Chrom could only listen as the words of his sister flowed through the main chamber, filling it with her calming voice. He tried his best to hold back his chuckles at the contrast between Emmeryns. Just the other day, she was screaming bloody murder at him. Now she acted as though the Gods themselves guided her words. He wanted to laugh, but the horrified looks of the peasants sent a chill through his body. Even his tongue felt as though it was frozen.
"Please, your grace," one battered peasant begged. His face was covered with old rags used as bandages, stained brown with long dried blood. His clothes were covered with so much dirt that it would be harder to find a spot that wasn't covered with caked on mud. His mouth opened to reveal a set of broken teeth, still bleeding and inflamed. "You've got to send aid! The Plegians raid us border villages nearly every day. We barely have enough time to gather seeds before they put the torches to our homes!"
Chrom was shocked at how well-spoken he was. His surprise was then replaced with frustration very quickly.
"I am sorry," Emmeryn said, her voice as calm and cool as a babbling brook, "but we cannot send any aid without risk of war from the Plegians. I will negotiate a truce, and stop these attacks as best I can."
He knew it wouldn't work. Gangrel was a lunatic, and when he wanted war he got it. Force was the only thing that would work, but Emmeryn was desperate for any other alternative.
"I knew you were a bleedin' coward!" an old man from the crowd of common-folk shouted. His long, snow-white hair was accented with a thick, dirty beard that held patches of a light gray. He stumbled his way through the mass of terrified, angry people, holding himself up as best he could on his cane. "An' while you talk wif' the Mad King, he's burnin' more villages! At leas' y'ur father knew when to fight!"
The crowd grew louder as the tensions rose. Shouts of encouragement were aimed towards the old man, who removed part of the tattered robe to show a prosthetic leg where his right one should be. It was faded copper, and the leather straps were close to falling apart. Nevertheless, it looked sturdy and well made.
"I fough' Plegis for ten years wif' the Old King!" he declared, earning more shouts and cheers from the mob. "I'd fight 'em all over again if the Exalt would stop bein' a craven!"
More demands for Plegian blood echoed in the wide chamber, nearly breaking the windows open with their intensity.
"Our families are starving!"
"My wife was taken by Plegian soldiers!"
"They burned my farm! I've no way to make a living!"
"ENOUGH!" Chrom demanded, his face red. Whether it was from embarrassment or anger, he decided that he didn't give a damn. "Look at you all!" he began, stepping to the front of the mob. "You all ask for blood, for retribution or justice or some other excuse to send people to die. But I remember when I was a boy when you all called my father, the Old King, a murderous madman. You all called for his death so the war would end! Now that it has, and now that you've gotten fat and lazy, the threat's come back. And you beg for the same thing you clawed in desperation to end."
"Easy for the prince to say when he gets to drink and whore around all day!" a young man from the crowd screamed, his face a cherry. "You've not had to fight for scraps because the Plegians burned your wheat!"
"We have a plan!" Chrom fired back, his entire being going white. He looked around, seeing confused faces on everyone but him, though his lack of one was not by choice. "We took an important political person prisoner to negotiate with the Mad King."
Emmeryn snapped her head to Chrom. Of all the things he saw, in all of his years, those eyes of hers were by far the most horrifying thing in all of reality. That cool exterior was still on display, but he already knew he would regret his very very poor choice of words. His gut scrambled to find a way to walk back his statement, but it was far too late.
"Who is it!?" the elderly agitator demanded, clacking his wooden leg against the floor. He tried to get the momentum of the crowd back, but it was clear that they were too enticed by the reasoning.
"I cannot say at this time," Chrom said, feeling himself sweat, yet freeze, all at once, "just know that she is incredibly-"
"It's a woman!?" the old peasant interrupted, catching Chrom's use of the pronoun.
"N-No," Chrom said, losing his ad-libbing abilities in face of examination. "I-I merely used the noun as a way to-"
"Did you steal Gangrel's wife!?" the old man insisted, the crowd getting tense once more. "Is this why he harasses us!?"
"I-I can assure you that we didn't kidnap the prisoner," Chrom felt himself shrink down as his lie fell apart around him. "W-We merely acquired them to solve the raiding issue."
"You stole Gangrel's wife! Now he wants our blood!"
"The Whoring Prince stole the Mad King's Whore!"
"N-Now that one was just rude!" Chrom tried to sound commanding, before the tensions reached a breaking point.
The crowd shouted and threw all manner of things at the royal, who tried in vain to dodge the more disgusting of substances. He looked to see guards closing around the crowd, which was still locked in a violent bloodrage.
"Oh Gods!" Chrom shouted in his head as the guards tried desperately to subdue the more violent of peasants, even punching one directly in the mouth, spraying blood and teeth across the hall.
"Chrom!"
The man in question turned his head to Emmeryn, who stared at a familiar little girl, tiredly making her way through the hall, passing the mob without so much as a scratch, before approaching Chrom, who could only stare in puzzlement.
"W..." she mumbled out, clearly having just woken up from a nap. Her hair was disheveled, her purple robe was wrinkled and dragging loosely behind her. Her eyes were not even half open, remaining shut as she tugged on Chrom's shirt for his attention. "Wa..."
"YOU ARE SERIOUSLY ASKING FOR WATER NOW!?" he ended up saying much louder than he wanted to. The crowd went dead silent as they looked to see a small child, pulling on the sleeve of Prince Chrom.
They all saw the Plegian robe she wore.
"Uh..." Chrom also lost his ability to speak as he met their eyes, still feeling the small tugs. "Th-This, ladies and gentlemen! This is the prisoner!" Chrom said with pseudo-confidence as he held Robin up for the crowd to see. The girl in question quietly fell asleep back in Chrom's hands as he placed the girl against the floor, who proceeded to then wrap herself in her cloak. "King Gangrel's prized daughter, Robin! There is no way that he would try to weasel out of negotiations knowing his child could be harmed at anytime!"
"They're never going to buy it..."
"BY THE GODS, THEY BOUGHT IT!" Chrom repeated in his head for the trillionth time, still wondering if he was dreaming.
The crowd was long gone, only maids and cleaners left in their place to clean where the former party stood. It was still an incredible sight to behold. As soon as Chrom finished his speech, the peasants left without so much as a witty retort. Not even the old cripple questioned the story, actually being the first one to leave. Emmeryn left as well, moving like a ghost as her whole body shook in what could only be described as barely contained rage. Chrom would regret his decision, that was definitely something he bet on.
"How long are you just gonna stand there?" Lissa asked Chrom, holding Robin in her arms and cradling her. Her face was twisted in pain as Robin took to nibbling on one of Lissa's pigtails.
"I guess until they come back to put my head on a pike..." Chrom said, his eyes still wide with surprise. He slapped himself more than once to confirm that he was not dreaming, his face red with handprints.
"Hey," Lissa said, approaching Chrom, "I think you missed a few."
"What-? GAH!"
Lissa had smacked Chrom down to the literal floor, the latter rubbing his face as he got back onto his feet.
"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, YOU IDIOT!?" Lissa screamed, surprisingly enough not waking Robin in the process.
"You saw how that crowd was acting!" Chrom tried to defend himself, his hindsight eating away at him worse than his sister's direct criticism. "How would you have done it?"
"Well first, I'd not throw a little girl under the carriage!" Lissa said, smacking Chrom once more.
"Will you stop hitting me!?" Chrom demanded, catching Lissa's hand when she swung for another hit. "And what are you talking about?"
"Now a rumor'll spread that we have Gangrel's daughter, you moron!" Lissa spat venomously at Chrom. "The Plegians that didn't already hop onto the 'Let's burn Ylisse!' party will be practically begging for war when this gets out!"
"But Gangrel knows that he doesn't have a daughter," Chrom tried to reason, his face burning from the slaps. His sister was inhumanly strong when it came to those smacks of hers. "His people know. He's never declared an heir."
"Doesn't matter!" Lissa exploded once more, feeling Robin shift in her arms. "He can just make up some story about how you killed her mother and took her before he even got to see her. POLITICS ONE-OH-ONE: HOW TO LIE!"
"Um..."
"Well, Lissa," Chrom snarled at his sister, his own frustration burning his brain, "if you had any better solution, let's hear it out!"
"Excuse me..."
"Don't pin this on me!" Lissa said defensively, turning herself and Robin away from Chrom. "You got yourself into this mess! Fix it yourself!"
"Please, I really need to talk to-"
"'Fix it yoursel-'!? You can't be serious!" Chrom clenched his fists. "This isn't 'breaking Emm's favorite tea glass'. You said it yourself, this is war we're staring at! You can't just expect me to single-handedly solve an international crisis by myself, can you!?"
"Please, I if I could just have a moment!-"
"OH MY GODS, WHAT DO YOU WANT!?" Chrom and Lissa shouted at the only remaining peasant, a horribly disfigured man. What was once two arms were replaced with rusted, old hooks. His face was completely covered in bandages, only a few open spots that exposed scarred flesh. His mouth was partially torn open, revealing broken teeth and a tongue that looked more like a bit of chopped up meat in his mouth.
"Please..." the man said, disturbingly clear. His voice did not sound as though it came from his mouth. It was as though the words went straight into the brain. He was not a very tall man, not even coming up to Chrom's shoulders. His clothes were in worse conditions than the others, looking scorched and shredded by who knows what. "My village needs help..."
"Sir," Chrom said, his voice calm and understanding, "I get that the Plegians are attacking, but we can't spare any soldiers-"
"Plegians?" the disfigured man said, his eyes, despite being bloodshot and dry, expressed deep confusion. "It weren't any Plegians that did this to me."
"Then..." Chrom felt a sense of danger creep up his body, his eyes shooting to Lissa, who was visibly worried. "What beast did this to you?"
"It weren't no beast either," the man said, not even a lisp infecting the speech. "It was a man, true enough it was."
"What man was this?" Lissa asked, surprising even herself. She gently rocked Robin as she tried to listen to her little snores for comfort.
"They call him the Crow Man..."
A/N 2018
Did a bit of fleshing out for this. Also changed Morgan's name, since 'Bird of Darkness" is about as generic as it gets. Crow Man isn't much better, but I think it has a bit more of a "folk lore" vibe to it.