Chapter 20
With a weak groan Arya awoke to darkness. Face-down she gave a little cough as dust threatened to cause her to go into a coughing fit, but she resisted the urge. All those years in the slums had made her alert instantly upon awakening, yet something still felt… off. She tried to roll over, only to find something heavy lying atop her. Not something, someone. Galle gave a groan of his own as she started to stir, shaking his head as he rose slowly to his hands and knees. Arya rolled out from beneath him in a small cloud of dust, vague memories of the older boy tackling her to the tower's stone floor and shielding her with his own body rising to the forefront of her mind.
"You okay?" Galle managed to mumble, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.
Arya went to answer, freezing instead as she finally looked up.
"Wh-where are we?" she asked in a small voice, looking around.
Galle glanced up now, too, giving another, louder groan as his shoulders slumped.
They could barely see a few meters around them, such was the depth of the darkness enveloping the two Plegians, but what they did see was like something from a bad dream. The ground was hard-packed dirt, cracked and utterly devoid of any moisture, a fine layer of ash-like dust atop it creating small clouds with every movement they made. The air itself was still and stagnant, neither carrying nor impeding the perpetual sea of dust. Around the pair the ground had become uneven, the ruins of what appeared to be the top floor of Ylisstol's Mages' Tower strewn about them haphazardly. Were it not for the sky above them Arya would have thought the pair had been transported inside some distant, cavernous tomb. Both she and Galle looked up, and a deep sense of foreboding began to grow inside of Arya.
No clouds.
No stars.
Nothing. Just… void. Darkness, infinite and inky black in the place of the cheerful blue skies she had come to love.
Worst was the dark red orb in the place of the sun, weakly glaring down at them and offering no light or heat. Just sitting there, above them, as if watching.
Arya couldn't help but shudder as she looked at the dead sky.
Dead. That was all she could think of to describe this place.
Dead and abandoned.
The Plegian girl shuddered, a sense of despair settling into the pit of her stomach before Galle distracted her.
"Oh what fresh hell is this?" Galle muttered, running a dusty hand through his hair, leaving a streak of grey on the top of his head and contrasting sharply with the dark purple of his hair.
Voices drifted to them, a small light flashing in the distance from behind one of the larger piles of ruins, a great section of the Tower's roof sticking up diagonal from the dusty earth. A figure with a torch, blindingly bright in the gloom of the alien space, stepped around the ruin, his face lighting up as soon as he spotted the pair. A second pair stepped out, Cherche hefting a large axe in her hands before relaxing upon recognizing the two Plegians.
"Hey! Hey!" Vaike called, waving the torch above his head. "Over here!"
Arya and Galle shakily drew to their feet, the girl letting out a relieved sigh as they started to move towards the two Shepherds. Galle, however, had to be the more pragmatic of the two and instantly began to question the two older warriors as they approached.
"What's going on?" he croaked, trying to clear the dust from his throat. "Where are we? What happened to Clarus? Where's Robin? What's-"
"Easy, kid," Vaike said, clamping his free hand on Galle's shoulder. "Don't know, no idea, hopefully he got crushed by the rubble too, and that's who we're lookin' for now. Any more questions, ask Cherche; Teach is gonna keep lookin' for Robin."
With that the spiky-haired man gave the wyvern rider a significant nod, leaving the trio alone in the gloom as he ambled off with the torch. Now around the other side of the ruins Arya could see the flickering of more lamps in the distance, her mind silently yearning for the comfort and warmth of the light.
"Here," Cherche said kindly, offering both of them waterskins. "Drink sparingly, we don't know when we'll be able to refill them."
Arya nodded, accepting the half-empty skin she was offered and taking a few sips. Galle gargled before spitting, muttering something about never being able to escape from sand and dust as he re-fixed the stopper in place and pocketed the waterskin. Arya glanced timidly up at the older woman currently watching the ruined, dead landscape around them with an intent, piercing gaze; she didn't know anything about Lady Cherche except what the others had told her, that she was a Valmese maid-warrior and had been a vassal to House Virion of Rosanne before marrying the Duke. The older woman seemed intense, but hid it behind a carefully neutral mask or perfectly-crafted fake smile, from what Arya had seen of her. Her eyes never changed, though, always with the same forceful spirit burning within them.
Cherche turned that gaze onto Arya when she noticed the younger girl staring, and the young trainee-tactician gave a little squeak, blushing as she quickly looked away. Cherche merely chuckled a little, resting a gauntleted hand comfortingly on her shoulder.
"Come, let us return to the base camp," she said, her tone one of suggestion yet at the same time brokering no disagreement from them.
The two Plegians exchanged a glance before Galle helplessly sighed, shrugging and motioning they follow the wyvern knight. They moved slowly and cautiously through the dark rubble-strewn landscape, wary of tripping in the gloom. Galle trailed behind as the two women led, shuffling along slowly. As Arya began to worry about him Cherche spoke, looking up at the sky.
"Odd, isn't it?" she said, her voice soft. "It's almost beautiful. Like a solar eclipse."
Arya followed her gaze to the pulsing red orb in the sky where the sun would usually be burning, unable to follow the older woman's logic. Before she could ask what Cherche was talking about, though, Galle gave a pained grunt and dropped to one knee.
"Galle!" Arya cried, spinning. "What's wrong? Were you hurt!?"
"I'm… f-fine," the Plegian boy managed to groan.
"Clearly you're not," Cherche said, kneeling before him and pressing a hand to his brow.
"It's… it must just be an after-effect of the spell Sir Robin used to get us here," Galle mumbled. "My head is killing me."
Arya blinked a few times, straightening as she, too, realized she had a headache.
Before she could ask more questions the unnatural stillness was rent by a high-pitched scream, echoing off the ruins around them. Cherche was on her feet again in an instant, frowning as she looked around for the source of the scream. Arya looked around, too, the sound bouncing off the various ruins and making the source hard for her to locate. Galle lurched to his feet, pointing to one of the piles of rubble as a second, longer scream began to echo.
"It's coming from over there," he said.
"Let's go," Cherche said, taking off at a run.
Arya lingered by Galle's side as he shook his head in an attempt to clear it, racing after the wyvern knight.
"Grima, she rides a giant lizard everywhere, why does she run so fast?" the Plegian boy muttered irritably, earning a snort of laughter from Arya.
Two other groups converged on the rubble, Chrom and Sully arriving first as Basilio and Idallia slid down another large piece of tower roof sticking out of the ground. When they reached the source of the screaming Chrom planted his torch in the ground, the Exalt and his knight heaving the large pieces of rubble out of the way. Basilio began to help them without a word when he and Idallia arrived, the newer Khan woman staying out of the way and drifting over the where Arya and Galle were watching from behind Cherche.
"Relax! We'll have you out in just a moment!" Chrom promised whoever was under the rubble.
"It hurts!" the person screamed. "It hurts! Make it stop! Please, make it stop!"
Arya started, taking a few steps forward as she realized that it was Femi screaming beneath the rubble.
With one last heave Chrom, Sully and Basilio tipped a large piece of rubble away, revealing two bodies caked in dust and blood. Tharja lay atop Femi, shielding her much the same way Galle had tried to shield Arya. The older woman slowly sat up, her long perfect hair plastered to one side of her face with grey-red mud, fresh blood still running from the gash above her hairline. Tharja hissed, clutching at her shoulder and swaying dangerously, managing to half-rise before falling to one knee. Femi, though, writhed on the ground, clutching at her shoulders and letting loose another shrill scream. From what Arya could see the young mage wasn't physically hurt, but clearly something was ailing her.
"Girl stop screaming," Tharja murmured as Chrom knelt down and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Tharja! Are you okay?" the Exalt asked.
"Do I look okay?" Tharja deadpanned, shaking her head. "Where's Robin? I need him."
"Wh-what? We haven't found him yet. What's wrong with her?" Chrom asked, looking to the girl gasping on the ground.
"It's complicated," Tharja sighed. "But you'll do in a pinch. If I can't force an acclimatization I can always just keep it at bay for now. Yes, that will work as a stop-gap… Exalt Chrom, I'm going to need some of your blood."
"His what!?" Sully asked, disgust coloring her features. "Are you out of your-"
The knight was cut off when Femi let out another scream, her voice weaker now as she faded into a whimper.
"Quickly now, give me your hand before the girl dies," Tharja snapped.
To his credit Chrom didn't hesitate before pulling off his glove and holding out his hand. He trusted all of his allies implicitly, even the ones as weird and abrasive as Tharja. A small modicum of fear clouded his features as she drew a small knife and dish from the pouch on her hip, though.
"I apologize, this will hurt but there is no other way right now," she said, gently sliding the razor sharp knife over Chrom's wrist.
He hissed as blood began to pool in the small dish, quickly filling it. Once she had enough Tharja pressed a rag to his wound, offering him a vulenary. The whole exchange had taken less than a few minutes, but Femi's whimpers had gotten weaker. Tharja herself swayed as she scooted over to her student, muttering something beneath her breath and using her thumb to dab the Exalt's blood on Femi's forehead. The girl instantly quieted, breathing a sigh of relief before going still. As her breathing became regular again Tharja leaned back, giving a small sigh before repeating the ritual on herself.
"The mana, the land, the very air itself here is polluted by Grima's foul taint," Tharja explained. "Your blood holds the power of Grima's antithesis, Naga. It will do for a time to keep us mages alive until I find a more permanent solution. Arya, Galle, come here."
"Should we be worried?" Idallia asked, fear evident in her voice.
"We're Feroxi, we never get worried," Basilio snorted.
"I'm Ylissean," Idallia responded exasperatedly.
"Not anymore you're not," the big man said with a grin.
"At this stage, no," Tharja said, quickly repeating the ritual on first Arya and then Galle. "But we don't want to linger here. Right now it is just… painful for the mages. Later, though, we will begin to grow sick. Weak. All of us, not just the mages. How is Ricken faring?"
"He was knocked unconscious by the rubble," Chrom explained, still holding the rag to his wrist. "Maribelle was with him. Neither of them really… looked very good."
Tharja nodded, quickly performing the ritual on Arya and Galle before shakily rising to her feet. "Take me to them. You need to have your wrist healed properly anyway."
"Yes, thank you for that," Chrom said, rolling his eyes even as he offered Tharja his arm. "You look a little unsteady. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Admittedly, I may require Maribelle's attention myself," Tharja muttered, her voice sounding a little weak. "I believe my shoulder is dislocated."
Chrom nodded, then without warning yanked down hard on the arm Tharja was holding close to her body. The mage let out a pained shriek, Chrom catching her as she almost fainted.
"What were you thinking!?" Tharja hissed.
"That it was better to get your shoulder back into place sooner rather than later?" the Exalt shrugged. "It hurts less if you don't have time to think about it."
"I still have quite a bit of your blood to curse you with, foolish man," Tharja groaned, gingerly moving her arm.
"Feels better though, right?" Chrom persisted with a grin.
Tharja just gave him an evil glare, continuing to lean on him.
"We'll follow with Femi," Cherche said, clearly trying not to laugh as she bent down and scooped the young mage up in her arms, balancing her axe beneath the girl.
"We'll keep looking for Robin," Basilio rumbled, practically dragging Idallia with him back into the rubble and not even trying to hide his laughter. "C'mon, Sully. You can help us."
Sully gave a nod, giving Tharja one last suspicious look before turning away and following the two Khans into the darkness.
Arya watched as Tharja let out a subtle sigh of relief, Lady Maribelle's healing magic currently running through her. The cleric-turned-magistrate looked pained, though, beads of sweat dotting her brow and her pretty face twisted in a grimace of concentration.
The 'camp' that the Shepherds had set up was simply a pile of the more usable rubble next to a small fire for illumination. Long lengths of unbroken timber taken from the ruins of the tower were stacked up, the broken ones being used as fuel for the fire along with the unsalvageable remnants of the ancient books that had been brought with them by Clarus' spell.
Ricken and Femi, both still unconscious, lay on their backs on Maribelle's other side, where the healer could keep her eye on them. A few of the others still wandered around, Olivia, Gaius and Cordelia adding either to the 'keep' or 'fire' piles of rubble while the rest were out looking for Robin. With Tharja and Femi everyone but the tactician had been located now.
"So," Galle began quietly from Arya's side. "How… are you holding up?"
She glanced over at him, a thankful smile on her face. "Like Sir Robin said, I'm compartmentalizing. This place… frightens me. But until we're all here I feel like it would be a waste to panic."
"Huh. You're smarter than I gave you credit for," Galle said with a grin.
"I can't be the scared little girl forever," Arya smirked, giving the older boy's shoulder a small shove.
She looked around again, at the cold dead landscape she could see and the oppressive darkness. 'Scared' was slightly underselling it. This place, wherever it was, terrified her to no end. Ever since her mage training she had been able to feel the thrum of the mana in the earth and the air, and it had comforted her. Knowing that there was energy, life, around her all the time had been a calming factor for her. Even in Plegia, where it was so hard to cast magic, she could feel it in the back of her mind. But here… it was just dead. A bare wisp of mana in the air, almost as little as a spell residue. With a shiver that she desperately tried to hide Arya tried to stop herself thinking that it felt like just before she had joined with Robin and his Shepherds, when she had been helpless.
Arya's downward spiral was interrupted when Tharja let out a pained hiss, causing the girl to glance up at her one-time teacher. Tharja was yanking her injured arm back from Maribelle, the two women clearly about to come to blows.
"I told you it still hurts," Tharja said hotly.
"It should not, it should be fully healed by now," Maribelle huffed. "Do not be such a drama queen. It is just phantom pain."
"It is not phantom pain, I'm telling you it didn't heal right," Tharja ground out. "Either do it again or give me the staff and let me do it myself."
"I will not allow you to taint the staff given to me by my beloved," Maribelle responded, her voice growing in volume.
With a sigh Chrom rose from where he was kneeling near the pile of more intact books that had been salvaged, the Exalt frowning as he approached the mage and the healer.
"Ladies, do I have to take your toys away?" he asked, quirking one brow. "Maribelle, Tharja's no novice, I'm sure she'd know the difference between phantom pain and actual pain. And Tharja, Maribelle is under a lot of stress right now. Both of you need to play nice."
"Do not presume to speak to me like I am one of your whelps," Tharja snapped, rising to her feet.
"Indeed, Exalt Chrom," Maribelle added, standing next to the mage. "We are both deserving of far more respect than you just addressed us with! Now Tharja, sit back down so I can take another look at your shoulder."
Chrom grinned and chuckled as both women returned to their seats, Maribelle running her staff over Tharja's shoulder again as the mage almost pouted.
"Little trick I learned from your teacher," Chrom said to Arya conspiratorially as he passed. "Give them something else to think about and they'll usually forget they're arguing."
"That was a lot more subtle than I've come to expect from you, milord," Galle said with a grin.
"Oh yeah, you're one of his," Chrom laughed, patting the younger tactician on the shoulder.
"Hey!" Vaike called, suddenly entering the firelight with something slung over his shoulder.
Everyone glanced up as the shirtless man ran up to Maribelle and the others. Once he got closer the thing on his shoulder resolved itself as a familiar black coat.
"Put him down here," Maribelle ordered, not looking up from Tharja's shoulder. "I'll get to him once I'm done-"
"I'm fine, see to him now," Tharja snapped, rising to her feet.
"I was unaware that a common-born Dark Mage knew the intricacies of healing better than I," the magistrate responded hotly.
"He's more important than me," Tharja hissed, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
It took a moment for her self-depreciating words, spoken so hostilely to Maribelle, to sink in for the healer. With a frown and a nod she moved to stand over Robin, pulling his coat aside and inspecting him for injuries. Her fingers probed quickly and gently before she pulled up the hem of his shirt, letting out a small gasp.
"What? What is… oh Naga…" Chrom asked, trailing off as he loomed over Maribelle.
Arya and Galle moved to look down on their unconscious teacher as well, Galle sucking in a quick breath as Arya reeled, bringing her hands to cover her mouth. Dark purple lines covered the scarred, toned stomach of the man, lines like something from a spellbook. Judging from what Arya could see beneath his collar, they covered his entire chest at the least. Something about them made her instantly uncomfortable; they reminded her of the circles they used to call on dark magic, but…
"Aright," Chrom said decisively, reaching down to pull Robin's shirt back over his stomach. "Arya, Galle, let's give them some space. Maribelle, Tharja, can you…"
"I'll make sure he's okay," Tharja promised, kneeling down next to Robin's head.
"We both will," Maribelle added, bringing her staff to bear. "He has endured far too much to perish in a forsaken land such as this."
Chrom gave them both a grateful nod, steering Arya and Galle away from the wounded with a firm hand on both of their shoulders.
"What's… happening to him?" Galle asked, his usual confident tone replaced by trepidation.
"Hard to say," Chrom sighed, leading them over to the fire. "He never actually explained it to us. I don't think he knows what it is himself. Something like this happened before, but I was hoping that with Grima gone it wouldn't… happen again. His link to the Fell Dragon was supposed to have been severed."
Cordelia appeared across the fire from them, carefully laying a few more pieces of wooden rubble into the flames and speaking without taking her eyes off her task. "It is nothing to worry about. Without Validar around he should, by rights, have control now. At least that's what he always said."
Chrom nodded gratefully at the Wing Commander, the saffron haired woman smiling slightly at the gesture. "We have nothing to fear," Chrom added reassuringly. "Once Robin wakes up he'll be back to annoying us, just like always. Why don't the two of you help Cordelia organize the salvage?"
Galle sighed and nodded, but Arya hesitated. A thought occurred to her, and she couldn't help but feel like it was what Robin would have done in her place.
"Where… is Ita? I'd, uh, like to, I mean, I think someone should speak… to her."
Chrom and Cordelia both hesitated, before the red-haired woman gave her liege a nod. He grinned guiltily, backing off as she began to speak.
"She is over there," Cordelia explained, pointing to the other side of the camp. "Behind that large piece of rubble. It's… where we've been putting the bodies as we find them."
Arya nodded gratefully before looking up to Galle. The older Plegian shrugged, turning away. "Knock yourself out. I don't even like her."
"Then you can assist me with salvage," Cordelia said, stepping away from the fire.
"I don't like salvage, either," Galle sighed as he obediently followed her.
Arya couldn't help but grin at her friend's irritated mumbling, watching for a moment as he and the Pegasus Knight began to sift through the wreckage at the edge of the firelight. She took a deep breath, her gaze lingering where Tharja and Maribelle were still crowding Robin before she turned away from the fire in the direction Cordelia had indicated. As much as she liked Ita, the wolf shape-shifter still intimidated her. But after watching her pack-mate be killed like that, helpless to stop it… Arya knew that in Ita's position she'd want someone to talk to.
Picking her way carefully through the rubble Arya moved to the very edge of the firelight, watching her footing. The rubble was worse in this direction, as if whatever spell had brought them here had launched the observatory forwards as well and now Arya proceeded through its trail. Old habits from her days as a thief came rushing back unbidden, her movements barely making a sound and her steps no longer kicking up dust. She stepped over pieces the size of melons and had to climb over chunks the size of Anna's cart, stopping to get her bearings atop one such piece as she realized she was well and truly outside of the fire's illumination now. All she had to see with was the dull red glow of the dead sun above her, which admittedly didn't do very much.
She turned towards a flat space at the sound of a sniffle, followed by three more. Shocked that the taciturn and moody Ita would actually be crying Arya leapt down to the ground in a small cloud of dust, approaching with purposely heavy footsteps so Ita wouldn't be surprised. Shapes in the inky darkness resolved themselves, several forms laid out in a neat row with their faces covered. Nearest to her Ita knelt beside the massive form of Kowrowa, a small cloth covering his face out of respect.
"Manspawn," Ita said, her voice even.
Arya stopped a small distance away, wary of interrupting the shape shifter's grief. Ita glanced up at her, her eyes dry. She had most likely just been testing the air, then, the way she always did.
"Ita," Arya greeted. "I came to… to see h-how you were doing."
Ita smirked as she looked back to the row of the dead, and Arya cursed herself for stuttering at such an important time.
"I grieve," Ita said slowly. "I feel… pain. But I will continue the task our Queen set us. I will continue to protect Robin."
Arya nodded, taking a few tentative steps to stand next to Ita. "Kow was always… very kind to me," she said softly.
"He had a soft-spot for weaklings and runts," Ita chuckled. "It was why he… took me in. We come from different litters, but share the same mother. In human terms he was my brother, but such things are not as important to our people."
Arya nodded, reeling from the information. She felt like she should say something, but having been an orphan for so long left her a little lost when it came to matters of family. She thought, instead, of losing Galle or Mari, or even Robin or Lucina, and felt the cold grip of fear around her heart. But before she could put the feeling into words of comfort the shape-shifter continued to speak.
"I was the runt of the litter," Ita continued, her voice still even. "I was left to die in the forest, as is our tribe's custom. Kow… he came to save me. Raised me, broke our traditions to do it. Taught me to fight. To be strong. I… owe him everything."
Ita stood, her tail pointing almost straight down as she finally showed emotion and bared her fangs at the darkness. "And I will personally tear the mage's head off with my bare hands."
The wolf shape shifter seemed to deflate a little, her expression hardening as she turned back towards the camp. After a few steps she stopped, glaring over her shoulder at Arya.
"Are you coming?" she snapped. "Leave the dead to their rest. We have work to do."
"R-right!" Arya said quickly, hurrying to keep up with the woman.
That evening Chrom let out a tired sigh as he stared into the fire, clenching and unclenching his fist around Falchion's hilt in an absent display of stress. Of course, calling it 'evening' was totally arbitrary given that there hadn't been a change to the lighting or weather since they had arrived in whatever Naga-forsaken land this was. Not even a breeze across the dusty landscape. It was distressing, the silent emptiness. It felt for all the world like the Shepherds were the only living beings left in this dead world, a thought Chrom was secretly terrified by.
Most of the others had settled in around the fire, too, the crackling of the flames on the debris and the warmth of the light comforting in the dead quiet, many simply lying down and going to sleep hungry. Chrom hadn't want to institute extreme rationing just yet, but given the look of this land he'd been too afraid to even drink their scarce supply of water.
A few of the others were still up and about. Cordelia was taking the first watch, the Wing Commander sitting atop one of the higher pieces of rubble with her lance across her lap, tirelessly looking out over the dark plains of dust. Ricken had wandered from the camp when he'd awoken, claiming a need for some space to process what had happened to him that day. Chrom had left the mage to his devices, the younger man promising not to stray too far. Basilio, too, was still wandering around the rubble, more from a strange sense of morbid curiosity than anything else at this point, Chrom gathered. The big Khan had wandered into the dusty landscape a few hours ago, claiming he 'wanted to see what he could see'. The older ruler's wanderlust was the stuff of legends among his people and his friends, and Chrom had simply relented rather than force him to sneak off in the 'night'. It did make Chrom feel slightly more at ease that such an experienced tracker would be scouting the terrain for them; they couldn't remain here forever, after all.
After a time Owain came to sit next to his uncle, the usually boisterous young blonde man letting out a slight sigh as he sank into a sitting position. He chewed on a small piece of jerky for a few moments before Chrom finally spoke.
"Well, silence," he said with a lop-sided smirk. "That's rare for you."
Owain glanced up, his face blank before breaking into a small grin. "Sorry, Uncle Chrom. I'm not… really feeling the whole 'Owain Dark' thing right now."
"No, no," the Exalt laughed. "It's a nice change of pace. But I'm a smart enough man to know that it means something's bugging you."
"It's nothing, really," Owain said, trying to shrug it off.
"Owain," Chrom said, firmly but kindly. "I know I'm not really your Uncle, but I do think of you as my nephew. You're family. You don't have to if you don't want to, but I'll listen if you want to talk.
Owain looked down, clasping his hands before he spoke.
"You know, this looks… a lot like the future I came from," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "It's… worse though. It's like there's nothing left. We still had some plants, could still feel the wind, but… here it's just dead. I can feel it, in the mana. There's nothing. I made Owain Dark so I could deal with that, and I don't… want to think for even a second that I've gone back there."
Chrom nodded, letting a breath out through his nose as he clapped a comforting hand on his nephew's shoulder. This information was… disturbing, to say the least. It meant that perhaps Robin's use of Clarus' spell had sent them through time, and how they would get back he couldn't even fathom. But that was a problem for later.
"I wouldn't worry too much," Chrom said reassuringly. "Even if we were, and I don't think we are, it won't be like before. You're stronger now, and you've got all of us with you."
Owain, looked up, a small smile curling the corner of his lips as he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Uncle Chrom. Give me a sec, I'll be back to myself in no time."
"Maybe keep a lid on it until we've all had a chance to rest," Chrom laughed softly.
Owain froze, glancing at the others lying about the fire before he slowly nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that's probably a good idea. If Miss Cordelia is anything like Severa when she wakes up…"
"I actually meant to ask about that," Chrom said, a glint of mischief flashing in his eyes. "You two have been travelling around together for a while now, right?"
"Er, y-yes," Owain spluttered, blushing. "B-but we're, we're fated companions! To travel separately makes my blood ache and my sword hand-"
Chrom laughed, stopping the boy before he could go off on one of his infamous 'sword hand rants'. Owain simply turned away from his Uncle, his blush spreading up to his ears.
"Oh, you're just as bad as your father was," Chrom chuckled, rising to his feet.
Owain glanced up, giving the older man a curious look.
"Gonna go find Ricken," Chrom explained. "Basilio I'm not worried about, but Ricken's been through a lot today. I'm worried about him."
"I'll join you, then," Owain offered, standing himself. "I don't really want to be… left alone with my thoughts right now."
Chrom smirked, nodding and beginning to follow the young mage's footprints away from the fire.
"You know, this reminds me an awful lot of how my adventure with Robin started," Chrom said conversationally as they picked their way through the debris. "Except it was your mother wandering away from the campsite in the middle of the night, back when Lucina first arrived in our timeline. You lot never did explain why you came separately."
"Naga's spell was rushed," Owain shrugged. "Imperfect. I recall Laurent confessing amazement that we all made it to the past at all."
"Well, I'm glad you all did," Chrom said. "I can only imagine what would have happened if you hadn't."
"I'm sure at least one of us would have made it," Owain said dismissively.
"Yes, but it wouldn't be the same," Chrom told him.
Owain paused for a moment before grinning guiltily and nodding. "Yeah. Yeah I guess it wouldn't."
They continued picking their way through the ruins of the tower in silence for a time, both men simply focusing on not falling and breaking an ankle in the low light as Chrom cursed himself for not bringing a torch. After a few feet Owain stopped, holding his hand palm-up and scrunching up his face in concentration. Just as Chrom was convinced the boy was about to go on some silly over-theatrical rant a small flame flickered to life above his palm, and he let out a breath.
"Impressive," Chrom commented.
"Not really," Owain said bashfully. "Usually it takes a lot less effort. I must be tired."
They started walking again, the light from Owain's little flickering flame making their progress much easier.
"So why magic?" Chrom asked.
"I… don't know," Owain admitted. "Practically, knowing fire spells makes camping much easier, especially up north. Plus it, uh, you know…"
"It what?" Chrom persisted.
"It looks really cool when Robin switches between swords and magic," Owain admitted.
Without meaning to Chrom burst out laughing, having to stop and hold his sides as he continued to laugh. "Of course that's why!" the Exalt practically howled in his hysterics.
Owain simply blushed, looking embarrassed as his Uncle continued to laugh, finally calming and wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.
"And that, my boy, is why I'm grateful you made it back to us in the past," Chrom chuckled, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Just like your mother, you always know how to make me laugh."
It didn't take them much longer to reach the makeshift graveyard where they had left the bodies that had been transported to wherever this was with the Shepherds. A single row of corpses, their faces respectfully covered, sat in the shadow of one of the larger pieces of rubble, a fair way from the camp, Robin's shape-shifting companion among them. Quite a few students from the Mages' Tower had been trapped in the periphery of whatever spell Clarus had concocted, killing them instantly. To one side was a neatly folded pile of robes; all that remained of the mad mage's initial spell to power the transportation. Most distressing, though, were the parts of corpses that had appeared on the periphery of the spell. Arms, legs, and even in one unfortunate case the upper half of one of the other senior mages, all cut off by the edge of the spell and displaced, before being dumped with the Shepherds. It had been macabre work, once they had set up camp, to clean up the tragic mess, but the Shepherds had set to the task with the same grim-faced determination that they handled every other unpleasant task with.
And Ricken sat, not far from the row of the deceased, watching over them with a forlorn expression on his young face.
"Ricken," Chrom called softly, Owain hanging back as the Exalt approached. "It's getting late, and we don't know how safe it is here."
"I know," came the young mage's reply.
Chrom stood beside the young man, crossing his arms and looking over the row of bodies with the same icy feeling in his chest he always got when he had seen casualty reports back in Valm or Plegia. "You blame yourself," he said softly.
Ricken nodded slightly before speaking. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I'm trying hard not to, trying to blame Clarus, but… he couldn't have done… this overnight. He had to have time to prepare. Right under my nose. And I didn't notice."
"We'll make him pay, Ricken," Chrom promised.
"You know, I didn't deserve the position at the Mages' Tower," the younger man said after a moment. "Not the one I got, anyway. There were so many other more qualified candidates, but they gave it to me. Because I was a Shepherd. Because I was a hero."
"You are a Shepherd, and you are a hero," Chrom said. "Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."
"A hero could have stopped this," Ricken said sullenly.
"What does that make me, then?" Chrom asked, glancing down at the mage. "My palace was over-run, just like the Tower."
"I don't think it's really the same-"
"And Robin," Chrom pressed on. "His school was destroyed. We all… fail. Every one of us. The mark of a hero is what they do after they fail."
Ricken seemed to digest this for a moment before nodding again. "I just wish I could have done… something. Something more."
"Sometimes there's simply nothing more we can do except keep living," Chrom sighed. "And make sure that it doesn't happen again. For what it's worth, I think you did a good job today. You did the Shepherds proud."
"Thanks, Captain," Ricken smiled sadly, falling back on Chrom's nostalgic old Shepherds' title. It had been a long time since he'd been the Captain of the Shepherds, though; Vaike held that position now.
"Just… don't stay out here too much longer," Chrom said gently. "You'll need to rest. We've got to figure out how to get home from here."
"I know, I'll be back soon," Ricken agreed. "I just feel like I need to stay… a little bit longer is all."
Chrom nodded, placing a comforting hand on the mage's shoulder before turning away and walking back to the camp with Owain in silence.
The first thing Robin felt when he woke was pain. Not the shooting, searing pain he'd become so accustomed to after fighting for so long but a dull ache in his entire body, the likes of which he hadn't felt in a long time. Everything simply hurt. From the tips of his toes to the top of his head, everything felt like he'd been hit by a runaway cart.
Letting out a weak groan that devolved into a wet cough, Robin opened his eyes.
And immediately wished he hadn't.
An empty void with a pulsating, sick red orb was what greeted his gaze. The empty sky was disconcerting, but the red orb more so. It reminded him of Grima's Awakening, when the Fell Dragon had been revived in Plegia so many years ago now.
"Good. You're awake."
Robin glanced to his side, seeing Ita sitting and resting her chin on her knees. She wore the same surly face as usual, but her tail was very slightly flicking from side to side, as if she were trying to stop it.
"I didn't know you cared," the tactician managed to rasp.
Ita huffed, tossing a waterskin at him. "Drink, but drink sparingly. We have yet to find fresh water."
Robin did so, sitting up a little and taking a few slow gulps of the water. "Where are the others?" he asked when he finished.
"Sleeping," Ita said, taking the waterskin back. "We don't know what time it is here. The sky never changes. But the blue-haired oaf decided the pack needed to rest."
"Where… where are we?" he asked slowly.
Ita shrugged, going back to sitting with her chin perched on her knees. "You should know better than any of us. From what the other manspawn say you were the one that brought us here."
Robin let out a breath, allowing himself to fall back into a laying position. "I really stepped in it this time, huh?"
"Stepped in what?"
"It's a saying. It means I screwed up. Dragged you all here with me."
"You did."
After a moment of silence Robin smirked, sitting up properly this time despite his body's protests. He let out a hiss at a sharper pain in the back of his neck, instinctively brining his hand to the area. Robin let out another, longer sigh at what he found. The black cracks in his skin, the price to pay for over-using Dark Magic, had spread.
A sound, a stirring at his side distracted his self-destructive thoughts before they could even begin. Robin glanced over to the side opposite where Ita was still perching, finding Arya curled up beneath Galle's coat about a meter away from him. She had woken, no doubt thanks to Robin speaking, and was sitting up. Unlike most girls her age, though, there was no bleary eyes or groggy blinking, Arya was instantly alert and awake. Another throwback to her time on the streets, Robin supposed.
"Hey there," he said softly. "Everyone still alive?"
Arya nodded slowly, as if she were afraid any sudden movements would make her mentor disappear. He found that almost adorable, and couldn't help but chuckle.
"How are you feeling?" she asked hesitantly.
"Like hell," Robin sighed. "Nothing new. It's… like magical withdrawal. I'll survive."
"That can happen?" Arya asked, suddenly concerned.
Robin couldn't help but smirk at the girl's horrified expression. "Not to you it can't. We're not… teaching you how to tap this. With any luck Tharja, myself and my sister will be the last ones that ever use this type of magic."
"But Lady Tharja said that if we stayed here too long we would get sick," Arya persisted.
"Maybe," Robin shrugged. "I can't… really feel any mana right now. My body just kinda shut it down. If Tharja said so, though, I'd believe it. What's that on your face?"
Arya blinked, reaching up and brushing some of the hair off her forehead. Robin blinked, recognizing a familiar symbol drawn in blood on the girl's face. He couldn't, for the life of him, recall where he'd seen it before, though.
"Lady Tharja said… it would help keep us safe," Arya explained.
"Is that my blood?" Robin asked.
"It's actually mine. And she's lucky Frederick isn't here. He probably would have killed her on the spot."
Robin and Arya both glanced up to see Chrom standing above the tacticians, his arms crossed and a big grin on his face. The Exalt knelt down closer to Robin, looking intently at his neck. "Well, at least those damned lines have gone away," he said.
"Dammit, did I really have the lines again?" Robin groaned.
"Oh yeah, big time," Chrom chuckled. "You've been out for nearly a whole day now. We were getting ready to build a sled to drag you with."
"What, not gonna ask me how I'm feeling?" Robin grinned.
"Actually I was thinking something closer to 'where are we'?" Chrom said, quirking one brow.
Robin was brought up short, letting a breath out through his nose and shrugging. "Short answer is I have as much idea as you."
"Ricken and Tharja both insist you took control of the spell in the end," Chrom pointed out. "You have to have some idea."
"I don't know, Chrom," Robin sighed. "I genuinely don't. I looked for somewhere… dead. Somewhere safe where whatever it was Clarus was doing wouldn't hurt anyone. I didn't mean… to bring anyone else with me."
"So can you just… send us back?" Chrom asked hopefully.
"No," Robin sighed. "Not as I am. I'd need a huge power source, like Clarus tapped to bring us here. And… if I tried to do it using Grima's power again I'm sure it would end up killing me. I'd rather exhaust all other options before I resort to doing that."
"You won't be doing that at all," Chrom growled.
Robin just smirked, shaking his head a little. The Exalt always had been insistent that no one die needlessly. Even more-so than Robin was.
"Well, we're here now," Chrom sighed. "And we'll be having a very long talk about your predisposition to self-sacrifice later. Again."
"That's a pretty big word for you," Robin snickered.
"Don't make me knock you back out," Chrom sighed, turning away. "I'll wake the others. We can't stay here forever or we'll never figure out where we are."
Robin snickered a little, prompting the Exalt to turn back to him with a questioning look.
"Nothing, nothing," Robin said, waving him off. "Just thinking that I promised Lucina I'd only be gone a few weeks. Now we're here, with no idea where 'here' is and no idea how to get home. She's gonna kill me."
Chrom smirked, shaking his head. "I think that's the least of your worries right now."
"C'mon, you know Luce," Robin laughed.
"I know she'll be more worried about you than anything else," Chrom said.
"Yeah," Robin sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Didn't you say something about waking up the-"
"Master! Master you have awakened! Argh, my aching blood! We were so worried you would sleep through the ages!"
Robin and Chrom both winced as Owain started shouting his usual jargon, glancing over at the blonde boy standing in the middle of the Shepherds camp with a big happy smile on his face, oblivious to the glares he was getting from the people he'd just woken up.
"Never mind," Robin sighed.
The next few days passed as a blur to Robin. Not that there was any way to tell how long they had been in this dead world without sunset or sunrise. Time seemed to stand still, the crimson sun never moving from its solitary position in the sky, the gloom never even slightly abating. The mood was muted as the Shepherds travelled, the stronger members carrying bundles of salvage taken from the ruins of the Mages' Tower's observatory. None of them had taken supplies beyond the usual handful of vullenaries and waterskins that they would usually bring on a mission; an amateur mistake on Robin's part, but the fact that it was Ylisstol, the center of the entire Haildom, that was being attacked had made him sloppy. Fortunately they had a little food to go around; Vaike had stuffed his pockets with jerky before they had left the caravan and Gaius always had his sweets stash, even if he was reluctant to part with it. Maribelle, inexplicably, had a container of tea biscuits, too. Cherche had offered a bag full of 'wyvern treats', but Robin had opted to save those for when they grew desperate. Whatever they were…
Because there was no day-night cycle the Shepherds walked until they were tired, then slept for a few hours and continued walking. They hardly spoke, even the usually verbose Vaike trudging along silently most of the day. Galle occasionally muttered under his breath, cursing the terrain and pretty much everything else he set his eyes on. It reminded Robin of the sacking of Themis during the first war with Plegia, when they had been forced to walk through the forest for nearly a week with no supplies. Except this wasn't a beautiful Ylissean forest. They still had no idea where they were, nor where they were going.
Of Clarus there had been no sign. Ita had found footprints heading away from the ruins of the observatory on the first day, apparently, but they had stopped inexplicably about a hundred meters from their arrival site. There had been no blood, no signs of a scuffle in the dust, nothing. It was as if Clarus had simply vanished.
A few times Robin looked to the cracked ring on his finger, cursing himself for abusing the teleporting ring when he had first taken it from Excellus. There was no sure way to tell if the ring would have been powerful enough to return them all to Ylisse five years ago, but it definitely couldn't now. It had maybe another three or four uses left, if Robin could gauge these things correctly, and he wasn't in a hurry to find out what happened if the magic suddenly stopped mid-teleport.
On the third 'day' of their trek through the dead landscape the Shepherds finally found something in the distance. A small dark shape on the horizon. With no better plans they began to head towards the shape, the shadow eventually resolving itself as the start of what appeared to be a mountain range of some sort.
"Well, at least it's high ground," Chrom said optimistically. "I'm sure we'll be able to figure out where we are or at least find some sign of other people from up there."
"And if those people aren't friendly?" Basilio asked pointedly.
"We can't think like that," Chrom said empathetically. "We have to believe that they can at least tell us where to find water."
"Just don't get your hopes up, boy," Basilio said seriously. "Harsh land like this, any people living in it are going to be pretty mistrusting."
Chrom didn't say anything, simply pursing his lips and continuing to march. Robin found it amazing that after all these years the Exalt still held so fast to his sister's ideologies. Of course, Robin mused, he wasn't one to talk when he'd named his own daughter after the previous Exalt, but still… He silently agreed with Basilio. At best the tactician expected any locals to ignore them, at worst outright attack them. A few of the others clearly also held his beliefs, Galle, Tharja and Ita all on guard as they tromped through the dusty wastelands.
Arya was hard to get a read on for the older tactician, though. She spent much of her time watching Olivia, trying to study the dancer's every movement. It reminded Robin of when he'd spotted Noire doing the same thing with Tharja when they had been in Valm, but the girl's lack of concern for their predicament was beginning to make him a little worried. He was concerned that she was beginning to place a little too much trust in her teacher and the Shepherds to get them out of this situation, something Robin needed to address.
So later that day when they came to the foot of the first of the mountains and the ground was steadily sloping upwards and Chrom called a halt, Robin decided to put his plan into motion.
"Alright, we'll need a few scouts to head up the mountain to check the surroundings from the high ground," the Exalt declared. "Any volunteers?"
"Actually, Chrom," Robin spoke up, stepping forward, "I've been thinking about that. I'd say the best candidates are Owain, Ita and Arya."
Owain nodded, practically brimming with excitement while Ita huffed and crossed her arms, but Arya flinched as her name was called.
"Is that your professional opinion?" Chrom asked. Clearly the fact that they were all from the Shepherd group that had been travelling with Robin for the past year hadn't escaped the Exalt, but Robin just nodded in response.
"Ita is a natural hunter, and Owain is, well, his father's son. If he can keep his mouth shut he's actually a pretty good tracker," Robin explained. "And Arya has certain… skills from her time in Themis. Namely she's quiet."
"It's called theivin', Bubbles," Gaius supplied. "Heck, if you hadn't claimed her as your apprentice she'd probably be mine by now."
Maribelle clearly bristled at the revelation that the girl had been a thief in her city, but held her tongue. It probably wouldn't be easy for the magistrate and the cousin of the current Duke to get along with the former thief now, but that would be a problem for later. Much later, given the list of issues they were already facing.
"Look, she's still my student and this is a good chance for her to get some experience," Robin persisted.
"Alright, alright, you have yet to steer us wrong," Chrom placated.
"Well, actually…" Gaius started, being silenced when Robin slammed his elbow into the thief's ribs.
"Arya, Owain, Ita, you're up," Robin said, ignoring the gasping thief as he doubled over. "We'll wait here. If something goes wrong Owain knows the signal."
The blonde boy in question stepped forward, a huge grin on his face as he placed his fist over his chest and opened his mouth, hesitating when Chrom spoke.
"And Owain. Quietly, please," the Exalt added.
"Yes, Uncle Chrom," Owain nodded, seemingly deflating a little.
Arya gave Galle a sort of pleading look, but the older Plegian just shrugged, turning away. "You have your orders. I'm not dragging myself up that hill for no reason."
"You'll be fine," Robin told her. "Just follow Owain and do what he does. Just… quieter."
Arya nodded, taking a deep breath and steeling herself as she turned with Owain and Ita towards the mountain. This would be the first time she'd gone on a mission without either her friends or her teachers; the first time she'd done anything without her safety net since agreeing to be Robin's apprentice. She could do this. It was a simple scouting mission.
"I can do this," Arya whispered to herself as the trio started climbing.
AN: Not my strongest chapter ever, but meh. It's really just a bridging chapter. This chapter also would have been done a week ago, but I have been unwell. Again. Then I had to scramble and get it done before Nekopara 3 came out and, well… yeah. Failed that goal miserably. So yes, Shadows of Valentia is out now and no, I have no plans (at this point) to do any fanfiction for it. Maybe one day in the future, but not right now. I actually have a timeline for my fanfiction for the next two years, at the very least (knowing how I write, longer).
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Metallover's (P)atreon plans are STILL ON HOLD. Dammit. Apparently there's taxation stuff involved and, well… yeah. Not as easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy as I'd thought. I will have it live at the time I upload the next chapter of the Self Insert, though, so keep an eye out for that.