Author's notes: Hello! This is Daydreams and Nightmares' first chapter. If you're here to catch the latest update (whatever it is), g'won and skip ahead. If you're a new reader, then by all means stick around! Whichever you are, I'm presently working on edits throughout the fic to improve quality.

Thanks and enjoy the fic! Criticisms are always welcome.

"Hey, Nin," I say, leaning back and swerving my wheeled chair around, "Does this look good to you?"

Amidst shelves of games and books, Nin stands out– our dorm isn't very well lit; there's just a top light and our computer screens. The titles closest to her are Okami, Zelda: Ocarina of Time, Pokemon Black, Dark Cloud, Zelda: Skyward Sword, and Devil May Cry. Her skin reflects quite a bit of light– not as much as mine, but she's still pretty bright. In more ways than one! I doubt I'll meet a more skilled writer than her. Her oval glasses seem to reflect this, along with her short hair. Brown and kinda wavy. There's also notable chub on her face, as if the world needed more evidence of her state as a computer potato. There are a few crumbs on her desk, some bell peppers and pretzels lying around, too. She's wearing a black Zelda shirt today, and fuzzy pajama pants. (She never likes to part with them, really.)

At any rate, she looks away from her game– breeding in Pokemon AS (Alpha Sapphire), for some reason Pokemon never dies– to try and see my laptop screen. "Show me?" Ooh, is that a perfect IV Marill? I think Zuzu's gonna be jealous. (Zuzu's my Azumarill.)

I turn the laptop around and show her. I've been working on this drawing awhile– concept sketches are fun because they're quick, actual character art is torture. Mostly because my tablet a giant slab of tech, but I like the thing– for one, it's good exercise to heft it, for another I can bend over it like a drawing pad. Anyways, I volunteered to do some artwork for the game dev club here at our college, and now it's done. Whew!

Nin, Ninny, Nineeyena– I use them all interchangeably– nods at my work. "I'm no artist, but your anatomy looks good and you definitely get across an innocent character in that one. I'd just use a different color." Ah, right. I suppose white isn't necessarily perfect. ... But seriously, what color do I use? Gah.

Anyways, Nineeyena– it's not her real name, but she and I met over the internet. Was her username, see? So I haven't been able to break the habit of calling her by that name. It's so weird whenever we're in a class together and she's called for roll as Emily. (She doesn't even look like one. She looks like a Nineeyena.) She actually has the same habit with me, she hasn't called me anything other than Shanzira for years. It wasn't even my first username, but I'm glad no one uses that anymore. Everyone hates their old usernames, and I'm no exception. The best part about the names and usernames thing is my best friend and moirail– whose username is Mike, but her real name is androgynous. And she's female, last I asked. Gender confusion's always been a great gag with her.

Over at my part of the dorm... Amidst piles of cute and squishy plush dolls, I sort of blend in. They're not pastels like little kid toys– I'm kinda picky. I look like just another piece of fabric thrown into the mix. My face stands out, yeah. I have a Fennekin sitting by my computer; I like to imagine she watches me and plays with my fingers when I type. I haul her into class occasionally. I also have quite a few filled sketchbooks and pencils lying around... Because of that, my part of the dorm tends to be filthy.

Okay, right. Color. What should I use for cutesy? White's out. ... A warm color? Maybe pink and lavender. Yeah, let's go with that. It's a quick matter of sliding some bars around to change the colors–– oh, come on, mouse, work. Fine, I'll grab the tablet again. HURGH! I'm really just too lazy to swap my mouse's batteries. Oh, wait, I wanna save, too. And a note to change the colors. Done. Phew. Precious work saved... And that wasn't even homework.

I got my homework done hours ago. Been looking forward to hopping on Tumblr with some friends to roleplay.. We sort of stalk the Fire Emblem community. I've been trying to rope Mike into joining, but I guess she's sticking with private Skype RPs. They are pretty good, I have to admit– she could use more of an eye for detail and has to remember to keep every character's personality distinct, but she's still really, really fun to RP with.

"So who do you have tomorrow?" I yawn. Hmm, why am I so sleepy? It's nearly seven, and I normally stay up past midnight. Nin and I are taking similar classes, though she's still undeclared. She's also a year behind me, so I have some experience on her. Hey, this is college, we can just focus on finding our ways in life. I know that all I want is a good home and the sweetest husband ever. How normal.

She glances at her calendar. It's October and she's a freshman, so she's not used to this yet. Navigating the halls must be torture for her, I remember I had to set aside ten or so minutes to find my classroom in my first semester. (I went in quite a few circles before I finally had a calibrated compass for this place.) "I have 2D Design next."

Oh sweet Naga no. "With Dennis?" I'm in that class myself– I took it my first semester and dropped it, I was failing. Embarrassingly. She has it at a different time than I do, though; otherwise, I'd be aware of her schedule tomorrow.

She nods. "The one you hate." Thaaaaaaaaanks.

I have a look in the mirror. My hair feels like a mess, maybe I should give it another combing. Or take a shower. No, no... Hair's still tied back in a curly, frizzy mess. Wait, mess? I thought I'd curled it into a queue. (I twirl the brush while pulling it through the queue, it makes a nice, thick curl that it all follows.) I've got a few zits on the fringe of my hair that I can't stop picking at, there might be one hidden under my eyebrow hair. My eyebrows aren't those skinny little drawn-on ones, mind, they're legit brows. My eyes are almost parallel to them– same curve and everything. Not too wide, really. I'm much more observant than most people think I am– though, like everyone else, I have my derp moments. I trace a finger along my ramp nose– I'd guess it's medium big, it's not like Nin's adorable little flat nose. My lips are a bit crusty because I slather chapstick on them all the time. Other than a teensy bit of baby fat on my face, though, I'm pretty skinny. Not as skinny as those girls in high school whose arms strictly followed their bone structure– it was always so creepy to see that, I hope they're all okay– but I don't like how my ribs are visible if I lift my shirt, how I'm a sheet of paper if I turn sideways.

I'm thin, too thin. I'm working on eating more– it's amazing how much hungrier you get when you exercise regularly. I think I'm hungry most of the time, but I'm so used to it that I don't eat because I deem it as bored hunger. ... Also, I don't like being interrupted to eat. Stomach can be a pain sometimes. But, that's part of why I'm in a renaissance guild. ... Okay, that's a minor reason, really. The big two are to get in shape and to learn self-defense. After a couple of years with them– and half a year of being dropped because life is confusing– I think I've developed some decent muscle.

... None of that muscle is visible because I never shed my coat. What coat? The coat I always wear! A tactician's coat. The one from Fire Emblem: Awakening. Nobody around here gets where it's from, it breaks my heart. (Back in high school, someone asked if it was from Assassin's Creed. Really?) Among those who get where it's from, I'm known as 'the tactician.' (I can't actually do tactics reliably for shit. I get roasted in chess all the time.) Under the coat I generally wear a big, roomy shirt– but today I'm wearing a nice, green V-neck tee. As for pants, I stick to jeans– being able to wear a belt that I can stick my satchel on is useful. Right now, though, I'm wearing these tiny light green skinny jeans that have almost no pockets. Oh yeah, and putting my knife on the belt's good too. (What? It's for self-defense.) The satchel holds my wallet, but I've put it away for now. Haven't had to carry it since I moved out. Anyways, this satchel has quite a bit of room, I always wear it in conventions with my cosplay (or I stuff them into a prop). That way, I can have my iPhone and 3DS both in one convenient place.

I don't ever go out without any of those. I'd bring my sketchbook everywhere as well, but sadly the thing is kind of unwieldy. Anyways, I'm in my dorm– there's no need to have it on me. "Hey, Nin. You wanna grab dinner? It is nearly seven," I look at the clock again to make sure. Yeah, I have a clock. Kinda useless to look at it, it's off by half an hour. (I can't be bothered to reset it.) Sadly, this college doesn't have a cafeteria, so we'd have to drive somewhere.

"Sure," she says, long having returned to her 3DS. "Just let me train this Marill."

What the– no. I don't care that EV training got sped up by miles in sixth gen, she'll take forever and I'm starving. Since my stomach's not saying anything, I speak up instead, with a load groan. "Nin, the cows'll come home before you finish. At least take a break to eat." Unlike me, Nin usually prioritizes food over training, so she much be really into it. She inhales food (her words, not mine). ... Maybe there's a solution, I could run and grab something for her. But she needs exercise. Ugh, I'll just grab it by myself. I rub my face with one hand and briefly note how sweaty it is from tablet work. "You know what," I stand up and pick up my lanyard with the keys, "tell me what you want, I'll bring it back..." Or not. Holy crap... Suddenly I just...

I'm really dizzy. Why? Where did this come from? Is it maybe... I dunno... Low blood pressure? I get it a lot... Happens when I don't eat much. Stumble. Oh right, I'm... I was standing. Now I'm leaning. On a wall. It's not usually this bad. Umm... Shit, shit. Why am I dizzy? I don't want to be dizzy! I want to be able to think clearly! Augh! Calm down! CALM DOWN, YOU IDIOT! Heart, slow down! SLOW THE HELL DOWN! Is this a heart attack– don't be silly, heart attacks hurt. I'm just scared! Anxiety, yeah, that happens all the damn time! Aaagghhh! Okay why did I just yawn? How can I be sleepy in such a situation?! I feel like it's Saturday and shenais are being thrown at me!

Okay, if I'm gonna faint– which I might, never done it before but who knows– I'd better faint on my bed. Bed. Comfy. Squishies. Plushies. They'll calm me down. "Shanzira?" A rolly chair is pushed back, Nin stands, and her 3DS closes with a clop. "Why are you going to bed, it's too early for sleep. I thought you were hungry?"

I barely make it into bed before I pass out. Last thing I know is the feel of my favorite plush unicorn.

Wow, it's windy out. Sweetness, I love the wind. Crazy, crazy wind, now where's my coat? Oh yes, I'm still wearing it. All I need to do is stand up, hold out my arms, and revel in this beautiful breeze and flowy coat. All I need now is a cape. Haha, that wouldn't go with this outfit at all.

Wait a minute. I thought I was in my dorm. I snap open my eyes and jump to my feet. You know that anime-ish jump where a person lying down just curls their legs into their torso, then uses them to spring onto their feet? I have that mastered. Being short helps.

I'm not in my dorm, what the hell? I'm in a grassy field. Wow, this is beautiful. I see a wheat field and it's all around me, one big ocean of tall stalks, amber waves of grain, everything. Where am I? You don't see this in the city. So I'm probably not in California anymore, which means I can't count on the wind to serve as a compass. Okay. Where's the sun at? Rising just a little over the horizon. Perfect. Left hand points east, right points west, and I'm facing north. Let's try going north.

I'm an internetter and an artist, a cosplayer and video gamer. I just woke up in a grassy field somewhere, I have no clue where, but I know which way is north. I am twenty years of age, I have suffered and recovered from depression, and I see myself as a badass and yet simultaneously a woman still trying to carve out her path in life. I like to think of myself as a good strategist, but I actually suck at it, and my true skills lie in art and writing and all that is creative.

Do I have music on me? Pockets, pockets, good, I have my phone and some earbuds. I plug 'em in and start playing. Put entire music library on shuffle. Funny how what first plays is the theme for the future in Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers. That's not helping my anxiety. Hey, phone, help me out here! "Where am I, Siri?"

"Would you like to search the internet for "Where am I, Siri?""

... What the hell?

No, I wanna– screw it, I'll just walk someplace. I'm not that patient enough with technology, although my mother would have a field day with this. This theme is getting even more fitting. Anxiety, stop it. Heart, slow down. Oh, god. I have no clue where I am. Keep walking. Keep walking. Don't stop. At some point things will start to work themselves out.

There's a town in the distance. Looks pretty small. Okay, I can get my bearings properly there. I begin to speedwalk. I've never been on my own outside of my hometown. I'm twenty, and yet still so inexperienced. Well, I guess that's what happens when you have depression for eighteen years, you never get out anywhere. At least, I never did.

Wait a minute. How is it that the clock on my iPhone works, and not the GPS? I pull out my iPhone again and look at the lock screen. 7:28 AM. AM? But it was almost seven PM, and I collapsed sleepily... I don't know. Augh. This business is making my head hurt. The sun might be out and it might be morning, but the beauty of this scene doesn't fit what's going through my mind in the slightest. Keep walking, just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Okay, this music is getting depressing. I stop my iPhone and pull out my earbuds. Back in the satchel you go.

I pause about thirty yards or so away from a little town-like blip and stare. It's like a ye-olde-farm-town; no… er… what are most houses constructed of these days? There's no smooth paint jobs, it's just mud brick houses. Pretty. Okay, I walk in, noting that my feet aren't hurting yet. (These are the comfy boots, thank god.) Narrow streets; shoddy, brick-and mud-houses, and all the people are wearing the clothes of medieval-ages peasants. I feel quite out of place. It's a good thing these are the boots I can actually hike in. I don't have my music in, but there's a song that keeps playing in my head, "Even in Death" from Homestuck. Why is it that the depressing themes are the ones coming to mind? Ugh. I thought I was rid of this two years ago. Maybe I can stick Laverre City in my head.

"Excuse me," I blurt to a passing peasant (for lack of a better word). "Where is this?"

He looks at me like I'm stupid. (Somewhat ironic, his face looks pretty dumb. … Here I am, passing judgement as usual.) Ugh, this is why I hate asking questions. "This is Southtown, missy. The inns are over thataways if you need one." He points his thumb down the street behind him a little ways to my left, then goes about his business again.

That was extremely helpful. The name of this place is "Southtown." COULD HE HAVE BEEN ANY MORE VAGUE?! Argh! I shake my head and keep walking. I don't have any money– I never keep any on me– so I doubt I could get me a room at an inn. So it looks like I'm a wandering vagabond. Wayward? Heh. Homestuck. Just don't make me a mayor. Besides, I liked the Parcel Mistress better.

Actually, the buildings are improving in terms of quality and material as I head further in. They're going from mud bricks to stone walls. They even look kinda nice. I always did have a soft spot for the rustic look when it came to architecture. Hell, I think I even see a little canal... I guess this "town" is richer than I thought it was. It's much prettier on the inside, if nothing else. I spend a few hours wandering around, seeing the sights, and nicking unattended fruit in the market stalls whenever I get hungry. Apples aren't really my favorite, but they'll tide me over.

Hey, maybe I can even snatch some art materials and set up business. Who knows? I've been caught without my sketchbook... Humiliating, but I can always just do some favors and earn enough money to buy some.

Well, noon was a long time ago, but I have money, a wallet to store it in, and art supplies with which to earn it. I suppose I'm going to have to get used to quills and having to refill them... Aaaahahahah, this is gonna suck. I miss fountain pens. But, I can still paint, and people have been quite glad to take my cheap paintings (normally they aren't so cheap, but they're using gold coins, not a currency I'm normally familiar with). That, and cheap portraits of their most beloved family members are great.

I'm sitting on a curb by a canal. I don't have any commissions right this minute, so I have my art stuff put away, I'm fiddling through my satchel. Bless this thing. Remember, I'm wearing the pair of pants with useless, tiny pockets. They're comfortable, though. Going with it is my little V-neck green tee, showing off my figure very nicely. It's a setup I quite like. And if I don't actually want to show off, I still have the coat, hiding me with its great big shapelessness.

Anyways, pockets. I have my phone– that was apparent enough, as I asked Siri where I was and got no decent answer. I'm certainly more comfortable now than I was before, but there's no changing how lonely I am. I mean, it's great that I can keep my thoughts to myself, but having a familiar face to cling to for comfort would be wonderful.

I can't even use my music to distract myself, because the earbuds and the cord kinda draw attention. Not about to show off my tech. Anyways, the last of what I have is my chapstick and my 3DS. I've checked it, it's got Awakening in it– and it's also got my spare copy of Pokemon X, stored in the SD card. Ahh, I'm so glad I moved all my data to one big eight-gig one... All my games and stuff on one convenient package. The 3DS stays safe in my satchel.

I might be in the middle of nowhere, but this isn't too bad. I have a means to survive, it wouldn't be too hard for me to just crop up a living here! I think this'll do nicely. Much better than the fate I was roped into before. Time to lie back on this curb and relax...

"AIYAAAAHH!"

OR NOT!

What a scream, god they're loud in reality– anxiety, stop it– it's making my heart do cartwheels. There's a woman being harassed by this strange,thickset guy with an axe, on the other side of the canal. There's even a bridge nearby. I... didn't notice it before? ... Defenseless woman against man with axe. No weapons. Can't help. Fuck.

Wait a minute. This is finally ringing some bells. I blink, then raise a hand and count the people nearby, excluding the lady. The townspeople have all vacated the area, or are in the process of doing so, and there are armed men rifling through whatever's left behind. ... This is so different from a renfair that some jackass is threatening. We carry actual weapons, yes, and we come running if there's a threat, but I've never actually seen such a threat. I'm young, that's my excuse and I'm running with it.

And one of them is coming for me, because I happen to be left behind! Shit. I got my knife, yeah, but that's really nothing compared to that nasty axe of his. I'd have to sneak in really close to him in order for it to be effective, and that's not my fighting style at all– I'm a spearwoman, I like to stand back and poke people. Effectively, my knife's for show, even though I do know how to use it.

Okay, well, I can use the knife if I have to. I'll see if I can't lead him someplace so I can sneak attack him. I draw the thing and adjust my posture– I stand with my chest puffed up and head tilted forward, and take a step back. Glance to the sides. There's an armory just down the street, behind me and on my right, I notice. (I can tell because it's the place with a sword and shield over the door.) I've got my plan.

Bolt. Go for the armory. Axeman follows. Slip through door, and it's empty, looks like the proprietor ran off like everyone else (despite the fact that he could so easily use the place as a fort). Grab a spear off the wall. Twist around and twirl it. It's heavier than I'm used to, but it'll do. This guy doesn't have to know that I'm a noodle.

"Why don'tcha put down that twig and come with me, pretty?" Oh, shit. He's not backing down, he's grinning in the most disgusting way– look at his teeth! Eugh! They're rotten– and brandishing his axe, meaning to scare me. I do my best not to let him know that it's working. (Despite the fact that something like this has happened before to me, I will never not be shocked by it.) Okay, what's nearby me? I back into the armory's counter, a front desk of sorts, and I grab whatever I can off of it and hurl it at this guy.

Did I mention my aim sucks? I can't throw to save my life. Mr. Brigand just ducks beneath it– I overshot, shush– and rushes at me. I move to the side and hold out the spear I just pilfered, then I take it a step further and try to swipe at the guy.

Ugh, I'm not trying, am I? I'm normally better than this when I'm sparring. I still hit him; blood is drawn. It's not any decent damage though, because like I said, not putting effort in. He snarls, looks at me again, and takes a swipe with his axe. "You'll pay for that!" I step back to dodge. Really, is that the best line he could come up with? I twist around and run out of the armory the way I came. I go back to the little square I'd been sitting serenely in just a few minutes ago. It's not like I don't have space and stuff to mess with.

What a mess. Fighting is what's going on. Uh, there are some thugs, they're being dealt with by a small group of people, dodging and weaving between stuff left lying around. Can't let myself get distracted, there's still this guy to worry about. I turn around and climb up on some crates, just around the corner I know this guy's about to run by. "Welp, there's a first time for everything," I mutter. "First life taken... in about a minute." Just fill up your head with screaming, Shanz, and you won't hear any protesting from your mind. The brigand runs out after me, pauses to look around, then I jump him and impale him through the back. Blood spurts and flows onto the stone pavement as I pull the spear out (with some difficulty; it comes out with a squelch and my stomach nearly knots). Oh, god. This is... disgusting. And my anxiety's going nuts. I could vomit. Let's not vomit. Let's look up. More brigands, presently being attacked by that small group– four people. Okay. I think the four people could use some help, because if they die, so do I. I think. And the numbers they're facing really suck.

I just killed someone, ahead of me are some people who resemble video game characters I know too well, I'm on my own, I'm on my own, and I'm freaking the fuck out!

GET IN THERE, YOU GODSDAMN PANSY! AND STOP CRYING!

I pole-vault over a corpse and weave past a stack of crates that used to be a market stall– aww, I got a baguette from this place, now it's burning– and pause. I could get killed. I could be crippled. I could be captured and raped, or else seriously hurt…

Chrom needs help. I can provide said help. End of story. Charge in and help!

Sburban Jungle, I think, charging in with my spear raised. Even as the name pops up, the song itself plays in my head. Let's go. I skewer a swordsman who was busy going after a girl with a staff– Lissa, no mistaking those blonde pigtails and that hoop skirt– and then I jump away to make sure nobody goes after me while I'm similarly distracted. Lucky shot, I swear. I turn around to find an axeman coming after me, and it strikes me that my defensive capabilities suck. Like, they really do suck. This guy could probably kill me in one hit. My eyes widen notably, Mr. Brigand # 2 sees this, and he raises his axe high, charging, and–

And then he stumbles, a woman with a sword– tactician coat, like mine but of better quality, white hair, this is Robin– just hit him in the gut with the aforementioned blade. Blood's on the ground beneath him, but he's not dead yet. I point my spear and charge in to finish him.

"Wait!" Cries the woman, the axeman raises his arm and MY CHEST! Augh! There's an axe in my chest! Oh god oh god ohgodohgodohgodohgod back away. I back away, the axe slips out of the wound and my blood joins the corpse of the man I just impaled on the ground. I don't even have the strength to pull my spear out; my hands dart to my chest to try and hold off exsanguination. Aw, shit. I just had to fuck this up, didn't I? This is what I was warning myself about!

A sharp, loud whistle distracts me briefly. "Lissa!" That's Robin's shout, I think? "Heal this woman!" I see, out of the corner of my eye, the Robin pointing at someone behind me, then at me. Yeah, that's my coat, except much closer to the original design than mine.

I thought I had trouble distinguishing dreams from reality, but this is stupid. This is... Ouch, ouch, this hurts. Augh! Hi, ground! Why do you have to greet me so painfully?! I think my nose is bleeding! A hand grabs my shoulder and turns me over onto my back, exposing my belly and wound to the sky. Sunlight splashes on my warm, sticky blood, and I'm greeted by the sight of blonde pigtails, gray blue eyes, and a button hat– Lissa.

I give up, I don't know what's going on anymore. It's too realistic to be a dream, I can see sharp details I would otherwise not notice; I never felt pain, pain like this, in any dream I've had… I fell asleep in my dorm, didn't I? So how the fuck am I here?

I feel a terrible itching, but even as I feel it over my chest, the pain recedes. I open my eyes again and note that my wound– that great gaping gash left by that axe has mended, almost miraculously. So healing is a thing, that rules out insane cosplay fights. I get up, wow that was a shock.

"Thank you," I wheeze out as I stand. Where's my spear? Ah, there. I walk over to the corpse I stuck it in and pull it out, ignoring my slick grip. Wow, that's a lot of blood– ignore it. Just, um, wipe it! With the guy's trousers! Oh, woop, why am I on my knees? Come on, I can– I can… move…? Move…

Get up…

Every muscle clenched… Frozen… Trapped…

I can hear everything going on. Orders given, affirmations, shouts and grunts. A thug laughing, then groaning before a thud. A sword being sheathed. Footsteps, hoof-steps. Armor clinking. Wind brushing by. It's quiet again.

Footsteps stop right in front of me, it's Robin, a woman, silvery hair. Tied in two buns on either side, dangling down in her front. Snow-pale skin, dappled brown eyes. Petite figure, but nothing next to mine. Her hand's outstretched much as… that… one scene. When Chrom picks her up from that field…

Beginning of a beautiful friendship?

"Are you all right?" Robin tries to smile, but given what just happened, it's not surprising that she fails. Here, lemme show you how it's done… A shit-eating grin, just for you.

"Just an anxiety attack," I answer as though it's an everyday occurrence. It might as well be, I am pretty prone to them. I shouldn't kid myself, that was a full-on panic. "I can move now, I'm fine. Did you guys finish them off while I was down?"

She nods and pats my shoulder comfortingly. There's that mark on her hand– wow, her hands are tiny. Almost as tiny as mine. I'm careful not to say anything, good thing, too, because she's still talking. "Perhaps you should stay off the battlefield if you're prone to these. They could be the..." She stops as she realizes what she's doing. Yes, stop making my anxiety worse. "Perhaps you'd like to come with us? You might be safer."

"Y-yes, that might be a good idea–" Hey, wait a second. I'm not supposed to know crap. Well, I did decide to help these guys out. Um. "You guys are…?"

Her mouth drifts sideways slightly in thought. Then, with a gentle hand, she grasps my right wrist and leads me to– oh god it's him. Why?

"Chrom, this woman helped us on the battlefield. She's not bad with a spear, but she did collapse in the middle of that fight..." Her tone is almost appraising; she's already thinking like a tactician. "Perhaps it would be a good idea to take her with us."

My heart, which had just begun to slow down, picks up the pace again. God. Damn. It. Stupid anxiety.

Chrom, in all his blue-haired, scruffy-caped, bared-armed, badass glory looks me over. His skin's just as tanned as his artwork hinted, through probably many, many hours of marching under the sun. And, on his shoulder is the mark, the exalt's mark, a shade of dull red. And his face– sharp yet round, somehow.

Gods, he's pretty. My jaw's dropped, my mouth's open, and honestly I just can't stop staring.

"What's your name?" He speaks in a blunt tone. More so than I'd expected. It's been a while since I picked this game up, but I'd meant to play it earlier today. Well, good thing I still have my 3DS... Though after a while, it'll probably die on me. "Excuse me, ma'am," he says. Wuh? Oh, right, he's talking to me. "What's your name?"

"Shanzira." Well, that was a… thoughtless blurt. That isn't even my real name, it's an old username. Well, this is a fantasy realm... Perhaps a fantastic name suits me here. And did he just… call me "ma'am?"

This feels like… a dream… A wonderful, sweet dream… It can't be real, can it?

"Well, Shanzira." He says the name exactly as I had imagined it two years ago when I first played the game. Oh, yes, that was the name I'd picked for it. I never choose my real name when I play video games. Anxiety, paranoia, etc. Chrom continues talking, so I pull my head out of my mind. "Would you mind telling us who you are?"

"Uhh." I'm caught off guard. I'm good at improvising, but improvising under pressure is exceedingly hard to do, and I never was... Um. What do I do? Answer the question. Honestly. "An artist. I do paintings and sketches, I also have a whole bunch of other, uh, skills. Only one of which is useful in a situation like this, and that's spear fighting! Oh, and knife fighting, but I'm too scared to use my knife properly."

"You claim to be frightened, yet you brandish the widest grin I've seen since milady thought to replace my boot polish with pitch." I'm so screwed, I'm so screwed, and all I can do is grin like a dumbass. Thank you, Frederick, for reminding me how fucked I am. Why's the most handsome guy in the group have to be the one that brings the hammer down? Perfectly shaped face, beautifully tossed brown hair with a healthy shine, brown eyes locked in a permanent squint, and the most gorgeous posture I ever saw. Oh yeah, let's not forget his armor: Clean and shiny as if it was just polished, despite having just survived battle.

I nod right at him in affirmation (also so I don't drool or anything.) "Yes." I grin because I'm so, so screwed. "I don't know why, I just do." I remember a friend saying something about me laughing when I'm in pain to stave off a potential panic attack. "Keeps me from freaking out too badly!"

"Frederick, be nice. She's terrified!" Lissa comes up and folds her arms, scowling at him. "Did you see her freeze up, or were you too busy putting your lance up some brigand's butt?" whAT WAS THAT PFFAHAHAHAHAHA! "She really helped out! Don't repay her by stabbing her in the back like that. She saved me from a myrmidon!"

Did I? I don't remember. "She paid me right back, if she wasn't around to heal things, I'd be bleeding out over there."

… What do I do? I'm in such trouble. I should just bolt–

"I think we should invite them to be Shepherds, Frederick." Chrom folds his arms and looks to his brown-haired lieutenant, not about to hear any protest.

What?

Frederick gives this really annoyed sigh, and I can only assume Chrom's been annoying him by simply being trusting this whole time. "Recruiting two strangers in one day. Merely because they both aided us in combat is not cause enough to trust them. Milord, I cannot condone this."

He sounds like my father, no joke. I don't know whether I love Frederick or hate him. He's gorgeous, but he's an ass. Chrom thinks for a second, then voices his rebuttal: "They both risked their lives. One of them even nearly lost hers. And we would repay this kindness with... suspicion and ungratefulness? They didn't have to join in and help, but they did when they could have run."

He's not bad at this, you know. Better than he was in the game. I guess he paid attention in school. Now that I think of it, shouldn't Frederick be at a disadvantage? I'm pretty sure he didn't receive such a lavish upbringing. I dunno, it's been a while since I read the support conversations.

With another sigh, Frederick concedes that point. "Very well. But surely our friend Robin can provide an explanation for how she came here?" Um?! Some respect for her! Please? Enough with the sarcasm.

I can just see Robin concealing a sigh. "I understand your skepticism, Sir Frederick, but I have shared all that I know. Please forgive me." She's surprisingly gentle. If I were in her shoes, I'd be pulling my hair out in frustration. I'm actually reminded of Emmeryn. I think things are a little different here than in the game... I'd like to think my subconscious is screwing it up, but…

"Frederick." The tone of Chrom's voice comes as a surprise to me– he almost sounds like a child, demanding a toy or something. "I've made my final decision. We could use Robin's talents. As for Shanzira, she helped us as well, and it would only be fair if we at least paid them back for their assistance."

"Wait, wait." I'm normally loathe to interrupt conversation (well more of I'm too scared to), so this is quite out of character for me, but I need to clarify this. "Is that a job offer I'm hearing? Because that would be an excellent way to help me out, and Robin too. Give some direction to the lost lambs." Oh god, the fittingness of that statement hit me only after I said it. I'm the princess of accidental puns, taught by my father.

The prince nods, a smile on his face. "I couldn't have put it better myself. Are we not Shepherds?" It must be wonderful when someone else comes up with the most eloquent argument for you. And it works, because Frederick finally concedes the point, and there's a lull in the conversation until he starts talking business with Chrom. I know how this goes, so I just decide to glance around from where I'm standing.

People are coming out of their hiding places now that the fighting's done, they're looking at the stuff they left behind and sighing– either in relief or in resignation, depending on whether it was spared. They set about picking it all up– in quite an orderly way. Nobody's stealing anything. Just like school– people there are so nice, they don't steal anything from the other students. Everyone must know each other. Like a small town…

What time is it? I look up at the sky, just before a yawn splits my mouth open. Sun's crawling down towards the other end of the horizon, so it looks like it's about six or so. Hm, about dinnertime. I still have one of those apples I bought earlier, so I pull it out– wow, it's unscathed. Not for long. Munch. Mm, that watered down sweetness of a red delicious, I love it. Not too much of a punch. It's nice to eat apples that don't have stickers on them.

"So you're an artist?" Oh, Lissa. Okay, conversation. Turn to her, see her eyebrows raised a bit in curiosity. Well, I do have some materials on me… Not my sketchbook, though. Shame, I'm kinda fond of the thing. Anyways, I owe her an answer, once I can clear my mouth.

Nod, chew, swallow, speak. "Of sorts." Bite. Chew.

I can see her standing on her toes, bending over slightly as she looks into my eyes– wait, she's shorter than me? Oh, no, it's just her posture. "Can..." I immediately note the hesitation in her voice before she continues, "can you draw me?"

Ughhhhhhhh. Does anyone ever realize how annoying that is? I shit you not, that's the second most common comment I get (most common being 'can I see your drawings?') and it's infuriating. I haven't gotten that since high school; everyone's too respectful in college. Odd that college is respectful while everyone else thinks privacy shouldn't be a thing.

"I... I just fought and killed someone, miss. My hands are covered in blood, and I'm shaking too hard."

I cannot draw while I am quivering with anxiety. I have tried it over and over. It has wounded my grades because I cannot draw at my best in my parents' house. (Look, I don't like my dad. He scares me.)

Lissa's then distracted, so I miss her reply. A peasant just ran up and shouted that we five ought to stay the night, and I know how this conversation is going to go. Frederick apologizes and says no, we must hurry back to Ylisstol, Lissa squawks in complaint and reminds him that it's nearly dark, Frederick says they'll camp and blah blah blah. I yawn again. Now that I check my heart rate, it seems my anxiety's calmed down. The four of them finish bantering, and we leave.

We've left the village behind by about an hour, and the sun's set, when I have another fit of yawns. I find myself overcome by the same sleepiness I felt about only twelve hours ago. "Guys, we should stop or something... I'm about to fall asle…" Aw, crap.

There's a susurrus as I land face-down in the grass, snoozing by the time I hit it.

Was it good? I hope this is better than my past work. But you're the judge of that, so please leave me a review and let me know! Thank you for reading!