viii.

first, second, and third

Morgana moved her pegasus knight piece the allotted eight spaces across the cheap playing board. "All right, Robin," she said with a flourish of her hand. "Your turn."

The preteen huffed, tugging at her right pigtail. She muttered something that sounded an awful lot like a curse, then moved most of her available units into defensive positions around her throne square—unfortunately, they nearly all happened to be sword-users or mages who were likely to be outclassed by her mother's pegasus knights. Robin's own more mobile units had already been taken out, aside from the great knight she had affectionately named "Titania," after the Tellian lore she'd read about in her mother's books. She carefully considered the mobility of the enemy units, and then set Titania into a position within reach of two units instead of attacking one of them.

Morgana smirked, then set her sword users to attack Titania. The first unit knocked Titania into half-health, and then the second landed a critical hit to put her out of commission.

"What?!" Robin leaped out of her chair and stuck her face close to the die her mother had cast. "You didn't rig this, did you?"

"Of course not," Morgana said, a laugh in her voice.

Robin suddenly whined and plopped back down. "Not Titania…"

"You should've used her to attack with her lance before I had the chance to attack you," Morgana chided, continuing with her turn. She used two pegasus knights to take out "Zihark" and "Soren," then sent in her third to take the throne square.

"They had killing edges," Robin grumbled, gathering up her pieces. She ended up with Titania and Soren in hand and pouted at the figures that only resembled the legendary figures in their vague shapes and the letters etched into their small stands. "I didn't want her to die. That was the only place where she was within reach of the least amount of enemies."

"You have a bad habit for a tactician hopeful, you know," Morgana said as she scooped her units into a leather bag. Her tone was rather clipped, like it usually was when she was teaching her daughter a lesson. "You go into battle hoping—expecting, really—to keep all of your units alive. You play your strategy safer, with fewer risks. It makes you easy to exploit."

Robin sighed and tossed her pieces into her own bag with more force than necessary. "I don't like playing that way. I like my units too much."

"You're too attached to your units. There's a difference between liking your units and knowing their strengths and weaknesses, and not wanting them to die because you can't bear to carry on without them emotionally. If you can't learn to take risks, or make possible—perhaps necessary—sacrifices when you need to, you'll never win."

" You don't know that!" Robin grabbed her bag of pieces and stood. "Your luck will run out, Mother. I'll show you I can win, the way I want to."

Morgana smiled, but the gesture was patronizing. "You'll see, one day."

()()()

Robin frowns as she looks through the checklists for equipment, rosters, and maps—there are all sorts of documents to keep track of for just a small march to Regna Ferox for a diplomatic mission. She's made sense of it all, but she's still troubled.

"You're up early, Lady Robin," someone says, and Robin turns to find Felicia illuminated in the predawn light coming from the window.

Robin relaxes a little, realizing that her visitor is someone she's more acquainted with. "Good morning, Felicia." She turns back to the pile of documents. "I'm going through everything before we start the march today."

Felicia comes up beside her and peers at the contents on the desk. "I'm sure you'll do just fine on your first march! Don't worry so much."

The tactician rubs her temple and sighs. "…I just can't shake the feeling that Chrom was wrong to choose me for this." And that Mark's future gives me the worst feeling in my stomach, she adds silently, and her body makes a small, involuntary shudder.

"Hmm…" Felicia puts her hand to her chin, and it surprises Robin that she seems genuinely concerned. Few people have ever cared for her in such a way, the majority of whom she's met only in the past few days. "You should speak to Lord Chrom before the march! I am sure he could put you at ease about all of this. And then you could be more focused!"

"Perhaps that's a good idea," Robin agrees; the thought of Chrom actually makes her a bit more relaxed for some reason. She starts to organize all the papers on her desk into a pile. "I'll go do that now."

"Good!" Felicia smiles and actually bounces a little before she seems to realize her position and hurriedly stops. She's been doing small things like that, and it makes Robin think that the girl's apparent professionalism when they first met was a fluke, not that it makes Robin think less of her—it actually does the opposite.

Robin finds herself chuckling. Already she is much more at ease with the maid than she was the previous day, despite the fact that she's still adverse to the idea of a servant being her near-constant shadow. "Thank you, Felicia."

"No problem, Lady Robin." She pauses. "Would you like me to come with you on the journey? In case you need my assistance?"

"What for? Isn't your place here? And…" Robin glances at the girl. "You would have to keep out of harm's way if something were to happen."

Felicia giggles. "I'm trained to protect if I must. I'd do my best!"

The words impress Robin, but still, the idea of the skinny, younger girl beside her being in actual combat worries her more than she'd like to admit, especially after only knowing Felicia for such a short time. Robin stands and collects her things, then moves to pat Felicia's arm before realizing it might be too familiar a gesture. "Stay here and keep an eye on things for me? I'll be just fine."

Felicia seems a bit troubled, but she smiles. "All right, Lady Robin."

()()()

Robin finds Chrom already at the barracks, encouraging the sleepy—and cranky—Shepherds to get a move on to prepare for the march. She watches him for a moment, seeing his natural charisma and ease of familiarity with his comrades, and just seeing his confidence staves off a surprising amount of her own anxiety.

Chrom notices her, and his eyes brighten. "Robin, good morning." He hurries over and puts his arm around her shoulder, as if he's known her for years instead of days. "Supplies are already being put on the horses and the wagons. Will you help me go over the list one more time? I want to make sure we don't run out of anything, and I trust you to keep everything in order."

"Of course," Robin says, falling into tactician mode and filing away her own inquiries away for later. "Lead the way."

Chrom nods in earnest and takes Robin into the barracks. In the mess hall on one of the tables lay piles of documents listing what supplies were to be carried on one horse or another, or in the wagon. Robin sets to checking them over, comparing them with her own notes and sorting everything in her mind. She asks Chrom such things as how much weight the horses can handle; how long the march should be; and if there are towns along the way. She's researched this herself already, but the thorough check puts her at ease, and Chrom answers readily, with an unspoken reassurance in his eyes.

Once the two finish checking the lists and the supplies themselves, they convene at the front of the barracks to start roll call. Robin frowns and calls out a "Kellam" first; a tall man clad in armor answers her, and her heart jumps into her throat. Several of the Shepherds around him startle as well, and Robin makes a mental note to keep an eye on his whereabouts.

"Mark!" she eventually calls, and curious gazes turn toward the masked teenager in their midst. Robin studies him, but all he does is shift his posture slightly. His lips purse, but it's impossible to tell exactly what sort of expression lays hidden behind his mask.

In any case, Mark is without his weapons, and Frederick stands close by with his mare's reins held in one hand and his lance in the other. If Mark has any hidden ill-will toward the Shepherds, he won't be likely able to act on them.

When Robin finishes, Chrom adds, "Is everyone ready? We've a long march ahead of us, and knowing Feroxi diplomacy, we're likely in for a match or two with the khans themselves." He says that last part with a laugh.

"Then let's get it over with already!" Sully calls out, and Vaike adds, "Let's hurry up so I can kick some ass with my—with my… Hey, where'd my axe go?"

Chuckles go out around, and Miriel sighs before reminding Vaike that he had put the weapon in the wagon "on the off chance" that he might forget it somewhere. The laughter increases, and Vaike's cheeks turn red as he goes to check the supplies.

Robin does her best to repress her smile, then rolls up the sheet in her hands. "All right, everyone: Into formation for the march!"

She forgets all about her earlier insecurities.

()()()

Robin walks up front with Mark, Chrom, and Frederick. Miriel was up there too for a time, telling Robin about each Shepherd's strength and weaknesses, but she quickly melted back into the main group. She seems far more curious about studying her fellow Shepherds for her own experiments than for planning tactics like she had done before Robin's arrival. Though Robin is grateful for the tactical know-how from the mage, she's far more comfortable staying out of hearing range of Miriel's extensive vocabulary that goes over even her head.

"...So," Mark says at length, startling Robin out of her thoughts concerning formations. He looks to Chrom. "Why am I coming with you to Regna Ferox?"

"Well," Chrom says with a slight laugh, looking toward the ever-present knight beside them. "Frederick the Wary here wanted to keep you in his sights at all times."

"Milord, please," Frederick says.

Chrom, smiling, continues, "Besides, Mark, I thought it would be a good idea to see how you stand up. I was impressed the first time I saw you fight, but that was only once. In any case, nothing builds trust like battling side by side."

That is right, Robin agrees silently, thinking about her time fighting beside him in Southtown. Still, the thought of fighting alongside Mark puts her on edge, even if they have decided to believe him.

"Trust," Mark repeats quietly.

"The most important thing," Robin says, keeping her eyes fixed on the road ahead, "is that you speak with the khans if necessary. Forging an alliance with them is the best step we can make to move forward."

"We were going to do it anyway, whether you came here or not," Chrom adds, his voice much warmer than Robin's. "With Plegia crossing our borders, it'll be good to have Ferox on our side."

"They're very loyal," Mark says, playing a little bit with the sleeve of his black coat. "We'll need them on our side if we're to survive."

Robin shivers. There he goes again….

Mark falls into silence and looks down at his boots as they walk.

"...So, Mark," Chrom says eventually, and Mark quickly looks at him. But, before he can continue, the sound of galloping hooves reach their ears.

Sully and Stahl slow their horses as they approach. Stahl's face is a bit ashen, and Sully is scowling.

"Up ahead, at the bridge," she reports. "There's Risen crawling all over the place."

"Risen?" Chrom repeats.

"Not surprising," Mark says.

Robin immediately falls into tactician mode once more. "How far up are they?"

"About half a mile," Stahl answers.

Robin turns around to face the Shepherds. "All right everyone, we need to drop off our supplies with a guard. Does anyone volunteer?"

"I'll do it!" Sumia calls, and immediately starts unhitching supplies from Frederick's horse. The others hurry to do likewise, and Robin takes the moment to turn to Mark. She takes a breath.

"Here," she says, offering his tome from one of her pockets. "For the battle."

Mark's mouth drops a little in surprise as he takes the spell book. He inspects the cover, spine, and some of the pages to make sure nothing is amiss.

"I took the liberty of looking through it," Robin says. "My apologies. But those appear to be very powerful spells, all of a wide range. Did you write it yourself?"

"I had help," Mark replies, but doesn't elaborate. The silence rubs Robin the wrong way, but she ignores the feeling, as well as the unease she has at giving the boy a weapon.

"Mark, for the time being, we'll only allow you weapons in battle," Chrom says, Robin noting that he for once seeming to have just the right amount of trust in someone else.

Mark nods. "Understood."

"All right, everyone," Robin calls when she sees that the Shepherds are ready. "Vaike, Kellam, Chrom, Mark and I will take the front lines. Virion, Miriel, you're behind us. Lissa, stay in the back. Frederick, Sully, and Stahl are going to head northeast and come in from that direction once the fighting has begun. We'll take out whatever's in front of the bridge, then slowly make our way across so Lissa has time to heal us."

"Milord," Frederick begins, and once again Chrom doesn't let him finish.

"You heard our tactician." The prince softens a bit. "It's all right, Frederick. I can take care of myself."

The knight frowns, but finally goes to mount his mare. He shoots Mark a withering, deadly glare, then signals to the cavaliers. They leave the north road and head into the woods.

"All right, everyone, let's go!" Chrom calls, unsheathing Falchion. The Shepherds let out a cheer, though Robin notes that Mark stays silent.

The Shepherds take position and hurry along the road. Chrom turns to Robin and smiles. "This is your first real time leading the Shepherds. You up for it?"

Momentarily, she remembers the anxiety that clawed at her stomach that morning, but she pushes the thought away as much as she can. "You wouldn't have recruited me if I wasn't up for it," she replies, and Chrom laughs.

The sound instantly puts her doubtful thoughts at rest.

After a few minutes, the road begins to open up into a clearing. Robin holds up her arm, motioning the group to slow to a stop so she can survey the battlefield. There are Risen wandering about on both the near and far side of the river, most congregating around one large monster, like a leader.

They're pretty mindless if I remember right from the ones in the forest, so they should be bound to fall into disarray if that one is taken out.

Robin stands in front of the group, ready to speak—

Mark hesitates, then hurries to stand beside her, startling her into silence. He turns toward the Shepherds. "Risen are clumsier than people, but they're still dangerous. They tend to attack people with weaker defenses, or to gang up on soldiers. It's best to stay in line formation with long-range attackers and healers behind."

The Shepherds stare at him, and Mark's lips purse thin and white. He moves back to his spot beside Chrom and pulls out his tome.

The crown prince seems to be holding back a chuckle. "Thanks for the advice."

"No problem," Mark replies, though his voice is a bit shaky as he busies himself with opening his tome.

The sudden words shook Robin, but she pushes away her discomfort and stands up straighter. "You heard him. Stay in formation, and we'll have an easy battle. Remember not to let any of the Risen behind us."

After taking one last look at the matchup, Robin lifts her arm and yells out. The Shepherds launch forward into the field, all of them calling out battle cries. The Risen turn their undead heads toward the Shepherds, and it's only seconds before they lurch forward. Robin pulls out her iron sword and batters a monster a few times, and then instantly, the remains turn to ash.

Beside her, it also takes Chrom a couple of hits to fell his first Risen. The prince shoots Robin a grin. "Good job!"

The praise makes Robin smile back, and she redoubles her efforts.

For every Risen she or Chrom or Vaike or Virion or anyone takes, however, Mark fells two with his tome.

()()()

The entire battle is over quickly, especially once Frederick, Sully, and Stahl arrive from the east. A well-aimed arrow from Virion fells the last of the Risen, but Robin orders the soldiers on foot to search the area and the mounted units to return for Sumia and the supplies. Within fifteen minutes the jobs are finished, and the Shepherds are reunited together on the road.

After a bit of deliberation, Robin and Chrom decide that they can all last another hour of travel before they'll need to call it a day. After a quick refill of water at the river, the group continues on. Everyone's a little bit tired and a couple of people are nursing bruises that Lissa did her best to heal, but no one is critically injured in the slightest.

"You did a great job today," Chrom says quietly to Robin as they march. "Most of them fought those monsters for the first time, but you led us excellently through it."

Mark's advice certainly helped, Robin thinks bitterly, but she holds her tongue. "Thank you, Chrom."

"You're welcome. Keep it up." Chrom pulls away a little, then turns to Mark. "You really do fight well. But I suppose you've had a lot of practice."

"Thank you," Mark replies, once without any weapons on his person. He fiddles with his black coat again. "But yes. Those Risen were rather weak. The stronger Grima gets or the closer the Risen are to the Fell Dragon, the more formidable they are. Risen can also be summoned by a spellcaster, so it depends on their strength as well."

"We'll get better," Chrom says, and Robin marvels about how optimistic the prince can be.

"...Sparring might be a good idea," Chrom continues. "Would you like to, sometime? With swords, of course."

Mark sneaks a glance toward Frederick. "And if I try to kill you?"

Chrom laughs. "I don't think you will."

"Why?"

"Because you're trying to help us. That's good enough for me."

Robin wants to protest, that while she does believe Mark's story, she can't shake the feeling that he bears nothing but ill omens. But she can't find it in her to say anything, since Chrom is putting his faith in her as well, a Plegian of all people.

"And if it's all a scheme?" Mark asks. "There are many things I can't tell you."

"You ask too many questions." Chrom frowns a little, pondering. "You have a point, but I don't think it's true. I trust my instincts."

Mark stays quiet.

"You didn't say whether you wanted to or not."

He jumps a little. "What?"

"A spar," Chrom reminds him. "Not tonight; it's getting dark. Perhaps when we camp next?"

Mark pauses, and then a wide smile breaks out on his face. "Of course."

Robin stares at him, then hurriedly pretends she hadn't been—luckily, an easy feat, given Mark's total attention on the prince. "Would you mind if I watched?" Robin asks.

"Of course not," Chrom says.

Robin nods, then falls silent in thought.

The rest of the night is spent pitching tents and preparing for the next day; Stahl makes pleasant conversation with her, complimenting her on her leadership that day; Vaike elbows her in the ribs and reminds her not be afraid of "askin' ol' Teach for any advice"; Virion seeks her out to challenge her to a chess match, only to ask for a rain check when Sully drags him off for doing something sexist again.

Robin bathes quickly and heads back to her own tent. On the way, Chrom intercepts her and wishes her a good night. When she lays down on her bedroll and closes her eyes, she falls into sleep easily, but her dreams are filled with blue and black and masks, and the burning mark on the back of her hand.


thanks again to those who review c:

I'm going to wake up and wonder why I decided to upload at one am without looking through again