I loved Fire Emblem Awakening. I thought, however, that the lack of information about Avatars pass while disappointing allowed me to make it up as I go along. So I present a list of drabbles/ficlets in no consecutive order about the vessel of Grima before the Shepards. Please enjoy!
"Running away from a battle is not cowardly. Only a fool would choose death over a tactical retreat. Really at the end of the day pride exists as a reason for nobles to claim honor on the battlefield. But really though, what pride, what honor do you have though? If your enemy has claimed your head, your pride isn't worth anything."
Robin knows the stench of blood when she smells it. It's sharp and metallic. Just as robust in the air as the taste fills her mouth. She spits out a mouthful of blood and wipes the excess of dribble from her chin. "Ah, must we act so uncivilized with one another. What are we Plegian savages?" Robin lets a small smile cross her countenance. She's immediately regretful of the action when it pulls at her split lip.
The black haired woman's arms are grabbed by a soldier on each side. Robin feels a boot placed on her back and is forced to her knees. "What you know about Plegia couldn't form a paragraph." The unit commander decked out in full armor sans a helmet snarls and backhands her. Robin winces at what she knows will be another bruise. "Careful now. You almost sound like you think yourself smarter than I." He runs a hand through his dirty blonde locks.
The soldiers restraining Robin throw her forward into the mud. She tries to lift her head, but a boot firmly applies pressure against her cranium. Mud slides across her cheek and brown eyes close to shield themselves from the muck. "I'll ask you again. Where are the rebels?" Robin grits her teeth. "I told you already. I don't know." A swift kick is delivered to her side. "Your lying." He grounds his boot into her hair. It'll have to be cut later. It's a shame but after this encounter it will be a unmanageable gnarled mess.
"I'm not lying. I've traveled this road all day. Other than you and your men I've seen no one." Humiliation is not something the vessel feels. While she allows herself the stray biting comment, if they ask her to she will beg for her life. She'll cast what little pride she has aside. "I'm not so stupid to protect fugitives." She appeases them by reciting the Kings ideology. That all members of Plegia, all savages and worshippers of Grima will be snuffed out with all the care of a candle in the wind.
She doesn't tell them that she is Plegian. She doesn't mention she's a savage that loots the dead for spare tomes. She doesn't spare a thought at the secret sadistic side of her that begs for these poor fools to be offered up. Grima has odd (let's say odd because who has the right to judge a great and evil dragon?) tastes. She spares no pride and strokes their vanities eagerly. The group of soldiers shove her about a little more. One picks up her satchel and dumps the contents before swinging the bag into a neighboring field of wild lavender.
As quickly as they come they are gone. Robin rolls on her back and stares at the calm blue sky. It is much like how she fills. Largely empty. She sits up and loosens the dagger hidden in her sleeve. The metal cools in her right palm. Her left grabs up a fistful of dark hair and in a clear motion she severs it cleanly from her scalp. The shaggy bob much lighter and practical than her earlier dual ponytails. "I should cut my hair more often it's alot cheaper." She salvages what she can, collects her satchel and continues on.
"You're too softhearted. But I suppose being mortal and female makes you privy to such." Robin hikes the strap on her shoulder higher. "Implying my being female makes me weak, makes you sound foolish." Robins hears a rumble of laughter. "My other self, I'd never imply anything. Whatever I mean I say." She can feel the dragon oozing with pleasure. "You told me pride was meaningless."
"I did say that didn't I? To throw away your pride? Is that why you run away? Why you turn your back against your destiny?" Robin doesn't answer. She lays another brick along the wall of her heart. "I am me. You are you." There is a pause, then a voice purrs out. "You are me. I am you. In the end your attempts at distinction are yet another poor result of you trying to fight fate. No matter though. I've waited over a thousand years. Even if you run, you can not hide. Not from me, never from yourself."
"I'm nothing like you." Grima laughs mirthlessly. On the road ahead a dying Ylisse soldier crawls belly along the dirt. He is heavily wounded in agony. His wounds yellowing with infection. He see's Robin, rolls to his back and smiles. He shakily lifts his blade to her and she draws it instinctively. It impales him cleanly bringing him peace.
"Mercy for the merciless? A cold heart yet. Yet cold enough it is not."