Prologue: Premonitions
The two men stepped forward lightly, as if hoping to remain undetected. But their clattering footsteps echoed through the dimly-lit hallway. Stealth was irrelevant, anyhow; their adversary certainly knew they were coming. But the hall was eerily quiet, save for their footsteps, and left them treading cautiously.
One of the men had already unsheathed his weapon. His sword reflected the dim torchlight, shining brightly, far brighter than his fine suit of mail armor. At the base of the blade, there was a tear-shaped notch, a design unique to that particular weapon. His long white cape flowed loosely behind him, causing the nearby torches to flicker. His hair, cropped short and parted neatly, bore the raven-blue hue so common among his bloodline: the royal bloodline of Ylisse, the descendants of the first exalt. He appeared young, but the weight of his station and his responsibilities had taken their toll, and his blue eyes had lost their youthful, optimistic luster. Despite the pressure, his demeanor still spoke of confidence, pride, and determination. A mark on his arm matched the design at the base of his blade – the mark of the exalt, further proof of his heritage.
Walking beside him was a slightly smaller man, with platinum-blond hair. He looked to be roughly the same age as the blue-haired man, just a few years past two decades. Unlike the lord he followed, his hair was rather messy, and though his expression showed the same determination, his dark eyes darted back and forth, searching for any sign of their enemies. Unlike the blue-haired man, his armor was of thin, light, gold-leafed plates, and was mostly covered by a dark robe, trimmed in violet, with golden tassels. Though of smaller build, his measured gait marked him as a capable fighter. The sword in his scabbard was clearly of custom-make, with a ruby-encrusted pommel and a small inscription decorating the guard. Rather than drawing his blade, as his companion had, he instead held a small tome, inscribed with runes rather than words. He was not only a skilled swordsman, but a tactician and mage, as well.
As they stepped into a grand anteroom, the two found their quarry. A tall, middle-aged, dark-skinned man with crimson eyes stood roughly thirty paces away. Their foe was clad in the robes of a Grimleal clergyman, of similar make and color to the robes worn by the tactician. He smiled grimly, his short goatee giving him a rather sinister appearance, as the pair approached. Behind the pair of intruders, several others filtered into the room, but neither the lord nor his platinum-blond companion seemed to notice; this was between the three of them. He flashed a signal to his waiting Grimleal cultists – they would deal with the rabble easily enough.
For a moment, the three men stood still, as if waiting for someone to speak. But the time for words was long past. The young lord rushed forward, blade extended, hoping to bring a quick end to their treacherous foe.
The dark-skinned man, a dark sorcerer by trade, quickly retaliated with scintillating waves of magical energy, drawn from a tome that he had brought forth with lightning speed. The two exchanged several attacks, until the devious sorcerer deliberately blasted the stone tiles at the lord's feet, throwing him off balance. He then fired a second blast, what would've been a finishing blow to his stumbling foe.
The lord's ally intervened, drawing forth magical energies from his own tome and firing an intercepting bolt. The two spells collided, showering dissipating waves of magical energy around the impact, but leaving the young lord unharmed, and giving him time to regain his footing. The sorcerer turned, glaring at the smaller man, who met it with his own, equally intense glare. The animosity between the two men was palpable, causing the young lord to shudder involuntarily.
As if reminding his friend of their cause, the lord spoke. "This is it. Our final battle. You're one of us Robin, and no "destiny" can change that. Now let's kill this dastard and be done with it!"
The tactician, Robin, turned towards his friend and nodded. "I know, Chrom. This ends here."
The two men advanced together, closing in on the sorcerer. Unconcerned, the sorcerer simply laughed. "Why do you resist? You've already lost!" A quick gesture, and another flurry of magical energy rained towards his opponents. "Struggle all you want!" he taunted, as his two victims braced themselves.
"You'll have to do better than that, Validar!" Robin cried, as he suddenly leapt forward, closing the remaining distance between them. Shrugging off the magical barrage, he fired off another blast of lightning and drew his own sword. The sorcerer twisted aside, narrowly avoiding Robin's spell, but Robin's gleaming silver blade plunged into his side.
Validar fell back with a gasp, clutching his wounded side. He flung another wave of energy, an aphotic bolt that sent Robin reeling, but leaving Chrom an opening. Seizing the opportunity, the lord rushed forward, past his fallen friend, and plunged his mighty weapon through Validar's heart. As Chrom withdrew his blade, Validar simply fell to his knees silently, then collapsed, a dark pool forming around him, his face a twisted visage of utter loathing.
"Robin?" Chrom asked, turning to his friend. Robin looked up and began to wave, to signal to his friend that he was alive and well. His words died in his throat as the fallen sorcerer lifted his head once more.
"This… isn't… over!" the sorcerer groaned. With what remained of his strength, Validar fired off a final spell, the most devastating strike he could muster. Robin threw himself against Chrom, knocking his friend to the ground, both of them narrowly avoiding Validar's final, futile attack.
Chrom rushed to Robin's side. "Are you alright?" Robin only groaned weakly and tried to push himself into a sitting position. Reassured that his friend would survive, Chrom turned and stared at their dead opponent. "That's the end of him. We can rest easy now, at long last."
Robin finally found the strength to talk. "Chrom…" he moaned weakly. He sat up and turned, looking for the others that had followed them into the room. But suddenly, an agonizing headache struck. His vision grew blurry, and to Robin, it appeared as if everything was flashing red.
"Robin? Robin!" Chrom cried, as he watched his friend twist and turn, as if in a seizure. And then Robin's hand flung outwards toward Chrom, and a bolt of lightning leapt from Robin's palm. The bolt formed a blade-like shape, and pierced the young lord's chest.
Chrom grasped the bolt, surprised. It had been so sudden, painless even. Robin looked at him, an expression of horror sprawled across his face. As Chrom felt his hand burn, and a curious floating sensation hit him, he understood what had happened. He staggered back, trying to hold on, but knew it was too late.
"This is not… your fault…" Chrom gasped. "Promise me… promise me you'll escape… this place." With those last words, Chrom collapsed to the floor and breathed his last, as his friend and murderer watched, horrified. The anteroom went silent as the darkness engulfed them, leaving nothing but emptiness behind.
"Chrom… we have to do something." It was the voice of a young woman, with a hint of impatience.
"What do you propose we do?" answered another voice. This one was deeper, a man's voice. Chrom's voice.
With a groan, the young man awoke. He was lying in a field… somewhere. A young man and woman stood over him, the two of them in the middle of some kind of argument. "Well… I don't know!" the woman cried in frustration. Her hair was blond, and bound into two pigtails that made her look rather childish. She wore a leather vest over her bright yellow blouse and dress. She noticed he was awake, and turned her attention away from the blue-haired man immediately. "Hey there!"
"I see you're awake now," Chrom remarked, turning his attention to the prone man as well, who immediately recognized Chrom as the lord from his dream, with the white cape and fine mail armor. "There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know. Give me your hand."
The prone man brushed his platinum blond hair out of his eyes, before extending his hand, which Chrom grasped firmly. As Chrom helped him to his feet, he couldn't help but notice two rather unusual markings. Chrom's right arm was bare from the shoulder, and adorned with a familiar tear-shaped symbol with a decorated, curved "U" shape around its base. A symbol that was similar to the blade Chrom had carried in his dream, he realized. And sure enough, that same sword rested in a scabbard at Chrom's hip.
A second symbol blazed across the back of his own right hand. It was a different symbol, and unlike the decorated tear-shaped mark on Chrom's arm, there was no familiarity to be found here. Six eye-like shapes formed two stalks, meeting at the bottom. Where Chrom's mark was simply a bit darker than his skin, the symbol on his hand was a strange magenta color.
"You alright?" Chrom asked, distracting the man from his silent musing.
"Oh! Yes. Thank you, Chrom," he answered. But as he spoke, something felt off to him.
"Ah. Then you know who I am, I suppose," Chrom said with a laugh. When the man didn't respond immediately, Chrom and the girl both looked at him, unease on their faces.
"No… actually." The mysterious man ran his hand through his hair uneasily. "It's strange. It just… came to me. Somehow."
Chrom didn't seem overly concerned by this revelation. "How curious. Tell me, what's your name? What brings you here?" Again, the man hesitated. Now Chrom looked concerned. "You don't know your own name?"
"I'm not sure. I'm sorry. Where am I, exactly?" he finally answered, looking around.
"Hey I've heard of this!" the girl cried. "It's called amnesia!" she exclaimed proudly.
Suddenly, another man that had so far been silent and unnoticed spoke up. He was just slightly taller than Chrom, with disheveled medium-length brown hair, parted as if he had been running particularly fast, or more likely, riding a horse. He seemed to be only a year or two older than Chrom. He wore what looked to be a heavy suit of polished, full plate armor. "It's called a load of Pegasus dung," he answered, sounding exasperated and suspicious. "We're to believe you remember milord's name but not your own?"
"I know it sounds strange sir, but it's the truth…" the man protested weakly.
The knight opened his mouth to speak, but Chrom interrupted him quickly. "What if it is true, Frederick? We can't just leave him here, alone and confused. What sort of Shepherds would we be then?"
The knight that Chrom had called Frederick turned to face Chrom instead. "Just the same, milord, I must emphasize caution."
Chrom rolled his eyes, looking equally exasperated. "Of course. But let's get back to town. We'll take him with us and sort it out there."
The stranger's eyes widened at that. "Hang on a moment, don't I get a say in this?"
Chrom held up his hands, gesturing for him to calm down. "Peace, friend. I promise we'll hear all that you have to say back in town. But this isn't a particularly great place to talk, is it?" Chrom gestured at the grassy meadow around them.
"Besides," Lissa interrupted. "You don't even know where you are, remember?"
The amnesiac shrugged, then gave a resigned nod. "Well… lead the way then, I guess." Then he grimaced. "What will you do with me? Am I to be your prisoner?"
Chrom laughed gently as he led the group down the beaten dirt path. "Hardly. You'll be free to go once we establish you're no enemy of Ylisse."
"Is that where we are? Ylisse?"
It was Frederick's turn to laugh. But the sardonic tone made it clear he wasn't truly amused. "You've never heard of the halidom? Someone pay this actor, he plays quite the fool," he remarked dryly. "The furrowed brow is particularly convincing, or would be if this weren't utter nonsense."
Chrom shook his head and gestured for the knight to calm down. "Frederick, please." He turned towards the stranger. "This land is known as the Halidom of Ylisse. Our ruler, Emmeryn, is called the exalt." A thought seemed to strike him. "I suppose proper introductions are in order. You already knew my name. The delicate one here is my little sister, Lissa," he said, indicating the young blonde.
"I am NOT delicate!" Lissa interrupted angrily. "Ignore my brother – he's a bit thick sometimes" she instructed. "But you're lucky the Shepherds found you. Brigands would've been a rude awakening!"
"Shepherds?" the amnesiac asked curiously. "You tend sheep in full armor?"
"It can be a dangerous job," Chrom remarked with a sly grin. "Just ask Frederick the Wary." He gestured towards Frederick, who only rolled his eyes.
"Gods forbid one of us keeps an appropriate level of caution."
As Chrom and Lissa laughed, the amnesiac suddenly felt a bit parched. "You wouldn't happen to have any water, would you?" he asked.
"Here you go!" Lissa responded cheerily, as she pulled a water skin and small wooden bowl from her pack. She poured the water into the bowl carefully before handing it over.
For a brief moment, the amnesiac saw his reflection in the bowl. He froze for a moment, recognizing himself as the platinum-blond tactician from his dream. He didn't have the same gold-leafed light plate armor, but he wore the same robe.
"Robin," he said suddenly. The others turned to him. "My name," he explained, rather lamely. "It… just came back to me."
"Robin." Chrom repeated. "Is that foreign? Ah, well. We can discuss it later. At least we have something to call you-"
"Chrom, look! The town!" Lissa interrupted suddenly. All three men turned to see their destination. The small village was just down the hill. It was also in flames, with murky smoke rising steadily from several of the buildings
"Damn it! Brigands again!" Chrom cried angrily. "Frederick, Lissa! Quickly!" With that he started rushing towards the town.
"What about him?" Frederick called out.
"Unless he's on fire as well, it can wait!" Chrom retorted impatiently, without turning. With a shrug, Frederick raced after Chrom whistling as he went, Lissa following close behind. A horse came running towards them, which Frederick climbed onto with a single fluid motion. The horse, too, bore heavily polished armor.
A moment later, Robin was left standing alone on the beaten path. He then noticed a scabbard and tome strapped to his belt. He drew his sword and found that, thankfully, the blade was sharp. It seemed to have been wrought from fine bronze. "Well, why not?" he muttered. He rushed down the hill, trying to catch up with the others.
Chrom arrived at the edge of the town mere moments later, just in time to hear a young woman cry out for help. Frederick and Lissa joined him moments later. "Damn it!" Chrom swore.
"Chrom! We have to stop them!" Lissa panted, clearly out of breath.
"Don't worry. After today, these bandits won't be bothering anyone ever again," Chrom said, his expression hardening. He had spotted the bandits, across the river and grouped near a small bridge. The bridge was on the other side of the now-empty marketplace. The bandits, too, had spotted the newcomers, and their leader, a hulking man with a war paint strewn across his face and a massive axe in hand, simply waved and laughed. A young village girl was held still by another of the brutes, a bald man nearly as large as his leader. Three more bandits stood beside the bald one, all of them armed with large axes. With a roar, Chrom rushed towards the bridge.
"Don't! It's a trap!" Robin cried, as he raced onto the field. Frederick had already begun to follow in Chrom's wake, but upon hearing the warning, he spun around, just as a pair of bandit swordsmen and another bandit with an axe leapt out of the fallen piles of produce near the stalls. He reacted swiftly, drawing his lance, a fine weapon forged from silver, and plunging it through the nearest swordsman's heart.
Chrom wasn't so fortunate, as the other two bandits timed their entrances well, and had him flanked. He had avoided the worst of their initial blows, but still suffered a gash to his left arm, before Frederick joined the fray. The bandit swordsman tried to strike at the approaching knight, but the poorly balanced and rather blunt blade simply bounced off the horse's armor, and he too fell dead moments later. As Chrom dispatched the fighter with the axe, he noticed two more of the axe-toting bandits bursting forth from one of the burning buildings. The two bandits were each carrying a pile of various salvaged goods, but they dropped them quickly, and closed in on Lissa and Robin.
"Go to Chrom!" Robin cried to Lissa, as he turned to face the bandits. Frederick and Chrom both rushed to his aid, but to their surprise, it was unnecessary. One of the bandits had been slower to drop his loot and draw his axe, allowing Robin to dispatch the first rather easily. The second fighter then caught up. Robin moved to parry the incoming blow, but he wasn't quite fast enough, and the bandit twisted his axe, slamming it into Robin's right shoulder and sending the sword spinning from his grasp. He leapt forward with a shout of victory, only to be struck down by a blast of lightning.
"Is that… a tome?" Chrom asked, as he and Frederick reached Robin, recognizing the second weapon Robin had drawn. "You know magic?"
"I… believe so?" Robin answered with a shaky grin,
"Oh right. Memory loss," Chrom said with a frown. "Perhaps I'll just keep a few paces behind you for the time being…"
"I can control it," Robin reassured, as he leapt back to his feet. The other bandits had seen the scuffle and were heading across the bridge. "Chrom!"
"I see them," Chrom muttered. Lissa had finally caught up to them too, panting slightly. "How could you just run past me like that!?" she protested. Ignoring Chrom's half-hearted apology, she lifted a long wooden staff and touched the end of it to the cut on Chrom's arm. In only a few seconds, the wound had more-or-less been mended.
"Thanks Lissa," Chrom said distractedly as he watched the other bandits close in. They were outnumbered five-to-three, not counting Lissa, of course, as she carried no weapon.
"We shouldn't wait for them out here in the open," Robin remarked. "We should back up. Make as if we're fleeing. Then, when they're close enough, Frederick can turn and charge them. While they're distracted, Chrom, you and I can slip around the market stalls."
Chrom and Frederick turned to Robin, surprised. "So, you're a tactician now, too?" Frederick asked, again in the sardonic, disbelieving tone.
"There's no time for this, Frederick. Do as he says," Chrom ordered, surprising both Frederick and Robin.
An even greater surprise soon followed – the plan worked perfectly. Frederick turned around, startling the pursuing bandits, before charging in and instantly slaying one of them. The others fell back, panicked, and none of them noticed Chrom and Robin looping around the market stalls – they were too occupied with the armored mount in their faces.
With a quick gesture, Robin indicated that Chrom should lead the charge. Without hesitation, Chrom joined the fray, just as the bandits were beginning to regroup and turn their attention to the mounted knight. Even as they began to register the newest threat, lightning soared into their midst, taking one bandit down. By the time Robin reached them, Frederick and Chrom had already taken down the remaining three bandits.
"Not bad," Chrom said, panting slightly.
"Well, that's the end of that," Robin said with a slight grin. "Are you two alright?" Frederick and Chrom both nodded as Lissa approached. When she realized neither her brother nor Frederick were wounded, she relaxed.
"Lucky for the town, we were close by. But… holy wow! Robin, you were incredible! Swords, sorcery, and tactics? Is there anything you can't do?" she asked, with a wide smile.
"That could've been much worse," Frederick admitted. "You really are a rather capable man. Perhaps you might even be capable of an explanation for how you came to be here, now," he remarked dryly.
Robin grimaced. Frederick the Wary indeed. "Sorry, Frederick. I wish I could tell you more, but please, believe me. I have shared all that I know."
"You fought to save Ylissean lives," Chrom said, interceding once more. "My heart says that's enough."
"What your heart says is one thing, milord. But there is clearly something afoot here," Frederick argued.
Chrom simply shrugged. "With more and more brigands on the loose, we could use Robin's help. Besides, I believe him. He seems sincere enough."
Robin's eyes widened at that. "T-Thank you," he stammered. His story sounded weak even to himself, and he knew it was true. It was rather touching that Chrom was so willing to trust in him.
Chrom smiled, turning back to face Robin. "So how about it? Will you join us, Robin?"
Robin looked around at the recently ravaged town. "These people really do need our help, don't they?" he mused. "Shepherds, huh?" He turned back towards Chrom, Lissa, and Frederick. "Alright. I'd be honored to help however I can."
"Then it's settled!" Chrom said, before Frederick could interrupt again. "Welcome to the Shepherds, Robin."
Frederick could only shake his head in disgust. But he knew it was a pointless debate, as Chrom's mind was set, and decided to bring their attention to other matters instead. "Did you notice, milord? The brigands spoke with a Plegian accent."
"Plegian? What's that?" Robin asked curiously. Frederick sighed again.
"Plegia is Ylisse's westerly neighbor. Recently, they have been sending bandits into our territory, hoping to instigate a war," Chrom explained. "It's crude, but they've held a grudge since our last war, and have been particularly restless lately."
"And it's the poor townsfolk who suffer!" Lissa protested angrily. "Totally innocent, and totally helpless!"
"And that's why the kingdom needs us," Frederick said. He still looked suspicious, but it seemed he was willing to be civil. "Shepherds to protect the sheep."
Robin nodded. "I think I understand," he replied, though it was still lost on him why those who tended to sheep would the most battle-hardened and capable of handling bandits. That was about as far as he got in his thoughts, for some of the villagers had come forth to greet them.
"Please! You must stay the night!" the local innkeeper insisted. "We are simple folk of simple means, but we would gladly toast your valor with a feast!"
Lissa looked rather excited at that, but Frederick shook his head. "A most generous offer, sir, and no doubt your hospitality would be grand, but I'm afraid we are needed in Ylisstol."
"Frederick, it's nearly dark!" Lissa protested.
"We can set up camp when night falls, but for now we should be going," Frederick insisted. Lissa turned to Chrom in disbelief, but Chrom merely shrugged and nodded.
"Frederick!" Lissa whined.
"I believe you were the one who mentioned 'getting use to this'," Frederick remarked. "Come along now, milady." And with that he headed off towards the woods.
"Frederick? Sometimes I hate you," Lissa said, rolling her eyes. Chrom and Robin shared a laugh at that, and the three of them set off after Frederick.
