Fire Emblem Awakening: Grimleal Shenanigans 2: Electric Boogaloo: The Chapter
\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/
Chrom enters Robin's tent and pauses when he sees it's already occupied by the twins, Tharja and Henry, who in turn all go still at his arrival. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No, your timing is perfect actually," Robin says as he shuffles some papers in a tome and shuts it close. "I take it we're ready to depart for Ylisse?"
He nods. "We've already overstayed our welcome. Plus, there's a lot of work to be done back home." Like going over all this with Ylisse's High Council and dealing with its diplomatic fallout. Chrom half-expects them to bid for his abdication sooner than later.
"Of course," Robin says. "Though I'll have to ask you a favour for Tharja, Henry, and me."
"Us too!" one of the Morgans pipes up.
"Yes, the twins too," Robin adds with a small smile before he turns to Chrom. "We will stay in Plegia for a few more days and join you later on."
This is the first time Chrom hears of this, and he is understandably confused. "You want to travel back all on your own? How are you going to catch back up?"
"You'll be burdened by horses and travel slower in the sands. We can cover ground faster and catch up with you halfway."
Chrom frowns even if he knows Robin usually has a reason for springing surprises like this. "And why do you want to stay behind in the first place? Is there something we missed? We all can stay here for a couple more days if necessary..." He trails off as he takes in the tense ambience of the room. Henry's smile is tight and Tharja Is clutching her tome, hackles raised.
Robin must have noticed the increasing tension as well, for he clears his throat to get everyone's attention. "To start us off in common ground, everyone in this room knows I'm Grima."
Chrom looks between Robin and the other two mages. He understands why the Morgans know, they're his children after all, but Henry and Tharja? They're... not the most discreet in Chrom's opinion, not when compared to all the other Shepherds. Then again, they are both Plegian defectors, and would likely have a different view on Robin's situation compared to the rest of their group...
"Wait, you do?!" Morgan asks, mouth agape.
"Don't stab dad until he teaches us how to fly first!" the other Morgan adds.
"What—Of course I won't," Chrom quickly says. "I'm not some hot-headed idiot."
Tharja lets out a dark chuckle. "Could have fooled me."
"What is this, pick on Chrom day?" he exasperates but quickly smiles as Robin's stony facade cracks to a smirk.
Henry joins his laugh and then turns to twins. "Oh, but if you do want to get right wings now, I've got a hex—"
"Finish that sentence and I will eat you," Robin deadpans, earning him another string of laughter from the mage before he turns to Chrom. "But yes, we need to stay behind. I apologise for not telling you sooner, but I needed everyone to think we'll be departing per usual."
"Why so?"
Robin shifts and glances away before facing Chrom. "I need to make sure this country doesn't collapse," he begins as if rehearsing a speech. "Things have already gone from bad to worse, first with Gangrel then with Validar, and now Plegia might as well be a collection of scattered city states rife with bandits. If we let things stand as they are, I would not be surprised if another Gangrel shows up..." He trails off before catching himself. "Which is not to say a unified Plegia won't benefit Ylisse too. Again, many of these bandits operate across borders—"
"I understand," Chrom softly cuts him off. "You have a responsibility to this country as well." More so considering who he is, which is still something Chrom finds hard to conceptualise. Still, he puts a hand to his heart and continues: "And as the future Exalt..." his words falter as Emmeryn's face appears in his mind's eye, "I recognise how much Plegia has suffered because of Ylisse's actions and want to follow on Emm's — on the last Exalt's wishes for our shared peace and prosperity."
His words are followed by silence, and Chrom wonders if he's messed up already by making things too formal.
"Woah, that's a relief!" Henry eventually pipes up with a laugh. "You won't believe how much gossip there is of the coronation here! So much of it is all gloom and doom, why some said they've seen you in battle and think you'll be like your old man—"
Chrom stiffens and wants to deny him, but he can't find the words or conviction.
"Henry, that's enough," Robin speaks for him, and his sober expression softens as he turns to Chrom. "There's no reason to talk of such things, especially since we've already shown each other that destiny is a sham."
Chrom nods, smiling back. He still feels stiff, but he notes Tharja looks away in thought while Henry is still grinning at him.
That's good. Baby steps.
"Back to our topic," Robin continues, "in order to make sure Plegia doesn't have another go at Ylisse I need to lay some groundwork here first and I need to be... discreet about it."
Meaning Robin doesn't want to announce to the Grimleal that he's Grima. "That's why you want to stay behind," he thinks out loud. "To have any observer think you've left."
Robin nods. "But that won't be enough for anyone who actually has a functioning pair of eyes, hence the second part of my plan." He pats Morgan's head — the one Chrom has mentally labelled as the Sword-Morgan, the other being Tome-Morgan as he has no idea how Robin and the twins seem to innately know which Morgan is referenced to every time they speak — with a smirk even though the boy pouts. "Morgan here will be hexed to resemble me and act as a body double."
The other twin grins.
"And Morgan will be with you and help keep up the guise as well," Robin continues as he pats the other one's head and who gets equally disgruntled.
"Eh?! But I thought I'd be staying here and doing cool spy stuff!"
"You need to work hard and help Morgan keep up with his cover, ideally by taking up most of his time," Robin continues unperturbed. "I trust you to come up with something."
"Ha!" Sword-Morgan exclaims and pokes Tome-Morgan. "That means I can order you around!"
"That's not fair, dad—!"
Robins sends Chrom a pleading look which he understands as 'keep an eye on them'. After he nods, Robin relaxes and gets the twins to settle down with a few quick words.
"What do you want me to say about your absence then?" Chrom asks.
"We keep it simple. Henry and Tharja want to spend some time in Plegia, and Morgan also stayed back with them to look around local bookstores as part of his mage training."
Chrom nods again, already working on what he'll tell the others. Thankfully he won't have to stretch the truth far, as the two Morgans have recently switched their training from swordplay to spellcrafting.
Though it is a shame he will have to misdirect his fellow Shepherds. But if he does not, he will have to explain why Robin has to go through this charade, and if they hear news of Grima-related activity while they know that Robin is not with them...
He and Robin need to talk after they reach Ylisse.
"If we're done here..." Tharja speaks up as she brings up a small satchel. Her smile is eerily wide as she hands it to Robin. "I've also completed my part of the plan."
Robin gives her an appreciative smile as he pulls out a long dark cloth from the satchel... an outfit?
"I already know your measurements so it was only a simple task of finding the material and putting it all together," Tharja continues as Robin lays out the different pieces. "I took some liberties with the design, but I think the final product will be to your liking..."
Robin lays out the outfit and sits back and Chrom leans in to get a closer look, curious.
There's a large and heavy-looking skirt-like garment that many Plegian men wore, the front patterned with the six eyes of Grima. The... top for lack of a better term, is made up of a see-through dark-threaded mesh like most of Tharja's outfit. The threads seems to be uneven, but at closer inspection Chrom makes out a dragon-like design on it, like a lace. It also seems to be backless, and the front is held up by two small strings that tie around the wearer's neck. A dark purple hoodless cloak with red highlights lays next to the two pieces, looking similar to Robin's usual robe, along with a single glove. Next to it is a large rectangular piece of black soft cloth that Chrom is initially puzzled by until he recalls how some local women wore head coverings and a similarly dark veil. Funnily enough, the veil is less see-through than the top.
Next to him, Robin seems to share his reservations. "Does this scream 'Fell Dragon' to you?"
"Uh," Chrom hesitates. The outfit screams many things, but 'destroyer of worlds' is on the bottom of his list.
"You look like you're going to an evil ball," Sword-Morgan says.
"Or a goth wedding," Tome-Morgan adds, aptly summarising Chom's feelings on the matter.
"Everyone knows Grima is all powerful, fearsome and beautiful," Tharja croons, and Chrom suspects she knows exactly what she is doing, "so the outfit should be as such."
Robin gives Tharja a long look, which she reciprocates with a self-satisfied smile. Seconds later, he sighs. "As long as it hides my identity."
"I think it might be a bit much," Chrom eventually says. Surely Robin can see that.
"It will do what I need to, which is make it harder to identify me."
Though Chrom finds this priority silly considering how little the top covers, Robin inspects the headscarf and veil with the same gravitas as his weapons before a battle.
Chrom is about to object about how this disguise is anything but subtle, but stops himself as he gives it a second look. The mix of the head coverings and breezy top stands out to him, but may not be such an odd combination. Despite all their battles and various injuries, Robin has no identifying scars. His notable features always were his white hair and usually concealed Mark of the Defile, now joined by six red eyes and wings. And, personally, Chrom would likely focus on the extra appendages than more seemingly trivial details like height or build. So, this outfit obscures Robin as much as a combination of heavy robes and hood, while seemingly more revealing.
Still... "But the Grimleal already know about you, right? As..." Validar's son, the Heart of Grima, Chrom wants to say, but he's not sure how Robin feels about those things now.
Robin hums in thought. "Those in Validar's inner circle certainly do. But those that are still alive saw the fiasco of his revival and know he and his Hierophant are dead." Robin lets out a self-satisfied smile, as if he's about to spring a trap on an enemy. "And who are we not to take advantage of all this confusion?"
\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/
Tharja hears the upper caste of the Grimleal before she sees them.
Thanks to the Grimleal's depleted reserves, courtesy of Validar, all it takes is a few well-placed hexes from her and Henry to get rid of the guards on their way to the Dragon's Table. Honestly, it's a sad state of affairs, especially since Tharja once counted herself in their ranks before she met Robin. Everyone knew that to get anywhere up in Plegian society, you have to deal with the Grimleal.
The entrance to the Dragon's Table is slightly ajar. She spies a large rectangular table close to the entrance before the exquisite ground mosaic that makes up the altar, where what's left of the Grimleal argue against each other like a pack of ravenous coyotes. Currently, a wrinkly woman is engaged to a screaming man with a pudgy hooded man across the table.
"Validar is gone!" The old woman, dressed in heavy veils, the traditional outfit of healers, bangs her hand on the table. "Yet you still wish to follow him as if he's our God—?"
"Ylisseans are camped out in our capital right now and you're still seeking to destabilise our Council?!" a middle-aged man in heavy ceremonial robes, seated at the end of the table closer to the Dragon's Table, cuts her off. "If it wasn't for all those mewling masses you've curried to your favour, I'd have you drawn and quartered!"
"Now, now, all may not be lost!" the pudgy man who was yelled at by the priestess moments ago speaks up. "We've just received word that the Ylissean camp is heading back to their country. Validar said our Lord's Heart is nestled deep with the Ylissean army, perhaps this is all—"
"Stop clinging to the plans of a dead man!" the priestess cuts him off, unperturbed by the previous threats on her life. "While you all play political theatre, I'm the one who follows our Lord's dogma and sees that the clinics still function—!"
"Ah yes, your dogma..." another Grimleal mutters, loud enough to make sure she is deliberately audible.
"Speak up, Councilwoman, or has your spinelessness spread to your voice?!" the priestess yells back.
"I said what I said. Had it not been for heathens like you who undermined the Grimleal's pledge with your little missions, Validar would have never garnered enough support from—!"
"Heathen?! At least I have a dogma and don't blindly follow people because I fear they'll put a dagger on my throat if I don't!" the priestess yells over her fellows. "And did we not see how Validar's little war went?! Instead of clinging on to life tooth and nail and biding our time until our Lord Grima returns, he went on some hare-brained scheme to speed up the process and look where it got us! The mere nerve to call me a—!"
"I have and I will!" the other Grimleal shoots back, equally venomous. "You and your little healers, twisting our Lord's words until we might as well rebrand ourselves as priests of Naga—"
"Insult me like this again and I'll march you to the table and cut your throat myself!"
"Lovely crowd," Robin mutters under his breath as they stop just out of the site of the entrance.
"I'll go in and calm them down," Tharja says, then smiles. "We can't have their little quarrels spoiling your grand entrance."
Robin makes a face, but unfortunately the veil obscures enough of him that Tharja only sees his eyes narrow.
Which is a shame. They've all been through enough by now, and Tharja thought that after Robin woke up from their final battle with Validar — which Robin would do, he had said so, he had promised them all he would do — they could finally step back and enjoy the rest of their short lives.
Not that she regrets spending this time with Robin, away from the Shepherds and working so closely together. But as always, Robin is too focused on his mission and fails to enjoy the simple things in life, such as that lovely outfit Tharja specifically prepared for him. She hopes he at least keeps it after this mission is done.
And what a strange turn of events this has all been... But Robin is still the same old Robin, even when he took her aside to 'tell her a secret', her heart fluttering as he opened all his eyes and told her he was Grima. Tharja never worshipped the Fell Dragon, nor did she care much for Gods, so Robin being one only added to his allure, not vice versa. She said as much, and Robin gave her one of these little embarrassed smiles that hold a special place in her heart. He is her fated one in more ways than one, though Tharja would still follow him if he wasn't Grima.
But Robin being Robin is why she still feels a nervous shiver rush past her as she approaches the entrance to the Dragon's Table. Robin bottles things up and stews them over, and that worries her sometimes. Tharja knows how awful that feels, and if there is one good thing that came out of her joining the Shepherds, is that she can let her hair down, metaphorically. But Robin can't exactly tell all those little Ylisseans he is the sworn enemy of Naga, so Tharja worries.
"And who are you?" a Grimleal asks, making Tharja focus on this little pathetic assembly of so-called faithful.
"A mere follower bearing good news," she says with a bow and a smile as the Grimleal stop arguing with each other and focus on her.
The head priest at the top of the table scoffs. "Unless the Yliseean palace has just gone up in flames with the new Exalt in it, I doubt it."
Tharja rises and doesn't bother hiding her wide smile. "Even better, milord. After all, even such grand structures will fall to decay and ruin, whereas our lord is eternal and undying."
She ignores their puzzled looks as she moves to the side to make way for Robin's entrance.
Though she knows what to expect, she can't help but grin as Robin silently walks into a crowd of puzzled looks. He still has his robe on and only two of his eyes are open, but magic coils around him, as if the very air is solidifying, and anyone who does not recognise it as Grima's is a fool.
The Grimleal dare not speak at the sudden intrusion, or at this supposed stranger walking past their assembly and towards the centre of the room, coming to stand by the very edge of the cracked mosaic.
"The Dragon's Table has seen better days," Robin calmly says as he lets his robe fall and pool to his feet. His wings unfurl from his back, a soft grey, brushed to perfection. Tharja holds back a wince as she recalls what a pain it was to get all the feathers in order and make him look less like a plucked chicken — though she appreciated the chance to let her hands freely roam on Robin's back.
Their confusion gives way to a mute realisation, as their eyes travel from his wings, to his face and finally to the brand on his ungloved hand.
The head priest at the table stands up, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. "And who are you, stranger?"
Robin turns back to face the man and opens the rest of his wonderful eyes. "Who do you think, my faithful?"
The magic that coils around him forms a mirage of Grima's dragon form, a malevolent serpentine shape with its eyes glowing in the same blood-red hue as Robin's. While the rest of the Grimleal gasp and mutter at the display, Tharja frowns. Robin's tone is carefully blank, and she knows that only happens when Robin wants to be cautious. A shame, since she thought he would find it fun to lord these idiots around.
The head priest is frozen in place, staring at Robin with wide eyes. "But that's not… We thought Validar..."
Tharja's lips curl at the mention of that name. Validar may have proclaimed himself to be Grima's most faithful follower, but he had hurt Robin so much.
Robin, to his credit, merely narrows his eyes at the mention of that man. "Validar was many things, a fool most of all... but he was of my lineage."
"T-then this is most excellent news! Oh Lord Grima, how long we've awaited your return!" the Head Priest says after a few moments of hesitation, joined by the other Grimleal. Tharja finds his smile wide and fake. "To celebrate your return, we will—"
"Don't," Robin cuts him off and they all go quiet. "What were you about to say? A feast in my honour?" His eyes crinkle in amusement. "Do I look like Naga to you?"
The Grimleal chokes on their own words. "N-never—"
"Good. I am here to give you orders and be on my way, not to make merry."
"Orders? We will follow anything you command of us, Lord, but we were under the impression that once you would awake—"
"I have plans. Ones you are not privy to."
"A-As you wish, milord—"
"I knew I was right for trusting in Validar," a Grimleal hisses, "and you all dared doubt me—"
"But, ultimately he failed me, and for what reason do you cling onto the memory of a sad dead man?" Robin cuts her off, and the Grimleal clamps her jaw shut.
"Still, his son..." the pudgy Grimleal speaks up, pressing himself against his seat once Robin turns his gaze on him. "He sides with the Ylisseans and just left with them back to—"
"My Heart is loyal," Robin evenly says. "He will ensure Ylisse does not attack Plegia."
His words are accompanied by murmurs, the Grimleal gossiping with each other, as if they are privy to some grand conspiracy. Tharja wants to laugh but keeps herself in check for Robin's sake.
"Ha!" the head priest eventually exclaims. "But of course! And your Heart will pave the way so that once we strike back those worms will cower..."
The head priest's words die in his mouth as the heavy atmosphere around the room becomes suffocating. Tharja feels it too, and she clutches her tome tighter, but does not blame Robin for it. The Grimleal are bloodthirsty idiots, and the mere idea of Plegia waging another war with Ylisse is enough to fill her with dread. They've all had enough.
"If you seek death so eagerly, then throw yourself off this tower before plunging this region into another war." When the head priest doesn't respond, Robin turns to fully face him and his wings extend. "Or offer yourself to me and I'll do so in your stead."
"Milord! I—"
"I sense hesitation..." Robin innocently says with a tilt of his head as he approaches the head priest. "Which is not what you felt while so eagerly planning for the deaths of thousands of your people, is it?" The man stays stuck to his chair as Robin reaches its back and leans close to him. "Do you value your life above theirs, Grimleal?" His fingers curl around the wooden back like claws. "Do you think you are exempt from the ultimate destruction that awaits all?"
The man wilts under the Fell Dragon's six-eyed gaze. He's gone awfully pale and Tharja fears his heart will give out here and there and even further complicate things.
But it will be fun.
"And what of the son of Naga and that damned exalted bloodline?" a small-framed Grimleal asks, sitting on the opposite side of the table.
Two sets of Robin's eyes switch to the new speaker as he stands up straight. "Leave them be. They're of no threat."
"But they—"
The third pair of Robin's eyes swivel to the small-framed Grimleal. "They're of no threat. Will I have to repeat myself a third time?"
He's met with silence.
"There will be no war with Ylisse," Robin continues as he walks down the table, each Grimleal stiffening as he pauses them by. "Let the Naga's followers obsess over their absent goddess until their kingdom only exists in the annals of history. They have just begun to see the errors of their ways, and they will try to make amends."
A Grimleal huffs. "As if we'll accept charity from those heathens."
Robin makes no motion to show he heard them. Instead he keeps walking down the table, passing by raised shoulders and furtive glances, until he stops by the wrinkled priestess at the very end. "You. Grimleal."
"Milord Grima," she says with a deep bow.
"I heard your shouting as I was approaching. You have an... interesting view of my dogma."
Like her compatriots, the priestess goes pale under Robin's gaze, but her clenched jaw is all that gives away her fear.
"I am simply following the doctrine of my sect, Lord Grima," she carefully begins, and stares straight ahead, not looking up to Robin. "Those less attune your teachings," she glances around the table, "view our mission as foolish and counterintuitive, but we see through the hidden meanings and untold truths."
"Oh? And what is that, Grimleal?"
The priestess hesitates and swallows before her expression hardens and she stands up and shouts: "We may be rats, but when wars end rats are all that remain!"
She's met with silence and her composure falters. The head priest is looking between her and Grima with an amused look, perhaps glad he is not the one who has to suffer his master's wrath.
Robin lets out a short, barked laugh that has everyone at the table even more unnerved, but which Tharja finds downright adorable. "And what else do rats do, my dear priestess?"
The priestess lets out a small, self-satisfied smile before she pauses in thought. "They... eat what they can. They never let go of an opportunity."
The veil shifts as Robin smiles. "Exactly. And now that Plegia is starving, Ylisse will offer a buffet in goodwill. So make good use of it while it lasts and get this country back on its feet."
The priestess nods. "Though I'm afraid this will take time. Plegia is lacking in many things, among them a ruler, and we're not making much progress on that end."
"Lord Grima," the head priest speaks up, having regained some of his previous colour. "Following the chain of command under Validar, I am next in line for leadership of your sect." He gives Robin a deep bow. "With your blessing, I will take up my post—"
"I see," Robin cuts him off and the man goes silent. "Interesting, especially since it was under Validar's watchful gaze that Gangrel took the throne, his schemes notwithstanding."
"That usurper! He—"
"Rallied the people, who opposed you, because of your sorry state of affairs," Robin evenly says. "I don't see the issue here. They were more, you were less. Or do you also think of yourself as special, worm?"
The man struggles to form an answer. "No, milord."
"Again, your words lack conviction. What a sad state of affairs indeed..." Robin lets out a sigh before turning to the wrinkled Grimleal. "Priestess." She perks up, equal parts eager and terrified. "You're the only one here with some inkling of understanding of my words, so, you will take command of the Grimleal for now."
Tharja wishes she had some way of permanently putting reality to paper so that she could capture this moment. The scandalised expressions of the head priest, the priestess caught between joy and shock, and Robin amongst them all looking perfectly composed.
"Now, if that's all. I have other business to attend to. Until you hear from me again, you follow her." Robin's eyes narrow and his wings give off a nervous twitch. "Of course, if there are any disagreements that lead to a 'change of leadership', then I will consider this whole enterprise a sham and raze it to the ground."
"... Milord?" A Grimleal asks, confused.
"If one of you idiots tries to assassinate her, I will drag you to the Dragon's Table, disembowel you and gorge myself on your remains," Robin evenly says and every Grimleal shrinks in their seats, priestess included. "Consider it a mercy that I have not already done so after some of your pathetic performances. Understood?"
They all nod like scolded schoolchildren.
"Good. I'll return, but until I do, remember this," Robin says as he approaches Tharja's side, sparing one last chance at the assembly. "As the priestess says, you're all rats scurrying for survival. So do not delude yourselves by thinking your lives have any more value to me than the most wretched beggar."
\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/
As soon as they are out of earshot, Robin's shoulders sag and he lets out a deep exhale. "I think that went well. I didn't lay it too thick, did I?"
"That went great," Tharja says with barely hidden glee. "Oh Robin, you should let that side of yours out more often..."
"I'd rather not," Robin curtly says, and Tharja hides her disappointed pout. She's known all along that Robin had a dark side to him, but she only saw glimpses of it during his riskier plans, where he would use Shepherds as bait, or choose one of them over the other when sending out the healers. It's a side she quite likes.
Robin keeps a steady pace as they descend the tower and brings up his hood. Again, they encounter no guards. "We should keep an eye on them just in case, make sure they don't try a sneak attack on Chrom, or on Ylisse..." he trails off with a huff. "Or me."
"They wouldn't dare," Tharja immediately says. "I'd kill them first."
"And I'm glad to have you on my side as well," Robin quietly says, and Tharja feels her face heat up.
She's trying to come up with a way to respond when a blur rushes up the stairs and catches them both by the shoulders.
"Wow, that was amazing!" Henry says as he pats down his dishevelled robes. "My friends told me the whole story, and boy, everyone's faces when you told that head priest to kill himself! A shame he was too much of a coward to actually go ahead and do it!"
"Good to see you too, Henry. Are we being followed?"
"We will be soon! Everyone's scrambling to get their spies to follow us! That head priest already has a couple of tricksters on the way, and the old lady's got another old cleric-looking dude stationed by the entrance."
"I'll cast a hex to obscure us," Tharja offers. "I've already done so that they can't hear us."
"I'll get on distracting them then!" Henry adds, then sighs. "A shame we can't stay here longer."
Robin slows his pace, and a few seconds later Henry and Tharja follow suit. She looks back to see him slightly apologetic, though it's hard to tell with the veil.
"You two can stay if you want. I don't expect there to be another conflict between Ylisse and Plegia, and I don't mean to drag you along the continent again..."
"Ha! As if I'd have this kind of fun with anyone else!" Henry quickly says.
"I will always stay by your side, Robin," Tharja agrees.
Robin stares at them for a long second before his eyes wrinkle and his cheeks shift in a hidden smile. "Thank you."
That expression, combined with the memory of him towering over that poor Grimleal, makes Tharja realise she quite likes Robin's softer side too.
\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/
Next chapter will be up next Saturday, stay tuned. Reviews are appreciated.
Find me SleepDeprivedFemale on tumblr, Sleepy#3903 on discord, where I'm always up for a chat