Disclaimer: I don't own Fire Emblem. Fire Emblem belongs to Intelligent Systems and Nintendo.
This was the day that would end the cycle of death and revenge. Grievances would finally be set aside. All would be free to heal. To live.
To hope again.
Lucina stared at the last stretch of desert that stood between war and peace. She had not had the opportunity to know her aunt for very long, but Aunt Emm was all they'd said she was—and more.
Her gaze tangled itself in the deep blue of the sky. If her aunt were looking down on them now, she believed that she would approve.
The trip into Plegia had been surreal. They'd advanced across the border, quiet and solemn, but driven with purpose.
And absolutely no one standing in their way.
Instead, a large group of Plegians had met them at the border. The air grew tense as everyone tightened their hold on their weapons. Despite their intentions, they were the aggressors, the ones trespassing. It would only be fair if the Plegians objected to their presence.
And yet, once her father had gone forward to meet them, her mother his silent shadow, they had cast their weapons at his feet.
While her father and mother had formed an impromptu council, their fingers moving so quickly that even Lucina had a hard time keeping up with them, the assembled Plegians had bowed and parted down the center.
A number of Shepherds, along with both the Khans, had joined her father and mother, but Lucina was content to remain where she was.
For around every Plegian arm was tied a green or gold ribbon.
Aunt Emm may not have been able to see the fruits of her sacrifice in person, but her spirit had settled over them all. Warming them and bringing solace, even though so many hearts were still so freshly wounded.
"Isn't it lovely?"
Lucina allowed a small smile as she nodded. She had not yet grown accustomed to seeing the image of her mother—young enough that there was still a little baby fat in her cheeks.
That was, however, where the similarities between her mother and Reflet ended. Her mother was calm and quiet. Reserved, but cheerful.
Reflet was . . .
How had Frederick put it? A ball of chaos intent on stamping herself into everything that came close enough to touch. Almost as if she was afraid of being forgotten . . .
"Of course," Reflet went on, one brow lowered as she surveyed the scene, "if they just give up like this, we won't get to use our secret weapon at all."
Lucina raised a brow at the disappointment Reflet made no effort to hide. It would be a good thing if they could come to a peaceful understanding without having to force the matter with steel.
Wouldn't it?
Some of her thoughts must have leaked into her expression, because Reflet hastily backpedaled.
"Not that it's a bad thing. I was just looking forward to seeing how much damage two and a half dragons could wreak. I mean, it's not everyday even one dragon shows up for battle, let alone more than one."
"Plegia is known for their wyverns," Lucina said as tactfully as she could. She glanced over at her parents. Her heart filled with warmth and sunshine that they were still there. Still alive. A part of her warned her to hold herself back. They weren't the parents she had known, not exactly, and she couldn't stay here forever . . .
"Worms," Reflet scoffed, "one and all. There really is no comparison between a wyvern and a dragon. You might as well compare a chicken to a butterfly."
Lucina's brow furrowed. "Chickens and butterflies have nothing in common."
Reflet rolled her eyes. "They both have wings and an uncanny ability to cause trouble. The only difference is that one is tastier than the other." She frowned as a thought struck her. "In theory, at least. I don't think I've ever actually eaten a butterfly before."
Reflet had come to the Shepherds. She'd helped them when they were in desperate need, Lucina reminded herself. She might not work the way a normal person worked, but that didn't make her bad.
It simply made her . . . interesting.
Lucina's hand strayed to Falchion's hilt, and she took courage in the warmth she found there.
Good would triumph and peace would prevail.
Leading them one step closer to saving her father and the rest of the world.
They would not lose this time.
Like a moth drawn to a flame, Lucina found herself drawing closer to her parents.
This isn't your place, she reminded herself. One day they would have a Lucina of their own.
And a Morgan . . .
"Good people of Plegia," her father shouted to be heard. "For generations our people have waged war upon one another. So many lives have been lost and broken. It is my honor—" His voice broke, but Mother was there to squeeze his arm to remind him that he was not alone.
"It is my honor to uphold the work of the last Exalt of Ylisse that peace may wash upon our borders and that, through this peace, our hearts and homes may be whole again!"
When it became apparent that he'd said all he'd had to say, a young man approached them. His manner of dress was that of a farmer, and a poor one at that, but he carried himself as though threadbare homespun were silk.
"My village is small and of little means, but we welcome you all the same." The green and gold ribbon he'd tied to his arm fluttered with his movements, catching every Ylissean eye.
Her father smiled, and with that smile transformed from heroic general back into something more human. "For which we are all grateful. If we pass by this way on our journey home, we will be grateful for your hospitality."
Lucina blinked at her father. Diplomacy had never come naturally to him, and he always wore an apologetic grimace when called upon to exercise it. So why did it fit him so comfortably now?
"Smoke and mirrors," Reflet snorted softly next to her. When Lucina raised a brow at her, she shrugged. "Mortals see what they wish to see. It's how they take a dream and make it real. It is much harder, by far, to take something real and turn it into a dream."
With a mischievous look in Lucina's direction, Reflet sketched something in her book with firm, swift strokes. Then she blew upon the ink as if to dry it, when a butterfly with slightly crooked wings fluttered out of the page and onto the breeze.
Lucina stepped back as the butterfly flew toward her, wary. Magic of a certain persuasion had been the undoing of her world, and she never felt wholly comfortable around it.
The butterfly brushed past her cheek, only to curve around into the opposite direction. It hovered in the air for a moment before it fluttered toward her mother and landed on the crown of her head.
The lines of the butterfly disintegrated into inky pieces. When her mother rubbed at her head, the ink fell from her hair as snow white flowers made of ice. When they touched the ground, the flowers converged to make a single bloom of the purest white.
Reflet's grin was a little too knowing when Lucina caught the girl watching her. She tightened her hold on Falchion, but not even the warmth of her closest companion could chase away the pinprickly memory of ice against her finger tips.
This wasn't the first time she had seen that white flower, although she could not remember the place she had first seen it.
She opened her mouth to demand an explanation, but her father had called for them to continue on. Reflet gave her a cheerful wave before she vanished into the crowd, only to reappear next to Henry and Tharja. Henry said something that caused the cloud of ravens circling overhead to start cawing, while Tharja continued to give everyone a baleful glower.
With a sigh, Lucina fell in step with the others as they followed the road deeper into Plegia.
But with every step she took, the shadow of the ice blossom grew more solid in her mind's eye.
They came across a number of villages and even a few towns, but for every one they came across, the inhabitants met them at the gates before they cast their weapons at the feet of the Ylissean army.
Every single Plegian they came across wore a ribbon tied to their sleeve in silent remembrance of her.
Of Emm.
Her name still traced cracks across his heart, but Chrom found comfort in the pain. That so many—especially those who bore no fealty toward her—would remember and honor her, spoke of the person his sister had been.
And always would be.
Robin tugged at his arm, breaking him away from his thoughts.
I think it might be a good idea to go over some failsafe maneuvers again. A furrow had formed between her brow, and he could almost see the specter of the Risen archers in its shadow. For just in case.
He looked at Robin, who didn't quite meet his gaze, and felt a little helpless. She had returned to him, safe and sound. That was enough—for now. But whatever had happened to her while she'd been away, coupled with their first foray into Plegia, had wound so tight about her that the air around her seemed to quiver against its tautness.
"I think," he said, following her eyes as her gaze darted about like a restless bird, "that I could recite every plan and countermeasure backwards. In my sleep."
She didn't smile as he had hoped, but a little tension went out of her.
A very little.
She nodded.
That's an excellent idea. I'm listening.
Chrom winced. She was serious, wasn't she?
"Milord."
"Frederick!" Chrom cleared his throat and tried his best to sound a little less relieved. "What have you to report?"
Frederick frowned at the two of them, but refrained from putting into words whatever he had been disproving. "All of us you sent on ahead have returned with the same report. Namely, the citizens of Plegia have no wish to fight and have laid down their arms. The same holds true for the Plegian army. Outside of a loyal few, the soldiers have been deserting in large numbers, some even going so far as to leave their weapons behind. Their army has all but collapsed."
Grief and wonder twisted around Chrom's heart as he looked out upon the few leagues of desert left to cross. They had come fully prepared this time.
Yet who could have foreseen this happening? People laying down their arms so that they could not raise them—even in defense of their own lives—again. After so many generations of fighting, peace had finally come as though it had been there all along. Quiet and hidden, waiting for just the right moment to shine.
"Emm," he breathed. She had been right. When offered a choice between war and peace, most people would choose peace.
"Aye, Milord." Frederick's expression softened until it was merely granite. "While King Gangrel is doing his all to stamp out their resistance to fighting, his troops chant her name as they abandon the field. Because of her actions, Exalt Emmeryn has become a folk hero of sorts. The call to peace no sane man could deny."
"Emmeryn." Her name was bittersweet on his lips. Chrom could not help but remember all of his earlier frustrations at her insistence of turning the other cheek.
Nor could he deny that, although very much delayed, her method of dealing with Plegia had saved more lives than those he had saved by taking up his sword.
"Why did it take me so long to see? To understand?" It was as if the very ground beneath him had slipped out from under his feet.
Robin tapped his arm, her cheeks paler than usual.
You loved Ylisse, just as she did. It's just that . . . She paused as some unwelcome thought flitted behind her eyes. I don't think Emmeryn saw the battlefield as Ylisse on one hand and Plegia on the other. When she looked out, she only saw people. Different people, to be sure, but people all the same. It is something we all missed seeing. It just took her to bring it to the surface.
Robin's gaze dropped to her toes, her shame blooming roses against her cheeks.
Chrom nearly forgot himself, and had raised a hand to pull her into his arms when he remembered that they were far from alone. Not Robin and Chrom, but an Ylissean general and his tactician. He dropped his hand to her shoulder instead, and waited until she peeked up at him.
"Then let us make an end to King Gangrel's madness together. Let us bring peace upon the land, and," his voice softened as he spoke the words meant only for her, "then we will spend a lifetime reminding each other so there will never have to be another sacrifice of this kind again."
Emm had left behind a debt he could never truly repay. The best he could do would be to honor her life every day of his own.
Robin was looking at him now, a shadow behind the bright violet of her eyes. She managed a wan smile.
Together?
He nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. "Together."
The gates of the castle stood tall and forbidding. Crafted of iron and sand-colored stone, Robin felt an uncomfortable familiarity with them. As though she had seen them in her other life from before.
A place she couldn't remember.
A place that felt as though she had a history with it.
A place beside it.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts. No sense in wasting time trying to catch hold of memories that had slipped through her fingers like the ubiquitous sand.
"Are you ready?" Chrom murmured, his eyes on the gates.
Robin squeezed his hand.
She would not fail this time.
She could not fail.
"Ah, is that the poor little pup from Ylisse?" a voice that set their teeth on edge called.
They all looked up to see the Mad King himself staring down his nose at them from the rampart. When he saw that he had their attention, he waved at them.
"Is the poor little princeling still thinking of his dear, squashed sister?"
The air turned heavy and charged.
Robin squeezed Chrom's hand again. If the Mad King hadn't been a cold-blooded killer who had killed someone very dear to them, she would have admired his chutzpah.
Right before she sent him off to wherever they kept Miriel's lab rats when they weren't in use.
"No more talk." Chrom's words were even and measured. "Today is the day you will die, Gangrel, that peace may be established between out two nations."
"Such hypocrisy!" Gangrel scoffed. "When the truth of the matter is that you despise me, little princeling. I stand upon heights you haven't even imagined. All this talk of peace is nothing more than pretty little sentiment. You claim to bring peace with one breath, while on the other you openly admit that you wish to cut me down.
"Peace? What do you know of peace?" The Mad King made a dismissive gesture toward them. "No man knows of peace."
"I know more about peace than you ever will." Chrom's expression hardened, his hand already resting against Falchion's hilt.
"More than me?" Gangrel's sharp laugh was dark along the edges. "More than me?! You ARE me! When life asks you a question, you answer with blood!"
Robin wished dearly that she could call up a Wind and knock that ridiculous tyrant down from his perch. How dare he!
"Perhaps you're right," Chrom conceded. "I am not my sister. I cannot forgive men like you—men who sow nothing but evil. Men who delight in destruction and death."
Robin frowned and reached toward Chrom, but didn't touch him. Was he taking this mad man seriously? Just because the crazy man said something, didn't mean that it was real or true.
"All I have left of my sister are her words and her memory. Were I alone, I might have been driven mad or worse." He paused, and although he stared stonily up at the king, Robin felt as though he were looking at her. "But I am not alone. My friends and my brothers-in-arms stand behind me."
The Mad King laughed, each laugh drawing them closer to his own madness. "Are you quite finished little pup? May I vomit now over the cloying sound of your flowery harangue? Men are beasts, and nothing more. We fight. We kill. We devour our prey. Beasts do not stand behind other beasts little princeling. They use each other to serve their own selfish purpose. Like it or not, this is how the world works. It is no sweet little fairy tale, but an endless night of the strong feasting upon the weak and the pursuit of power!"
Chrom laughed so softly that Robin almost missed it. He dropped his head for a moment before glancing at her. Her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were a clear and perfect blue. There was determination there, but none of the fury, the hate, that he could have rightly harbored.
When he raised his head once more, he was no longer just a general or a Shepherd. Robin squinted against the sunlight lining him with gold.
"Perhaps this explains why your own soldiers refuse to stand behind you. Or perhaps they see the truth of the matter. You are a poison, a festering wound. I have come today to do what my sister could not."
The Mad King laughed again, shriller than before. "Such a clever tongue you have there, little prince. It would look quite fetching nailed to my mantle next to your big sister's corpse!"
Robin didn't realize she'd lunged forward until Chrom's arm brought her up short. He wrapped his arm around hers to hold her in place.
When she glared up at him, a light smile touched the corners of his lips. "I wasn't teasing about knowing your plans, counter plans, and surprise plans—for the most part. And exactly none of them begin with my tactician throwing herself into battle without waiting for everyone else."
Robin raised a finger to rebut him, but found herself having to sheepishly admit that he did have a point. Color flooded through her cheeks, and Chrom had the good sense to keep his laugh silent.
And here she'd been worried that he would be the hot-headed one . . .
At least she had things in place to ensure—
"Don't even think about it." Chrom's voice was still soft, but it was edged with iron. "I'm keeping you by my side to make sure you follow your own plans. The ones where you survive—and we all survive. We already have a hero. All that's left is to mop up what's left of the mess and to honor her memory. Are you with me?"
Robin nodded, although she promised herself that it would be her having the last laugh after all of this was over. How dare he . . .
. . .
. . . know her so well that he could anticipate her movements even before she knew of them!
The last part of her thought drained away all but the brightest of fires that fed her temper.
"Even here, we can't escape the gooeyness," Lissa shoved her way up to them, laughter dulling the edges of her disgust. "Save it for later. For now, what do you want us to do with our new recruit?"
Lissa pointed at a delicate pink-haired dancer whose name escaped Robin at the moment. Right along with why, exactly, someone who looked as fragile as glass had voluntarily signed up to fight in the first place.
The dancer blushed, turning as bright as her hair. "I, um," her voice trembled almost as much as the rest of her, "I know I'm late, and I'm sorry. But I would like to help as best I can."
"We're happy to have you," Chrom said, extending his usual greeting. "What can you do?"
"I, um," the girl seemed to shrink beneath their gazes, "I can dance?"
Robin frowned, sure she'd misheard. They didn't needed dancers at the moment. What they needed were warriors.
With muscles.
And armor.
And a weapon couldn't hurt either.
None of which, she had.
"K-Khan Basilio can vouch for me. He—he says that my dances are capable of renewing a person's spirit."
Robin pressed a hand against her temples. What in the heck did that even mean? More important, how would that be of any use here?
"Where would you like her to go, Robin?" Chrom's voice was soft as if he feared that speaking any louder would shatter the stillness between them.
They both looked at him in astonishment.
Robin's a little more weary than the dancer's.
"You—you believe m-me? I mean, yes! I am here to serve!"
Despite the headache brewing behind her eyes, Robin smiled. Chrom was, as ever, himself.
If she can refresh the spirit, then place her with the healers and mages. That was as close as Robin could get to politely assigning the dancer to watch after Lissa's frogs.
It was a hard job.
And someone had to do it.
What? she demanded when she realized Chrom was staring at her.
He smiled as he brushed his thumb down her cheek. "Do you truly believe we can do this?"
He was asking her that now?!
She gestured to her pockets that were filled to bursting with plans upon plans upon plans. Nothing had been left to chance, and no there was no campaign she had neglected. Including the sudden appearance of Risen wyverns, demon warthogs, and weaponized honeybees.
To name a few.
Chrom sighed, but he looked happy. "Then let's advance. The sooner we start, the sooner we can return home."
Home.
The sound of it had once made all the empty spaces in her heart ache. But now, when he said it, it filled her with a warm glow.
She nodded.
Home is was, then.
A/N: Apologies for not getting into the actual battle this chapter. I got a little burned out this week, and didn't want shortchange the scene. Next week will hopefully be the show down and the ending of the first arc of the story. And then on to the wedding and settling into their newfound peace (for about five seconds :p).
To be followed shortly after by Robin's Arc! *confetti* Long have we awaited this day! Then we can finally start getting the answers to all those questions that started at the prologue. :D
Thank you for stopping by, reading, commenting, and sharing! You all are awesome and I hope you have a great week!
TaraTolmney: Thank you! *grin* Yep, Frederick is the master of being prepared. It would be interesting to hypothesize what, exactly, it would take to find him at a loss. I have a hunch it would likely involve Reflet. :p Yeah, I really like Ricken and Nowi together as well. Plus it gives a plausible explanation as to where Nah inherited her temperament from. They can help round each other out, plus, now Nowi (and Nah) won't have to outlive her husband by a gajillion years. I really want all of the characters-minus the villains-to have a happily ever after. :)
Definitely Not Red: Thank you! I'm glad that you enjoy the story, despite not enjoying how it's been structured. As for the pacing, the pacing I've set for the story is deliberate. This was never going to be a story where the battles are the biggest plot points. Plus, none of the battles (up to now) would require anything long or drawn out. The war they get into later on with Walhart will be different, of course. One of the foundational structure points for FRACTURED is the importance of the ties Robin forms with everyone, which is why the emphasis has been focused on that rather than on the fighting. This will not change. As for being more popular, I knew from the moment I finished the prologue that it would never be crazy popular. Fractured is long, brings up a billion questions, is complicated, and is weird. It also represents a hefty commitment in time, because nearly every detail I've included matters. It isn't really something that can be skimmed. One of the reasons why I went ahead with the prologue as is, rather than retooling it to make it less weird and confusing, is so that readers would be able to know upfront whether they would enjoy reading the story or not. I don't want any readers to waste time on something that they won't like, and I've worked hard at keeping the promises I've made via the story itself. :)
Daisy Party: Aww, thanks! I do too. :D They're so similar, but so very different-which means that many buttons will be pushed. 0:) There aren't as many Robin-Frederick scenes as I would like, but I really enjoy writing them when the story calls for it. And now that Reflet's been thrown into the mix, I think Frederick is finally realizing that it can always be worse. Always. :p Have a great week!
