Alright, so I had to get this out of my system. Don't worry, Heaven and Checkmate may update within the NEXT WEEK, maybe. Gods know I am terrible with estimations. For now, have this, lovely people. This will be a three-to-four shot story. I was aiming for one, but editing twenty pages per go ain't so good for my attention span. So I chopped it up.
Thank you all for reading. It makes me happy to know that people read my stories.
P.S. While writing the first scene, all my brain could think of was Maribelle critical-ing everyone in the room, yelling 'I WILL RUIN YOU' as she decapitates them all with a tree branch.
I could say that that I'll be the one you'll need,
but that would be a lie.
Maribelle has just had about enough. For once in her life, she felt uncomfortable in her pink silk ensemble and bear leather riding boots, sweltering in the heat of tension within the Ylissean throne room. She was invited as a member of the new ruler's council, as an official representative of the county of Themis, and by gods, she was already irritated beyond belief. The Ylissean court has called forth a meeting to discuss the floating rumour about a certain tactician. It would seem that they have caught wind of their king's and the Plegian woman's engagement, and the council seemed appalled by the scandal. Chrom, like his sister before him, could not refuse the congregation of its request, no matter how foul smelling.
Maribelle sincerely wished he had.
"Milord, with all due respect, what manner of reasoning would this announcement beheld? She is of Plegian roots, as is evident in her robes, and the strange marking on her hand, as seen by one of our own scouts has been researched by our scholars and they confidently state that it is a mark related to Grima. Your Majesty, she is a Grimleal! She cannot be allowed around the Ylissean people, much less its monarchy!" The Duke of Richmind, a balding, really frail old man with a scowl so severe, Maribelle would bet her parasol that he could make babies cry simply by existing—declared, the booming grind of his voice echoing across the large threshold. The blonde noble gnashed her teeth to stifle the scathing rebuke she had. Losing control of oneself would simply be undignified.
"You had no qualms about her when she came to Ylisse's aid and you were too busy hiding in your summer homes in the South during the war!" Maribelle could also see that Chrom has reached boiling point. The prince was gripping the decorated arm rest of the antique throne tightly, his knuckles white with control, his face burning with anger, eyebrows knitted firmly on his forehead, mirroring those of Frederick, who stood beside him, a hand on the prince's arm that seem to double as both a comforting gesture and a restraining one.
"Your highness," the lady of House Remlia stood to state her case. "We were just finished with a war that the Plegians instigated. The opinions of the people in regards to our western neighbours were only tainted darker with the news of the Exalt's death on their soils. The people will not be so kind as to accept her." She paused, unable to maintain eye contact with the prince whose eyes were so angry and hostile at the moment, that she even felt compelled to add, "…And even if her intentions were truly pure, and that this consortium is truly borne after deep affections from both parties, she could face countless assassins from the fanatical commoners and nobles who may harbor ill will towards her roots. The exalted line will not be safe, if it were to continue with her."
"Bah, the naiveté of females! Naga knows why the weaker gender even serves in this political court." A scowl. "Think of your lineage, your grace! It would not do well to let a Plegian whore into the bloodline! She will dirty the sacred blood that Naga herself has gifted the Exalted family with her filthy Plegian blood—and a commoner, no less? Has she even lineage? Bah! She blames it on amnesia, but I bet you my estate she is but a common whore trying to scrounge up some gold!"
It took all of Maribelle's serene grace to not clobber the asshole with her parasol. Or maybe skewer them with one of the lances that hung above the thrones. Thanks to Frederick, she HAS been getting better with damned pointy weapons that made her fingers erupt in blisters. She massaged her temples.
"She could very well be planning to massacre you! Earn your trust then while you lay sleeping, BAM!" The council gasped in surprise. "She kills you and blame it on a rouge assassin and removes you of your crown!" Another idiot proclaimed, grinning as spat the word Plegian as if it were poisonous, looking about him to see nods of agreement with his fellow councilmen (and women).
A sudden noise akin to a bear punching a tree echoed across the room. The wooden armrest of the throne, where his hand was, had snapped, splintering into pieces in his hand. "Listen up, you…" The crown prince began, his voice dangerously unstable, shaking with fury. Emmeryn may have been diplomatic and tolerant towards these buffoons, but Chrom was having none of it. Maribelle, to save the sovereign's diplomatic face, cut him off quickly. She'll gladly pay for intruding later. For now, she stood hastily, whacked her parasol on the table in front of her, and like that, all the eyes in the room were on her fair face.
"My dear council, I myself had my doubts about that Plegian woman…"
She could hear them.
The heavy iron doors to the throne room promised secrecy, but with some gold and a tome from a very inventive merchant, the curious tactician could hear it all. Robin knew what they were talking about days before. Chrom could never really hide anything from her, but he was adamant not to let her come. Heck, she even begged Chrom to let her come, even if it was to at least to defend herself, but he never relented. When she heard the hurtful words they had said, she regretted having spent her modest nest egg on the eavesdropping tome.
Her heart clenched as she tried to stop the tears from falling from her grey eyes. It hurt not because of the fact that they were being idiotic bastards who should have been fed to Risen, but it hurt because they were hitting the nails right on their ugly heads. She had the same insecurities about the relationship. She may be a master tactician, and Chrom may not see her as a lady, but her heart was still that of a young girl, and words hurt.
For one, she had always felt so bare compared to the other women. When they passed through Ylisstol so long ago, before this war began, she saw maidens of fair face and figure, eyeing her handsome commander who paid them no attention. They were pale as morning sunshine, cheeks sun kissed apples of loveliness, eyes fluid and prismatic. They were pretty as birds, and frankly, with her dust coloured hair, her cloudy eyes, and her deathly complexion, she was no match.
Shepherd women were even more beautiful. Personality-wise, she was beat too. Sumia was kind as the sun was warm, radiating happiness to those around her. Her smile could inspire a nation, and her clumsy yet graceful ways would have charmed Ylisse into loving her. Plus, she was noble-born, a beautiful addition to the exalt line. Their children would have been so beautiful. They would have inherited Chrom's strength and the Pegasus knight's heart.
Maribelle would have offered a firm, guiding hand in Chrom's reign. She is the picture of royalty, with her beautiful blond curls and her queen-like personality. She was ardent about the matters of state and the equality of the nobles and the commoners. She would have brought about an era of peace that Emmeryn would have been proud of. Sully would have been a passionate queen with a heart for adventure. Cordelia, the perfect heroine for every king's story. Olivia, a graceful beauty, accentuated by every elegant sway to song. They all have the makings of a great queen, and even better wife for her best friend.
Robin? She was smart, sure. She wore dark clothes, and killed the Exalt who trusted her. She preferred books over people at times, and was rude to royalty, even after she knew of their pedigree.
So why her? She wasn't even half the woman his other options were. Not a quarter of the woman he deserved and not a sliver of the person Chrom was.
Tears stinging her eyes, she turned the corner and returned to the room she slept in. It wasn't her room, not really. It was large, with an even larger bed than she had ever seen, with pretty walls and ornate fixtures—another thing that contrasts and displays how dreadfully boorish and boring she was. She discarded the light cloak that the chambermaids had given her and laid it down on the bed, smoothening out the wrinkles on the fabric, careful not to spill the well of tears that seem to spring endlessly from her eyes. Her old robes felt comforting around her shoulders and she pulled the cowl over her head, revelling in the darkness that the large hood offered her. She pulled on one of the drawers in the gilded study in the corner of the room and pulled out the stationary set. Hastily, and with tears pouring harder down, she scribbled Chrom's name on paper, the penmanship shaky with grief. She removed the ring that her beloved gave her and after flipping the page, she gently placed the simple silver ring, set with tiny diamonds, in the middle and folded it inside. She left it on top of the book on war tactics she bought in Ylisstol the day before and next to the eavesdropping tome.
Looking back once into the empty room, she closed the door to the life she had always dreamt of having.