You tend not to think on it too often.

Thinking on it makes it real.

You walk through the square of Chon'sin's largest city, named after its country back when Valm was one nation entire- which may be the case again. It is a general rule that princesses do not associate with the common folk, but you've always bidden fie to the rules. There is no one to watch you, no one to judge you- at least, none to impress. (Perhaps Walhart, if you ask your brother, but to hell with that). In many ways, it is a curse, but you will never deny the positives lest they cease to exist whilst you take them for granted.

There is little you can take for granted at this rate.

There is a festival going on today, you've heard from many a council meeting that seems to care a little much about this one. It's the third since the death of your parents, and the first since your brother began to acquiesce to Walhart as an ally. It's a Chon'sin tradition, though you've always forgotten the date or even the moon cycle, as you've never attended. In most years, you have seen the edge of proceedings from a castle window. Others where you were more risky, you visited in a carriage, waving from the windows at those you passed. Some, you never left your room at all, forgetting that your citizens were celebrating at all. Perhaps that's what you took for granted most- their happiness, and the presumption that it would be eternal.

Perhaps that's why you traverse the streets. You dress in fine clothes, but not the robes of a Chon'sin dynast- rather, the best garb of a swordfighter- your shirt as skintight as your skirt is loose, for you to run and swipe without distraction. Further still, a pair of katanas lie in two holsters along your back. You would so like to enjoy this moment, but you cannot avoid the nagging fear that something could happen.

You tell yourself that something could always happen, but always is not the amount of time you have had twin swords resting on guard against your back. It was at the insistence of your brother Yen'fay that you wore them if you dared venture out on town, much more a demand than the request he posed. Your eyes close as you think back to mother and father, and can only think on the change within Yen'fay into someone less open and more solemn than you already knew him to be. You never mention it to him, but you are angry that he stole the memory of your parents with his desperate, craven need for safety.

The palace rests atop a hill to the south, a watchful, disconnected guardian, the southern sea audible behind it as violent waves crash miles away. If you had no ken of the castle inside and out you would forget its existence, wonder what held the storm of the seas back if not for the large wall they shore against as it fades in and out of construction. Before it is the mouth of the city Chon'sin as its opens to each side. Yet the city sprawls to its east, and it repeats endless on every side against you except the one eastern, where it fades abruptly into a guarding wall that combs the side of the plains nearest the hill into the nothingness that you assume is the ocean. It is well guarded, and even from here you can see troops marching atop the paths on the walls. It feels like a safe haven, even as it feels more performative and fantastical; a fine idea.

The swords on your back remind you how you refuse comfort as a lie.

You find a seat on a fountain edge, feeling the remnants of its spray slap against your back before dying out in the pool. You hear people you only vaguely see walk in and out of frame; human forms rather than citizens. You don't recognize them, and those who spare passing glances at you seem not to either- not that posters of royalty are commonplace enough for many to recognize you on sight. It is strange, however, to be its leader and a mystery entire.

You feel someone sit near you on the edge, their weight shifting into position. You don't pay it mind until you feel the person move closer to you. You jerk your head up, looking to see who it is, if you know them- perhaps an official or guard from the kingdom's security.

"Princess Say'ri."

"Hmm?"

You finally jerk your head towards this person, and your left hand has crept towards a sword far before you have recognized such an action. You notice this stranger put his hands up, laughing. "Peace," he says. You notice your hand resting against one of the hilts and place it back, as if to pretend it was never there, instead observing this stranger who knows who you are.

Your head tilts as you piece him together- messy gray hair standing to attention, the tease of age beginning to wear down his olive skin, a thin needling scar on the edge of one brown eye, a plain black tunic and brown pants (well tailored) with a leather knapsack to the side, a thin-lipped smile that communicates a surprising amount of warmth and familiarity. Fie! Have you met this person? The slack of their body language yet distant reverence is enough to cause you to feel drawn to him before having ken of his name.

Finally, you confess, if only because your own confoundment at the situation irks you so. "Forgive me, sire, but my memory escapes me. Have we before met?"

Realization hits him. "Apologies, your grace!" He bows quickly, and though you are not used to the sight, you allow it. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Robin. I'm the strategist of the Ylissean Shepherds."

Your mouth drops. News travels quickly when relayed to a nation's sovereign, and you admit reverence to the Shepherds of Ylisse. Their conflict with Plegia surrounding their murder of Former Exalt Emmeryn was nipped in the bud in a surprisingly short time. Still, you did not expect the lead strategist of Prince Chrom to have time, much less desire, to visit your humble kingdom.

"Mercy," you muse. In your tongue, you reply "Hello, Robin." It is shaky and rickey, like each syllable could spring a trap.

"It's okay, your majesty. We can speak in Chon'sinese" he says in your tongue with manageable fluidity. Quite well spoken in such a short time; do the legends jape to call you an amnesiac?

Regardless, you smile. "Thank you. I am grateful that you decided to visit us." You bow in kind. "It is an honor, Robin."

His smile grows. "I'm flattered, honestly."

You nod your head, because he seems to think himself undeserving of such praise and you wish him to deny that thought. "I have heard of the Ylissean War. Rest assured you are admired here."

Robin's smile grows sheepish. "Damn, I'm honored. Thank you, your grace."

Your face tightens at the title, suddenly giving you ken of his own reluctant reaction. To divert the conversation, you ask "What brings you to Chon'sin? It is a few weeks away even by your western shores. A journey so long must have a reason."

Robin scratches the back of his head. He seems to take awhile to think- perhaps you should dull down your tongue for him to understand. "I read a lot," he explains.

"A wise move," you respond. He laughs in response. For such a notable tactician, he is strikingly humble and normal. Perhaps some officials would call it uncouth or classless, but action has always mattered to you more than words.

Robin remembers his early train of thought. "Oh! I should say, I decided to visit because…" he thinks for a second. Either the reason escaped him or he cannot remember him, and you'd be a liar to admit you weren't suspicious of him. Still, it matters not- he is here now. You will work out the details as the evening passes by.

You look towards the festival. "Because…" you help him out.

Robin perks his head. "I read up about the party," he explains. "Because of this, it was good time to visit Chon'sin." He puts his hand up in the air in grand fashion, following it with his eyes. You can't deny that you are as well. "Lucky me, making the first day!"

You smile. "I'm grateful to have you as a visitor," you say.

"So how does it work?" he asks. "Same as any other, or different?"

You think, face downturned. "I…" How to explain to him without looking clueless or sad. "This is my first festival. Celebration."

He repeats the word for festival to himself. Then: "Don't worry." He stands up and says "I suppose we shall figure it out as we go." He outstretches a hand to you. "If you will."

Quite bold, to expect a princess to accompany a commoner, but you are as typical a princess as he is a commoner. You take his hand, and he pulls you up. "I accept," you tell him.

As you rise to your feet he bows once more. "Charmed," he says. You run a circle into his hand once, trying to communicate that you are equals, before you let go to stand on your own. Thoughts buzz in your head, as if you are trying to fill in missing pages of a familiar book, but you imagine the pages will fill in as you go.