Warning for child abandonment and paranoia

I

Yllisse, for a southern country, usually had terrible winters.

His sister had been born in one, born screaming over the sound of the howling wind and the battered windows. His mother had told him that was the least agreeable his sister had ever been. Clearly, his mother had never met Lissa at the age of two. They'd had nannies for that.

And their father, of course.

But Father was gone now, Mother back in high society, and Emmeryn the Exalt of their home. And yet the winters remained.

And every winter was colder than the last. To build up the morale of soldiers, sometimes Chrom would run sleeveless through the streets of the city and sell scarves and hats. He would regret it hours later of course, when his fingers were turning blue through their gloves and his legs felt like powdered jelly.

It was worth it though, every time, to see people light up with relief, to be able to tell them where they could go for food or shelter, to follow along the trade caravans and meet other villages, small places, beautiful places.

Lissa got a lot of training too, with her cleric staff and opportunities for rescue, she was a dangerous girl now. Or she said she was. Not even Vaike had the lack of self-preservation to tell her otherwise.

Frederick presided over them all, as though he were the ruler of the streets and the capital. He was steady with his lance and sword and there was no horse more intimidating in the hold. And Chrom had Falchion firmly at his hip or in his hand at all times. There was nothing quite so intimidating as a large golden sword held firmly in the hands of their prince.

And this winter was one of the worst.

The merchants had given up the ghost around high noon, settling inside and watching everything blur into white and flocks of cloaked individuals hurrying from door to door, searching for a home.

Chrom, with Emmeryn's permission, was happy to provide.

"Spare bedrolls here!" he called through the open doorway. "Spare bedrolls, open fireplace! Open floor Soldiers will be enroute with food in a matter of hours, courtesy of the Church!"

"Bless you lad," he heard as people passed, but he paid them no mind, they were only grateful for what existed, not for him. They were at best, grateful with his sister. And they should be,really. She had made this legislation happen, pushed through with every stubborn reforged bone in her body. She took stones and turned them into reading slates, spears into plowshares, soldiers into people. On and on, and someday, he or Lissa would be likely thrust into the role, or their children would be and they'd have to be prepared.

Chrom had never felt less prepared for anything in his life.

The last bedroll free from his hand, he waved to Frederick. The knight approached with the grace of a cat, something Chrom could never imitate and wished he could. "We should go see if there are any who can't move."

"Of course, my lord," Frederick agreed immediately. "There will be a storm in the coming hours and the least we can do is offer walls and a roof."

The least. Yes, the least and heaven to these suffering people. Lissa saw them moving out the door and moved her staff away from where it had been warming fingers. She called out her farewells as she left, scurrying down the path after her brother.

"You could have said goodbye," she said, puffing out her cheeks in a pout. "They really like you, Chrom."

"Hopefully we'll be back there within the hour. I'll give them a proper farewell then," he said with a smile and a heavy pat onto her head. She pouted but she didn't stop him. Not that she would, she secretly loved when he did that. He'd tease her later when it wasn't so cold.

They moved quickly down the streets, tightening the safety of their scarves and wrappings against the chill. Window curtains were covered and thick in the dark, but what little light winked through cast spells of brief visibility.

"No one's behind the stalls at this moment," Frederick reported softly overhead. "There are rats however, on the ground."

Lissa wrinkled her nose and Chrom tucked this away. "Her majesty won't be happy to hear that, especially after all the work we've done with the poison mages."

"We'll have to work with cats again, I suppose," he heard Frederick say with a grunt and hid a smile. Frederick's one true nemesis in the universe was cats and no one knew why.

"It is the healthiest way-" He heard something scratch at the ground, something shuffle along. It was much too loud to be a rat. Possibly a rat pack, but there would be more noises, much louder. There was another shuffling noise. Then there was a loud thump and a very soft cry. A very helpless cry.

Chrom would later on pinpoint that as the exact moment his life flip flopped off its axis into something completely off-kilter. But that was for later. Right now, his hand was going to his sword and Lissa and Frederick were tensed up beside him. Only when another feeble cry came from that direction did Lissa race forward, oblivious to Chrom's shaking fingers. Her boots sank so deep into the snow it reached her tights. She seemed completely oblivious. He moved beside her, not removing his hand from the hilt of his sword as she leaned closer.

"I advise against this," Frederick began, though his expression was already resigned.

"Hush you," Lissa said without looking as she scooted a couple of paces. Squinting in the snow, Chrom could see the faint outline of dark fabric. "It's all right," she said to whatever was under that coat. If it really was another cat. "Come on, you must be cold! Let's take you to warm up."

A sound rather like a chirping bird (if the bird was the size of a chicken coop and could move an entire pile of boxes) answered at first, but then small fingers reached out for her hand. They were almost the color of the snow itself and Lissa's oversized gloves dwarfed the hand as she clasped it in both. She gave a small, gentle tug. Something small and dark popped out and planted face first against Lissa's chest.

Scaly wings twitched in the cold. Claws almost dug into Lissa's dress. Snow-white hair blended in with the flakes already flooding the oversized hood.

Frederick made a sound that Chrom had always related with displeasure. "My lady, get away from that child."

At least he'd had the courtesy not to just say that, as he'd probably wanted to. As most people thought to do.

"It's a manakete, not a demon," Lissa said, sounding annoyed at the very least. She repositioned herself and rose slowly with her arms wrapped around the child. The child didn't move at all, clawed fingers already losing their grip.

"My apologies," the man said through gritted teeth. "They are still a threat, they often look like children until long after your descendants have forgotten your name."

"I don't think that's so with this one." Chrom, partially to get his blood pumping, moved closer. "Wouldn't most manakete be capable of speech and also providing warmth? All the dragons who lived in colder temperatures were capable of survival in such a way despite not using fire." He leaned to get a closer look, hazel eyes

"This one would have to be under fifty years old if that's the case." Frederick turned at the sound of his irritable horse. "We should discuss this in the warmth of the castle."

"So we're bringing him with."

Lissa's tone brooked no argument, and Chrom couldn't help a shivering laugh at the look of exasperation their loyal knight had as he, quite exhausted of the two of them now, agreed.

If the man was hoping to get any kind of agreement out of their elder sister, Exalt and bound to all of the realm, he was sadly mistaken.

(Of course he wasn't, but then the Exalt Emmeryn had a softer heart than anyone else in the kingdom. Emmeryn would have already been carrying the child back at a full gallop in the time it had taken to convince him to bring him along at all.)

Honestly, if the poor boy wasn't being examined right now for a whole host of ailments, Frederick imagined that she would, if only for her own peace of mind, stride into the streets and see what other children were suffering under her watch.

Oftentimes, this family just was too gentle for its own good. Not that he was complaining. Much.

The prince stepped down into view just as Frederick finished wiping down and oiling his armor. "You should be in bed, my lord," Frederick chided gently.

Chrom nodded, bit wearily. "I know. I just ran into Sumia trying to warm up." His face colors a little and Frederick chuckles.

"At some point, you'll have to discuss the topic with her," he offers. "It's better than holding off and refusing it and risking your friend's upset, correct?"

"I… I suppose." Chrom scratched his head. "But if she doesn't feel the same…"

"She is still the friend who used you as a test taster, my lord," Frederick said gently. "As it should be, if you allow it. And even if she does, she is still that girl if you allow it."

Chrom smiled a little now, his blue eyes softening to something hopelessly charmed by intelligence. Such a silly child. Then he sobered once more, aging to beyond his years in mere minutes. "The child…?"

Frederick made a face then controlled it, much as it killed him to do so. "Poorly. He had a letter in his jacket, begging for him to be saved. His manakete blood is what's kept him alive so far, and he's recovering well, but…"

"But?"

Frederick shook his head. "He won't say more than a few words or some sounds at best. He seems capable of reading and writing, but there's a healing scar on his head. And all his clothes and hair speak of, if not the Grimleal, then the Plegians at least. There's a terrible mark burned into his skin, but he won't speak of it."

"You don't mean to suggest we'll send him back there, do you?" Chrom's eyes narrowed, staring at his retainer as if he hadn't quite seen him before in his life.

But Frederick was unphased by that stare. It had no kingly might behind, nor real anger. "Of course not, my lord. Even if he is a spy, he doesn't seem aware of it, nor how to communicate his findings. He's a child, even a manakete would struggle in their conditions. But he needs a better place than us. None of you are children anymore, and there is very little here to keep a manakete occupied. They need to fly and run and communicate with the Earth. Once spring arrives, he will grow uncomfortable and try to leave whether it's right for him or not. Or if he's strong enough."

Chrom listened to him, or at least appeared to. He'd seen his liege doze off with his eyes open before, among other oddities. "So we need to persuade him to stay, correct?"

Yes he had only heard one word in ten. "Go to bed my lord," Frederick said diplomatically rather than repeat himself. "You'll recall the rest in good time."

Chrom smiled and this time listened to what he was told. He disappeared up to bed, letting Frederick finish his rounds and rest. A few hours without dramatics, and the Shepherds would be enough.

Outside, the storm continued to howl.

Emmeryn had no plans for children. She had no plans for much of anything now. There was no need to with the council trying to map her every breath like they were. They hadn't found anyone suitable for her to marry, and her producing an heir was less important than her being on the throne as she was. The war, the violence, the poison, the death, these things weren't far from anyone's mind, and of the citizens, though they surely wanted it, it was not a risk she was willing to take for the wrong person, for their fledgling peace.

Still, that had nothing to do with the sleeping manakete toddler on the bed.

Many of the court ladies (who people often tried to regulate her to, like they hadn't named her Exalt and watcher of the realm) who sipped tea and told her how they ran the country, told her how the maternal instinct simply awoke when you held a child, how the world became right when you had one.

The rest rolled their eyes behind their scones and drinks, having never heard such lies in their lives and believed them.

Emmeryn, watching the child sleep, wasn't sure what to think either.

This was a Plegian manakete, which was odd enough. She was sure of it, the clothes were too well-kept to have been stolen. The dragons disliked the desert as much as they disliked the cold. The most she had ever seen a willing manakete was the tropics or temperate areas. Some of them truly preferred the sea. So why was one here, especially during a Yillessian winter?

Perhaps the parent had been running away with the child. That was fairly reasonable. There were still plenty of sellers and poachers about and manakete were rare enough that anyone who could, would take the opportunity. Her lips curled and no one saw it. Emmeryn smoothed her expression, as the child rolled on the side. She glanced at the roaring fire and at the child again, who honestly should have been sweating with the amount of warm blankets pulled over him. But he tossed over and moved them, revealing the scaly black wings twitching at his back as they peeked over the edge.

Fascinating, she thought. Or they will be, once he's better. Right now, what ought to be black was at best a mottled grey, scales flaked off and with barely the strength to stretch, let alone fly.

Emmeryn pulled the covers back over, watching him once more. White hair… where had she heard of this before? She must have.

She would have to check the records and ask the council. But that would be later.

Emmeryn rose from the tiny bed placed at the other side of her room, and went to her own.

She had none of these maternal instincts, but she knew you had to keep a child safe. But then, her father hadn't had any either in the end, and look where he had ended up.

She, like always would simply have to be better than him, better than her blood.

She had to be, for everyone's sake.

A/N:Hello all, this will be a slow fic to the tune of what if Robin was a young manakete? It is time for Chrom to be the dad he has always enjoyed. Everyone be very afraid for when Nowi arrives.

This was for the Into the Barracks Big Bang over on Tumblr! Thanks so much to Ariel for the cover art! Your feedback is appreciated!