There was one thing about life with the Shepherds that Lon'qu found preferable to the live he'd had at Ferox: his skill with the sword was certainly improving.
He could see now why Robin had placed him with Tharja. While her attacks were powerful and usually took down an enemy in one hit, if they managed to get close to the dark mage then she was in major trouble. That was where Lon'qu came in: she stunned them with magic, he finished them off quickly. All the while he was keeping an eye out for anyone who could see through their strategy and tried to separate them or target Tharja specifically.
Having to constantly protect someone and sometimes take on several enemies at once was making him stronger, and more important, more skillful. He wouldn't be bested again.
On this day they had probably taken out dozens of Risen that had attacked a defenseless town nearby. Robin, as always, had led everyone into battle and ensured that no one was injured or hurt. Despite his dislike for the woman, he had to admit that she could see the flow of battle in a special way that brought them to victory every time.
She was also a lot more proficient with her magic than she was with her sword. Her multitasking was also admirable, she shouted orders while taking down enemies with her preferred Tome- Grima's Truth. She did occasionally use her sword, but she obviously was more skilled with magic than with other weapons.
Tharja was filing- sharpening? - her nails after the last Risen were killed, paying him no mind as usual. He could function just fine near her so long as she didn't look at him, which she rarely did.
He was watching her work at her nails from the corner of his eye so he didn't notice Robin walk up behind him, until she tapped him on the back.
He jumped and caught his breath, his face instantly turning red. Robin sighed and shook her head, looking down at the clipboard she was holding.
"You okay?" She questioned, muttered, looking him over with a raised eyebrow.
He nodded. This was routine by now, she always asked every soldier if they needed medical attention after every battle. He inched out of the way as Tharja pushed past him to talk to Robin, the dark mage's face actually looking semi-happy for once.
Robin looked at Tharja's "injured" wrist thoroughly. "I don't think it's broken, Tharja," she said kindly, "Maybe just a sprain. You should go see Lissa if it's really bothering you-"
Lon'qu grunted and picked up his sword, hauling it over his shoulder. The walk back to camp was going to take a long time, might as well get started now.
Later that day, Lon'qu was lying on his cot miserably. Sleep always was hard for him to get, his legs were restless. He wanted to get up and run a while, but he needed this nap. He was on night patrol for the camp tonight, and if he didn't sleep now he'd be exhausted for his watch.
Just as he was relaxed and starting to drift off, Robin walked into his tent. He shot up and frantically pulled up his blanket to cover his bare chest.
Robin rolled her eyes. "Oh please. Get up, we have to go. Maribelle's been kidnapped and Emmeryn has already left to go speak with King Gangrel."
Robin was frantically trying to keep the situation under control. Chrom had suggested they bring along a few of their strongest Shepherds and accompany his sister, but he'd left the choices up to her. She knew her decisions would be vital if anything were to go wrong.
Which it did. Over the course of a few hours, Emmeryn was dead and the army was retreating with the help of Basilio. Chrom seemed to be in shock as they arrived back in camp.
Everyone was soaked and absolutely exhausted, it had taken several hours to outrun the enemy. It'd also been raining for the entire march back to camp. Lissa had kept up a steady stream of tears the whole time, her blue eyes swollen and red. Gaius put an arm around the princess and led her away to her tent, offering her candy- an extreme sacrifice for the sweet-loving redhead.
Chrom watched them go with a blank expression, turning to Frederick and waving away the knight's concern. Frederick sighed and walked away, probably going to inform the rest of the camp of Emmeryn's fate…
Robin put a hand on Chrom's shoulder, shivering in the freezing rain. He gently moved away from her touch, shaking his head. "I can't right now, Robin," he muttered, "I don't want to talk about this."
She nodded and dutifully did a little half-bow, something Chrom teased her about when he was in better spirits. She turned and trekked through the mud, shrugging her cloak off and folding it over her arm. Her clothes were already soaked; there was no need to go to her tent immediately.
So she found an isolated tree that was a decent while away from the last tent in camp and curled up under it, allowing herself to cry as silently as possible. She actually was quite emotional and all, but she liked the persona of "Chrom's Ruthless Tactician." If she were being true to her personality, every time she saw someone fall in battle she'd burst into tears. Or every time she thought of her life and realized she lost so much of it due to amnesia.
But now she cried in earnest, the rain falling roughly on her bare arms and filling her boots.
She cried for Chrom and Lissa and the whole country of Ylisse's loss. Emmeryn was the best ruler they'd had in a long time, and now because of Robin's poor planning they'd lost her. Chrom would have to be the Exalt, something she knew he wasn't prepared for. All of this because she'd failed.
She sneezed as the rain finally lightened up, rubbing her eyes clear of her tears and realizing that her throat was incredibly sore. Great, now she was sick on top of everything. She lifted her chin from her knees, still trying to catch her breath from the crying jag.
Lon'qu was standing a few feet away, his face as bored-looking as always. He met her eyes and raised an eyebrow, not moving him his position. From the look of his equally soaked clothes, he'd been at there for a long time.
She cursed under her breath, her voice incredibly hoarse, picking up her cloak and trying to stand. Aside from her throat being sore, it seemed her strength had abandoned her in the half-hour she'd sat under the tree.
He approached her and lifted her effortlessly by the arm with one hand, breaking the contact as soon as she was firmly on her feet. She huffed in annoyance and marched away with as much dignity as she could with water squishing in her boots.
"Are you okay?"
She flinched at the sound of his deep voice as if he'd slapped her, continuing in her march to her tent. "Just fine," she snapped, her anger less impressive because of her scratchy throat.
She could hear him still following her but she refused to turn and face him. She was too mortified.
He suddenly jogged in front of her, the closest he'd ever come near her voluntarily. To her extreme shock, he pressed his hand against her forehead. She was so surprise that she forgot her anger for a moment, staring at him as he looked fixedly over her head.
"You have a fever," he informed her, dropping his hand.
Now that he'd said that, she could feel how cold she was in her wet clothes. She shivered involuntarily, sneezing violently before beginning her walk again.
She could definitely feel some nausea settling in now. She was not going to vomit in front of this silent man who obviously disliked her for absolutely no reason.
He continued to follow her and she whirled on her heel when he had the nerve to actually enter her tent behind her. "Get out," she said weakly, throwing her cloak unto the floor and glaring.
He shook his head, little droplets of water falling down his face onto the floor. "You're sick," he said, stating the obvious.
She didn't have enough time to argue. Quick as her weak body would possibly allow her, she emptied her trash can of the balled-up papers and such onto the floor and threw up into it noisily.
He held her hair as she puked.
When she was through she looked up to see him looking at her intently, his dark eyes almost… concerned.
"I hate you," she moaned, the nausea causing her whole body to shake violently and her mouth to water.
He half-smiled at her, still holding her long hair out of her face. She noticed now that he had a strong grip on her shoulder.
"I know," he replied, wincing as she leaned over the trash bin and was sick a second time.