Birth and Re-Death

by ThreeDollarBratwurst

I swear, every time I turn around, someone else has got a clever idea to get me killed. And it usually works. Death doesn't seem too keen on sticking with me, though, so I guess I can get over it. Self-insert. Playfully testing the limits of what Rated T means. Cover image by Xcell

21. Ch 21: The World's Longest Day

Birth and Re-Death

Chapter 21: The World's Longest Day

"Oh yeah, I meant to do this a few days ago actually."

Thwack!

"Ow! Jesus, Lissa, what was that for?" I ask, rubbing my no doubt already bruising shoulder. The thick layers of robe did little to protect me. Little shit punches like a piston.

She gets in my face. "Considering the skinning I promised you, I'd say you're getting off easy!"

Ah. Now I remember that conversation. "Look, Lissa, I know how it mi–"

She silences me with a finger on my lips. "Relax. I'm half kidding. She explained your reasoning to me as best she could, and while I don't need all the details, just know that I actually think you did the best thing you could. It sucks that it ended up like this, but sometimes that's how the cake crumbles." She backs up a step from me, and we both keep walking.

Did I mention yet that the desert is god-awful? Normally I'm loathe to admit in public that I liked the prequels, but you have to admit, Anakin was right: sand is the actual worst. I currently have a small dune forming in the bottom of each of my boots, and I don't understand how that's possible. The boots are tall, and laced up. And covered by robes. I don't get it. It's just bad.

Anyway, the reason I bring it up is that it's still more comfortable than thinking about how the breakup went down. It was less than elegant by any stretch of the imagination. So I think it's fair to say I'm just about as far from in the mood to talk about it as I could be.

"Yup," I say curtly.

Fortunately, she's smart enough to take the hint. "A-anyway, I just figured I'd let you know that I don't have any, you know, hard feelings or whatever. I don't think many in the Shepherds do. Even if they were kinda surprised." I don't say anything. "Uhhh… I'm just gonna go. Talk to you later, okay?"

I grunt my appreciation for her dropping it. Behind her, I think I see Lon'qu nod approvingly.

It's a strategy that's worked pretty well so far, actually. I've already had to shut down Gaius, Stahl, and Cordelia with this powerful method. The moment someone brings up Maribelle, just refuse to talk about it until they move on to something else or someone else. That, and walking near the front of the caravan so that there aren't as many people wanting to carry on a conversation with me. It seems like the rumor cup has finally floweth over, and now it seems that's pretty much all anyone wants to talk about today. Well, to me anyway. Damn small armies and their ability to spread a rumor like wildfire. Anything for a distraction from the nerve-wracking quest ahead of us, I suppose. Well, except Chrom and Frederick, who are fortunately much more focused on the mission at hand. I'm taking a page out of their book and trying to keep my mind on that instead, which has meant generally avoiding people.

Doesn't stop the sand from getting goddamn everywhere, though. I feel it in my hair, rubbing against my hood. Driving me nuts. It's getting between my sleeve and my arm. This shouldn't be possible, I think to myself.

It's making me almost wish for the Chapter 8 battle to start already. We've spent one night in the desert so far, but that's one night too many for me already. I just want to get this whole desert saga over with quickly.

You know how some deserts are kinda cool? Like how there will be interesting rock formations, or maybe some unfamiliar plant and animal life, or whatever? So far literally none of that is happening. It's just sand, slightly denser sand on what makes up their idea of 'roads,' and the occasional moderately large rock. As far as I can see from the front of the caravan, which is pretty damn far, I'm not seeing much of anything instead of some shallow dunes a– ow!

I wake up on my sleeping mat.

What the fuck was that?

---

I have this uneasy feeling in my gut as we get camp packed up. I don't remember anything from the afternoon or evening, and now we're… wherever we are. In the middle of the desert, with no meaningful landmarks to distinguish locations from each other.

Nobody else seems to be acting as if anything's wrong, so maybe it's just me. No one looks at me weirdly or treats me differently as we get the campsite packed up and get back to marching, so I guess I didn't pass out like I first thought.

My first solid clue as to what happened is Gaius coming up behind me and slapping a hand on my shoulder. "So! Now that you've, uh, shed the old ball and chain, any chance you're willing to hit the town with me later on, get our drink on, maybe woo some lasses? I have to admit, I was digging those songs the other night. I know we're in Plegia and all, but a bar is a bar, and I figure these villagers aren't gonna care who we are."

I'm pretty sure Gaius is smart enough not to say literally the exact same thing he said yesterday to try and invite me out when I shut him out so strongly last time.

Which suggests that conversation never happened.

Which suggests that the very brief and confusing moment of pain I endured yesterday was actually a killing blow of some sort, and it wasn't yesterday at all. It's a few hours from now.

I realize Gaius is still walking alongside me, waiting for a response. "Uh, sure," I say just to shake him off, and he retreats with an 'Alright Bear!' and a pumped fist.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to concentrate on what I remember from yesterday. I mean today. Jesus. That's still tough to get used to.

Okay, so I had conversations with Gaius, Stahl, Cordelia, and Lissa, and it wasn't that long after my conversation with Lissa that whatever happened actually happened. I think it was mid-afternoon, based on where I think I remember the sun being in the sky. I don't really remember much else about what happened during the day; it's all sort of blurring together.

Of all the places to have to respawn, did it have to be the most nondescript desert ever?

Some time later, Stahl comes up to me like before. "So, uh, hey Randall."

"Hey," I reply absently, looking around and trying to get a clear look at the horizon through the heat waves distorting the image.

"I just figured I ought to, you know, check in with you. I know it's already been some time since you and Maribelle... and all, but you've seemed uncommonly quiet these past few days, and I just want to make sure you're good," he says. I might have missed it last time, but I can hear the genuine concern in his voice. He really is a good guy.

Maybe I was too short with him before. Not that he would know, I guess. I give him a sidelong look around the edge of my hood. "I appreciate it, but don't worry. I mean, that'll take some time to get past and all, but mostly I've just been in a foul mood on account of our traveling conditions. I miss Ylisse, where the weather and the terrain are just… normal."

He laughs, seemingly relieved at my change in subject. "I know what you mean. Old Fennec here doesn't seem to like the sand much more than she liked the snow," he says, patting his horse on the snout as she snorts in what I like to believe is agreement. "Not that she's not being a real trooper about it, mind you."

I indulge in some light conversation with him for a while. He talks about caring for horses, what his duties taking care of his teacher's horse as a young squire were like, and, perhaps inevitably, about food.

The conversation makes me feel a lot better about the whole 'I've already lived through this day' thing. It's something different, anyway.

Stahl eventually hangs back to get Fennec some water, so I'm on my own for a bit. I spend more time trying to find something, anything I can actually recognize from last time in the landscape.

It's sand. Go figure.

But what the hell actually happened? We can't be near Chapter 8's battleground yet, since there should be some towns and massive boneyards, not to mention I'm pretty sure a small oasis, to mark that location, and I didn't see anything like that in the first run. I just sort of… died. I don't even remember where on my body I was hit, or how. The spike of pain was so massive, and so short-lived, that it felt like I was hurting everywhere and then nowhere. Nothing meaningful to glean from it, except that my assailant must be pretty good. Or perhaps just got off a lucky crit, maybe. It's frustrating how little useful information I got out of it. I decide to think about it later, as doing so now just irritates me.

After some time, as expected, Cordelia touches down from a short recon flight pretty close to me. She hops off Hyperion to give him a break, and walks over to my side. It's a little odd to see her with her hair stowed away. In fact, if it hadn't been for Hyperion nearby, it would've been a little difficult to tell who she is at all thanks to the thin scarf she wears around the lower half of her face under her hood.

"Are you keeping hydrated, Randall?" she asks, holding out a canteen. I hold up the small one strapped to my waist to show that I've got it covered. "Good," she says. "The heat alone is taxing, but coupled with marching all day, everyone needs to keep on top of taking care of their bodies, or else people will put themselves in danger."

"Always on task, eh? Looking after your fellow Shepherds and such. Pretty admirable," I say.

She replies a little bashfully, "Oh, no, it's nothing, really. Just doing what I can."

I know better than to walk down into the modesty 'oh no I'm not that great even though I'm totally best girl' trap. "Anyway, is it any better up there? I would hope at least a little wind could keep you cool," I ask, a little eager to get onto a different subject.

"You would think so, but the air is surprisingly stale even up in the sky. Something about this wasteland just makes it completely unlivable, in my opinion," she replies.

I lower my hood to shake some sand from my hair for a moment. "You've got that right, sister."

She giggles. "I was going to mention, you've got some sand, um, in your beard," she says, pointing to my chin.

I frown. "I've got sand in my everywhere. At this point I've just sort of accepted that it's going to be a thing for a while."

"Have you considered wrapping a scarf of some sort around your face? It may help," she suggests.

"I think I'm getting heat stroke just thinking about it," I reply dryly.

She gives a small 'hmph,' tightening her own scarf around her lower face. Did I sting her a little with that remark? "Anyway, it's just a thought," she says.

Trying to make a comeback, I reassure her, "I mean, I'm not saying it's not a good idea. Just that it might be too much for me at the moment."

It seems to help. "This desert seems to be putting everyone on edge, don't you think?"

I shrug. "Not surprising, I guess. I think everyone just sort of wants to put this place past them."

"I hear you hail from the country of Valm. What's the landscape like there?" she asks.

Oh boy. She didn't ask that one before. I have no idea how to answer that. Which chapters even take place in Valm proper? Is that where Walhart's castle is? I guess that's a safe bet. What do I remember about that map?

"It's more like Ylisse than it is like this place, for sure," I say. "Grassy plains, occasionally dotted by forests. I never really visited the far north of the country, but I imagine it gets pretty cold like Ferox does." I hope that's enough for her, as I don't dare speculate further.

Looks like it was sufficient. "I see. Then this place is just as foreign to you as it is to us, I suppose," she says thoughtfully.

We chat idly about things like that for a while, but soon I decide to bust out the big guns. I'm in the mood to have some fun after having to walk this whole day's worth of desert, after all. "So, the other week, the night we all sang together, I came out late at night and saw you reading something. What was that?"

I can only see her from the top of her nose to her forehead, but even in this state I can tell she's reddening. "Wh-what are you talking about?"

I can't help but grin evilly. "I know I saw you reading something, but I thought it was strange that you'd be reading alone so late at night. I wanted to know what it was. I never got a chance to ask about it before."

She doesn't meet my eye as she stammers, "That was so long ago! I hardly remember it!"

My eyes flash demonically in the desert sun. "Here, let me help. What was the title…? I think it was something like How to Find Love or How to Get Him to Confess or something like that, right?"

She groans in agony. "No, no that's not what it's… I mean no, I'd never read something like that!"

I rub my beard in mock-thought. "There was something about days, too. Like How to Get Married in Ten Days, maybe?"

Her eyes flit over to where Chrom is walking, a few dozen feet ahead of us. "I implore you, stop this," she moans.

I raise my palms, offering a truce. "Fine, fine, but only if you tell me where I can pick up a copy for myself. I've had an eye on the captain for a while, you see."

If she'd been drinking anything, she'd have done a spit-take. "You what?"

"I mean, the ladies are nice and all, but have you seen him? You could do laundry on those abs," I say, gesturing to my own abs for emphasis.

She's struck speechless for a moment. "Y-you, you can't be serious! You were just dating someone!"

Oh. That, uh, actually stung a little bit. It must show on my expression, too, because after a second or so she recoils from her own statement. "I, um, I didn't mean to… I apologize," she sputters, making haste to get back on Hyperion and take off before I can say anything to assure her it's no big deal.

Welp, there goes my good mood. Maybe I teased her just a bit too much. I probably deserved that. I resume walking in relative silence for a while.

After a while, I hear from behind, "Hey, Randy!"

I turn my head. Looks like things are proceeding on schedule. There's Lissa, waving cheerfully.

I raise a hand. "Yo, princess. How's it going?" I reply.

She pouts. "Every time you call me 'princess,' I can't help but feel like you mean it to patronize me," she says.

I place a hand on my chest. "Perish the thought, milady. I take your position of authority most seriously."

"Yeah, right," she replies. "Anyway, just keeping an eye on how the healers are doing. If anyone collapses or whatever from heat, it's going to be up to us to bring them back. Which means we have to watch ourselves."

"Right. I'm doing fine, or at least as fine as anyone in this place. No need to worry about me," I say.

"And speaking of our healers, I meant to do this a few days ago, actually."

I really should have made a move to stop her, but I don't act in time.

Thwack!

I grit my teeth, sucking air between them in a hiss. "Why you little–"

A dangerous flash of Lon'qu's eye stops my retaliation in its tracks.

Lissa crosses her arms. "It's not the skinning I promised, but it'll have to do. We have a war to win before we can afford to dismantle one of our few healers," she says smugly.

I sigh. "Fine. You hit harder than I think you think you do, by the way."

The smug intensifies. "Oh no, I'm acutely aware of how hard I can hit."

"Whatever. Anyway, I didn't mean to hurt her. If anything, I was trying to spare her some hurt down the road when this invariably would have come apart in a much uglier way."

Her expression softens. "I know that. And from what she says, I think deep down she understands that too. It's just kinda hard to actually be okay with it right away, you know?"

I nod, remembering the immediate aftermath of that conversation. I notice the knife in my belt as I keep walking. "Trust me, I understand that. Moving on is tough for anyone, right?"

"And that's why I've gotta keep an eye on both of you for a bit, make sure you're both okay," she says, smiling.

"Looks like Maribelle's worrying ways are rubbing off on you," I say with a smirk. "Trust me, I will manage. It's hardly my first breakup, and far from my worst. She's the one that is experiencing this stuff for the first time, so I think it's fine if you focus on her for a while. She needs her bestie, I don't doubt."

"I getcha. Still, if you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know," she says kindly, starting to take her leave.

"Will do. Thanks, Lissa," I say, raising a hand in farewell for now.

---

When my conversation with Lissa is finished, I find myself more apprehensive than ever. I don't really recall how long after we finished talking the attack took place, and I never saw the attacker, so it could literally be from anywhere at any time.

Accordingly, I decide to fall back toward the middle of the pack. I have no interest in dying instantly again. Even if it ends up being the case that someone gets killed and I have to go back anyway, I want to at least live for long enough to get an idea of what we're dealing with. So that's why I'm currently walking alongside a very indignant-looking Fleur-de-lis, with her owner sitting astride her looking quite uncomfortable. Well, that makes two of us I guess.

Fortunately, Maribelle seems content not to say anything, leaving me free to do my best to ignore her and focus on the dunes surrounding us. Any minute now, the assailants should spring to action.

...

Any minute now...

If I had a watch, I'd be checking it. Where the hell are they?

Alright you know what? This is bull–

Shunck

The sound of an arrow penetrating a body is audible even from back here. Someone's been hit.

Maribelle looks at me, and I at her. "Trouble," we say together, and both start making our way to the front of the caravan. I go left, and she goes right.

Looks like our unfortunate target was Frederick, who is now groaning in pain from the arrow that managed to find its mark just below the left knee and drive into the joint in the armor plates. Despite that, it looks like he's going to try and ride off anyway to pursue the attacker. That idiot.

"Frederick, get back here!" I call after him. "I have to put your leg back together!"

He looks back at me, eyes ablaze with adrenaline and fury. "I will heal when the enemy is no more!" he declares, and turns back toward the direction of the archer fire. Speaking of which, he takes another arrow hit, but fortunately it makes contact at one of the thickest points of his chest plate, so it pings off harmlessly.

In taking another shot, the archer has revealed himself. I'm not really sure what I expected, but he looks like pretty much everyone else in the desert: heavily clothed and nondescript. The sand is slowing up Frederick's horse immensely, but thanks to the arrow lodged in his leg, he can't afford to dismount either. Despite this, the horse does its best to close the gap between Frederick and his attacker.

Well, one of his attackers, anyway. As we advance forward, it becomes evident that this isn't just one guy. At least a dozen more emerge from behind the dune, brandishing knives, bows, and tomes. Frederick is currently charging into what I would call a death trap.

Fortunately for him, he's not alone. Our quickest fighters, Lon'qu and Gaius, have already sprung into action and are drawing attention from either side, while Miriel and Ricken, relatively unimpeded by the desert sand, are providing covering fire for our melee guys.

On top of this, Cordelia comes swooping down from the sky to engage the enemy too. As a result, this team of what I'm assuming are bandits find themselves pressed on basically all sides.

Unfortunately, they were at least somewhat prepared for such a situation. When they see us approaching, they regroup, placing their mages in the center of the pack while melee attackers take up defensive positions on the group's perimeter. This means that when Lon'qu, Gaius, and Frederick clash with the group, they get held up with the melee guys while the mages are free to take shots.

And take shots they do. Lon'qu takes a shot to the shoulder from a blast of dark magic, and Gaius gets grazed by a blast himself, but then takes an arrow to the collarbone, which looks wildly painful. Frederick is having to favor his right side, keeping his left leg out of further danger and allowing his axe hand to swing down from the right. However, this opens his flank, and he's taking a lot of magical punishment, which Fredericks are not meant to do.

When there are gaps, Miriel and Ricken throw individual enemies off balance, but there isn't a lot they can do with Frederick and his massive horse front and center blocking their path.

Meanwhile, Cordelia is trying to keep the enemy mages' eyes off her allies, but that plan ends up backfiring when instead of mages, she draws archer attention. Lightly armored and basically riding a bird horse, pegasus knights really should just avoid archers whenever possible. That's one thing the games get completely right.

As if to prove my point, Cordelia swoops through, forced to turn her back on the enemy for a moment due to her massive momentum, and a shot from an enemy archer finds its mark, striking her in the back and making her lose her grip on the reins. With the lack of direction, Hyperion becomes an easy target, and another archer takes advantage of this situation by firing a shot into Hyperion's left wing. With no rider commands and now having to fly asymmetrically, it isn't long before the pegasus falls to the ground.

Finally in a position to help without basically signing my life over, I rush to Cordelia's side. Frantically unfastening her stirrups, I pull her off her mount to examine the damage.

Oh balls, that's a bad one. Looks like it hit too low for it to pierce her heart, but I'm sure she's got some organ damage at least. Maybe a punctured lung. When I ask if she's alright, more to see if she can respond than anything since it's obvious she's not alright, she can't manage to choke out words.

I lay her on the sandy ground facedown, preparing to yank the arrow and put her back in order. "I'm sorry for this," I warn before grabbing the arrow shaft as close to her back as possible and pulling it out. That is one cruel arrowhead; along with its penetrating point, there are backward facing barbs that tear her tissue even more as I pull. I feel flesh rending as the arrow finally breaks free from her body. A high-pitched whine of pain escapes her.

I waste no time putting the Mend staff to work. Fortunately, the wound closes and heals just fine. Less fortunately, she loses consciousness in the healing process as I have to put so much tissue back in place. Nearby, Hyperion whinnies in pain. I have no idea if healing staves even work on horses (or pegasi) but I guess I could find out.

Before I can make my way over, though, something hits me from behind. It hurts like a bitch, but I actually don't detect much real damage (something I've been getting better at with each passing death and near-death experience). It's more like the pain you get when you leave your hands in a bucket of ice water for too long, except a few magnitudes worse than that. Still, it subsides, and I feel not great, but acceptable.

It occurs to me that I've been hit with dark magic. So this is what it feels like when it isn't coming from an incredibly OP bitch with an incredibly OP tome. I was always vaguely wondering.

I turn around, and like I expected, a man brandishing a tome is staring me down, wondering when I'll realize I've been injured. When I start taking steps toward him, his eyes widen in surprise, and he starts backtracking toward his allies. Sorry buddy, but you're going to have to do better than that to break me down. Seriously, super resistance is great.

Of course, his friends have metal weapons, and it turns out I'm not too good at surviving blows from those, so when a thief with a dagger steps between me and the mage, I have to get back on guard.

Alright, it's just a thief with a dinky little knife, nothing to– OH FUCK HE'S FAST. Duck, duck! Back up, there we go, swing your staff to keep him at a better distance. That's better, and AH DODGE THAT okay, he lunged forward. Take a stab at his chest with the staff, shit he dodged it. Back up, back up!

I trip over something and fall on my ass, dropping my staff in the process. I realize I just tripped over the unconscious Cordelia lying on the ground, and now the thief is on me.

Hold him back! Keep that knife away from your face. Throw a punch at his face, ooh, he felt that. Get momentum back! You can– Ow.

Oh. He had a second knife. It's in my abdomen now. And now it's out. And now it's in again. I'm not really in a position to stop him, so the stabs keep coming. This is... wildly painful. It reminds me of way back in Southtown, when I just had the living daylights stomped out of me before I was mercifully killed. Looks like it's that kind of run for me.

Wait. I didn't have a knife of my own back then. This isn't over just yet.

My strength is fading fast, but I still manage to creep my hand down to my belt and slide my handy suicide knife out of its sheath. I'm not in any position to go for the throat, but he's too busy putting new holes in me to notice me sliding my own blade into his stomach until it's already lodged there.

Unfortunately, this isn't the fix-all I was hoping it would be. He does falter for a moment, borderline-hissing in pain, but he doesn't lose his leverage over me and, distressingly, seems only more motivated to keep stabbing me.

"A man of the cloth, sticking a man in the gut? You Ylisseans are hypocrites, the lot of you," he growls before sitting up and, finally, cutting my throat. My vision was already getting dim at best, but now he's just a vaguely colored blob as my brain dedicates its remaining power to other, more vital processes. Soon I can feel those fading too. "Glory to Grima, god of annihilation," is the last thing I hear before it's lights out.

So these guys are the Grimleal after all. What's up with that?

---

"So! Now that you've, uh, shed the old ball and chain, any chance you're willing to hit the town with me later on, get our drink on, maybe woo some lasses? I have to admit, I was digging those songs the other night. I know we're in Plegia and all, but a bar is a bar, and I figure these villagers aren't gonna care who we are."

Third time's the charm, right Gaius? I think I feel a headache coming on.

"You know what? Alright. Today's only just getting started and I already feel like I need a drink," I say, no doubt sounding pretty tired. It's how I feel, anyway.

He throws me some finger guns. I have no idea how a gesture like that evolved without actual firearms being invented. "Don't I know it, Bear. Don't I know it."

We make idle smalltalk, but my heart just isn't in it. In that second run I had a renewed spirit of comradery with the others, but now I'm having to live the same day a third time, and I just want this all to be over. Some part of me is aware that the time would probably pass more quickly if I distracted myself with conversation, but I just can't drum up the energy to keep up with anyone. Gaius quickly takes his leave of me. This time my conversations with Stahl and Cordelia fizzle out quickly. They look somewhat concerned, but I figure they'll just chalk it up to breakup blues and not dwell on it too much.

I feel pretty miserable overall. My body is technically rested, but my head hurts and my mind is stretched thin. People pretty quickly learn to steer clear of me today. In fact, Lissa doesn't bother to come talk to me at all, no doubt having been warned by someone in advance.

I consider trying to find someplace to sleep, just to set a new save point if nothing else, but finding a place to do so proves difficult. All the formerly empty space in the wagons that used to provide a nice hideaway spot is now occupied by extra supplies, especially barrels of water. I should have seen this coming, as I was one half of the duo that loaded them up in the first place. In any case, the result is that there's no place to hide and grab a nap unless I ask a cavalier or pegasus knight to let me snooze on the back of their mount for a while.

You know what? Not such a bad idea, actually. Let's give it a go.

"Sorry Randall. I know you're having a rough time lately, but Fennec really needs to rest her back some in his heat," Stahl apologizes.

"Normally I'd say it wouldn't be a problem, but I've never carried another person on Kestrel for more than a minute or so before, so I don't want to strain him too much in a place like this," Sumia explains.

"Don't you think that would be a little… I don't know, strange? It's not that I don't trust Hyperion to take the weight, but I think it would be a little undignified to have someone taking a nap while we're all marching. Maybe you should take some vulnerary soon if you're in pain," Cordelia says.

"Absolutely not! We're all miserable out here, but just because you're a soft-legged healer, that doesn't mean you can just snooze the day away while we're all slogging along! Come on, take responsibility for yourself and pull the finger out!" Sully scolds me. Arcturus snorts in derision.

I decide I'm not going to ask Frederick.

"Man-spawn, I think I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. I am not a free ride, nor am I a bed," Panne growls. Hey, it was worth a shot.

Looks like I have no choice. As awkward as it might be, she's my only hope.

As I approach Maribelle to ask for just a few minutes of rest, though, I hear shouting from up ahead. No, no, come on, already? It seems my prayer falls on deaf ears, though, as the rest of the Shepherds quickly assemble to begin taking the fight to the Grimleal.

"Fuck this," I grumble as I get my staff ready and start running toward the fray.

I realize as I come to the top of the dune that in the last run the fighting must have been broken up into two battles, as this time it looks like there are a lot more enemies corralled into one place. That also explains where the likes of Chrom, Robin, Lissa, Maribelle, and the others were last time while I was trying to keep Cordelia and the rest of our little squad alive and kicking; there was a second skirmish going on with the other half of the Grimleal.

From here, I can see Robin has taken charge of everyone, gesturing and shouting to get people to box the Grimleal in as much as possible. It's proving difficult, as they have a numbers advantage against us, but with the combined efforts of Lissa, Maribelle, Anna, and me, we're able to keep the melee attackers on our side in good enough condition to hold the line so the ranged attackers can punish from a safe distance. The battle is essentially turning into a repeat of the second battle at Darros Town, with similarly satisfying results. It's looking like we're going to be able to keep them boxed in and take them out without any significant problems.

That is, until suddenly Stahl to my left is hit squarely in the back with a blast of dark magic and is knocked off his horse. Before I can fully process what his being hit in the back means, the enemy in front of him has already taken advantage of his injury by striking at the back of his neck with his axe.

"Stahl, no!" I shout in a panic, flipping my staff quickly and stabbing the barbarian in the chest, knocking him onto his back. Not satisfied with just one blow, I wrench it out and plunge it in again, then a third time for good measure. He stops moving as I pull my staff out with a suctioning squelch.

I turn to Stahl. He's not breathing. Shit. I crouch over him and frantically command my Mend staff into action. Fortunately, the flesh starts moving in response to the magic, meaning he's at least technically alive at the moment. Still, that's a massive chunk taken out of his neck. I remember with a shiver the time I read that any body parts completely removed from the whole are not able to be reattached with healing magic, which is why, for example, Basilio is still missing an eye. It's tough to tell with all the armor and blood and mess in the way, but if hypothetically Stahl has had a piece of his neck knocked clean out, there might be permanent nerve damage depending on how much can be reassembled.

I try not to think about it too much as the staff does its work putting him back together. He's still a bloody mess, but after a minute or so he resumes breathing, which alone is a massive relief to me.

A blast of dark magic hits the sand just a few inches from where I'm kneeling over Stahl, making me very nearly shit myself and reminding me that somehow Stahl was hit from behind. It seems not all of the enemy had arrived at the same time, as there's now a third group storming over the dunes to disrupt our formation. Of course, it works, and a large number of us, myself included, are now the ones sandwiched between two groups pressing on us on either side.

In particular, an enemy myrmidon fixes his gaze on me and starts charging toward me, grasping the sword at his hip. Oh Christ, is that the one with the– DODGE THAT KILLING EDGE!

There's no place to back up into anymore, so I have no choice but to try and take on this guy head to head. This is going to suck without having room to maneuver.

Just focus. You managed to kill a Hero-class enemy on your first try a few weeks ago, so this guy should be easy. Sure, you got lucky in many ways in that fight, not least of which was Robin's intervention, but it still proves you can do it. Watch where his attacks are coming from.

Block right, then block vertical. Take a swing with the staff to keep his momentum down, then bat aside the clumsy stab attempt. Receive a kick in the shin; I suppose it couldn't be avoided. Back up as much as you can, favoring the right leg. Block left. Flick up the end of the staff to strike his wrist, leaving his grip weakened. Don'tgetpunchedinthe– okay, you got punched in the face, but it was a glancing blow. Block left again. Steer his sword across his torso, then give him a punch in the face yourself. Give this stab attempt the old Mr. Miyagi wax off, and throw a right hook to his jaw. Wait, he ducked. Hey, what's– Ow.

Dark magic blast to the face. I'm blinded and deafened, and my senses all start screaming at once for attention. I can no longer tell which way is up. I faintly feel the back of my head hit something.

Slowly, my senses of touch and hearing start coming back to life. I still can't see anything, though. I imagine this is what coming back from a flashbang is like. My face is awash in pain as the nerves start waking up, particularly in my eyes, leaving me writhing on the ground as I feel like they're going to fall out of their sockets. Part of me thinks that might be a real danger; who knows what dark magic actually does to such sensitive parts of the body?

I feel footsteps come close and stop next to me. A voice above me speaks over my pained screams in an annoyingly satisfied tone, "Looks like that traveler was right about the Ylissean force coming south through the desert. How sad for you and yours, heretic priest. You aren't worth using my Nosferatu on. I'll just use this." When he speaks again, it is right next to my ear. "Hail Grima."

I hear magic being gathered next to my head, but I can't bring myself to move or do anything else but scream as my head is obliterated by the magic blast.

---

I wake up in my tent again. I definitely have a headache now.

"Fucking shit God damn fucking fuck!" I yell at the first living thing I see when I step outside my tent, which happens to be Cordelia's pegasus Hyperion. He snorts, as if offended by my outburst. The yelling just made my head hurt more.

By now, I've developed a theory about why I'm so miserable. You know how you need sleep not just to replenish your body, but also to give your brain a chance to organize and sort information before accepting anything more? When I have to live through the same day multiple times, it's the equivalent of staying awake in bed: the body might be rested just fine, but my brain feels like it's been conscious for what by now I imagine is nearly 36 hours across three runs. Because it has in fact been conscious for that long.

This theory distresses me. It essentially means there are still limits to my power, and they're disappointingly pedestrian limits at that. But it's the best explanation I have for why half of me wants to tear someone's head off and the other half wants to curl up and cry somewhere, when that wasn't the case on the first or even second runs. Now that it's the fourth run, I march with the form and vigor of an unenthused zombie.

"So! Now that you've, uh, shed the old ball and chain, any chance you're willing to… uh, are you alright, Bear?" Gaius pauses in the middle of his pitch to ask when he sees my face, gingerly placing a hand on my shoulder.

I manage a weak smile. "Gaius, when we get to town, I want to get absolutely knocked on my ass at the first bar we see. Wanna make that happen with me?"

He raises a brow for a moment, then perks up again. "Hell yeah we can make that happen. You sure look like you're in need of some cheer, Bear! Or, you know, medical attention maybe. You should probably lie down or something."

I shrug. "Nowhere to do it. Nothing for it but to keep trucking. We've got a deadline, after all."

"What do you mean? All these wagons are full?" he asks.

"I'm pretty sure. I loaded most of these wagons myself with Virion before we left. At best, I could try to curl up in an empty water barrel maybe," I say with a defeated slump in my shoulders.

"You try checking in with Bubbles? Maybe she'd know where you could go to get some shut-eye," Gaius replies.

"Bubbles?" I am forced to ask, my mind blurred by the headache I'm nursing.

He sighs, disappointed in me. "Robin. She should be in the command wagon, I'm pretty sure," he says, pointing at the wagon in question, which is mercifully close.

"I guess it can't hurt. Thanks, Gaius," I say, starting to make my way over.

"Just take care of yourself, Bear," he calls after me.

I knock on the wood frame of the back of the wagon before slipping through the curtain into the command tent. "Anyone home?" I ask, not seeing Robin immediately.

Oh wait, there she is. She has her hood on, so I didn't see her hair with her flopped over the table like that. She's half-sprawled across the table, and after a moment I hear a snore.

"Uhh, Robin?" I say, crossing the wagon over to her. It's only at this time that I notice that this wagon is in fact not packed as full of barrels and crates as the other wagons, leaving some amount of space on the floor. Looks like I might have found my nap ticket after all. I poke her in the shoulder. "Robin, are you alright?" I ask.

She snorts, jerking her head up. A piece of paper sticks to her cheek for a moment, then flutters back onto the table. "Yes? Yes, what do you need?" she asks without properly opening her eyes.

"I feel like shit and have a massive headache. I was going to ask if you knew if there were any wagons with space to grab a nap, but it looks like this one has some open space. Would you mind if I just get a couple hours of sleep under the table or something?" I ask.

Finally she looks fully awake. "Oh, Randall, it's you. Are you sick?"

I rub the back of my head. "I don't know, but I know I'm on the verge of shutdown here. So what do you say?"

She shrugs. "Go for it, long as you don't get in my way planning this trek."

I smirk. "Looked to me like you were grabbing some Z's yourself, I'd say."

Robin scowls. "Just go to sleep. I've got a lot of planning to do yet."

I shrug, then crawl under the table. Robin glances down at me, then reaches over with her foot and slides over a thick book on the floor to me so I can use it as a pillow. I glance at it before laying my head on it. It's an Elthunder tome. She just gave me a literal weapon to use as a pillow. "Thanks, Tarantino."

"That name still doesn't make any sense to me," she sighs.

---

"It sure is a good thing you died this time, don't you think?"

"What do you want now?"

"That's no way to talk to a friend, is it?"

"You're not a friend. You're a figment."

"You don't know the difference."

"Like hell."

"Anyway, like I was saying, isn't it fortunate you managed to get so decisively killed? I mean, if you hadn't been, who knows what would have become of Stahl? Would he have lived? Would he have been stuck a quadriplegic for the rest of his days? Would he have hated you for it? I bet he would have."

"Get bent. He wasn't going to die. My staff was working on him."

"But the rest of it, you're not so sure. I think you're relieved you got killed."

"And if I am? It's better to be able to try again, isn't it?"

"You're incompetent. That's why you failed Stahl. I bet others that got caught between the two groups died too. Who was it?"

"I'm not listening."

"You don't even remember, do you? Who else was put in danger by your incompetence? They probably died just like you, but you don't care."

"It was undone. That's all I need to know."

"You know, I bet you'd be relieved if everyone in the Shepherds was killed. You wouldn't have to feel responsible for them if they were gone, after all. You could go back to just worrying about just yourself. Like the selfish child you are."

"Do you gain anything by being here? Why do you even hang around here?"

"I do it to spend time with my friend Mister Randall, don't you know that by now?"

"You're not my friend."

"I can't believe you'd say that about me after all the times you shared with your dear maid Mindy. You were very adamant about us becoming friends, as I recall."

"You're not Mindy."

"Why not?"

"Fuck off."

"So crude. I don't think you're listening to me."

"That's what I said before. Maybe you're the one that isn't listening."

"If you're going to be like that, maybe I should just go."

"Merry fucking Christmas to me."

"Just kidding. Peace of mind is only for those who deserve it. You don't deserve anything. You can't even be bothered to remember your friends who died just today. So sick. So desensitized."

"Just leave me alone."

"You know, my mother hasn't forgiven you either. The last thing she saw was you, just standing there, letting her die for no reason at all."

"Leave me alone!"

"Apologize."

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry, now will you please just go?"

"I've never heard a more insincere apology, you selfish boy."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't believe you yet."

---

"...you said to make sure you were up this afternoon, so– oh, uh, hi Randall. Didn't see you down there."

Wuuh?

Waking up is a slow, sore process. It was nice of Robin to spot me a book pillow, but it didn't do much for my neck. My limbs and back are similarly achy, I learn as I attempt to stretch out. As I attempt to get to my feet, I clock my head on the bottom of the table. Rubbing my head, I emerge from beneath.

Oh, hello Chrom. "What's up, cap'n?" I ask.

"What are you doing down there?" he asks in reply.

"Sleeping. I had a headache," I say simply.

He raises a brow. Behind me, Robin says, "Thank you Chrom. How's everyone doing out there?"

I step out of the way so they can talk to each other directly. Chrom replies, "As fine as anyone can be, I would say. I don't think anyone is a fan of this desert."

I chime in, "Understatement of the year."

Chrom gives me a look I'm not used to seeing on his face. I take it my input wasn't appreciated. What's got his panties in a twist? "Quite. But aside from that, supplies are all accounted for according to Frederick, and everyone has been staying hydrated at least."

Robin stands and stretches her shoulders. "That's good. I think I'll come outside myself for a while." She slips off her coat and grabs her belt, to which two swords and two tomes (both of which look like lightning magic of some sort) are strapped, and fastens it around her waist before putting the coat back on. The three of us leave the wagon together.

Before we head to the front to join Frederick, Robin calls back to the group as a whole, "Can we get more Shepherds up near the front of the caravan? I want us to have an intimidating appearance up front in case we run into bandits or anything else out here."

That's unusual. Normally Robin likes to have a more or less equal distribution of Shepherds among the wagons to make sure we have eyes on all sides of the caravan. Is she expecting an attack?

You know, there have been a few things that have been making me wary of Robin a little. It's kinda difficult to remember them, though. There was something we talked about a long time ago, on the night of that second watch, that bothered me, but I still can't remember what it was. It was too long ago now to recall, I'm afraid.

I pull my hood down and shake my head out. Get focused. You've got a fight to win.

Anyway, most of the Shepherds have made their way to the front of the caravan by now. None of them seem particularly perturbed by the order, so I try not to be either.

"Alright, armored units, let's have you up front to set up a nice, scary-looking wall," Robin instructs, and the knights and cavaliers follow suit. Okay, she definitely is suspicious of something. Even a few of the others are glancing at each other intermittently.

Virion beside me asks quietly, "Does Robin seem alright? She looks a touch on edge to me."

I shrug. "Who could say? I think the desert might be cooking everyone's brain a little."

He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps you are right."

Clang!

An arrow bounces harmlessly off of Kellam's shield, signalling that the fight has begun once more.

The problem with the Shepherds in this situation is that we are a very armor-and-cavalier-heavy team caught in the middle of the sandy ass desert, which means our general mobility is garbage in these conditions. Last time we were able to get them surrounded, but failed to account for the group of reinforcements coming in behind them. The time before that, we got our own group divided, and I don't even know how long we could have lasted after that if I hadn't died. We, or at least I, didn't last long enough for the reinforcements to even show up. In both battles I actually got to see, our problems ultimately came from getting spread too thin on the battlefield and losing the advantage of superior positioning.

This time, however, we have the advantage of most of the group already being assembled up front. Instead of having an enraged Frederick drag the team over the dune or Robin having the Shepherds attempt to surround the enemy prematurely, we can afford to assemble and make the enemy come to us.

We position ourselves near the bottom of a dune so the Grimleal will have no choice but to cross the hill without knowing exactly where we're going to be. Normally I'd be opposed to giving the enemy the advantage of running downhill while we attack uphill, but after the crit hit I took in the first run, I'm not exactly anxious to make a target of myself on top of a hill either, so I suppose this is fine. As the first few start cresting the dune, Virion and the mages start barraging them with ranged attacks, taking out a fair few without so much as a return shot.

Eventually, they seem to catch on, and the dune grows quiet. Robin calls out, "Armored units and swordsmen, brace for attacks from the flanks!" The cavaliers and most of our melee fighters spread out a bit to the sides and get ready to intercept the enemy as they come around the dune rather than go over it. True to Robin's prediction, the Grimleal split themselves in two and try to loop wide around the group, but they aren't enough to smash successfully through our lines. Meanwhile, atop the dune there are a few dark mages trying to take shots on us from above, but our ranged attackers respond quickly, keeping the enemy busy enough that they can't take too many shots themselves.

The enemies on our flanks start to retreat, prompting the melee folks to pursue them and take them out for good. However, I don't like the look of spreading the group too thin; that's what's gotten us in trouble in the past runs.

Robin seems to agree. "Don't pursue! Hold to center!" she commands, but aside from Kellam, the rest must not hear her order over the din of the fight itself, and they chase the Grimleal outside to continue the fight.

This must have been a coordinated effort, because this is when the third group comes crashing down on us over the top of the dune.

"Ah, fuck," I say as I take a quick role and realize we've got mostly healers and ranged attackers left in the core group. Kellam stands ready to defend Miriel, but as for the rest of us, we've got Vaike and Donnel to stand behind and that's about it. The pegasus riders have taken to the air to try and rein in the enemy, but I'm afraid it might do more harm than good, especially if this third group has archers.

Deciding I have to do something to try and keep everyone safe beyond just healing them after the wounds happen, I take a stand alongside Vaike, Donnel, and Kellam, holding my staff like a spear. They're going to connect any second.

Contact. Redirect the myrmidon's sword without blocking it completely, then push his shoulder when he swings around to make him turn his back to you. No time for hesitation; hit him in the back of the head and make him drop his sword. A punishing swing from Vaike's axe finishes him off. Oh shit, another guy, block vertical, block left, blo– and now I've taken a large, painful cut to the upper arm. I make a move to fall back and drink some vulnerary, but before I can, Maribelle is at my side, putting my arm back together.

"Thanks," I say quickly before jumping back in to hold off the guy currently attempting to lop Donnel's head off.

Things are quickly getting out of hand here. There are just too many of them, and they have momentum on their side. The ranged folks can't mow them down fast enough to relieve the line, so we are on constant defensive, which really isn't meant to be our role at all. Except I guess Donny, but he's got a lot of learning to do yet.

Oh crap, that's the boss, isn't it? He's dressed in fancier robes than anyone else, and his face looks kinda familiar, so I'll take it on faith that he's the guy.

"You heathens will pay for your defiance of Grima's will!" the dark mage shouts. Yeah, that'll be the boss.

If we can't change our fortune in this fight really soon, that's gonna be it for this run. I guess that's not so bad, since I did actually get to sleep and reset the save point this time. But just as I'm getting ready to accept death at the hands of what I'm pretty sure is the same myrmidon I fought last time, fortune comes through for us after all.

"Yaaaaaaahahahaha!" I hear a beautifully Russian voice shout as a massive shadow swoops over the dune and comes cascading down, eclipsing the sun in its wake. "Gregor not be liking this flying business!" the army-green-clad mercenary calls from atop everyone's favorite dragon loli as she comes to a skidding halt, knocking friend and foe alike on our asses and generally throwing the whole battle out of whack.

"Let's get 'em!" Nowi shouts in her (terrifyingly loud) dragon voice before grabbing a poor Grimleal in her teeth and shaking him around like a chew toy.

As I get to my feet, I realize I've lost my staff, and in this tangle of struggling bodies, I have no idea where it landed. While looking for it, though, I notice that the boss of the Grimleal (I don't remember his name; he never made much of an impression) also looks like he's looking for something. A few feet in front of me, I spot what he must be searching for: his black tome.

I get to it long before he does, snatching it up from the sand and kicking the head of a stirring Grimleal myrmidon while I'm down there. As I grip the book, though, I notice something weird.

It's vibrating in my hand. Almost tingling, really. I can feel the energy inside the book, held in place only by the runes that adorn each page and keep its magic locked up until a mage releases it.

I flip open the book and gently touch one of the pages. I can feel the runes respond to my touch, and much like when I first picked up my healing staff, I know my body knows how to do this.

I glance at the boss, who's pulled out another tome from somewhere. He brandishes the book threateningly at me. "Unhand my tome, faithless heretic!" he screeches.

An uncontrollable grin springs to my face. "Take it from me, then," I reply, pulling the magic off the page and into my hand. I'm vaguely aware of the ongoing battle around us, but either no one has noticed us or no one seems interested in getting between us.

It's a little hard to describe what magic 'feels' like in a literal sense, but the best I can say is that you do feel it in your hand, you feel its warmth and power as if it were somehow both elastic and gaseous. Like a trampoline made out of a storm cloud. It feels like raw potential in your palm, and I know that I can will this potential into kinetic in the form of what I'm assuming is a Flux spell.

"Rrrgh, all things unto Grima!" the boss shouts, pulling his own spell into his hand. "Your life belongs to the god of annihilation!"

We both hurl our spells at each other. Both make contact, his with my chest and mine with his face. We are both flung onto our backs, clearly hurting from the impact. Only difference being, my resistance must be a good sight better than his, because when I get to my feet, I see that he's still clutching his face and screaming in pain.

So that's how it feels to be on the other side of this interaction.

I step over to him, then stand over him. "Hey, Grimleal," I say. He doesn't reply except to scream and curse. "Say hi to your lame fucking god for me." I do my best not to smile as I pull another spell from the tome and hold it right next to his already blackened, decaying face. I can't deny it's a little cathartic to blast his face into an unrecognizable rotten pulp.

I stand up slowly. "Asshole," I say to the dead priest.

I try stretching my chest. It's only now that I realize how much my chest actually hurts. Super resistance or no, that's a strong spell. I look around to see how the battle is going overall, and see that with Nowi and Gregor's arrival, the tide was fairly well turned in our favor. The Grimleal never really got their momentum back after Nowi crashed the party, so the Shepherds have been cleaning up nicely. Off to the left of me, I see Maribelle and Lissa handling the healing quite aptly, so I turn around to help Anna with the rest of the Shepherds.

Why is Robin staring at me? Oh. It's because I'm still holding the Flux tome. I don't know how I feel about that expression on her face. She's grinning so evilly I could swear her teeth have turned pointed. I drop the book.

"We have a lot to discuss when this is finished," she says, turning back toward the waning battle. I sigh, then follow her.

The rest of the battle, mercifully, goes by without much incident. Anna and I have no trouble keeping our half of the Shepherds in working order as they go and finish off the remnants of the Grimleal. It helps that Nowi is flying around using breath attacks and clawing at the enemy to keep them helpless and in place, while Gregor is flexing his scarily professional side by going through and slitting the throats of every body he finds to ensure they're all really dead. The ones that spread out from the flanks come back as well, not wholly unharmed but not worthy of mortal concern either.

It seems like we have finally won. Thank God. Holy shit I am so done with this desert's crap.

I notice now that basically every crevice of my body and my clothing is now invaded by sand. Ugh.

As I shake out my robe as much as I can to get some sand off, I notice there's a small person standing in front of me.

"Oh, hi there N–you," I say, narrowly managing not to say her name on accident. "You did pretty well out there, saving our asses like that."

She giggles at my light profanity. "No prob! I was gonna say thanks for taking care of that priest guy. He and his goons have been chasing me for a while now. I guess you could say it's kiiiiinda my fault that they were here in the first place."

I lean down to brush some of the sand out of her hair. I wonder if shaking out my robe is what put the sand there in the first place. "Well, as long as you're safe."

She beams. "I am now! Thanks to you guys!"

I hear Chrom ask as he walks over to us, "So, is this the manakete girl that turned the tide in this fight?"

"Bingo," I say.

"Actually, my name is Nowi. Though I guess Bingo is a pretty good name too," Nowi says. "Anyway, can I come with you guys? I don't have anywhere else to go, and I don't want to end up on the auction block again."

There's a brief period where Lissa and some of the others learn what manaketes are, as well as learning that Nowi is a thousand years old. The short version is, we got Nowi. Gregor too, though Chrom handled hiring him before he came to talk to Nowi.

After a bit, things start to calm down again, and because it's still daylight, we decide we will keep going and try to make it to one of the towns along the way by nightfall. So, we start walking again. Joy.

At least Robin has the courtesy to give me a few minutes before coming to talk to me about what I always knew she wouldn't be able to let drop. But once my precious few minutes are up, here she is.

"Sooo, you wanna tell me what that was all about?" she asks.

I sigh again. "Trust me, I have no earthly idea. I just picked it up, and it worked. That's all I can say."

My nonchalance has her all the more riled up. "Don't you see what this means? You've got the aptitude for wielding dark magic tomes! I've read about cases where people can lack an aptitude for anima magic but still manage dark magic, but it's uncommon enough that I never thought to check in your case! This is great!"

"Super. I can melt people's faces or whatever. Best day of my life," I deadpan.

She pouts. "You're deliberately undercutting this. Anyway, we'll have to find someone that can actually teach you, or maybe find a way for you to practice on your own. It worked on the fly this time, but we saw how relying on beginner's luck worked for you with healing staves."

"That's true. I was pretty impressive with that staff when we first met," I say with just a hint of bravado.

She waves a hand dismissively. "Sure, sure. In any case, do you still have the tome?"

I shake my head. "No chance, man. It was an icky book used by an ickier man. Probably had Grimleal cooties on it or something. Even if, and it's a big if, I decide to learn to use these tomes for real, I sure as shit am not using a tome favored by a murderous Grimleal slaver."

"Seems a little superstitious to me. It's just a book, Randall," Robin replies.

"Hey, I'm not superstitious. But I am a little stitious," I say with a grin.

To my eternal joy, she actually gets this one. She snorts, raising her eyebrows in what I can only call a somewhat pitying look. "Whatever you say, I suppose. We'll just have to get you a tome elsewhere, then."

"We'll see," I reply. I don't want to commit to anything yet.

"In any case, I've gotta add this to the chart," she says, starting toward the command wagon.

"What chart?" I ask, following behind her.

She looks at me like I'm a moron for asking. "The chart that documents who is capable of handling which weapons and tools. With melee weapons it's a little more nuanced, but with the magical crowd it's good to keep track of which types of magic each person has the capacity to use. It's good to keep track of people's potential. And charts are the way to do that."

"Charts? As in, charts in the plural? What other charts do you keep on us?" I ask a little incredulously.

"I keep people ranked relative to each other on strength, speed, bulkiness, agility in combat, resistance to magic –a list you currently top, by the way– tendency to take charge in high stress situations, general agreeableness, shortness of temper, height, weight, et cetera. I also keep documented the Shepherds' countries of origin, current residence when not on the road, dietary restrictions –so far limited to Panne– sleep habits, standout hobbies, noticeable fears or phobias, and birthdays. Additionally, and you cannot talk about this one, I keep track of the current romantic prospects of the Shepherds." She glances at me. "That one changes pretty regularly."

I'm speechless for a moment. "...When did you get everyone's weight? And how?" I finally ask.

"That's for me to know," she replies, a knowing look in her eye.

"And you feel like you need to have all this information on everybody?"

She shrugs. "Better to have it on record, right?"

I scoff. "Talk about OCD."

Wait. That reminds me of something. What was it… I remember this, I know I do. Oh! It was what I was thinking about that night!

"It very obviously is not nothing. I'm not going to make you do anything, so you can stop worrying about that. I just want to know what's up. I know I seem like a… what did you call it? OCD, I think it was."

That was what she said that bothered me. But why did it bother me so much? Come on, just think… When else did we talk about that? Oh! It was back when we had to save Virion's sorry ass from getting assassinated.

"Though you have to admit, getting into the Shepherds isn't exactly difficult," I say. "You and I managed it the same day that Virion did, and you're an amnesiac with what appears to be mild OCD and I'm a novice healer without a day's experience prior to joining up. Compared with Virion's undeniable skill with a bow, I'd say we were the lucky recruits that day."

"When you put it like that…" Robin says, rubbing the back of her head. "Wait, what's OCD?"

I consider explaining what I actually know about OCD (I took a psych class once), but then I remember that this universe has yet to get down the basics of how gravity works. "Basically, you're the queen of the micromanagers. You have to know where everyone is and what they're doing basically all the time."

Why does that bother me? It was just a normal conversation. I try to remember what happened next.

"Trouble! I'm heading in. You hang back here a minute," Robin commands, jumping to her feet and emerging from behind the bush to rush to the barn. Before I can warn her to be careful (or say anything else, for that matter), I hear a few thunks, and Robin hits the ground, newly perforated by arrows along her right side.

The pieces fall into place. That conversation took place in an abandoned timeline. We never had that conversation, as far as anyone else should be concerned. She definitely shouldn't know what that means, since I never explained it to her again after that. But she recalled and used the term anyway.

She remembers events from timelines that didn't ultimately come to pass.

I realize I haven't been paying attention to whatever Robin's been saying right in front of me.

"Uh, Randall? You alright?" Robin asks.

I blink. "What? Yeah. I'll talk to you later, okay?" I say, waving limply and shuffling off.

"Alright, I guess," she slowly half-asks.

Once I'm on my own, I start going back over the events of the past few months. I don't want to be wrong on this. Until now, it never occurred to me that I might not be the only one that can relive timelines, but if it can happen for me, why not for her too?

What evidence do I have, aside from the weird OCD thing? For one thing, it's always felt like her strategies are adaptive across timelines. She never has the same plan twice, even if nothing about her day before the battle should have changed. And they're not small changes, either; our entire plan of attack changed at least twice today across runs. On top of that, she was weirdly sleepy today too. Almost as if she too has been dealing with the mental strain of multiple runs. I've always assumed that she just sleeps poorly, and she does, but maybe there was more to it.

It's a start. I'm sure if I dug and analyzed further I'd find more, but maybe the best thing to do is to just ask her about it. Though just up and asking 'Oh hey, do you by chance possess the ability to evade death and respawn at the point you last woke up whenever you are killed?' seems a little strange to me. Definitely not a question a sane person asks. And I've been keeping up the illusion of sanity pretty well so far, I'd like to think.

Plus, if she doesn't have the power, that would mean I'd be admitting to someone who couldn't possibly understand what it's like that I have the power to go back and, in theory, fix any mistake. That's a dangerous thing to let anyone know, for sure.

How can I possibly approach this?

"So, you are priest who beat people in face with staff, yes?" I hear behind me. Of course, there's no mistaking who that is.

"I see my reputation precedes me," I reply, turning to look at Gregor as he approaches. "Though I should clarify, I'm not a priest. I just think the robe is cool."

He lets out a barking, gruff laugh. "Is better this way! For priest to drink is no good. But for regular man, is fine. So, we get to town, and we go to bar, and you drink with us, yes?"

"Who's 'us' exactly?" I ask. It's just a formality, of course. I would gladly get my drink on with just Gregor if he asked. He seems like this world's best possible drinking buddy.

Gregor narrows his eyes, trying to recall names no doubt. Eventually he gives up. "We go with many people. There is small man who smell like sugar, blond man with big arms and bigger axe, green horse fighter man, red horse fighter lady, always-tripping flying horse lady, scary hairy rabbit lady, and red hair lady who dress like rich clown. You go with us and have great time!"

"Sounds like a party to me," I say. "Wait. Panne wants to go drinking with everyone?"

"Which is Panne?"

"The Taguel." He looks at my blankly. "Rabbit lady?"

He breaks out into a grin. "Ah, yes. Gregor have tough time convincing her to join, but after while, no woman can turn down invitation from Gregor."

A voice interrupts us. "Is that so, Gregor?" It's Robin, come to join our conversation.

He beams confidently at her. "Is very much so! To prove point, would white-hair planning lady like to join?"

She smirks. "And what if I were to say no?"

Unshaken and without hesitation, Gregor replies, "Then Gregor extend invitation again. It will be great time!"

"What if I say no again?" Robin asks.

Gregor sighs. "Then you leave Gregor no choice. Gregor offer for beard healing man to pay for all drinks of white-hair planning lady for whole evening."

I double-take. "I'm sorry? When did I become an element of your failsafe plan to invite women out?" I ask him incredulously.

Robin bursts out laughing. "Well, I can't very well turn down a deal like that, can I?"

I whirl on her. "I mean, you definitely could. I do not consent to this arrangement."

Gregor claps me on the back with his shovel of a hand. "Hee hee haw, is too late already. See look of joy in woman's face? No man should take look of joy like that away."

She waves a hand dismissively. "I'm just messing with you, don't worry. I still have planning to do, including adding Gregor and Nowi to the roster, so you guys can go ahead."

Gregor looks more than a little defeated. I decide to speak up on his behalf. "You know, you could let that stuff wait a night. We had a really tough go of it today. It might be nice to loosen up for a while." Especially if I'm right about you.

She gives an apologetic smile. "Another time, promise," she says, and heads off to the command wagon. She pauses for a moment and looks back at me. "If you see any of the armored and mounted division, give them a smack on the head from me. Tell them to listen to orders in the field next time. Our formation falling apart nearly got people killed."

I raise a hand. "Gotcha. Several head slaps, coming up." She heads off for real.

Gregor claps a hand on my shoulder. "Bah, is no problem if she is busy. We simply drink enough to make up for loss of her company!"

As tired as I still am, I can't deny getting a couple drinks in me sounds like just what the doctor ordered. And I would know. In this world, I'm a doctor.

---

Before too long, we arrive in one of the towns surrounding the miraculous oasis that normally would have marked the battlefield where we'd fight the Grimleal, but since they turned up early, there's no such negative connotation attached to the place anymore. They're just some nice village folk who happen to be living in a country that's about to get bodied in this war.

Speaking of, I wonder why the Grimleal attacked us when and where they did. In one of the runs, the boss mentioned a traveler that tipped them off to us coming, but that doesn't happen in-game. I'm pretty sure the Shepherds run into the Grimleal by coincidence as the latter are chasing Nowi in the game.

I mentally chide myself. You dummy. So much stuff has changed from how you remember it. Like the paralogues with Victor and Vincent, for example. They're not supposed to happen at the same time, but they did for some reason. So you can't expect your memory of the canon to always line up. What was the reason for Vincent coming back, anyway?

Wait. I remember something Vincent said.

"That traveler was right! Victor was in trouble! I wasn't fast enough!"

That's right! He mentioned a traveler too! Could it be the same person? If so, why are they following the same route we are? What could be their plan, if anything? I'll have to keep an eye and an ear out for more about this mysterious traveler. Could this be a consequence of Aventine getting away from us? Maybe he's having us tailed or something. I heard the reports; they never found his body. I assume he's still out there somewhere. Be a lot nicer if just found a nice ditch to die in or something.

I consider again. Maybe this traveler's just a person who actually does try to help random strangers as they travel by tipping them off about oncoming military forces?

I sigh. When has anything ever turned out that neatly tied up?

By the time Gregor and I get to the pub he directed everyone toward, the rest of the group is already there, and we're the last ones in.

Vaike raises a glass to us as we walk through the door. "If it isn't the guy who saved our asses just in the nick of time today!"

The others at the table everyone's gathered around raise their glasses too. "Ayyy!" they shout in accord.

Vaike says, "Before we really get going, how about a quick toast to the man of the hour, eh?" Everyone shouts in agreement again.

I won't deny, I'm a little surprised. Flattered, too. I didn't think killing that Grimleal was such a big deal, but I suppose he was the boss after all. I guess it did feel a little badass to wield magic like that, now that I consider it. I smile at everyone gratefully.

I take a step forward. "Everyone, tha–"

"To Gregor!" Vaike shouts.

"To Gregor!" responds everyone else, and they all take a drink.

O-oh. Okay then. I'm a little embarrassed to myself, but thank Christ I didn't manage to say much out loud before that got cleared up. Hopefully in this somewhat dim lighting, no one can see me reddening.

Gaius shouts, "It's not every man that comes riding through the skies on a manakete to save a group of strangers he has no obligation to!"

Sumia chimes in, "Of course, we should thank Nowi too, but since she isn't here, we'll settle for thanking you for now, Gregor."

Gregor has a spot at the center of the table with a frothy glass waiting for him, so he takes a seat, grinning like a kid on Christmas. "Hah, is nothing! No trouble at all, new friends!" Ignoring the glass on the table, he pulls out a flask from a pouch on his belt and takes a mighty swig. Everyone cheers.

I, meanwhile, have to pull up a chair to sit at the end of the table, where I become a bit of a third wheel for Stahl and Panne. I head briefly to the bar in back and decide I'll give Plegian whiskey a try. Maybe I'll be able to taste the difference? I've never been much of an expert before, but who knows? This is a new body, after all. Maybe this one has a more refined palate.

I take a sip as I head back to the table. Aside from a few grits that I assume are just sand particles getting into the mix, it's surprisingly unassuming. I expected it to taste… eviller. I'm lightly disappointed.

As I sit down, Stahl asks, "Were you saying something earlier, Randall? We kind of interrupted you with that toast."

I feel some color return to my face. "Nah, it was nothing. How are you guys after today? No aches or anything?"

Stahl replies, "I'm all fine. Are you good, Panne?"

"I am mostly well, but I was hit at one point in the battle by a sword pommel on my left buttock. It still aches, even though the fight was hours ago. I am out of vulnerary as well. Can you examine it?" she asks, already standing up, turning, and bending down to show the spot in question.

Stahl and I act as one. "Whoa whoa whoa," we say, raising our hands to stop her. We draw a few eyes from further down the table. I add, "I'll take a look at it later, but let's not, uh… at the table."

She turns back around, frowning. "I do not understand. Am I not meant to show you my injuries when you ask me to?"

I look to Stahl for aid. He shrugs. I look back to her. "It's a little different when the injury is… there."

"Why?" Panne asks.

Stahl comes to my rescue. "I'll tell you later." He turns to me. "We've been trying to help each other learn a little more about one another's cultures. It's been really fascinating."

"Quite. In any case, my drink is empty. I am going to get another. Stahl, do you have my money pouch?" Panne asks.

"Yeah, right here," he says, tossing a small cloth pouch to her. She heads off to the bar. "Panne likes to be light on her feet, so I offered to carry some of her stuff for her. I'm not nearly so agile, and I'm usually on Fennec anyway, so it's no trouble for me," he explains to me.

I give him some side-eye. "Oho, I see your game."

"What game? There's no game!" he protests.

"Uh huh. You know, when she turned around, I noticed her tail. It's quite fluffy, wouldn't you agree?" I ask.

He looks confused. "Um… yes?"

"Do you like her fluffy tail?"

He looks like he's being interrogated by the police. "Sure?"

"Would you go so far as to say you'd want to… touch the fluffy tail?"

The man looks truly at a loss. "I… I guess?"

"Fair enough," I say simply.

Panne returns holding a frothing mug.

"I have to say, it's a little surprising to see you coming out to drink with us," I tell her. "I didn't think social engagements, or alcohol for that matter, were really your thing."

"You are correct, at least about human social engagements. They are not my preference," she says, then punctuates the thought with a long sip. "Alcohol is… strange. But it warms the belly pleasingly."

"What did Gregor have to say to get you to come? He mentioned he had a hard time convincing you."

She pauses, considering. "It would not be fair to say Gregor convinced me of anything. But since Stahl has been making an effort lately to create dishes that a taguel can more easily digest, I felt that I owed him a favor, and told him as much. He told me that joining this group for a night of celebration is how he wanted to make good on that favor."

I waggle my eyebrows at him. "You sly dog."

"By the way, Stahl. Why, if you want to touch my tail so badly, did you not make that your favor?" Panne asks.

"Y-you heard that?" Stahl asks, aghast.

Panne strokes one of her ears. "Even in this din, I can hear your elevated heart rate at this very moment. Of course I could hear you."

"W-well, the thing about that is–"

The conversation is interrupted by the center of the table bursting into chants of "Go, go, go!" as Gregor knocks back what was left in his flask before chasing it with the beer the others had bought him. Sully, Vaike, Anna, and Gaius all cheer as he slams the glass onto the table. I'm amazed it doesn't break.

"That reminds me. I'm empty too. Back in a second," I say, rising from the table and heading to the back. I'm hoping to give my boy some time for a bit.

As I'm paying for my drink, the bartender says, "You're the Shepherds, right? That lot from Ylisse?"

I had almost forgotten we are deep in Plegian country. Still, it won't really help to lie. "Yeah, we are. I hope that's not an issue for you. I know we're technically your enemies and all."

He scoffs. "I'm no friend of King Gangrel or his government. To be totally honest with you, even the Grimleal have worn out their welcome. Used to be, they'd just make sure you were going to temple once a week with everyone else, but they'd mostly leave everyone alone and proselytize harmlessly on street corners. More recently, though, they've become an extension of Gangrel's military, and they're all too happy to search people's homes and businesses to see if we're housing any Ylisseans or Ylisse sympathizers. Even if they didn't find anything, and they never did, they'd still usually take some food or valuables under the guise of 'inspection.' By now, I'd say most of the folks around here won't miss Father Chalard" (so that was his name!) "and his men at all. No different from General Campari and the military regulars. The point is, your money is good here. In fact," he addresses the room in general, "to everyone belonging to the Shepherds of Ylisse! Your next drink is on the house!"

Everyone raises their glasses and cheers.

---

"No no no, Gregor, it goes like this:

Whack for my daddy-o!

Whack for my daddy-o!

There's whiskey in the jar!

Why the hell are you saying 'Whack for my daddy Finn'?" Gaius slurs across the table.

"My father's name not O, silly thief. My father named Finn. Good, strong name. Who is Daddy O?" Gregor replies, seemingly much more sober. Sumia giggles next to him.

"Yeah, but… It's not… You just… You know what? I think I'm gonna go to bed," Gaius says at last, rising unsteadily from the table.

Vaike rises too, arms outstretched to catch him if he falls. "Easy there tiger. Sully, you wanna give me a hand with this one?"

"If he hurls on me, I'm dumping him headfirst in the oasis," she warns as she supports his other side.

Sumia starts to get up. "I-I'll come too! In case he, you know, needs me for so–oof!" she starts to say before she stumbles on her chair's legs and falls on her ass. "Oww… Anyway, I'm coming too."

As half the group starts making its way toward the exit, Anna says, "So, I guess that's the sign that this little party is wrapping up. You're picking up my tab, right big guy?" She touches Gregor's arm briefly as she gets out of her chair.

He nods. "That was agreement. Fun times had by all, yes?"

Stahl says, "Absolutely. What about you, Panne? Did you enjoy yourself?"

From where I'm sitting, I can see her tail twitch. Cute. "I did not… hate this excursion, I suppose. I would perhaps be willing to do something like it again."

I can't tell if it's her statement or the alcohol that's making Stahl this red. "I'm… really glad to hear that, Panne."

I stand up. "I think that's our cue to go as well, Greg."

He looks at me. "What? What is–" He glances at Stahl. "Ooh. Gregor understand. Let us turn in for evening. Thank you, mister barman!" We both make a somewhat stumbling exit.

We don't speak much on our way back to the inn we've been allowed to stay in for the night (I'm just assuming the locals here really didn't like Chalard), but as we reach the room he's sharing with Lon'qu, Virion, and Vaike, Gregor turns and claps his hand on my shoulder.

"Is good to be traveling with good people. Gregor had too many bad employers in past. To be with kind people again… makes Gregor very glad," he says.

"I feel the same way. I can tell we've found a good guy in you as well," I say.

To my surprise, a very brief look of doubt flashes across his face. It's gone before I know it, though. "Here is hoping Gregor live up to high expectations."

I turn to leave. "Good night, Gregor."

"Good night, beard healing man."

"Just so you know, it's Randall," I remind him.

"Gregor will try to remember," he says kindly.

"And be careful if you're sharing a bed with Virion. He's, uh, pretty affectionate in his sleep," I say.

"Thank you for warning, Randall."

I raise a hand in farewell and start making my way to the room I'm sharing with Ricken, Gaius, and Donnel. When I open the door, a somewhat distressing sight awaits me.

"Good luck making that work," Ricken says sleepily from the bed he's currently occupying with the snoring Donnel. By 'that,' he refers to the exceedingly hammered Gaius currently draped over the entirety of the bed I guess I'm meant to share with him.

I scowl at the pair in the other bed. "And you guys didn't even try to keep him in check?"

"Look, there's only so much we could do. Gaius might not be the biggest guy in the army, but he's kinda scary when he wants to be," Ricken replies. "He was a career thief before he joined us, after all."

"I suppose that's fair," I concede. I weigh my options. I could try to fight him for space on this bed, or I suppose I could try to find a place elsewhere. Since Chrom's got his own room tonight, that leaves Kellam, Stahl, and Frederick in the other men's room. I figure since Stahl and Kellam are such close buddies, they'd be sharing a bed. Which means I'd be sharing a bed with Frederick.

"Gaius, move your ass," I say forcefully, flopping him into a position where he only takes up half the bed. Instantly, he moves to get back into his old position. I move him again. He aggressively jerks back to his spread-eagle pose.

Ricken does his best to hide his snickering, but to no avail. I glare at him. "Oh, you think he's funny, do ya?"

"A little," he says, unable to keep a smug air out of his voice.

"Well, since you like him so much," I say, lifting Gaius out of the bed entirely. He squirms in vague protest. I turn around and drop him between Ricken and Donnel, pinning the former against the wall. "You can have him."

"Randall, wait! This isn't fair!" Ricken complains, lightly muffled by the sugary thief's shoulder in his face.

I lie triumphantly in my now-solo bed. "Donnel doesn't seem to mind. Neither does Gaius. You've been outvoted, my man," I say.

Ricken lets out the groan of a man who knows he's been beaten. Meanwhile, the combination of drink and extreme mental fatigue whisks me off to sleep faster than he can form a rebuttal.

---

Even without attacks from freaky cultists to slow us down, I still hate the desert.

"Oh yeah, I meant to do this a few days ago actually."

Thwack!

This time, I knew it was coming. I chose to do nothing. Since she didn't get to do it yesterday, I kinda figured she'd be closing in for a punch pretty soon.

Doesn't make it hurt any less. Though this time I think I understand it a little more. It's her own way of trying to tell me that things haven't changed between us, even after Maribelle and I cut things off. I appreciate the sentiment. I'd appreciate it more if it didn't smart so much.

"There. Now we're even," she says with finality.

"Thanks, Lissa," I reply.

She cocks her head a little. "Did you just thank me for hitting you? That's a new one."

I shrug. "Nothing else seemed like the right thing to say."

"Weirdo. Anyway, I'm actually here to deliver a message. Robin wants to see you in the command tent, pronto."

"What for?"

"She didn't say. Just that it's important and it pertains to our plan to rescue Emm. So move it, mister!" She makes a shooing gesture with her hands.

"Fine, fine. Talk to you later," I say, taking my leave of her.

When I get to the command tent, Robin is standing at the war table, gazing intently at the map. She looks up as I enter.

"Good, you're here. Make sure we don't have any eavesdroppers, please," she says. "And close the wagon."

I poke my head out the door, where Lissa is walking suspiciously close to the wagon. "You there! Git!" I say. She makes a noise between a growl and a groan and stalks off.

I reenter the wagon. "We're good. So what's this about the plan?"

"This isn't really about that just yet," she says.

"Then whatcha need?"

I've seldom seen a more serious expression on her face. "I've been going over my notes, and I think I know what's going on. I need you to be absolutely honest with me, okay?"

"Sure."

She swallows. "Randall, have you ever died before?"

Oh.

Well that answers that.

---

A/N: Whew. This one was a doozy. I figured since I've taken more than two weeks to you, I owed you guys a particularly beefy chapter. So here you go: by far the longest chapter yet. That was also because there wasn't really an organic place to cut it, so I decided to just give you guys the whole thing. And we sure covered a lot of ground! Dark magic aptitude, the mysterious traveler, our dear Robin's revelation, and so on. Not to mention my main man Gregor finally enters the story. I've been looking forward to that for a while. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed!

To all those that reviewed last chapter, I sincerely thank you. I knew busting up that relationship would be an unexpected move, but it seems that most of you guys are willing to roll with it, which is super encouraging to me. In particular, I gotta thank Caellach Tiger Eye, who wrote basically a book of his own reviewing the story up to this point. I hope this chapter pushes the development of Randall more in the direction you (and other reviewers) have been hoping for. He still has much to learn, and his more passive role as a healer has allowed him to get away with shying away from major growth, but that kind of luxury doesn't last, which we got a taste of this time.

As always, I have to thank the lovely Syntaxis, always steering me onto a better path with this story. If you haven't checked out An Odd Awakening yet, you should. Very good stuff. And here is your out of context Syntaxis quote of the week: "It's a booty joke. What sort of monster doesn't appreciate butt jokes?"

And finally, as always, comments and critiques are welcome. See you next time!