If this had been another time, Corrin may have been able to imagine himself as a character in some grand adventure book, breaching the borders of his fortress and wandering the new world. It was a little childish, maybe, but he had managed to distract himself from the discomfort of dread gathering in his stomach by pretending he was exploring. He was just another traveler, riding his horse across the plains.

But now, he had reached the Woods of the Forlorn.

It wasn't so bad at first, even beautiful in a macabre sort of way, with the network of small streams weaving among the trees, the small glowing lightning bugs, and the smell of fresh dampness like after a rainstorm. But after one too many black branches casting claw like shadows onto the ground, or a stump looking like some awful monster hiding in the shadows, Corrin was no longer amused.

Without the veneer of adventure, he was suddenly alarmingly aware of how quiet everything was. Aside from the sound of water and occasional rustling breeze, he had not heard the sound of birds or really any other creatures other than the lightning bugs. He hadn't even seen any snakes or crickets in the mossy grass. Over and over he imagined monsters watching him from a distance or hiding above in the branches. He dreamed up an eyeless version of himself, following quietly from behind and jumping out of view whenever Corrin dared to look over his shoulder.

It was all he could do to take deep steadying breaths, chiding himself for letting his imagination control him so much. He had other things that he needed to think about.

Specifically, how he was meant to take on the entirety of the Ice Tribe by his lonesome.

The only viable strategy Corrin could think of was assassinating the leader of the tribe. He doubted that he could negotiate, not when Corrin had little to no understanding of their politics or culture. Not to mention that he was a part of the family that took in the chief's daughters as glorified hostages. Corrin's only advantage was the element of surprise. No one knew who he was, no one knew where he was going. If he could scout out the tribe and attack the chief quickly and suddenly, then maybe he could throw the tribe into chaos.

Of course, there was no guarantee of such a plan working. The more likely case would be him being captured and killed.

Truthfully, Corrin did not understand why Father or rather, the sculpture on the throne room ceiling, wanted to put down the Ice Tribe. As long as Flora and Felicia were in Nohrian hands, the chief was veritably chained down. Now would be the optimal time for negotiating something in Nohr's favor without wiping the tribe off the face of the map and inviting the hatred of other outlying populations.

After all, no one looks well upon needless killings.

And what of Felicia and Flora? Hostages or not, they have served Corrin faithfully since they were children. Hurting their people further would be a tremendous betrayal of their trust.

Corrin sighed, pulling his horse to a stop. It must have been nearing night and he needed to sleep.

Corrin woke to the sounds of breaking branches. He immediately scrambled to his feet, throwing off his bedroll and drawing his sword. He had chosen a small thicket to set up camp, well obscured from the small road, but his horse was clearly agitated and making noise. He took the animal's head into his hands, trying to calm it, as he listened carefully.

The noise was coming closer.

Corrin took a slow step forward, hand tightening on Ganglari.

Closer.

He could hear footsteps crunching off of grass.

Closer.

A figure in black burst from the foliage, a flash of steel winking at its hip.

Corrin nearly dropped his sword.

"Felicia?!"

Felicia started so severely that she nearly lost her footing, her pink hair flying around wildly as she looked around. Corrin's heart felt like it was about to ran out of his chest, his head spinning a little with confusion and relief. He pushed his way out of the thicket, his hands helped up in placation.

"What do you think you're doing here?" he asked breathlessly.

"I heard that the king sent you all by yourself to the Ice Tribe!" Felicia yelped, face still white with the initial fear. "I couldn't just let you go alone, no one could accomplish such a mission alone so I...I followed a few hours after you left."

Corrin stared, dumbstruck. In her maid uniform, it was easy to underestimate Felicia's adeptness as a soldier, and painfully easy to overestimate her skill as a maid. Admittedly, Corrin had dragged his feet a bit, allowing his horse to move at a leisurely pace while he wracked his brain for a strategy, but it was still astounding that she had managed to catch up on foot.

"What about Jakob and Flora?" Corrin asked. "Do they know that you're gone?"

"Jakob? No, I didn't tell him anything," Felicia admitted, looking suitably terrified at the tongue lashing that was sure to be awaiting her. "And Flora did not come with us to Castle Krakenburg, she opted to stay and maintain the Northern Fortress."

Crack.

Corrin whipped around in disbelief. There it was again, the sound of breaking branches. But what could it be when Felicia was standing right before him. Then, in the distance, a small tree toppled clean over. From its branches, came a hulking sickly creature with an iron mask and chains.

Immediately Corrin grabbed Felicia by the arm, covering her mouth so that she would not scream and draw the monster's attention.

"Faceless," he explained, once he pulled her back into the thicket. "I've seen them before when I was in Hoshido."

Releasing her, Corrin grabbed his horse, tying it further into the forests lest it also see the Faceless and give away their position. However, by the time he returned, more of the monstrosities had appeared. Worse still, they were all standing by the bridge that he needed to cross if he were to continue through the forest.

He would have to fight.

"Felicia, listen to me," Corrin said under his breath. "I know they look repulsive, but these things aren't terribly difficult to cut down. They do hit very hard, and we can't afford being injured here."

"I have a stave," Felicia pointed out, tilting her head towards the golden staff tied to her back.

"But what if you get hurt?" Corrin demanded. "I can't heal you, and there's too many of them, we won't have the time to wait for a stave to work. Our only viable plan is to try to break through their lines. Look, take my horse and stay behind me. I'll try to cut through the lines and you need to cover me with your knives. We need to move fast, if we stop even for a moment, the Faceless may swarm us."

When Felicia nodded her agreement and went off to fetch Corrin's horse, Corrin himself released a breath he had realized that he had been holding. Strangely, almost as if he was observing himself, he found a kernel of anger burning inside him rather than fear.

He may die here in this forest, his body sinking into the mud, never to be found. Maybe that was what Father wanted, it was most definitely what Iago wanted. He'd be disposed of cleanly and easily, and they would say that it was his own fault. He could imagine Iago writing some sad eulogy of Corrin's misguided youth, how his lack of experience was to blame for such a thorough failure of his mission. He could imagine Hans' satisfied smirk as what he had done to Gunter would remain unpunished forever. Corrin didn't know why Father so favored that man.

But none of this needed to be happening.

If Hans had not attacked Corrin, he would have never fallen off the bridge. He would have never been captured by Hoshidan forces. He would never have had to run for his life, to return home. If Iago had not twisted his words, then Corrin may still be back at Castle Krakenburg. If Father had not changed his mind so quickly, if he would have just listened.

If Father would have just listened, Corrin thought, the muscles of his jaw tightening.