Not as long as the first one, but they didn't really want to interact in this chapter and there's only so much I can make my muses do. The next chapter will have more in it, never fear. Also I know that the Avatar never displays any traits of seasickness in game, but it came to my head as a little detail for Rhiannon that just made her a little more three dimensional.

They set out just after dawn to loop around the island on the trade winds. Chrom had heard of a mercenary outpost abusing their power on the northern edge of the island, and had demanded instead of going straight to Plegia from the south, that they go up north instead to take care of this problem. The great mountain in the center of the island dissuaded those who said they should go on foot and have a small crew bring the ships around instead of a great horde of people having to get onto the ships again only to land hours later.

At this time, she thought she would have taken flying over any other option, but there was no point in going by herself when she would need an army no matter how proficient she was with weapons. Logic dictated that it was better to let Ishtar rest below decks and suffer a few hours on the ship.

That didn't stop her from cursing out Chrom in her mind as she clung to the ship rail and tried to not lose what little remained of her breakfast over the side. Gods, she hated sea travel. Where the entire rest of the group wandered about with only mild difficulty keeping their balance, she had never had a trip where she wasn't ill the whole way. And they were still out from the mainland, she reminded herself miserably as her stomach heaved again. Even if they slept on dry land tonight, there was at least another two day's travel before she could give up ship faring till they went to face Grima. And maybe Grima would come inland to meet her.

Rhiannon clutched at the rough wooden railing as her stomach rebelled again and what little remained of her breakfast came up. Splinters dug into her palms as she coughed and blinked away the tears of nausea that came up with it. Underneath, seagulls flew placidly, screeching at each other and kicking up the smell of fish and salt into her face, which did nothing to quell the agony.

Collapsing to the deck, she wiped her face and coughed again, noticing that Sumia and Cynthia had matching looks of sympathy on their faces. If only it wasn't so sensible to stay with them, she could be flying towards whatever battle awaited them and avoiding this great torture of death by ocean.

At least the seasickness had faded enough that she wasn't about to vomit, she thought, though it wasn't really any better so much as just biding its time before it struck. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and looked around at those on the ship with her.

Emmeryn stood at the bow like a figurehead, from this angle, the scars running down the left side of her body were invisible, the breeze tugged lightly at her white dress and sent her curls flying back. Lissa stood nearby, talking to her son while cautiously watching Emmeryn out of the corner of her eye. Though she still would not fight, the former Exalt had not seemed to grasp how much everyone was afraid of her suddenly vanishing. Frederick watched her from a little further away with the same caution on his face.

Sumia and Cynthia were talking animatedly, Sumia leaning against the railing while Cynthia paced with far too much ease for being on a cursed boat. From the way Sumia looked slightly baffled, she could guess that it was something about Cynthia's great heroics or some of the very odd tales that they'd all heard announced about "The great and terrifying Sumia, who soared without fear into any battle, slaying friend and foe alike!" Even she had to repress a smile at the thought of how some of those stories had gone. Chrom was nowhere to be seen, but she thought he might be in his cabin, taking advantage of the temporary solitude he could get.

Elsewhere, Henry was petting a seagull that had come to investigate him, his white hair shining painfully in the bright sunlight. While she wasn't in her sight range, she thought Cordelia couldn't be far away, she never missed a chance to interact with the animals her husband could strangely charm. Rhiannon stopped looking around as bile rose in her throat again, and prepared to launch herself to her feet for when she couldn't hold back the need to vomit any more. There were two more people on the ship, one who had expressed a desire to not be on the same ship as his sister, and one who she was beginning to think enjoyed being darkly punished by everyone around him for the things that he had done, as he had absolutely refused to board the ship she'd assigned him to. Or maybe it was just because he didn't want to be around Aversa. She thought she could understand that. Though she hadn't actually seen him since they boarded. And in her current state, she couldn't go and see if he'd thrown himself overboard when none of them were looking. Unlikely considering what she knew of him at the moment, but she could easily attest to how well people could not see things.

Her inner monologue was interrupted by more nausea, and she retched miserably over the railing again. Thinking every foul word that she wouldn't let herself say out loud, she sank back to the floor when it faded. At this point, she was hoping that they wouldn't need her to think up anything more complicated than dodge attacks, heal wounds, protect innocents. Because she wasn't going to be any better than that.

Some tactician she was, not being able to handle the ocean. She would be useless in any sea battle where the battle hinged on her being useful in ways other than pointing at various parts of the ship and croaking Attack that at whomever was close enough to hear. At the very least, they had nearly finished their many journeys across the ocean, after they landed in Plegia, this particular weakness could be laid to rest for a long time.

Rhiannon breathed out unsteadily, not daring to look over the railing to see how close they were to land. Maybe it would be better if she went down below, just until they arrived. It wouldn't do them any good if she was still too sick to fight even once they got off the ship.

Besides, the mark on the back of her hand was starting to burn and she wanted to be far away from anyone else who would notice before she dealt with that.

He thought he could see the coast of Plegia just on the edge of the horizon, glimmering in the moonlight, but the ships were going so slowly that they certainly wouldn't reach it before next afternoon unless a stronger wind came up. As it was, it gave him the time to try and decide how he was going to face his country.

The insomnia was acting up again, which was why he was awake at some point in the middle of the night, not trying to go back to sleep. That and the fact that every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, with the scars running down the whole left side and what remained of her eye. Just another reminder of all he'd done wrong. And how much he deserved the guilt for what happened to her.

The soft breeze pulled at his hair, barely strong enough to move it into his eyes, but he welcomed the slight distraction from his thoughts. With no one who he wanted to talk to, he spent all of his time dwelling on what he should have done as opposed to what he did.

He thought that the red-headed pegasus knight might have been on watch in the crow's nest, but he wasn't willing to look up there. For some reason, Chrom's tactician hadn't ordered him up there yet. He hoped it wasn't because she knew about his weakness to heights, but there was a part of him that said that she and her powerful brain did. Aside from Aversa's ability to call Risen, there had never been a single thing he did back in his time as the Mad King that she couldn't counter with ease and a few words to whomever she needed for her plan.

If it weren't for the fact that she hated him, he might have talked to her. Just to understand how she thought, because she was on a different level entirely from everyone he'd ever known. Sure, his upbringing had taught him cunning and his brief stint as king had taught him many of the delicate terrible games that those with power played, but he had never met anyone who looked at a battlefield and just destroyed it without any causalities on her side. And the stories that he'd heard around the camp said that she'd done roughly the same thing to Walhart's army, though most of her plans had worked on a combination of exploiting the weak points in an army banded together by force and fear, and sheer ballsy guts to do what everyone thought was crazy and taking advantage of the fact that her enemies hadn't been able to counter it.

The sound of the hatch opening startled him, and he turned away from the railing in time to see the aforethought tactician throwing herself at the opposite side to vomit. So she was seasick? He'd spent enough time avoiding everyone else that it was entirely possible he hadn't noticed before. He watched as she spasmed several times before finally sinking to the floor, wiping her mouth. In the moonlight, her eyes seemed as dark as empty wells.

She smiled wryly at him after a second and said in a hoarse croak, "can't sleep either?" she asked, pulling her robes tighter against her.

He shook his head, then looked away again. "Does it matter?" he retorted, not willing to meet her eyes and see just what lurked in them.

He could hear the frown in her voice though. "It is my job to make sure that everyone is in the best shape to be expected." she said, her voice as harsh as a crow before she cleared it and continued, "an army that is ill-fed, not sleeping, hiding injuries, or even feuding is an army easily beat."

He had to concede her point there, though he wasn't about to admit his insomnia to her. The tactician cleared her throat again and said in a softer voice, "are you afraid of what will happen when we land?"

Gangrel looked at her in surprise at her gentler tone, was she trying to be empathetic? He had to be imagining it, why would she have a reason to be empathetic to him? "A little," he admitted, though he regretted the admission a moment later. "Why wouldn't I?"

She smiled and rubbed a thumb along her wrist like it pained her. "Good point," she said, the moonlight turning her purple hair to silver as she leaned her head back against the railings and breathed in and out for a moment. "I wish this didn't happen to me," she muttered in a lower voice he probably wasn't supposed to hear.

So of course, he had to ask. Curiosity was a trait that had gotten him in trouble far too many times, and yet he still hadn't shaken it. "You get seasick?"

She nodded, then held her stomach like she regretted the motion. "Horribly so. I very much dislike traveling by sea," she said, very much dislike obviously translating to a politer form of hate. "I'll be glad when we set foot on land again." she moaned as she stood up to retch over the railing again. At least the breeze carried away the scent before it could float across the deck to bother him.

The silence hovered between them for a few moments after she sat back down, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that she was evaluating him and considering what use he would be in her army. And she seemed in no hurry to break the silence that was growing more and more uncomfortable every moment. Not that he was going back under deck if he could avoid it. It was funny that he would rather talk to the tactician than just sit there under her steely gaze. "Tactician..." he began, before having to look away from her, "why are you talking to me?"

She ignored the question. "I do have a name," she retorted instead, "you could call me by that."

"I don't know it."

The woman sighed and wiped at her mouth with distaste. "Rhiannon," she said after a moment, clearly fighting back the urge to vomit again. "I'll answer to either pronunciation, but I prefer the older." she added emphatically.

Rhiannon, he fixed the way she'd said it in his head so that he wouldn't forget. It might take him some practice to get his tongue around the starting sound, but he thought he could do it. "Why are you talking to me?" he repeated after a moment, leaving her name out so that he didn't fuck it up where she could hear him.

She considered the question. "Because I know almost nothing about you, and I'm curious." she said, looking a little less sick to her stomach. "We're allies now, and I always make it a point to get to know my allies."

He supposed it made sense, considering her role in the army and the little he knew about her. Not that he was going to let her in behind the walls he'd so carefully constructed to keep out people like her. "You know everything that matters already," he said, holding back the tactician that wanted to float out at the end, "so why bother?"

The woman shrugged carelessly, then looked like she regretted it. "I don't know," she answered, her nails scraping against the wood, and he guessed she was trying to not be sick again. "Aversa turned out to be more than what I saw in battle, as did Walhart. Why shouldn't you be more as well?"

And somehow he didn't have any way to retort to that. Across from him, Rhiannon threw up over the railing again before sighing and sagging against it. "What I wouldn't give to be off of this ship," she moaned, and made another miserable noise. "I could fly to land now if I could stop-" she was interrupted by the very action she was protesting.

There was something darkly humorous about her seasickness and the way it crippled her. He'd never have expected the cool-headed tactician to have such a weakness. Standing up off the deck, he walked over to her side, easily compensating for the gentle sway of the boat. Aside from the ever present threat of having to go up in the crow's nest, he didn't mind sailing that much. Next to him, the tactician lifted herself from the railing, wiping her mouth again. "You know sailing," she said more hoarsely, "how long before we reach land?"

"At this wind?" he said, looking at the very faint darker hump of darkness on the horizon, "it could be afternoon before we're close enough to land. Though it could be sooner if the breeze picks up." Which he hoped it did as well, if only to make his torture come sooner rather than waiting forever to start.

She nodded and put her head in her hands, breathing hard enough that he could hear how unsteady it was. "I'm going back under," she said definitely, pushing away from the railing. "Try and sleep before we land," she admonished him with more ferver than he thought she could muster in her current state of seasick. "You're not allowed to pass out in battle."

Gangrel found himself glad that she had gone back under, because he thought he might have smirked at the way that she ordered him about like he was anyone else.

Next chapter will be up at some point before the New Year, though it may be a bit more delayed due to real life.