Chrom's feet pounded on the wooden boards of the hallway. Even running as fast as he could pace himself, Tharja had still managed to escape from his sight almost immediately after he had begun his pursuit. Whatever adrenaline was fueling her body was propelling her through the corridors faster than Chrom had ever seen her move, or many other people for that matter.
He counted himself lucky that she had explained where she was going before sprinting off. Even if he couldn't keep up with her he could at least meet her at the library, and try to keep Ortho from escaping with the help of some obscure spellbook, or at the very least keep him from mauling Tharja too. Damn that woman, if she had had the patience to wait two minutes they could have gone after him with a dozen other people alongside them. Chrom knew the library- it hadn't been properly catalogued in a year, who knew how long it could take to find any single book in all the chaos?
Ortho probably knew, come to think of it. Gods knew he had probably checked before today. Chrom increased his pace.
The palace's library was one of the larger and more decorated rooms in the building, with each entrance set with two massive wooden doors covered in ornate carvings. As he approached Chrom noticed that the doors had been left open, which was probably a good thing. If Tharja had come upon them and found them locked, Chrom would almost certainly have found them blasted off of their hinges.
He slowed down at the open doorway. He could hear the sound of shouting within the library, made indistinct by obstruction from the countless number of bookshelves. Slowly drawing his sword again, he advanced slowly into the room. With any luck Ortho didn't know he was coming, and if he still had the advantage of surprise he didn't want to squander it.
Chrom worked his way through the maze of bookshelves as quickly and quietly as he could, following the voices as they grew louder. Eventually he came across Ortho and Tharja standing opposite of each other at the very edge of the room, neither of them casting spells yet but both looking quite prepared to do so. Tharja was farther down the aisle, while Ortho was closer to him, his back to Chrom as he held his tome aloft. Chrom got the feeling that the only thing keeping his spell casting in check was the fact that the book he was looking for was liable to burn in the aftermath.
They were still halfway across the room by the time Chrom saw them. Trying to make as little noise as possible, Chrom went back into the adjacent aisle and made his way up, hoping to stay unnoticed until he could make a clean run at Ortho. By now he could hear their argument quite clearly, and even caught enough glimpses through the books to get a good idea of what they were doing.
"I never went into this plan with the intention to harm him, my dear niece," he heard Ortho say. "I assure you that my intentions were never malicious in nature. The fact that he unfortunately had to be injured is quite the opposite of what I wanted."
"So you were carrying a tome of fire spells to our wedding by accident?" Tharja said, her voice cold.
"Merely a precaution, one that sadly proved necessary," Ortho said. He was slowly making his way across the row of books. "You must understand that it was always in our best interests."
There was a loud crack, and a few books fell off the shelf near Chrom. After a second he realized that Ortho must had leapt into the bookcase to avoid a spell.
"What did I tell you about lying to me again, Ortho?" Tharja said, her voice growing more obviously agitated.
"It is not a lie, and it never was a lie. I have never worked for my own interests alone, but for our whole family's," Ortho said, slightly shaken.
"Then explain to me how brainwashing my husband and using him as a human shield was for his own good," Tharja said.
"As I said, his injury was unintended, and it would be unfair to call it 'brainwashing'," Ortho said, resuming his creep along the bookshelves. "The hex would have merely allowed me to call upon his loyalties at their peak capacity. You would most assuredly never see any difference. Perhaps, once a year at most, I might make a request of him that he would perform to his utmost ability, one that he might have performed anyway were he sufficiently devoted to our family. An advisement to give to the Exalt, a new stratagem to take into consideration, a group of bandits disrupting trade that he might seek to eliminate. That is all."
"And why did you need to brainwash him to do this?" Tharja asked.
"Insurance, dear, it was merely insurance of what he probably would do anyway," Ortho replied. "You were there at the dinner where he was tested, you remember what sort of power he might wield. To allow the possibility that such an degree of power, in addition to the power he already wields, might go against our wishes would be a grave mistake. Used improperly, there would be nothing but sadness. Used properly, it would strengthen the goals of the family, and the bonds between the countries.
"With his mouth to the Exalt's ear, and mine to the ear of Plegia's new rulers, we would not face another war so destructive as the last in our lifetimes. Whatever capability the hex gave me, I would only use for our mutual good- never for selfish or negligent purposes."
There was another crack, and some books shuddered in front of Chrom again, this time only one bookcase ahead of him. He readied his sword and awaited his opportunity to leap out and strike. In the meantime, he was learning quite a bit from this discussion.
"You mean selfish or negligent purposes like making him stand witness to a fake wedding ceremony with his brain shut off?" said Tharja, her words lashing through the air like a whip.
"A sad but necessary-" Ortho began hesitantly, but was cut off.
"Do you even remember their names, Ortho? If that room had burned down they would have just stood there dumbly until the flames consumed them. And you expect me to believe that I could have given you that power over my husband and you would only use it to make him sign peace treaties?" Tharja said fiercely.
"I had faith in the Exalt to rescue his guests," Ortho retorted lamely.
"You don't have a faithful bone in your body," Tharja said.
"This is dark magic, dear. A tool, not an evil. You've cast your own curses in your own day, I know that for certain." Ortho said defensively.
"I've cast curses, some admittedly for petty reasons. I've even killed people in battle. But I've never been delusional enough to try and steal my family's ability to think for themselves and convince myself that it was right," Tharja said. "Who exactly defines 'the family's best interest', anyway? How many of our relatives actually know you're doing this? How many of them did you brainwash?"
"If the information got to too many people, the scandal would surely-"
"How many people know what you're doing?" Tharja repeated intently.
"Only myself. And now you," Ortho said. He stepped away from the shelf, and stood with his back directly to Chrom, his tome held against his robe with one arm, and the other arm stretched across his chest. Chrom's opportunity was here.
"So why do I get the feeling that what's 'best' for the family is usually what's best for you?" Tharja said. "I've heard enough. You're a monster, and you don't even have the decency to realize it. Now unless you want to burn that book you're looking for, drop that tome and come with me."
Chrom, deciding that he had heard all he wanted, crept back from the bookcase and directly behind Ortho. In one motion, he placed his sword against the side of his neck.
"Drop the tome. This will be easier for everyone if you just give up," he said, his voice held as flat as his sword.
Ortho made no motion at first. His body remained rigid, without so much as a turn of his head.
"Drop the tome, Ortho," said Chrom, more firmly.
Ortho slowly outstretched his hands from his body, holding them above his head. For the first time Chrom realized that the arm he had clutched across his chest was holding another book. Tharja's eyes widened similarly to his, as she realized that the arm against his side had been concealing a tome from her angle.
"Which one shall I drop, then?" he said modestly.
Chrom opened his mouth to speak, but instead, sensing danger, he dropped his sword from Ortho's neck and ducked to the side. A split second later a bolt of fire streaked directly through the space his head had just occupied.
An unpleasant smell filled the air as the carpet where it hit began to smolder. Ortho quickly took a few steps away from Chrom, withdrawing his hands to a more comfortable position.
"I am sorry that you could not be made to understand my reasoning, but I foresaw some time ago that I might be forced to flee," he said, flipping the other book open with one hand. "That's why I took the liberty of relocating this tome to a more convenient location in your library. I also hid one in my room, though I imagine that one is somewhat less accessible to me by this point. You would do well to return it to its proper place once I am gone."
Without warning he suddenly doubled over in pain. A purple flash was briefly visible behind his back. He lurched to the side, revealing Tharja, holding her spellbook with her face in the ominous expression that had recently become its default.
"And then there's you," said Ortho. Another spell shot his way from Tharja's direction. Chrom, meanwhile, had gotten to his feet and reclaimed his sword, and was now charging towards Ortho, with intent to seriously injure if not kill. With both projectile and prince bearing down on him, Ortho raised his other hand. For the blink of an eye he looked much taller and thinner than usual, and then he was gone, letting the spell sail harmlessly through empty space.
Out of the corner of his eye Chrom saw Tharja's tome flying through the air. Chrom turned to see that Ortho had reappeared directly in front of her, and had took advantage of her confusion to disarm her. She retreated a few steps backward, Ortho being the only one armed now.
"I cannot kill the Exalt, as the political ramifications would be too great. I imagine that I will not be welcome back in this building for quite some time," he said. "You, however, are the only direct witness to come from our family. If I remove you I remove the only witness who might besmirch my reputation in their eyes, and thus rob me of their protection. The situation will degrade to a one-sided accusation from the Exalt."
"I am sorry, Tharja," he said. Chrom broke into a run, but knew that he wouldn't be able to reach them in time. Tharja looked like she intended to run for a moment, but instead stopped, and simply stood with a small smile on her face.
A flash of yellow light blinded Chrom for a few seconds, causing him to stumble in mid-stride. He blinked to flush the spots from his eyes, and when he regained his vision he saw Ortho lying prostrate on the floor with a hole burned in his back, with Tharja holding the two books he had dropped.
"Do you suppose he survived that?" a voice called out.
"I'm not going to hope that he did," another responded savagely.
Chrom turned around, to see half a dozen people in the garb of Plegian dark mages walking towards them, Tharja's mother Petra leading the pack. A spell tome held open in her hand made clear that she had been the one to cast the lightning spell that had brought him down.
"Thank you," said Chrom, as two of them helped him back to his feet. "I don't know how you found us, but by the gods, thank you."
"Your sister was kind enough to redirect us towards where she thought you had run off to. I imagine she had mind to follow you herself were she not preoccupied with her work," Petra said. Her hair was disheveled and her face was covered in sweat; it was clear that she run most of the way to the library.
"You went to see Robin?" Chrom asked.
"Certainly. The whole party is nothing but uproar at this point. The general message has naturally become confused as it spread, but the consensus was clear that Ortho had attacked at least one of the bride and groom. Naturally we were curious to get the full story, and your knight generously allowed us entry while filling in some details," Petra said.
"We had hoped the part about Ortho being the one responsible was just nonsense, but sadly it seems not," said Tharja's grandfather, leaning over the mage's inert form. He sighed deeply. "Did you get any sense of why he did this, or did he just go berserk?"
"We stopped him from trying to cast some hex to control Robin's mind," Chrom said. "Apparently he's done this to quite a few people. Maybe even some others within your family."
"Mind control? The kind that would require a full ritual? I hadn't thought that he would go that far," one of the cousin's Chrom didn't recognize said.
"I suppose it's not really that surprising in hindsight. Remember that night when we evaluated Robin? He was practically salivating after he saw what he could do with dark magic," another said.
"I think we were all taken aback by that," said Petra. "But I didn't think that any of us would see him and think 'tool' instead of 'ally', or even 'threat'."
"Ortho did," Chrom said. He was suddenly feeling very tired, even though it was still the middle of the day.
"And then he got discovered, and so he tried to escape by attacking my daughter and her groom," Petra said. She walked over to where Ortho was lying, and kicked him sharply in the side. Tharja's grandfather restrained her, but Ortho emitted a weak groan. He attempted to raise himself on his arms, but collapsed back down after a second.
Petra sighed. "I suppose we'll have to get him a healer in his cell." She turned towards Chrom. "You will be locking him in the dungeons. As deep as possible," she continued. "Your highness," she added briefly.
"Of course. No need to try and convince me on that," Chrom said, leaning against one of the bookcases.
There was a momentary silence. Chrom was glad for this, since it was the first moment in what felt like quite a long time where it didn't feel like doom was hovering overhead. Eventually, someone Chrom didn't recognize raised a question.
"What do we tell all of the guests?"
A more considerate silence broke out. Everybody save Ortho seemed to be pondering the question. Chrom felt the part of his mind that he had sectioned off for diplomatic matters going into overdrive.
"I don't think there's any disguising the fact that Robin was injured," he said. "Even if we cover everything else up people are going to be confused when there's no wedding today."
"And I think the news of Ortho's implication in the crime has spread far enough that people will have a problem accepting any other version of the events," Petra added. "Some of the more thick-headed Ylissean guests are already calling for blood. Naturally the Plegian guests are attempting to defend their national honor as best they can, and are saying Ortho deserves to have his side heard. Idiots."
Chrom groaned. A different sort of doom seemed to be moving into position overhead. A mad wizard loose in his palace was a problem with an easy solution, an international incident was not. He would rather have three Ortho's than deal with the aftermath from one.
"So we tell them Robin is injured, and Ortho is guilty of the crime. Leave out the part about the mind control hexing, that's going to be difficult enough to untangle anyway," Chrom said. He sighed, because the next logical step from that point was "And then deal with the riot."
Another silence fell, as apparently everybody else made the same connection. Eventually a response came from behind Petra.
"What if I drag him out?"
Chrom looked up, and realized that it had been Tharja who had said it, looking much calmer than she had before.
"How exactly do you think that will that help?" said Chrom, choosing his words carefully. Tharja had been through quite a lot today already.
"People like drama. People like stories, Ylisseans especially. It's easier to accept if a warlord is defeated by the son of someone he's killed, not an invading army. It's more memorable if the dragon is defeated by a hero-king, not a band of nameless soldiers."
"If I drag him out there and claim total responsibility, people get their story. A bride avenges her fallen husband on their wedding day. The Plegians can't get worked up because it was a Plegian who defeated him. The Ylisseans might still get worked up because it was a Plegian who hurt their Tactician, but if they raise too much of a stink the Plegians will just come back with the fact that a Plegian cleaned up the Ylissean mess. Ortho comes off as the villain, and all the softer-headed ones will be too wrapped up in moaning about how romantic it is to fuss about the details."
Chrom thought back to most of the nobles he had met and decided this was a fair assessment. The fact that most of them inherited their positions sometimes seemed unfortunate.
"Alright, you've sold me," Chrom said. "If only because I can't come up with any better ideas." He turned to the remaining members of Tharja's family, and there were murmurs of assent.
"It seems like the best option we have available," admitted Petra. "Though I would hate to go through that sort of stress after what you've already been through today."
"I'm not looking forward to it," Tharja said flatly.
Petra nodded, and looked down at Ortho. "Well, we might as well get to carrying him down. Somebody find a trolley so we don't have to haul his mass down all the way by hand." Somebody ran off.
Tharja sat down quietly. Chrom knelt beside her.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
Tharja remained silent for a few seconds, and then spoke.
"I wish I had hit him with a more painful spell," she said.