Marth's sword glinted in the light.
Robin realized why it seemed so familiar; it looked exactly like Chrom's sword.
"Where did you get that?" Chrom murmured, too quiet for Marth to hear.
Marth said nothing, and raised his sword. In a steady motion, he pointed it forward, drew in a cautious breath, and ordered, "Attack!"
Robin clumsily slung Ralph in the air and screamed, "Front lines, move!" Her voice cracked at the word "move." She barked orders, moving the Shepherds around the map like chess pieces, and paired soldiers together, at last falling in next to Chrom.
They picked off Marth's meaty goons one by one.
Stahl and Sully rushed one soldier, the latter far more enthusiastic than the former. She prevented a distracted Stahl from losing a limb more times than Robin would've liked, and after their adversary fell over, Stahl plucked a colorful object off him and... Popped it in his mouth.
Sumia fought more gracefully than Robin assumed. However, she almost fell off her pegasus a few times, and Frederick picked up the slack. Together, they protected Lissa from harm, but Frederick truthfully did most of the work.
She may not have remembered being a tactician, but surely the Shepherds could do with some more combat experience.
Finally, Chrom rushed towards the last man, his cape flapping heroically, the rest of the warriors' cries rattling her ears.
Does my cloak look that heroic in the wind? Robin thought. She had no time to stop and check before Chrom knocked their opponent to the ground, and she readily summoned a bolt to zap at his feet for extra measure.
His legs jerked into the air, then collapsed to the ground.
Robin pumped a fist in the air. "Yes!" she shrieked, dancing from one foot to the other. They'd won, right?
Chrom looked at her uneasily. "Robin!" he started, sprinting towards her.
"I'm quite sure now," a voice mumbled behind her. "You're not her."
Robin yelped and turned just as Chrom grabbed her shoulder. A blow aimed at her arm went to her stomach, instead, and the last thing she remembered was Marth's eyes widening beneath his mask and Chrom screaming her name in her ear.
For a while, she wandered. Her legs marched her down high, arching halls of obsidian, and she dragged her fingers across the smooth rock, watching her reflection walk beside her. She slowed at a hulking pair of doors. Robin touched her fingertips to the frame, but her breath hitched at a voice coming from the inside.
"...A gift in exchange for your... Hospitality. She should already be in Plegia, if I'm not mistaken," a low, honeyed voice drawled. A peek in the door revealed a thin and leggy woman with dark, short choppy hair and a plum-colored dress. Torches on the wall cast a dim glow on her sickly complexion. She faced away from Robin, and spoke to a flamboyant man from across a table.
He laughed like a hyena, and Robin smacked her hands over her ears. "Oh, my! A present? For me? Why, you shouldn't have â I mean, you've already given us enough... Don't you think?" he said, his tone with a mocking edge to it. He spun a crown around his finger like it was a toy, lowering to the woman's level. "And believe me, I'm not one to turn down presents."
The woman chuckled back. "Oh, Gangrel â just take her. I won't have any need of her when this is all said and done. She's physically strong, but mentally weak. She'll make a fine weapon."
"Oh, alright, if you insist!" Gangrel guffawed, his face twisting for a moment. "When shall I receive her?"
She shrugged nonchalantly. "I haven't any idea. Soon, I should think, in one way or another. She's not of key importance to your victories, anyway â she's more of a... Bonus, I suppose," she explained, tilting her head. "But a helpful one, nonetheless. Have patience."
Robin's skin crawled at the woman's chilly tone of voice. Her hand gripped the edge of the door, and it swung inward a few inches, squeaking so loudly her ears started ringing. She gasped, withdrawing from the doorway.
The woman rose from her seat. "Who's there?" she hissed.
Robin pressed herself against the wall behind the door. Probably not the best place to hide, in hindsight, but she would rather die by being squished in a door than have to confront the scary woman.
Speak of the devil, Robin thought, as the woman poked her head outside.
Gangrel snorted, "I'll bet it's a mere idiot servant of mine. I wouldn'tâ"
"Silence, fool!" the woman snapped.
Sweat beaded on Robin's neck, and she pressed herself further against the cool, glassy stone.
The woman looked right at her, and her heart leapt into her throat. Right when Robin thought she was going to pulverize her, or shoot daggers out of her eyes, or something, the woman turned and muttered, "Bah! Nothing. You ought to keep a tighter leash on your stupid little palace rats."
The doors slammed shut, extinguishing the torches in the hall and leaving Robin alone in the dark.
Marth kicked himself up into the air, turned a flip, and brought his sword down on Chrom.
The prince grunted under the weight. "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"
"My father!" Marth growled, his blade hissing as he pushed Chrom off, swinging his sword sideways. His handling looked clumsier, less focused, like he'd done what he came here to do. Robin's blood stained his tunic.
Chrom sidestepped, aiming a vicious jab at the masked boy.
They exchanged blows, Chrom's hasty and frenzied, and Marth's calculated. But the boy couldn't keep up with the prince's strength. Chrom slid his blade down Marth's and wrestled it out of his opponent's grip.
A horn sounded. The Shepherds had won, but they thought grimly of their Tactician.
Chrom just stared after the door Maribelle pulled Robin through, his eyes still wide. He had to stop this war before it started, he decided.
She woke in a shivering sweat, her lungs gasping and hands clawing a starched sheet stained with blood. The stone walls bore torches with a limp fire. Ferox? She was in Ferox! "The tournament!" she screeched, throwing off the covers only to have a parasol slap her back down.
"Reopen a wound like that, darling, and you'll be dead within the hour," a high, haughty voice chided. Maribelle's face wrinkled at Robin, and once satisfied with her patient's posiition, she daintily withdrew her hands to her lap.
Where were Chrom and Frederick? And what of the Masked Man? Robin stiffened. The Masked Man... What of him? She recalled nothing more than a jumble of faces, burning in her gut, and flashing lights. "But the tournament," she whimpered. Had they even fought in it, yet?
"We won," Maribelle snapped, "don't you remember? That boy in the silly costume ran you right through with his sword." Her lips twitched.
Robin glanced at her tingling stomach, and surely enough, her coat laid crumpled at the foot of the bed and a blot of red stained her shirt. Bandages wrapped her middle. She clenched her core, just to see, and immediately regretted it. "Agh!" Right... The skewering. But hadn't he said something?
Maribelle scoffed, "You see what you just did, dear?"
Robin winced, wiping sweat from her brow.
"Don't do it again."
"Yes, ma'am," she sighed, her wound pulsating with her heartbeat.
Maribelle's parasol anxiously tapped the floor; although, her face held stoically, her lips stiff and eyes cold.
A tune emerged from Robin's lips in time with the tapping, and she barely arrived at the chorus until Maribelle went and stomped on her fun.
"Stop that," Maribelle commanded sharply. In fact, everything about her seemed sharp, from her chin to her jutting cheekbones to her keen eyes and tapered golden locks. She could sharpen a knife on those cheekbones.
"Yes, ma'am." An ornate clock tick-tocked on the wall opposite Robin's bed. Curtains were drawn on either side of the resting place, so they must've been in the infirmary. "Where are we?" she asked, more to coax words out of Maribelle than to locate the room. Not like it would really help her figure out this maze of a place, anyway.
The noble sniffed at her. "The infirmary, you half-wit. Didn't the curtains give it away?" she fired back, eyes narrowing. She spoke in a hushed voice, too.
"I.. Suppose." Her hands gripped the sheets again. If other people were in the room... Then how long had the Shepherds continued the battle? What happened?
A headache returned in full throttle, and Robin's hands flew to her forehead. "It's going to be a long night..."
Author's Note:
My apologies for the short, somewhat anti-climatic chapter. I feel like my writing skill has deteriorated, too. :( However, I felt like I accomplished what I needed to accomplish, and I didn't have any great ideas for what I could expand on.
Everything I've ever told any of you about the plot? Forget it. Get it out of your head while you can, and expect the unexpected. Things are changing 'round here. B)
I've returned with ideas coming out of my ears at this point. I recommend reading the sidestories, too, because they have some hints in them about the story overall. Especially pertaining to part of this chapter, too.