The cover art for this story is of the work "The Wood" by Naomi Chen. You can check out her fantastically haunting artwork at her website, naomichenart dot com.

The betas for this first chapter were the amazing kingdomfantasies and varietyshow; I honestly couldn't have done it without them and I'm so glad they decided to give this story a chance! You can read their fics on ffnet and AO3, respectively.

Robin woke to the sensation of cold salty water rushing in to fill her mouth and nose. Choking and spluttering, she lifted herself from her previously prone position in a panic, the seawater stinging her eyes and dripping down her chin.

"Daraen!"

Staggering to her feet, she hissed when her bruised knees and aching sides protested at her abrupt movements. Robin's head whipped wildly to the side, the wet hood of her coat hindering her sight greatly. She ripped it off angrily and rubbed at her irritated eyes, but was startled to see her fingers were bloody and covered in small red cuts.

"Daraen!"

Spitting out the water that sluiced down her face and into her mouth, her dark brown eyes scanned the rocky grey beach for anything, anything that would've indicated the presence of human life. Debris littered the rocks; chunks of gaily-painted wood, a long strip of torn canvas hanging limply over a stand of boulders, and oh Gods there were two bodies lying next to her.

Resisting the urge to retch, she breathed in heavily through her nose and counted to ten slowly. It was a simple exercise that helped to ease her in stressful situations.

Focus Robin. Focus. Check them to see if they're truly gone. If not, see what you can do to get them to respond. She expelled a trembling breath through chilled, clammy lips. Focus…

She knelt down gingerly on the board the motionless sailors rested upon, its damaged wooden surface creaking at the increase in weight. Turning the man closest to her on his back, she noted sadly that their crash-landing on the beach had dealt him a serious blow. His nose had been crushed into his face and his teeth broken, and a rusty frothy mess was all that remained of his jawline. Though she knew that the man no longer drew breath, she still pressed her rapidly numbing fingers into his neck to check for a pulse. Once finished with her macabre examination, she moved to his companion. Though his face was not as in a terrible condition as the first seaman's, Robin still registered a certain degree of harm; his iris was scratched and bleeding into the surrounding sclera and a jagged piece of lumber protruded from his sunken sternum. She had no idea if they had drowned or if the rough entry to shore was responsible for their deaths, but she prayed it wasn't the latter.

Brushing her hand over her chest, she noticed that a thick length of rope was tied snugly around her hips…as well as the men's. With a start, she allowed the memory to flow back into her mind, grimacing at the mild migraine that soon followed after.

The captain…he told us to tie ourselves to each other so we wouldn't lose one another. Another grimace. It might not have been the best idea, but –

Speaking of the captain, Robin had no clue if there were others stranded on the coast with her and her downed comrades. Worse still was that she did not know of Daraens' whereabouts and welfare. Was he injured? Did he leave to call for help? Dread gripped her heart as the questions kept piling up in the back of her mind and she realised the terrifying extent of her ignorance. Her kneecaps popped painfully as she stood to take another look around.

The beach itself was an unfamiliar, dreary territory. Instead of the warm sandy shores she knew and loved back home, cold and unforgiving rocks stretched out as far as her eyes could see. Ragged cliffs rose up ominously behind her with a smattering of great black boulders and hidden tide pools nestled at their base. A freezing tide the colour of charcoal churned sharply at her feet, and the watery grey light of early dawn added to the overall gloomy scene.

Robin decided against staying in her current position. If the rest of the crew – and Daraen – were close by, she'd do good to seek them out. At the very least, she would be able to scout around for possible supplies, a place to seek shelter should the weather worsen, and – though she loathed considering the possibility – any more bodies that would need to be towed away from the powerful currents.

Her hands and face were thoroughly numbed by the bitter gusts that blew against her. Her large coat being soaked down to its inner threads didn't do her any favours either, weighing her down terribly and proving to be a most cumbersome garment. Robin huffed weakly on her rapidly blueing palms and kept walking.

Better a wet robe than nothing at all, she thought miserably.

Trudging forward through the desolate landscape proved to be a wretched experience. No sound but the incessant beating of waves accompanied her, not even the cries of seabirds, and constant worries of maimed sailors and the missing Daraen left a sour taste in her mouth and a bad ache in her breast.

Lost in her thoughts, she had tripped several times on the treacherous rocks. One particularly well-hidden pebble had sent her sprawling face first into the ground, and it would have been really funny had she not been so absorbed in her distress and had pain not burst against her cheekbone.

Crying won't make you feel any better, pathetic girl.

She wiped her throbbing cheek and moved on.

It seemed that an eternity had passed before she thought she could make out the sound of…a human voice?

A desperate hope bloomed within her. Whirling around to find the source of the unexpected, wonderful, noise, her elation grew when she realised it was someone calling her name.

"I'm here! I'm here! Oh Gods, I'm so glad to see you're all right –"

It died just as quickly when Robin saw the man's craggy face and massive build lumbering towards where she stood. Her smile disappeared under a cloud of disappointment.

It's not him.

It's not him…

"Very pleased to see the Lady Robin is safe!" came the booming laugh. His boots pounded hard against the surf and she noticed with a dull pang that he too had some rope fitted around his sides.

"Thought perhaps lost you may have been! Beach is no good place to lose things," he panted as he clumsily slid to a stop right in front of her. His large grin faded when he noticed her crestfallen expression and his bushy brows knitted together in concern.

"Alright everything is…?"

Robin looked up right into his eyes and fought to keep her words from quavering.

"Where is my brother?"

The trek back to the bonfire the remnants of the crew had set up was spent in silence. Gregor usually wasn't one for being very chatty, or starting conversations for that matter, but he felt that the girl walking next to him would have perhaps needed a shoulder to lean on, someone to relay all her troubles to and be reassured.

She had rebuffed all his attempts without a single word, pulled her hood low over her face, and left it at that.

The terrain had smoothed out into gravel once they reached the improvised camp, the sun having started its slow climb some time before. Pale pinks, reds and oranges streaked the sky in an exquisite panoply of light, but they were too tired and worried to enjoy the sight. There was something odd about the place that kept nagging at him for some reason or another, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it.

Setting down the corpses each had lugged all the way to the roaring fire, Gregor turned his attentions to Robin, scrutinising the way her hidden visage affixed itself to the sad, broken heap that used to be their ship. Frowning, he placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Checked already. Brother is nowhere near."

Most of the morning was spent scavenging among the gutted carcass of their vessel. What was once an elegant cutter emblazoned in yellow and blue and sporting pristine white sails was now a skeletal pile of mangled wood and clumps of stringy seaweed. While Gregor knew that storms were an occupational hazard in his line of work, he couldn't help but grieve over the loss of his ship. Not only had he captained it for the past 15 years, he'd personally repaired it countless times over the years, taken it all over the world on long journeys … hell, he'd even gotten married on it.

Still, his attachment didn't cloud his judgement. It was clear as day that it was beyond salvageable. Most of the bilge had been torn off, and the mast was gone altogether. A loose plank had fallen from the ship's side and nearly gored Robin, but he'd managed to pull her towards him in the nick of time, and he kept close to her after that.

Even though it was clear she didn't want him to.

They recovered little from the wreck. They were grateful to have found coils of twine, a barrel of fresh water, and a few tattered blankets, which were distributed quickly amongst the five people around the fire.

The captain's quarters were spared somewhat from the damage, a discovery that prompted Gregor to mutter a quick thanks to Naga under his breath. They managed to save his ledgers and documents, a small coffer full of gold coins, his maps and navigational instruments, even his rather immodest set of knives and swords.

Robin wasn't as lucky as he. The few tomes and books they did rescue had been thoroughly soaked and were placed next to the dying fire to dry out. Other than that, a bronze sword and the clothes on her back, she had nothing.

Not even her brother.

By the time they were done the sun had reached its peak and blazed gloriously from its high perch. No one welcomed it though. A foul, tense mood had settled over the camp, their skins itchy from the sand and gravel that had wormed its way into their hair and clothes, their bodies injured and sore, and of low morale over the devastation the storm had caused.

Judging by the way Robin was kneading her thighs roughly, Gregor was more than sure that her migraine hadn't gone away either.

"Please don't worry, Lady Robin…"

Everyone turned to see the skinny sailor who'd spoken up, and he'd cringed at the attention now focused on him. The man who was busy repurposing one of the blankets into a sling for his fractured arm muttered quiet reassurances and tightened the cloth around his neck. The boy cleared his throat in a slight surge of confidence and continued.

"Right after we tied ourselves together…the storm got real bad. The boat sorta rolled on its side a little and the mast just done got snapped in half. You passed out at some point or another, and yer brother – I mean, Lord Daraen – lost his footing and started slidin' down th' bulwarks…you'da gone down with him had he not cut ya loose."

An uneasy hush fell over the group, interrupted sporadically by the tide loudly washing over pebbles. An anxious Gregor had noticed that Robin's breathing had slowed considerably and her fingers had gone eerily still.

Though she'd made it more that clear that she had no desire to initiate contact with any of the men (or let herself be coddled by them, for that matter), it still tugged on his heartstrings to see her wallowing in her quiet despair. Gregor wrapped a meaty arm around her slumped shoulders, his paternal side secretly satisfied by the fact that, while she tensed up, she didn't push him away either. He nodded encouragingly to the freckle-faced seaman.

"Go on."

The boy licked his cracked lips nervously. "Uhhm…I'm still a little fuzzy on the details but…I remember the captain here was busy pullin' ya to safety, and Jean here," the man who was fixing his bandages grunted in acknowledgement, "saved me from a falling crate. Would'a lost half my face if it weren't for him," he said fondly.

"Get to point, Marco. You saw what happen to Daraen or no?"

"Ah-ah, well, he drifted off a little too far for me t'see properly, but I think that he tied himself to th'mast once he hit the water."

"Perhaps he would not have even reached the water had someone bothered to, oh, I don't know, help him?" came the sour mutter from under the hood.

"Is enough for now," Gregor said hastily as he raised himself from the pile of driftwood that served as their bench. He squinted at Robin through the harsh glare of the burning sun, troubled over her spiteful tone. "Thank you for telling, Marco."

"Yes, thank you for telling us now, after all the effort expended to find a man who was never here in the first place," her voice was muffled but loud enough to perceive the venomous glaze that coated every word.

"Leave him alone!" Jean's indignant rasp cut clearly through the cacophony of a passing flock of gulls. "He's had a rough day and he's got a broken arm to deal with. He doesn't need some overbearing noblewoman breathing down his neck too."

Robin rose calmly from her seat and, hobbling ahead as best as she could on her wounded knees, planted herself firmly in front of Jean's face. Even with her expression veiled from sight, fury radiated off her very being so obviously that Jean took a step back to avoid being so close to her.

" 'Overbearing,' you say?" her intonation was dangerously soft and Gregor flinched, cursing Jean for just having to have the last word at all times. Though it was a bit heavy handed of Robin to direct her ire towards poor, skittish Marco, it was foolhardy of Jean to expect that it was fair to speak so harshly to a woman who was a lot more physically and emotionally hurt at the moment than she let on.

Even more foolish was for him to think that she would let him get away with it.

"I've had to deal with constant bellyaching from all of you," she swept her arm in a wide arc, "after we were blown off course in the first storm and you all moaned about the delays and the rationings. That could have been avoided had anyone bothered to listen to the suggestion of my dearest brother and I," there was a collective cringe, "to just head straight across the South Seas and leave us at Melilla. We could have taken the ferry back to the mainland from there, but the general consensus," she spat the word out, "was to skip ahead to Plegia since it would be so much more 'convenient.' "

She placed her palm flat on her chest. " 'No worry, Lady Robin,' " she spoke in a cruel, pompous facsimile of Gregor's broken accent. " 'Is too late in season to see storms any more. Get you back home in no time at all!' " Robin growled and started pacing around the beach madly, the volume of her ravings increasing with each step.

"I don't know what was worse, between taking care of incompetent, drunken fools of a crew who preferred to eat and drink through our supplies," everyone turned to stare at Gregor, "rather than do their bloody damn jobs and navigate, or Daraen and myself having to do those bloody damn jobs for you.

"Not only that, but the money we had on board to pay you all is gone, as are several important objects such as very high level tomes that cannot be replaced – "

Unlike you helpless buffoons, she nearly blurted out. The slip went unnoticed and she continued.

"The ship is beyond saving, my brother is gone, possibly even dead, and he has to be in Ylisse now, and the best you can manage to call me is 'overbearing?' " She thundered in the terrified Jean's face.

Gregor punched his open palm with a giant fist in sudden realisation.

"Ah! Now Gregor knowing what is familiar about place!" He said with his characteristic cheerfulness.

"Already we are in Ylisse! In fact, Gregor born not three hours from here, and capital is only a few days' ride away! What luck!" he chuckled with glee.

Judging from the horror-struck expressions his comrades sent his way, and how Robin tore off her hood to shoot him the most murderously demoniacal glare he'd ever seen, it probably wasn't the best thing to have said at the time.

They had wrapped the bodies in the canvas they scrounged from the wreck and placed them on a makeshift pallet that they took turns to drag along the road. While it would have been preferable to simply cremate them or push them out to sea, their families would definitely not have appreciated that. Though it would mean going to extra lengths to preserve their corpses for the long journey home, they were honourable people and intended to keep their word to their wives and children.

They did, however, put torch to their vessel. Gregor wept openly and loudly as he'd watched his faithful companion of 15 years crumble into the wet gravel and wash out into the current, beautiful paintwork and sturdy foundations reduced to nothing but charred beams and smouldering ash.

Southtown was about an hour away from the beach on foot. A dingy, washed out inland port, its close proximity to Plegia had led to several attacks from the Plegian navy across the sound, determined to cut off Ylisse's access to the ocean, as well as from several roaming hordes of bandits that took advantage of the confusion surrounding the wartime years.

Consequently, the townsfolk were inhospitable and distrustful of strangers, and were positively apoplectic with rage once they spotted the distinctive eye shaped markings that ran down the length of Robin's baggy sleeves; the markings that revealed her to be part of the dark cult that held sway over Plegia, the much feared and reviled Grimleal. She was grateful her hood kept her face hidden.

Not that she could blame them much for it. Even with the kind of aid it was receiving, Southtown was in poor shape and struggling to make ends meet; the shops in the commercial district that once bustled with activity were now shuttered and dark, the quaint town square pockmarked from mortar blasts, and the residents scrubbing hard at the sooty doors of their once beautiful church.

That's why, with narrowed eyes and much grumbling, they didn't protest when Gregor produced the documents saved from the ship that allowed them free passage through the country as part of the Plegian mission in Ylisse…as well as a generous heap of the gold he had on himself, coupled with an easy going grin and a soft please show us to the nearest inn.

She was surprised at how fluently he spoke in the local language. Then again, he did say he was born not too far away from here.

Lost in her thoughts as she gazed out the cracked window out at the river that snaked under the stone bridges outside, she jumped in surprise when the door groaned vociferously. Gregor stepped in with an apologetic smile and small parcels wrapped in crinkly brown parchment cradled in his hands.

"You could've just spoken to me in your native tongue you know. I'm fluent, and it would have saved you a lot of trouble," Robin said.

"Nay, is not much of problem," he replied kindly. "Is needing to practice Plegian languages, as captains must know a lot of them anyways.

"Anywho, off to bath you are. Wounds need tending to very urgently and in need of relaxation you are," Gregor said as he strode over to Robin and scooped her up in his bearish arms along with the packages. He then proceeded to the bathroom door and unlatched it with a flourish.

Robin squirmed in discomfort at his sudden boldness. "Put me down now Gregor."

He answered with a chuckle. "And risk Lady Robin falling to floor? No no. I have seen you in much pain today and more of standing around will not be good. Lady Robin should let herself be treated."

Though she hated to acknowledge it, he was right. Walking for an hour on her bruised knees had left her painfully exhausted and her ribs positively ached with each breath she took. Not counting the blow she suffered to her face, without a mirror she was unsure of the extent of the damage she'd received on the beach.

"It's not decent…" she trailed off lamely.

The chuckle turned into a short bark of laughter. "Fret not! I am not lustful man with bad thoughts. Am happily married man with daughter your age!"

Pushing open the door with his hips, he padded in to the surprisingly well-furnished room and set Robin down gently next to the old claw-toed bathtub. While he busied himself with lighting the little oil lamp sitting on the mouldy table, Robin faced the grimy, full-length mirror with a quiet gasp.

The deep cut on her cheek had dried into a crusty brown scab that sat just below her eye like an accidental glob of paint on a canvas. Below it, her jaw had purpled and swelled impressively with a multitude of ugly bruises. There was a long gash across the bridge of her nose.

Panic spreading across her veins with each second, she weakly shucked off her bulky robe and saw that her arms were also painted by an expanse of reds, blues and violets. While her gloves couldn't conceal the cuts on her fingers, she was shocked to gaze upon raw skinned patches of flesh on the backs of her hands.

"Aha!" came the delighted whoop from Gregor as his fiddling with the taps successfully drew water into the chipped basin. "Not hot, but is something at least!" His jolly demeanour vanished when he took note of Robin's trembling body.

His eyes softened. "Help needed with the rest of the clothing?" he asked quietly.

"Please turn around," was her simple request. Complying, he preoccupied himself with the tub once more as she tried to remove her inner jacket and top, but found that her joints suddenly seized up and refused to obey her. When she bent down to try and give her boots a go, the same occurred with her lower back, and she straightened herself with a wince.

"I need some help, actually," Robin's whisper was tinged with shame. She dared not look as Gregor paced over to her and tugged off her clothes gently, and her ears burned when she heard his upset murmuring.

"Poor you. Is in very bad shape," he said in a hushed tone. He did quick work of her trousers and belts, and by the time he slid her boots off her feet Robin thought she would die of embarrassment.

He hissed at the sight of her crushed and bloodied toes. Hooking his biceps under her thighs, Gregor lowered her smoothly into the rust flecked water and pulled a stool under him. He reached for one of the packages lying on the table and loosened the cord wrapping it closed to reveal a bar of lye soap and the familiar blue sheen of several bottled Elixirs.

"Lucky you have not seen your back," he tried to joke as he emptied out the contents of one of the vials into the tub. The water fizzed and bubbled fiercely as the magic tonic started working to repair the broken skin and sore bones, and Robin exhaled faintly as a wonderful heat seeped into her overtaxed limbs. The small bar of lye was quickly dissolved into sudsy bubbles as Gregor washed her gritty, blood – crusted hair.

Pouring more of the insipid liquid into a washcloth and scrubbing carefully at her back, he was taken aback when he heard muted sniffles coming from Robin. Perturbed, he shifted on his perch to get a better look at her face. "Something is hurting you?" his query was placid and tender and had such a paternal quality to it that Robin couldn't help but try to stifle another sob.

"Why – why are you doing all of this for me? You spent all that money on that expensive m – medicine and this room and you're washing me and…why? I haven't been very n – nice, " she seemed to struggle with the word, "to you or the men for the weeks we've been together and yet you never seemed to take offense with me … why?" she hiccupped.

"My Lady," came his plaintive words, "is true you have not been so kind to Gregor or crew, but," a sigh passed his lips, "crew has not been of best service to you – or your Lord brother. With the drinking and the not listening to the Lady and whatnot. Gregor has not helped the Lady Robin with important mission, and Gregor must apologise. Making of upping is utmost priority now."

Robin furrowed her brow fretfully. "What about the rest of the crew? I … I have not apologised to them over today."

Another kindly smile was flashed at her. "Worry not. Understand they have. Before left for homes today, offered their forgiveness and apologies they have, and wish the Lady the best of luck with task ahead."

"B—but I haven't even paid them yet! Or you for that matter!"

He waved his sausage like fingers dismissively. "Care was taken of it, as were gold for embalmer. Though stale bread is now only dinner tonight!" Some joviality infused his voice as he spoke, but a little seriousness returned to his face when Robin's lip began to quiver furiously. With a painfully clenching heart, Gregor wrapped his arms around her naked shoulders and gently pushed her head into the cradle of his neck.

"You have suffered most grievous loss today, after all you have been through." he soothed as he stroked her soapy wet hair.

"Know that Gregor, crew, and all of Plegia are supporting you always, Princess."

After she had a good cry and finished up with her bath, Robin sat swaddled in a multitude of threadbare towels and Gregor's shirt – he'd insisted since she had nothing to wear while he washed her clothes, reasoning that though they managed to book a room at the inn for a steep price, the innkeepers would never have accepted to launder Grimleal clothing – with the papers rescued from the ship spread out across the rickety bed. She frowned at them as though they'd offended her in some manner and she muttered curses into her now healed fists.

"Gregor is hearing sighings all the way from here!" came the loud bellow from the bathroom. His spiky auburn hair peeked out from the doorframe as he sidled close to check up on her.

"More of the bad news there is?"

A deep sigh made its way up her throat. "I'm afraid so Gregor. What happened today just complicated everything else so much more, and I'm not sure how to fix it."

That certainly sounded ominous. Traipsing out of the bathroom with a handful of her sodden garments, he draped them carefully over the frame of the open window and hoped the warm night air would at least dry them a bit. He faced her with his arms akimbo and waited patiently for her explanation.

She sighed again and twiddled her thumbs anxiously. "You know Daraen was supposed to represent Plegia in the peace talks while in Ylisstol…"

"…And brother is now gone." Gregor finished for her as a most peculiar sensation of apprehension began to fill him from the toes up. He tried to dispel it with a chortle of laughter and a shrug of the shoulders.

"Why should Plegia worry when Robin is here to solve little issue, no? Just take place at meetings and all worries are over!"

"I can't do that Gregor." she was surprised at how cool and rational she sounded when her gorge rose against her throat in unabashed fear. " The diplomats from Regna Ferox and Ylisse wrote to us not too long before we set sail from Chon'sin…they said that while they appreciated our… gesture, they made it very clear that we still had a ways to go before we could gain their trust completely."

She drew her fingers through her long white hair (thanks to Gregor, it was no longer riddled with sand and blood) and shuddered. Her lips felt too dry and she forced herself to continue.

"They said that they'd allow Plegia's presence at the table to negotiate, but they had specific conditions, unfortunately. One of those being that my brother was to be Plegia's representative at the talks. Anyone else, anyone, and we would be turned away from the boardroom at once, marched out of Ylisse, and any future trade and interaction shut down. It doesn't help that women are barred from officially participating in politics here," she added in a savage growl.

His apprehension morphing into a hazy sense of dread, Gregor's shock manifested itself quite plainly when he took in that information. "The nerve of diplomats Robin! No honour at all! Why – why so harsh to Plegian mission when very clear you are for cooperation? Why is necessary for Daraen when you are here?"

"Well, he is the heir to the throne, after all, " she hated how she couldn't hide her bitterness from her tone, "and they mentioned how much they would value our sense of goodwill should we entrust our prince to their care." Robin crumpled up one of the notes and lobbed it at the wall in a fit of rage.

Gregor spouted a litany of obscenities under his breath and pulled his hands through his hair before storming back to the bathroom. Robin was left staring after him and her body sagged in exhaustion and resignation.

"Though I can't really blame them for not trusting us…after all Plegia did."

As an uncomfortable silence enveloped the room, Robin tried to parse through the buzz of thoughts crowding out the space in her head. Such terrible things had happened in such a short span of time, and not only was it difficult to process it all at once, it was sheer terror to visualise the kind of impact it would have on the gathering, on Plegia, on everything she and Daraen had wept and bled for to make it to this point…only for their efforts to vanish like mist in the air.

She wanted to curse and spit at the Gods for daring to mock them so.

She breathed and counted to ten.

You were never one for giving up and you never will be, Robin, so don't you dare think about quitting now. You've been through situations that were just as bad, and you've prepared for worse. Don't let everything that you've learned go to waste.

Robin's mouth stretched into a grimace at the last thought.

Think. Organise the facts. Consider what obstructs your path and the best way around it.

She drummed her fingers on her knee thoughtfully as her mind relaxed into a familiar pattern of sorting and analysing. She could handle things like this.

One of the stated requirements was to arrive on time in Ylisstol; given the amount of time needed to return to the beach, gather anyone who is even remotely willing to be part of a search party headed by a Plegian, and the size of Ylisse's southern coastline, delaying the time of arrival to try to find someone who might be dead by now would be pointless.

Robin abhorred the mere thought of Daraen resting cold and alone at the bottom of the sea, his young life cut terribly short. However, it was a possibility that, no matter how hateful to consider, was one that could not be ignored in light of their current situation.

The half – formed plan was discarded reluctantly.

If we cannot take time to search…then perhaps a substitute? But we don't have anyone at hand who not only knows enough of Plegian affairs and war negotiation, but also enough of Daraen's views in order to–

Her line of thought ended there. What was she doing, deliberating over someone to take her brother's place just like that? Why was she mulling over such a thing when she had already even told Gregor that a replacement wasn't a viable option? Gods, it seemed as though grief muddled her thinking more than she thought possible; one of the few areas she felt comfortable in was now proving to be yet another obstacle. She truly was rather stupid if all her years of education and training could be undone in only a few hectic hours, if she was as foolish to let emotions cloud her judgement and trick her into seriously pondering over an impossibility –

Or is it one?

"Gregor!" she called. From the way he arrived so quickly to her bedside, it was as if he had practically flown there.

"What is milady needing? A solution has been found?"

"Gods, yes Gregor, and I can't believe it took me this long to realise it, not when the answer was sitting under our noses this whole time!"

"Truly?" Gregor's customary grin was back on his face, and he practically quivered with excitement as he gripped her pale shoulders and shook her slightly. "Pray, tell Gregor of this!"

Tentatively, Robin placed her own hands, so slim and small in comparison, over his prominent knuckles as she looked him dead in the eye. She steeled herself for a brief moment before soberly announcing,

"I will take his place at the talks."

Dead silence seemed to seep into the room through the many cracks in the ageing floorboards. He was frozen in place and had not removed his fingers from her skin, and his lips fumbled around to articulate a proper response to this shocking development. Instead, a deep, worried scowl worked its way onto his normally jovial face.

"Gregor does not understand this well," he pronounced cautiously. "Did not say that replacement was impossible?"

"But don't you see? It all makes sense!" She pushed him off her and sprang off the mattress to pace wildly around the perimeter of the room; he could almost picture Robin as a great cat stalking about in some far off jungle, impatient and hungry for the kill.

"Not only am I the one who knows him best, I know everything there needs to be known about the meetings and Plegia and the war. I know how negotiations are to be handled. I know what is to be said in a debate and everything necessary about potential enemies and allies. Gregor, I know how Daraen thinks and talks, how can I not be the one to stand in for him? How can I not be the one to best represent his point of view and Plegia's interests?"

"Is insanity," he cried, his expression taking on a desperate look as he grasped her by the shoulders again, rougher now this time, and spun her around to face him: her wide, hopeful, glassy eyes meeting his own terrified ones.

"I can pull this off Gregor –" came her angry retort, before he cut her off mid sentence.

"Not in politics women are, milady, not here! Substitute is not possible!" Gregor shook Robin as though he was hoping to rattle some sense into her, as though he could convey the depth of his fear for her with a show of strength.

"Said it yourself besides. Only brother was asked for." Her face darkened at this, and he recognised that what he thought would be persuasive phrasing only served to remind Robin of their current predicament...and how it seemed as though she would forever play a supporting role to Daraen.

As he was mentally berating himself for his unintentionally harsh choice of words, her hands curled under the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer so that they now stood nose to nose – or rather, nose to chest. Vaguely, he remembered the strength housed in her deceptively small frame and noticed the prominent musculature of her arms.

"Daraen and I are almost physically identical in every single way," she murmured, her deep brown eyes meeting his gaze evenly. "I can do this."

"More there is to being man than simply looks."

"None will be the wiser."

Gregor gave Robin a pained look. Slowly, carefully, he brought his arms to encircle her torso, the awkward embrace pushing her head into his rough, dirty tunic. She dropped her fingers from his neck in surprise yet remained silent as he tried to reason with her. He could not keep his voice from trembling.

"If caught you are – if found out – what will happen to you? Not so kind are these men that all will be forgiven."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take." Though her voice was muffled by his chest, she spoke clearly.

"They will kill you," he pleaded, and for a split second Robin wondered if he sounded as though he were on the verge of tears. His concern was touching, but did little to sway her. Not when there was so much at stake.

"I'm not so foolish as to not know how to properly disguise myself. I will do everything in my power to avoid detection and I will get out of this alive. If not then at least I'll die happy knowing that what I did was for the sake of peace."

"But milady–"

A firm "No buts Gregor" startled him. The ferocity of her tone and the solidity of her stance were nothing new when it came to her, and yet he was still in awe and more than a little frightened of her drive and tenacity.

"I must go through with this. Any other alternative would mean disgracing all the work we have done to get to this point, and I will not let that pass. You must help me in this...if not for Daraen's sake, then at least for Plegia's."

And mine too.

Gregor studied her with a heavy heart. For someone as young as Robin, she already carried herself like a battle hardened soldier...which she was, albeit a soldier crafted from the battered remains of a little girl forced to grow up too soon. A child forced to bear the burdens of nations and their bloody legacies.

Her country needed her, and while he was fretting over imagined scenarios of terrible consequences – that are very much possible, a horrible voice whispered in his ear – she answered the call as though she were a fully armoured knight, and not a girl stranded in a foreign country with naught but the clothes on her back and a sea captain to guide her to her destination.

She would have made a fine queen. And it was with this understanding that prompted him to kneel reverently, if a little sadly, at her feet.

"Understand, surely, why Gregor is reluctant," he said morosely. Their callused palms slid against each other as he peered up into that too solemn face, shadowed by her snowy locks. He smiled ruefully.

"And yet, all Gregor can hope is that milady try to take care, eat well and write back to not worry frail old man," he tried to joke, and felt warmth suffuse him all the way to the roots of his spiky auburn hair when, for the first time since they had met, she gave him a timid grin in reply.

"Now," he grunted as he raised himself to his full height, "how we are going to get about with grand plan to save the kingdom?"

Her eyes gleamed, resolute, as she reached for the dagger he had strapped to his waist.

"A bit of a trim would be a good start."

The heat had been stifling that day and showed no signs of subsiding as the minutes crawled by on their agonisingly slow tortoise feet. Chrom usually considered himself a (somewhat) patient man, but he had to admit that waiting under such conditions was making him irritable and snappish.

"Chrooooom! Please let's just go inside already! I'm dying of thirst here!"

Lissa's constant whining didn't help much either.

Heaving what seemed to be his hundredth exasperated sigh that day, he turned his eyes skyward and hoped to distract himself observing a hawk's progress across the dazzling swathe of bright blue. Had it been any other day, and the weather more agreeable, he'd had called it a lovely sight.

It was a shame too, considering that it was in fact incredibly beautiful out. A soft breeze that was sorely missed in their spot at the top of the stairs ruffled the plentiful white bracts of the recently flowering dogwoods planted around the bailey; puffy clouds billowed lazily against their heavenly backdrop to the tune of keening birds while the sun shone marvellously above them.

"Chrooooooooom! You're not ignoring me again, are you?!" An infantile stamp of the foot punctuated her cry.

Yes, enjoyment was a rather short – lived thing, it seemed.

Sparing her only the slightest of glances, Chrom tried his hardest to sound even – tempered and unruffled, ever the serene picture of royalty he so aspired to. "Just a little longer Lissa. I'm sure they have a perfectly reasonable explanation for being tardy."

" 'Just a little longer?' Chrom, we've been out here for six hours. I don't want to wait 'just a little longer!' It's too hot out and I'm tired of standing here and I'm thirsty and I'm bored." She stomped her foot again and pouted for added effect, peeved that he was refusing to listen to her complaints.

Chrom felt his tolerant façade slipping away and he turned to face Lissa with an annoyed scowl. "It's my duty," he emphasised with a growl, "to make sure all representatives and their accompanying retinues reach the castle safely. If you're so fed up with waiting you can go back in by yourself. I'm staying."

She scoffed at his flippancy and determined to hit back harder. "If you stay out here any longer you'll get heatstroke and then die and then you won't be of use to anyone! Just accept that maybe, just maybe, they won't come. Why can't you just listen to me for once?"

"I'm staying here Lissa, and nothing you can do or say will change that."

"Ugh! You're just being stubborn!"

"And you're being childish!" he snapped back.

"Milord," a deep voice interjected suddenly. "If I may be so bold as to speak?"

Chrom often wondered how Frederick managed to keep his cool in the most uncomfortable of situations, both physically and mentally. He was envious and genuinely puzzled as to how he had not even managed to break the slightest of sweat in his tight leather breeches and heavy armour in the scorching heat – and quite ashamed at having him intervene in their decidedly petty squabble as though he was a parent disciplining wayward children.

Clearing his throat nonchalantly and trying to recover some semblance of calm, he motioned to the Great Knight in assent.

"That you may, Frederick."

"Milord has been standing here for six hours straight in the full sun, and while your tenacity and dedication to the task at hand is commendable, it stands to reason that it is an exercise in futility and a hazard to your health. I strongly suggest retiring to the medical ward for swift refreshment before commencing the opening ceremony – with the parties who are actually present."

He had a point, one that Chrom hated to concede. They had originally allotted their visitors the span of a month to allow for an orderly arrival to Ylisstol, considering the urgency of their mission and the fact that the greater part of the continent's roads were destroyed. Most of the invited diplomats had come on schedule – the Feroxi boisterously laughing and clanging their armour the whole way, the Rossanois moaning over their dainty carriages getting stuck in the numerous potholes along the Northroad, the Valmese scaring half of Ylisse with their stoic faces and mechanical marching…

A glaring absence was noticed soon enough though. Namely, that of the representative from Plegia. Most had already assumed they wouldn't count on an appearance of his when Ylisse had announced its intention to host the proceedings, and they called Chrom a fool for mailing a summons to the surviving heirs to Plegia's throne. A reply addressed to him had proved otherwise and shocked everyone, more so in light of the events that led to the war's end.

Hope had burned fiercely in him after that. Hope that, perhaps with the presence of the world's greatest nations gathered together at the same table, they would be able to put their differences aside and work together to heal the scars of conflict.

The whispers had cropped up again after most of their visitors had been packed into the castle…with no sign of Plegian livery mingling amongst them.

How typical of them. Sending a message and getting everyone's hopes up, only to snatch it away.

Why would a Plegian care for peace anyways?

I honestly don't understand what Chrom sees in their false promises. He would do us a kindness and keep us safe by just kicking them out.

Chrom had steadfastly ignored their sniping and spite and chose to stand by his decision to welcome them with open arms, even if his people would hate him for it. He refused to believe that he was dealing with a so – called monster.

Even if he saw that sentiment reflected back at him in Frederick's very own eyes.

Lissa sensed his quiet discomfort and, forgetting the barbs they had traded only a few minutes ago, placed a small hand sadly yet reassuringly in the crook of his arm.

"Chrom…" she began tentatively, "it's the second day of the last week already. You're a good person for putting so much faith in them, but sometimes it's just better to…let go of it, you know?"

Frederick moved as if to return to the welcoming coolness of the hall behind the solid oak door, and motioned to Chrom. "It's best we listen to her, milord. I will go on ahead and inform the ladies to prepare a seat for you in the infirmary before this dreadful sun can harm you any further."

It seemed that the Gods were determined to make him swallow his words, however.

A loud clanging and shouting was heard just beyond the gatehouse and the guards stationed at the walls immediately went for their weapons. Lissa squinted at the great stone bridge that stretched out from the castle's entrance, the image hazy and bright in the torrid heat.

"What in the–?"

A pair of sweat lathered horses burst through the line the men had formed at the entrance, sending more than a few flying backwards with pained yelps. The people astride the saddles, a burly mountain of a man and a figure hidden beneath a dark hood, flailed about in a tizzy.

"I'm sorry! Oh Gods! I'm so sorry!"

They stumbled out of their stirrups and accidentally knocked down some more knights who tried to grab at the loose reins of the frantically pacing animals, ducking under reaching arms that failed to restrain them as they zoomed towards the high marble stairs where Chrom, Lissa and Frederick stood watching.

While Lissa was doubled over and making no attempt to disguise her loud cackling, Frederick's lips had thinned out into an expression of deep disgust over the ruckus the guards made as they fell over themselves attempting to stop the strange newcomers racing up the steps; he lightly fingered the heavy silver lance at his side. Chrom, on the other hand, was facing an astonishing whirl of emotion.

A very miniscule part of him was furious – furious at them for daring to be so late, for making him worry so much, for placing his reputation and the progress of the talks at stake – but it was quickly quashed by a mix of relief over their arrival, curiosity over what kind of face lay under the large hood, and utter elation that they were finally here after all this time and were going to prove everyone wrong.

Yes, they were finally there. Bent at the waist, panting hard and surrounded by spears pointed right at their faces, Chrom felt excitement bubble up fervently within him even as his long awaited guests struggled to speak after their rather impressive entrance.

"So…sorry…lateness…this oaf," a rough voice wheezed from under the hood, "decided it'd be…good idea to…sleep in…" the aforementioned oaf standing next to the mysterious person tried to laugh in reply but his pockmarked face split into a dry cough instead.

"No…" Chrom replied softly, and his heart soared as he watched the dark cloth be pulled back to reveal choppy white hair, pale skin slick with sweat, and a pair of dark brown eyes that shone with the most sincerest of apologies; even had he tried, Chrom still couldn't help the enormous smile that broke out over his teeth and crinkled the corners of his own eyes as he extended a hand forward in welcome.

"It's quite alright. And thank you for deciding to come...?"

The young man he had addressed looked confused for a second before he realised he was being prompted. Once again, Chrom's chest felt a happy squeeze when his question yielded a small, shy smile and a gloved hand stretching out to meet his own in a tentative and warm shake.

"My name is Daraen, your Highness."

Just as a reminder, Daraen is the default name for Robin/Rufure/Reflet in the European release of Awakening (specifically, the release available for France, Italy and Spain).

Holy moly! After working on this for about three months, I honestly can't believe I finally have it up! With all my upcoming uni work and such, I hope I can have enough time to update this at a certain pace along with Get the Guy. I'm so grateful for my two betas, and I'm especially thankful to variety for having so much patience with me and all those revisions, comments, and conversations.

In case anyone gets confused about the areas the story is going to take place in, take a look at this map:

serenesforest dot net / wp-content / uploads /2014 /06 /world-map-full dot jpg

To get a better idea on how the first chapter panned out, the doomed crew took a ship from no. 20 and were supposed to arrive at 18 (here it's named Melilla). Instead Gregor decided to steer them over to the coast below 23, where they were blown off-course, until the ship crashed below the Prologue point.

As a side note, this is totally meant to have comedic scenes (it is an adaptation of Twelfth Night, after all!), but I'm really surprised with how...dark it started out as! It might get better in future chapters...I hope.