Woah, double update. This is just another craptastic drabble, though. I have to get back into their characters and the flow of this story, but ugh, I'm trying, I really am.
This may or may not be the start of an arc. I haven't decided yet.
*Note: Alas, I don't own Fire Emblem.
The night air is cold, and crisp, and biting, hanging over the mountains in an eerie sort of silence as the group makes their way slowly along the narrow, rock road. It is winter, truly, though there's only the lightest layer of snow left on the ground from the flurries the night before. The Shepherds are grateful for this much, at least. Cat chose the mountain path because the plains were far too dangerous—open, and exposed, and riddled, he knew, with enemy Risen—but he'd feared the possibility of a snowstorm hindering their progress. So far, though, they've been lucky.
Knock on wood, he thinks blandly, as he rides near the front of the group, eyes and ears alert to their surroundings. He keeps cycling his gaze between the road ahead, the sky, and behind him, the men, checking that everything is in order, watching for any sudden changes. The road is little more than an outcropping of rock on the steep face of a cliff, but it's wide enough for a wagon to travel safely, and that's what matters.
Had they been at full strength, he thinks that he would've taken the plains path, rather than this nerve-wracking natural challenge… As it is, though, their last few skirmishes have been trying, and a number of their men are injured, and they're just not ready. They haven't recovered, and if they were attacked right now, Cat isn't sure that they would be able to pull through… They just have to make it through… The mountain paths are a straight shot to their rendezvous point with Flavia's troops.
Cat swallows, glancing up at the graying sky. It's unlikely that the enemy will have traveled this far into the mountains, but he has to keep an eye out for wyverns…
And he notices, grimly, that the clouds are gathering for snow.
We won't push through if it gets bad. We'll set up shelter and wait it out if we have to… They have mages who can help shield against harsh weather, after all… They'll be fine.
He keeps telling himself this, over and over, hoping that he made the right decision.
Half an hour later, the snow has started falling. It's slow and lazy, but the flakes are thick, and Cat's sure that it's going to stick. At first, he was enamored with the snowfall, seeing it for the first time only weeks ago, but now it just bothers him. Hindrance, he thinks, pulling his hood up and burrowing his nose into his scarf. This isn't something we can enjoy…
And damn, it's just so cold…
He notices Chrom guiding his horse to walk beside his before the lord says anything. Sniffing a bit, Cat gives the lord a long look. How is he fine in nothing but an extra fur cloak?
"You look miserable," Chrom laughs, falling into step beside him.
The tactician just glares at him from under his hood, nose and cheeks flushed a bit. "Aren't you cold?" he demands, in a slightly forlorn voice.
"Me?" Chrom shakes his head. "No, I'm fine. I've always had thick skin." And he makes it sound so easy that Cat pouts a little. Well, he's freezing, thank you very much… Chrom leans forward on his horse a bit to get a better look under his hood. "Are you really that cold? I thought Plegians were used to this sort of weather…"
Cat's eyes harden a bit.
Chrom pauses, and there's a moment of awkward silence in which he realizes that he's screwed up. He blinks a bit, throat tightening a bit in discomfort, and looks away. "Ah… That is…"
"I wouldn't know," Cat says suddenly, in a low voice. "I'm not…"
I'm not Plegian.
That's what he wants to say, anyway, but the words are dead on his tongue. It would be a lie, he knows. A lie… Because he knows now that he is Plegian, and he still doesn't know how to deal with that, still doesn't know what it means…
There are a lot of things that he'd rather have stayed ignorant about, but he shoves that thought down in the back of his throat and tries to patch things up. Chrom didn't mean anything. He never means anything when he misspeaks, but gods, do you even realize how tactless you can be…?
"I don't remember what it's like," Cat utters finally. It's not much of an alternative, but at least he's not lying anymore. Shifting on his horse a bit, Cat clears his throat. "Anyway, that doesn't matter. Have you read over those plans I gave you, Chrom?"
Chrom blinks a bit, focusing on the other again. He still feels bad for his faux pas, but he swallows a bit and rolls with the change of topic. "Yes, I did. Nothing stood out to me that needed to be changed…" He trails off, gazing forward with a sudden, uncharacteristically thoughtful look. Cat raises an eyebrow at him before he continues; "We're lucky to have you, Cat." He smiles slightly, warmly, and looks back at his tactician.
Cat just stares at him, a bit taken aback. "… I'd say I'm lucky to have all of you," he says eventually, somewhat awkwardly. It's not that he's never been praised before, but he doesn't really get it. It's true that he contributes to the Shepherds however he can, but it can never repay his debt, and really…
"No." Chrom shakes his head. "We're the lucky ones here. Imagine if we had never found you in that field? We would be blundering out way through this war, for sure."
Now you're just flattering me, Cat thinks, and averts his eyes. "And if you had never found me, I'd likely have been killed by bandits, or…" Or worse…
Grima, he thinks, and presses his lips tightly together. No… He doesn't want to think about what might have become of him—what he might've become—had Chrom not extended a hand to him that day.
Sometimes, he imagines if they had met under different circumstances. Sometimes, he dreams of it; what it would be like to face the other in battle. And he always wakes up in a cold sweat, shuddering at the feeling of blood on his hands, the knowledge that he'll never be able to truly wash it off…
Cat swallows and starts slightly as Chrom continues.
"Still," the lord is saying, "You're important to us." He hesitates for a half-second, and Cat sees his cheeks flush a bit. "To me."
The words settle lightly on the top of Cat's chest, and he stares at the other with lips parted slightly as the world seems to sharpen and focus.
That's enough, he thinks. That's all I need.
You don't have to say anything more…
Feeling a wall crack a bit, something melting away in his heart, Cat turns his head away and tucks his nose back into his scarf. It can't hide the look on his face, but hey, he can try, can't he?
"Thank you," he says, in a muffled voice.
And with Chrom by his side, he suddenly feels a little bit warmer.
Thanks for reading!
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