Author's Notes: Wow. This chapter took WAY too long to write. At least it's finally complete.
As always, my thanks go to Tsuna for reading ShoE's ridiculous drafts. Now, before you lot start reading this chapter, there's something that I want to say.
First off, as I stated in my previous author's notes, this story was always prone to not being continued. I will honestly state that the next chapter of "Shade of Eventide" is fully up in the air(I know how I'd write it, but I have other things to do at the moment). Also, I've been writing an original work of mine, and the ideas that I'm juggling are starting to get nicely coherent. Plus, there's school.
However, I still have that third chapter of "Case of a Sneezing Wyvern" that I've been writing. I'm planning to complete that before the summer. No promises, though - but it's there, and it's coming.
As to the next chapter of Shade of Eventide... I do want to continue the story, I just have to find the time for it. I don't know when I'll find the time, but when I do, I'll write the third chapter for it. For the moment, though, I'm consumed with writing my own work(which - I hope - I'll be able to talk more about before the NEXT year is over).
That is all that I had to say. Enjoy the chapter, and I hope to hear your opinion on it.
Everlasting Bonds: Shade of Eventide
Compelling
Robin woke up to the feeling of grass stalks tickling at her neck. She lay on her coat, her hair a wild octopus sprawling about her.
She brought a lock of her hair closer for observation: it was dirty, the lower threads being covered in mud and likely infested by a few generations of whatever insect lived in the grass.
Gross, Robin thought. She let go of her hair, setting her arms lazily down on either side. One more thing to worry about, she ruminated. As if I didn't have enough on my mind.
She looked up at the sky, and let herself sink into the vastness of the light-blue expanse. Her mind began to drift away from the dark visions of the future, and the blackouts that always followed them. Instead, overridden by what appeared to be a soothing calm, she soaked in on the ethereal peace, closing her eyes once more.
"Mnnn..." she heard from close by - almost too close. Whoever the person was, they began smacking their lips, like an overly content child would.
Alarmed that someone had managed to sneak so close, Robin scrambled up and reached for her sword.
Her right hand reached nothing but air. She glanced down at her belt, face contorting in unbelief. Gone? she thought. Of course it's gone.
She shuffled quickly backwards and turned to where the strange sounds had come from. What did I think? That I would remember to gird myself with a weapon in case something like this happened? Chrom would laugh me to scorn.
Soon, her confused eyes found a person sleeping in the grass. A long-haired maiden, who wore a Grimleal cloak.
"...Dear me," she finally muttered, unable to do much else than stare.
He woke up on a cold stone slab, in a room that was awash with the light of a setting desert sun. The air here smelled putrid - rotten, even. Like old fish, only more pungent.
He saw in his narrow view a black-painted rack, which held a chaotic array of saws, tongs and hammers; everything and anything you'd expect from a carpenter, or perhaps a mason. These tools, though, had a thin coat of blood on them. Certainly something you wouldn't expect in an idyllic place like this, he thought.
He sat up on the slab; its stone surface had been an uncomfortable resting place, too cold and rough...
He caught a look down his arms and his breath stopped in his lungs. As he studied the criss-crossing stitches in his arms, and the unnatural bulk that the stitches seemed to tie together, a chilling feeling descended upon him, taking hold of his faculties. "W-what is this?" he gasped.
And then, it hit him: his breath had never stopped. It was simply that he hadn't drawn a breath in the first place.
He was now - of all things deplorable - a... Risen.
"What in Naga's name is this?!" the man bellowed. He jumped to his feet - which, despite being as grey as his arms, obeyed effortlessly. "I swear I will rip apart the first person that I find-"
"Cease your yelling," a voice commanded from behind him, echoing against the far walls of the room. "And be so kind as to sit down," the voice continued, "for we aren't done with you yet."
As if in direct response to the voice and its command, a weight manifested in the Risen's guts. The Risen tried to move in a gambit of desperation; however, he managed to only cause a tremble in his arms, and perhaps another in the left leg.
The weight magnified, and the Risen was cast down against the stone slab in a sharp angle.
He felt no pain.
"What is this?" the Risen asked. After asking his question, the Risen noticed that both power and volume had disappeared from his voice. Perhaps the order to cease yelling had been yet another compelling.
The Risen heard boots clopping against the stone; the mysterious fellow was moving about in the hall. The Risen tried to move his head to study the fellow. However, his limbs stood still - like those of a real corpse.
Technically, I am one, he thought. I can remember my passing.
After a short eternity, the fellow finally stopped before the Risen. The Risen could only see a garment from his slouch - a regal robe made of black and gold fabric. Purple eyes adorned its sleeves, and its gold-rimmed hem barely touched the ground.
And on the ground, there was a vile pattern. Red and intricate, it started from the slab, sprawling outward like a host of snakes, lizards and dragons.
The Risen took these details in. The horror of the realization began to seep into his being. No... Have I been summoned? Necromancy? Henry, you lunatic, I thought you were lying when you said this is possible!
As the Risen struggled with his thoughts, the fellow knelt down before him. He was a dark-skinned man, his beard like an icicle, trimmed and ordered. A fire ruled in his eyes, hungry for the invisible things; his grin was malicious and instantly familiar to the Risen.
"Hmm... She could've done a better patching job on your left arm," the sorcerer muttered.
The Risen shuddered.
The sorcerer glanced up at the Risen, showing no revulsion. "Oh, there is no need for worry," he said. "I'll make sure she fixes it before sending you into action; it took a considerable effort to summon you, and your like, here – I wouldn't want you all to collapse in a heap of body parts in the very first battle."
The Risen tried to swallow, then realizing that it was an old reflex back from when he had a body. Damn this! Damn the fates! Damn the design that brought me here, wherever this is!
Then he was struck with an intuition: maybe he shouldn't ask where, but when. The Risen thought about it, grimacing mentally at the endless possibilities: there wasn't enough information to make a definite conclusion.
After a short deliberation, he decided to risk it all. "Where... are we?" he asked.
It was a question meant to divulge small details from any answer that Validar could offer.
Validar arose. "That is not for you to know," he said calmly. "Although I suppose you'll find out eventually."
"Why not just tell-"
The sorcerer laid his hand on the Risen's forehead. "I'll show you why. Tell me your name."
The Risen blinked, then groaned, the dark compelling twisting his insides and trying to force him to utter the truth. "I-I... am not..."
"Let me explain why I don't have to explain anything," Validar said. "I have bound you under my will. You shall obey me. If you don't, Grima's power shall rend you asunder. And if you don't believe me..."
Validar raised his hand; the compelling became a sharp pain across the Risen's body, like a spear thrust through the length of it. "Argh! AAAAARGH! I... I AM..."
The Risen fell to his screams, shouting out his name.
Validar blinked; a confused flick of a hand released the Risen from his compelling. The sorcerer looked down at the imprisoned soul, and, again, complete silence reigned in the room.
After a long minute, the sorcerer began to laugh. The sound of it ripped through the Risen's ears, all the way into his soul where he realized that Validar still had a part for him to play.
"Come on," female Robin coaxed the girl. "The inn lies just beyond this corner."
The girl who had - with letters drawn in the air - introduced herself as "Morgan" stopped walking, peering nervously about. Her hair, hastily neatened, rested over one shoulder, and occasionally the girl paid Robin a drifting, cautious glance.
The female tactician smiled warmly to the girl, trying to seek out the cerulean eyes hiding under Morgan's amethyst bangs. "I bet the cooks have baked something nice for us Shepherds," she said to her. "But let's not take too long, lest a certain ravenous eater consume all of the pastries."
The girl's posture straightened, the glint of intelligence in her eyes growing clearer and more focused.
Robin chuckled. "I thought that'd spike your interest."
Morgan flashed her a smile.
Feeling warm inside, Robin started walking backwards. Soon, she turned about and rounded the awaiting corner.
The inn where she was staying at stood at the opposite side of the street. The property appeared slightly run-down, as if down on its luck and awaiting better times. For some reason, it still oozed "home" to Robin, even while her true home waited for her across the sea.
A small crowd had made the inn's porch its figurative home: some of the people were locals - individuals curious about the Shepherds, Ylissean royalty, and everything in-between. Others were Shepherds themselves, socializing by means of storytelling, courteous nodding, or scratching the back of their confused head.
This moderate chaos was where Robin brought her daughter.
She observed the crowd. I suppose that it's nigh-impossible to get through this throng without making a scene, she thought. People were packed like sardines in a barrel. The matter was mostly Virion's fault: the archer was gesturing widely in the midst of the throng, sharing a once-upon-a-time heroic of his. The general form of his anecdote was correct and truthful, but the details had long since been scorched in the fires of his passion.
Robin shook her head and turned to look at Morgan. The girl had fixed her eyes to the archer, head swaying at the promptings of his gestures.
Robin blinked at her daughter. Oh, sweet child... she thought. She raised her hand to wave it briskly, and thus catch Morgan's attention. How I wish that you weren't prone to his influence.
"Oi, Robin!" a shout hailed her across the crowd. "That your sprog?"
Robin's hand froze in the air. She turned about and found the shouter: a red-haired woman wearing a red breastplate. Sully - the woman - was sitting on a chair on the porch, next to a small, round table. Across the table sat Kjelle. Someone had apparently convinced the stiff girl to discard her armour, as she wore a tan peasant shirt and a pair of oversized trousers. She sat on her chair with her legs crossed, leaning back; her eyes were offering the cards in her hand a sort of a "stabby, stabby" glare.
The tactician decided not to stay and stare. "Yes, Sully," she answered. "She's my daughter."
She immediately heard someone turn around behind her; Morgan had apparently woken up from her reverie.
The crowd started murmuring, the Shepherds' reactions being the loudest.
Meanwhile, Sully rubbed her chin in sharp strokes. "So... you basically got another kid?
"Yeah," Robin said flatly.
Heavy clatter and running steps ensued upon her answer. An exasperated shout echoed from one of the inn's upper windows: "Who's got yet another one?!"
The female tactician's face drew into a grimace. He's already awake?!
The male tactician peeked out from the window of his room. "Robin?!" he shouted, eyes falling upon the female tactician and her daughter. "You again?" The male tactician grinned as if enjoying some joke that only he was privy to. "Wait 'till Chrom hears about this!"
The female tactician let out a low snarl. "Won't be long, what with the volume of voice you're exerting."
"Oh, I haven't even started yet," male Robin said, puffing his chest out.
"You wouldn't dare-"
The male tactician smirked. Then, he raised his hands and - as if calling for a force of nature - bellowed, "Chrom!"
Upon his invocation, steps began to resound within the inn; soon, the white-and-blue-clad prince appeared at the inn's door. Chrom glanced tiredly upward, as if accustomed to the male tactician's antics.
"What?" he asked.
Male Robin grinned. "You got another one!"
"Another what?" Chrom asked. He observed the crowd lazily - and then with a little more alarm as he noted its peaking excitement. "Another what?"
Then Chrom's features turned rigid, his eyes fixing onto something past the female tactician.
Female Robin swallowed.
Meanwhile, the other Robin couldn't help his enthusiasm. "Another kid!" he chirped from above. "This is a cause for celebration! I'll bring the cake!"
"Wait, don't-" Chrom tried to shout to him. The male tactician, however, had already scrambled away from the window and could be heard rushing down the stairs. "Damn," Chrom muttered. He moved his eyes back to the girl, then started walking towards her.
The crowd erupted in congratulations and brotherly slights. A few Shepherds slapped Chrom's upper back as he walked past them - most notably Vaike, whose blow almost sent Chrom reeling into other people.
Seeing what kind of exchange would soon take place, Robin caught Morgan's shoulder. She pulled her closer - not hurtfully, albeit with some force. The girl seemed like she needed the encouragement.
And then Chrom was there. He and Morgan started sizing each other up; an act emphasized by their height difference, as the former was at least two heads taller than the latter.
"Well..." Chrom eventually managed.
Unfortunately, he didn't get any further. The inn door smashed open, and everyone turned to look at the newly-arrived male Robin. The tactician was holding a muffin in each hand, grasping the goods as though they were trophies. "The cake was a lie!" he declared in a heart-rending tone. "But I managed to salvage two celebratory muffins, in case you're down for some jubilant hullabaloo." The male tactician left the suggestion open and started wading down through the crowd, towards Chrom.
Female Robin watched Chrom rub his eyes. You're tired, she thought. When's the last time that you slept?
The last time her husband had been so undone had resulted in a rather curious situation.
Robin saw her husband perk up suddenly. "Sign me in," he said, then proceeding to dexterously snatch both of the muffins from the male tactician. He then turned around, leaving the male tactician standing agape, and leaned down to Morgan, offering her one of the just-confiscated muffins. "Welcome to the family."
It didn't take long for the girl's anxiety to fade: Morgan bopped a quick thank-you-nod, whisked away the muffin and bit in. Soon she offered the most splendid crumb-decorated smile to both tacticians and Chrom.