Birth and Re-Death

Chapter 26: Gregor, King of Roasts

"Oh my God. Merry Christmas to me," I gasp on my first glimpse of that beautiful, lustrously shining body of freshwater. "I'm gonna dunk my head in that oasis so hard, just you try and stop me." Robin sighs, evidently quite done with being cooped up with me in the command wagon all day.

"We shouldn't be stopping here. For one thing, there's no guarantee we can trust these people, even if it worked out for us last time. And even if we can, it will slow us down too much to stop for the night this early in the day. We can easily get at least a few more miles out of today," Robin grumbles, still not totally over getting outvoted by the vast majority of the Shepherds who voted to try and stop here overnight.

"Robin, be cool girl, damn. Morale is not an insignificant factor in a successful campaign, either. We just had a really trying month-plus of desert shit, brutal fighting, and emotional sucker-punches. Everyone needs to take a breath, or this army might just explode. Hell, I need to at the very least," I say.

She frowns. "Maybe. But it's not a very efficient solution."

"Neither is mutiny," I try to joke, but it doesn't land. She just frowns harder. "Anyway, we're just about here. Let's go see if we're gonna get attacked."

We pull the wagons into the oasis town that should have been the site of our battle with the Grimleal, breathing a collective sigh of relief as the wispy, bearded town elder and his entourage come out to greet us without weapons in hand.

"Ah, the Shepherds of Ylisse have returned after so brief an absence." He turns to Chrom. "Of course, when we heard your Exalt's voice projecting across the sky, we realized what her intentions were. Though her message resonates with us, you have our condolences," the elder says kindly, inclining his head.

"Condolences?" Chrom starts to ask, before correcting himself. "Ah, right. Thank you, sir." It seems Robin has made sure to get him on the same page with the ruse we hope to pull. "I know it's a lot to ask, especially when things are so contentious. But could you allow us to stay the night in your town once again? It's nearly nightfall, and we at the very least need to resupply our water if we're going to make it back across the desert. It wasn't originally our plan to go back the way we came, you see."

The elder smiles behind his beard. "Why, there's no need to ask. After all, your forces are mighty, and our defenses comparatively feeble. If anyone asks, we were incapable of defying you from passing through unharmed." He winks.

Chrom smiles back. "We are in your debt."

The elder starts to walk back toward his lodge, no doubt looking to escape the late afternoon heat. "Suppose we can call it even. After the service you did us in eliminating that Grimleal sect," he says, waving as he goes.

Once everyone disperses to start settling in for the evening, I proceed directly to the oasis' edge and dunk my head in. It is by far the best I've felt since we got to the desert.

"What kind of messed up world is it where getting to do laundry is the best part of my day?" I ask my scrub brush incredulously, hunched over my tub of water and brushing the dried mud out of my robes as best I can. The brush doesn't respond, but Stahl does.

"I dunno, Randall. Sometimes just getting to do the little things, get back to basics, is the healthiest thing for people. I know whenever I was in a bad mood as a kid, all I had to do was tidy up my room a bit, and just like that, things didn't seem so bad," he says, washing his shirts in a tub of his own.

"Yeah, okay, thanks Doctor Peterson," I reply, rolling my eyes. "If I see any cats I'll be sure to pet them." Satisfied with the state of my robes, I sling them over the same branch (this is the only tree I think I've seen in like a month, I note) where my singular shirt, pair of socks, and pair of pants are also drying. And yeah, I washed the underwear too, but I opted to put them back on as soon as they were clean rather than play the game of How Will My Life Turn into a Shitty Ecchi This Week again.

I really need to expand my wardrobe.

"Not sure how that relates, but yeah, that's probably a good stress relief too," he says with a smile.

I sigh. "Nevermind. It's just nice to feel clean for once."

Draping his last shirt over his branch, he stretches with a satisfied groan. "That's for sure. I think everyone's in need of a detox after everything that's happened lately."

I scoff. "Detox? I'm looking to retox, if anything. Gregor and Gaius were talking earlier about hitting up our favorite Plegian bartender, and I'm not about to miss that."

Stahl raises an eyebrow. "You know, that might not be so bad, actually. Now that we're back on the road, maybe we can afford a night to just unwind a bit. Spending some time with friends seems like just what the cleric ordered."

I give him a knowing look. "You thinking of bringing Panne along?"

He grins sheepishly. "I might be considering it. She did say she wasn't opposed to the idea of doing that again, right?"

"Oh yeah. Gregor and I left you and Panne alone at the end of the night last time we were here. What happened?" I ask.

He rubs the back of his neck embarrassedly. "Nothing to speak of."

"Aw, come on! You're gonna leave me hanging like that?" I protest.

"I mean it!" he insists. "We chatted for a while about how I was coming along with making food that her taguel palate can tolerate, but not long after that she said her head felt light and she wanted to sleep. I didn't have the courage to say anything else except good night. It was as tame an ending as possible."

I'm left no choice but to believe him. I shrug. "Alrighty then. The saga continues, I suppose."

"Well anyway, what about you? You bringing anyone along?" he asks.

"What, like a girl?"

"No, like a horse. Yeah, a girl. How are things with–" He stops himself, looking a little ashamed. "I mean, you know…"

I get it now. "Oh. I hadn't thought about it. I mean, things have been kinda weird in the first place, not to mention all this craziness that's got everyone dialed up to eleven since we got to the castle."

"Well, maybe that's all the more reason to invite her out. Try and reintroduce some normalcy?" Stahl offers.

"Huh… Maybe you're right. I dunno, I guess I'll think about it," I reply. I haven't really talked to Maribelle much the past few days. I've seen her around, of course, but it just hasn't felt like there's much to say these days. It would be weird to talk about how happy we were, back in Themis. It would be painful to talk about how much we still grieve for the friends we lost there, and it hasn't been long enough that we can talk without reservation about the good memories we have of them. It's too soon to dig into these more recent tragedies, too. And whenever we try to have small talk, it isn't long before one or both of us says something that reminds us of all the things we can't talk about yet. Which of course kills said small talk in an instant. It's been rough. Who'd have thought that a couple that have only known each other for a few months could already have so much history that they become conversation killers around each other?

But then I consider the other side of this. Maybe that's exactly why we need to spend an evening with friends for once, just letting off steam. I recall how upset Chrom said it made her when she was essentially left alone by the rest of the Shepherds following our breakup. Maybe it's a good idea after all.

We have to pause the conversation when a sharp wolf whistle cuts through and prompts us to look over toward town. Sully is walking toward us, her own collection of dirty clothes slung over her arm. She looks pretty different without her armor; with only a sleeveless black turtleneck and some simple brown pants, she seems less… scary. Definitely less red.

"I see you've opted for the 'less is more' look today, Randall. Pretty confident in your physique there, huh?" she says.

I resist the urge to cover myself; I know a challenge when I hear one. I plant my hands on my hips defiantly. "And why wouldn't I be?"

She shrugs. "I mean, it's not the worst I've ever seen, but you won't see me writing home about it."

"Hey, it's not like it's my job to be bulked up or anything. I just have to be able to hold up a metal stick sometimes. What's your excuse, Twiggyarms?" I shoot back with a grin.

She reddens. "It's called lean muscle, you arse. And if you doubt my strength, come over here and test it out yourself." She drops her clothes next to the oasis and gestures to me with a finger, assuming a fighting stance.

I wave both hands in a 'please don't pretzel my limbs' gesture without a second's hesitation. "Hard pass. It's just bants, dude."

She lowers her hands and shakes her head disappointedly. "Honestly, I was hoping you'd show a little bit more spine than that."

My shoulders slump. "Well, you came to the wrong person for that. I'm just a simple man trying to wash his only clothes in the world."

She chortles, scooping up her clothes again and grabbing an empty tub to fill with her own laundry water. "I didn't know you were much for the ascetic aspect of priesthood."

"Not a priest. And anyway, I guess I just sorta forget to buy new clothes whenever we've been in towns. There's always something bigger going on, you know what I mean?"

Setting her tub beside mine and Stahl's, she sighs. "Hell's bells, don't I? I've been so high-strung lately that I'm almost inclined to say that fight at the Castle Plegia was a relief for me. Just getting it over with, I mean." She looks away. "Not to say that I don't wish it had gone differently, of course, but… you get what I'm saying."

Stahl nods. "Yeah, I get it. I won't deny feeling the same way, a little bit. I don't think it's wrong to admit that you're glad a battle's over, even if your friends got hurt. And even then, we managed to escape with no deaths. Looking back on the battle we fought, we really had no right to hope for that. The fact that we won the day alone is amazing." He puts forward his friendliest smile.

Despite his efforts, a less than comfortable silence falls over the three of us for a few moments.

"God damn do we need a drink," I say at last. A nervous laugh breaks out among us.

"Ain't that the truth?" Sully says. "Although, before that…" She narrows her eyes at me.

I feel a murderous intent.

Despite my scrambled efforts to escape, Sully is too swift for me. I'm not even sure what part of me got grabbed or how it was moved to get my body to flip around the way it does, but I find myself spinning rapidly in the air for a full two seconds before my world is consumed by chilling water. I spend a couple seconds figuring out which way is up before booking it for the surface.

I flip my hair out of my eyes and glare at the already cackling Sully. "Did you just judo flip me into the oasis?"

"That's for calling me Twiggyarms," she replies, folding her arms with a satisfied look on her face. Stahl joins her in laughing now.

Feeling considerably cleaner than I did earlier this afternoon, I decide to see how Frederick and Emmeryn are doing. Not long after we arrived in town, they were each moved with some assistance into the inn (with Emmeryn heavily clothed to avoid disclosing her identity). If it had been anyone but Frederick, I'm sure some objections would have been raised about a single man and woman sharing a private room like this, but this man is so above reproach that no one even bats an eye when he's carried in behind the Exalt. It helps that despite Emmeryn's discomfort with moving to any unfamiliar area, having Frederick and Lissa there to ease her into this new space seems to lighten her mood.

I think visiting them makes me feel better about all this. I kinda have to remind myself once in a while that not only are they not dead, but they're also improving every day. Keeps things in perspective, like Stahl was trying to do before.

Lon'qu standing outside the door clues me in as to who else is here.

"Do you ever get bored just standing outside? Why don't you ever hang with Emmeryn too?" I ask as I approach Frederick and Emmeryn's room.

Lon'qu stares at me. "Lissa seems to firmly believe that maintaining positive emotion around the Exalt is an essential element of helping her recover. Do you really think the Exalt would be uplifted or encouraged by my usual expression?"

I blink. "You might have a point."

He crosses his arms. "Hmph. Besides, one woman being forced into my company is plenty."

"Suit yourself. I'm heading in."

When I knock on the door and enter, I'm surprised to find Emmeryn standing up and taking a few unsteady strides. Even though Lissa is there, holding both of her sister's hands and guiding her across the room, it's still pretty damn impressive as far as I'm concerned.

I raise a hand at Frederick, who's sitting up against the headboard of his bed. "Howdy. You doing alright, Frederick?" I ask.

He nods soberly. "As always, I grow more accustomed to this new arrangement every day. Though naturally my arms were never particularly weak, I feel confident in saying that they grow stronger every day by virtue of pulling my prone form around when needed."

I smile. "I was gonna say, you're already looking pretty jacked. Any pain or anything feeling off?"

Lissa glances over at me. "Hey Randy. Don't worry, I already went through and made sure everything's okay."

"Oh, sorry Lissa. I don't mean to hijack your checkups or whatever. I just like to check in," I reply. I also wave at Emm, who looked over at me when Lissa turned to talk to me. Emm starts to wave back before Lissa takes her hand again to keep her steady.

"You're doing really good, sis. Now we're gonna tuuurn around, that's good, and now we'll go back to the bed," Lissa says slowly and gently as she guides Emmeryn back toward Frederick and the beds.

"Excellent form, milady. I couldn't be happier that you're making such progress," Frederick praises from his bed. Even though Emm visibly doesn't understand what he's saying, she still recognizes his tone and smiles at him. However, this distracts her enough that she stumbles and falls to a knee, hitting it hard against the floor.

"Ouch," she says, which makes everyone do a bit of a double-take.

"Did she just…?" I ask.

Lissa looks so happy she might cry. "She must have heard me when I nicked my finger on my bread knife the other day. She… she's talking."

Frederick is beaming. "Milady…"

Of course, all the heightened emotion in the room on top of the pain in her knee makes Emmeryn go from all smiles to all stress. She looks down at the floor, pain and shame evident on her face.

Lissa collects herself. "Oh, c'mere sis. Let's get you back up." She helps Emmeryn up by her shoulders, easing her over to the bedside and having her take a seat. "You did so good today. I'm so happy."

"I'm not an expert on head injuries, but this seems like a really rapid recovery. We've got every reason to celebrate, far as I'm concerned," I say, taking a seat in the chair in the corner.

Lissa smiles at me. "Right. How's everyone else doing? I've been kinda falling out of touch the last few days, what with… well, y'know."

"Well, Sully did some krav maga bullshit to make me do like a triple half gainer into the oasis earlier, so obviously we're both having a great day," I deadpan, holding up some of my still-damp hair for them to see.

It gets the desired giggle in response. "Didja deserve it?"

"I never do," I sigh. "All I did was make fun of her arms a little."

"Well, what did you expect? Sully's always been worried about the strength and size of her arm muscles. She knows it's one of the only things that a lot of guys will always have on her, no matter how crazy toned she gets her lower body. You touched a nerve," Lissa says, wagging a finger at me.

"The hell am I supposed to know something like that?" I protest.

Frederick chimes in, "Well, I daresay you won't forget after today, considering the reminder Sully apparently gave you."

"Frederick… was that a joke?" I can't hold back laughter. "God, today's just full of surprises I guess."

He scowls. "I'll have you know I can be plenty witty when the mood strikes me."

"I dunno Frederick," Lissa says, "I think Chrom might have been right when he said you only smile when you're about to bring down the axe."

"Well, considering the state of me now, I may have to learn to smile under other circumstances," he replies. I'm not sure if he meant it as a joke as well, but if so, it certainly didn't land. At least for me.

"Well with any luck, you'll have to learn regardless. Once we end this war and establish peace, you'll soon run out of people to axe," I say, trying to sound as earnest as I can.

"Would that such could be the case. A swift peace is certainly no less than milady Emmeryn deserves, after all," Frederick says. I could swear Emm looks up at him on hearing her name, but she might have been looking that way anyway. A man can hope, I guess.

I hang around for a while longer making small talk, but soon I look out the window as the sun starts thinking about calling it in for the day. I remember what I had promised Gregor and Gaius earlier today.

I turn to Lissa. Even though I'm not sure what the norms are for an eighteen-year-old drinking in this world, I figure I may as well ask. "Hey Lissa, a few of us are going to get some drinks and try to take the edge off. Do you want to come with us?"

She smiles at me, but her eyes betray how tired she must be. "Thanks Randy, but I think I might just need to sleep in a real bed for once. Once I'm sure Emm is all set up for the night I'll probably go straight to my own room for the night."

"Gotcha. Frederick, you want anything while I'm out?" I ask.

"No, I will be fine here, Randall. But thank you nonetheless," he replies as politely as ever. The man really is a champ to be taking this all in stride so fluidly.

"Alrighty, peace." I head for the door, stopping outside when I spot Lon'qu. Frankly I'd forgotten he was here.

Before I even open my mouth, Lon'qu says, "Can't. Still in hostile territory, so I'm not taking leave of the princess any more than is absolutely necessary."

I have to give my brain a second to catch up. "Sweet. Next time, then."

"Right. Next time."

When I get outside, I spot the man himself, Gregor, talking with Anna. They're standing pretty close together, so I decide to hang back for a sec rather than interrupt. I take a seat on the inn's front stoop for the moment.

However, something something curiosity and cats, so I still listen in while pretending to be really interested in some storefront sign far behind them.

"Sooo, you got a little extra coin to float me a couple drinks, Gregor? Word is you're planning to hit the bar later with Gaius and the others, and I could certainly use some liquid cheer after everything we went through back there. It'd be a privilege to get some drinks with you," Anna purrs, noticeably leaning toward him.

"Gregor have coin, yes, but is not enough to be buying drink for two tonight," he replies levelly, clearly unmoved by her flirtatious delivery.

She straightens up slightly, pouting. "Oh come on, I know for a fact that Chrom keeps you around for a not-so-modest price. You've totally got enough to spot your old pal for just a couple drinks, don'tcha?"

His eyes narrow. "And Gregor saw you make many good deal in town today after we arrive. You are also not light on coin. Why you insist Gregor should pay?"

"Because a very nice and, let's be honest here, very pretty young lady has caught your eye, perhaps?" she replies sweetly, trying to make a recovery.

"Gregor will not argue with pretty," he says. I put every ounce of my strength into not snorting aloud.

Anna frowns. "And why might you argue with me being nice?"

"Gregor suspect you come to him not because you enjoy time with Gregor, but because you like free things," he replies.

"Aw, Greg, it's not like I'm asking you to buy me a new wagon. It's just a few drinks!" Anna half-whines at him. "And besides, you're overthinking it. It's not like that."

He shakes his head. "Gregor know your type. Always very nice to Gregor while he have money, but when money is not so good, poof. Where is lady?"

She takes a step back. "What, you think I'm some kind of gold-digger?" she asks, aghast.

"Yes," he replies simply.

"If I were a gold-digger, don't you think I'd be going after someone like Chrom or Virion? The guys who are pretty obviously the richest in the Shepherds?" she counters.

"Maybe you think Gregor not very smart, so is easy to get money or free things. Maybe Gregor seem like, what is word… sucker?" he fires back with a knowing smile.

"Gregor, I'm shocked that you think of me that way! I thought we were friends!" she protests, but the expression on her face betrays her thoughts: she's more upset at not getting away with it than she is at being called out on sniffing after coin. Alarmingly, she turns to me. "Randall, you know me! We share a profession as healers! You don't think I'm a gold-digger, do you?"

My blood chills for a second. I did not anticipate getting dragged into this. Still, I gotta side with my buddy Gregor on this one. "Uhh… I agree that you're pretty?"

She groans. "You guys are the worst!"

Gregor says, "Is quite simple, Anna. If you want to prove you are not gold-digger, then you pay for own drinks." He grins. "And if you really want to be proving it, maybe you buy Gregor drink or two?"

"As if! You're not turning this around on me," Anna replies irritably, crossing her arms.

"But is it not, what was word, privilege to drink with Gregor? People often pay for privilege, yes?" Gregor says, the self-satisfaction of turning a phrase evident on his face.

"That was before I found out you're a big… cheap… jerk!" Anna stammers, then storms off, grumbling.

"Ayye," Gregor sighs, turning to me when she's out of sight. "You know sad thing? Gregor planned to ask if Anna want him to pay for drink before she say anything. She is very pretty, and can go drink for drink with Gregor. Very impressive. But Gregor know when someone taking advantage of him. No good to let that happen."

Huh. That's very interesting. He was willing to offer what she wanted, but the fact that she thought she could take it from him made him change his mind. "That makes sense, I guess. But if that's the case, did you have to lay the roast on her so hard? Won't that just piss her off so much that she might not come even if you do pay?"

Gregor laughs a short, booming chuckle. "Is no way she take it personally. I will say sorry with a big mead later."

I laugh too. Can't fault a guy for confidence, I guess. "Gregor, you are one of a kind."

He looks at the sun, already half-smothered by the horizon. "Is growing dark. You go to tavern with Gregor, yes?"

I shake my head. "I'll meet you there in a bit. But there's someone I want to ask along."

"Hah! Gregor may only be recent addition to team, but rumors fly fast. Gregor think he know who you speak of. Good luck, Randall. Gregor suspect you might need it," he replies with a smile.

"Yeah, I might. We'll see. Catch up with you later," I say with a wave farewell.

I enter the medical wagon, and sure enough, there's Maribelle, sitting on a crate organizing and cataloging the staves and vulneraries.

"I thought I'd find you here," I say, making her jump a bit.

"Randy! You startled me!" she says, clearly tempted to swat my shoulder but deciding not to. "What do you mean, you thought I'd be here? What made you so sure?"

"Well, I wouldn't say I was sure. But when the shit hits the fan, you go out of your way to feel useful. And with what's happened since Golgotha, I figured you'd be doing your best to look after Lissa, maybe pick up a couple of her duties while she's occupied with Emmeryn. So I checked the list of duties to see what would have normally been her job today. I had a few places in mind, actually, but this was first on my mind," I reply with a shrug. "You're too reliable for your own good."

She frowns. "Am I so predictable, then?"

I sit on the crate next to her. "Maybe not. Maybe I just know you pretty well."

She studies her list rather than looking at me. "Maybe. What brings you my way in the first place? You make it sound like you were actively looking for me."

I grin. "I'm here to drag you off to the bar to get sloshed with us. God knows you could do with some lightening up, after all."

"Oh I could, could I? You do know how to charm a lady, Randy," she replies curtly.

"Don't I? Come with me, it'll do your soul some good."

"Can't you see I'm in the middle of organizing our medical supplies?" She gestures to the already quite well ordered crates. "There's no time for something like that, even if I wanted to."

"Psh, that sounds like a job to do when we're back on the road and there's nothing else to do. We haven't had a lot of peaceful nights in town in a long while. Why not take advantage of the chance to unwind?"

"Because there… I… Maybe I just don't want to!" she says, setting aside her list to focus on me.

"How come?"

"It's… it's undignified, getting inebriated in public!" She makes use of her newly freed arms by crossing them defiantly.

"You got me there. But it's also fun. And besides, we're going with friends. No one's gonna judge you or anything, even if you do get too far along. And knowing you, you won't even do that," I counter.

"That's not… that's not what this is about! I'm not worried that I'll get too drunk; I've got more self-control than that," she replies.

"Well, don't you want to hang with everyone for a bit anyway?" I offer.

"What makes you think they want to be around me anyway?" she asks loudly. "I know what they say about me. That I'm too much of a killjoy to have a good time around. That I stress out others just by being in the room with them. That I must have skipped childhood and moved straight into the overbearing mother stage. They wonder how Lissa can stand being friends with me, when she's so lighthearted and free-spirited and I'm so… not. They wonder how someone like you… Anyway, I'm sure they'd all be much happier if I just didn't attend."

It looks like I accidentally touched a sore nerve. Maybe more than one, actually. But I remember what Chrom said the other day, that she felt as if everyone had taken my side and left her behind. It's no surprise she might still be thinking about these things, especially now that we're back here.

"Maribelle, I can't speak for everyone else. I don't care what 'they' say. I know for a fact that you know how to have fun when you want to. You sang and danced with everyone else that night, all those weeks ago, remember?"

"Only because you made me," she sighs. "It was your idea from the beginning."

"So? You still did it, and still had fun, right?"

"Randy, you can't just do this!" Maribelle snaps at me, turning to glare at me. "It's not fair."

"What are you talking about?"

"You can't just pretend like we can go right back to how things were, back when we were together. You bring up an example of me having fun from that time all of a sudden, but that doesn't prove that I'm an easy person to get along with! It only proves that you're extraverted enough for two people! But it's not like that anymore, because we aren't together anymore, and it's dishonest to act like that doesn't play a role. And now you'll tell me that all you wanted to do was go out as friends, to try and start fresh with no pressure. Am I right?"

"That was what I was going for, yeah." I cross my arms, irritated that she seems to be doubting my motive.

"But it's not that easy. If I were to try and go out with you to spend an evening together, we'd both pretend like it was strictly platonic, and it wouldn't be. You still harbor feelings for me, and I do for you, but they're not the same, and all that isn't just going away because at least one of us plans to get drunk tonight. You were right when you said that all this has to wait until we've brought an end to the war. It wouldn't be fair to either of us to allow ourselves to get put in such a potentially complicated situation, and you know it."

"What's complicated about getting some drinks with some friends?" I ask.

"Oh, don't try and pretend like you don't know what I mean. Now you're just being willfully ignorant," she replies with a huff.

I stand up in frustration. Maybe I thought the tension would slough off into the floor or something. "See, this is exactly what I was talking about before! When we're in battle, or when one of us is having a major freakout, we're there for each other, no problem. But when we should just be able to stop and take a breath, that's when we don't get along! What's up with that?"

"Randy, I… I wish I knew. This isn't a comfortable dynamic for me, either. But can you please just give me more time to work things out in my head? I'm sorry I don't have any real explanations for you, but I don't have them for myself either. At least, not in a way that I know how to express. You understand what I mean, don't you?" She stands too so she can look me squarely in the eye.

After a moment, I realize I have no choice but to relent. Even if she were to come with me, the argument we just had would be hanging over us the whole time. I screwed the pooch from the moment I decided to challenge her on this. "Honestly, I don't think I understand much. But of course I'm not going to make you do anything. Just… if you change your mind, you're always welcome to join us, alright?"

I'm rewarded with a small, sincere smile. "Much obliged, I'm sure. Don't have too much fun. I don't want to have to waste any vulneraries on hangover management tomorrow."

I wink. "Challenge accepted."

"No, that wasn't a–"

But it was too late. I was already gone.

My first empty glass hits the table with a hearty clink.

Gregor and Stahl cheer, the former giving my back a congratulatory smack that just about unseats me.

"And here Gregor was worried Randall would have hard time catching up!" Gregor laughs.

When the burn in my throat subsides after a couple seconds, I say, "Hey, speaking of catching up. Where are the others? I thought Gaius was coming too. Didn't he say he was gonna bring some folks?" So far the only ones at our table are myself, Gregor, Stahl, Panne, and a still-kinda-sullen Anna.

"Maybe he got held up somewhere," Stahl says. "He mentioned at least one 'tough customer.' And speaking of, I thought you were going to bring Maribelle with you, Randall."

"I sure was," I reply irritably. "Let's not get into it."

He raises an eyebrow and takes a sip of his mead. "Alright then."

"Stahl. Your blood vessels are already dilating. Mind your intake rate," Panne says. "I do not want to have a repeat of last time."

Stahl blanches.

"Wait, what? I thought you said… What happened last time?" I ask.

Despite Stahl's panicked efforts to get her to shut up, Panne turns to me and says, "Last time we drank at this bar, after you and Gregor left Stahl and me alone here, Stahl started to say something, but vomited before he could finish. It got in my fur, and it was revolting." She looks at Stahl. "I do not want another incident like that."

"That's not the story you told me!" I look at Stahl with an accusing grin.

"What story did you tell?" Panne asks.

He fidgets for a moment. "I, uh, may have left out the vomiting part. To tell the truth, I was a little fuzzy, so I forgot that part."

"Well, I wish I could," Panne replies.

He hangs his head in shame while Gregor and I cackle away. Even Anna has to admit it's funny enough to warrant a laugh.

"Anyway, that won't be a problem. I'm the master of pacing tonight," Stahl assures Panne.

The door flies open. "Hey there, ladies and gents! Room for a few more?" Gaius calls, sauntering in like he owns the place. Following him are Sumia, Vaike, Sully, Miriel, presumably Kellam, Chrom, and surprisingly, an irritated-looking Robin. "Hope you all didn't get too far along without us!"

Getting everyone seated at one table proves to be a challenge. Even with Sumia and Robin sharing a stool and Kellam willingly standing behind Miriel's seat, everyone's pretty much shoulder to shoulder. For my part, I'm jammed against Gregor's shoulder and doing my best not to push Sumia off her half of the stool.

Robin looks like she's in a sour mood, no doubt at least partly because she's currently half-cheeking it on the stool. In an effort to see what's up, I say, "Hey, what all did you get up to today, Robin? Get much done?"

She flashes me a look. "Technically, yes. However, the resupplying I got done today could have been done in an hour or two, and we could be a lot farther along. I don't think we can afford to spend an entire night here after we lost so much time during the afternoon. I'm sure we have pursuers on us even as we speak, and I don't want us caught in the night with our pants down."

"But Robin," Sumia between us replies, "didn't we beat the Plegians pretty bad? Maybe they'll be focusing on regrouping too!"

"That's true, and if every Plegian soldier in their military were in Golgotha, then that would be enough to allow us to relax. But don't forget, they have military installations everywhere in the country. All that has to happen is one messenger flying at full speed getting to a choke point before we do, and suddenly we could find our retreat very rudely interrupted," Robin explains.

"O-oh," Sumia mutters, embarrassedly sipping her mead. So it looks like Robin is determined to hold onto her uptight mood even after the decision to stay has been made, then.

Still, among pretty much everyone else, it seems people are appreciating the change of pace. After everyone's got a drink or two in them and the mood starts loosening a bit, Miriel looks behind her and nods at Kellam. She stands and taps her glass with something to get everyone's attention.

"Everyone, Kellam and I have an announcement for you. It is our wish to communicate our intention of lifelong nuptial conjoinance." She gets a few blank looks.

"We're getting married!" Kellam clarifies, raising his hands above his head in a victorious gesture. For once, he's impossible to miss.

The reaction is immediate. Squeals of joy from a few of our women (and also me, but shush. I've said all along they're OTP), roars of congratulations from the rest of us, and a great deal of hugging and back-slapping. When the initial wave of joy calms down, people start sitting down again.

"How long have you been planning this?" Stahl asks, his face red with alcohol and with overjoy for his old friend.

"Depends what you mean by 'you,' I guess. I asked her only a few days ago," Kellam says, glancing at me briefly. Oh. Oh! I feel myself reddening too. So that's what that was the other day. "But as for how long I've been planning it, I'd have to say I've been considering it since we left Ylisstol, honestly."

Stahl looks at me, and I know we're thinking the same thing. We nod in mutual recognition of the fact that it probably started that night we talked with Kellam about it, all those months ago. A self-congratulatory smile is shared.

Meanwhile, Sumia has crossed the table (Robin looks slightly relieved to have a whole seat to herself now) and is inspecting the engagement ring on Miriel's hand. "Kellam, where did you get this? It's huge! How did you pay for it on a Shepherd's salary?" she asks.

"I got it in Ný Von, actually. A certain merchant in our company helped me cut a series of deals," he replies, smiling gratefully at Anna. She smiles back, and unlike her usual sly smirk, it's a genuine one.

"Don't forget, though, that I've got you on retainer for a favor next time I need to scope the competition out unseen," she says, and the smirk is back in its rightful place. Still, it seems she isn't the callous übercapitalist I had her pegged for. Or maybe it's more accurate to say that she finances noble causes, and that alone is worth recognition.

With good news like this being dropped on us, the mood among the Shepherds can't help but lighten up a good deal. Even Robin looks like she's starting to relax a bit. Although, I do notice something.

"Robin, do you have anything to drink?" I ask, gesturing to the empty space on the table in front of her.

"No, I don't. I've heard what alcohol can do to people, and I'd prefer to stay as sharp as possible while we're still in Plegia, thank you very much," she replies crossly.

"Bah, come on, give it a go. Have you had any before?" I ask.

She shifts around a bit. "I, uh, I don't really know. Not since I joined the Shepherds, anyway."

"So, maybe you'd like it?" I offer.

"But the Plegians—"

"Are not going to attack us tonight, Robin. We've been booking it like crazy ever since we got clear of the capital, and if someone's waiting for us somewhere, they aren't coming out to the middle of the goddamn desert to get us. They'd rather fight us where they'll have a geographical advantage, like a fortress or fortified city. And if beating air messengers is your goal, I think it might a losing battle. Even at our fastest, we can't come close to the speed of one guy on a wyvern. Instead of running the troops ragged to save a little bit of time, don't you think it might be more sensible to focus on physical and mental recovery so that if we run into a threat on the way out of the country, we can be sure we'll be ready for it?"

She takes a moment to consider what I suggested. "Alright, fine. I guess you might have a point."

"And to that end, I think our fair tactician needs a drink," I conclude.

She sighs. "Yes, okay, I'll give it a try. Nothing more."

Beside me, Gregor gives a shout of approval, apparently having heard the whole thing. He slides a half-full mug of beer down the table toward Robin. "Give that a try, Robin. Is very good, not very strong drink. You like, Gregor is sure."

She tentatively takes the mug and raises it to her lips. She takes a sip and almost instantly grimaces. "Ugh, what is this? It's like… gross bitter bread water!"

Looking slightly hurt, Gregor takes his mug back. "Is called beer. And is not gross."

"Well, you tried it, anyway. Worth a shot," I say with a shrug and a snicker. I kinda figured this is what would happen, but I got a good laugh out of that expression on her face.

"Well, what're you having over there, Randall?" Robin asks, still holding her mouth funny due to the aftertaste I guess.

"Trust me, if you didn't like beer, you won't like this either," I reply, taking a slightly smug sip from my whiskey.

"Well it'd be better than having this taste left in my mouth. Can I try it?" she asks, and then does something I never thought I'd see: she tries her hand at puppy-dog eyes.

Surprisingly effective.

I hand the glass over. "Don't say I didn't warn you. I think we should just get you a mead. It's fermented from honey, so it's naturally less bitter than beer."

She ignores me and takes a modest sip. The moment it's down her throat, she takes a deep breath through her mouth, putting a hand to her chest as the burning drink makes its way to her stomach. After a few seconds, she turns to me and Gregor.

"That was so weird! I like it!" she exclaims with a grin.

While Gregor cheers behind me, I sigh, "This only ends well, I'm sure."

"I'm gonna go get one for myself, I think," she says, standing to go to the bar.

I can't believe after everything I said, I'm still even considering joining them. This flies in the face of everything I told him doesn't it? No matter how casual we try to make things, we can never really be as carefree as we once were.

He can never be as carefree as he was when I met him. This war has done a lot of terrible things to people I care about, but with the exception of Ricken and perhaps Donnel, no one has changed as fundamentally as Randy since the fighting began. When I first met him, he was almost childlike in his nonchalance. Even now he feigns that same spirit, but the look in his eye has changed. He's learned to blame himself for everything that goes wrong for our cause, and no matter how much we try, we can't seem to get him to unlearn that.

…

Gods, maybe I do need a drink after all. Even I know when enough is enough, and this continual stress is absolutely enough.

As I approach the tavern, though, I see that I'll have one more fire to put out before I join anyone. Ricken and Nowi are taking turns peering into the establishment through one of the front windows, speaking in low tones to each other.

"Ricken, Nowi, what on earth are you two doing there?" I ask with a practiced air of exasperation.

Ricken jumps in surprise and turns to face me. "O-oh, hi there Maribelle. I was just… out for an evening stroll with Nowi. You know, taking in the sights of the town and all."

"It looks to me like you two aren't exactly strolling anywhere," I say in a tone that I'd like to think demands nothing less than the truth.

It certainly seems to earn the truth, regardless. "Look, I know that I'm still… pretty young. But I'm tired of being shut out of things just because of that! I'm plenty smart, and plenty strong, but I still get told that I'm too young to join the rest of the group."

"Ricken, with something like drinking, it's not a matter of how smart you are. Alcohol makes everyone stupid. No amount of brains will fix that. As for strength, even the greatest mountain of a man eventually succumbs to the stuff. No, whoever told you that it isn't the place for you was quite right, I'm afraid," I say, doing my best not to condescend, since I know he hates that.

"Well then if being smart or strong isn't what matters, then what does?" he demands.

I sigh. "Maturity. A greater amount of maturity than frankly any boy, ahem, man your age has."

He throws up his hands in exasperation. "Ugh! I'm more mature than half the people in there!"

"Just trust me on this, Ricken. There are some parts of growing up that you don't need to rush into," I say.

He searches my face for a sign of weakness, hoping I'll relent. I give no such satisfaction.

"Rrgh, fine. I'm going to bed. Night," he grumbles, storming off to the inn.

"Night Ricken!" Nowi calls after him. Then she turns to me. "I think he just doesn't like that he has to do all the boring grown-up stuff, like fighting and setting up camp and stuff, but he's not allowed to do the fun stuff."

I can't help but chuckle. "I think every teenager feels like that at some point. Although, you're certainly no teenager yourself. Why don't you join the rest of them?"

She sticks out her tongue with a disgusted expression. "I tried some of Gregor's drink once, and it was crazy yucky. I don't get why anyone likes that stuff."

"Well, for many, it's hardly about the taste. But you also couldn't convince me to partake of whatever Gregor keeps in that flask of his, so you still have a point."

"Plus, if I bailed on Ricken too, he'd feel super bad! I mean, there's Donny, and Donny's a real sweetie, but he also goes to bed real early most of the time. I think it's cuz he lived on a farm for so long, so he's used to going to bed and waking up super early," Nowi explains.

"Well, that's very kind of you, Nowi," I say with a smile.

"Thanks, Maribelle!" she replies with a grin. "But speaking of sleep, I think I'm gonna go to bed too. I was really only staying up to keep Ricken company. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"Alright. Good night, Nowi."

"Night!" she shouts as she flutters off toward the inn.

And now I'm alone with my thoughts again. Should I go in after all? I decide to take a look through the window to see what had Ricken so captivated.

Inside, the most eye-catching sight is Vaike and Sully standing with a group circled around them, each of them racing to empty their mugs as quickly as possible. There's Gaius, Chrom, Sumia, Stahl, Panne, Gregor, Anna, Miriel, and I think I see Kellam as well, all watching the spectacle. Frankly, I'm surprised I don't see Randy there as well. Yelling at drinking contests seems like it would be an appealing prospect to him.

In fact, where is he? I look around a little more. Perhaps he went to–

Oh. Well, that explains that. I can't say I'm surprised. He and Robin sit together at an otherwise empty table, each with a glass of whiskey in hand. They're laughing about something. A pang in my chest.

I look away from the window. Stop being so pathetic, Maribelle. This is the fate you chose. He's allowed to talk with whomever he likes, and you have no business holding that against him. Especially seeing as he tried to invite you yourself to join him just a little while ago. Given his way, it would have been you sitting with him at the table. It was you that prevented that.

Would he still sit with me if I went in now?

I know what would happen. He would smile and wave me over, and I'd sit at his left, and he'd do his best to include me in the conversation they already have going. It would be decidedly nice, and I would feel incredibly awkward. I would feel like I was intruding, and I would be. Even if neither of them saw it that way, I still would.

Perhaps I could join the larger group. I think that drinking contests are undignified and borderline barbaric, but I could pretend to enjoy it just to be part of the group. It would hardly be ideal, but I would be in the building. He would at least know I decided to come. That I want to start over too. He would stand up and walk over, say something like "I knew you would come all along," and then we would stand and talk, leaving Robin alone at the table. She would probably know what I was doing, and I wouldn't be surprised if she felt bitter over it. I would deserve that too.

Gods, why am I such an overthinker? Can't I just enjoy one evening with my friends and allies for once? Why won't my own mind leave me alone? I'm so tired of this! I build up walls, then get upset because I'm alone inside them. It's pathetic. I'm pathetic.

I should just go to bed.

I walk back to the inn. Inside the lobby room, I spot, of all people Virion. He's talking with someone I don't recognize over in the corner.

"Oh, Virion. What are you doing here? I'm surprised you didn't join the others at the tavern," I say, prompting him to look over at me. He smiles genially.

"Ah, Lady Maribelle. A pleasure as always to see you," he says with an irritatingly theatrical air. "While of course I love a good wine as much as the next noble fellow, I must confess to finding the larger bulk of intoxicating drink to be a bit… base. So, I elected not to join our companions this evening. Surely a lady such as you understands."

"Of course. And who is this, may I ask?" I gesture to the man he was speaking to. The man in question wears all dark clothes, including a wide hood that, while lowered at the moment, would surely conceal one's identity very well in the night. In short: he looks suspicious.

"Ah, this is one of my contacts. I'm most fortunate that he was able to rendezvous with me here in this obscure village, for I have essential status updates to send to my steward back in my homeland," Virion explains.

"Fortunate indeed. Where are you from, by the way? In all the time you've been with us, I don't believe I've ever heard you mention it."

He waves a hand. "Oh, that's no matter of concern. Need-to-know basis and such, yes?"

"Naturally. My apologies for prying," I say dryly.

"Oh, not at all. As always, your impeccable tact is much appreciated. Now," he turns back to his shadowy associate, "you should be off. Thank you." The man nods, pulling up his hood and walking past me and out the door in silence.

Virion turns his attention back to me. "Now, is there anything I can do for you? You looked a touch distressed when you came through the door, if I may be as impertinent as to point it out."

I shake my head. "Your concern is appreciated, but I am just fine. More than a bit tired, perhaps, which does little for my expression. I had intended to head straight to bed, in fact."

He nods slightly. "In that case, please don't let me keep you, milady. Profuse apologies for keeping you as long as I have."

"It's no trouble," I say as I start to walk toward the stairs. "Good night, Virion."

"Good night, Lady Maribelle."

I keep an eye on him for as long as I can before slowly rounding the corner and heading upstairs.

"Okay, so here's what I think," Robin says, not quite looking at me.

"Tell me this thing," I reply, absently watching Vaike doing his best to impress Sully with his dance moves. Based on the look on her face, I'd say it isn't working too well.

"I think the Plegians are gonna be waiting for us somewhere before we get out of the country. We're gonna have to fight our way out, for sure." Robin nods her head self-assuredly, then nods again in case I didn't see the first one.

I mirror her nod. "Yeah, that makes sense. Where do you think we'll get attacked?"

"It's gonna hafta be someplace they think they can trap us. Someplace that'll limit the ways we can get away."

"That's what I'd do," I concede. "But maybe they won't attack us."

"What? Why?" She cocks her head.

"Cuz they heard Emm's speech, right? I think she made it so everyone in the country magically heard it or something. I still think a lot of Plegians will give up the fight. Like this town, right?"

"Psh, maybe. But I don't wanna count on that. I don't ever wanna take anything for granted again. We gotta be ready to fight, all the time. I even brought this." She reaches into the inside of her coat and pulls out an Elthunder tome.

"Whoa, whoa, not when you've had so much," I slur urgently, trying to push the tome back into her coat.

"It's fiiiine, you know I can handle my magic just fine," she says with an irritated look as she reluctantly stows the tome back out of sight.

"It's not the magic I'm worried about you handling," I say.

A voice from my left interrupts us. "You know what's a load of bull?" Gaius asks me very loudly.

"No, I don't. But I think you're gonna tell me either way."

"Like, how come bees just know how to make their own sugar? Like they just go into their hives, and do their little bee magic, and then BAM. Honey. Why can't I do that?" Gaius moans, seeming truly distressed at the thought.

"You know that's not how that works, right?" I ask.

"Well hello, Mister Superbrain. Why don't you enlighten me, then?" he responds with a frown.

"You ever notice how bees are always going from plant to plant, landing and doing stuff, and then they go back to the hive?"

"Yeah, that's how you find the hives. Duh."

"They're not just flying out of the hive for fun. Some of the bees gotta find this stuff called nectar. I think it's usually in flowers and stuff like that. So they bring it back, and then some of the bees like, spit on it or something? Anyway, they do some shit to the nectar, and they convert it to honey that way."

"You expect me to believe that delicious, golden honey is really just flower guts and bug spit?" Gaius asks, looking quite offended.

"I don't care what you believe. It's the truth," I say, turning back to my own drink.

"But… that's gross!" he exclaims, the distress evident on his face.

"Try not to think about it," I reply.

"Man, I think you're messing with me! I don't eat bee spit and flowers!" Gaius shouts, standing up and skulking off before I have a chance to reply.

Robin giggles next to me. "Is that really true?"

"Yup. Every word." I take a self-satisfied sip.

"He's right, then. Thass pretty gross."

"Eh, the world is gross. You know there's more little microorganisms living in your gut than there are cells of actual person in your body? The space your body takes up is mostly not even you, if you go by cells that are you versus cells that aren't."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Even in this state, I realize I do not want to drop the bomb of what germs are to someone who's never heard of it before. "Nothing, just forget it."

She raises a brow, but shrugs nonetheless. "Anyway, what were we talking about before?"

"Not taking your tome out in a bar?"

She shakes her head. "Nah, before that. I feel like it was pretty important."

"How important can it be if you don't even remember it?" I scoff.

She grumbles to herself for a few moments, trying to dredge it back up. "Randall, we were jus' talking about it. Ugh, my head's all fuzzy."

I laugh. "Yeah, that happens. Mind your pacing, by the way. You've had quite a few there, and in a not very long time."

"I'm fine," she says, visibly trying to appear sober. "I think."

"The point stands. How did Gaius get you to come out, anyway? You were pretty opposed to even being here in town, let alone coming to drink with us."

She takes a deep breath through her nose. "No real reason. Er, no, there was a reason, but it's no big deal. At first I was gonna try and convince as many people as I could not to drink cuz we gotta get moving again tomorrow. But I figured that wasn't gonna work when I saw everyone having all this fun. So I decided to hang around and make sure everyone was okay. You know, make sure no one gets too too drunk or whatever."

"And how's that going?" I ask, glancing over at the borderline-scarlet faced Stahl, who's laughing helplessly at something Panne said. Panne raises an eyebrow, suggesting it really wasn't that funny, whatever it was.

"Well, I think I kinda forgot about that too," Robin admits. "I didn't know. I don't really know anything, you know? I mean like, I know fights. I know battles. Magic and stuff too. And I know you guys. But I don't really know anything, you get it?"

My woolen brain has to let that filter through for a second. "Kinda? You mean like how you lost your memory and all?"

"Yeah. Mostly that, I think. But like, even with other people. You got that morale was important, so you made sure we stopped today. But I didn't get that. I don't get… people. I know the Shepherds, and I keep all my charts and stuff, but sometimes… I dunno." She gazes down at her glass.

"Sometimes what?"

"Sometimes I feel like I still don't know anybody. Or maybe like nobody knows me. I don't know if there's a difference."

"Why don't you feel like you know anyone?" I ask. "Do you feel like you don't know me?"

She snorts. "I don't think anyone knows you, Randall. The only person more guarded about their past is Virion, and I'm pretty sure he's like a foreign serial killer or something."

I want to protest, but when she puts it like that I laugh instead. "I guess that's fair."

"Which part? The part about you or Virion?" She smirks at her own question.

"At least one of them," I reply. She sticks out her tongue at me. "So what are you going to do about that? Not knowing anyone, I mean."

"I dunno," she says thoughtfully. "Maybe it's just not the time. Maybe I don't get to have that just yet. I gotta lead the Shepherds, and that's more than a full time job sometimes. Maybe taking even this night off is something I didn't deserve."

"That bit about morale wasn't just for me and these chuckleheads, you know. It was for you, too," I reply.

"Well, thanks for thinking of me then, I suppose," she says, holding up her glass for me to clink mine against. We both finish our drinks, and she winces a bit as she swallows. I recall that she's still new to this.

"I think I wanna go to bed," she moans. "Even though that stuff is good, I don't wanna be dead tomorrow."

"Alright, that's probably a good call. I'll go with you, then. Make sure you're good to walk back and all." I realize that for all the drinking she's been doing, she's never had to stumble farther than to the bar and back.

"Okay, but don't get any funny ideas," she warns with an attempt at a scary look.

"No idea what you're talking about," I say, standing to accompany her to the door.

Bless her, she does her best. More than once she stumbles, having to lean on me for support. Fortunately, her room at the inn is situated on the coveted first floor, so once we get inside, there are no stairs to conquer. We manage to get to her door without a major spill.

"Thanks, Randy," she slurs, attempting to pat my face gratefully but pretty much smacking it. "I'll see you in the morning." She remembers to yank off her boots before flopping onto the bed, but otherwise is pretty much down for the count instantly.

"Sleep tight," I say, shutting the door.

I consider heading back to the bar myself, but I guess once Robin and I left, the others started drifting out as well, because before I make it back to the door, I see Miriel floating into the room, bridal-style, which I assume means Kellam's got her. She's red in the face and, I can barely believe it, giggling. It's a strange, but not unpleasant sound. Her hat clings to her head for dear life.

She turns her head and sees me. "Oh, Randall. I trust the evening's festivities were enjoyable to you as well?"

I smile. "Hell yeah! I'm happy for you guys. Congratulations."

"Thanks. I owe you and Stahl big time, for helping me sort out my mind and my heart," Kellam says. He sounds comparatively sober.

I wave a hand dismissively. "Psh, you guys handled the hard part. At best, we gave you a nudge."

"Well, I for one am grateful that you did," Miriel says. "It is hardly a secret that I am not the best at conveying my feelings either, so it was fortuitous that Kellam made the first move."

"Anyway, like I said, thanks, Randall. I think we're about ready to call it a night," Kellam says with a genuine smile. He carries her upstairs like she doesn't weigh anything at all.

I figure that's my cue to wrap it up as well. Better to quit while it's still a pleasant fuzzy buzz, rather than pushing it and regretting it tomorrow. I climb the stairs and make my way over to my room.

When I open the door, though, I realize I'm not going to bed yet.

"Oh, hey Luci. What are you doing here?" I ask as I shut the door behind me. She's standing next to the window, hair tied up like when we first met despite the lack of her now-broken mask.

In a panic, she holds up a finger. "Shh! You mustn't be so loud!" she hisses.

"Right, you're right," I say in what I think is a quieter voice.

"Have you been drinking?" she asks.

"Celebrating Kellam and Miriel's engagement," I say, nodding my head.

"It makes sense that that would be happening about now," she muses, more to herself than me. "In any case, I wanted to meet with you to get your advice."

I take a seat on the side of my bed. "What about?"

"What to do from here. We've now departed quite severely from the timeline that I was always familiar with. In my time, Ylisstol was never taken, which puts us at a disadvantage, but Exalt Emmeryn was also not saved from death. She was never even kidnapped. Her death, by all accounts, hardened my father into the leader he had to become to repel the invasion of Ylisse. I don't know how different my father will be in this time, if at all. I don't know what ramifications will come from any of the things that have changed since I came back in time," she explains. After a moment, with some evident difficulty, she goes on, "I saw what happened to Sir Frederick's legs. To the Exalt's mind as well. These changes are significant. It seems that not every change we've made has been positive. I'm no longer as sure as I was before that my intervention has really helped anyone."

Good God am I too drunk to have this conversation properly. I take a deep breath to focus myself.

"Look, Luci. I don't know what's going to happen either, honestly. I know what Future Randy told you, that I would know the 'script' and all, but we've already fucked the script nine ways from Saturday."

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"According to the script, as I knew it, Emmeryn was supposed to die back at Golgotha. Aventine was supposed to be definitely dead instead of missing. Mustafa was supposed to die. Who knows how many other things have been knocked out of place? As I know the script, the next thing to happen is that Emmeryn's speech is supposed to demoralize the Plegian army and make most of them turn on Gangrel. Leave him weakened and mostly alone. The war should actually be over soon, in our favor. But the more I think about it…"

"The more ridiculous that seems," Lucina finishes. "Why would the Plegians abandon all the progress they've made in the wake of a speech made by their captured enemy?"

"That's what I thought, too. I don't know. Maybe it'll really happen that way. Might depend on whether they learn she didn't really die. If they think she died for her cause, that has legitimacy. Or it might depend on folks like Mustafa pushing for peace. Anything could happen, I guess. But to answer your question, I have no idea what you should do. Honestly, for this part of the 'script,' you're actually conspicuously absent. No one knows where you are or what you're up to. Maybe you're just staying out of sight and biding time."

She looks frustrated at my inability to provide a helpful answer. "And where is this script, anyway? What did he mean by that, and why do you know what that means?"

I let out a short laugh, eyes drifting to the floorboards. "Trust me, you don't wanna know."

She steps closer to the bed. "I think I do, actually."

I look up at her. "No, you really don't. Luci, there's things that people aren't supposed to know. Not like secrets, more like truths. Eldritch truths, if you like to make it dramatic. Things that would fuck your head to know."

"But I suppose your head is just fine knowing them?" she asks.

"Yup," I say simply.

"Do you think so little of me? That I can't handle the truth?" She is clearly offended. She sits roughly on the chair near the bed.

"Not just you. Nobody has any business knowing why I know what I know."

"What makes you so different, then? Why can you handle it?" she asks.

"I don't know if I can," I answer honestly.

She's quiet for a long moment. "Who are you, Randall?"

As much as it sucks not being able to trust anyone with the full truth about myself, as I look at Lucina's face now, I realize why it needs to be so. The truth is a tool, and it can be made a weapon. And the truth about me — the whole truth — isn't just a weapon, it's a bomb. And if I ever dropped it, it's sure to explode. So I have to hold it, close to the chest.

"I'm some guy who woke up in a bar one day, Lucina. I don't have anything else for you. And I don't know what you should do."

She looks disappointed, but not surprised. "I see. I'm sorry, it's not my place to pry. I just don't feel as secure about what we're doing here as I thought I would."

"None of us do. Me perhaps most of all," I say, rubbing my eyes. "I'm sorry that Future Randy made you believe you could count on me to know everything like he seemed to. It turns out I'm more of a variable than he accounted for. I'm just trying to keep people safe, that's all. So far my interventions haven't killed anyone that wasn't 'supposed' to die, and a few people that are alive now shouldn't have been. A lot of that is also thanks to you. As scary as it is to not know what will happen next, I think we can say that so far we've done good."

"I will admit, it's a little surprising to hear you talk that way. Uncle Randy– oh!" she catches herself, "I mean, Future Randall, he always sounded so sure of what was going to happen. It seemed like he always knew what to do. Right up until the end, he kept all of us safe, against impossible odds. He'd lead us down escape paths from danger that we all thought were nothing short of a miracle to find. He'd pinpoint weak points in enemy formations that we could perfectly exploit to win decisive battles. It's hard to imagine he was ever just as unsure of the future as I am."

I guess in a world where you're living day by day in the post-apocalypse, being able to repeat any one day at a time would make you seem pretty omniscient. This power really is better cut out for a world in chaos than it is for a protracted single conflict like this.

"Well, here's hoping I can fill his shoes someday," I say. "Oh, by the way, did I hear you right? Did you used to call me Uncle Randy, back in the future?" I smirk at her embarrassed shifting around.

"It wasn't just me. Almost all of us did. As I recall, It was Cynthia who started it. 'Look how Uncle Randy did my hair!' she said one morning, and the name stuck for most of us from that day on." She smiles wistfully at the memory. "She always had you tie up her ponytails every morning, even after Severa said she was too old for that and started doing it herself. Oh! I'm sorry, you might not know about them. You said your knowledge was a little spotty in that regard."

I laugh, then stifle a yawn. "Trust me, I know those names at least. And that does sound like them, for sure."

"You're tired. I should go," Lucina says gently. She stands up and starts heading for the window.

"Lucina. Are you alright?" I ask. "I wasn't able to give you any of the answers you wanted."

She pauses, then turns and gives me a small, cautious smile. "I think I'm okay. I think maybe it helps to hear what someone else thinks, even if they aren't any more sure of this than I am. Knowing that I'm not alone is itself a relief. I'm glad we talked."

"I am too," I say, returning her smile with a drunken, lopsided grin.

"But now, I really will go. Sleep well, Randall," she replies, walking toward the window again.

"Alright, but you gotta let me see you do the thing," I say, starting to stand on unsteady legs myself. I will not be denied this time!

She holds up a hand to stop me. "If you can have your secrets, I can have mine. Fair's fair, Randall," she says, and then is gone in a single leap.

Resigned to my sound defeat, I flop back onto the bed and wonder how many degrees of separation there are between me and the guy who would go on to tie Cynthia's hair up every morning.

I knock on the door as gently as I can, so as not to wake anyone else up. From inside, I hear a fumbling thump and a blade being drawn, followed by Frederick's voice, demanding, "Who goes there?"

I roll my eyes. So much for subtlety. "Frederick, it's me." I open the door and see that he has already dragged himself against Emm's bed to prepare to defend her, sword in hand. On seeing me, though, he relaxes and sheathes the blade.

"Oh, milord! Forgive me, I was simply acting to defend milady in case it were a hostile intruder," he explains as he climbs back into his bed with surprising efficiency.

"Trust me, Frederick, nothing makes me happier than the knowledge that you've got your eye on her so diligently," I say as I cross the room to join him. I hold out one of the mugs of mead in my hand to him. "But even so, I was hoping you'd join me for a drink."

"I see. If that's what you wish, milord," he says, dutifully taking the mug and taking a dignified sip.

"I feel like I've seen so little of you lately," I say. "I know that's my fault, for not coming to visit you nearly as often as I should. But I'm trying to do better, so… here I am."

"That you would take time from your hectic life to pay me a visit is already a blessing, milord. There is no need for you to concern yourself with me," Frederick says.

We sit in silence for a few moments, taking occasional sips from our mugs. There's so much I want so say, but I don't know how to go about any of it. The guilt I feel for him being in this situation. The gratitude that I feel that he was willing to be a decoy to give us more time to escape danger. The debt I feel like I owe him, that can never be repaid. The fear in my heart, that he might hate me for failing to keep him safe. For failing to keep Emm safe.

How can I say any of this?

"Milord, might I be so bold as to make a request of you?" Frederick asks, breaking the silence at last.

"Of course, whatever you need. What is it?"

He sets aside his mug for a moment. "I attempted to inquire about such things to milady Lissa, but she wouldn't hear a word of it. I hope that you might feel differently about it." He takes a breath before going on. "I want to fight again. It is the role I have held for my entire adult life: I protect my lieges and my home from the enemy. I must find a way to return to the battlefield. Will you help me find a way?" he asks.

He wants to go back? How could that have even entered his mind? He's already given more than any man with his level of dedication should ever be expected to. More than I could ever ask for. And yet he still wants to give more?

But I see that look in his eyes. It's a plea. I would be helping him by giving this to him, his expression says to me.

"Frederick… I'll do what I can. I'll talk to Robin, maybe Sully and Stahl too, see if we can't find some way to get you back on your mount. Are you sure this is what you want?"

A rare smile from him. "Milord, nothing would make me happier than a triumphant return to the battlefield. I want to show our allies and enemies alike that nothing shall hold Sir Frederick the Wary back. I want to defend the halidom and your family properly once again."

I raise my mug to him. "Then I will do everything I can to make sure that happens. You have my word."

He raises his and clinks it against mine.

For what might be the first time ever, I'm the first one in the command wagon. Damn, those drinks must've hit Robin pretty hard.

When I hear the door open, though, it isn't Robin that comes in. It's Chrom.

"Ah, good morning, Randall. I was hoping Robin would be here by now," he says.

"I think she might be hungover. What did you need?" I ask.

"Well… I suppose there's no harm telling you either, since I'm sure Robin would tell you anyway. I want to devise a method to get Frederick back on the horse. I had a talk with him last night, and he told me he wants to fight again. I promised I'd find a way to make it happen."

"What, like a rig that props him up or something?"

He points a finger at me excitedly. "Exactly. Something that will allow him to sit up in the saddle while still allowing him to move enough to maneuver his weapons."

"Jeez, that's the most Frederick thing I think I've ever heard. Even as a paraplegic, he demands to be sat back on his horse and returned to the battlefield. But yeah, I'd be happy to help if there's anything I can do."

"Great! We might also need to get in touch with someone with some mechanical experience. Unfortunately, I don't know much myself," he says, crossing over to the war table. "I might be a decent fighter, but sometimes I'm ashamed of how little I know outside the realm of swordsmanship."

Walking over to join him, I say, "Well there's nothing to be ashamed of. That's what you've spent a huge part of your life devoted to, right? It makes sense that other things have had to be sacrificed for that."

"I guess. But say, for example, you and especially Robin, with your tactical skill. That's something I can't say I have at all. I'd have lost this war three or four times over without Robin at the helm, I think."

"Well, you said a while back that you wanted to learn. I know things kind of went crazy after that, but you still play a vital role in dispensing orders. It would help if you knew some of where those orders were coming from, right? So maybe you should try learning some yourself."

"That's not a bad idea, Randall. I've been feeling so helpless lately, it would probably feel good to start a new skill and tackle the basics. What are these charts for?" he asks, indicating what I'm pretty sure are the skill and prospective future skill charts.

"Robin uses these to keep track of what special skills each Shepherd has, and what she thinks they might have the potential to learn. Like, you and Frederick are both marked for having the ability to use a Luna attack. Gregor's skill as an Armsthrift is another example, since he's got all these secret techniques for keeping his sword in such good shape. We try to put people with complementary skills together, so it helps to know who can do what."

He examines the list carefully for a moment, then sets it aside. "What's this one?" he asks, pulling out another one.

"That's the aptitude chart. Kinda similar, just keeps track of who's proficient with different kinds of weapons. I think she has me listed as a 'possible' for lances, which is a little worrying, but generally it's just for reference."

"Why does she have me listed as a 'possible' for bows? I've never touched a bow in my life," Chrom says.

"Couldn't tell ya."

He reaches for another one, sealed with what looks like a heart-shaped clasp. "How about this one?"

I move to stop him unconsciously. "Uh, that's one we're not supposed to look at. For her eyes only, she says."

"Why, what's in it?"

"I'm pretty sure she keeps track of people's romantic prospects on that one. But apparently she doesn't trust even me to look at it, lest I start meddling with her meddling with other people's love lives," I say, a little miffed even though she isn't here to get miffed at.

He looks at me for a moment, hand still resting on the chart.

"...What?"

"Well? Don'tcha wanna look?" Chrom says, grinning like a kid next to a Christmas tree.

"Yo, I dunno about that. If Robin comes in and sees us looking at it, she's gonna be pissed. Doubly so if she's hungover," I say, edging nervously away from the war table.

"Yeah, but I don't see her anywhere yet. One look can't hurt. Plus, that's not very professional of her to keep such personal data on people, don't you think?" Chrom reasons.

"Well, since it's all speculative, I'd say it's less keeping personal data, and more like keeping a diary about other people," I reply.

"Don't you wanna know if she's put herself with anyone?" Chrom asks seductively.

"Psh, who would she even put herself with? The only guys she spends even a decent amount of time with are…" We both pale a little. "...You and me…"

He pulls the chart out and slaps it onto the table. "We gotta look at this, Randall. For the team."

I walk back over to the table. "Well that just doesn't make any sense, but I agree. We should look at it. Briefly."

Why am I going along with this?

He giggles with anticipation as he undoes the clasp and starts unrolling the chart. I haven't seen him having this much fun in a long while, maybe ever. I guess that talk with Frederick he says he had must've done him a lot of good. Anyway, we both pore over the results.

…

Mostly unsurprising so far.

…

She's gonna need to change that to a 'super confirmed' after last night.

…

Really? I don't know if I see it, but I guess I had a goth girl phase when I was a teenager too. Maybe she's onto something.

…

For Virion she just has the word 'unlikely' written in the first box, then dragged across all the others in his row. Classy.

…

"Cordelia has an 'obvious infatuation' with me? Where does she get that from? Cordelia can hardly stand to talk to me!" Chrom says. Oh Cordelia, I am so sorry. It's not meant to be, even when it's in black and white in front of him.

…

Finally, we find Chrom's row near the bottom. He yelps in pain as we look it over.

"What the hell is this? 'No known prospects'? What does that even mean?" he demands incredulously. "I do so have prospects!"

I look down to my row and give it a once-over. I nudge Chrom. "Better than she's got me down for. Check it out." I point to where Maribelle's place in my row used to be, and whatever word used to be there has been scratched out. A small question mark was then drawn next to it as an apparent afterthought. "Now that's just uncool," I say. I also mentally note where she wrote I have a 'probable infatuation' with Cordelia. I have no idea how she knows that. Actually, she has that written for a few guys. Maybe she's just aware that Cordelia is a goddess and made some assumptions.

"Hang on!" Chrom says. "She didn't even give herself a row! She's not on here at all!"

That makes way too much sense. Robin, you poor robot.

"What are you two looking at?"

We both scream in an extremely dignified fashion, rolling up the chart in a panic but unable to re-clasp it before a very grumpy-sounding Robin snatches it from us.

"Well I hope you two are happy," she growls. "The integrity of the data is jeopardized now."

"Robin, you know that's not really 'data,' right? It's just you making guesses at who's gonna get together. You don't even have any reasons for your thinking written down," I say defensively.

"And a good thing I don't! Because you morons would've read that too– ow," she shouts, then realizes that shouting is hurting her head. She rubs her head gingerly with her free hand as she puts the romance chart back in with the others in her box. She goes to the other side of the table and opens a drawer, digging around until she finds what she's looking for: a small vial of vulnerary. She takes a sip, then recaps the bottle and stows it away. After a second, she sighs with relief. "That's much better. Not that it makes me any less annoyed with you two. Randall, I know for a fact I've made it clear to you that no one but me is supposed to see that chart."

"Yup! And now, having looked at it, I see that I got all worked up over nothing. You didn't even put any juicy gossip about yourself on it," I say smugly.

She scowls. "For one thing, again, it's a good thing I didn't. And for another, that's because I have no time for that sort of thing. I have a war to plan, and you two are hardly making that any easier. We've already spent too much time dawdling. I already made sure Frederick and Exalt Emmeryn were loaded up, so we're moving out."

"Oh yeah, speaking of Frederick," Chrom says. "Robin, there's something I'd like your help with…"

A/N: Happy November! I've had a hell of a month. In short: applications. I hope you guys liked this one! After all the crazy dramatic stuff we've had for the past few chapters, I thought it was time for some lighter fare for a change. Been a while, right? We're back in the action next time, though, so strap in, friends!

As always, my beta readers need a shoutout, so if you haven't yet, check out Syntaxis' An Odd Awakening and Mixed Valence's Earthborne, because they are both top of the line stories brimming with potential, and they both have committed and skilled writers at the helm. Also check out the subreddit Syn started up at r/FireEmblemFanfiction! And here is your Syntaxis out of context quote of the week: "You got me. This is all an elaborate ruse to write a story with M!Preg."

The poll regarding potential cover ideas is still up on my profile, so check that out as well! (It's essentially a character popularity poll I guess, so it's also helpful for me to see which characters are working for you guys) I'm also still looking for an artist that could take on a commission like that, so hit me up in the PMs if you know someone (or are someone) that fits the bill!

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