them even...friendly-ish."

"Friendly...ish?" Chrom repeats after me, unsure how to interpret that.

I ignore him and keep walking. The plank walkways are empty at this time of day, most of the residents having gone off to their assigned duties. I pass a few souls, noting they appear no less different than Tharja and the others when I saw them eating and socializing the other day. How long have these people interacted with each without knowing the truth. Plegians and Ylisseans have be cohabiting here for an unknown amount of time, and nothing has imploded. Only when they kick up old prejudices do the problems start.

"They're not bad people. Hells, they aren't any different from me or you," I find myself musing aloud. "Even the hatred looks the same. Only the target is different."

"Don't answer that, by the way. It was just an observation," I add quickly, seeing my companion ready to start a whole new round of banter. I just don't have it in me to argue social commentary anymore.

"Fine. I'd rather talk of something else while we're here," Chrom answers.

"That being?"

Chrom falls in close with me, our shoulders brushing occasionally in the close proximity as we walk. "In terms of dealing with Thibault, I want you to join us in Court during the operation."

"That's a terrible idea."

"Robin," he implores, his tone suddenly going sincere, "I need you with me."

Aaaaand cue the return of hyperventilation. I trip over my toe mid-step, grabbing his arm to prevent myself from falling over. Chrom catches me at he hip and uses his strength to hold me up until I get find my balance. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, no problem." Realizing how attached we are, I take a large step back, busying myself with adjusting the bag on my back. Fluffing out my bangs, I try prevent my voice from cracking as I ask, "What was that you were saying?"

"I..." Chrom doesn't seem entirely convinced I'm back to normal, but withholds any further offers to help when I wave him away. "I was going to explain that your map is going to be integral in timing when we can move to the second phase of the plans. I'm going to need you with me to keep an eye on the Count's movements."

The map.

He needs me for the map.

…...

Right.

I pull out the corner of my coat that has gone askew and beckon him on. If I have to go to Court, that means I have to be fancy. And to be fancy, one must look the part. I narrow my guess, speaking with absolute disdain over the idea. "I have to dress up?"

"One would assume."

I throw my head back and lament. "Naga kill me, please."

Chrom and I part as a young child runs past us with a lassoed pig in tow. Two older children run around us carrying chickens in their arms. Their bubbly giggles dance through the air and linger even as they disappear around the corner of a house.

Chrom laughs softly to himself before returning to our conversation. "I offer my first order and you're already bemoaning your duties?"

I feel goosebumps rise over my arms, making me itch in disgust. Just the thought of all the pomp and theatrics makes me want to break out in hives. All that fake commentary and gossip leading into a game of who can back stab their same friend the fastest is just...Bah!

"I despise everything that has to do with the Court. The feeling is mutual. They hate me, just as much as I do them," I spit out in contempt.

"On the contrary," he tells me, "you are a popular figure in the younger circles. You defy expectation and tradition, something the newest generations are hoping to break out of. If you gave socialization a try, you would be surprised who would readily speak with you."

"Like Lord Penn?" I'm rewarded with a clear blanch. Word through the grapevine is that Emmeryn had to dole out some heavy favors to appease that man's blustering ego. The people of the harbor region can thank me for the next trade festival taking place in his home district. "So half the Court hates me. Still not liking the odds."

"Robin, please. Countless lives could be at stake, including Emm's." Chrom side-steps around me and plants himself as an obstacle in my path. He presents a closed fist to me, a dorky little smile lighting up his face with hope. "I need my old partner at my back for this."

I feel my resolve start to crumble. My mouth quivers, the deeply set frown starting to slip. I hate when he pulls this crap. All it takes it one look and I'm sacrificing my good name to keep him happy. I mean, it's the same both ways. He'd be there as readily if I needed him. I just don't ask as much of him as he does me given he's the actual one in charge.

I sigh in disgust with myself, bumping his fist with my own. "You know I hate this. Just so we're clear."

"Noted," he beams.

There is a comfortable silence for the rest of the walk. Things feel right with me again, like I've slipped back into a familiar pair of old boots. It's the first time I've felt such peace in a long time, barring the moments when I catch him throwing subtle side-glances in my direction. Yes Chrom, I'm still here.

The training grounds come into view, filled with the animated bodies of warriors sparring for their betterment. The holding pens for wyverns are empty today, save for the usual. Needle's head perks up from his feeding trough, nostrils flaring on the breeze. He snuffles two times before letting a gurgle that strings into a high-pitched reptilian whine. Needle scampers over (if a wyvern is possible of doing such) and hangs his head over the guard railing's edge. His scales shine brilliantly in the sun and he stretches out to meet me. I hoist the bag off my back and let it fall to my feet in a cloud of dust. Undoing the drawstrings, I reach in and hoist out a prime cut of preserved meat for him.

I juggle the piece between both hands, taunting him. Needle's head bobs left and right, following the movements with perfect rhythm. Putting him out of his misery, I throw the meat up into the air. Needle snatches it out and tears it apart in seconds with the rows of sharp teeth he carries. Curious for more, the creature lowers his head and nuzzles up to my side, throwing the tip of his snout into the bag. I run my fingers over his scales, the heat of the sun having warmed them to a pleasant temperature.

"Needle! Buddy! How's my favorite wyvern?" I greet him. His body vibrates with the low frequency growling he emits, much like a cat's purr.

"How in the world... That's a wyvern. You're hand feeding it," I hear Chrom utter in amazement.

Chrom takes small steps forward, freezing every few to ensure it still remains safe. Even when he gets close, he still remains behind me. I feel his grip on the back of my coat, a light bunching of the fabric he can pull back on if he needs to yank me out of harm's way, though that's not going to happen.

"He's actually a big softy," I coo in adoration. Pegasi may hate me, but I've definitely hit it off with wyverns. I help him pull out another treat that remains stuck in the canvas at my feet. He swallows the piece whole and raises his snout to nudge me for more. Instead, I move aside so he can see Chrom more clearly. "Say hello to my friend, Needle."

The skin around Needle's mouth rises. The low trebles under his skin rise in accordance with the spike in animosity he exhibits. A sharp hiss of air continues to race between his teeth, clicks of warning echoing across the training grounds. Needle rears back, his pupils splitting open wide in alarm.

Chrom drags me back behind him, never taking his eyes off the wyvern. "He doesn't seem to care for me."

"He only likes cute things," a familiar voice calls out behind us.

I snort in amusement and hail to the newcomer. "Tharja! Always with a compliment."

Tharja glides up to me, a look of pleasant surprise brightening her usually dour features. She immediately begins straightening her clothes, the act pulling the neckline of her training tunic down low enough to frame a better view of her assets. She sidles up to the fence line and lounges against it, pulling back the edges of her cloak to show off more of her curves. Subtle as a brick, Tharja.

"I'm surprised you came back," she purrs, "but not upset in the least."

I pick up another snack for Needle and hurl it over the barricade and into his pen. "As if one bar fight could scare me off."

"Bar fight?" Chrom whispers to me in confusion.

"I'll tell you later," I say back to him. The exchange doesn't go unnoticed.

"Is this a friend of yours?" Tharja is looking at Chrom like it's the first time she's noticed him. She appraises him from top to bottom, then back up again. A hand falls to her side and clenches at one of the pouches at her belt.

"I, ah, yes. It is a pleasure to meet you," he stumbles over his introduction. I see him start to fall into a formal bow, and I slam my heel on his boot to stop him from doing so.

I back up into him and shoot him a private glare before throwing on a smile. "This is Hector! He's a very dear friend and fellow traveler. We were separated while traveling a few months ago when Risen ambushed us. I ended up in Arcos, he in Burridge."

"Is that so?" Tharja manages to fish out the thing in her pocket, producing a large, clear stone. She lays her palm open and flat to the ground. The middle of it glows with a dim, white light.

"That looks like magic to me," I say, pointing out the obvious to her.

"Mhm," she replies. Tharja steps closer to us, raising and lower the stone based on how strongly the light shines. It's dim glow begins to burn brighter the closer she gets to us. Circling around us, Tharja finally draws it in to my face. Not what she was looking for, she pulls it closer to Chrom. Touching it to his shoulder, the stone flares to life, completely filling the stone with a colorless warmth.

"Tharja, explanation please."

The woman wrinkles her nose, peering over Chrom's face. "I told you that I know people. I got a scrying stone. I thought it would help you find that important person you were looking for."

Got a scrying stone, my ass. I'm aware you can use dark magic. This is her own stone.

"Oh, that's, uh, that's actually really sweet of you," I find myself saying, despite the critical look she continues to give Chrom. "Thank you."

"It's working already," she tells me, disappointment dripping over the admission. "I suppose you found him then. And here I planned such a big surprise."

I feel a tug at my sleeve, and Chrom whispers to me from behind. "Important person?"

"I know! It's a funny thing, let me tell you," I forcefully laugh, convincing no one but myself. I break away from him in a quick retreat and back up toward Needle's pen. "Yeah, imagine that! I guess Asche's divining did the trick. Found him right where I was told to. Imagine all these months apart and we finally find each other. A miracle!"

"I told you, divining can't exist. Whatever you had done was scrying and black magic." Tharja pauses and rubs a thumb over her cheek. "Who's Asche?"

"The diviner I was with the other day? Who you met before we went to Anchor's Down?" The harder Tharja tries to remember, the more her eyes sort of glaze over. Oh, the curse. Right. "Never mind."

I hear a whistle. Far past us toward one of the sparing rings, a few of the friendlier members of Vasto's soldiers wave. One of them hollers something, but I can't understand it from where I stand, so I just wave back. When I come back around, I find Tharja grilling my poor captain with questions.

"How did you get in? It's near impossible to get past the gates unless you're nobility." Her sharp eyes bore holes into him, scrutinizing every part of his body.

"Bribery," he answers simply, a point of his fabricated backstory we made up on the way here. "The roads are crawling with dangers. I was desperate for safety and did what I had to at the gates."

"At least you're honest," she huffs. Glancing at his simple attire, Tharja emits a dark chuckle. "I can't imagine you have much money left after those fools at the gate were done with you."

"I did notice a large amount of nobles coming in," Chrom comments, deflecting the questions away from him and back to her. "Is something going on?"

"The Count has a ball coming up. Aaaaall the precious nobles of the land are gathering in their shiny carriages to gorge on food and sweet talk each other," Tharja answers with a sting Chrom notices, and reacts poorly too.

"Is that where everyone is? The grounds do look a bit more empty than usual," I make note of the full racks of training weapons and open spaces around. "Are they on guard duty?"

"Yes," she answers.

Good. That means the schedules Xian'li got me are valid. Security was due to increase tenfold the night before, with more units deploying on set eight-hour shifts.

"The fancy nobles, rich foods, all the alcohol you drink...What a party!" I croon, a complete opposite to my earlier admission to Chrom. The change in personality causes him to look at me funny. I rib Tharja playfully and wink as if she were my co-conspirator. "Can you get us in?"

"Alright," she says.

"Kidding! Of course I would never endan- " I fumble over my words and stare at her. "Wait, what?"

"I know one of the cooks. With a little persuading, I can get you in through the kitchens." Tharja leans in and curls the left drawstring of my coat's hood around her finger. She twirls it until it tightens and crooks her finger forward so it pulls me a bit closer to her. "I'm a wonderful dancer," she croons.

"Uh," my voice catches, eyes darting between her and Chrom.

"Oh. I guess he can come too," she smirks, eyes never leaving me.

"Right then," I hear Chrom say. He cuts in between Tharja and I, batting away her hand. He carries himself with an air of respect, but the hard edge of his question is not missed. "Is this the friend you mentioned before, Robin?"

All I can manage to do is choke out a strangled laugh, though it's more like a wheeze. Chrom's grip on my arm tightens, clear disapproval in the definition of 'friend' I used earlier to describe her.

"You mentioned me already to your companion? Only good things, I hope." I can tell Tharja is reveling in the moment. She knows she's fanning the flames of something, and every second that passes amuses her more.

"Tharja, what are you doing?" Someone hollers at us. Needle perks up from his pen and gives the running man his attention, meaning it could be only one person. Vasto stalks over to his wayward mage and throws his hand out over the grounds. "I said run a lap, not take a nap. How many..." Vasto's eyes widen when he seems me over her shoulder, and the storm cloud over his head grows. "Ah, shit."

" 'ey, why we stoppin'?"

Two more figures jog up behind him. Serrin and Art take a break from their run, panting heavily under the sun's rays. Art takes a moment to pull his shirt away and air out his clothes, sweat staining the front of his light colored tunic. Serrin is a bit more observant. She nearly chokes on the water skin she sips from, wiping away water dribbles out of her mouth as she sputters.

"Hey, lookit who it is! Ol' Canada! Get by without a scrape?"

Art looks up, flushed from exercise but free of any cuts I saw on him from the other day. "Criminy, so it is! Our resident wanderer graces us with her presence!"

Serrin caps her skin and socks me hard on the shoulder in greeting. "That fight sure was somethin'! Where'd ya learn to scale shelves like that?"

"Oh, you know! Street tricks," I laugh.

I can feel Chrom shift in unease at the four people now surrounding us. My familiarity with them tells him these are the Plegians I have been speaking with. Now outnumbered, he's doing his best to remain inconspicuous. He mouths out something about climbing shelves and glares, causing me to shrug. I am going to have a lot to explain later.

"What are you doing here," Vasto growls, "besides wasting our time, as usual. I thought I told you to bugger off."

"Captain, you wound me," I lay on charm extra thick to get a rise out of him, swooning about with a broken heart. "How could you possibly think I could stay away from the heroes who saved me in my darkest hour?"

"A man can dream," he grumbles. Vasto turns, nearly tripping over my bag. He kicks it out of aggression, causing it to slump over. The meat I had inside rolls out, earning another whine from the wyvern beyond us. Vasto stares at Needle's imploring eyes, down to the bag, and curses out loud. He picks up the canvas sack and throws it in my arms. "Didn't I tell you to stop that. The dumb brute's already overweight."

Needle's head strikes out fast, slithering behind Serrin and Art, which earns a shriek out of the former. The wyvern's jaw nips at his rider's bum, teeth clacking together in resistance. Everyone there recoils from the wyvern's action from fear of their aggressive nature, except for Vasto. He stares down the beast, the wyvern hissing low in the back of his throat. Unfettered, Vasto smacks the side of Needle's nose causing the beast to reel back and sneeze.

"You heard me, Needle! Your girth is like that of a whale's. You won't be able to fly with your gut hanging to the ground."

"Be nice to the poor thing. He deserves to get spoiled once and a while," I say, defending Needle's appetite.

"Trust me, Canada. The Cap'n spoils the brute plenty. Even knitted the wyvern a custom warmin' blanket for the colder evenin's," Art says, sending the couple into peals of laughter.

"Fuck's sake, Art. It's a saddle blanket!" Vasto argues in a desperate bid to save his reputation. Too late, we all know he's no where near the stoic he wants to be.

"Why aren't you all running like I ordered?" He yells pointing to each individual present. When his counting brings him to the only unknown face here, Vasto draws himself up to full height. "Who's this?"

I take a breath, readying my speech. "This is -"

"Don't know, don't care," Vasto says in disinterest, waving me off. "Take your friend and get outta here. This ain't a roadside fair. You can't just – Needle! Knock is off!"

Vasto continues to roar at the disobedience of his flying companion as the wyvern nips the corner of my bag and gently pulls it from my grasp. He carries the treats with him back to the center of his pen and drops it in the dirt. His rider leaps up on the second wood beam running along the pen and holler orders at the wyvern to leave the bag alone. Curling his body around it, Needle draws a wing over his body to block out Vasto's yelling.

"Sorry 'bout the Cap'n. Been a bit stressed with all the activity goin' on. Lots of new orders out 'n about," Serrin explains. "And with Rosemere's outta business for now, we've got no place to drink it off."

"Eh, I'll take it. The fight was worth the bonus we got. All that extra money's gonna do well in buildn' that extension on little Oro's future room," her husband nods.

Serrin pouts, the freckles on her nose standing out extra bright from the outdoor light. "We ain't namin' the babe after yer dead uncle. Blasted unlucky is what it is. You wanna curse the poor thing 'fore it even has a chance?"

"It's not unlucky. 's an honor! Little 'un will have a guardian spirit watchin' over 'im."

"Oh yeah," Serrin says, butting heads with him, "An' what if the wee one turns out to be a girl?"

"They'll will call her Oro...na," Art declares triumphantly.

"Oi! I married a dolt," the woman says throwing up her hands. She ignores him, returning to me. "Whatever it be, I can at least offer ya some thanks, Canada."

I look at her in surprise. "Why me?"

"Well, the bonus is all thanks to ya. That help with capturin' Errod cut us a sweet deal with the big 'uns up top."

Chrom pales in the face, the name drawing some recognition from him. He keeps quiet, but I can see hearing such a thing is causing him some distress.

"Robin helped more than anyone that night. She should be properly thanked," Tharja murmurs, her first words in a long while.

"You muddled in our affairs is what ya accomplished," Vasto yells back at me. He has one leg over the fence post and is climbing down the other side, ready to fight his wyvern over the treats. Good luck, Vasto, cause you'll need it.

"Don't be like that, Cap'n! Ol's Canada did us right," Art says in my favor. He pats me on the back, gesturing to some tables set up in the far corner. "Should come by 'n celebrate with us tonight! We wouldn't 'ave this bonus without yer help. The usual place won't be fixed up 'til next week, so we're drinkin' the slog right outta a brewer's back door. We can teach ya knuckle bones, an' we can learn some stuff from ya."

"Rosemere's is getting fixed up? She had no money, last I heard. I thought she was closed permanently." I remember hearing about the status of her inn while in town yesterday morning. The alley to her building was closed off by the guard, and some locals were gossiping about how broke she was. That she might have to close for good.

Art raises his hand and whispers loudly behind it. "Somebody went 'n made an anonymous donation to the ol' biddy's doorstep."

"A right softy, I bet," Serrin snickers.

Feeling several sets of eyes on his back, Vasto's shoulders hunch together. He peers back, sneering. "Why in the seven hells are you looking at me?"

"As if we couldn't o' known who it was with that ugly hat on 'is head," Serrin laughs.

Vasto...paid for Rosemere's repairs? The damage caused to her dining room was massive. It would take more than a few gold pieces to fix the place. See this...this is why I can't find myself to look at these people with blind hate. Yes, Rosemere is not Ylissean, and I doubt Vasto would have done the same thing if she were, but the act alone offers a glimmer of hope. There's a decent soul deep in him, marred by the ugly stains of the past. If we could just find a way to get past those traumas and make both sides realize the past is not the present, or that broad stereotypes do not define a culture...

"So, Canada, you comin'?" Serrin asks me. "Didn't get to 'ear the handsome lads name behind ya, but he's welcome too."

"I," Chrom falters, surprised at the open invitation. He wasn't expecting hospitality from a Plegian, let alone one that involves drinking and gambling over a social atmosphere.

"We would love to, but," I hesitate to offer an excuse. The truth of it being much harder to speak out loud.

I can't, I might not see you again.

I won't, because the next time we meet we'll be enemies.

I don't want to get to know you any further because you'll probably be dead tomorrow.

My reluctance to answer causes the two to exchange a knowing look. A smug one, at that.

"Ah, we get it," Art says, winking at us. "Another night then."

"No! Gods, no. Nothing like that," I blurt out in rush. "I'm...I'm leaving Arcos."

"What?" Tharja jerks her head in my direction, all color draining from her face.

"Ah, leavin' the city, are ya? The call of the road too great?"

"Robin and I traveled together long before separating due to current events. I came into town yesterday," Chrom says, finding his voice after some time. "I traveled here with a caravan seeking shelter. Word is that the roads back east are clear thanks to all the traffic coming in from the capitol. It would be wise to go back east and sail around the continent to whichever port is open in the west."

"Yep, old travel companion," I lie, patting Chrom's arm with affection. "Thinking the Chon'sin dynasts might be a nice change of scenery. Free from the dead bodies walking, anyway. I've already gotten separated once from my companion, then lost more to the Risen around here. I'm rather done with Ylisse, for now."

"That's yer travel companion, ya mentioned?" Serrin greets him, taking in a bit too much of an eyeful for my tastes. "Nice to meet, ya. Robin says ya come from Een-gland."

"That's right," Chrom chuckles over the pronunciation of country he's never heard of before. No doubt he's going to ask about what other lies I used to build up my identity.

"No kiddin'. Chon'sin dynasts?" Art says, scratching his head in thought. "Think I remember me ma sayin' they have the best wine around."

"When you leavin'?" Serrin asks me.

"Soon," I say, ignoring the heavy weight it leaves on me in saying so. "That's why I came over. I didn't want you worrying about me if I didn't show up one morning. Can't have you thinking I was stabbed in an alley or something. I have to keep up my reputation."

"Probably best," Art scratches as his nose, looking around at Arcos' high walls. "Can't wait to get transferred from this stink hole meself."

"Throw one back with us 'fore you leave. A goodbye toast to the traveler 'n her good stories," Serrin tells me, a hint of sorry dampening her invitation.

The world goes dark as something flutters over my head. Clawing at the rough material, I rip the shreds of what was once my bag off my face. I shake it out and turn the bag around. The thing is basically useless, huge gouges made from Needle's claws ripping the canvas apart from top to bottom. A few strands of saliva hang from the tattered edges near the bottom.

"She ain't going anywhere just yet, so quit your gabbin' and get back to training!" Vasto orders as he stalks past me. Yep, he lost, just as I thought. "C'mon! Get going!"

Vasto pushes the husband and wife team along, berating them in his usual fashion. Given her chance, Tharja approaches me. Her fingers play at the edge of her sleeves, twisting them about. "You will tell us when you actually plan to leave, won't you?"

Before I can answer, Vasto barks out her name again. Tharja pulls her hood up over her face, glaring daggers at the man. She tries to linger, wishing to say something else, but Vasto ushers her along before we can saying anything more.

"You could have let her say good-bye," I glower at him.

"There's time for that when it's actually necessary. You aren't at the gates, yet." Despite his harsh tone, Vasto finds it hard to look at me. He shuffles a boot against the dirt, watching the pebbles roll away. "Didn't think you'd take my advice."

"It's not...That is..."

Vasto flicks his head to the side, his nose scrunching up in repressed emotion. "Good riddance, then. You've just been wasting our precious time. No wonder these idiots can't do shit when I ask 'em to. Distracted all the time with you going on about your free traveling ways." A low, heavy rumble causes the earth to shake beneath us. Needle has his head on the fence post, his metallic eyes smoldering a low light. His large tail whips back and forth in agitation. "Don't you look at me like that! Get back in your corner and eat some actual godsdamned food! Even the bloody wyvern is giving me shit over this..."

If wyverns and pegasi do share some sort of bond with their riders, and Needle is reacting to Vasto's own feelings, I can take a good hint at what is making the man before me extra ornery today. As much as we clash, even Vasto has grown on me. Seems the feeling is mutual, despite him not wanting to admit it.

"Hey, you. Whatever the hells your name is," Vasto says, addressing the only other person left with us.

Chrom looks up, one arm pushed through one of the holes in the torn sack I had dropped minutes earlier. He retracts his arms and hurls the stained material away, moving a bit further from the wyvern pens.

"Your friend here as a bad case of the bleedin' heart. She's got a hero complex to boot." Vasto roughly grabs my arm and pushes me forward into Chrom. "Don't let her outside of your sight again if you know what's good for both of you. Gonna get herself stabbed in a ditch somewhere tryin' to save an old lady whose money pouch was stolen."

"I don't plan to," Chrom affirms, the arm around mine drawing me in. "Ever again."

"Hey, you think I can't handle a pickpocket? That's low, Vasto," I tease the other man.

"Yeah, yeah. Get off of this hellhole of a continent while you can." Vasto lowers his head and shakes it out. When he raises it again, I nearly can't believe my eyes. The left corner of his mouth manages to crack from its firm line into something that could almost resemble a smile. "Stay alive out there, Canada. "

Vasto turns on his heel, offering one flick of his wrist in farewell. He then digs his hands into the pockets of his outer coat and shuffles off, his slumped posture giving him the look of a man carrying many burdens.

"You too," I whisper, though he's too far gone to hear me. Suddenly, I feel a little lonelier. My grasp on the front of Chrom's shirt tightens, the strange hollow feeling numbing me from the inside out.

"Are you alright?" he whispers to me.

"Not really," I admit, "but I have to be."

I was so desperate for companionship after spending two months away from the Shepherds. I let that desire cloud my judgment, and I clung to these people more desperately than I thought. I treated them nicely, trying to play to their sympathies in order to get them to open up. In reality, I was doing exactly for them what they were doing to me. These poor people were craving news of the outside. Stories and comfort to take away the harsh realities of their predicament. Robin the Traveler became a beacon to them, proof of what they could dream of doing outside of the scope of this damn war. No mad kings or fanatical racism. No places called Ylisse and Plegia always going at each other, every morning another tense wait for a new call to battle.

I wish I could give voice to my thoughts, but they burn too bitter on my tongue. Instead, I pull my coat a bit closer and turn in the direction of home. "I think I'd like to leave now."

"Of course." Chrom asks me no questions, content to let me be. He never demands anymore than he needs, just letting his presence be known in case I need it. I think...I think I'm glad it ended up being him who came along.

He follows me to Needle's pen, where I treat the wyvern to one more farewell rub. Despite what everyone is thinking, this is the last time I'll see them. As an ally, anyway. Needles runs his smooth scales under my hand, basking in the natural heat that my body produces. I close my eyes and memorize the sensation of his reptilian growls vibrating against my skin. This could be the only time a wyvern ever responds positively to me. I plan to savor the moment, remembering that even the most savage of creatures defy expectation and prove to be as cohabitable as any other beast.

"See you around, Needle. Keep that gruff rider of your alive. I think he could be one of the good ones," I tell him. However, the wyvern is already lumbering off, his attentions focused on the pile flora he uses as bedding.

"Wow, that was worse than I thought," I say out loud to myself, a miserable laugh bubbling up. I can see the question ready to slip out of Chrom, so I interrupt before he can, marching right past him. "No I don't want to talk about it. I'd rather we focus on a whole different topic all together."

"Right," comes his lame response behind me. I get a few steps further before he continues. "I have a question, of a more light-hearted topic if that will help get your mind off this."

"Depends. What is it?" I say, opening up the avenue for him to speak.

"What is with the strange name they were calling you? Ka-nah-dah?" Chrom mouths it out, testing the foreign word over his tongue. "Is that some sort of slang I'm unaware of?"

I pause just shy of the end of the barracks, turning around to face him. Chrom nearly stumbles over me at my quick stop, shifting off to the left to avoid colliding with me. I stare at him, so used to the name that it didn't even register they were calling me the usual nickname. "It's, uh well...," I take a heavy breath, a sliver of humor bringing back a bit of warmth to my body. Not exactly how I expected to drop this news on him, but whatever. "Canada is my home country."

"You're fake home country?" Chrom trails off slowly, unsure how serious I'm being.

"No, my real. I finally remembered where I came from." I visualize my driver's license, the small, black font printed in both English and French. Even now, the pang of nostalgia fills my heart with a soft warmth and fondness. "Black's Harbour is my hometown. It's located in New Brunswick, a province of the greater country of Canada."

"I...Robin that's wonderful," Chrom says, breathless over the revelation. "This...this is amazing. We finally have a place to search for!"

Chrom starts to blather on about maps or some such, but I sort of space out watching him talk. I just can't get over how he happy is over this. His elation is so pure, and the source of it stems from his excitement over my own happiness. He doesn't have to be, but he is. Warmth spreads through me, the feeling it causes this indescribable, euphoric state that leaves me dizzy in the best of ways. I've really been blessed to find a partner and friend like him.

"...is not a place I can recall on any map of Valm. Yet, there are many places our explorers have not yet touched. You must belong to one of those unknown corners," he rambles off. I hum in mindless agreement, causing him to actually focus again. I must look as silly as I feel, because he makes a perturbed face. "You are staring at me in a funny way. Am I rambling that badly?"

"No," I start to explain. I'm half-way through my next sentence when a dark figure over Chrom's shoulder starts waving in a maniac fashion for my attention. "I'm just glad to be able to finally share- Tharja?"

Chrom leans back, his features dressed up in confusion over what I just said. He sounds a bit insulted even. "You want to share who now?"

The peaceful little moment shatters. I grab Chrom and spin him around pointing to Tharja's cloaked form in the alley that runs between the city's walls and back of the barracks. "No! It's Tharja!"

The hooded woman melts out of the barrack's shadow. She peeks around the corner before totally emerging, staring hard at me. It's clear she wants me to join her. Alone.

"Oh my gods, Tharja," I hiss under my breath, wiping a hand down my face, "what now?"

"Your friend has an unfortunate habit of interrupting," Chrom notes, a heavy emphasis on 'friend' sounding less than favorable.

"Let me have a minute to find out what she wants."

"If you insist," he says, watching me leave. I feel his gaze remain on my back while I make a brisk walk for Tharja's hiding spot.

"You came alone. Good." Tharja moves swift as a wraith, catching me by the arm and dragging me back along the wall so we are out of sight. The woman looks over my shoulder then pulls her hood down around her shoulders. "I need to ask this of you before you leave."

"Aren't you supposed to be training?" I ask her, expecting Vasto to leap down from the roof any moment now with another tirade aimed at her lackluster attendance record.

The Plegian does not react to my comment, delving right into her question. "Are you certain this is what you're doing? There is no way you can stay here any longer?"

My brain scrambles to find a suitable answer. Beyond us, Chrom is resting with his back to the wall. He keep casting obvious glances our way, my concealed position far from his liking. His right arm is hooked over the base of the common sword he wears at his hip, the closest he can get to it without looking threatening. The expression Chrom wears is anything but calm, a worried frown the focal point of the discomfort his whole posture carries in seeing me dragged away by a known Plegian soldier. I hold up a hand for him and wave it left and right in a gesture meant to ease his mind. It doesn't help. I doubt I'm in danger, especially from Tharja. Though, that doesn't mean I'm nervous as to what she could be wanting to ask from me. I'm not sure what route this conversation is about to take, given her own desperate need for secrecy from her cohorts.

"I...yes Tharja. I am. I never meant to stay. It's by luck I found my old travel buddy. I really don't want to push it any further. Things aren't safe around here."

Tharja closes the space between us. She takes my right hand with both of her own and holds it clasped between us. "When you do leave, come find me."

"Tharja, of course I would-"

"Take me with you," she whispers to me, eyes deep and consuming. I sense a vulnerability in Tharja that she's never exhibited before. This is a genuine request born of desperation.

"I want out." She releases one hand and waves it over the training grounds behind us, only a sliver of it visible between a crease in separation between the barracks and mess hall next door. "I want away from all of this tomfoolery."

I blink in rapid succession, my brain trying to match my comprehension of her words. "You're going to desert your post? What about your fellow soldiers? Or, what about your family? You're all enlisted, right?"

Tharja drops my hand all together and turns toward the far-off bodies of her cohorts. She watches them spar over the grounds. For a moment, her features stiffen over a thought, then she shakes it away. "They can handle themselves."

I'm having a hard time knowing how to respond, myself torn part way between the elation of gaining her allegiance and securing Noire's future, while the other part is still grasping what she's wanting of me.

"T-this is kind of sudden," I stammer, holding my head from bowing under the heavy weight it has suddenly gained. "Tharja, I would think about this very carefully. I don't blame you if you want out of the fighting, but you can't do something so desperate it could incriminate you."

"Trust me, I know what I'm doing. I'm no simpleton. I would not be asking this if I wasn't confident in my abilities." Tharja presses herself into a crevasse of the wall to avoid being seeing by two soldiers who walk by to pick off some supplies from a crate nearby. She watches them pass before leaning her head around the corner. "Just think about it."

"Tharja, I'm not traveling alone." Beyond us, Chrom takes a step forward. He motions between us, but I repeat my earlier warning for him to stay back.

Tharja pulls the hood of her cloak back over her head, peering between us. She scrutinizes the way Chrom stands there and frowns. "I won't get in the way." The mage starts to walk back toward the grounds, but pauses before me. Casting one last glance at Chrom, I startle when her face dips in close to mine. My eyes widen, eyelids fluttering as my vision fills with the velvet depths of Tharja's dark irises. She looks up at me through her long eyelashes, a ghost of a smile teasing the tilt of her lips. An earthy, rich aroma envelops me, the coy play of her words both an invitation and a promise. "Maybe you'll come to like me better."

Tharja leaves me teetering on my heels, her perfume still wafting around my head as she slides away. Never has anyone came up to me like that before. My heart is still hammering, her sultry words short-circuiting my brain. She casts one look over her shoulder, the cat-like grin she flaunts evidence enough that she succeeded in getting her point across.

"Just friendly?"

I shriek in surprise and back up against the building beside me, hand pressing to my thudding heart. Chrom must have ignored my last motion because his swift strides have brought him within earshot. I can't help but wonder if Tharja's little display was not just for my benefit, but something else entirely.

Chrom plants him between myself and retreating the mage, blocking me from her view. "What did she say to you?"

"She wants to come with us," I wince, riding out the adrenaline high of my scare. "Tharja thinks I'm traveling the world, free to go wherever. Far away from here." I swallow. "She wants to get away from Plegia."

"That is admirable but we can't..." Chrom looks back for her, but Tharja has already disappeared. "We can't afford to be offering asylum in the midst of all this," he gestures around his head to the land around us. "At the risk of sounding callous, you said no, I hope?"

My brow furrows and I squint at the ground. "I didn't affirm anything to her. She just wants me to think about it."

"Yet, I can't help but think you would try to help her." He sighs. "As if Henry wasn't enough."

"In my defense, I told her I was with someone already." My blood runs hot just thinking about her parting words. "Though she assured me I would like her better."

Chrom's chews on the inside of his cheek, the unspoken words he harbors just begging to be let free. I shouldn't do it. Honestly. But the opportunity is just too good to ignore. I have to this terrible little demon inside of me that just cannot ignore the chance to rile him up with a good tease. Without even thinking about it, I clasp my hands behind my back lean forward, narrowing my eyes in suspicion at him.

"Why Captain!" my voice rings out in a sing-song taunt, "Are you worried the enemy may coerce me to her side with her feminine wiles?"

Chrom takes the jab surprisingly well, maintaining his sincerity when he is usually a blustering mess. "I will admit it is alarming knowing an enemy mage has become so enamored with you. It feels as if it were an elopement plot straight out of a folktale."

I can't help but laugh out loud. The very notion is absolutely ridiculous. I have to hold my arms over my stomach, doubled over in amusement. "Dear gods, Chrom! Do I look like someone who would fall for that kind of fancy?"

Chrom rests a hand on one hip, the other coming up to cover the lower half of his face that he's turned away from me. "I don't know, Robin. Everything seems to be going towards madness lately."

"Don't be like that. Of course you know what I would do," I say, wiping away the moisture building around my eyes with the back of my hand. Jeez, my stomach muscles hurt so bad! "As if I'd ever abandon the Shepherds for someone else."

As if I'd ever abandon you, I want to say.

"Was my two months scrambling through the woods to get back to the army not enough to prove that?" I close my eyes, listening to the steadying beat of my heart. It seems to only still like this whenever he's around. A foundation I can rely on while I fight the universe itself to preserve something that was never mine to begin with, but found and cherished nonetheless. "At the end of the day, the night, and every time thereafter, I will always choose your side."

He doesn't respond, much to my surprise. When I open my eyes again, I almost step back. Chrom's gaze is intense, their depths just swallowing up my image. Our reunion haunts him, the raw emotion still intense as he relieves a feeling I often find myself remembering as well. Unlike before, I can see the way his muscles tense around his jaw. There's no joy there now. Chrom looks lost, and he is searching for the answer in me. I can't say I can guess what thoughts burden him, nor what I could do to help.

Perplexed, I tilt my head to side and challenge his gaze with my own. Something drops in my gut, and I begin to worry. "Chrom?"

Chrom startles, the haze over his thoughts broken. "I..." His voice catches in his throat. He rubs a thumb over his neck, averting his gaze. Chrom starts to speak again, and freezes, clear confusion on his face. "I apologize, I just...got distracted is all."

I raise a brow. Distracted? By what, or by whom? The thought is a dizzying one, and I'm not sure I want to dwell on that right now. Emotions are running high, and it's best not to act too quick on anything. I don't know a thing going on in his head, and I'm not going to push it if he doesn't want to talk about it.

"We should return to the others. Your business is done here, right?" Chrom says quite suddenly, a bland response to everything I just said. He starts to retreat, walking briskly past me. I catch a quick view of his face as he rushes by. His features are screwed up in frustration, a hint of red at his ears. He looks ready to beat himself silly over something.

Good gravy, this man.

I look back at the training grounds one more time, the familiar outlines of the Plegians busy with their activities. My heart skips a beat. "Yeah, I'm done here," I whisper.

For now.

Several hours later, I regret ever agreeing to this stupid plan. Didn't I mention I hate fancy gatherings? Yeah, I hate them a lot, and my current situation is not endearing me to the cause any more.

It's amazing I'm even in this position, standing on a footstool as a seamstress flits about me attaching and detaching parts to adjust a costume for me in less than twenty-four hours. If this doesn't prove my dedication to the Shepherds, I don't know what can.

After gathering our affairs in order, we said our goodbyes to Vaike's family. It was a hard departure, especially for Vaike who was reunited with so little time. I'll forever be grateful for all the shelter they've given me, but our job isn't over yet. We smuggled ourselves out of Arcos only to reunite with Emmeryn's incoming caravan and formerly introduce ourselves back in. My return was kept a secret for now to prevent any unnecessary attention drawing to the Shepherds. As far as the nobility know, only the elite are among her numbers. Those like Ricken and Cordelia are bidden to come due to their station. Nowi and Nah are also here as honorary guests, though not by Emmeryn's own choosing. The nobility are just foaming at the mouth to get a word in with the two dragons, nearly demanding Emmeryn present them at Court to share their divine presence. It's far from reverence they offer, but the desire for some misguided taste to luck or fortune based on nonsense superstition.

Of the Shepherds not in attendance, they have secreted themselves into the city under the guise of Emmeryn's guard. As general, Eldaran is required to be here one day before returning to the front, just for keeping appearances. It's the dumbest thing I've ever heard, but a proper social decorum must be upheld. The "elite guardsman" he is bringing with him are just the other Shepherds in disguise, and they'll be hanging out in the keep's local barracks with some of his best warriors. They'll be with Emmeryn's escort, two mixed infantry units in total. This is all Thibault knows is coming.

What he is not aware of is that a second larger entourage is on the way. Eldaran and Chrom had plans to use them in their initial arrest of the nobility they considered threats to the crown. It would have been an ideal amount of bodies in their eyes given their ignorance to the Plegian threat. As such, we're woefully outnumbered. Even if the remaining loyal Ylissean forces stationed in Arcos would join us in battle, our people would still be outnumbered two to one.

We did send a message for further reinforcements to a local garrison stationed at Fort Mycen a day to the east, but Eldaran predicted their fastest pegasi wouldn't reach us until late night tomorrow or the early morning of the next. Xian'li's assistant hasn't returned to us from the keep either, leaving us no information on the specifics of the Count's plan. All we know is that he is set to do something during the ball, and it will probably target the noble populace, if not Emmeryn herself. As the Shepherds were created for specialized missions like this, it will be up to us to infiltrate and investigate before the night is over. Sully gives us a unique advantage in sharing blood with Thibault. She spent time in these halls and knows many of the faces here. Xian'li has also given us a spare set of master keys that unlock the castle doors. It's better than nothing.

As part of the masquerade squad, it's expected of me to blend with everyone else. This leaves me as I am now, sulking as this woman does her best to alter a spare costume fished out of one of the keep's closets. The ball is still a day away and the Count has settled our people in the guest mansion right outside his keep, further preventing us from scouting out his mansion or meeting Xian'li in person. With little time to spare, my brief reunion with the Shepherds was cut short as Maribelle whisked me away to prep my disguise for the night. Still, it was good to see my friends. Seeing their tears and smiles were more than I could have hoped for.

The two, or is it three, hours I've spent with Maribelle's personal fashion guru have been as grueling as any of Frederick's training days. I've balanced in so many different poses for her I could be a master at yoga. Just when I think she may be done, the crazy woman rips at the seams and undoes all her work to start over. She's been working on my left sleeve most of our time together.

My arm is going numb and I shake it just to try and feel the blood again. In doing so, the seamstress's needle gets a quick nip against my skin, causing me to flinch and draw my arm, hanging sleeve and all away from her. I cradle in against me, glaring at her. "Watch it."

The gray-haired matron spits out the dressing pin in her mouth and repositions my arm. She jerks her needle through the new tear I formed along the shoulder line, the material pulling tight against me. "I am trying, m'lady. I have asked you to please hold still. It will eliminate the incidents from happening."

"I have been holding still. For two hours! My arms aren't made to stretch out that long," I whine, wishing so desperately I could throw myself on the floor and crawl away. "I feel like a rejected scarecrow."

"Patience, m'lady. The final product shall be worth it."

Will it? I look down at the mostly assembled costume I was given. I'm not sure if it was irony or providence, but the costume Xian'li was able to donate was the only one he could find. Mask and all, the costume was clearly tailored to resemble a dragon. I almost burst out laughing seeing the garb spread out for me when I entered the room. This world sure has a funny way of things.

I made it very clear to the seamstress that dresses were not happening tonight, which killed her enthusiasm. Instead, she had to settle with a gender neutral ensemble. She discarded the skirt and train that came with the costume and scrounged together several other rogue pieces for a more fitting look. I'm no fashion expert, but even I have to admit it looks bad ass.

The salvaged waistcoat is midnight black. Actual wyvern scales (small ones belonging to a distant cousin of the Archanean one according to the seamstress) are stitched to the top layer of the coat. The charcoal colored scales begin at the edge of the coat's raised collar, run over the shoulder, and trail down each arm. The sleeves end in a flair, exposing the fluffed out sleeve edges of the gold under tunic I wear beneath. Several more rows run along the upper half of the torso to cover the chest and lower mid region, before tapering away over the stomach line. The back is of cloth only, though the mark of the Exalt is stitched into its center, a stylized dragon, probably of the divine clan, encircling the emblem. The same gold trim runs along the hem of the coat, the edges tailored to fan out around my legs almost like a skirt. It makes movement easy, something I'll be needing if things go south.

The seamstress couples the costume with a pair of tight britches that match the high collared under tunic I wear. They fit comfortably beneath the black colored knee-length boots I pick out, practicality winning over the smaller heeled shoes the seamstress offered. I have few accessories to go with: a shimmering sash woven through the belt loops that holds up my sword and a hooded cape that attaches at several points on the arms to give me the illusion of wings.

Then there is the mask. The piece is carved from Dohlrian pitchwood, a scorched black bark that retained its strength despite perishing under the poisons Grima's blood unleashed when it hit the soil over Plegia. Despite its apparent age, the woodwork is of master craft quality. From the numerous scales all draw to be individually unique, to the spiraling horns drawing out the sides and above the forehead, there is no denying that an expert eye went into creating a realistic interpretation of a dragon's face. The triangular shape dips over the uppers planes of my cheeks and over my nose as it would a dragon's long snout. It's nice to have my lower face and chin free to both speak and breath. The gold and silver paint that outlines the shape of the dragon has chipped away with age, but retains enough of its image to create an eye-catching profile.

Again, I'm not saying I like the masquerade...but I'm going to look awesome.

The seamstress finishes addressing the new rip and moves to a new project, her motions always in flux. She kneels down at my feet and grabs the right-side hem of the coat. The thread has become thin and separated there, curling the loose halves apart."I will have this together by tomorrow's affair, I swear. There has never been a project I have failed to complete by the deadline."

"I don't doubt it," I drawl, my bored look drawn out the window.

I hear the door behind us open and close again, the voices beyond it sounding feminine. If this is Maribelle returning for the tenth time to appraise my outfit, I will throw the closest pin cushion at her. Instead, a gaggle of young women enter from Emmeryn's personal guard. They chatter in excitement over their formal wear and how they plan to do their hair. Despite knowing we walk a fine line tomorrow night, those fears do not dampen their spirits. I guess it's still a ball. They plan to have some fun with it in the time they have.

I start to lose balance and feel my foot slide off the side of the stool. This causes the seamstress to strike me again with the needle, earning a harsh quip from her. I slam my foot back into place, but the biting comment I make slips out. Unable to take it back, we start to bicker with each other. It prevents me from noticing the newly arrived group disappearing into the rooms beyond, or the two that remain. I see the duo from the corner of my eye. They approach the chair where my mask lays, the shorter woman picking it up.

"A dragon? That's a daring move. Some may find it bold, others disrespectful. What do you think, Em?"

"So long as it is not Naga herself, I take no offense."

The seamstress and I both react like we've been stung by a swarm of bees. She scrambles off her knees and gathers up her skirts in a deep curtsy. "Your Grace! Most honored Lady Joyce!"

Oh God, I didn't expect to see Emmeryn yet. I thought she was busy with the Exalt-y things. Maribelle said her costume needs no work, having been reused from an event two years in the past. Why is she here? She didn't come looking for me, right?

She's going to roast me, isn't she?

I do my best to greet them, my ugly attempt at something between a bow and curtsy caught up in the hanging bits of my suit. "I promise, it's not Naga. Colors all wrong. Besides, I'm not stepping on the toes of any divine ancestors anytime soon. Not with tomorrow hanging over us."

Joyce hands the mask over to Emmeryn, who turns it over in her hands and runs the tips over the finer details of its carved surface. I can't quite place it, but something looks different about Joyce. It's something subtle, yet still reaches out to me in an obvious way. Maybe it's just her expression. She looks oddly at peace, given the night we're heading into. Maybe it just that she's in civilian clothes as opposed to her usual guard uniform I see her in. It's an odd thing if she's supposed to be protecting Emmeryn right now. I don't even see a weapon on her.

Joyce notices my staring and giggles. "I hope you don't mind our intrusion. Emmeryn is helping me make sure my costume came from the capitol with all its pieces."

"Are you the attending the ball out of uniform, Lady Joyce?" I ask her.

Joyce wraps her arms around her belly and puts on a mock pout. "Not by choice, though that should be obvious given the circumstances."

"Were you wounded in the last battle?"

Emmeryn sets the mask back down. "I do not think you would have been briefed as to our good news, given how recently you returned. You see, my cousin is found to be with child. Our family grows to the first of a new generation."

"O-oh, wow! Holy mackerel puffs! Congratulations!" I warble out, stumbling over my tongue. Is that what Joyce has about her? The glow of motherhood? Finally, some good news in this crap-tastic war!

Joyce bows her head in thanks, rubbing a hand over the space of her lower abdomen. "I'll thank you for that, eventually. Right now, the little gnat is giving me the worst nausea spats. Who would have thought I could feel lightheaded over fresh mint?"

The seamstress, ignored up until this point, drops another curtsy and eyes the far door. "Do you require privacy, you Grace? Space, perhaps? I may leave if it so pleases you."

"I could certainly use you for something," Joyce brushes past me, whisking up the surprised woman by the arm and dragging her away. "I fear I may be in need of a drastic alteration to my dress. I think I'm growing a bit more top heavy. The seams on the back of the corset may need to be released and tightened to accommodate me. Blasted sensitivity to all this!"

"I'm sorry?" The poor woman sputters, though she offers no resistance in fighting back against her kidnapping.

"I'll leave you two to chat while we figure out if I have an emergency or not," Joyce calls back to us, disappearing into the rooms beyond. She throws me a wink. "It is heartening to see the heroine of Ylisstol back again among our ranks."

"I, uh, thanks," I answer back. Joyce's voice drifts further away, muffling behind the walls. I look down at my ensemble, the left sleeve still detached completely over the length of my still lifted arm. I'm a half-finished doll, abruptly abandoned by her master. Stuck in a partially finished garb and standing over a stool in T-pose, I must look like funniest thing to Emmeryn. I suspect as much because she is trying, and failing, to not smile when she looks at me. Ready for the break, I pull the cloth encasing my arm off and throw it over the back of a nearby chair. My two feet thump against the hard wood as I make my landing from my elevated position.

"Hero of Ylisstol. They still going on about that?" I mutter, shouldering off the one side of the jacket.

Emmeryn picks up the abandoned sleeve and rubs her thumb over the silken lower half. "It seems to be a mantle you have yet to grow into on a personal level."

"I don't like the attention." I pull my arm out of the good sleeve, turning the whole thing inside out. Dropping the garish piece on the floor like a dirty garbage bag, I throw myself against the plush couch behind me and sink into it. My arms flop useless at my side, the dull pain in them lessened against the support of the cushions. If this weren't Emmeryn, I would have kicked off my boots of as well, wiggling my toes to the wind.

"Yet, I am afraid you are receiving anything but that." Emmeryn places the article back, stepping over various bolts of cloth to pick up my jacket. She flushes it out before her, a glimmer of wind magic running through it. The material ruffles out and hangs over her arm, suddenly free of any wrinkles. "You saved my life in Merchant's Pass. That is a sacrifice worth honoring, Robin. The title is all but earned."

"You're the Exalt." I watch her fold up the jacket with an enviable precision I never could, then place it neatly on the stool for the seamstress to return to later. "More importantly, you're Chrom's sister. There's no way I'd let you get captured."

"I know you would not, given your sacrifice," she says, taking in the visible flinch I make. "It would be logical to chastise you for your reckless action, but I fear it would do little to change who you are. You two are close. 'Thick as thieves,' the old saying goes." Emmeryn pats the jacket down once, giving a little nod of pleasure over her handiwork. Satisfied, she joins me in the seating arrangement against the far wall. Emmeryn folds the back of her trailing cape beneath her so she sits more comfortable in the arm chair opposite me. "I doubt there is little in this world you wouldn't do to maintain his happiness."

"You would be correct," I say. The room grows quiet, filling with a tension I don't care for. I look down at my lap, fingers twisting against each other. Trying to redirect things in my favor, I attempt to liven up the mood, though the forced emotion is clear as day. "Who can be mad though? I'm fine. You're fine, which is more than wonderful! I got to see Libra, Panne, Henry, and..."

Frederick! I didn't see Frederick today in all this activity!

I look at her, eyes wide as I shout loud enough to make Emmeryn jump in her chair. "How is Frederick? I didn't see him at all! Is he okay? All in one piece? No one said he's injured."

The last memories I have of him are the relentless push he was creating against the Risen attacking Emmeryn's camp. His desire to protect us was overriding his own sense of safety, creating a reckless set of maneuvers that could easily have ended horribly for him if the right opening was exploited. His relentless persistence to become Emmeryn's shield is part of the reason I took my crazy dive to block her from the Risen. To protect his life, and his love.

Emmeryn presses her palms together and rests them against her lips. Her eyes close, all the tension in her cheeks relaxing. The Exalt's voice is a melodious giggle that rises softly from her lips. "Frederick is as he always was. Exhausted. Over-working. Stubborn." Her eyelids open, a mischievous twinkle lighting her irises to a sky blue. "He is most furious with you."

The rush of relief is liberating. I snap my fingers though the air, celebrating the moment. "Perfect! The world is back in balance." I shift in my position, leaning all my weight forward. I press my elbows to my knees and rest my chin over the bridge my hands create in coming together. The corner of my mouth lifts halfway into a grin. "As long you're happy, I have no regrets. The world needs more love stories. I want to see Frederick and yours go down in history as a favorite among all young hopefuls."

The Exalt sits up straight, drawing ankle over ankle. She tilts her head to the ceiling to mull over the idea. "That is a novel thought, isn't it? To be known as a famed tale spun of courtly love to inspire future generations. 'twould be quite the honor."

"That, or a sultry sonnet. Pick your flavor," I smirk.

This earns a light giggle from her, one she emits openly. I guess even the Exalt can appreciate a racy comment here or there. "I believe our privacy warrants little material for a tavern's jaunty tunes. For what little it is, at least we have that. You allowed us that blessing. For that, I am eternally grateful."

"I'm just relieved knowing that you two are, you know, together. Alive. For almost two months I had to endure the nightmare of guessing whether you, Frederick, or anyone else survived. I wondered if I had bought you the chance you needed." I cup my hands together and open them over my knees, imagining that I am cradling the fragile substance that makes up the hopes and dreams of those closest to me. "I don't know if anyone has told you this, but you deserve happiness, Emmeryn. More than anyone here. Don't be afraid to allow yourself that much."

Emmeryn presses lightly over the space of her heart, tilting her head to the side. "So says the woman who has sacrificed herself one too many times for those precious to her. Perhaps it would be wise to take your own advice to heart?"

I raise my hands in surrender and lay back, saying nothing more. Checkmate, Emmeryn. You got me good. Happy to let that part of the conversation die there, I wander my gaze over the colorful props littering the room. While happy to see her, a part of me wants to know her thoughts on the coming affairs. How does the Exalt feel about the nobles? Of Thibault?

"Are you looking forward to this madness? Catering to the nobility's sense of prestige?" The couch moves away from me as I lean out to the empty chair on our left. I hook my finger under the mask hanging crooked off the backrest. I pull it over my face, inhaling the scent of old cloth and dust. I hold out my hand and raise my voice an octave to a comedic mockery of the accent most Ylissean nobles carry. "Oh milord, your doublet is looking fine today. Never mind the politics of war! Tell me where you got such beautiful Chon'sin silk!" I change directions and bow forward to another imaginary figure. "Does Lady Foxworth care for the hors d'oeuvres? They only cost the rations of three soldiers on the front lines."

I remove the mask off and chuck it to the far side of the couch. My skin is already crawling, the moment of acting taking me too close to likes of the Court. Emmeryn smiles faintly, but doesn't react as positively as I would have liked. She instead rises and moves to the only window in the room. She pushes the shutters out from the inside, letting the soft pink rays of sunset inside. Tomorrow, at this time, we'll be heading down into the Count's personal abode.

"It is difficult to describe. There are politics that must be adhered to, Robin. I share no joy in leaving my soldiers to sit comfortably in this castle whilst they toil in foreign lands. Every sip of wine shall be as sand in my throat. Every bite of dinner dust upon my tongue."

"The nobility are seeking reassurance. Recompense." Her throat constricts, and she grips the edge of the window with tight knuckles. "Revenge."

"Revenge?" I scoff. I am getting sick of this word! "It's been years. What could they possibly want more of?"

"I doubt there are few alive today who do not bear some scar from my father's war. He conscripted all of healthy age to bear arms in our military, whether they could hold a sword or not. Many sons and daughters were lost then, fathers and mothers too."

"Just like Gangrel is doing now." I catch Emmeryn watching me with keen interest, a silent command to explain. I shift onto my knees and hang over the armrest of the chair, hands moving animate through the air. "The king of Plegia. He's conscripted anyone and everyone, even children. Throwing them against your army with a reckless abandon. Anyone who resists, dies. Anyone who deserts, their families die. It's like history in repeat, just reversed."

I stretch all the way until I lie prone against the cushion, my forehead cradled up against the firm back of the armrest. "They don't deserve this. Plegian or Ylissean."

"What choice do they have? When church and crown call upon them, there is nothing the common folk can do but respond." Emmeryn isn't arguing with me. She's stating a fact that feudalism has been following for generations unquestioned.

I groan, feeling helpless. "The masses are far more powerful than a few leaders perched on their thrones. There just has to be something to propel that courage to stand up and resist. Gangrel is one man. The Grimleal are just a few mages. Something or some event has to get them to react."

It took a drastic event to change the minds of the population in the game. It was Emmeryn's death which convinced them, her speech doing half the work. I refuse to let that happen, however. I mean, does it require an event like that to happen? Does someone have to die in order to inspire others? What would it take? Does it have to be that extreme? There have been plenty of revolutionaries who lead their people on without losing their life.

Somehow, it has to be done.

"It would need to be a powerful force of reasoning. The hearts of the people, filled with fear, are no easy ensemble to gather," the Exalt laments before me, and I agree.

Emmeryn already can get their attention with her speech and-

Wait. Waaaaait a minute! A reasoning? A powerful force?

What if...what I'm thinking about this wrong. What if it's not about the somehow? What if...

What if it's about the someone.

I slap my hands against the cushion and spring up. I scramble over the side of the couch, nearly tripping head first over the armrest in my attempts to stand. I knock over a side table taking large wobbling steps toward the Exalt. Emmeryn, alarmed, reaches out to steady me. Instead, I take hold of both her wrists and pull her closer.

"You can do it! You should give them a reason!" I yell in triumph.

"I?" Emmeryn is a perplexed mess, unsure how to answer my proclamation. "You are saying I should call upon the people of Plegia?"

"Yes!" I clap my hands together in excitement, feeling that I could have solved a major obstacle for us. Why didn't I think of this sooner? Why make Emmeryn a martyr, when she can be a living saint? History shows that she has the power to sway the people. Her sacrifice alone in the earliest cycles is evidence of that. If we can somehow repeat that, just though different means, then we can flip the war on Gangrel. The Plegian people eventually rebelled against Gangrel every cycle in some reaction to Emmeryn's death. But I'm thinking that it's the woman herself who changes their minds, not her actual death!

Gangrel can't fight with fear if we provide the people the strength to stand up. Those like Tharja who were conscripted to this life without a choice, or those who were forced to in fear of their family's lives, will leave! The last chapters of the Plegian war in the game said that the army fell apart in mass, the resentment and desire for peace destroying Plegia's forces and leaving only those loyal to Gangrel. I would even guess Validar withdrew his Grimleal to save face, that they could usurp the throne in the power vacuum that followed.

I just have to get her on board. Then we can figure out how to repeat history in a new fashion.

"Think about it! You're an inspiration, Emmeryn. A beacon of peace. A mouthpiece of hope for the new generations." I start ticking off all the reasons, one by one, off my hand. "You pulled back the armies in Plegia and ended the last war. In Ylisstol, you tried to engage Gangrel in peace talks despite his trickery. Up until now, you've been merciful to every prisoner of war we've captured. With a little more push, the people could be swayed. The Plegians are the same as your Ylisseans were a decade ago. A people pushed into an unwanted war by a ruler whose fanaticism blinded his sense of reason."

Emmeryn gently untangles herself from my grasp. "And how may I do that? I am struggling to maintain solidarity in my people alone. Such a sudden alliance with Regna Ferox, a country long deemed full of barbarians, has angered the nobility. The Church sends missive after missive reminding me it my duty as Naga's envoy to strike down all evils that cross my path, Plegians included."

She wants a plan, but I don't have one. I can't make one. This isn't my role to play. I'm not in charge and I sure don't have the charisma to pull off a rousing speech like Emmeryn can. It pains me to say it, but the truth is all I can offer her.

"I don't know." I try to keep the momentum going, even as I feel it dimming from Emmeryn's cold response. "That's something I'm hoping a woman like yourself can achieve."

"It is a common misconception that because I carry Naga's blessing, that I am akin to a deity myself." Emmeryn's soft footfalls carry her away from me. Her eyes close, fingertips pressing against the light-colored brand on her head. "In truth, I am mere flesh and blood. I cannot create miracles."

"Then orchestrate one." I follow after Emmeryn's retreat, arguing with enough conviction to overcome her self-doubt with my confidence in her. "You're an influential leader not because of Naga. Yes, you have some very neat magical powers. But the charisma? The unity? That's your gift. Plegia is looking for a leader. Someone to guide them out of the darkness that both the Grimleal and every Plegian king or queen has forced them into. You've brought peace to the Ylisseans. Now bring it to the Plegians. Then, show both countries how they can heal."

"We are fighting a war of numbers. Two evenly matched entities propelled by the strongest destructive emotions human beings can wield: Fear and Righteousness. Most Plegians, I believe, don't even follow the Grimleal religion as staunchly as Ylisseans follow their own. These are farmers and artisans conscripted by Gangrel and fighting for the fear that both he and the Grimleal hold over their families. The people want peace. If they feel protected from the wrath of Plegia's tyrannical leaders, they're bound to desert the war cause. The numbers fall and we gain the advantage. What is an army is the morale is gone?"

Emmeryn watches speak, her features firm with though. "Tell me Robin, is this an advisement from your professional role as a strategist? You speak as if you know this from experience," she asks me softly.

I sigh, casting a mournful glance out the window to the faint traces of the training ground I can make out at the city's outskirts. "I'm not sure how much your brother was able to relay to you in this short time, but I did reconnaissance while hiding out in Arcos. I met Plegians and...and befriended them. They, uh, thought I was a traveler stuck in town."

"He mentioned something of that nature," Emmeryn says. Her lack of response is an indication for me to further explain myself.

"Among them, I learned some things about the Plegians. They're grief was veiled in a disguise of loyalty. From what I've seen, they're angry, afraid, but they're not bloodthirsty. One of them was willing to desert if it would get her away from the Grimleal institution. She never had a choice joining them. She was indoctrinated from a young age. She's no monster. She wants freedom."

The confession drains a lot of emotion from me. My shoulders remain a tense line, arms held fast to my sides. I don't notice how tight my hands clench until the sharp edge of a nail breaks through the skin and draw a few beads of blood to the surface.

Emmeryn takes her two of her fingers and nestles them under my chin. She lifts gently, allowing our eyes to meet. "I think there is more to your plea than strategic appeal. I see it in your eyes."

"It's different when you come to see the other side of this war," I tell her. "Their stories are not so different from many here."

"Robin, you have the enviable ability to see past the hatred many suffer from. I often wished my own people would see in such a light, but that has yet to come to pass."

"I just remind myself that not everyone is the same. One bad apple can be removed so it doesn't spoil the rest," I laugh, the sound grim. "There are Ylisseans who do see that way, even if you don't believe so. I have the acquaintance of a woman from Southtown. One whom I met on my first day with the Shepherds. She lost her husband to Plegian raiders, but she had the courage to forgive and look past that. She asked I remember that we're all simply people trying to live our lives to the fullest, and that I fight not to end this war, but all future wars between Ylisse and Plegia."

"If she can do it, I can too. I've been...keeping that in mind when devising my plans."

Emmeryn wanders over to tapestry on the wall. The worn threads have faded from the sunlight of many days crossing over its navy surface. It shows a calm ocean hosting a grand silver sailing vessel, the deck full of faces waving to the crowd gathered below. Sailors walk up planks with supplies on their backs, numerous exotic goods bulging from the tops. Two figures stand at the center holding hands, a fur cloaked old Khan holding hands with a woman in the royal blue cape of the Exalt. A very fitting tapestry showing two different countries coming together and reaping the benefits from it.

The Exalt traces over the design of her ancestor. "Chrom did make note to me of the difference between your tactics and those of the Rosannese noble he instated during your absence. While possessing more steps to accomplish, your plans tend to reduce the loss of life on both sides. A fact he far prefers to that of your other companion."

Ah, Virion. I'm not surprised he replaced me as the brains of the operation. When playing against him in mock battles, Virion tends to win more than I because of his aggressive strategy. I never play our games as that though, treating each round as if the pawns were real. It helps me see my weaknesses when the stakes are higher. I didn't think our tactics were that noticeable in difference though. I take some heart in hearing that Chrom prefers my own however. That he is willing to preserve life only grows my confidence and loyalty toward him.

"I must say, whoever the woman is to influence your thoughts, she seems to be a wise woman. That is a noble thing to say, and shows strength of heart when her losses could propel her to believe otherwise," Emmeryn continues.

"Ginette always was more open-minded than her peers," I smile, remembering fondly on our correspondence. We've shared more letters since her first. She always reminds me to be the better person. If she's asking, how could I not?

"That name is...familiar." Emmeryn tilts her head side to side in thought. "There is an envoy of Duke Richard's lands in the South that carries that name. She would not be the same person, would she?"

My heart starts to race in excitement. "Yes. That's right!"

"She has been making quite the name for herself. We have her expertise to thank for the grain stores that supply our army. I believe her name is on the attendance list. This Ginette is accompanying the duke as his guest of honor for her efforts," Emmeryn says. "Perhaps I shall have a word with her."

"I would love to meet myself, but I'm not sure how much time I'll have given the mission and all." The thrill of reuniting and catching up with Ginette dampens under the reality of the evening. If it isn't enough to know I'll be performing a risky mission, Ginette being here puts her at risk of injury like any of the other innocent nobility. I wanted to see her again, but not like this.

"Yes, your mission." At that, something in her changes. Emmeryn looks to the open doorway behind us and beckons me to follow her to the furthest point in the room away from where any could hear. She lowers her face and her voice, a small conspiracy just between us. "Robin, a favor, if I may?"

Uh oh. Why are we getting all serious now? I swallow and nod, encouraging her to go on.

"During your absence, I noticed a change in my brother. Chrom did his duties as required of him. He continued acting as if nothing had changed." Emmeryn wrings her hands together, gazing away. "That in itself is the part that worried me most of all."

"It is as if...as if my brother was functioning solely on duty alone. There was a bleak, dull look in his eyes, as if there was nothing behind them. Chrom performed all the tasks required of him as a soldier and as a prince, but there was no passion behind it. He partook in no acts of emotion. He was, ah...how should I put it? A soulless servant? Yes, that would be right."

"That's...terrible." My heart drops. Her description fills me with a terrible emptiness, like my body has hollowed out. It saps my strength and my thoughts. It sounds a lot like me when my mother passed. I barely remember the days, my body simply going through the motions at bare minimum to survive. Even when I worked, it was as if the joy was sucked out of it.

"I was blessed at a young age to find a kinship in Phila, Frederick, and Joyce. They became my bastions of safety in the world. With them, I could allay my fears with no thoughts of station or responsibility. Lissa too, found common intimacy with Maribelle." Emmeryn's smile falters, then falls. "But Chrom...Even among his closest friends, I could see he held them to a distance. He shoulders his burdens alone, unwilling to compromise his position as captain to allow others to carry such weight with him. It is not out of pride, but fear. Our family has faced such tragedies that it marred him at a young age. He fears loss."

I...don't have a response to that. Not that it's relevant. Emmeryn continues on anyway. She takes both hands and presses them over her heart, her words spoken so softly it is as if she fears they will break. "Whether you meant to or not, you have single-handily defied his defenses and placed yourself in a position of camaraderie that is most precious to him."

"I-" I've gone dry in the mouth, struggling to form words. "I'm in a similar position."

"Then my request shall not be a hard one." Emmeryn's gaze pins me to the spot, the urgency in her petition not a voluntary one. She's issuing me a command. "Do not leave his side again."

She takes both my hands in hers, holding them tight together as if she were praying through me to the stars forming above us. "Even if it should fall upon you to choose between a sacrifice of yourself or I, you shall not do this. As Exalt, and as a sister, I bid this task to be upheld by you so long as you serve our nation."

Emmeryn steps back and waits for my answer. The weight of her request is heavy. She's asking me...to value my life over her own for the sake of her brother. That's...I don't...

I exhale, a sense of calmness overriding the confusion. I do know what I have to do. Emmeryn already has more protectors than she needs. My role is to be played elsewhere.

I step back at bow in the formal way all soldiers do to their Exalt, a sad smile growing over my face. "As you order, your Grace..." I lift my head enough to see the twinge of apprehension on her as she waits for my hanging thought to complete. "….if you would make a promise to me to think about what I proposed as well."

Emmeryn breathes out in relief. She shakes her head, returning a smile. "A war to end all wars, you say?"

The door to the adjoining room kicks in, startling us both. Joyce throws herself into the center, a light purple gown bunched together in her arms. "They sent me lavender!" The woman throws the dress across the room, Maribelle's seamstress running after it as it floats away. "I asked for periwinkle!"

"Oh, Joyce," Emmeryn says to herself as she watches her cousin begin to stomp on the dress with both feet.

"Your Grace?" the seamstress calls out, her wide, pleading eyes begging for help.

I blanch, remembering when I was younger the terrifying swath of destruction Jules' mother left behind when pregnant with the youngest sister. It's not that bad for everyone, but I've seen a few women go through emotions like a switch is flipped. Joyce must be two, three months along then. Poor thing. Wait until the swelling begins.

"I apologize, but I should attend to my cousin." Emmeryn stops at my side, taking my hands between her own and offering a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You have my gratitude not only as the Exalt, but as a woman who simply loves her family. Tomorrow will be a great trial, but I will have comfort in knowing my siblings shall be guarded faithfully."

"You're welcome!" I call after Emmeryn. She uses a bit of magic to catch up the dress off the floor and drape it over her shoulder before herding her tomato-faced cousin to the back again. Joyce's anger ruptures to a drawn out rant about the useless merchant guild before the door slams shut behind them.

That turned out to be a better talk than I thought it would. Emmeryn brought up some very interesting things. A lot to think about. A lot more to do. I've got a hefty order throw on me, though I happily accept her request. I was doing already without having been told. My victory comes in getting Emmeryn to think about her role in all this. She's been passive in addressing the Plegians, focusing on her people. If she can step out of that role and become a beacon to unify the continent...possibilities for the future would be endless! I should go tell Lucina what I did! She'll be glad to know-

"M'lady is out of her coat," I hear the seamstress behind me say. I turn to find her watching me with a hungry gaze. My garment lies over one arm, the shining glint of a needle poised to strike in her other. She advance slowly on me, reminding me our business is not finished. "I would ask you return to the stool. There is still much to be done with you."

I swallow, backing away from her. Gods help me, I've got to do this. Maybe what helps steel myself for the inevitable is a single thought that comes to me. A small, irritating insecurity I haven't been able to shake from before.

"Alright, I'll be patient with you. On one condition!" The seamstress halts her advance, waiting for my negotiation. "I'll let you do your work if you're willing to, or know someone, who can do my hair. I mean a thorough cutting."

For the first time, I feel like I've done something right with the woman. She glows with interest, grinning ear to ear. "Oh yes. This I can do!"

Time came and went faster than I would have liked. It seemed like there was always one last thing I needed to get done before the night of the ball. Cordelia and Sumia had to physically pull me from the office I had been using in order to get me to go. I won't lie, part of me was just being difficult out of sheer distaste over the event.

Somehow, Maribelle's crazy seamstress pulled off the alterations. I stood around until almost midnight to accomplish this sewing miracle, but Naga was with her steady hands. I grabbed maybe five hours of sleep, my mind and body a wreck from jitters over the ball. It continued through the day, affecting my appetite and concentration. I barely remember fitting up in my costume, or the escort to the Count's keep. I was too busy assessing every speck of scenery I could. Behind me, I could feel the General's presence slipping in an out of the physical realm. He was never close, but always in sight. That helped a little, but not much.

Arcos' main keep is decorated to the highest support beams in festive trappings. Naga's connection with nature draws a similar theme to most of the Court gatherings. Natural garlands drape over ceiling rafters, the musky scent of pine and amber reminding me of my time wandering the forests. There aren't many flowers up in these mountains, so the few that are gathered are assembled in large potted assortments as opposed to those in Ylisstol where buds and vines hang from the very walls. To make up for this, banners of the Exalted family in their signature colors hang from many of the walls. Large iron burners lit with magical flames of different colors light the walkways to and from the main hall. Censers float over some to perfume the air with pleasing scents that will later cover the vomit and sweat of revelry.

There is only one table in the hall positioned at the very back. Emmeryn will sit here with a choice few, taking visitors in small parties so she is not swarmed at once. The Count will remain with her as the host should, which will make keeping an eye on him easier. Food and drink are to be served by trays brought about from the kitchens in different times of the night, all guests free to mingle or dance in the open space.

The Shepherds arrived as a group before sunset sans royal family members. They, along with Emmeryn, disappeared earlier in the day to appear on their own. Security was handled differently with the Exalt, her entrance to the keep kept hidden. I didn't get to see their costumes, having been gone since breakfast for their own fittings. I was nervous, initially, but finally meeting Xian'li helped assuage our concerns as he greeted us and assured us the family was safe.

I was personally glad to finally meet the man. I had been introduced under my pseudonym with Stahl, the only other commoner present and Sully's honored guest, as "Lady Freya of Northstar, the East Khan's ambassador." The name was my decision, cause fuck yeah I'm going to be named after a warrior goddess! Xian'li was told of my identity in secret, and greeted me with such profound enthusiasm.

I'll admit I was surprised upon meeting the refined figure who ran Arcos' main household. Xian'li's small face and pear-shaped profile was not what I pictured. It took a few seconds to register what was going on, but common sense took hold and I greeted the man with a bow.

That was an hour ago. Settled into the main hall, our small group has stood off in the corner watching nobles slowly filter in. Maribelle had tried to keep up with the attendees, listing off each one who entered to us as if we'd remember in five minutes. She gave up after the twentieth guest. Xian'li's role had concluded with the final preparations of dinner, the rest of the evening falling on the Count. This gave him the freedom to roam, allowing him to remain with us and speak.

Xian'li has proven to be an intelligent, if chatty, man. His resemblance to Jin'Hai is uncanny. That kid is going to grow up hotter than a firecracker. Smart too, if the way Xian'li gushes about his son's quick wit is anything to go by.

The man's dark eyes are barely perceptible under the amber winged mask he wear, the butterfly theme pulled together in a hybrid design of Chon'sin and Ylissean articles of clothing. Special attention goes to the knotted obi around his waist that is drawn out and patterned like a monarch's wings. He continues to stand next to me talking away as we watch a new family of nobles walk in.

Xian'li's accent is thicker than Lon'qu's, muted from his time in Ylisse, but still drawn out in certain syllables. "It's a marvel to be among the fabled Shepherds. I had always heard of your exploits from Vic's brother. Vaike always writes home of the good he is doing. It's his greatest wish to inspire others in Arcos. He wishes prove they can always reach greater potential then what awaits them in the lower quarters. And such good you are doing! The very fate of our country now hangs in balance, but I have nothing but faith with you watching over it."

I lower my head in gratitude. "You're a contributing factor in our success. Xian'li, you've been instrumental in helping us achieve the potential for victory in this situation."

"Yes, situation." Xian'li pulls at the fingers of his gloves, each one popping free of a digit until the whole thing is removed, then he pulls it tight again. He repeats the gesture, his voice small and tired. "I knew Thibault was unhappy with the course the country was taking in politics, but to go this far..."

"Does he suspect anything?" I whisper, my eyes darting to the front entrance. The man had yet to appear, his time to show right before that of the Exalt.

The Chon'sin man shakes his head, long hair shifting over his shoulders. "No, he does not. Thibault has had my trust since I was a slave freed from the camp he had raided. He raised me beside his son and has always been more foster father than master. Even after the young heir's passing he..."

A lifetime of memories cross over Xian'li's mind, and my heart goes out to him. This war has messed with people in different ways. Thibault has cast his lot with what he feels is the correct path, just as we follow what we assume is right. Xian'li clearly still cares for the man, and Thibault's treachery is tearing the man apart.

"I owe him everything. Education, happiness, acceptance..." Xian'li winces over the last one, inhaling sharply. "I do not doubt I would have followed him down this road in another life, had I remained blinded to the ways he is running his lands. But after meeting Vic and seeing what my own ignorance has forced his, and now my own, kin to live is reprehensible. Thibault's scheming can go no longer."

"I'm sorry you were forced into such a position, Xian'li," I say, offering my support to him.

Xian'li makes to readjust his mask, holding his hand in place longer than is necessary to hide the anguish he carries. "As am I."

I give him a moment to reclaim his thoughts. Xian'li shakes off the hurt, his trim figure setting into a firm stance of business. "Thibault has no plans to leave the night early. He has a plan laid out. For what purposes, even I do not know. All I am aware is that he is particular about being present for the toasting at midnight. It is tradition, as tomorrow is the holiday celebrating the birth of the first Exalt. To welcome in the first moments of such a blessed day is something no noble would miss, if only for the excuse to drink in further excess."

"That gives us some hours to investigate and act on anything we find. Is Eldaran's people ready in the surrounding forests?" I ask him.

"My assistant has confirmed that they are resting and waiting for the signal. If the Plegian forces intend to surround the castle and hold the Court hostage as we believe, they can be intercepted by our own when my people open the logging camp gates in the lower castes."

"And the Plegians?" I noticed a discrepancy in Xian'li's notes on the way in. The amount of guards physically present has been drastically reduced. I didn't see any active patrols either, just sets of guards posted at the front of hallway corridors. The ones in side halls actually had cups in there hands, their alcohol-induced levity causing the drinks to slosh over the sides and onto their armor.

"They are celebrating themselves, if you can believe it. As soon as the nobility were gathered, Thibault opened his cellars and let the soldiers have free reign. He claimed the soldiers deserve to celebrate for the upcoming holiday, boasting his security measures are foolproof." Xian'li's gaze hardens. "This was not done with my approval."

"That's not very responsible of him," I say, watching the hall for any guards present. The only ones here stand near the Exalt's seat. The man standing here with his ten attendants is Vasto's superior, the captain of the guard. The Plegian man looks undisturbed, actually sharing his own cup in a toast to the others before the night commences. His speech appears sound, so he's not drunk yet.

Xian'li also gazes at the man, frowning under his mask. "Not in the least. To think they are already celebrating victory."

"For a man who has crafted a plan so detailed and precise as this, such a reckless action raises a lot of alarm," I say. My hand nestles into the side of my coat, resting over the pocket that holds my map. Oh, you sweet thing. Mama is so glad to have you back again.

"Thibault is a meticulous strategist, but he is also rash when faced with strong emotion. It is why several of his most important missions went awry and caused his status as heir to the duchy to be stripped," my companion tells me. I'm not surprised. Given Sully's temper, hot running emotions seem to be genetic.

"Still, if he even sweats something suspicious, come find us. Until then, we wait for this charade to begin." Virion's sudden burst of laughter draws my attention, by words tapering off as I watch a new disaster possibly unfold.

"The bull and the panther? What a fascinating choice of costume! Is there a significance to it?" Virion's silky accent dusts over the rim of the glass in his hand, his breath drawing ripples over the deep scarlet wine inside. The other hands rests on the walking cane he carries, the slender staff hollow to hide the rapier attached to the handle inside. His eyebrows, extra manicured for the night, make a smooth ascent with the sensuous challenge he offers his conversation partner. He leans forward, the feather-laced edge of his green doublet brushing against the scowling redhead beside him. "Perhaps a riveting tale worth retelling to an inquiring mind?"

Sully's brown eyes squint in reproach at Virion from under the raised snout of her brown bull mask. She flicks away a wild, iridescent plume tickling the front of her nose from the top of Virion's own peacock mask. "It's the nicknames given to a set of legendary knights. Ain't a damn thing left to explain besides that."

Stahl perks up from the plate of cheese he is happily devouring. Matching in the same set of formal wear all knight trainees are given, the only thing setting them apart are the crudely carved wooden masks they wear, a bull and panther respectively for each legend. The edge of his thumb pops out of his mouth, leaving a crumb of cheese at the corner. Stahl's mask is pushed to the top of his head, lost in his messy bush of hair. He looks at his partner in surprise over the lack of enthusiasm in gushing about her well-known idols. "Well Sully, of course there is! Virion isn't familiar with our history. There's plenty to mention about Cain and Abel."

Sully's lips press together in a pale line that ends with one corner upturned into a snarl. She slams her mask back down over her face and shakes her head, the thinly veiled disappointment going over Stahl's head. "Stahl, anyone ever tell you you're too good for your own well being."

Stahl just blinks at her in confusion, causing Virion to chuckle into his wine. "Well! The night is young, our mission not yet started, and my glass still full. Why not regale me with your homeland's tales of chivalry? You have my interests," the noble pauses, his voice melting into velvet chocolate, "and my attentions."

A disgusted 'tch' ejects from the back of Sully's throat as she turns away from him. The space she creates between them in the action allows the bristling duchess orbiting around them to finally make her move. Seventeen and single, the newly ascended Duchess Themis has been doing her best to entice our Rosannese exile for her own. The combination of pedigree and poetry has enamored Maribelle with the romantic tales of whimsy many young girls fall prey too. Maribelle slides in creating a wall between them. The white down of her swan feathers dance around her legs on the parted dress she wears.

"I was actually hoping, Lord Virion," Maribelle purrs, the gold lining around her eyes glittering with the coy batting of her lashes, "if you would be so kind as to indulge us in tales of your own lands. We know so little of Rosanne, let alone the court you called home."

Virion peers with nothing short of desperation as Sully draws Stahl further away from him. He tries to step around Maribelle in both directions, each attempt blocked by her own sashay. I know from experience Virion prefers his dalliances with those more experienced in the ways of love, something Maribelle is anything but. While impressed with her maturity, Virion has expressed to me several times Maribelle is someone he would never pursue.

The nobleman halts his attempts at retreat and opts for diplomacy instead. His voice is polite, if strained as he looks into her adoring eyes. "A court there is a court like any other, my Duchess. There is little in the ways of nobility that I have experienced back home that one may say is different than your own."

A pout appears over her lips, the tip of her decorative lace umbrella snapping against the tile. "But, surely there is something you can share?"

"She is very persistent," Xian'li observes with a faint smile.

From the corner of my eye, I see a swish of red. Cordelia and Sumia stand together watching the affairs, a matching set of formal uniforms of the pegasi ranks adorning their forms in the same way Sully and Stahl do. Though dressed for the practicality of battle if it should occur, the girls have put more effort into their adornments. Cordelia, as ever, is one of the most attractive woman in the world. How she gets her hair that shiny I will never know. She has pulled it up into an assortment of braids, all tied together into a loose ponytail decorated through with dyed pegasus feather of silver and blue. There are light touches of makeup around her lips and cheeks, the only parts of her face visible under the gem lined mask covering the upper half. There is no anthropomorphic design to it, though the ornamentation of its midnight blue cloth and sapphires is more than enough to draw in your eye. Beneath that mask, the woman frowns.

"Maribelle knows not what she asks for. The tales Lord Virion has are surely too..." Cordelia's weighs her next choice of words with great thought before expanding with, "….experienced for her ears."

"Experienced? Is that what you call it?" I chuckle. "I'd say more like racy. Saucy. Sex-"

I small groan from behind cuts me off. "Can we not talk about this? Please?"

"Sorry, Ricken," I say, looking back over my shoulder. Ricken's growth spurt over the summer had him grow to almost match my own, though he remains stooped and hidden behind me right now. Out of his College robes, his mahogany hair and freckles stand out bright in the candlelight around us. His face is buried in the fuzzy palms of his gloves, and the fur cloak around his shoulders swallows him up in his hunched position. It makes him the most scared looking bear I've ever seen. "Are you okay? You look out of sorts."

He pokes his nose out between his fingers, the wooden mask he wears painted with gold lines to accent the contours of the bear's muzzle. "I'm just trying to stay out of sight. Our mission is important. I don't want to get caught up in all the politics right now. Especially- Oh no! Hide me!"

Ricken pulls at the cloak around my shoulders so it covers the space between Xian'li and I. Before Cordelia or I can ask him, a woman rushes up to us. She pushes back the bear mask slipping down her face, one of her gloves stuffed under her arm so her naked palm can wave before us. Hair mixed in gray and the same red as Ricken's spills around her pointed chin.

"Excuse me!" The woman plants herself before us, sharp hazel eyes appraising us from head to toe in rapid succession. "Are you...yes, I'm sure of it. You must be some of those Shepherds my son is affiliated with."

"Duchess Isolde. It is a pleasure to see you," Maribelle calls out as she emerges from behind. She steps before us all, positioning herself to further block any traces of Ricken from view. She extends a curtsy of greeting to the fellow noble, who responds in kind.

"Duchess Maribelle, likewise. My condolences to you again, as well as my best wishes on your ascendance to your new titles," Isolde answers breezily, as if it were an inconvenience to even offer such acknowledgments. She spares Maribelle the briefest glance, her sights already dancing away to some other corner of the room. "I beg pardon for interrupting, but have you seen my son tonight?"

A rapid shifting of eyes is exchanged between the members of our group. Stahl chokes lightly on one of his snacks, causing Sully to pound his back with her fist. A murmuring of negative responses follows from the rest of us.

"Where has that boy ran off too?" Isolde's demeanor slips, an ugly scowl of rage deepening her wrinkles before she gains control again. "If you seen him, please tell him it is urgent I speak with him."

The volumes of her many skirts twist about her like a tornado as she stalks off in the other direction. I wait until she's out of view before tugging away the part of my cloak Ricken is using to curtain himself off from the world. "Ricken, what was that about?"

"She's..." Ricken sucks in a quick breath of air, whispering out the last part with a painful cringe, "...matchmaking."

Xian'li lets out a knowing sound and places a reassuring grasp on Ricken's shoulder. Cordelia sighs as well, one of understanding and defeat. "Oh, Ricken."

I wonder how many times her own parents have played this game with her or any of the others we stand with today.

Virion and Stahl come in to close the gap around him, a supportive shield we make to display our solidarity in standing behind his happiness. Stahl speaks for all when he says, "We'll do what we can for you, Ricken. Eight sets of eyes are better than one. If we catch sight her her, we'll do what we can to send her in the wrong direction."

"Thanks, Stahl. Everyone." Ricken stands to full height and straightens out the jumbled edge of one sleeve, his eyes never leaving the floor. "Now is just not the time for that. We need to focus on more important things than...than silly stuff like that."

The only one who doesn't seem all there in our group is Sumia. She remains at the edge of our circle, staring out. Her brown eyes take in the sights and sounds with wonder. I come up behind her and tap her lightly on the shoulder

"Sumia, you don't seem all there."

Even though she turns her head in my direction, her eyes continue to remain glued to the floor of brightly dressed revelers. "I don't? Gosh, I was trying so hard to look calm. I'm trying to focus on everything, but the environment is so distracting." She pulls at the front of her dress tunic in repetitive strokes, averting her gaze to the toes of both her knee high navy boots. "I've never been to a ball before."

That's a shock to me! "Really? Aren't you a noble?"

Sumia's nervous tic activates, and she resorts to threading her fingers through her ash blonde curls. She is careful to the avoid the pearl clips holding up her top layers, pulling at the loose tips around her shoulders. "I am, but my family has very weak holdings. My father can barely call himself a count. I was never taken to Court until I joined as a recruit in the army. We could never afford the lodgings to attend the balls and parties held in the castle." The glitter of the wall sconces around us reflect off her wide, glossy eyes under her ivory mask. "This is all so new."

Cordelia, hearing Sumia's thoughts, comes over and places a gentle touch over Sumia's shoulder. The white laced material is a stark contrast to the midnight blue lining around Sumia's dress clothes. "Magical, isn't it? It's an experience I wanted to share with you for so long. I just wish we could be doing it without the true face of the night hanging over us."

Sumia angles away from her best friend like a wilting flower. Though they both look beautiful tonight in their finery, I see Sumia is feeling inferior to the woman beside her. "You always were at your best among the other nobility, Cordelia. The way you move among the others is effortless."

Cordelia runs her hand down to Sumia's upper arm and pulls her against her shoulder in a quick hug. "While that may be true, that is not something you should be worrying about, Sumia. Remember, they're not the ones you are trying to impress tonight."

"No, it's Stahl," Ricken's blunt response from behind us causes Sumia to leap in place and nearly elbow Cordelia in the face. The poor girl looks frantically around to make sure no one heard his comment, before relaxing enough to actually breathe again.

"Ricken!" Cordelia gasps in anger.

The others have now returned to their private spots leaving him alone again. The younger Shepherd has retreated and pressed himself in a shaded corner where the architecture forms a natural alcove for him to duck into. He watches the floor with regret, chewing thoughtful on his lip. "I don't get why you're being so secretive. I mean, if you like him, just go for it! Don't waste your chance, Sumia." I follow his gaze across the floor to a large gathering of young people his age laughing and flirting together. I see Nowi's bright shock of unnatural hair in the middle of it, her daughter hiding far away behind some curtains. Nowi's natural charisma has made her an instant favorite tonight, with nobles flocking to greet a divine dragon in the flesh.

Does Ricken...?

"It's not like you have expectations resting on your shoulders. Your family couldn't care less about who you get married to," Ricken grumbles, sulking into the depths of his furs.

You read in history books how common arranged marriages were for nobility in the past. Born of political alliances and power grabs, they were rarely made with love in mind. Sometimes a portrait is all you got before the big day, sometimes nothing at all. Some Shepherds are lucky. Sumia's family is too kind, and Sully too stubborn. For those like Cordelia and Ricken, there's more pressure to uphold. Seeing Ricken suffering like he is just turns me off to this noble life even more. Freedom is important, especially in life choices like this. I'd never let anyone decide my fate. I'd punch 'em in the face first, or worse...

Or maybe not. I've got somewhat of a reputation to uphold, so I have to be civil around these people, but no promises.

"This is why I hate this upper crust culture. You'll never catch me living the noble life," I grumble, feeling sour over the unfairness. I expect some verbal support of my statement, but find the group goes quiet. Three sets of eyes look at me, ranging from surprise to disbelief. "What'd I say?"

Though the windows are closed, a cool rush of air flows over our toes. The wind hits the walls and climbs, swallowing the flames dancing out of the sconces lining the walls. The hall falls dark save for the silver rays of a new risen moon slanting across the floor from the windows. The hall goes deathly quiet, holding its collective breath in wait.

My internal defenses hackle in suspense. Arcane magic creeps through the room, engulfing the extinguished light sources. A dim golden light smolders within. A controlled flame just above the sparks of an ember provide a dim, artificial gold light that highlights the blotted silhouettes of the nobles within. Visibility is poor, and these masks only hinder recognition further.

Panic wells up within me. I reach out over the distance, mental connection groping in the dark for a handle on my invisible ally. "What is happening? Ambush? I detect magic everywhere!"

Instantaneous, the General reaches out to me. He hesitates in responding with two, five, ten seconds going by. I feel nothing from him, and his terse response leaves me more confused than before. "Just wait."

"Why?" I ask.

My concentration breaks before I get an answer. Ricken has a grip fast around my wrist. His raw aura mingles with my own, canceling out the magic building unconscious to me around my fingertips.

"It's nothing to worry about. It's just the opening theatrics," he whispers.

"Are you serious? How over the top do you nobles get?" Ricken lets me go and we return our attention to the lights slowly pooling together at the top of the hall. Magic hangs in the air, clinging to dust particles so they glow like diamond glitter. There is an eager murmuring that rumbles around us like distant thunder.

Xian'li materializes out of the inky atmosphere, touching me lightly on the arm for attention. "Her Grace is ready to appear. That is my sign to leave, I'm afraid. I must attend to the Count's side as he will be greeting her Highness. I shall meet you all again afterward."

"Whatever you do tonight, stay safe, Xian'li. You've got people waiting for you. Leave the crazy stuff to us," I whisper to him, squeezing his slim fingers in a parting farewell.

"I have nothing but prayers for you, dear Shepherds. May Naga guide your steps tonight. Only she knows what is in store for us tonight, and we need every last drop of providence she can afford us." Xian'li bows to me in parting and moves swift into the crowd for his role in the upcoming reveal. Left alone, us Shepherds hang together among the attentive crowd focused on the front of the room.

"This is happening," I hear Sumia say to herself. She shifts in place, patting both her cheeks to build confidence. "Okay, Sumia, you've got this."

Virion chuckles behind us, clapping his hands once together in excitement. "I see even Ylisse has a flair for the dramatics. I approve."

Maribelle's smaller silhouette shuffles next to him, her parasol hitting to ground with each bounce of impatience. "My darling Lissa will be nothing but a gem tonight. I may be a bit biased, but all of them will be stunning. I cannot wait to my seamstress's handiwork. I spared no expense on the best materials I could import."

"No doubt their finery shall be the marvel of the night," Cordelia murmurs to herself. She grabs her hands and fold them together before her, grasping them right together. "I wish I could have been at his arm."

Several figures before us gasp or grunt in offense as they are pushed away in a brusque manner. The horns on Sully's mask identify her in this darkness, and I can only assume the figure behind her is Stahl.

"Anyone seen Frederick tonight? I thought we were supposed to be together when this started," she asks us.

"We haven't seen him at all, have you Maribelle?" Ricken answers her as we shake our heads.

Maribelle laughs behind her hand, gesturing to the front with her umbrella. I can't see it, but the smug knowing of her voice promises us a show. "I would keep your eyes on the doors."

"Look! Something is happening!" Sumia whispers in excitement, grabbing onto Cordelia and pointing to the room's entrance.

The assembling lights come together in a starch ray of white light. It beams down on a single figure, the only color seen in this dark room. The man stands tall at the front of the hall, announcing in a deep baritone the arrival of Ylisse's Exalt. It is the first time I've seen Count Thibault, but the family resemblance to Sully is clear. Both stand taller than most, making him easy to spot. The dusty peppering of gray in his hair does not take away from the same vibrant red as her own. They have the same long nose, though Sully's now lays crooked from having been broken years prior. He carries himself with head held high, the proud upturn of his chin as familiar to me as my companion's. A thick, curled mustache oiled to perfection gleams under the single light. The shawl of a knight is draped over a tunic of Chon'sin silk, and I have to wonder if Xian'li made if for him. Thibault sweeps his arm out over the doorway, the glint of his family crest catching over where it clasps his cape together. Stepping aside, the double doors creak open to allow the Exalt to meet her adoring nobility.

From the Exalt's first step in, I feel like I'm blinded by her. The magical light overhead plays a beautiful illusion over Emmeryn, complimenting her in a way to make her seem like the living divine. Intentional or not, she's invoking the very image of what I could see Naga being. The dress she wears flows like water over her body, the sleeves parted at the shoulder and tied around her wrists. They flutter behind her like wings, opalescent feathers rippling along the edges. The corset of her gown is modest, the neckline rising up to the bottom of her chin. Though plain in material, gold threads and pearls dance across a mural of woven flowers around her torso. Emmeryn has abandoned the empire style of her usual dresses and gone for full ball gown. The outermost skirt is a glossy white trimmed from the bottom to top with growing vines and blossoming roses of gold. Her mask is made of what looks like whale bowl or imported ivory, carved in the way many Ylissean sculptors interpret Divine dragons. Like my own, the snout of it comes down over her nose. It lacks horns, tufts of the same feathers on her sleeves flaring out around her eyes and forehead. She carries her staff with her, all the charms present. Even in her luxury, the Exalt comes prepared for the worst.

Emmeryn glides across the smooth tiles, one small step at a time. Murmurs ripple about, complimenting her beauty, grace, and poise. This, at least, is genuine. But those compliments soon turn to the whispered frenzy of gossip, fingers pointing and faces hiding behind hands. See, the Exalt is not alone. Someone is on her arm.

Something falls from Stahl's hand in his surprise. "Is that Frederick?"

Now I know why our resident knight was missing all this time. That crafty fellow didn't even tell us the good news! I can't help but swell with pride. Frederick looks dapper in his formal knight regalia, the pressed silver and blue of his uniform present under his outer protection. His silver armor is polished to shine like he were the moon itself accompanying the sun. His hair is swept away from his forehead and styled back, leaving his steel gaze for all to take in under the reptilian mask. It's thinner than Emmeryn's and the eye holes more narrow. I'd say, with his armor acting like scales, he's going as a wyvern. He somehow manages to make little noise in his armor, stepping in line with Emmeryn, their hands raised and joined at the fingertips in the barest hint of a touch.

This is big! Huge! Emmeryn taking Frederick on her arm is the most blatant way she can declare her intentions with him to the Court. That is an honored role that falls to family alone, or the reigning consort. As far as I know, she always appeared with Chrom on one arm and Lissa on the other for past galas. So this? She's making it official and letting the world finally know! The Exalt is being courted!

"That's not all! Look behind them!" Ricken whispers frantically, hopping up and down while pointing past her.

As if my heart couldn't get any bigger. This family is just full of surprises tonight. That, or they're trying to make a very big statement about familial solidarity. Chrom and Lissa are right behind her, each with a guest of their own! Owain is tucked firmly against Lissa, clear opposites from the somber faces of Emmeryn and Frederick. Lissa bounces on her heels following her sister, the puffed out ruffles and lace of her bright yellow outer skirts held up in a bunch with one hand. Bright pastel flowers wobble across the veil she wears as a shawl, matching the the ones climbing around her waist in a vine that wraps up to her left shoulder and ends in a bright blue dawnflower. A black sash is wrapped around her throat, waist, and wrists, matching the bows holding up both pigtails. Her mask is black as well with tiny flower around it. Is she a bumblebee? Owain matches Lissa, his tunic and britches falling under the same color scheme, though it's hard to see much else to describe. He cloaks himself in a cape that runs from shoulder to ankle in yellow. The same audacious flowers on his future mother's dress are sewn throughout the cape, making him look like thief who stole a whole garden. They're all smiles and giggles together, enthralled in the moment.

My breath catches in my throat, the sight of Lucina and Chrom together stealing it away. I'm not surprised Lucina has chosen to go with a butterfly for her costume. She's admitted to me that she favors the creature, enamored with its ability to grow and change, defying its limitations and reaching for the sky. Lissa and Emmeryn both use magic, so dresses aren't a problem for them, unlike Lucina. As a martial combatant, her costume is arranged more similar to my own. Her outer doublet is all shades of blue. A cape reaching her lower back rests on her shoulders, parted down the middle like two folded wings. The underside catches the light producing a reflective blue and green shine. A dark green undertunic extends beneath the edge of the doublet. It splits down both sides at the hip creating a slit skirt around her knees. She has a new mask, for once. Also a teal color, two fluffy shoots like cattails hang off the top. She ducks her face in embarrassment, following Chrom's pull on her arm as they walk forward.

And Chrom is...oh come on Chrom! What is that? That has got to be the laziest...Don't get me wrong, my captain looks as handsome as one could expect with regalia. In fact, I'd say this is the closest I've seen him achieving the look of his great lord class from the game. He's always been rather simple in his tastes, less creative than most. I assume practicality won over tonight with the potential for battle, because his costume is just the mask. A rather plain draconic mask, even worse than mine, sits on his face. His dress clothes are deep navy and silver, like Frederick's, and rest beneath a silver breastplate and pauldrons I've never seen on him before. He carries Falchion in the open, the sword appearing at his side whenever the white cloak on his shoulders moves. Given his role as its inheritor, none question his right to carry it in the open. I see him cast a side-glance as Lucina. He bends in and whispers something in her ear, causing her to perk up. Her mouth remains the same pressed line it was, but at least she's looking up.

"That is a bold declaration for the royal family to make," Virion comments behind me, "and a dangerous one. It shall be interesting to see what the Court makes of this."

"They actually did it..." I whisper, pleasantly surprised at this public display. I don't know if anything I said to Emmeryn influenced this. It could have been decided long before. Whatever the reason, I can't help but beam at the proud warrior resting on the Exalt's arm, or the two young time travelers finally reunited in whole with their families.

I brush my hand over the stiff resistance pressed against the inside lining of my coat. A sewn in pocket holds my magic tome secure. Ceremonial swords are allowed for obvious show, but what I carry is the real thing. We Shepherds came as armed as we could without looking suspicious. What little we have will have to make do.

The lights rise and laughter carries again. The Count greets the royal family, a wave of color cresting up behind him as the night begins. The warm bodies of nobility scheme and conquer under one roof, oblivious to the fact that they are the ones beings played this night. The stage is set and the puppeteer begins his show.

"Alright then," I say to psych myself up, "Time to get this things started."

A/N: *Insert your Parks and Recreation Meme here* It's about the foundation.

I finally put to paper every last important piece I need to make the rest of the Plegian war happen. There's been a lot of build-up, and things are about to come to a turning point. I'm rather proud of that. Never thought I'd get here, but I did. Cool.

Update on various things (skip if you want): Apologies for the last year of hiatuses and long breaks. In good news, after a year and then some of testing and doctor visits, I know what's been going wrong. It's going to require a lot of lifestyle changes, but I'm alive and getting healthy again. It hasn't been easy, financially, physically, or mentally, but life continues on. I can start planning again for all the life events I wanted before this. If you're still here after all this, thank you. If you're new, welcome aboard. It's a crazy story, but we're having a good time!

Special thanks to all the kind people on tumblr checking in on me, and the fanart by forgetful-dreamer (Check it out! The feeeels are real!). You guys are amazing. Super great!