Birth and Re-Death
Chapter 25: Robin Does a Swear
The young woman in blue shivers slightly under her blanket. Unfortunately, this has become the norm for her lately, as the desert gets surprisingly cold at night. Even so, she can't risk starting a fire and being spotted… Not that there's anything she could use to keep a fire going all night anyway.
She sighs.
Talking to herself to distract from the cold, she mutters, "He did it. Randall actually saved Aunt Emmeryn. I thought we were foiled for sure. Time favors its original course, but with a strong enough will, maybe… we could change things."
A sharp breeze slips through her blanket, interrupting her thoughts and earning a fresh shiver from her. If only she could join her father and the rest of the Shepherds, safe from the wind in their tents. But no, that would be too risky. The more time she spends with the Shepherds, the greater the risk that one of them might see the Brand in her eye. Having to explain that to anyone other than Randall would be just about impossible. Especially since her father and mother aren't even married yet, let alone expecting a child.
She thinks about the other children from her time. Where they might be. Naga had warned them that there was no guarantee they wouldn't be, as Randall put it at the time, 'scattered to the cosmic fucking winds.'
She thinks about her brother. Where had he landed, and when? Would he be alright on his own? She had hoped at first that they might land close together, since she'd entered the portal not long after him, but it seems there really wasn't a rhyme or reason to the way they'd come out the other side.
Even so, she had seemingly landed in the exact right place and time. She was just in time to save Aunt Lissa, and she had ample time to prevent Lon'qu being crippled and Aunt Emmeryn from being assassinated.
Time she has spent largely alone. She has never been on her own for this long in her life before. No matter how much her parents and Randall had tried to prepare her for what was coming, it was still different when she finally arrived in the past. On one hand, towns are full to bursting with people, with good food and soft beds, with hope and strength. This world is rich with life. On the other, she has always had her friends and her little brother to see her through even the toughest of times. Not to mention that Randall had always been there for her, until… She shakes her head. This is a new world to her, even after these several months. The unfamiliar things, even the positive ones, frighten her. And seeing how much this world has to lose if she should fail…
Another chill, unrelated to the weather, runs down her spine.
But even so, with every passing battle, it seems the world gets closer and closer to a future that averts the rebirth of the monster that still haunts her dreams. If Aunt Emmeryn can be saved, then why shouldn't she have faith that with her help and a bit of divine luck, things couldn't turn out differently?
Now her mind stirs in a different direction. Where could or should she go to be the most useful to the cause? Where is the next disaster going to strike? Things are already so different than what she had anticipated, even accounting for saving Aunt Emmeryn. From what she knew of her own time, her father had taken control of the country much earlier and had by this time already begun an organized counterattack on Plegia. The enemy had never taken Ylisstol in the first place because Prince Chrom had never left it. But in this new sequence of events, the capital was left virtually undefended, as her father had prioritized keeping Aunt Emmeryn safe and the royal guard left behind wasn't enough to stop the Plegian advance.
Did her intervention actually cost lives rather than save them?
She shakes her head. It won't do to think like that. She heard Aunt Emmeryn's speech, after all. It's likely that her message was magically relayed all the way across the country. The Exalt may not have the aptitude to wield Falchion, but her magical talent is certainly not something to underestimate. So hopefully that message might inspire a more peaceful sentiment in the Plegians. Perhaps with Aunt Emmeryn saved and having delivered this message, the drawn-out bloodshed of the war she had heard stories about might even now be avoided.
Even so, that doesn't answer the question of where she is most needed. Of course, she could try looking for her friends, but according to Naga and Randall, there is no way to know where or even when they ended up. Plus, her intervention had been helpful before with saving Aunt Emmeryn, so there's a chance that she might be needed again soon. Though with the advantage of foresight now lost to her thanks to all these departures from the former timeline, she is going to have to simply be more diligent and adaptable than before.
In a way, it's almost exciting. To know she played a role in saving her aunt's life. To have this chance to save everyone else, too. It's a warm enough thought that she manages to shrug off the wind and fall asleep, curled up in the desert sand.
"Uuugh," I moan into my hands.
It's the only way I can sum up my feelings about what happened yesterday. Even though I just woke up, I already feel out of it. I think I spent just about all the emotion in my system last night, and now I just feel vaguely empty. Just when everything looked like it was going to go well for us, life delivered a knockout combo that finally proved too much for me to handle. If I were back on Earth, I'd probably consider seeing a therapist. But we don't exactly have those around here.
How is everyone going to react when they see me? I'm sure that the Shepherds that didn't see or hear it themselves will at least have gotten the story from someone before the day is out. Even harmless gossip spreads like wildfire through this army, let alone someone having a very loud mental breakdown in the middle of the night. Though perhaps in light of the even bigger crises in our midst, it might get overshadowed. You know, like the Exalt losing her memory and arguably our best fighter losing the use of his legs.
On thinking about Emmeryn and Frederick again, my face goes back in my hands. I'm reminded with a painful sting that I let myself get incredibly sunburnt yesterday. I think I can feel the melanomas forming already.
"Uuugh."
The tent flap opens. It's the one person I think I could bear to see right now. The only person that might understand some of this guilt.
"Come on, Randall. We've got to get a move on if we're going to stay ahead of the Plegians," Robin says, holding the tent flap open with a foot while her hands are busy tying her hair up.
She's right, of course. Not that it makes getting up any easier. Every fiber of my being reminds me that it's still sore after the ordeal it went through the other day. Hell, the Rescue of Cordelia and Hyperion took a lot out of me by itself. I can see why saving Ricken, Maribelle, and me at once knocked Lissa clean out back at the Border Pass. To say nothing of my mental state making me want to stay in bed too.
As I pull on my robes, wincing from the burns on my face and neck as I do so, I realize how disgusting they are after our exceedingly damp and muddy trip through the Midmire. I really need to own more than one outfit. It's a nice, distracting thought for a few seconds, before I remember what I'm trying to distract myself from. I sigh, strapping my Mend staff to my back as I leave my tent.
Packing up the caravan is a quiet process. I can feel eyes occasionally looking my way and quickly averting their gaze. It's almost worse than if people came right up to me and asked about it. Almost. In general, aside from Robin, people are steering clear of me for the moment. I don't even see Chrom or Maribelle, so I can't say whether they're ignoring me too. Not that anyone's particularly chatty with anyone else, so maybe it's not just me. Regardless, we need to get moving to stay ahead of the Plegians, so we get everything packed away quickly, and soon we're back on the road. The only nice part about the process is when I find a vial of vulnerary and drink it to make my burns calm down.
Once we're all set and moving, Robin gestures for me to join her in the command wagon. When we're inside, Robin stops in the middle of walking toward the war table and turns to look at me.
"Randall, I'm sorry. I should have checked with Frederick before we allowed ourselves to sleep. I should have helped you act more quickly to save Exalt Emmeryn's memory. I was so sure that she had died, and I hadn't seen any sign that she'd used the wind magic. But I should have had more faith, like you did. Maybe that would have made a difference," she says.
"I don't think it would have been any different unless we had gone back and went for a ninth run. I wish we had, but there's no guarantee it would've gone even slightly okay. We were already just about dead in the water for that eighth run," I reply.
She was already pretty somber-looking, but it worsens. "Even so, I feel responsible. You did everything you could, but I didn't."
"Trust me, I could've done more. I always could have done more," I say, half-scoffing.
"That doesn't change that I should have done more as well."
"What, are you making this a contest or something? I spent all of last night thinking through everything that's been my fault in this war, and I'll tell you what, it's a pretty high score, Robin!" I shoot back incredulously.
"You're not the only one at fault, Randall," she snaps, her tone sharpening.
"Sure fucking feels like it," I retort.
"Then why do I feel like this?" She grabs me by my little shoulder shawl-cape thing and shakes it. "Why do I know the things I could have, and should have, done differently? If it was really only you, then I'd be mad at you, not me!"
"You sound pretty mad at me right now," I reply.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Randall," she sighs. "I'm irritated with you right now, but I'm not angry."
"Well maybe you goddamn should be!" I say, roughly shaking her off of me.
"What would that help?" she demands in return.
"It'd be better than everyone fucking pitying me! Pity is for people who don't deserve what's happening to them. I don't deserve anyone's pity."
"You don't think you're pitying yourself just a little bit? Not talking to anyone all morning, just moping around the way you were?"
"Oh gee, Robin! Maybe I'm feeling just a little bit down on account of everything I fucked up!" I'm pacing around the wagon by now. "Maybe it's a little hard to wake up the next morning and go, 'Oh, good morning starshine! How about a nice cup of tea and a little ditty to start off the day? I think I'll go have a nice frolic in the blistering fucking sand, maybe burn the shit out of my skin! What does it matter, at least that can be cured! Least it's not, say, permanent memory loss, or maybe paralysis! Sure would suck if that was what happened, right?'"
She gets in my face again. "Yeah, Randall, it sure does! It's awful what happened, but it wasn't all you! We can't afford to lose ourselves over this! We have to pick up and move forward, or else even more terrible things are going to happen to our friends!"
"What is it you want from me, Robin?" I demand.
"I want you to get it together. I know that you can be a bit volatile when you get angry. More than a bit. But that has to go in a positive place, or else we risk losing one of the best resources we have. You're a good healer, and a good tactician, but not if you can't grab the reins under pressure. So please, just work with me." She's consciously reduced her volume to try and calm the situation down, but I'm still breathing heavily with frustration and anger. "Let me help you shoulder this, Randy. I can–"
Behind me, I hear the door to the command wagon open. With almost unnatural speed, Tharja materializes next to Robin.
"I thought I might find you here, Robin," she coos, not giving any signal that she's even noticed me here. "I know you've lost your memories of our past, but that's okay. I was thinking you'd like me to tell you some of the things we did together when we were little. Maybe it could jog your memory?"
Robin too looks surprised at how fast Tharja moved to her side. "O-oh. I mean, it's true that I'd like that, but… maybe not now, Tharja. There's a lot going on at the moment, and I need to be focused on keeping the Shepherds together and on task as we make our way out of the country."
Tharja leans her head forward, her bangs casting her face in shadow. "I… see. But if you ever feel like talking, you won't need to look far."
She turns and starts to skulk toward the door, but before she makes it that far, a thought occurs to me. You want me to put all this in a productive place, Robin? Fine. This is how I'll do it.
"Hey Tharja," I call, holding up a hand. She pauses and turns slightly. "I got a favor I want to ask you for."
"What is it?" she asks in an irritated monotone.
"I want you to teach me to use dark magic. I know I have the aptitude, but I never had a teacher before. Wanna help a fellow dark mage out?" I ask. I hear Robin shift behind me.
Tharja turns to face me fully. "I don't see why I'd waste the time to–"
"Because it would make me more useful to the Shepherds," I interrupt. "Robin's been wanting me to learn ever since we discovered I had the aptitude."
Behind me, Robin says, "I thought you didn't want to learn dark magic."
I turn to look at her over my shoulder. "I wasn't sure before, but now I am. You're right; I need a place to put all this. And I remember now how good it felt to use it the first time, back at the Border Sands. To put a murdering slaver into the ground, rid the world of a little evil. And anyway, like I said, it was your idea in the first place."
She sighs. "That's true. Alright then. Tharja, would you please help him learn?"
Tharja scowls. "Fine. Come with me. I'll explain the basics until we stop the caravan for the day, then you can begin your actual training."
"Be careful, Randall," Robin says as we leave the wagon.
"The first and most important thing to understand is the connection between dark magic and emotion. The core of a dark mage's talent is in the ability to express and amplify the right emotion to get the right result from the tome."
"What does that mean?" I ask.
"I'm getting there," Tharja snaps. "Don't rush me." With a huff, she continues, "Where anima magic is based mostly in the understanding a mage has for the element and the runes used to bind that element, dark magic is on a deeper, more intuitive level. It's older magic than anima, and like light magic, which isn't really used anymore since no one in a long time has had the aptitude for it, the ability to use it is based in things that predate intellect. In other words, to get the most out of a dark magic tome, you have to allow your bestial side to come through. As humans understand it, that means you have to let your emotions flow into your magic."
She reaches into the dark cloth bag slung over her shoulder and gets out a black leatherbound book and hands it to me. "Take this. Feel it in your hands."
I take the tome from her. It has that same feeling as a healing staff does, as if it's been somehow 'switched on' by my touch and is patiently waiting for me to open it up and release its magic.
"That's a Flux tome. It's considered the most basic of dark magic tomes because of its more general emotional requirements. You don't really need to feel any specific emotion to make good use of a Flux tome; all that matters is that whatever you feel, you feel it intensely. You could even feel something positive like love or joy and still make it work; that's how general it is.
"With more advanced tomes like this Nosferatu here," she continues, holding up another black tome, "the requirements are more specific and more taxing for the user. To use a Nosferatu to its fullest power, you have to master the emotion of desire. Of envy. Jealousy. The need to take from someone else. Only then can you effectively steal their life force."
"Does that mean I'll get to use–"
"Do not interrupt me. I'm only going to say all this once, so I hope you're paying attention," she growls, stowing her Nosferatu back in the bag. "Later, you'll learn about Ruin tomes," she goes on, "which rely on the user's desire to, as you might guess, absolutely decimate the enemy. The desire for destruction, to watch something be reduced to ashes, is essential to making Ruin its most potent."
Explains why the bloodthirsty Henry is so proficient with it, I think to myself.
"Finally, someday you might get to the level of a Waste tome. Though it sounds deceptively simple, the force that powers a Waste tome is absolute, unremitting hatred. You must really, truly pour out your malice onto your target. It's a personal, extremely taxing spell. Not many dark mages can manage to allow such hate into their hearts without going mad, but such is the price of power. You got all that?"
"What about Goetia?" I ask.
She frowns. "How should I know? It's a legendary weapon. I've never seen it, let alone held it and studied what emotions it might require from its user."
"Oh. Sorry, I guess," I say, a little embarrassed. Tharja reminds me of the older kids from my middle school days. She just has this way of looking at you that makes you feel like an idiot.
"Why do you want to know?" she asks.
"Well, I've been hit with its magic a few times now. I was just wondering how it works is all."
She stops walking. "Wait. You've been hit with Goetia's magic? More than once? And you're alive?"
"Yeah…?" I stop walking too.
She sniffs. "What was it like?"
"Hmm… It was… awful. Like, by far the worst pain I've ever been in. Whatever it hits experiences immediate and near total necrosis. I'm pretty sure it's only because Lissa and Maribelle are masters of their craft that I was brought back from that. I can't say it's an experience I recommend."
"I see… Very interesting. So you met with Lady Aversa's wrath, not just once, but multiple times?"
"Oh, you know her? Yeah, I don't think we've had a single interaction where I didn't actively piss her off." We start walking again.
"Every member of the Grimleal faith's inner circle has at least seen Lady Aversa at some point," Tharja says, as if it should have been obvious. "And before you ask, yes, I was a member of the Grimleal inner circle. It won't be a problem, though. I'm sure I've already been excommunicated by now."
"That how you know Robin, then?" I ask. "You were her little playmate or something?"
Her eyes flash dangerously. "How much do you know?"
Whoops. I guess I spoke too carelessly. Let's dial it back a bit. "Well, it's not exactly a mystery what the mark on the back of her hand is. I've seen it all over every piece of Grimleal merch we've seen so far. I assume she was part of the faith once, before she lost her memories."
Her eyes stay narrowed for a moment, but finally she relents. "You're not wrong. It's the Brand of the Defile. She was once considered very important to the Grimleal faithful. It seems she, or more likely her mother, decided that wasn't the life for her after all."
"You must have missed her a lot after she left."
She's silent for a moment. "You haven't the faintest idea."
"Hang on, what? Why can't we just use a dummy?" I ask incredulously.
"Because you'd never be able to muster up the emotion to damage a dummy. Not to mention we'd never be able to tell if a spell that decays organic matter worked on a dummy in the first place, obviously," Tharja replies, exasperated.
The caravan has stopped for the evening, which means it's finally time to give my first real training session a try. But I'm already stumbling at the first hurdle. Apparently the only way for dark mages to practice their craft is to try it on live targets. In this case, Tharja.
Reminds me of staff training, actually.
"Fine, I guess that makes sense. But what am I supposed to feel?" I ask.
"Weren't you listening before? It doesn't matter with a Flux tome. You can feel whatever you want, as long as you feel it strongly. If you've been harboring a secret, fiery love for me since we met a few days ago, pour that into the spell. If you hate me to my very core, then channel that hatred. If you find that you… lust after me, I suppose that would work as well," she replies, grimacing as she says that last part. "Though if that's the case, then for your own good, I don't want to know." She stands about fifteen feet away, arms held limply out to her sides, waiting for me to deliver.
"Alright, I'll give it a go, I guess." I open the cover of the Flux tome and touch my fingers to the tingling page, feeling my spiritual force interact with the magic just on the other side of the runes. I gently lead the magic out of the tangle of runes and take it into my hand.
Now, what do I think of Tharja? What do I feel about her? I mean, I'm not her biggest fan. Stalker yandere types are really not my cup of tea. Maybe I can try and amplify my feelings of disgust I have for her creeping ways. Sounds as good as anything.
I look at her intently. That little creepy smile, masking God-only-knows-what thoughts, no doubt about Robin. She probably plans to watch Robin sleep tonight or something. I bet she wants to watch her bathe too! That's fucking gross. It's creepy, and she deserves to take a heavy dose of Flux for it!
I raise my hand.
But then I think about how she knew Robin back in their childhood. How much she must have missed her friend when she was taken away as a child. She's creepy, to be sure, but not for no reason like I once thought.
I release the spell, and it flies toward her and hits her squarely in the chest. She stumbles back a few steps, coughing for a few seconds, then stands up straight.
"That was feeble," she reprimands. "Almost no commitment whatsoever. Your mind must have been all over the place, dragging your emotions in its wake. Try once more."
"I'm not sure if I feel anything about you all that strongly, is all," I say.
She scowls. "Then pretend I'm someone else. Pretend I'm Gangrel. That should get you good and angry, shouldn't it?"
You know, she's got a point. Just at hearing the name, I think I feel my eyelid twitch a bit. I close my eyes and picture him instead of the woman in front of me. That son of a bitch was given a chance to let this all end, and he opted for this stupid war instead. All to fuel some egotistical ambition of his. How many have died needlessly to satisfy his sick narcissism?
He ordered the deaths of almost everyone in Maribelle's villa. Their blood is on his hands as much as it's on mine.
She's really got a point. I throw open the tome and lay my hand across a page, sliding my hand across the runes and pulling the magic out of them. It comes obediently, more willingly than any healing magic I've ever coaxed out of a staff. I feel it in my hands, gentle and springy but full of tension. Begging me to set it loose.
Begging to be allowed to punish Gangrel.
I throw the magic with my eyes closed. Once it's in the air, I open my eyes just in time to see Tharja take the blast to the face. Instantly, she's down for the count, whirling around and falling facedown onto the slowly cooling sand.
Oh shit.
I rush over to her and roll her onto her back as quickly as I can. Jesus Christ, I just about Harvey Two-Faced her. The whole right side of her face is blackened and decayed, her desiccated muscles just barely holding everything in its place. In a light panic, I pull out my Mend staff (thank Christ it's an automatic part of my morning routine to strap it on by now) and put it to work. Slowly, and with no shortage of grimaces and groans of pain from Tharja, her facial tissues reform and restructure themselves. It takes about three minutes for the damage to get fully undone.
Once I'm done, though, she surprises me. Rather than yell at me or threaten me with an equally vicious counterattack, she starts to chuckle in a low, sinister tone.
"Now that's more like it. I must have touched a nerve there, am I right?" she says.
I'm shaking a little bit. "Y-yeah. I guess so."
"Well, I've got some good news for you. You've definitely got the aptitude for this. Once you stop shaking like a newborn deer, we can give it another try."
I can't get the image out of my head for even a second. "My anger did that?"
She's grinning. "Oh yes. And wasn't it such a rush?"
I have to sit down. "That's one word for it."
She waits for a few seconds, but soon apparently loses her patience. "Come on, you're going to need more practice than just one good cast."
"I, uh, think I need a minute," I say, trying not to let my voice betray my nerves.
"You're telling me you haven't seen the results of dark magic before? I thought you took the full brunt of Goetia and lived," she says crossly. I can't really look at her face right now.
"It's not about that. Well, not wholly, anyway. It's more like… I did that. Just with my anger." The image of that Grimleal priest comes to mind. Or rather, what was left of him after I had let my magic loose on him. I had acted almost without thinking then. It had been automatic, like a survival instinct. But even then, it must have been my rage that fueled my power. Unthinking, uncontrolled anger.
I realize that's what scared me just now. For just a second, I lost control. And in that moment, it felt good.
As if reading my mind, Tharja says, "You'll learn to let go after a while. It's often one of the most difficult things in training a dark mage. You have to be willing to let your emotions run wild to become an effective mage. Now get up, and go again."
I do get up, but I say to her, "I think I've learned plenty for one day. Thanks, Tharja." I turn and start walking back toward the rest of the caravan.
She scoffs under her breath as I leave.
I'm still not super steady on my feet when I get back to the campsite. I'm not sure what to do with myself. I don't know who to talk to, or if I even want to talk with anyone at all. Images of dark magic and the mindless joy I felt keep flashing through my head, and the more I try not to think about it, the more I fixate on it.
It's only when my eyes come across the medical wagon that I can think about anything else. Though that's hardly a comforting train of thought either.
I probably do owe them a visit, though. It's my fault they're in this situation, after all. It might suck to have to confront what I've done face to face again, but maybe that's all the more reason I need to do it. I start heading over.
When I get to the medical wagon, I find Lon'qu standing arms crossed, leaning against the frame of the wagon. He nods at me as I enter. I'm therefore not surprised to see Lissa inside sitting with her sister. I give just about the most awkward wave hello in this world's history.
"Hey Lissa," I half-whisper. "How's, uh, things?"
She looks up at me, wearing a pretty obviously forced smile. "Hey Randy. Just checking in with Emm. Seeing if she's any better after getting some sleep. She's actually smiled a couple times today, so that's probably an improvement, but I don't know if she knows what I'm saying to her. Honestly, I'm pretty sure by now that she doesn't know who I am. Who anybody is."
"I'm sorry this happened, Lissa," I say, sitting down with them.
She takes a deep breath. "I'm trying to keep my mind on the positive. When I saw her go down off that spire, I thought for sure she was dead. I thought I had lost my sister. But she's sitting right here next to me. She's awake, and moving, and even if she can't speak or remember anything yet, she's still Emmeryn. Maribelle told me what happened. That you told her to Rescue Emm after she had fallen. And then, after we got away from the Plegians, that you were the one that wanted to see if she'd maybe survived, and that she had already given up. But you never gave up on her, even when the effort of healing her made you pass out. You saved my sister, Randy. Thank you."
I suddenly find the floor between my boots really interesting to look at. "I didn't do anything worth being thanked for. It's my fault she's sustained this damage."
"If we go back far enough, each of us could probably think of something we did that connects us to what happened. For me, I think maybe if I had been more firm with Emm about not leaving, she wouldn't have left. She wouldn't have been captured, and we never would have needed to save her in the first place. I know Chrom thinks something similar. But we can't afford to think like that, Randy. It's not any one person's fault that this happened. But the fact that she's alive at all? You're responsible for that. So you can wipe that frown off your face, because if you don't, I'll start thinking you're not glad you saved her. Got it?" Lissa says, slugging me in the shoulder, but much more gently than usual.
I remember what Robin said before. "You're not the only one at fault, Randall." Can I really allow myself to think that?
I look up at her, then look at Emmeryn next to her. The Exalt is staring at me, a strange expression on her face. It's not sad exactly, but it resembles it. Is it pity? I force a smile for her sake.
"Hey Emmeryn. I know it's going to be tough for you for a while, but for what it's worth, I'm definitely glad we saved you. It was incredibly brave, what you did. Now you can leave the rest to us. We'll achieve the peace you worked so hard and sacrificed so much for," I say, maintaining my smile throughout. It seems to work, as her expression softens to a near-smile as well.
Lissa leans over to give me a quick, extremely tight hug. "Really. Thank you, Randy." She stands up and starts heading for the door. "Maribelle says that I need to make sure I'm giving Emm her space, so I'm gonna head outside for a little. I'll see you later, Emm and Randy."
"Yeah, see you later," I say as she hops outside. Emmeryn makes a sort of 'muh' sound on seeing her sister leave.
The noise of rustling fabric from behind me reminds me of the other person I came here to see. I turn and head toward the front of the wagon to Frederick, who looks pretty out of sorts. His butler outfit has been stripped down some, leaving him in a thin white undershirt and dark cloth shorts. It's a little trippy to see his calves. Since I assume they've just about never seen the light of day, they're astonishingly pale. His hair, while never exactly spick and span in the past, is impressively messy.
At first I thought he might be asleep, but he startles me by opening his eyes when I get close.
"I was awake from the moment you came in, Randall," he says, his throat very evidently parched. He pauses to take a long sip from a canteen by his side. "I heard what you and milady Lissa talked about. I didn't realize before just how instrumental you personally were in saving the life of milady Emmeryn. I hope you know how thankful I am for that."
I shift around. "If I had acted more quickly, I could have probably saved her memories as well. I could have saved your spine. There were things I could have done, and should have done, but I didn't. I'm sorry."
I realize I almost repeated what Robin said this morning verbatim.
To my surprise, he chuckles. "Randall, come now. You must allow us some degree of agency. I'm a grown man, and the Exalt a grown woman. You can let us take some responsibility for our own actions."
"But, I—"
"Randall. Please. I don't need to hear your apology, because as far as I am concerned, there is nothing for which you should apologize. I am alive, and Exalt Emmeryn is alive. In fact, every Shepherd is alive. Have you any idea how fortunate we are?"
The enduring fatigue of our eight-run battle comes to mind. "I think I have some idea."
"We stormed the capital of Plegia and emerged with zero Ylissean casualties. Of course, the Feroxi heroes who came to our aid will be remembered for their noble sacrifice, but we in the Shepherds led the charge. Robin's and your ingenious plan to use Nowi, Ricken, and Donnel as a single unit was inspired. Your quick thinking to Rescue Cordelia was superb. Your taking charge of the extraction and healing of milady Emmeryn was… nothing short of heroic. Randall, I owe you a debt I could never repay." His voice takes on a strained tone, as if fighting back tears. "I thought I might never see milady again. But now she is back in safe hands."
"I never knew you were so close to the Exalt, Frederick," I say.
He gets his emotions under control again. "Of course I am. First and foremost, I am her knight. You would not know this, but for most of my life, I have served milady Emmeryn, not her younger siblings. It was only after the foundation of the Shepherds some six or seven years ago that I was reassigned by milady to keep milord Chrom, and later milady Lissa as well, safe from harm. Until that time I had been her steadfast bodyguard and servant from a young age," he explains.
"So you grew up with Emmeryn, then?"
"Perhaps not quite." He considers for a moment. "Randall, in my telling you this, I hope you understand that any doubts I had of you before are hereby erased for all time. If I may, I would like to tell you my story, such as it is."
I've been waiting for so long to earn his trust. But now that I have it, I'm not sure if I've really earned it. Even so, I nod my head. "Of course. Thank you, Frederick."
He sits up and pulls himself with his arms, rotating so that he can sit with his back against the wagon wall. "You see, I began life as a commoner. I lived in West Sedgar province, so of course when Gideon's War began, my home was right in the middle of the zone of conflict." I should probably learn my Ylissean provinces at some point, actually. "I was little more than a stable hand, thirteen years of age, when I was finally drafted to the Ylissean army. That was the last year of the war, and lack of personnel had driven the army to desperation. I had to learn swordsmanship in very short order, but somehow, perhaps because I was no stranger to hefting tools, combat came to me very naturally. Though I was young, I proved to be better as a soldier than I had ever been as a farmer."
"And it was by distinguishing yourself on the battlefield that you got a gig with the royal family when the war was finished," I say.
He points a finger at me. "Precisely. However, it did not start out that way. Nothing could have prepared me for when I first met the Exalt herself. Though I knew she was a mere nine years old, the young woman I met already had an air of maturity, intelligence, and confidence about her that I have seen few fully grown adults replicate in my life since then. Even so, brazen lad of fourteen that I was at the time, I knelt before her and swore fealty to her family. But it turned out that was not what she had wanted from me at all. Instead, she offered me money by way of apology for my having been drafted in the first place, and asked me to return home.
"However, I knew by then where my true talents lay. I pleaded with her to allow me to remain a soldier after peace had been brokered. While I believe she intended to tell me that it would be impossible, she must have seen something in the look in my eye that changed her mind. She told me that she would allow it, but that I had to swear to obey her personally. I was to take no order from any Council member, nobleman, general, or anyone else. I was happy to accept her conditions, but it was not until years later that I realized why she had demanded this of me. She intended to never order me to war, no matter the cost. I think she must have realized that the best way to keep a rowdy teenager like myself contained was to keep him close.
"And keep me close she did. I began proper studies during this time. I learned reading and writing, etiquette and decorum, everything a proper gentleman must learn in due course. Over time, I came to prefer the life of a servant to the life of a soldier I had once craved. It was because of the look in her eyes when I would perform her some service or other. She always showed sincere and gracious gratitude for even the smallest of tasks. I realized that I desired to see milady's smile more than anything else, and I would work tirelessly to earn it from her."
It finally hits me. "You loved her."
He hesitates a moment before going on. "Yes. I would do anything for her. When she asked me to leave her side and care for her precious siblings, it was for love of her that I cleft myself from her side and joined the ranks of the Shepherds. And because I would do anything for her, I will do anything for milord Chrom or milady Lissa. My loyalty to the family I hope is beyond question."
"Oh, trust me. It is," I assure him.
"And so, here we are. After half a dozen years with the Shepherds, it seems I will need to find a new way to be useful to them." He chuckles halfheartedly. "If only I hadn't been so careless. Even so, I won't allow myself to live in regret, and I abhor the idea of you doing so either."
There's so much I want to say. And so little of it I know how to. "Thank you for trusting in me, Frederick."
"Thank you for putting up with my distrust for as long as you have," he replies.
"I gave you little reason to trust me. I understand," I say.
He nods. "That is true. Or at least, it was. But now your actions have spoken for you. I am proud to call you a friend."
"And I you. But I want to know. Does Chrom or Lissa know how you felt about Emmeryn?" I ask.
His shoulders stiffen a little. "Feel. Present tense. Make no mistake, Randall: I will continue to live in service to the Exalt for as long as she lives. I will be at her side every step of the way as she makes her way toward recovery, until such time as she decides she is no longer in need of my service." He relaxes again. "But in answer to your question, I do not believe so. I have never brought it up with milord, but he is hardly the type to indulge in such personal talk most of the time. Or perhaps, more accurately, it is not in the character of our relationship to discuss such things. And as for milady, I suspect that if she knew, she would have somehow acted on it by now." He can't hide the slight grimace forming on his face at the thought of it.
Just like how I can't hide the smile growing on mine. Despite everything, I find myself finally able to smile for a moment.
"Does anyone aside from me know?" I ask.
The levity drains from his face. "Well, there was one person who knew," he says at last.
"Knew?" I ask, before realizing what he means. I look over my shoulder at Emmeryn, who gives me a serene half-smile. I flash her a quick smile before turning back to Frederick. "You don't mean…"
"Yes. It wasn't long ago that I found I could keep it to myself no longer. After one of our regular Council meetings, I allowed milord to go ahead while I gave an individual report of his personal progress to milady, as had become my habit over the years. But after this report, I was compelled by the burning in my heart to express my long-hidden love for her. To my surprise, she smiled and said, 'I hope I don't seem conceited in saying that I suspected you felt this way. After our many years together, I think I've gotten quite good at reading you, Frederick.'" He gets a little choked up as he goes on. "'And of course, you have been in my heart for nearly all that time as well. I love you, Frederick,' she said. You can hardly imagine my elation. But she went on, 'Still, I ask that you be patient just a bit longer. Our country grows more stable by the day, but we are still reeling from the effects of my father's mistakes. Please wait just a little more.' What could I do but agree? We embraced then, but I dared not kiss her for fear of overstepping my bounds. Admittedly, I wish now that I had. I told that of course I could wait, for as long as she felt necessary.
"And then, perhaps a week later, we met Robin. We met you. Everything… happened. And now…"
"Frederick…" is all I can bring myself to say.
He sniffs and pulls himself together. "But now I have a chance. A chance to prove my loyalty all over again. And when milady recovers from this tragic injury, I sincerely hope that she will remember the love I have always had for her." He takes a long, slow breath, then pulls himself back onto his bedroll. "In any case, I think for now that I will rest. Thank you for listening to me, Randall. Thank you for everything."
"Frederick, if there's anything I can ever do for you, or for Emmeryn, I hope you'll let me know," I say after a moment.
He gives me a small, genuine smile. "I appreciate it, Randall."
I gently lay my hand on Emmeryn's shoulder and say, "Good night, Emmeryn," as I leave the wagon, but she's already gone to sleep.
Today has been a long day.
I'd say that I've been keeping to myself this evening, but that implies that I had to do anything to make that happen. When I sat a good couple dozen feet from the fire everyone else is crowded around, no one seemed to question it. It's probably more accurate to say that everyone is still giving me some space for the time being. Some very welcome space, at least for today.
"Randall."
Well, there goes that.
"Hey Chrom," I say as he slowly sits beside me on the cloak I've laid out to serve as a blanket on the sand. "Doing okay?"
"I think we both know I'm not," he says in a raw, tattered voice.
"Fair enough. What's up?"
"I realized I had never apologized for the other day. When I accused you of not caring for Maribelle, and we fought. I took things too far. I should never have let my anger get ahold of me like that. I'm sorry," he says, staring off at the fire some twenty-odd feet away. "And then on top of that, I had Maribelle ask you to keep it a secret from everyone else. That was cowardly of me on several levels. You deserve better from your captain."
I realize with a start that our fight was only like four days ago. It feels like a lifetime has passed since then. It would have been funny if what he said hadn't struck me so particularly.
"Well Chrom, I definitely know how scary it can be to learn what it feels like to lose control," I say in a low voice to match his. He looks at me questioningly. "I started to learn how to use dark magic today. It was… alarming. To see my emotions made manifest the way they were. I didn't like what I saw either."
"I didn't know you could use dark magic."
"I've only used it once before. In the battle with the Grimleal, I used their leader's tome to take his head off. But I…" I'm embarrassed to remember how it came about. "I was angry with Robin, and I wanted to take out that anger on something. So I had Tharja start teaching me. But it was shocking. I don't know if I was ready."
He chuckles humorlessly. "Life rarely waits for us to be ready, I suppose. In Ylisse, we don't have a lot of dark mages. It's not really our thing. It's more common in Plegia, probably unsurprisingly. But as I understand it, it's powered by its user's passion, right?"
I nod. "Yeah. And when I let my anger loose on Tharja, it frightened me. It was too easy. Too… fun, at least in the moment. And then when I saw what I had done… Anyway, I'm saying this because I want you to know that when I say I forgive you for losing your temper, I'm coming from a place of total understanding."
He nods quietly for a few seconds. "Thank you, Randall. Among everything else going on, I thought I could make at least one thing right."
"I can empathize. Seems like everything's gone to hell in a handbasket all at once."
He thinks for a moment. "Do you know whose idea it was to found the Shepherds?"
"I always assumed it was yours. Am I wrong?" I ask.
"Yeah. It was Emm's." He doesn't look right at me as he speaks. "She's so damned strong, Randall. By far the strongest person I've ever known. When she took over the role of Exalt, she was only nine years old. Our father had just died, but she wasn't given time to come to terms with that. The coronation was rushed, the funeral doubly so. Of course, once she was placed on the throne, the Council couldn't move quickly enough to leave her out of every important decision from that point forward. Only trouble was, Emm was already too smart to get left out. While the rest of the Council floundered and deliberated on what to do about the war now that our father was gone, she stormed into their chamber and made her demands clear. The war was to end, immediately. Ylisse would seize no land, plunder no cities, and take no prisoners of war. We were to pull out immediately upon securing a peace treaty with Plegia. And the Council made it happen. Lord Aventine made it happen, more than anyone else. Though King Hartyr by that time was already terminally ill and bound to his deathbed, negotiations made with Generals Campari Leone and Mustafa Issachar were deemed legitimate, and they were able to manage a peace treaty within days. It was a miracle. But it wasn't her last one.
"She brought the miracle home with her. The people were still whipped up into the frenzy our father had left them in when he died. When they were told that the war was over, that peace had been negotiated, many could hardly believe it. Even worse was when they learned that despite all we had lost, we had made no extraordinary demands from Plegia outside of the cessation of aggression. We had gained no territory. No money. No resources. Nothing but death. Emmeryn made the people recognize the war for what it had been: a waste of human life.
"And they hated her for it. She was a little girl, but threats against her life came nonetheless. If you've ever taken a close look at her face, maybe you noticed the little scar on the left side of her lower lip. That was a rock, thrown by one of our own citizens. One of our people. She was ten when that man tried to stone his Exalt to death. When he was detained, they found a bag full of rocks on his person. Even though Emm pardoned him almost instantly, he professed his hatred of the Exalted family just as fervently. That was the legacy of Exalt Gideon." His fist clenches, making the leather of his glove squeak loudly.
"But she wouldn't be deterred. Her pursuit of peace was so extreme that her next step was demilitarization. She often joked it was the biggest word she knew at that age. Even with the Council making most of the decisions in government, this was one matter on which she wouldn't budge for anyone or anything. She made an appeal to divine authority, that the chosen of Naga had spoken. No one dared to openly defy the will of Naga like that. And so she began. The regular army was disbanded, its few remaining soldiers sent home to rebuild their villages, most of which were nearly emptied of able-bodied people. Those who had been forced into the draft were compensated with whatever meager funds could be scrounged from the treasury before they too were sent home. She reluctantly agreed to keep a personal royal guard for protection of herself and her siblings, but even then she downsized the guard significantly.
"Even so, just because peace has successfully been sued for, that doesn't mean the hostility dies with it. Along the border, skirmishes continued to break out for years after the war had ended. Local nobles had to rely on their own personal guards to repel invaders, as there was no official national border guard since the disbandment of the military proper. Though eventually these skirmishes died down for a time, Emm endured a lot of anger from the western provinces for her refusal to rebuild the army."
He hesitates for a moment. "She endured it from me as well. I couldn't understand why she would allow our people to suffer if we had the means to prevent it. She told me that there were still no soldiers to spare, that every town and village in Ylisse was still in the process of rebuilding and needed every person's help to make that happen. The rarer the skirmishes became, the less my arguments against her rang true. But even so, I didn't forget. When I turned ten years old, I was given the Falchion. To this day, I have no idea if Emm can use it. When it was offered to her, she flatly refused to touch the weapon. I had no such reservations. I trained with it whenever I could spare the time, and sometimes when I couldn't. My studies suffered, but I couldn't ever train enough to staunch my frustration. Our people still suffered, but Emm wouldn't give up her dream of a totally demilitarized state.
"The skirmishes became less and less frequent, but as you saw in Southtown all those months ago, they never really went away. And neither did my frustration with my sister. For years I trained, getting more and more skilled with the blade thanks to, among other things, Frederick's teaching. Every day I learned more, growing stronger and, if anything, more hot-headed. Every time a report came in of one of our western provinces being attacked, I renewed my plea to Emm to allow me to do something, anything, to protect the people. To go out and fight off those who would harm our countrymen. I think it was out of fear for my safety that she denied me for as long as she did.
"Finally, when I was sixteen, she at last granted my wish. She told me that if it was truly what I wanted, that I would lead a group of elite soldiers in the service of the people. We would be called the Shepherds, to remind us of our duty to protect the citizens. Every member of the Shepherds was to be hand-picked by me, trained by me, and paid the wages I saw fit to give. This was itself a test; we had just about no money to give after everything the war had cost. I would have to find people so committed to the cause that money wouldn't matter to them.
"Sully was the first person to join the Shepherds. She comes from the wealthy van Bourgaeana family, so money was not an issue for her. And in return, the Shepherds had something for her: the chance to prove by merit that she was every bit the knight her family title made her by birth. It helped that we had known each other since we were kids, as while I was learning swordsmanship from Frederick, she was learning horsemanship from him as well. Stahl joined not long after, for what I suspect are similar reasons, though he never talked much about it. Once Emm was convinced that I was truly committed to forming the group she had proposed, she allowed Frederick to officially join us as well. Far as I was concerned, that was as good a seal of approval as we were going to get.
"One day, not long after we finally allowed Lissa and Maribelle to join the Shepherds, Emm held me back after dinner one day to speak with me. She said, 'Thank you for keeping our people safe. For holding that sword when I cannot.'"
He finally looks at me. "Do you get it? Even in spite of her unwavering stance on demilitarization, she understood what being kept inert at home was doing to me. She understood what I needed, and in spite of what she herself believed about violence, she found a way to keep me from going stir-crazy while staying true to her principles. She knew the role I could play in protecting the halidom, and she helped me fill that role with all the support she could give. She's an amazing woman, Randall. I'm lucky to call her my sister."
I'm not sure what I can say after all that. "It sounds like it. But why are you telling me all this?"
He sighs. "I'm scared, Randall. More scared than I've ever been. When I think about everything Emm gave for her country, how strong she's been all these years, and then it hits me all over again that I might have to fill that role. If Emm's mind never recovers, I'm really the only choice to take over as Exalt. I'm the one on whom this burden will fall. Just like she had to finish the last war when she was just a child, now I'm afraid it's up to me to finish this one. But she tried to finish this war herself too, and what had worked some sixteen years ago didn't have an impact at all on Gangrel. I can't do the same thing she did. He didn't listen to her pleas for peace. I don't know what else to do but continue to fight. Continue the battling, the killing."
His head dips into his hands. "But you know what sort of man I am. I can't even control my anger among my friends and allies, let alone my enemies. How can I trust myself to lead our country into a time of peace? How can I know I won't end up like… him? Like Gideon?"
I look at the fire, counting the silhouettes of the people gathered around it. "Because you won't," I say. "We won't let you. You brought us into the Shepherds so that we can protect people. What sort of Shepherds would we be if we couldn't even protect our leader from the worst of himself? You can count on us, Chrom."
He lifts his head to look at me. "You've seen me lose control so many times. Not only when we fought, but more than once during the battle. It was only Robin holding me back at Golgotha that saved me from getting everyone killed. And then, you stopped me from taking my duel with Mustafa past the point of no return. Even as I sit here, I don't know if I was even trying to win that duel. But that's not all. Sumia knew how to knock me out of my funk back in Ný Von. My sisters have both reined in my anger more times than I can count. And then, of course…" He looks away, and though I can't see it in the dim evening light, I suspect he's reddening as well.
I get it. "So all those weeks ago, when you were telling me why you weren't interested in Robin, that's what that was about. You told me you wanted someone who reminded you to pull back from battle rather than pressed you deeper into it." He can't meet my eye. "You meant Maribelle."
"W-well, it's hardly a mystery at this point anyway," he says to the fire. "I'm pretty sure I liked her since the day I first saw her. Seeing the way she cares not only for my sister, but all her people. It's inspiring. She reminds me of the sort of leader I'd like to be. One who doesn't just stand above his people, but with them. Among them."
I don't know how to respond to this. But seeing his face in that worried expression, I know he's waiting to hear how I'll take this admission.
How do I want to respond to this?
"She's pretty amazing, huh?" I finally settle for.
"Yeah, she is."
The moment of silence that passes between us is anything from a few seconds long to a few hours. It's a little hard to tell.
"There you guys are!" We're saved from the eternal awkward standoff by Lissa's intervention. "What are you doing all the way out here? It's a lot warmer by the fire, you know."
"We're gossipping about you, actually," I say. "So when are you and Lon'qu getting married?"
The reaction from both siblings is instant.
"Wh-what? Me and–"
"Randall, what are you going on–"
"–never in my life, he doesn't even talk to–"
"–is way, way too young to be marrying anybody–"
"–not to mention that he hates like, all women or something–"
"–only met him just a couple months ago–"
"–well okay, maybe not all women, but definitely me–"
"–I'd probably have to kill him, honestly–"
"Jeez, guys, relax. It's jokes," I interrupt both of them, stifling laughter. "Talk about uptight."
They both fall silent. "O-oh, of course," Lissa says.
"Right," Chrom mutters.
I think that might be the sign that today has been long enough. I notice how heavy my eyelids feel after this rollercoaster of a day. I get up from the ground and shake out my cloak before rolling it up and stowing it under my arm. "I think I'm going to call it in here, guys. Good night. And Chrom? Thanks," I say as I start walking toward my tent.
"Uh, yeah. Good night, Randall," I hear Chrom say behind me as I head to bed.
If you can believe it, I sleep pretty well for once. I dream of what I imagine a young, lovesick Frederick must have been like, trying to impress his tiny yet intimidating Exalt. I hope that his devotion will be strong enough to face everything they will have to deal with in the future, even if it will seem impossible. But after seeing the determination set deep in his eyes, I allow myself to believe it will be enough, and then some.
When I wake up, all I can think about is the awful note I left things on with Robin yesterday. Despite having cleared the air with a lot of people, and taking a lot of stress off my mind in the process, I definitely shat the bed when it comes to how I handled my conversation with Robin.
My desire to make things right motivates me to power through my drowsiness and claw out of bed. When I look outside the tent, I can see that the sun hasn't yet won its battle with the horizon yet. I bet she's still asleep.
Fortunately, I think I remember where she usually sets up her tent relative to the others. Let's see here…
I open the tent flap.
I shut the tent flap, much more urgently.
I was not right about which tent was Robin's.
Sorry Miriel. Sorry Kellam.
"What are you doing?" I hear behind me.
"Nothing!" I say too loudly and too quickly. I whirl around. It's Robin, looking none too pleased. "Oh, there you are. I, uh, wanted to talk to you, actually."
Robin raises an eyebrow. "Come to report on how day one of dark magic training went?"
I rub the back of my neck guiltily. "Not exactly. Can we go somewhere else?"
She nods stiffly, and she starts heading for the command wagon. I follow along.
When we're inside, she turns to me expectantly. "What is it?"
I launch into what I have to say as quickly as I can. "Look, I know I was a dick yesterday. I was making it all about me, when you're right. We should be focusing on getting ourselves out of danger and on forming a strategy to end the war. We can't afford to wallow in the things that didn't go our way. I talked with Frederick yesterday. He kinda helped me put in perspective just how lucky we are. How much we've accomplished. I was so hell-bent on making myself miserable for the things I wish I'd done that I didn't think about what you or anyone else must've been feeling." I take a breath. "I'm sorry, is all I'm saying, I guess."
Though she still looks miffed at first, it softens after a moment. "Just… are you alright, Randall?"
I have no choice but to shrug. "I really don't know. In some ways, I'm getting better maybe. In others, maybe worse. I can't even tell anymore."
"We have that in common then," she says. "But… thank you for apologizing. Believe me, I understand how it feels to think everything that's gone wrong is your fault."
"After the conversations I had yesterday, I think a lot of people might be thinking that way. But I think we're going to get better, too," I say.
She's quiet for a moment. "Jeez, Randall, yesterday was supposed to be my apology. You're a hard man to say sorry to, you know that?"
"I… have no idea how I'm supposed to respond to that," I say. "Am I supposed to apologize for being hard to apologize to?"
She glares for a moment, but I see the corners of her scowl cracking, and soon a little smile sneaks through. "You're impossible sometimes."
Said the video game character to the Earthling from America, an entire reality away.
…
I just realized I don't mean that. Not the America thing, but the video game thing. The girl standing in front of me is a person. A full person. I remember back at Golgotha, when she vaporized her head to take us to the second run. I looked away then. I couldn't watch. That's not like me. At least, it's not like I was when I got here. Even as recently as the Border Pass, when Maribelle fell from the cliff to her death, I can't in good conscience say that I really cared. I definitely didn't look away, even when I saw it coming.
And then as Cordelia flew up toward Emmeryn, and my old plan was going to come to pass, I found I couldn't bear it. I didn't want to use Cordelia and her death as a tool to convince Robin to let Emmeryn drop anymore.
Even yesterday. What happened with Tharja. I almost feel nauseous just remembering that.
Whatever my dreams have been telling me, I think the reality is that I haven't thought of this as a game in quite a while.
"Uh, Randall?" Robin waves her hand in front of my face.
I snap out of it. "Yeah, no, nothing. Got it," I say blankly in an attempt at a catch-all for whatever she was just saying.
She rolls her eyes. "I'm tired too, Randall, but we can't be spacing out."
"I wasn't spacing out!" I protest.
"Uh huh. Your head was waaay up here," she says, holding her hand as far above her head as she can reach. "No wonder you couldn't hear me all the way up there."
It occurs to me that she's trying to get me to cheer up. First she tried apologizing, now she's moved on to joking around with me. She's still looking out for me. Even with everything I said to her yesterday.
Despite the whirlwind of thoughts still spinning in my head, I give her the smile I know she's aiming for.
"Thanks, Robin," I say.
She lowers her hand and cocks her head a little, making one of her twin tails hang freely toward the ground. "I, uh… you're welcome?"
Despite the evident confusion in her expression, she smiles too.
"By the way," I say, suddenly remembering something that happened yesterday. "You dropped an F-bomb when we were arguing yesterday. I hope I'm not too bad an influence on you."
"F-bomb?"
I grin. "You know, the 'fuck' word."
She gasps. "I said that? Oh my gods, I didn't even notice at the time."
"Damn, you really were mad," I scoff.
"Well next time, maybe don't piss me off so fuckin' much!"
After everything that's happened, getting to laugh over a little profanity is a welcome and sorely needed relief.
Gangrel grips the arm of his throne firmly.
"And you're positive those were Mustafa's orders?"
"Y-yes, Your Highness. General Mustafa ordered us to stand down and allow the Ylisseans to pass unharmed," the young wyvern rider, still in his riding uniform, stammers.
"And what was his reason for this? Was he just struck with the sudden urge to betray his country?" Gangrel asks through gritted teeth.
"Initially, Your Highness, he said he planned to duel with Prince Chrom to determine whether the Ylisseans would be taken prisoner or allowed to go without a fight. It seemed that he was mainly focused on mitigating the number of Plegian soldiers that would have to die."
"What changed his mind, then?"
"Well, Your Highness, when he learned the Exalt had not in fact died in the battle at the Castle Plegia–"
"Wait. The Exalt lives?" Gangrel half-asks, half-hisses.
"Y-yes, Your Highness. We all saw her brought forward, breathing but unconscious," the now terrified soldier says. "She was taken out of the Midmire without opposition. General Mustafa ordered us not to interfere."
Gangrel takes several slow, deep breaths. "Thank you for your report, Private. Of course, for bringing me such an informative report, you would normally be rewarded for your effort and diligence. However, considering that your report consists in part of your admission that you let the number one enemy of the state escape custody without so much as a fight…"
"Y… Your Highness?"
The king stands and draws his sword.
The young man stands and attempts to flee for the door, but he is far too slow to outpace the bolt of lightning shot from Gangrel's Levin sword that boils the blood in his veins before he even hits the ground.
Gangrel turns to the grey-haired man standing off to the side. "Well, it appears things are getting interesting once again. Campari, this is your chance for redemption. I want this message relayed to every soldier that heard that harlot's blasted honeyed lies: you have been lied to. The Exalt of Ylisse has played you all for fools, taking advantage of your goodwill in an effort to make you easier to oust from the lands you have rightfully earned." He gestures widely as he goes on. "Though she feigned a spirit of self-sacrifice and love, her apparent death was nothing more than a ruse. She lives, and is currently escaping our country with the aid of traitors who will be rooted out posthaste. She is exactly the sort of tyrannical despot that her father was, and doubly conniving by virtue of her public persona of 'peace.' Under the guise of a peaceful ruler, she would have us all quashed under the weight of Ylisse's boot. But you all will stand together. Stand strong. Stand against the oppression of Ylisse, a country that has lorded its successes over us for too long. Stand with your king, who now joins the fight himself to stave off the vile heathens whose reign will soon be at an end." He looks again at the general. "Do you have all that?"
He inclines his head as much as he can in his thick armor shell. "Yes, Your Highness. I will see to its distribution myself."
Gangrel nods, inspecting the blade of his Levin sword as he speaks. "Excellent. And as for our mutual friend, the former-general Mustafa, I shall see to him myself. I have some questions for him."
A/N: Hello and welcome back to ThreeDollarBratwurst Wonders If Maybe This Story Should Be Rated M After All. I'll be your host.
But really, I hope you guys liked this one. I exposition bombed the hell out of this chapter, but I felt like if I don't explain some of this stuff now, it'll never get explained. And I hope it's clear by now I don't usually waste details; things tend to come back around, and I think pretty much everything covered in this chapter is going to be important to someone someday. So if you made it out the other side, congratulations!
Even more than usual, Syntaxis and Mixed Valence have my thanks for their beta reading. Arguably the saddest moment of this chapter was pretty much entirely spawned by Syntaxis prodding at my weaker sections and encouraging me to maximize the characters I've been building. So if Frederick made you sad at any point, you know now whose fault that is~ Also, if you're not reading An Odd Awakening and Earthborne by now, then you're officially a goose. Honk. I'm having a ton of fun throwing crazy-ass ideas back and forth with MV, so take it from me: the chapters coming up from him are gonna be crazy fun. Both of their stories have a lot to get excited about.
Also, if you haven't already, check out the subreddit r/FireEmblemFanfiction that Syntaxis started up the other week. The more life we can breathe into it, the better! And here is your out of context Syntaxis quote of the week: "Here's a quick preview of her new catchphrase: Maikuru-oniichan daisuki desu desu doki doki pantsu kyaaa hazukashii nyaa"
So after more than a year of writing this story, I'm finally considering giving it a proper cover. I'd like to try and commission an artist to create a cover image for me, and to that end, I want to know what you guys think. On my profile, you'll find a poll where y'all will have a say in who makes the cover. Also, if anyone among my readers is/knows a really talented visual artist, feel free to PM me with some info so I can get this ball rolling. It'll be exciting stuff, to be sure.
As always, comments and critiques are welcome. See you next time!