The air itself was their first opponent. Allied with the sun, it sucked all of the moisture from the atmosphere, desiccated panting mouths and blew irritating sand into eyes and teeth. Scrabbly desert brush barely held the terrain together, offering just enough purchase for horse and rider to maintain footing in the arid waste. Flying units circled like vultures overhead, riding the heat higher and higher.
The newest recruits found themselves near the front of the formation. Libra took preventative measures by drawing enemy fire and rendering healing unnecessary. The Plegian sorceress skirted the dunes like a viper, hurling quick and erratic curses from her position unnervingly close to Robin. From her own station at the eastern side of the front wave, it was all she could do to keep pace with Chrom and Frederick, the latter spurring his horse mercilessly to keep up with the former.
Chrom pushed ahead with a thoughtless abandon that was entirely unlike him. Though prone to bouts of recklessness when leading a point, Chrom typically fought with intent and a lifetime of practice under his belt. Now his eyes were flashed dangerously as he ran, full tilt, into peril. Frustration and panic gripped Robin as she struggled to catch up, unable to do more than watch helplessly while he engaged three soldiers while Frederick was fallen upon by a wyvern knight. A fourth soldier was closing in on Chrom from his left, a mage bellowing the beginnings of a fire spell. Attention fully spent on Chrom, the magician failed to notice Robin until she had buried four inches of steel in his neck. She removed the sword with a jerk, pausing just long enough to gauge by a final, sticky breath that the job was finished.
Close by, a felled wyvern signaled Frederick's success as he wheeled his steed towards a remaining soldier – a hulking mercenary who lunged with dangerous speed. Robin had barely turned to join them when a familiar jeer sounded nearby.
"Come, princeling! I've sharpened my sword just for you!"
The hairs on the back of Robin's neck stood on end just as the air cracked with lightning. Mad King Gangrel held a Levin sword aloft, a toothy leer betrayed by a feral glint in his eyes. Though Chrom's lips formed a retort, the ringing in Robin's ears drowned it out and she could only speculate the words employed to express the murderous look on his face. Horrified, she could only watch as he tore after the king like a man possessed.
Gangrel cackled as he provoked the prince, strafing while hurling erratic bolts that singed Chrom's hair and missed his torso by millimeters. Chrom pivoted hard and struck out fast enough to catch Gangrel in the upper arm. The smile hardened and his eyes narrowed as blood dripped down Gangrel's sword arm.
"Ah ah ah, careful lad – another stunt like that and I won't permit you an easy death like your sweet sister," he tutted, lunging to return the blow. Though the blade missed narrowly, lightning arced from its tip to connect with Falchion and send electricity up Chrom's arm. He barely maintained a grip on the sword, a snarl slipping between his gnashed teeth. Robin's stomach turned as she caught the beginnings of a fractal burn developing on his arm.
With frantic fingers Robin thumbed through her tome. When she arrived to the dog-eared page a deliberate and artificial calm quieted her nerves, steadying her casting hand as she roared the incantation. The air, still alight with static from the Levin sword, sang with the cackle of Robin's spell as she lobbed a ball of lightning towards the king. A wholly inappropriate grin broke her face when it connected, momentarily bringing him to one knee and finally wiping the manic sneer from his face.
Momentary relief abated as Gangrel turned to face her, staggering to his feet and raising his sword with jarring speed. Robin barely had time to raise her weapon before he was upon her, the clanging of their blades nearly drowning out his breathless hiss – "I've no time for little maggots."
Before her legs could buckle beneath his full weight upon their swords, a knee to her gut sent Robin sprawling backwards into the dust. She scrabbled for her sword, gasping for air and choking on dirt while Gangrel loomed over her, blade aloft and sparking faintly. Just as the finishing blow leveled towards her belly, an odd expression crossed his face – an even mix of hate and humor making way for shock as a flash of steel buried itself in his side.
Clutching his abdomen, Gangrel wheeled around just in time to see Falchion embed itself in his chest. As Chrom drove inch after slow inch of the blade, he seethed a parting farewell to the Mad King.
"For Ylisse. For Emmeryn. And for myself."
And as the color drained from his face into Falchion's hilt, Gangrel saw fit to spend the last of his energy on a whispered taunt.
"F-fool of… a prince… Your revenge is self-indulgent… your people care not for you. You are… alone… As every man lives and dies… alone."
The ghost of a chuckle remained on Gangrel's face as Chrom yanked the blade out of his torso. Pausing just long enough to wipe off the worst of the blood from the blade, Chrom pounded to Robin's side to inspect the damage.
"Are you alright? Can you stand?"
Robin nodded nervously. The frenzied wrath that fueled Chrom hadn't entirely abated, and the look in his eyes chilled her blood and halted her breath.
Or, perhaps it was a cracked rib, she amended grimly when Chrom hauled her to a standing position. A wheezing cough worked her core like an old accordion, searing her chest and making it hard to breathe. The last of the murderous expression dovetailed into worry. Fretting eyes darted about her form for the source of the pain and settling on the tear in her blouse at the midriff through which bloomed the beginnings of a spectacular bruise.
Chrom raised a thoughtless hand as though to caress it, that the bruising would heal under his touch.
"Robin…" he exhaled, deflating like a balloon. "I thought he had you for a minute there."
"I thought so, too. If he hadn't been playing dirty with those damned greaves there'd have been no contest," Robin protested wryly. "Thanks for the save."
She caught his wandering hand, gingerly turning it over to inspect the fractal burns that crawled up his forearm. Even the fabric of his glove bore scorch marks, the buttons serving as particularly effective conductors and leaving circular burns beneath. When she glanced up from his arm to inquire about the pain the question faltered under his stare – one so openly tender and relieved that she could only meet his gaze for a sheepish moment before a horse's canter broke her concentration.
"Milord!"
The thunderous hoofbeats of a warhorse announced Frederick's arrival. Robin dropped Chrom's hand with a start, pivoting around a hair too quickly and swearing under her breath when her abdomen burned in protest.
"I apologize, milord, Gangrel shouldn't have been allowed within 100 yards of you, and now you've sustained injury for my ignorance –"
A tired hand halted the tirade. "Peace, Frederick. How does the army fare?"
"Only the third wave is still engaged with enemy reinforcements, all others are falling back to support or bringing others to healers. What are your orders?"
"A ceasefire. Plegian soldiers will lay down their weapons or be taken in by force, and Ylissean captains are to report to me for further instructions. All others are to assist with medical transport and regroup at camp." Exhausted and battered as he was, a fire relit in Chrom's expression. Almost smiling, seeming a little taller, he now addressed Frederick, Robin, and anyone else who cared to listen.
"And tell everyone… we're finally headed home."
Summer was yielding to autumn across the countryside. The foliage upon distant mountaintops was alight with color and the trees lining the cobbled main road shuddered in anticipation, relishing in the cold winds bringing the change. As the march passed agricultural towns farmers could be seen bustling about the land, harvesting in a frenzy before the first frost rolled in. Strong sense of purpose was required to pass these towns in particular, whose promise of warm beds and rustic feasts dragged ankles and weighed hearts as they passed by.
Even the steeds slogged, one horse lingering at every crabapple tree along the road to munch at the fallen fruit. Its rider giggled, gently trying to spur onward.
"Have some discretion, Hermes – these are halfway to vinegar by now."
"Save it for the homecoming, you great brute," Stahl admonished from the carriage nearby. With profound regret Hermes picked up the pace, jostling Robin in the saddle, who yelped and clamped her knees to avoid sliding off. A novice horseman, Robin sought lessons from anyone who was willing to spare their steed in an effort to kill time during the march back to Ylisse. Sully wasn't an option – her horse was pure evil. Frederick's charger "did not suffer inexperience lightly", and Maribelle politely declined, insisting that her purebred mare demanded the touch of one experienced in highly specialized equestrian training. Or something. Stahl readily volunteered, both because he and his stallion had the perfect temperament for teaching and because he was more than happy to coach her progress from the comfort the caravan.
"Your form is already improving! Wish I had that kind of knack for it when I was training," he commended a little wistfully as Robin pulled up to the carriage. "How're you holding up?"
"Hermes and I are fast friends," Robin assessed, patting the length of the horse's neck fondly. "But my legs feel like pudding, and my abs are killing me. To think that all this time I thought the cavalry were getting off easy."
Stahl laughed a little darkly, shaking his head. "I had the same thought when I was enlisting. Figured I'd take the easy way out by avoiding the heavily armored unit, but we all pay our dues one way or another. You'll build stamina with time, I promise."
She grinned. "I hope so. Mind if I borrow Hermes a little longer? I want to catch some of this sunset before my limp physique gives out entirely and I have to crawl back into the caravan like a soft noble."
"I heard that!" called an indignant voice from the carriage. "We're not soft!"
"Of course not, Lissa. I would never dream of insinuating that you're delicate - neither you nor your blue-blooded brother.
"Hey, leave me out of it. It's just that horses and I don't… get along," droned Chrome's baritone.
Stahl barked a laugh. "Shall I refer her to the fleet of horses that threw you as a lad?"
Robin snickered as she turned her mount away from the cart while Stahl, Lissa and Chrom laughed and bickered. Around her colleagues were engrossed in easy conversation or marching along in comfortable silence, and she let the lull of quiet chatter pacify her thoughts. She trusted Hermes to follow the cavalcade and watched the low layer of clouds flush along the western horizon, breathing deeply of the cooling air and relishing in the goosebumps raising on her arms. The chill was a welcome change from the punishing heat of the Plegian desert.
She rode along in contented solitude until Frederick's booming voice announced from the head of the march that the procession would continue into the night – the capital was only a couple hours away, and the decision was made to press on instead of breaking camp so close to their destination. As torches were distributed Robin admitted defeat and nudged her way back to the carriage, finally succumbing to cold, weariness and an unease riding in darkness. Stahl met her at the wagon's door with a smile and praise, commending her first ride as with clapped a hand on her shoulder.
Chrom looked up with a chuckle as Robin clumsily made her way back into the cabin, bumping into the doorframe when her tired legs wobbled beneath her.
"Welcome back," he murmured. "I'm sorry to report that Lissa got entirely too comfortable while you were gone…"
And so she had, gangly limbs akimbo and sprawled across two-and-a-half of the four seats available. Robin stifled a laugh as the young princess snorted in her sleep, pigtails askew and drooling slightly.
"Poor Stahl was taking the brunt of it, she passed out right into his lap," Chrom lamented, shaking his head. Robin peered at him quizzically, a knowing smile creeping across her face.
"You can't possibly think that was accidental, could you?" She drawled, setting a hard scowl into Chrom's jaw. "I jest, relax – probably an innocent coincidence. I'd hate to wake her, poor thing's probably exhausted. I'll just hop out and walk with the procession."
"No! I mean, no, it's fine – she sleeps like the dead, see?" he explained, giving the sleeping figure an experimental prod. Lissa emitted an indelicate snort and shifted slightly, sleeping on. "We'll make do."
As gently as he could, Chrom edged Lissa's legs off of the bench so that he could slide over enough to accommodate Robin's petite frame. Steeling herself, Robin gingerly crammed herself between the wall of the caravan and Chrom's right side. He gave a start as she sat down, recoiling as she brushed against his arm.
"Jeez, if you want the space so badly just say so," Robin mumbled, stricken.
"No, no, no, it's not that! It's just, gods, you're so cold!" he whined, backpedaling. She narrowed her eyes and grinned wickedly as she rolled up her sleeves.
"You think that's cold?" she challenged as she pressed her icy hands into the bare upper arm of the prince, who yelped like a kicked dog. He snatched up her hands in his own to halt any further torment, stopping Robin in her tracks.
"Cripes, Robin! I'll be damned if I let you drop dead of pneumonia after all the trouble we went through to survive the war," he scolded. With quick fingers he removed his gloves and slid them onto her hands before setting about removing his cape. Robin watched, wide-eyed, as he draped his cape about her like a quilt. "There," he assessed, satisfied. "That should help. But seriously, not worth freezing to death for an extra hour of equestrian training."
"Yes, you're right… I'm sorry." She muttered, feeling like a child being punished.
Curiously she worked her hands in the gloves, marveling at the fine leather and intricate stitching. They were so warm, even if they were far too large, and the cape had a luxurious weight that soothed her cold muscles like a balm. The heat within the cabin and the rumbling of the wheels beneath her seeped into her bones and left Robin irresistibly drowsy. She yawned widely, closing her eyes.
Just a tiny nap won't hurt…
"Robin?"
"Mmmm?"
"I probably should have asked this long ago, but… what will you do now that the war's over?"
Robin blinked groggily, casting him a sideways glance. His expression was carefully neutral, as though carved from wood.
"Probably replant myself in the field I was found in. You know, live out my golden years as a shrub," Robin mused with a tired smile, giggling when Chrom rolled his eyes and gave her a well-deserved elbow to the ribs.
Truth be told, Robin had given it plenty of thought. Often in the mess hall her colleagues would tuck into their turnip stew and game meat, wistfully recalling favorite recipes or suitors they'd return to after the war. Each would regale the rest with grand feast they'd planned, a shopping spree at the local bazaar with their profits, a favorite game they'd play with younger siblings. Inevitably, someone would cough politely and change the subject if Robin was within earshot, deeming it insensitive to flaunt their luxurious pasts in front of her. A few of her closest friends had already pulled her aside, assured her that she would have a place to stay – Cordelia excitedly planned their chic bachelorette apartment in the knights' wing, Libra kindly offered sanctuary within the church, and even Panne proposed adding an extension to her burrow in the countryside.
Touched deeply by every offer, she would thank them and promise to think on it. Knowing that she'd have company and a roof over her head helped her sleep at night, to be sure. At the same time, it felt intrusive to barge her way into their home lives. Besides, she'd make more than enough money in soldiers' wages to afford a cottage in the boonies, or a dinky studio in a city.
"I'll have my options," Robin announced with passable authority.
"I figured as much. But, you know…" he paused, mussing his hair agitatedly. "You'll always have a home in Ylisse, should you choose."
"I may stick around the capital. Rent a ramshackle flat downtown, get a cat – you know, like a city socialite," she agreed, grinning.
"No, I mean the castle."
Robin barked a laugh. "In the castle? Heavens, Chrom, only royalty and elite live within the castle."
"I could knight you, or grant you a baroness title, or something. You are my chief tactician, after all."
She could only gawk, disbelieving of his blatant honesty. "Be serious, Chrom. Imagine the uproar, a foreign amnesiac punted into the upper class. Me, up to my eyes in frills and petticoats and rouge – I hardly qualify as female, remember?"
Chrom could only cackle at that, remembering his earlier misstep in accusing her of being unfeminine. An unchecked tint colored his brow, not unnoticed by Robin, who smirked haughtily. Her girlishness was irrefutably reclaimed in the bathing tent incident and she took no small delight in his embarrassment.
"Fair enough. But, if you need some time lavishly furnishing a house, finding that cat, you can always stay in the guest wings. No title required."
"That… that's really sweet, Chrom," Robin said with some difficulty. Wonderful, but probably ruinous. "But you know, I –"
The bustle of the procession had picked up a few decibels, and excited chatter interrupted Robin's train of thought. Soon Frederick's voice muscled above the rabble, commanding everyone to maintain their positions and stay with the group. It couldn't possibly be an attack, but Robin's nerves wound reflexively and she rose to peer through the carriage window. It wasn't enemies but excitement that broke the ranks; from their current position at the crest of a hill she saw the outskirts of a massive city. Though at least an hour away yet, the sprawl of the suburbs stretched far into the valley and cast a glow that cut the deepening night.
If her first glimpse of the capital was awe-inspiring and exciting, her second couldn't have been more different. What once seemed grand and limitless now seemed unforgiving and menacingly without the benefit of a family, a past or a future. She jumped at a sudden movement when Chrom joined her at the window, and she stepped aside to grant better access. His expression was hard to decipher as he took in the expanse of Ylisstol – he was relieved, to be sure, but something else as well. Apprehensive? Fearful?
Any negativity was wiped from his face as he turned from the window and knelt by Lissa's sprawling form. Speaking softly, he gave her shoulder a gentle shake.
"Hey, Lissa."
"Mmmrrm?"
Here it comes, that four-letter word. Robin braced herself as a hard pit of dread settled in her belly.
"We're home."
A/N: Thanks, BucketsofButterflies, for the impetus I needed to get this chapter finished - I hope you're enjoying it!