Pretext: I will be writing most of this chapter in an incoherent mess. I've contracted a debilitating cold, and may have the beginnings of a Pneumonia which a family member had when I was tending to them over the weekend. Nonetheless, most of my other hobbies require too much reaction time and brainpower to do properly and sleep is for the weak. Have fun reading this. I'm certainly enjoying writing it.
Why do they have ballista? The scouts didn't report it. Ballista big enough to send such large missiles are all but completely stationary.
He tried ignore his own screaming emotions, but it did little to stop the transformation as he sprinted towards the dragon falling from the sky. He sprouted wings from his back, and his skin turned to grey-black scales. His fingernails sharpened themselves, his eyes grew red and pupils slitted, his teeth turned to fangs.
He unconsciously flapped his wings, testing them for flight. When he was assured that they would hold him, he launched into the sky, straight toward Nowi, who had already since transformed back into her human form as she fell.
He flew forward, and thankfully some sliver of his logical side told him to not stop her fall right away. He caught her in his arms and fell with her, furiously and laboriously flapping his wings to slow their descent. He steered towards the camp, where he knew several healers stood waiting.
Lissa and Maribelle ran out to them. They looked at him with awe and fear, but it was quickly replaced with worry when they saw the small creature in his arms. She was bleeding from her stomach and one arm.
"Give her here," Maribelle said, "Get back out there now, you'll do no good standing here."
He reluctantly, and without words gave Nowi into Maribelle's arms. Now that he was actually giving her away he really didn't want to. They took her and hurried into a tent to get to work.
He fell to the ground when sudden relief washed over him. Suddenly his emotional pallet was empty and he began looking for something else to feel. Those who looked on at him in that next minute would look with fear at his dark expression.
Rage. Wrath. Hatred.
He stewed on these new feelings that replaced the fear and panic. They boiled over and he took off. He flew to where he knew the all of the ballista would be. Passed the crumbled wall and a line of enemy footmen. A line a siege weapons stood waiting.
How they had so many was beyond his thought at the moment.
He crashed into a ballista, destroying it outright, before turning on the operators who all screamed as they died.
He turned away from the pulpy, bloody mess of blood, gore, and wood splinters and sent a bolt of fiery lightning at the next ballista before running past the sizzling scraps of soldier and exploded wood to assault the next in the line.
They were now aware of his presence in the back line.
Soldiers rushed in from all angles, and they all fell to his might. He ignored his useless right arm and focused on ripping and tearing. He had fangs, and a sword, a rapier, not meant for such gritty combat against so many at once, but sharp and pointy nonetheless.
"Foolish mortals. Run and cower before me!"
He laughed as he slaughtered them. Soon they stopped charging after him and started running.
Perfect. That is their purpose.
This was the hard part though. Grima gave chase, running down the Valmese soldiers. They sprinted through the streets, riding on their puny horses. He caught all the ones on foot. A large group of them made their way to the docks. He knew they would try to escape on their boats.
He pulled out the fire tome from his dark coat and began casting. The black fire coated his hand and licked hungrily at the air around him. So strong was the power of the fire that even he was beginning to have difficulty breathing while near it.
Before he finished charging it to its full power, lest he suffocate himself, he sent the stream of dark flames down the lane. All the men and women in the way died horribly. They screamed and he reveled in their sacrifice to their lord. The tome turned to ash in his hands.
The all-consuming flame ignored all other buildings in its path as it flew to the docks. There it crashed into the ships, going through each one, and chasing after every piece of wood with a mind of its own. He felt the deliciousness of the souls flowing to him. There, in his mind, he corrupted them, and soon the risen where surfacing on the wood of the docks, climbing up and lumbering towards the town.
He smiled at his work and laughed again. The screams of people trying to hide in their homes started.
It suddenly struck him that he had been enjoying himself a little too much. He forgot his purpose in going so far. He turned and strolled back towards the edge of town where the rest of the ballista sat.
Suddenly he felt very strange. Uncharacteristically weak. He wobbled forward on unstable legs, still determined to finish what he started. He fell to his hands and knees, breathing heavily. Air came to him in short gasps. Then the darkness zoned in from the edges.
"Shh he's waking up."
"Be careful."
"I know. That's some serious damage."
"Should I go and get anyone?"
"No. Let's evaluate him first. Robin."
Robin opened his eyes and tried to sit up immediately. He strained to no avail. He was too weak to sit up. It was as if his entire body was in a state of muscle failure.
Lissa lightly flicked him on the forehead, "Don't do anything dumb, you're drained. We were picking splinters out of you for more than an hour."
"Darling don't be assaulting our patients now. He's hardly ready for your abuse."
"Maribelle…" Robin croaked out a harsh whisper, "Is Nowi…" he couldn't even complete the sentence. It took too much.
"She's fine dear. You're in worse shape now than her. Your body was under a lot of magical stress. You are pretty sturdy so I'm not surprised you survived, but still. You can't be pushing yourself like that. This army needs you."
He turned his head to look back up at the slanted roof of a building. They weren't in camp. How long ago was the battle finished?
As if she had read his mind, Lissa spoke up again, "It's the morning after the battle in case you were wondering. We weren't sure how long it would take you to wake up."
He looked at her closely, and then glanced over at Maribelle. That they were both slouched, swaying a little bit, and dirty. It said much. They hadn't rested at all since the conclusion of the battle. He couldn't put his order into words. Go get some sleep, take a bath. You're both covered in dirt and blood.
"Are you in any pain darling?" Maribelle said, leaning over and putting an ear to his chest. She nodded to herself after a second and stood back up.
"No," came his one-word answer.
Not pain. Exhaustion. The kind of physically limiting fatigue that was so extreme it reached the mind.
"You were quite the fearsome sight you know. A few of the Pegasus Knights caught sight of you destroying the Valmese siege equipment, before they lost sight of you," Maribelle said.
He simply hummed in response. He remembered. Unlike last time. He remembered more clearly than he wanted. What he did. What he saw himself do. What he had felt about it. What he still felt about it.
He felt horrible, because even after coming back to himself, he couldn't regret what he did. He had relished in the suffering of his enemies. He was still basking in the afterglow of power.
Suddenly he was reliving the memory again. The person manning one of the ballistae. The one he tore, literally, in half. The confusion on his face. Not pain, nor fear. The poor man, in his final seconds had been asking, why.
Robin had an answer, he pulled it from somewhere deep within himself. You deserved it.
"How are you feeling Robin?" Nowi asked.
"Much better," he flexed his arms, "soon enough I'll be walking again and we can get on with this. Chrom has already sent a messenger to request permission to enter the country."
"You know," she said, "That was dumb of you."
"I don't regret it."
"I hope not. I happier being alive and not splattered on the ground."
"I feel the same."
"Still though," she said, shifting to put a hand on his lower thigh, "You can't be straining yourself so much. We're gearing up for a campaign against Valm you know. What happens if our tactician dies because he was trying to do too much?"
"I'm not going anywhere and you know it. I'm far too stubborn for that." He shifted his weight until he was sitting up and resting on his elbows.
From his position he was impossibly close to her face. Close enough to feel the air coming out of her nose as she breathed. Such a profoundly intimate thing.
"You're the tactician you're smarter than that. Misfortune can happen to anyone. If you remember, I got hit by not one, but two, javelins while flying." She held up two fingers for emphasis.
"Well I haven't died yet, and it's not on my list," He replied.
"Robin I'm being serious here. I don't care if you're a manakete. Dragons are immortal, not invincible. You'll die to the same wounds as any other man. You need to be even more careful about draining your life force with magic. You're a dragon. You use it for everything. Magic makes your coat protect you from damage, it makes you transform and stay transformed. You are a mage, so you use your magic to do battle.
Robin you barely had any physical wounds. Your hands, legs, face, and parts of your chest. They all had splinters of wood in them. You got this way because you overexerted yourself. If you hadn't killed them all in the process of bargaining with your life then they would have killed you when you blacked out."
Her words were only the truth. He knew that, and yet he couldn't back down. How could he? The Valmese were monsters. Invading for no reason, holding a town hostage. Waging war. Nearly killing her. Even in their own homeland they had used conquest as a means for expanding their power. The battles were only going to get harder and more complicated. Not easier. Never easier. Things never were.
"I'm sure if I can slow down. We're getting ready to go into Plegian territory. We may have defeated them, and they may have little military, but there will doubtlessly be people still out for blood. Not to mention the risen. Gangrel and Aversa were able to summon them, what's to say there aren't many more people that can do that? No. Things are only going to get worse," he reasoned.
Does she not understand? Losing her would be like killing myself and then living with the choice. They weren't lovers. As far as he knew he had never known a woman. They barely expressed physical or emotional intimacy. She barely even slept in the same bed as him anymore. His nights were cold. Despite all of this he couldn't help himself.
He ached that he couldn't express how he felt about her the way Bantu said she wanted. Maybe I should. No. Not now. He wanted to, but she was making him angry at the moment. Also he couldn't move all that well.
"You have people that care about you Robin. Please."
He would have crossed his arms over his chest if they weren't being used to hold him at eye level with her.
"I don't even know if we're talking about the same thing anymore. I am fine. I feel good. Like you said I'm not injured. That fact that I used too much magic just means I need to put more work into training. We have time. Months before we sail to Valm.
"You know that's not how it works Robin. There's a reason not just anyone can become a mage, you are born with a flow of magic or you're not. You can't get stronger. Maybe more skillful, but you hardly need that."
"Like hell I do. I have a responsibility to this army."
"hhheell yeah you do. You're the battlefield tactition. Before even a simple soldier in service to Ylisse, you are a leader. This isn't just the shepherds anymore Robin," she said, growling his name.
"What does me being a tactician have to do with this?" he said.
"It has everything to do with this. You need to set an example," she was grasping at straws, "you can't have an emotional outburst everytime I get injured. This is war, as you so mentioned. I'm going to get injured. You're going to get injured. Chrom is going to get injured. It's not something you can avoid when fighting so much. She was getting up in his face.
He was getting tired of the circular argument they were having. He didn't want to have an outburst of anger at her. And he was fast getting there. His blood was boiling and he couldn't stand to meet her challenge.
"I'm going to sleep," He said.
"Robin don't- Fucking- ugh. Whatever. Sleep. You're better off in camp, you can't use one of your arms. You shouldn't be fighting anymore."
He laid himself down and ignored her, turning away from the door.