Birth and Re-Death

Chapter 20: The Dishes Don't Do Themselves

"Chrom, you've gotta be kidding me!" Lissa shouts. "This is not necessary!"

Chrom stands firm, arms crossed. "Yes, it is. Apparently being a member of the Exalted family guarded by the elite pegasus knight brigade wasn't enough to keep Emm safe, so as far as I'm concerned, having just one bodyguard is, if anything, not enough."

She turns to Lon'qu. "And you don't have any issue with this?"

He very pointedly doesn't make eye contact with her. "I have my orders. That's all that matters."

Lissa looks again at Chrom. "And why Lon'qu anyway? He can't stand me. He can't stand women in general!"

Chrom points at her. "Exactly. He's the most diligent of all the Shepherds outside of Frederick, and he's apparently the only man around that's completely immune to your charms, so I doubt you'll be able to slip him as easily as one of these other goons." I could swear I see a shadow of a smirk on his face. Man's gotta get his kicks from somewhere, I guess.

I don't doubt he's driving himself insane just waiting to go. While he was initially ready to fly out the door, Robin had to borderline-shout him down and make him agree to wait a day so that she could draw up some preliminary plans for the march down to Plegia. We've now been in Ný Von for two days longer than Chrom wanted to be. I feel for him.

That said, I'm not going to miss my chance to explore the city while there's time. I had to miss our last trip here, after all. First stop? Why, in the arena, of course!

"To survive you must defeat the beast, but only if you can defeat the beast within," I mumble to myself as I amble down the cobblestone path from the palace to the Arena Ferox. Sometimes it's the little things, like dumb little YouTube cartoons, that I miss most.

The arena is massive, ornate, and surprisingly open. The game gives the impression that the arena is a really important building to the Feroxi culture, so I figured there might be some security of some sort, or at least a door, but in fact the whole structure is open to the public. When I enter through one of the gargantuan stone arches, I see that the entire arena floor is covered with merchant stands and carts. Seems that when there isn't an official tournament or something going on, this place doubles as an open-air marketplace.

I remember something I've been meaning to buy when I pass by a small weapons stand. I browse through his selection, eventually finding what I was looking for: a small, easily concealed knife. Much too small to use in combat, of course, but with a blade of just a few inches, I should be able to keep it on my person at all times. I need something like this, just in case I ever need to make a… quick exit stage left. Satisfied with my purchase, I look around some more, seeing what else people are selling.

Up ahead, a teal head of hair stands out among the mostly blonde and brown. Looks like Virion is here with… actually, I have no idea who that is. As I approach, Virion makes a sort of sending-off gesture, and the other guy leaves, making haste for one of the arena's arches to leave.

I raise a hand in greeting. "Yo, Virion!"

He turns, smiling like a movie star. "Ah, Randall. I wondered if any of the other Shepherds would make an attempt to come visit the arena when it's not tournament season. The meat provided by these northern butchers alone makes it worth the trip, as far as I am concerned."

I nod in the direction of the arch that guy left out of. "Who was your friend there?"

His face falls. "I was hoping to keep that little interaction a secret."

"How come?"

He gestures for me to follow, so I allow him to lead me to a more secluded area near the edge of the arena. Once we're there, he leans in conspiratorially.

"The truth is, there is more to my story than you know," he says quietly.

"Like what?" I ask. Is this the part where I find out who that contact he had in Ylisse was? Maybe get some explanation for that whole attempted-assassination debacle?

He sighs. "The truth is, I am not from this continent. I was, ahem, am, the rightful ruler of the small nation of Roseanne. Perhaps you're familiar with it?"

Wait. Is that the whole secret? I already knew that! How lame. I guess I should still act surprised. The rest of the Shepherds aren't supposed to know that for another couple years, now that I think about it.

"Yeah, I'm familiar with it. You're the duke of Roseanne?" I ask, attempting to sound like I'm covering shock in my reaction.

He nods gravely. "Of course, I don't need to tell you why I'm not there now, do I?"

That's right; I'm supposed to be Valmese too. I wonder how best to express my understanding. Eventually I settle for: "... Walhart?"

Seems like that was the right answer. He nods again. "Unfortunately, there is little I can do for my people when the Conqueror has the momentum that he's gained. One by one, the tiny nations of Valm are falling. So, I'm here to gain allies from across the sea. I didn't expect to get pulled into another war here, so my timetable has been regrettably moved back."

"So I take it that guy was one of your informants or something?" I ask.

"More of a courier. I try to keep in touch with my faithful servant, currently watching over my people in my place. He's sending a message on my status to her."

"Gotcha." Something's still bugging me, though. I decide I will ask about it. "So why tell me this? I only asked a little question about that guy. You could've probably just lied and said he was a street peddler or something, right?"

He looks at me seriously. "You've already been exposed to some of my dealings that I've kept out of the public eye. And I see in your expression, you are a shrewd one yourself. I have already determined that you can keep a secret, as our little escapade outside Ylisstol remains unknown to our Shepherd compatriots, so I thought it better to simply let you know than have the risk of you telling someone who might not take to it so kindly if I didn't simply answer honestly."

I shrug. "Makes sense to me." I spot a distinctly blue glint of light out of the corner of my eye. "Speaking of, act natural. Frederick is coming this way."

Virion's face very briefly pales, but he regains composure quickly. I suppose even someone as sharp as the duke has to admit Frederick is pretty scary.

I decide it's better to preempt the knight's approach, though. While he's still maybe twenty feet away, I wave him over. "Hey Frederick! What's up?" I say, mustering all the cheer I can manage.

"What are the pair of you doing here?" he asks, his suspicion very poorly masked.

"Hello to you as well. I agree, it is a very nice day," I say a little crossly. I know he's not our biggest fan, but could he at least fake it for once? "We were talking about the last time the Shepherds were here. It's hard to picture this arena totally emptied out for a big fight, let alone picturing you guys fighting for an audience here."

Frederick hesitates for a moment. Is it possible he might be buying it?

It hits me just how often I've been having to lie to the Shepherds just to stay afloat. It's a little scary how good I'm getting at lying off the cuff.

As if to prove my point, Frederick gives a small 'hmph' and starts to walk away. However, after a moment he stops, looking back over his shoulder at us. "If the pair of you are idling, I could certainly use some assistance with buying and loading the supplies we are going to need for the long march south. Come with me."

And that's how Virion and I get roped into spending the rest of our day carrying heavy sacks and crates of supplies from the arena to the palace, where our carts and wagons still wait. Because we are going to be marching through the vast Plegian desert (which I could not be more excited about, by the way), we are especially stocking up on water, which is a massive drag to carry all the way from the arena. I try to move the wagon from the palace to the arena to make the trip much easier, but as it turns out, I have no idea how to work a horse, so getting the wagon hitched and the horse in motion is out of the question too.

In other words, by the end of the day, Virion and I are pretty well pooped. Why do I feel like we were being punished for something? I'm going to have to do something to win Frederick over soon, or things could get out of hand. What can I actually do, though?

I guess his opinion of Robin in particular might be softening a bit, as he didn't protest to her planning the rescue operation for Emmeryn. Maybe in her case, her usefulness overshadows her suspiciousness. Which would suggest that Virion and I are being regarded as comparatively useless. Fun.

At this particular moment, though, that's no lie: we're so worn out that we are essentially useless. That's why when Lissa finds us, we are both slumped helplessly against the wagon we just got done overstuffing with drinking water barrels.

"What are you guys doing?" she asks.

I throw an arm in the air in an attempt to make some sort of gesture. "Weeargh," I say thoughtfully. Beside me, Virion groans in agreement.

"Are you okay?" she asks, but she can't hide the smile forming behind the question.

"I am… dead," I say with finality. Beside me, Virion groans in agreement.

She turns to Virion. "And I take it you're dead as well?"

He musters a grim look. "As dead as I've ever been, milady." Beside him, I groan in agreement.

"Alrighty then. Frederick suggested you guys might want some of this after the day you've had," she replies, tossing a small vial of vulnerary to me. I fumble with it for a moment before finally securing my hold on it. Without hesitation, I open the vial and take a swallow.

Drinking vulnerary is kind of weird. It has the consistency of watered-down raw egg whites, but it tastes more like if there was a drink flavored after rosemary. You feel the solution tingle all the way down your throat as the body hungrily absorbs the healing remedy and, I assume, takes it straight to the bloodstream so it can be distributed to the entire body. As a result, the whole body very quickly feels warm and prickly, like when a hand or foot falls asleep and has to wake up as it regains circulation. When the prickling feeling is gone, though, you're left feeling refreshed and revitalized. While it's not good for healing serious wounds all at once, like a healing staff can, it's certainly more than enough to take care of the muscular fatigue we feel.

After a couple minutes, we feel like ourselves again. We both stand up, stretching our arms and legs to try and ease some of the lingering soreness.

"Surprisingly nice of Frederick," I say.

Lissa laughs. "I'd agree. I suppose I didn't give you the whole story. It's more like, once I heard what he had you and Virion doing all day, and he suggested you guys were probably good and miserable by now, I maaay have convinced him to give you two something for your trouble."

Virion and I share a look. He speaks up. "In that case, you have our thanks as well, Your Highness. It is certainly an appreciated gesture after the, ahem, trying day we've had."

She giggles. "You're welcome, then."

Behind Lissa, I hear a slight cough. I peek over her shoulder and see, about fifteen feet away, Lon'qu standing there, arms crossed, looking pretty sullen. I look at Lissa again. "So, how's the new arrangement? You like having a bodyguard?" I ask.

The smile melts from her face. "I didn't realize when Chrom said he'd be with me at all waking hours, he meant literally all hours! I'm not even allowed to go to the latrine without him standing guard outside! Now, all of this might not be so bad if," she turns around to deliver this next part to Lon'qu, "he ever actually said anything."

Lon'qu says levelly, "My duty is to guard, not to make conversation."

I raise a brow at Lissa. "He's got a point, you know."

She groans. "Anyway, you guys loaded up all the extra supplies for the trip south, right?"

I nod. "We might have been reduced to overcooked pasta by the end, but we got the job done."

"Looks like we're ready to go at first light tomorrow, then," she says.

"You ready for this? It could get intense out there," I say, clapping a hand on her shoulder. I see Lon'qu twitch for a moment, but he decides against making a move on me. I'm thankful for it. Looks like he's taking this job seriously after all.

Lissa's face darkens a little. "Do you think it'll be okay? Trying to rescue Emm, I mean. Can we do it?"

I'm torn on what I think the actual truth is, but I know what Lissa needs to hear for now. "I trust Robin to lead us to success. We can save her."

She does her best to smile. "Right. She hasn't let us down once yet. We can count on her," she says, seemingly more to herself than to me.

Virion speaks beside me. "Well Randall, I am unsure about you, but as for me, I am truly famished. Shall we see what the Feroxi royal kitchen has cooked up tonight?"

My stomach growls its response. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

Lissa holds up a hand. "Actually Virion, I just remembered something else. Can you give us a minute? We won't be long."

Virion bows graciously. "Of course. I will go ahead, then," he says, turning to walk inside the palace.

Lissa glances behind her. "I don't suppose you're willing to give us some space?" she asks Lon'qu.

He frowns. "I follow orders. If necessary, you can order my silence from me as well."

She waves a hand. "Whatever. As if anyone needs to order you to keep quiet." She turns back to me. "Okay, I just wanted to make sure you're doing okay."

I cock my head to the side. "Whatcha mean? I'm fine."

"I mean you and Maribelle. I know you haven't been on the best terms since your date went a little awry back in Darros Town." She's not lying. Things with Maribelle have been, I guess I'll say tense. Ever since the date went to hell the other night, we have spoken as little as possible, which most days amounts to no speaking at all. "To be honest, I'm a little worried about her."

"Because of that?" I ask. "We're just giving the fight some distance and some air before we come back together." That's what I've been telling myself, anyway.

"I mean, there's that, but lately it seems like she doesn't want to talk to me about much either. I would understand if she doesn't want to talk about you or the fight or whatever, but it seems like she's been more distant in general lately, and that's a little worrying to me. I was hoping you might, I dunno, check in with her, see if there's something she'll tell you that she's keeping from everyone else."

I nod. "I understand. I think she and I are probably due for a talk anyway."

Lissa smiles that easygoing smile of hers, seemingly relieved by my promise. "Thanks, Randy."

I've been trying to figure out exactly what the problem is, but it's a little tough as it feels like this whole fight just came out of nowhere. I get that she feels like I don't trust her, but by now it should be pretty evident that I would literally trust her with my life. If anything, I feel like she's the one who didn't trust me enough to tell me there was a problem in the first place. If she had an issue with my talk with Robin, which she shouldn't have been listening in on anyway, by the way, then she should have said something directly to me instead of just letting it stew all day and then blowing up at dinner. In both versions of that day that I lived through, she never just told me what she was upset about during the whole day's hike, until of course it all boiled over on our date.

I take a breath. Try to see things from her perspective. Of course she'd be upset if I tell her nothing's wrong, but then go off to another woman and spill my guts about what's been bothering me for a while now. She doesn't see that as me trying to spare her from further worry; she obviously feels like instead it's me shutting her out. She might be a chronic over-worrier, but that's just her way of feeling in control of her life.

The question is whether I think I can deal with that. I don't have a satisfactory answer to that one yet.

Regardless, I'm standing outside her door, trying to find the guts to knock. Despite what I told Lissa about giving this some space, I'm starting to think it's a little less like giving a wound time to heal and a little more like leaving the dishes in the sink for another day. The dishes don't do themselves, and things start to go bad in the meantime. As a result, I'm a little apprehensive about just diving in.

No time like the present, I guess. These dishes aren't going to do themselves. I can't believe that's the metaphor I'm going with. I knock anyway. I hear movement behind the door, but after a minute or so I determine she isn't coming.

"Hey, Maribelle? It's me. Can we talk about some stuff?" I ask.

…

Nothing.

Welp, I guess it can't be helped. I'm not about to go barging into her room. I turn around and start heading back to my own room.

Before I get too far, though, I hear the door open behind me.

"Randy?" a shaky voice calls into the hallway. That's her, alright. I turn around.

I'll try to be gentle about this. She looks like a mess. Her hair, uncurling at the ends, lies at untidy angles, and her pajamas are all twisted on her body as if she's been rolling around in them. Her eyes are tired and red.

"Hey," I say, stepping back toward her. She slips inside the door, gesturing with a hand for me to follow. As I enter, she shuts the door behind me.

Now that I'm standing closer to her, it's obvious that she's been crying. "Are you okay, Maribelle?" I ask.

"Oh, now you want me to share my worries?" she asks, but it's more of a jab than a question.

I sigh. "Please, let's not do this. We need to work some stuff out."

"Shouldn't we be focusing on the march to Plegia? Things are going to be very busy from tomorrow on," she says sullenly, sitting on her bed. She doesn't protest when I sit beside her.

"I agree, it's going to get busy. That's why we need to talk about this stuff now, when there's a little time left to us."

She sniffs. "Fine. Then how would you like to begin this conversation?"

"I should probably open with an apology. It wasn't cool of me to tell you nothing was wrong when I've had such serious stuff on my mind. Not when you trusted me to come to you. I know I've been shutting you out with that stuff, and I'm sorry," I say, looking at my knees.

"...I should apologize as well. Not only for eavesdropping, but also for my behavior at Maria's. It was unbecoming, and I ought to have known better," she says.

"There. Now we've gotten off on the right foot. So let's air out some of these worries, eh?"

"How do you mean?"

"I guess we can start with why it matters to you so much that I tell you everything I worry about."

"Because I care about you. And we're a couple. Isn't that what couples do?" she asks.

I shrug. "Not really, no. People need space, Mari. Sometimes people have to deal with issues in their own way, and that might involve not talking about them with others, or even specific people. Couples that get too into each other's business end up burning out, in my experience."

She takes this in. "I see. Was I wrong to worry, then?"

"No, that's not it. Worrying is natural, and you can't really help that much. But how you deal with worry and how others do might be different, and that's important."

"I… will try, then," she replies. "Now, my turn. Why Robin? Why was she the person you felt you could open up to?"

I shift uneasily. I figured this would come up. "I wish I knew. She just has this air about her. Or maybe it was that we were alone on the night watch, and I was tired and worn out. In any case, I just had this feeling that she would get it. That if anyone would understand what I was going through with how killing feels, it would be her."

Her voice is a little louder now. "And why don't you think that about me?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"How could you think I wouldn't understand you? We spent so much time together, in Themis. We worked together almost every day. We…" she falters. "We saw such terrible things together."

Would you be sad if we died?

I think I'm beginning to understand what this might really be about.

"We really did see some awful shit, huh?" I say, scooting closer and draping an arm around her shoulder. Something in the gesture seems to break down her composure, and a sob busts through. Followed by another, and then the tears and snot start flowing freely as she bawls into my shoulder. I turn slightly and pull her in for a proper hug.

I remember back in Ylisstol, when Gaius told me she had called me to her room. When I got there, she acted like nothing was wrong, but I could tell she had been crying. How long has this been going on?

"I still see it, Randy," she sobs. "Almost every night, every time I close my eyes. I see Melinda's head being thrown as if it were a rotten pumpkin in front of us. I see Isadora heaving Jackson's axe. I hear her screams. Calling out for her baby. I see Aversa, grinning as she cuts her down. I can't stop seeing it."

I don't think I can keep this to myself anymore. "I… see them too, Maribelle. I dream of them all the time. I do my best not to think about them, but I can't not think about them at night."

She snorts and wipes her eyes with her nightgown's sleeves, pulling back enough to look at my face. "You see them too?"

I'm narrowly managing not to cry myself. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I haven't been sleeping so well lately."

Neither of us say anything for a very long moment. Finally she speaks up. "I'm… I won't say I'm glad that you're haunted by this as well, but… I'm glad I'm not doing this alone."

I squeeze her hands. "You don't have to do any of this alone. Whatever happens, I'm here."

Tears continue to pool in her eyes. "Thank you, Randy."

I try my best to smile. "Of course."

She looks down and off to the side for a moment. Then, looking back in my eyes, she says, "And then, even once we were freed from that Plegian dungeon, it seems you cannot stop narrowly brushing with death. From mages attacking you, to getting hit with axes, to falling off cliffs, to getting stabbed in the back, it seems that death is pursuing you more fervently than anyone. It… it feels as if the world won't be satisfied until it takes even that last piece of my home at Themis away from me. I won't let it. I won't let you… No. I will always protect you, no matter what. I won't let you be taken from me too."

I briefly consider telling her about my power. That no matter what, I won't be able to actually die on her. But somehow, that not only seems like it wouldn't fly, but it also feels like it would be just putting a Band-Aid on a much bigger wound.

A thought comes to me. I don't like it, but I think it, and as the seconds tick by, I think it more and more. I'm terrified of what she might say if I ask this. I don't want to believe that what I'm thinking is true. I really don't want to. But I have to know. "Maribelle, I need you to be honest with me."

She nods. "Of course."

"Do you… actually love me? I mean, as a person, not just someone you feel like you have to protect?"

She looks like I just stabbed her. "What do you mean? Of course I do!"

Why am I doing this? I'm the one who fell for her in the first place. "If you weren't so paranoid about me dying. If you weren't haunted by this tragedy we witnessed together. If we hadn't gotten together riding on the high of yet another close call with death. If you weren't so… fine, I'll say it, kind of obsessed with keeping me safe. Would you have fallen for me? Have you just mistaken fear of losing me for love?"

She looks like I just twisted the knife. "I… I don't…"

This is killing me. But I have to do this. I can't just drop this now.

"Is the reason that we seem to fight so much when we aren't in combat because you really care about me most when you think I'm in danger? Is the reason you always want to know about my worries because you feel like you have to constantly check on my safety?" I ask.

Her grip on my hands tightens. "This…"

I decide to press this. Even if it's tearing my fucking heart out to do it. Now that I can see the truth peeking from behind her expression, I can't unsee it. "This isn't healthy, Maribelle. We aren't healthy, together like this. Are we?"

She's quiet for a long time. Her hands are wrapped so tightly around mine that I can feel her pulse with my fingertips.

"...No. We aren't. We probably never have been. Not since Themis was attacked. We tried to move on from that too quickly, and as a result I ended up running myself into the ground. I wanted so badly for you to admit that their deaths still stay with you, to prove to myself that it wasn't just me. To justify my grief."

"Of course they stayed with me. No matter how much I try to leave it behind. And you don't need me to justify anything. They were like family– no, they were family to you. Anyone would have to grieve after something like that. I'm sorry if you felt like I was being flippant or dismissive about it. I'm pretty… I guess private about that sort of thing."

"Well, I can see that now," she says, a sad smile forming on her face. "It means a lot to me that you would talk about it with me anyway."

"I wish it weren't like this," I say, unable to meet her eye. "I wish we could have saved them. We could have grown closer, not through tragedy, but through working together. Spending happy days learning from each other."

"We still can!" she says, sounding almost desperate. "I can tell what you're thinking, but does it have to be like this? Couldn't we start over?"

I give a small, bitter laugh. "After everything we've said. Everything we've done. The things that still linger with us. There's definitely no starting over. Maribelle, you don't even love me. You had yourself convinced you love me because it's the way you made sense of wanting to look after me so much."

"I can learn to love you! I can learn not to worry, not to cling to you so tightly. We're not healthy now, but we can heal!" She's crying again.

I don't know. I hate this. I do love her. I'm sure of that. And I can tell she's not lying. She does want to love me.

But she doesn't. She's basically asking my permission to let her fake it until she means it. To lie to herself, and really to me too, until she believes it.

"Maribelle… I can't ask you to do that," I say finally.

"You don't have to ask. I'm offering," she counters.

"Let me rephrase, then. I can't let you do that," I say, more firmly.

"Randy, you're making me break your heart! And that's breaking mine! We can try again!" she bawls.

This sucks. This really sucks. I sigh. "Look. Maybe, in the future, when this war is over. When we can finally take a real breath. When we have time to actually move past this. That might be a time we could revisit… us. But if you asked me to take part in a relationship that starts with insincere feelings… I just can't be part of that. I know that you do care about me. I won't try to deny that. But if you don't actually love me outside of your fear that I'm going to die too, then that's it."

"But I do love the things we've done together. The singing, the dancing, the laughter. I've loved the time we spent together. Isn't that enough?" she asks.

"I don't want to discount those memories. They'll always be precious to me," I say, wiping some tears from her face. "And we don't have to leave that behind. But if you think we can do it, I'd like to make more memories. As friends, as allies, and as healers. It's not just our job to stitch people back together. We have to help each other heal too. And sometimes healing means opening up an old wound and clearing out the bad shit underneath. But we have to do this right. Can we do that?"

"But Randy… You do love me. You're giving up on this, even though you don't have to," she says quietly.

I give a small shrug. "Wouldn't be the first time. And you're wrong, Maribelle. I'm not giving up on anything. If I let this relationship continue on a foundation that isn't true, that would be giving up. On my convictions. On what I know is right. And like I said, maybe this doesn't have to be forever."

"Just… promise me you'll be okay," she says. "You already know that's what I care about."

I smile as best I can, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Of course I'll be okay. I'm me, right?"

She laughs. "I suppose so." She looks me in the eyes. "Will you… stay with me until I fall asleep?"

I nod. "Of course."

She lies down, pulling the blankets up over herself and dousing her lamp. I remain seated on the side of her bed. We remain silent. After a couple minutes, her hand absently searches around for mine, eventually finding it. I allow her to hold my hand until her breathing becomes deep and even. I stay for maybe five more minutes. When I stand up and slowly, gently pull my hand from her grip, her fingers grasp at the blanket, pulling it into a tight bunch at her side. I slip outside her door as quietly as I can.

I walk down to the opposite end of the hall, where the room I've been sleeping in is. I picked this room to give myself some distance from Maribelle when we were still on poor speaking terms.

That was not how I thought that conversation was going to go when I walked in.

I did the right thing, didn't I?

I remember the small knife I bought earlier today. It's not too late to undo this.

I slide the little blade out of its sheath. Standing in front of the mirror, I hold it up to my throat. I press the point against the skin, stretching it but not yet puncturing.

"You're such a fucking idiot," I growl at my reflection. He grimaces back. "Look what you've done."

It would be so easy to go back. I can fix this. I can undo everything.

A bead of blood pokes out of the skin.

No, I can't. I can't undo everything. I could, at most, undo today. The problems that are there would still be there. I'd be throwing the skin back over the wound without clearing out the infection. Just leaving it to fester. It really is better like this. At least for now.

I throw the knife aside.

I hope it's better like this, anyway.

Several days of snow. Very little interesting stuff happens during this time, as every day goes a little something like this:

First: Wake up. Pack everything up, making a nominal effort to keep the snow out of my pack. It doesn't help. Eat whatever breakfast someone has cooked up. The first two bites are hot. The next two are warm. The rest is cold. Help pack up the rest of the caravan. Get on the road.

Then: Walk. Walk some more. When that's done, walk. Stop for food at some point. Walk again. I can't get into the medical supply wagon as often anymore, as the added weight would make the cart wear the horses out in snow this deep.

Next: Stop to set up camp, making a nominal effort to keep the snow off of my sleeping mat. It doesn't help. Eat whatever dinner someone has cooked up. The first two bites are hot. The next two are warm. The rest is cold.

Finally: Go to bed.

Bonus: If it's my night, go to watch. Make small talk about how cold it is with the other watchmates.

Everyone's so hell-bent on staying warm and getting this trip over with that no real conversation happens. On the plus side, it's kept rumors about me and Maribelle to a minimum. On the other hand, it also means every day is oppressively boring.

The first day that breaks up the monotony is the day we get to the Longfort. I had forgotten that the Longfort literally stretches clean across the southern border, so I was initially surprised when we saw it this far to the west. We are allowed to pass through without incident, I assume because we have a couple khans with us. That's pretty nice.

Not that the weather is any gentler on the Plegian side. Several more days of snow, except we now adopt these new steps:

First: Be on constant lookout not only for Risen, but also for Plegian soldiers, Plegian civilians, or basically anything. No telling who might be hostile.

Next: The bonus step is no longer bonus. The size of the watch is doubled, which means we all have a shift of watch every night.

Still, there is one nice thing about coming to Plegia: pretty soon after we cross the border, the snow and wind start to lighten up considerably. Within a couple days, I would go so far as to say it's downright temperate again.

Maribelle and I do talk occasionally, but it's undeniably stunted. Uncomfortable. I'm not really surprised. This is definitely going to take some getting used to. Of course, the rumor that we've formally split has spread by now, so it's a lot harder to talk to her when we feel so many eyes on us. I assume it's the sort of problem that gets better with time.

One day we come to the top of a particularly tall hill, and on the other side I can only see water stretching out south, east, and west as far as I can see from here. Well, with the exception of a massive stone bridge that stretches to the horizon.

Huh. That's weird. I don't remember the Shepherds crossing an ocean at this point in the game. I also wonder how long a bridge would have to be to span the ocean. I try to remember what the world map looked like. Giving up, I ask the person nearest to me what we're looking at.

Stahl tells me it's the narrowest part of Lake Medeus. I tell him that's a really weird name for a lake. He tells me the Plegians have a weird sense of humor. Since the lake is pretty much entirely in Plegia's land holdings, though, no one is allowed to have a say in what it's called except them.

So yeah. They named the lake after the ancient evil Earth Dragon. Apparently most Ylisseans just call it "The Western Lake."

I'm surprised when Robin tells us all to disarm and stow the weapons in the carts, as well as having all our armored units remove their armor. It seems our plan is to try to pass as a merchant caravan just crossing the lake peacefully, so as to get one of the bridge guards to allow us to use the bridge to get across. As for what the entirety of the Feroxi military is meant to do to get past this lake, that's apparently not for me to know.

I would learn much later that they just went far, far around. They marched east around the lake through Ylisse and entered Plegia through their eastern border, which explains why they were precisely no help in Chapter 8 in the game. I guess their plan is to ambush the Plegians from two fronts when we get to the capital. As for why we all didn't just go that way, Robin wanted to be sure that we were absolutely going to make it in time, so we took the most direct path.

Which includes getting access to this bridge.

When we get to the guardhouse, a guy with a spear and a pretty ridiculous helmet stops us.

"Hold there. State your identities and your business," he says in a firm, gravelly voice.

Chrom and Robin step forward. At least Chrom had the good sense to cover his Brand with a brown cloak. Robin speaks up. "We are simply travelers making our way south. After stocking up on supplies from near the Feroxi border, we are looking to make some trades in the south."

The guard raises a brow. "And what are you selling?"

"Metalworks. Nails, tools, that sort of thing," Robin replies levelly.

"And you said you're Plegian?" he asks.

Chrom jumps in. "Y-yes! Plegian as the day I was born."

The guard's eyes narrow. "Neither of you sound very Plegian. Can I see your merchant's license? You'd definitely have to have one for a caravan this large."

Even from behind, I notice Chrom conspicuously stiffen. However, Robin nods. "Of course. Let me show you."

She walks up to the guard and reaches into her sleeve, pulling something only part of the way out. Just as I'm starting to wonder when the hell someone made time to falsify a license, I notice the yellow color of the thing she slipped out of her massive coat's sleeve. Looks like our resident Thunder mage is going for a less diplomatic approach after all. I hope the two archers up in their short towers flanking the entrance to the bridge don't notice anything.

I can't make out what she says to him, and I can't make out her expression from this angle, but after about ten seconds he says, too loudly and too robotically, "Ah yes, these appear to be in order. You may proceed, miss!"

She steps back, beaming. "Thank you, sir! Everyone, let's make haste!" she calls, and we all get moving onto the bridge.

Damn Robin, you scary.

The moment we get out of earshot of the guards, Robin commands us, "Get your weapons back out and ready to go, right now. I don't want to be caught by surprise if our friends at the entrance change their minds." Immediately we all re-equip our weapons, keeping them at the ready for an attack from behind.

However, we don't get any visit from the guards.

"Jeez, Robin, I know you threatened him with the tome or whatever, but what did you say to him?" I ask as everyone starts to lower their guard.

She winks. "It's a little secret, between me and that guard back there."

"Uh huh. Remind me never to get on your bad side, okay?" I say, taking a big step away from her.

The rest of the crossing is uneventful. Fortunately, once we cross through the guard checkpoint on the other side, they're much more willing to believe Robin's lie. Or hell, maybe she sent them telepathic death threats or something. In any case, we manage to officially cross Lake Medeus without a major incident. Merry early Christmas, I guess.

Within half a day of crossing the bridge, the terrain becomes noticeably less green over time. Soon, lush grasses and plains give way to spiky shrubs, which in turn give way to sand. Looks like we made it to the Border Sands at last.

Before we enter into the desert proper, Miriel has us all don flowing, loose robes and hoods. According to her research, that's the best way to keep cool and insulated without getting burned in the desert. Makes sense to me. For my part, the robes I already wear are pretty well fit for the job, so I just have to don a dark hood to keep my head and neck safe from the sun.

The rest of the Shepherds look varying degrees of different, though. For the cavaliers, fliers, and knights, it's odd to see them without their armor, especially Frederick. It turns out he wears a full butler-esque suit underneath his armor at all times. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Virion looks grumpy to be wearing such a drab brown cloak over his usual dapper outfit. For the rest of the melee attackers, I suppose it doesn't look too odd; they just sort of look like a band of desert bandits as opposed to proud Shepherd warriors. Same goes for the healers that aren't me. Lissa in particular looks so different without her trademark wild twintails that she looks almost funny to me. The mages don't really have to change at all. Go figure.

And so begins our foray into the desert. I'm sure nothing will go wrong.

A/N: *Braces to maybe get crucified* Alright, I suppose I should try and preempt some of the no-doubt irritated responses I'll get to this one. First, I'd like to confirm this was always the plan, right from the beginning. It's aaaaall part of the plan~

Second, I promise there's better things for each of them in their respective futures. Probably. It's also possible they'll both be miserable for all time. Guess you'll just have to see!

Quick shout-out to Mixed Valence: thanks for the review! I've been enjoying keeping up with your SI as well, though I think I've yet to leave a proper review. Mayhaps I should fix that.

Oh, and PS: If you have beef with this chapter, you can take it up with Syntaxis, who greenlit this idea and did NOTHING to stop me. (But really, thanks as always for the help) Here is your Syntaxis out-of-context quote of the week: "Yucky sibling romance. Half my time spent playing Fates was just asking "Why?" over and over."

As always, comments and critiques are welcome. See you next time!