I woke with a scream bubbling in my throat, a heartbeat away from announcing it to the world. My hands sank into the coarse, warm fabric of the bedroll, twitching with each ragged breath, tensing and untensing. The top of my head brushed the side of the tent, stray hairs clinging with faint static.

Reaching calm was a war, a battle of counted breaths and cooling fear. The crisp, storm-edged air was for once an ally, seeping in through the canvas tent-flaps and drawing my thoughts to the present. Each breath brought me closer to the chaotic chorus of rain that drummed against my tent, brought me away from a dream I could barely recall.

And, just like my old life, I could feel it slipping away, leaving only a vacant and directionless fear.

Breathe, Andrew, I reminded myself, dragging my focus towards the rhythmless rain and rumbling thunder. The scent of wet peat and ozone filled my nostrils, cutting clear through my darker thoughts.

"There was-" I croaked, halting with a dry cough, shifting to a mutter, "Ach, too dry. Should've had more water before bed."

But then I would've had to go to- "No, no, focus," I said aloud, "The dream. It was, uh, the same one, I think. The shadow, the talking, and so on. But it was different this time, I'm sure of it."

I spent far too long wrestling with that half-memory, giving up only when the rain had relented.

It wasn't my first nightmare, and I knew it wasn't going to be my last, either. I had plenty of time to worry about it when I wasn't in charge of making breakfast.

[][][][][][][][]

When I first slipped out of the tent, our campsite was the expected mix of muddy camp and beautiful site. Sights, really. The Sun was peering over a misty, tree-laden horizon, chasing away the stars and setting foggy motes alight with golden fire. If I looked closely, I could even track the progress of light across the land.

All that beauty did little for my thoughts.

But the day got easier from there- preparing stew for breakfast was enough to occupy my mind and stomach. Wet wood was hard to burn, after all, so the first half hour was spent casting embers with a Fire Tome between tossing ingredients into the slightly scorched iron pot.

Mary slipped from her wagon, already fully dressed for the day. She held a band between her teeth, both hands slipping up into her tumbling red hair as she wrangled it into a ponytail. Absently, I wondered how difficult Tiki's hair was to put in a ponytail, and resolved to ask her later. Assuming she woke up today- she'd slept through all of yesterday, so it wasn't unlikely.

"Morning," Mary grunted, sliding the band over her hair, "Stew?"

I pulled up a ladleful, leaning forward on the crate to give my creation a sniff and sip. Almost ready. "Yeah, it's stew."

"Mmh." Turning around, she pulled a crate from her cart and dropped it down near mine with a huff of effort. "When?"

"You're certainly loquacious today, aren't you?" I smirked, earning an eye roll from her. "Just checked. It'll be five, maybe ten minutes."

"Ugh," Mary said, nudging a pile of wet sticks with her boot, "Didn't sleep well. Was there any trouble with the fire?"

I paused, frowning. "At first," I began, dipping the ladle deep into the stew pot, I probed for any beef or vegetables stuck to the bottom. In that time I started to collect my thoughts, pushing through the fog of autopilot. "The kindling was all wet; kept burning up too quickly when I tried to use the flint and steel. I ended up using a Fire Tome and some thicker logs, which got them down to hot coals."

Nodding along, Mary curled her lips into a lopsided smile. "Nicely done. And you used it to make the correct breakfast, too," she grinned, "None of that Feroxi fish-and-bread, or worse, stir fry, hm?"

Sitting up straight, I fixed Mary's red eyes with a glare, drawing upon as much mock-indignation as possible. "Oh, don't you even start, Mary! I'm the one making breakfast, not you; maybe I'll be making stir fry next time- after all, it's much quicker and needs less salt."

Clicking her tongue, Mary rolled her eyes. "And you'll do that how without any cooking oils? Unless you want to spend time scrubbing the pan afterwards, which would be a massive pain."

Taking a quick sip of the stew, I nodded. Perfect. "Hand me a bowl, would you? I'd be willing to do the scrubbing, if the reward is the correct combination food, rather than these inferior stews and soups. Or- hear me out- breakfast sandwiches. Do we have eggs?"

Tilting backwards, Mary reached into the open cooking crate and pulled out two bowls. "And cast a preservation spell on each individual egg? Good Naga, you're clearly insane. Why do I keep you around again?" she tutted, one eyebrow raised. If she caught my wince, she didn't comment.

"Well," I shot back with a smile, "I'm still here, and so are you. Must be the good kind of insane."

Opening her mouth to reply, Mary put a finger to her chin. "I-" Pausing, her finger moved up to her lips, her hand curling to support her chin. "Huh."

Setting down one bowl and balancing the other in one hand, I carefully scooped stew into the bowl and handed it off to Mary. Putting on my best (worst) British accent, I said, "Breakfast is served, milady. Beef stew with carrots, cut celery, and diced potatoes."

"So," she started, pausing to eat a spoonful of stew, "Thank you, by the way. Are breakfast sandwiches common where you come from?"

I blinked, pausing in the pouring of my stew. "Huh?"

"I said," she swallowed a bite, tapping one boot against the ground, "Are breakfast sandwiches-"

Coughing into my fist, I gave Mary an awkward thumbs-up. "No, I heard you, it's just, um,." You asking startled me, I wanted to say. "Nevermind. Um, yeah. Eggs, cheese and bacon on all sorts of bread- bagels, wheat, white, english muffins, croissants- I don't know how to make english muffins, and since England doesn't exist here those might be a bit confusing."

"Where do I even start with that, hm?" Mary raised an eyebrow, smirking. I was certain that if she didn't have both hands engaged with eating, there'd be a finger on her chin. "Sandwiches out of muffins, and whatever a croissant is-"

"Que?" I muttered, scratching my chin, "Well, you nailed the pronunciation. Do you know Roseanne's language? That might toss my theory that Roseanne is France."

"Doofus," Mary snickered, carefully balancing her spoon in her bowl. She leaned forward in one, easy movement, her hand stopping just short of my nose before retracting. "Breakfast sandwiches, remember?"

I nodded, throwing my memories back to the far-off land of, what, four months ago? The time before I'd ended up in this world had started blending together in the way older memories do, fading and losing the crisp edges of detail. My heart clenched, held captive by a barbed noose of emotion, my breathing quickened, and I barely managed to force those feelings back down.

"Where I come from, people like to move quickly, y'know? And breakfast sandwiches make that easier. Get up, shower, and buy a sandwich on the way to work; no need to sit down for breakfast," I said, forcing my words out with all the acting skill I could muster. "I kind of miss it, even if it was terrible for my health."

The searing ache in my chest pulsed with each heartbeat, held back only by grit teeth and measured breaths. Of all the things to get through to me, of all the ways my past could catch up, it was breakfast sandwiches that hit the hardest. With it came a measure of guilt; surely I should feel something for my brothers, my mother, my father- but I came up numb.

"Andrew, you're crying," Mary said softly, "Do you... Do you want a handkerchief, or something?"

Oh. Crying. That would explain it. A handkerchief would be nice, but what I really needed was a hug. Can't go wrong with a hug.

"Handkerchief it is."

Her words cut through my growing stupor, flushing my face with embarrassed warmth. "Did I say that out loud? I said that out loud."

"If you want a hug, get Tiki," Mary hummed, her voice accompanied by the soft rustle of boots on wet grass.

Failing to fight the blush, I shook my head emphatically. Hell, I even managed a choked laugh. "While she's sleeping? Mary, I don't have a death wish."

Mary laughed, light and not entirely forced. "The Shepherds would disagree. Wasn't there some rumor that you two were, hm, getting it-"

"Let's not put stock in rumors," I said hastily, shaking my head, "Tiki and I-"

My words were in turn cut off by a reddish blur of cloth, expertly aimed into my mouth. "Mmgh."

Once the handkerchief had been used for its intended purpose, I took a long, deep breath. "Sorry about that, Mary. Sometimes homesickness sneaks up on me."

Mary said nothing, focusing solely on her stew. I wasn't surprised.

"And, uh, thanks. For the handkerchief," I added awkwardly, coughing into my fist. "So. Breakfast sandwiches."

Tilting her head and raising an eyebrow, Mary gave me a look I couldn't quite place. "Are you going to break down again?"

"Maybe," I shrugged, hopefully sounding more calm than I felt, "But that's the only way I'll get through it, you know?"

Brow furrowed, Mary returned to her meal. "Oh. They won't be better than a decent stew, but you should try making them."

Silence returned, stretching awkwardly from seconds to minutes.

When my thoughts were finally collected, I cleared my throat. Mary jumped, twitching and tensing, coming back down with flushed cheeks and a halfhearted glare. "Don't do that," she mumbled, mostly to herself.

"Mary, I know you don't like the, uh, touchy-feely stuff. Thank you," I said, choosing my words carefully. "More stew?"

She looked at me for a long moment, brow furrowed and eyes gleaming. "You're welcome. Of course I want more stew! Who am I, you?"

"Stir fry is the superior meal," I nodded sagely, curling my lips into a mock scowl, "But someone doesn't bring garlic, so we have to make do with stew. Hey, that rhymes!"

"You," Mary said, leaning forward with her bowl to accept the stew I was scooping, "Are an idiot. You're lucky I like putting up with you."

My reply was out of my mouth before I even had time to think about it. "Must be my dashing good looks," I declared dramatically, tilting my chin upwards.

Snorting, Mary waggled her spoon at me. "Sure. Whatever you say."

The silence that prevailed was a better one; a comfortable, familiar one. Nostalgic, if one could be nostalgic for events only months in the past. It was also the silence of eating, because we needed to get around to that eventually. Accompanied by the morning choir of birds, we watched the Sun burn away the last predawn mists.

Setting down her now-empty bowl, Mary let out a content sigh. Rolling her neck and lacing her fingers together, she stretched upwards. "Guh," she grunted, "I missed the open road, sure, but I don't miss the back pain."

"Seconded on both counts," I agreed, grimacing as I watched, "Double seconded? Second seconded?"

"Doofus."

Waving her obvious statement aside, I shrugged. "No, really, I missed this. It's been a busy few months, and it'll be nice to get away from it all. Or, in your case, away from Frederick."

Standing up, Mary picked up her crate and started moving towards the cart. "Ugh. Don't remind me. Sure, I identified the poison. Sure, it comes from Valm. But that should make me less suspicious, not a prime candidate!"

That whole evening stuck in my mind, and not just because I ended up poisoned. I couldn't exactly fault Frederick for being suspicious- that was his job- and I hadn't heard any news about who had ordered the assassination. Part of me wanted to pin it on the obvious choice, Plegia, but that didn't sit right.

Shaking my head, I dragged my thoughts back to reality. "Don't take it personally, Mary. He's Frederick the Wary after all."

"I can and I will, Andrew," Mary snorted, leaning against the side of the cart, "I doubt it's even about the poisoning, anyway."

My retort died in my throat, strangled by the memory of hideous, sandy laughter. "So he knows...?" The rest went unspoken, not like it ever needed to be said. I'd felt it hanging over us, and she had it worse than I did.

Pursing her lips, Mary looked off towards the road. "Word gets around."

Of course they'd hate her, something inside me snarled, tightening its aching hold on my chest, I bet she hasn't changed at all. "Prove them wrong, then," I said instead, the words stale on my tongue, "And I've forgiven you, anyways."

"I get it, alright?" Mary waved over her shoulder, walking towards the front of the cart, "If I wanted to talk to a damn priest, I'd go to a church. Come on, if Tiki isn't going to wake up, we should get on the road before things get crowded."

Looking towards the stew and fire, I let out a long sigh. Tiny tongues of flame peeked through cooling coals, coaxed by a gentle morning wind.

"How's soup for dinner sound?" I said aloud, kicking dust over the fading flame.

After a pause, Mary's muffled voice called out from inside the covered cart. "There isn't enough stew to save?"

Peering into the pot, I nodded. "Nah, not really. Maybe a bowl and a half's worth."

"Soup sounds great, Andrew. I, uh," her hesitation was accompanied by a loud thump from inside the cart, "I'd appreciate that. Thanks."

{}{}{Anna}{}{}

Say what you will about the daimyos of Valm, and boy do I have lots to say about them, they kept their roads in excellent shape. Sure, they were ill-patrolled, bandit-ridden, and maintained strictly so their soldiers would have an easy time travelling to invade the neighbors again, but they were wide, flat, and- guh- not covered in spine-jarring bumps that would leave my backside sore for half the evening.

Meanwhile, in the Halidom of Ylisse, home of the Exalted line, the road between its capitol and a major city like Talys was downright awful.

Glancing back into the cart, I checked over my cargo. All well-secured, so it was only the people onboard suffering; by people I mean myself and Andrew. Tiki, while not technically cargo, was sprawled out on one side, sleeping like a rock. A very pretty rock with magic dragon powers, sure, but a rock.

"Penny, uh, copper for your thoughts, Mary?"

For the second time that day, I found myself jolted partway into the air as Andrew's voice cut straight through my thoughts.

Sniffing, I curled my lips into a lopsided smile. "Don't do that. My thoughts are worth at least a silver each, hm?"

Rubbing the back of his head, Andrew offered up a weak shrug. "Sorry. I mean, it's gonna happen again, because you zone out sometimes, but... um, yeah. What're you thinking about?"

That wasn't any of his business, but what was the harm? "Roads."

Nodding along, Andrew grimaced. "I don't know how you deal with this all the time. My back aches."

"I've been at it for over ten years, Andrew; you get used to it eventually. Plus, there's some stretches you can do to loosen yourself up," I replied, twisting my upper body a bit. Before I could even think about it, I blurted, "I can show you them, if you'd like?"

Andrew glanced upward. "Um. Yeah, I'd really appreciate that. Not right now obviously!" He chuckled, fidgeting in place. "You're too busy doing, uh, cart stuff. Driving the cart? Piloting the cart?"

Andrew's rambles, as inane was they were sometimes, were at least entertaining to listen to. And, in this case, I actually had an answer. "Doofus. It's driving the cart, steering the ship, and riding the horse. I haven't heard 'pilot' used in a while, but I remember it had something to do with helmsman and harbors. Might have something to do with the lack of wind?" I tapped my chin, frowning. "Well, if I'm right, that'd be a helmsman piloting a ship in the harbor."

"Huh," Andrew shrugged, visibly mulling that over. "So if the cart moved under its own power, rather than pulled by horses, you'd be a pilot?"

"No, I'd be a mage, and a rich one at that," I rolled my eyes, failing to hide a smile, "It's amazing how quickly costs go up when horses are involved."

"I can imagine," Andrew hummed, looking off towards the horizon. He did that thing where he works his jaw, going through all sorts of facial expressions without saying much of anything. If I were to guess, he was thinking about math again.

And, finally, silence. That's not to say conversation isn't nice, just that it's a slow and steady drain on my energy. Quiet, on the other hand, gave me time to think about the important things like money.

Watching the countryside roll by, I picked apart my plans, dividing them neatly into with and without my noisy cargo. Once Andrew and Tiki were dropped off in the city of Talys, I'd have plenty of free space- and free space is missed profits. So, obviously, I should snap up some more merchandise to replace them. From there it'd be the simple task of selling it off as I made my rounds of the villages, turning a healthy profit to help fund my next trip. Easy, right?

Wrong.

Talys is a coastal city, comprised mostly of craftsmen and shipwrights. Talys made boats, and there is no way I am transporting a boat on my cart, let alone selling it.

I'd need to get clever with my purchases, then. Spend a few days in the city, nose around for trinkets and the like, buy up what's likely to sell for more.

"Mary?"

I wasn't startled. Not twice in one day, absolutely not. Taking a moment to collect myself, I gave him a casual glance.

Less casual, once I saw him twisting to look behind us. "Hm?"

"Not sure what the word is for it, but," he paused, frowning, "Well, that's a lot of people coming around the bend."

Sparing a moment to look, I was quite upset that I had to agree with him. Specks of silver, shining in the pre-noon light, surrounding what looked to be horse-drawn carriages. No doubt some nobles travelling to their ridiculous manors, probably drinking wine and lazing about the whole way.

"That is a lot of people," I agreed, "And?"

Andrew visibly contemplated my words. "And, uh, nothing, I guess. I'm just used to things being ominous when we're travelling."

Snorting, I pushed a loose strand of hair out of my face. "And I thought I was the cynic," I grumbled, "Ylissean nobles may be stuck up, but the worst they'll do is talk your ear off over some wine."

Twisting back around to face forward, Andrew settled himself back in. "Don't be mean," he began, sniffing dramatically, "The wine's optional, I'll have you know."

When I woke Tiki up with my laughter, I blamed Andrew for it.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

We passed the next few hours in relative calm. No, not quiet; not with Tiki and Andrew firing back and forth about whatever their latest thing was. I almost appreciated it, actually! A nice, rhythmless background noise to help me breeze through the doldrums of driving a cart.

I tried not to check in with the distant nobles too often. I didn't particularly care about what some posh, spoon-fed idiots did on the road home, I just cared that they were getting closer and would probably force us off the road.

Noon came and went, dragging the shadows eastward and casting a cool breeze across my face. Andrew tried to explain the merits of some weird condiment he called 'ketchup' to us- it sounded revolting, but I kept that to myself. Sweet tomato sauce? Really?

"It'll catch on," Andrew promised, blue eyes sparkling above a strangely roguish grin, "Trust me. I just need to, uh, invent it first."

I shook my head, biting back a laugh. "Uh-huh. Sure."

Tiki hummed in response, as she often did. Pulling her head back so she was no longer leaning between us, she clicked her tongue. I caught Andrew turning to look out of the corner of my eye, but I didn't look myself.

Whatever it was, it was interesting. Fortunately for me, they're a pair of chatterboxes! They'll tell me whether I like it or not.

"It would be best if you prepared yourselves, I imagine," Tiki said eventually. Her voice had taken on a lower timbre, losing the softness I'd come to expect from our resident sleepy dragon.

"Dare I ask?" I drawled, catching Andrew's gaze. "Risen? Another kid from the future? Frederick?"

Shaking his head, Andrew adopted a grave expression. "I fear, dear Anna," he said in a rather posh accent, "That we will have to talk to nobles."

That should have been a relief, you know. Nobles are people, supposedly, and I'm supposedly good with people. "What makes you think that?" I said instead, hoping for the best. "Worst comes to worst, we can just pull to the side and let them pass."

"Um," Andrew hedged, "Looks like one of them is riding towards us on a horse. Maybe it's a guard or a butler? If it's not a messenger, they're probably aiming to talk to us."

With my luck, it'd be Frederick, here to retrieve some quill I'd accidentally taken, or maybe to remind me that I was still suspicious. I snorted at the thought, and spared any strange looks because nobody was looking to begin with.

"Is that Lord Crawford?" Tiki mused, "I cannot quite tell at this distance. Andrew? Anna, perhaps?"

"I'm looking at the road," I shook my head, "Can't." I could, but I didn't really want to.

Andrew snorted. "Your vision is ridiculous, Tiki. All I can tell is that it's someone on a horse. Could be a weird centaur, actually."

Letting out a sigh through gritted teeth, I tried to focus myself. "Doesn't matter. We'll deal with it when they get there, hm? Just don't worry about it."

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

"Ho there, travellers!"

An unfortunate voice pierced the air, excessively cheery and far too posh for the words coming out of their mouth. The owner of that mouth was on a horse, and that horse was shortly abreast of the cart.

The long black hair, grey coat, and embroidered riding pants marked him as a member of the nobility, and a familiar one at that. I'd seen Andrew talking to him at the ball. What was his name again? Crawdad?

Taking a calming breath, I steeled myself and pulled up my best Anna smile. "Hello there, milord! How can I help you?"

"Perhaps," he mused, stroking his chin, "Though I see now that you are familiar faces- Anna and Andrew, from the ball, yes?"

And Tiki, I added mentally. She was important, and important people are far more likely to get dragged into weird parties. Unless I could come up with a way to leverage that into a sale or deal, I wouldn't bother to correct him.

"Oh!" Andrew snapped his fingers, leaning forward to look past me. "Tiki was right. You're Lord Crawford! And, um, yeah. I'm Andrew, she's M- ah, my friend Anna, and Tiki's in back. You awake, Tiki?"

Or Andrew would come swanning through, as usual. That shouldn't have been funny, but it was, and I elbowed Andrew for it anyways. "Let her sleep, Andrew."

He hissed, a barely-there sound that nobody else would've picked up on. Weird.

"It is quite alright, Anna," Tiki said groggily, pulling herself up and resting her arms on the front wall of the cart. "Forgive me if I am poor conversation, Lord Crawford."

Lord Crawford's eyes widened along with his grin. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Tiki. I thought it unfortunate that we didn't get to speak at the ball; it seems we will have ample opportunity to remedy that tonight!"

I didn't like where this was going. Time to improvise. "How so, my lord?" I asked carefully, "I'm afraid we can't afford to make detours; we are on something of a tight timetable."

Andrew grunted, but said nothing.

Lord Crawford frowned, but his eyes sparkled. "It is not a detour at all, if you are heading for Talys. You see, Markus- Lord Farrier, that is- and myself were planning on hosting a dinner for our Duke. Nothing so opulent as a feast, of course. Quite unfortunately, he delayed his departure to assist Prince Chrom in reorganizing the castle guard... ah! Pardon me, I'm rambling again."

I bit back several scathing comments, and hoped my smile was holding strong. "It's no trouble, my lord."

"Excellent!" he nodded obliviously, seeming quite satisfied with himself, "I would like to invite you all to my manor this evening for dinner."

On one hand, this might be free food. On the other, nothing screams suspicious like a Lord riding up to a cart and inviting strangers to dinner.

"Could you give us a moment to confer?" I said sweetly, batting my eyes at him. "I hope you don't mind."

"Of course, of course," Lord Crawford waved his hand, tugging on the reins of his horse. "I'll need to speak with Markus about this anyways. Good day to you, sir and madams!"

Tossing its head, his horse slowed to a canter, allowing my cart to pull ahead.

I let out a long, strangled sigh. "I swear, Andrew. This sort of thing only happens when you're around."

I heard a chuckle and a rustling of cloth as Tiki stuck her head out a little more. "There is nothing wrong with life being a little more interesting, Anna."

"Let's agree to disagree on that one," I fired back, tapping a finger to my chin. "You're lucky I put up with both of you."

Andrew cleared his throat, glancing between us. "I think," he began, pausing as we went over another bump, "That we should accept. Lord Crawford seems nice, even if he does, uh, talk a lot. Plus, it's free food."

"We'll have to sit with some snooty nobles to eat it, and then we'll owe him a favor, Andrew," I shook my head, "I say no, if we can manage to turn him down politely."

Furrowing his brow, Andrew looked towards Tiki. "Well, it's a stalemate. Tiki, what do you think?"

Cheeky. "It's not a stalemate at all, doofus," I scoffed, "My cart, my rules."

"I rather think we should accept, Anna," Tiki said, shaking her head, "Turning down a lord's invitation is poor form at best, and I'm not one to decline a good meal and interesting conversation."

My hands tightened around the reins. I ran through a thousand meaningless what-ifs and maybes- would it really be that bad? Hey, if I could make Andrew shoulder the favor, which he would do happily, I could walk away with no strings attached. It wouldn't be so hard to weasel some information about what sold around here and where to sell it, either.

"I think I've spent too much time with you two," I grumbled, chewing on my lip, "Fine. Let's do it. But if anything happens? It's on your shoulders, not mine."

"I look forward to it, Anna," Tiki smiled, her teeth uncomfortably pointy, "An interesting life is a well-lived one, after all."

Andrew smiled at me, reaching out and resting a hand on my shoulder. "Anna? Thank you. I appreciate it."

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Why, I could almost taste the possibilities!

...Good Naga, I am spending too much time with them.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Author's Note:

It's been a long four months for me. Sparing the details, I felt burnt out for the first two months, caught COVID, and then had to start worrying about college again.

EDITED: ATWAS has been a struggle for me to write recently. I'll be returning to it after I've accrued enough of a backlog that I don't have to worry about such burnout- check my profile for regular updates on the process.

Please let me know what you thought; hearing what people think of my work does wonders for my motivation. Thank you all so much for your support!

Cheers,
Narwhal Lord