Birth and Re-Death
Chapter 33: Robin Takes a Magical Nap
"Was he one of yours?" Gangrel demands, furiously shaking a fist. "That son of a whore was one of your accomplices all along, wasn't he?"
"I'm sure I don't know what, or whom, you're talking about," Mustafa replies calmly.
"That damned Vasto! I gave him strict orders to have that Ylissean priest transported here, but the guards have seen neither Vasto nor the priest anywhere. He's disappeared without a trace," Gangrel says, pacing anxiously. Even though Mustafa has been moved to occupy a small, secret room adjoining Gangrel's personal chamber, with considerably better lighting and decor, the improved atmosphere does little for Gangrel's nerves right now.
Mustafa shakes his head sadly. "What a pity. Vasto is such a dedicated soldier, even after the incident that cost him his arm and his leg. Very few riders could come back from that and continue to perform on the battlefield."
"He is one of yours, isn't he? I should have known all along. He was under your command once. I should liquidate everyone you have ever had command over, just to be safe," Gangrel says venomously.
Mustafa grows indignant. "Is that what you want, Gangrel? A command structure built on fear and doubt, even to the point where you must always distrust them in turn? I can see some merit in a system in which your men both fear and respect you, their commander, but for you to be forced to fear your own subordinates? Have you any grip on this country at all?"
"Have I any grip? I conquered Ylisse in full in a matter of weeks!" Gangrel spits back.
"Is that why you left for Ylisse to engage with the Shepherds, only to come back looking like a kicked dog? Did your expedition there yield anything outside of more death? You didn't even capture a single prisoner to use to engage in bargaining for surrender or peace negotiations. You have no play. Is this what you call control?" Despite the manacles still binding his wrists and the chain keeping those manacles close to the wall, he still seems to have more command over the room as he stands straighter and more confident than the king.
"I know where the Shepherds are going to be next. We intercepted a message from one of the Shepherds that detailed their plans for the campaign to retake Ylisstol and use it as the base of operations for reclaiming the rest of the country. Your old friend General Campari is on the way there right now to oversee the defense of the city before the Shepherds have time to get there. They'll have a nasty surprise waiting for them by the time they arrive," Gangrel gloats.
If Mustafa could cross his arms, he would have. "Is that meant to impress me? Why do you want my approval for any of this, anyway? For that matter, why am I still alive? I was promised that my execution was an absolute consequence of my failure to cooperate with you, but here I am. In fact, you've upgraded my accommodations."
Gangrel growls in frustration, but can't articulate an answer.
"I'll tell you my hypothesis, then. I think you're starting to realize that this war leads nowhere. It gains you nothing but the perpetuation of pain and death for our people. The problems you thought that this war would fix are still there, and now you see you're making the same mistakes the ones before us made. Except this time, you're not acting the role of King Hartyr, defender of Plegia; you play the role of Exalt Gideon, the bloodthirsty tyrant who instigates the conflict and keeps it fueled. In your effort to seek vengeance for the crimes of Gideon, you have become him. And you know this. And you see that I was right."
Gangrel shouts in anger and raises his hand to strike Mustafa, but relents. Whether out of mercy, or out of awareness that it would hurt his hand more than it would likely hurt Mustafa, the ex-general cannot say. Instead, Gangrel leaves without another word, slamming the door behind him.
Mustafa sighs, taking a seat against the wall. He wonders how Octavia and Mikkel are getting on without him. As much as he trusts Aventine and the others to take care of his family, he would give almost anything to see them right now.
Getting Robin to bed last night proved difficult. The moment we got back to the manor, she went straight to the command wagon to try and begin drafting a plan to get Randall back. Just about dead on her feet with fatigue, barely writing anything coherent, but unwilling to sleep or take a break for even a moment. It was only when Stahl and I physically took away her writing implements and maps that she agreed to take a short rest. Maribelle guided her back to her room in the manor and saw to it that she was under the covers before she left the room.
Despite all that, before the sun's up again, Robin is back in her wagon again. I don't know how long she's been here, but as I come in, she looks up at me with bags under her eyes that suggest she didn't actually stay in her room for very long.
"Before you say anything, Chrom, I know. Going into Plegia after Randall would be suicide," she says as I shut the door behind me.
"I wasn't going to say that, actually. I was going to ask if you're okay," I say in an attempt at a soothing tone.
"Oh. Well yes, of course. I just want to make sure we're clear on the plan. We still have to retake Ylisstol, right away," she says, looking back to her maps and charts and shuffling them around a bit.
"We do? I thought for sure you'd be hell-bent on getting Randall back as soon as we can." I don't know if I'm relieved to hear her say that or not.
"I am. And that's why we need to secure a firm base of power first."
I can't help but cock my head a little. "I don't think I follow."
"Look," she says as she rifles through her papers, looking for some specific chart or other, "it's all about motivation and goals. Why did the Plegians kidnap Randall? Was it just to take him back and give him a more gruesome death than he would have had on the battlefield? Possible, but unlikely, given their current situation. No, the chances are more than good that they took him because they hope they can leverage us using him. If they dangle him over us, demand a surrender under threat of his execution, that's a stronger case than nothing, which is what they had before. It's essentially the Emmeryn ploy, except this time directed at me instead of you. Well, maybe not deliberately, but in effect that's the case."
"Wait. Are you saying the Plegians think they're losing this war? Even though they control all the land and most of the people across our two countries?" I ask.
"Of course. They've lost a great deal of momentum. They've let themselves become stagnant, and soon the cost of maintaining a dominion hastily won will catch up with them. Think of it like this. For us to retake Ylisstol, how many times to we have to win?"
"Once?" I half-ask.
"And how many times do the Plegians have to win to keep Ylisstol under their control?"
"Also once?"
"No. They have to win every single time someone comes knocking. By taking and occupying the entire country in such a short time, they have the illusion of control, but what they've really done is make every place a viable target without establishing a solid base of control anywhere. Rebellious sentiment is still no doubt very high among the Ylissean people, and unlike the Plegians, it doesn't matter if they think Emmeryn is alive or dead. Either one stirs a fighting spirit for them. If she's dead, she's a martyr, and if she's alive, they want to fight to get her back."
I decide to take a seat while she's talking, since it seems she's got a lot to say. "What does any of this have to do with capturing Randall?" I ask.
"They're looking for an easy out. A way to get us to give up the fight so they can quit worrying about our inevitable uprising to take Ylisse back. They hope that by holding a blade to Randall's throat, they can get us to cooperate with them. But that only works if they have us in a position where we have no recourse. The greater our position of relative strength, the better our chances of getting him back alive."
"I'm still not seeing it. Are you saying we need to take Plegian prisoners and hold them at swordpoint too?"
She shrugs. "If necessary, yes. Turnabout is always fair play." The casualness of her statement gives me a chill down my spine. "In any event, they'll have no reason to listen to us if we don't retake enough territory to be a viable threat. For now, we are an annoyance. An enemy that is proving difficult to kill but not strong enough to pose a serious threat to their dominion. But if we start taking Ylisse back, all that changes. We bring a stronger presence to the negotiating table."
"So… in order to save Randall, you want to make sure we look suitably scary to the Plegians? What if that just makes them want to kill him more?" I ask.
"If they're smart, it won't. Executing someone you have prisoner just to get a rise out of the enemy is a mistake. A living hostage is always a useful commodity, but a corpse isn't."
"And if they kill him right away and lie to us about him being alive?"
She slams her hands onto the table suddenly. "Then they do, Chrom! I can't account for everything, okay? I'm doing the best I can with what I have, and that's all I can do!"
I almost stand up to try and calm her down, but then I think that might be counterproductive. Instead, I just gesture with my hands to try and tamp down her emotions. "Hey, I'm sorry. I don't mean to stress you out any more than you already are. I'm just trying to help if I can."
"I know that," she snaps, then takes a deep breath. "It's just… this is literally the worst thing that could have happened, Chrom."
"Is it, though? No one among the Shepherds died, even though we were caught in a huge ambush. We fought them off and sent them packing with a huge loss under their belt. It's far from ideal, but surely you prefer this to if we had found his corpse out there in that field."
She sniffs. "Yeah, of course. I just mean losing one of the Shepherds, in any context. Kidnapping, death, permanent disability. You get it."
Alright, as both her commander and her friend, I have to draw a line somewhere. She isn't talking sense anymore. "Robin, I think you haven't rested enough. We're going to get on the road fairly soon, and the moment we do, I order you to get out your bedroll and sleep for several hours before you do anything else. Is that clear?"
She frowns at me for a few moments, waiting to see if I relent. I don't. "Fine. As you command."
I nod approvingly and start to head for the door. "I'll let everyone know that the plan hasn't changed. Sleep well, Robin."
"Okay," she says as I step outside. Before I've gotten two paces from the wagon, I hear the sound of boxes of papers moving around already. So much for that.
I can't. Not yet. That'll be admitting defeat. I don't want to.
I know I have to. I know. And if what Marth said is true, he was unconscious when they took him anyway. He'll have set a new respawn point by now, I'm sure.
But he might not have. Maybe he was actually dead and being loaded onto that wyvern. Maybe he's waiting on me to get moving onto the second run. It's possible. I might be sealing his death if I go to sleep.
The thought sends a fresh wave of terror down my spine and wakes me up all over again.
I hate this. I hate this so much. I want to scream.
"Hello, Robin."
I scream. Not for the reason I thought I would, though; Tharja just startled me. I stop just short of kicking her in the face.
"Tharja! What the hell are you doing in here?" I snap.
"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Chrom. It sounded pretty serious," she says.
"You were lis— you know what," I shake my head, "that's not so surprising, actually. I'm not happy about this, though, Tharja. You can't just listen in on my private conversations like that."
"Well, how was I to know it was meant to be private? You never said so," she replies with a frown that borders on a pout.
"I didn't think that was necessary. I guess I'll keep it in mind for the future," I grumble. "What do you need?"
"Like I said, it's not about what I need at all. It's about what you need. You need to get some rest, but can't seem to convince yourself to sleep," she says.
"Look, all that is true, but there's more to it than that, Tharja. It's not so simple."
"Oh, but it could be. After all, I've known you for a long time. Casting a simple sleep hex would be very easy, especially if you were willing. I could do it right now," she replies in a weirdly seductive tone.
I consider for a moment. What are the chances he's been killed? I spent all night going over it again and again in my head, and my own intuition combined with Marth's information about the state Randall was in when he was taken points to the only sensible conclusion being that he's alive. Even so, the chance that he's not is nonzero. I don't like it. I hate not knowing, and having no way of knowing.
But there's nothing I can do about it. This is the hand I've been dealt. Chrom's right; either way, I won't be able to find him before my body succumbs to exhaustion anyway. If he's dead… he's dead.
And I have to be prepared to guide this team into battle either way.
"Alright. Do it."
She grins alarmingly wide. "Don't you go anywhere. I'll be just a minute." She slips quietly out the door without another word.
I try to sit down and relax, but my leg won't stop jittering, and eventually I give up and start pacing again. I try not to think about anything. For all the good that does. Four or five minutes later, Tharja returns, holding a small canvas sack.
"I've got everything I need in here. I keep the ingredients for more basic curses on hand for daily use. And the sleep hex is relatively easy. I won't even need a proper ritual fire." She holds up a piece of tome parchment. "A simple Fire spell is enough to get the job done."
"So how does this work?" I ask, suddenly feeling quite nervous again as she grins at me.
"Nothing truly spectacular for a ritual of this magnitude. All it will take is me burning this bag along with all of the ingredients inside. I'll also be reciting an incantation, and then you should immediately feel extremely sleepy. Completely harmless, I assure you," she says, which of course just makes me worry more when she feels the need to point that out.
Even so, I swallow my trepidation. "Alright, sounds good. Go for it."
"You should get comfortable first. Like I said, the effects are more or less instantaneous."
I get out my bedroll from the back corner of the wagon and lay it out. It feels a little strange as I shed my coat and boots and lie down with Tharja sitting on her knees next to me. She hovers over me, kind of like a strangely enthusiastic mother putting her child to bed. I can vaguely smell whatever's inside her bag of hex ingredients in her hand; it's a sort of rank, rotten smell, like spoiled fruit.
"You ready to sleep?" Tharja asks.
I sigh. This is me putting my trust in Marth, I guess. "Yeah."
"Have a nice rest, Robin. I'll be right here," Tharja coos.
"That's comforting," I say, attempting to mask my sarcasm.
She giggles quietly as she lights up the spell and holds the fire underneath the bag in her other hand. She starts chanting some strange, inarticulate set of words in an alarmingly low, sinister-sounding tone, and true to her word, as the ingredients bag turns to ash in her hand, I feel a sort of strange, warm weight pulling down on my body. My limbs lose their nervous energy and I grow sluggish. My eyes give way in mere seconds as unnatural sleep takes hold of me like a dark embrace.
"Alright, Aventine, I need you to lay some stuff out for me."
"And what might that be?" he replies patiently, his hands folded on the desk in front of him. Duke Hadrian has set him up with a little command center/office on the west side of the building, a well-lit but sparsely decorated room with a singular large desk and a couple chairs. He occupies the one on the other side of the desk, while I have entered the office unannounced and staked a claim on one of the two on the side closer to the door.
"I want to know why you thought I'd be willing to support your cause. You couldn't have known that I knew what a republic was and all that other junk. You didn't know that I would even partially agree with your vision for the country. So what were you banking on leveraging to get me to join your side?" I ask.
"Well, it's quite simple. Our goal and the Shepherds' goal are one in the same thing, at least for the time being."
"What do you mean?"
"The next step for our group before we move concretely into the implementation of our plan is to have the Plegian army expelled from Ylisse. We cannot allow Gangrel to gain any more power or influence, or else we risk him becoming too strong to topple. You also want to drive the Plegians out. We are alike in this."
"Doesn't Gangrel have a ton of enemies among his own people, though? I would think having a singular unpopular king on the throne who at least nominally controls everything would be a pretty ideal setup for you guys. One enemy to focus your hate on, and all."
"An astute point. However, we are not attempting to create a superstate. As much as we believe Plegia and Ylisse should be allies, we are not so daft as to think that they're culturally similar enough to sustain a permanent union. No, the countries and their domains must remain autonomous, else the people might panic and call us interlopers from the other side, bent on erasing their local cultures forever. Furthermore, we wish to have prominent members of both sides of the eventual peace negotiations be members of our group. If the people see us as the ones who negotiate peace, they will be more willing to trust us when we expel those who currently occupy seats of royal status in both countries."
You know, this kind of sounds familiar. I remember what Chrom told me about the end of Gideon's War. How Aventine and Mustafa, along with General Campari and Emmeryn, had been the major architects of the peace deal. "You've tried this before, haven't you?"
His eyes widen slightly. "I see you've also studied a bit of history in addition to political theory. Likely from one of your infamous inside sources, it seems. Yes, this is not the first time we have attempted this. And if it hadn't been for Gangrel's meteoric rise in popularity among his people and my… inability to resolve matters on the Ylissean end, we may have succeeded. Many lives could have been saved. But now we have a second chance."
I wonder what he means by 'inability to resolve matters.' Though I suspect I won't be told just yet. "So aside from yourself, what prominent members from both sides have you managed to get recruited? Especially since Mustafa… well, you know. And you're under a fair amount of suspicion as well. You have anyone else lined up?"
"Well, loathe as I am to share anything that privileged with you, I suppose you've at least a right to know who you're being asked to work for. For the Ylisseans, we have gained the confidence of the captain of the royal guard, Phila. Her loyalty to the Ylissean people is beyond reproach, as is her standing among the upper class in Ylisse."
"Wait, that Phila? She's working for you guys? Why?"
"Well, her reasons are her own, I suppose. But I suspect that anyone who saw the horrors of Gideon's War and carries a guilty conscience could be swayed to a cause that aims to prevent the next war from occurring."
Jeez, this really is the coalition of folks who should have been dead by now. "And for the Plegians?"
Aventine glances off to the side for a moment, as if in slight shame. "Well, it was more difficult in Plegia's case. General Campari could not be swayed, and soon it proved too dangerous to hint any further at what we were planning. And outside of him, there are relatively few secular leaders in the country that would dream of standing up to Gangrel. So we were required to look to the other major faction of influence in Plegia."
Oh, hold up just a minute. "Are you saying you've been working with the Grimleal? The death-god-worshipping apocalypse cultists?"
Aventine speaks quickly to try to calm me. "I know how it sounds. I'm no fan of the idea myself, especially since it's a theocracy that I wish to avoid in the first place. But they have proven surprisingly willing to play along with our ideas thus far. We used to be in communication with their leader, a man known as Validar, through our mutual contact, a priest named Chalard. But then the Shepherds killed Chalard, and we lost contact with Validar."
I sit back in my chair, good and angry. "Yeah, you have me to thank for that. I took Chalard's head off. And I don't say this about a lot of people, but I'd do it again. You know he took slaves, right?"
"I am fully aware. It was never my idea to associate with them in the first place. But outside of Gangrel and his generals, at least one of whom is dead, probably both, there are no other figures in Plegian society influential enough to rally the people. We have to work with what we've been given, however little it may be," Aventine replies sharply.
"You expect me to work with you guys when you've been in cahoots with the goddamn Grimleal, of all people? You must think I'm pretty fucking stupid, huh?"
"It's not as though I'm hiding that fact from you, Randall. I'm being open about the fact that we are working with them, and the fact that I am not happy about it. What more do you want?"
"Uhh, for you not to work with them? Can't you see that the reason they're so willing to work for you is that they're actually just using you? You're a vehicle for them, a path to greater influence for themselves!"
"I suppose you prefer Gangrel, then? Or maybe you prefer mass chaos?"
"Create a new influential class! Former nobles or military or intellectuals or something. But drop the doomsday cult!"
"Do you suppose it's that easy? Just creating a new social class from thin air?"
"Well, we'll just have to figure something out, then."
Aventine smiles. "You said 'we.' Does that mean you will indeed work with us?"
I throw the back of my head against the backrest of the chair. "You guys have a real talent for pissing me off, you know that?"
He just smiles wider. I'm coming to hate that smile, I think.
I sit up again. "So, for helping the Shepherds. What did you have in mind?"
"Uuungh," I moan as consciousness slowly returns to me.
Even behind my closed eyelids, I find the room too bright, and with some effort, flip myself onto my stomach and bury my face into my pillow.
Wait. This isn't my pillow. I squeeze it; definitely fabric, but… more supple than I'm used to. Someone above my head laughs through their nose.
My eyes snap open. I was right. This isn't my pillow. It's Tharja's leg.
I yelp and scramble away from her, feeling my face instantly start burning. "Th-Tharja! What are you doing?"
She's got a similar redness to her cheeks, but by her expression, she looks considerably more pleased than I am. "I wasn't doing a thing, Robin. I promise. You, however, are a different story. I forgot how much of a sleep-cuddler you are." She giggles again. "And I wasn't about to stop you."
I open my mouth to speak, but the words catch in my throat. My tongue feels like it's tripled in weight. I could swear my face is about to catch fire.
"You're a mumbler, too. So many half-thoughts and little secrets~"
Oh gods. Strike me down now.
"Tharja, I…" I give myself a second to re-gather my thoughts. "Just, let's not tell anyone about this, alright?"
She smiles. "My lips are sealed."
I hasten to get my coat and boots back on, clumsily rolling up my bedroll and tossing it back into the corner. "I'm gonna go walk for a while," I say, heading for the door. I think a blast of December air might be exactly what I need right now.
I've been keeping my meditation routine up for the few days that I've been here. I appreciate it more and more every time I get the chance to do it. It gives me a chance to take a step back from my own mind for a while, which lately is a bigger blessing than ever. As much as I'm thankful that I was finally able to regain my memories of this place and the people I knew here, the fact remains that those memories were and are still painful. That on top of the mounting stress about what I'm meant to do to help the Shepherds while being kept prisoner by my ex-girlfriend's dad and his republican traitor buddies has been… a lot. I miss my friends so much already.
Not that it's been all bad here, though. I've been kept pretty busy, too. Vasto wasn't lying when he said the coup crew has been in need of a healer. I learn that the old training hall in which I first learned my healing technique has been repurposed into a sort of infirmary for the guys who go out on missions to destabilize the military grip that Plegia has on Ylisse (at least, I've been promised that they've all been anti-Plegia missions; I remain skeptical on that point). For the most part, it's espionage missions, but when things escalate to violence, as I learn they often do, our guys frequently come home hurt.
Part of what keeps me busy is that these guys aren't coming home with fresh wounds that they just opened up. As a matter of maintaining the secrecy of this group's location, when people go out on missions, they take long and winding paths back here. By the time I get to see someone's wounds, they're usually several days old. By that time, infection has often begun to set in, meaning my job becomes a lot harder. See, healing someone is one thing; closing up a sliced leg or mending a broken arm is easy. But an infection isn't by itself damage. It's just bacteria or other microorganisms hanging out inside you. Life inside life. Only the symptoms are actual damage. Which means that if someone's wound gets infected, I often have to heal that person many times over while their immune system does battle with whatever obnoxious little asshole has taken up residence in their bodies. Their lives aren't in danger, necessarily, since I can cure the damage as it comes. But it does mean that instead of being healed and done in minutes, I keep having to visit the same folks every day to mitigate the damage that their lingering infections are causing for their bodies.
As much as I hate to see folks in pain, I will say that it's good practice to keep up my healing skills. And it is damn satisfying to be using my personal staff again. It feels nice and weighty in my hand, like I'm literally pushing their wounds closed. The guys I've been healing seem pleasant enough, and none of them are particularly put-off when they learn I'm a Shepherd.
I get better acquainted with a few of the higher-ups in the organization as well. In truth, Duke Hadrian doesn't seem like a bad guy. He sort of strikes me as a sort of Virion, minus most of the womanizing habit. He's pompous and a little condescending toward those less wealthy than him, which is almost everybody, but he doesn't seem to mean anything necessarily negative by it. I can tell that he's not the one who built his family's fortune or influence; he definitely inherited it. As a result, he doesn't seem to be able to conceive of a world in which his family doesn't occupy the position of high social standing that they do now. Still, I can tell that he does legitimately care for Maribelle, and that earns him points with me.
Aventine remains as cryptic and annoying as ever, but he does seem to think that he's doing the right thing for everyone. I keep probing him for some clue as to what his motive in all of this, but so far he's been sticking by his assertion that it's all for the greater good. I don't buy it for a second. He's got a stake in this somehow. And I suspect he must know more about the end of the last war than he lets on.
Octavia is an interesting woman. At first I had planned to just leave her to her grieving in peace and solitude, but I was surprised when a couple days after our first encounter, she sought me out specifically. Our emotionally charged first meeting the other day must have given her the idea that having someone to talk about your grief with is a good idea, because when we sat down to tea, she rattled off story after story about how romantic and kind her husband had been. Apparently, Mustafa had been quite the Casanova in his day, evidenced by her admission that he's actually twelve years older than her. It was nice to see her actually smile when she talked about the early days of her relationship with him. When she smiles, the strain and grief are shed from her face, and she looks years younger. I thought she was a milf before, but when glimpses of the happy person she used to be manage to peek through, my heart just about melts.
In return, I confide in her a few stories about my time here. As my memories slowly return and I flesh out some of my encounters with Mindy and the others in my mind, I'm gradually able to share some of my fonder memories with Octavia. The smiles don't last forever, though, reminding both of us that we're in mutual grieving, and we have a long healing process ahead of us. We agree to have tea again soon, and both leave the exchange feeling better about our respective situations. There aren't many that I truly trust here, but if I had to pick anyone who seems to really get me, I'd probably say it's her.
Vasto, on the other hand, remains a dickhead. He's obstinate, impatient, stubborn, and disagreeable. While this does make him a drag to be roommates with, it also makes him a super easy target for button-pushing, which I'm more than happy to do. I'm pretty convinced that he hates me, but he hasn't tried to kill me yet, most likely because he's aware that I'm a necessary part of the plan.
Still, I have to admire him. He reminds me of Frederick in his determination not to allow his injury to define him. I learn that his prosthetics are made of a mixture of dense wood and metal, making them tough yet not as heavy as solid metal would be. Of course, they can't be controlled much, and walking is visibly difficult for him. He has to sort of throw his hip into every step with his left leg, and he's quick to put his weight back on his right side. There's a sort of half-joint at where the knee would be, and it allows him to put his leg in the stirrup properly when he rides on Kinba, his wyvern partner. It also makes dragging his leg forward easier when he's tired. It doesn't bend backwards, like a real leg, as there's a little metal flap that catches the prosthetic before it bends any further in that direction. It's really very clever in its design.
The arm is similar. He keeps a leather and metal harness around his shoulder most of the time that his prosthetic hooks into, and from there it moves more or less as freely as an arm does. The hand is steel, shaped into a pseudo-fist, leaving about an inch-and-a-half-wide hole, like he's constantly making a zero with his hand. When I ask why he bothers with a prosthetic arm that can't actually grasp anything, he explains (after rolling his eyes in what I'm coming to realize is his customary fashion) that it serves two main purposes. When he's on the ground, it serves as a counterweight to his other arm, preventing him from losing his balance or inordinately strengthening one side of his body over the other. When he's on Kinba, he hooks the 'zero' grip hand into a custom rein harness he had crafted for her. This prevents him from falling off her back, obviously, but it also functions as his steering mechanism. He must have a crazy strong bond with Kinba, because when he's hooked in, all it takes is the slightest movement of his shoulder, and Kinba knows exactly what he wants her to do. Watching him in the air, you wouldn't know he's flying with a prosthetic arm at all. Meanwhile, his other hand is of course free to wield his axe so he can participate in combat without worry.
I come to learn that he spends about as much time as possible with Kinba. She's definitely a beast with the same mindset as her rider, because she regards me equally coldly. But seeing the way she warms up when he hobbles over to her to pat her snout or feed her her dinner is pretty wholesome, I can't lie. He takes at least as good care of her as he does himself.
I will begrudgingly admit that he's a badass. Not that I'd ever tell him that, of course.
If there's anyone that I've been frankly trying to avoid, it would be Henry. I know, I know, he's a fan-favorite and if the fanbase back home ever learned about my relative dislike for him, I'd probably get crucified. But you gotta admit, the kid's creepy. He'll gleefully talk about the most morbid of subjects, and when he follows me around the infirmary, as he's wont to do, he keeps cracking jokes about the injuries that the wounded have sustained. He watches with rapt attention as I go about my healing business. When I finally ask him why he's so intent on watching me do my work, he says, "It's like watching the wounds in reverse. When you heal them, I can imagine what must have been done to them to give them those injuries in the first place. It's like I'm really there!" He does have a point, so much so that from that point forward, I also find myself imagining what sort of tool or tactic was used to give these men and women their often-grisly wounds. Once it's pointed out to me, I can't help but do it. Like when your friend's terrible habit of chewing with his mouth open is pointed out to you after years of knowing each other. Pisses me off.
Anyway, things like that are why I generally prefer to steer clear of him when possible. I've got enough on my plate as is, let alone worrying about the guy from the 'that kid' threads bringing me a severed arm or something.
However, it's through Henry that I ultimately get acquainted with another guest in the Osprey home: Mustafa and Octavia's son, Mikkel. One day when I'm on my rounds, Henry shows up with more than just himself; he's also got a timid-looking kid of about eleven or twelve with him. The kid looks a lot like Octavia, same olive skin and dark hair, same pronounced facial features. I can tell already that he's gonna be a chick magnet in a few years. For now, though, he looks like a stiff breeze might knock him down.
"Come on, Mikkel! It's cool to watch!" Henry shouts over his shoulder as he pulls the kid by the hand into the infirmary. Mikkel looks less than excited to be here.
"Hey, Henry. Who's this?" I ask, staff in one hand and damp towel in the other as I stand up from treating the damage from a guy's leg infection he got from leaving an arrowhead in place for too long.
"This is Mikkel! He's Mustafa and Octavia's kid. He's nice, but he doesn't exactly have the strongest stomach. So I thought I'd show him a professional healer at work!" Henry says cheerfully.
I raise a brow. "Did it ever occur to you that it might not suit a weak-stomached kid to watch the healing of infectious injuries?" I ask.
"Well, we all gotta get introduced to it sometime, right? I figure better here and now than if he didn't see blood until his own was getting spilled on the battlefield. Nyahaha!"
See what I mean?
"Well, that may be, but I think it's up to Mikkel to decide." I look over to the boy, still kinda clinging to Henry's side. "Hi, Mikkel. I'm Randy. I'm a healer, so right now I'm doing my best to keep these folks safe while they get better." I gesture behind me at all the patients in their makeshift beds.
"Hi," he half-whispers.
Oh boy. I don't know how to deal with shy kids.
"Well, I'm not gonna tell you that you have to go away, but I also don't want you around if you're only here because Henry brought you. You only stay if you want to, got it?" I say.
He nods, but otherwise doesn't move. Jeez, this kid. Even when I'm technically giving him a choice, I can't tell if he's here of his own volition. I guess it doesn't matter regardless; I've got work to do.
I get back to it, healing those still suffering from lingering infection and trying to ignore the two pairs of eyes on me as I work. Thankfully, Henry isn't being too annoying today, and Mikkel as a rule seems to keep his mouth shut.
I'm trying not to be too harsh on the kid in my mind. I know that it can't have been more than a week or two ago that he learned his dad has been executed. If I knew the first thing about how to counsel a child who's just lost a parent like that, I would try to help, but I kind of feel helpless in this situation.
Anyway, I make a point in asking my patients if they feel any pain and making sure I get a 'no' from each of them so that it's expressly clear to Mikkel that my job isn't to cause hurt, but to undo it. It's hard to tell, but I think he might slowly be warming to the idea as he sees the wounded soldiers all give him encouraging smiles to prove how tough they are. As skeptical as I was when Henry brought him in, it might have been a positive experience for the kid after all.
"Have you always been a healer? How do you become one?" Mikkel asks timidly as I finish up my afternoon rounds.
I smile at him. "Well, not always. I only started learning maybe, what, six months ago? Henry, what day is it?"
"The 24th."
Holy shit, I only just now realize it's Christmas Eve. The realization that time is really passing drops like a rock in my stomach. "Yeah, then nearly seven months. But if you wanna know if you can be a healer, we can actually find out right now."
A brief flash of enthusiasm. "Really? How?"
I hold my staff out to him. "Just hold this for a bit." He takes it from me with both hands and holds it in front of him, carefully inspecting the orb and the receiver holding it. The staff is a little over five feet long, so it's actually a bit taller than him, I notice. "Feel anything? Like a vibrating, or a tingling?" I ask after a few seconds.
He shakes his head slowly. "No." A frown grows on his face as he realizes what that means. "I can't do it, huh?"
Oh. That's legitimately disappointing. I didn't think this through well enough, maybe. I squat a little to get more or less to eye level with him. "Well hey, there's no need to worry. Even if staves don't work for you, I'm sure you've got all kinds of ways you can help people."
"Yeah! Like how your dad used his big axe to protect people, or how Randy and I can use dark magic to wipe out the bad guys!" Henry chimes in.
Hold on a second.
"Henry, how do you know I can use dark magic? I haven't touched a tome since I came here, and I don't think I told anyone that either," I say.
Henry giggles. "Oh, that's easy! You've got dark aura seeping outta you like crazy! At least as much as I do! I bet if the two of us stood next to each other, we'd be darn near impossible to see at all! Heehee!"
That reminds me of what Tharja told me back when we first met in Golgotha. Or rather, our first meeting that never really happened because we left that run behind. She mentioned that I must have done something to make Robin kill herself because she could see the darkness in me, or something. "Is that a thing? Do all dark mages have this sort of aura?" I ask.
He shrugs, still grinning. "Kinda! Usually you can only really tell with a powerful one, though, so I'm guessing you're pretty strong!"
"I guess so…" That'll be one to investigate more later on, I suspect. I wonder if I might actually be sensing Henry's dark aura, and that's what's making me so averse to spending time with him. Something like that.
In the meantime, Mikkel has been slowly retreating from the conversation ever since Henry cut in. "Anyway, Mikkel,"I say, turning to him, "he's got a point. If you're anything like the General Mustafa I met, then you'll grow up to be someone who protects the innocent with everything he's got. You've just gotta find what you do best and really hone it."
He nods silently. I think Henry and I bringing up his dad might not have been the best idea. Jesus, I have no idea how to do this.
"Anyway, we should get going. Sun's starting to quit out there, and you know what that means? Dinner's gonna be on soon!" Henry says, and starts walking off, and Mikkel obediently falls in step with him. "See ya later, Randy!" Henry calls behind him.
I give a halfhearted wave. "Seeya."
"Chrom, there was something else I wanted to bring up with you before we arrive. I don't know if you'll want to tell the rest of the Shepherds or not, but you at least should be thinking about it," I say as I approach Chrom from behind. As usual, he's walking at the front of the caravan, this time alongside a chipper-looking Frederick astride his horse. I guess I don't mind if Frederick hears this too; I'm sure it'll have crossed his mind anyway.
"Ah, Robin, good to see you out of the command wagon," Frederick says. "I was beginning to think you might have accidentally starved yourself hiding away in there."
"I've been planning, Frederickson. Lots to do," I reply.
"Not even your irritating nicknames will get to me today, Robin. I am much too relieved to be back where I belong, even if being stuck atop Imperium means I can no longer be on pebble duty. Fortunately, Nowi seemed more than happy to skip on ahead and handle that for me." I squint my eyes, and sure enough, a few dozen feet ahead of us, there's Nowi, rushing from spot to spot and dropping to a squat to pluck rocks off the road. "Not that she does as thorough a job as I'd like, but then again, nobody ever does," Frederick sighs.
"Anyway, what did you need, Robin?" Chrom asks.
"I wanted to make sure that we're clear on all the implications of that ambush at the Anchorage estate. While I will continue to maintain that Randall had nothing to do with leaking our whereabouts to the enemy, it's clear that someone must have. The khans were right to fear a security breach. Whether it was intentional sabotage or an intercepted communication or whatever the case may be, the enemy had knowledge that they simply should not have had. We have to assume that they know our entire plan, down to our intention to take back Ylisstol."
Frederick nods. "Aptly put. Even if the mystery remains unsolved, some of the consequences of this leak are not difficult to speculate. We should be prepared for the very likely possibility that they will be expecting us in Ylisstol."
"What could that mean for us?" Chrom asks. "Will they take hostages? Will they burn the city before we can even reach it?"
"We need to be prepared for anything. Even if the city is a husk and the civilians have been driven out or killed, we have to take it back anyway. Ideally, Ylisstol will be a literal stronghold for us, but if nothing else, taking it back will at least be a moral victory for our cause. Plegia's war is barely with us anymore. It's with their own will to keep going. We can't allow ourselves to fall into the same trap."
"And how do we avoid that?" Chrom asks.
"By knowing that what we're doing is right," I reply.
"I agree wholeheartedly," Frederick says. "There is no choice left for us but to take back our home, no matter how ravaged we may find it. That is all there is to it."
Chrom nods resolutely. "Right. Even so, Robin, I want to know if you find any leads on who might have leaked our plans, and how and when they did it."
I spend my first Christmas away from my family healing patients and bickering with Henry and Vasto. I wanted to spend it with my friends in the Shepherds. I'd find some clever way to explain kind of what Christmas is without having to get into the actual origin of the holiday. I'd just call it a winter solstice celebration or something. But I wanted to try and cook everyone something nice, maybe teach them a Christmas carol or two. I bet hearing Gaius sing Silent Night would be amazing. Or getting Lissa and Nowi to sing Jingle Bells. Nowi would be the type to do that semi-obnoxious 'HA-HA-HA' after the 'laughing all the way' line, I'm sure.
Robin would moan at me for distracting everyone when we should be preparing ourselves for the battle ahead, and I'd tell her to lighten up and join us. And she'd relent eventually, because I'm just too damn charming, and she'd join in on the fun, slowly lightening up as the evening wore on. And we'd share a nice Christmas drink. And when the others went to bed, I'd tell her about real Christmas. And about my family, and how Christmas was always the biggest event of the year for us. I'd let her know how bad I miss my parents, and my siblings, and my friends back in America. And knowing that at least one person in this world knew how much today means to me would make it easier.
But that's not happening this year, because I'm here. And I just don't have it in me to celebrate with these people right now. So I swooce some whiskey from the kitchen after dinner and toast baby Jesus silently on my couch-bed after Vasto goes to sleep.
I miss my family. I miss the Shepherds. And I never thought I'd be saying this about the commissioner of the fun police herself, but I miss Robin, too.
The next break in my routine comes a few days later. I'm out near the stables, having a friendly conversation with Kinba while she occasionally snorts sparks in my direction, when I notice something big and white in the stable. As I walk over to check it out, I realize it's actually several somethings, and they're all pegasi. Phila must have come back from her latest mission.
I know that she's part of the coup crew, but I haven't actually seen her since I arrived. It still kind of blows my mind that so many people close to the Exalt were plotting to bring her down. Even so, she might be my best bet for pushing my own agenda while I'm stuck here.
I ended up telling Aventine about the Shepherds' plans to retake Ylisstol and use it as a fortified base of operations for the remainder of the war. I didn't feel like that alone was such a huge secret, especially since there's a good chance that the Plegians themselves already know about the plan, considering someone leaked our location at Anchorage to them. Anyway, in return he told me about Phila's situation and what he thinks she'll be able to contribute.
Basically, Phila is the closest thing he has outside of me to a sympathetic figure for the Shepherds. If she shows up, there'll be some questions asked about where she's been, but there's nothing in her past that would cast doubt over her. For that reason, she's going to be the crew's inside operative for the Shepherds. Aventine promised me that she would never bring any of the Shepherds to any sort of harm, as per my condition for helping his group, and that for now his goal is exclusively to push back against the Plegian advance. I asked if I could send a message to the Shepherds through her, but unsurprisingly he said that "it would be simply impossible, I'm sorry."
Well, fuck him. I'm going to try to corner Phila before she leaves and get her to take a message anyway. For my friends' peace of mind, as well as making sure Robin doesn't do anything stupid, I think it's important that they know that I'm at least relatively safe. I just hope I can convince Phila of the same thing.
I head inside the villa and up to the second floor, where I assume I'll find Phila giving her report to Aventine. True to my expectations, as I approach his office, I hear a female voice muffled behind the closed door. I draw close to the door, and hear the tail end of her report.
"—so while there are still Plegians in the area, without their commander or any of their officers, it's unlikely they'll pose much of a threat to anyone any longer. Especially considering the enthusiasm with which the farmer volunteers helped us drive out the military regulars once their command structure had been crippled," she says soberly.
"And who is it the farmers believe helped them?" Aventine asks.
"No one special. The only mention I heard of the Shepherds while we were there was the grumbling of villagers wondering why they had failed to show up and help them," Phila replies.
"That's also a relief. The sooner people do away with the idea that they need the Shepherds to protect them, the more smoothly this transition will go."
So that's his game. Drive out the Plegians, but maximize the people's doubt in the Shepherds at the same time. Create a vacuum that his new government can fill. It's pretty smart, actually. If you wanted to start a popular republican movement, the first step is making the people feel like they're the ones with power.
I decide I'll hang out here and listen to what else gets talked about. Getting some insight on his plans without it being filtered through his careful, diplomatic wording would be nice.
"Now, Commander Phila, as much as I enjoy your company, I'm afraid I have to ask that you prepare at once to go on another mission. You're in a unique position to be useful to us with the Shepherds themselves, who are now in-country," Aventine says.
"Right. I can't relax while our people are in danger," Phila replies.
"But first, excuse me for just a second," Aventine says. There's some movement in the room, the sound of someone getting up from a chair. A couple seconds later, the door opens suddenly. "Randall, would you care to join us?" he asks me, looking wholly unsurprised to see me. "I thought you might be more comfortable sitting down with us rather than standing at the door."
I'm equal parts terrified, flustered, and really quite embarrassed, if I'm being honest. I find my shoes really interesting to look at as I sit in the chair next to Phila's.
"We can't blame Randall for wanting to sneak about, of course. We kidnapped him and brought him here, and are currently technically holding him against his will. He has every right and reason to assume that we are feeding him a doctored version of our statement of goals. Were I in his position, I'd do the same, no doubt in my mind," Aventine says in an infuriatingly understanding tone.
"Don't try and gaslight me, man. If you knew I was listening, then you could have been feeding me a gentle version of your goals even just now," I fire back. "Hi, Phila," I add, glancing at her beside me. She looks pretty lost right now.
"Hello. Who are you again?" Phila asks.
"I used to be–" I catch myself "–I am a Shepherd. Last time I saw you in person, you were taking Emmeryn away from Breakneck Pass."
I watch the look of recognition appear in her eyes. "Oh, you're that priest! The one who gave Exalt Emmeryn that strange magic sheet. I didn't recognize you without your healer's robes."
A lump forms in my throat. "Don't remind me. I miss those robes." I turn back to Aventine. "Anyway, what's your angle here?"
He shrugs. "I'm being as honest with you as possible. I've already told you that I intend to take the Exalted family out of power. I don't want to kill any of the Shepherds in doing so, as I believe that they would all be valuable assets to our new republic. However, for now the Shepherds are a symbol of the Exalts' rule. We need to show the people that the Shepherds are only human, and that the common man must be prepared to assert himself in this new world we are creating. I don't want the people to hate them, or even distrust them. Just to recognize that they aren't superhuman."
"Well, they do have a manakete, a taguel, and several divinely ordained champions among their numbers. I'm sure you can understand the confusion," I reply.
He replies with a patronizing smile. "In any case, the only things that I am not telling you are things that really and truly don't concern you. Our goals and our methods are open for your perusal, including this very mission that I am sending Phila on." He returns his attention to Phila. "So, getting back on track. Randall here has informed me of the Shepherds' plan of action for retaking Ylisse. The Shepherds, assuming their plans haven't changed in the wake of King Gangrel's attack on them at the Anchorage Estate and our subsequent kidnapping of Randall, are making their way to Ylisstol, where they intend to expel the invaders and fortify the city to make it their permanent base of operations for the remainder of the war."
I haven't told him yet, and so far have no intention of telling him, that their next objective after Ylisstol will bring them here. He can find that out later, since for right now, I'd say that 'truly doesn't concern him.'
"I take it you want me to bring a force to Ylisstol to assist the Shepherds in retaking the city?" Phila asks.
"Precisely. It's likely that once they have you back, they won't want to let you go, though, so we need to make sure that you're briefed on everything that will go on in the interim while you're acting with them," Aventine replies. "Firstly, and most universally, we will be fighting the Plegians for the foreseeable future. They still have the upper hand in this war, and we need to balance the relative power of the countries before we can make our move. For your part, that means that you will need to be a voice of caution for the Shepherds once they begin retaking their land. Reclaiming Ylisse is all well and good, but the ideal outcome is for things to come to a cessation of conflict on mutual terms. If either side has a clear advantage over the other, the people won't get behind a mutually beneficial peace treaty. I understand how important keeping the Exalted family safe is to both of you, so if you want to avoid placing them in danger, we can't allow their victory to be anything more than a truce."
"You really think the people will roll with that? Gangrel clearly instigated this war, but you want the Ylisseans to agree to a peace treaty that doesn't acknowledge Plegia's fault?" I ask.
"That's exactly the reaction we have to prevent. Plegia as a nation cannot be held to blame, or else there will be war without end. We must place responsibility where it truly lies: the leader of Plegia, Gangrel."
"Aren't you forgetting the other important faction to blame? Your buddies in the Grimleal?" I ask.
"What makes you think they're to blame? They were the primary victims of Gideon's genocidal war less than two decades ago," Aventine replies.
"They're the ones pushing Gangrel to carry out this war in the first place! It wasn't his idea!" Am I seriously sticking up for Gangrel, of all people? "Not that he's not a total dickhead who's done his own share of heinous shit, but he's not the only one that needs to go."
"Dare I ask how you know the motives of the Grimleal high priests?" Aventine asks, brow raised.
"I know stuff I'm not supposed to, remember? And I know this too. The Grimleal are behind this whole damn thing. Not only can we not afford to work with them, we can't afford not to take them down too. At least those in power in their organization."
Aventine takes a moment to consider. "It's worth thinking about, in any event. The Grimleal have been useful so far as informants and field operatives, but it's true that I've never liked the idea of working with them. For now, I'll take it under advisement. Regardless, Phila, consider yourself briefed for now. Hopefully in the next couple days we will be able to send you out with more information, but we haven't been able to get recent reports on Ylisstol."
Phila stands up, and I do as well. "Thank you, Lord Aventine," she says, and makes for the door. I follow her out.
Outside the office, Phila turns to me. "You were kidnapped? By us?"
"Yeah, not exactly the best introduction I could've had to your cause, honestly," I reply.
"My apologies. Lord Aventine's methods are often more extreme than I would prefer."
"Actually, that one was all Vasto, as far as I know. He didn't have orders to kidnap me, in any event," I say.
She starts walking down the hall, and I follow alongside her. "Do you support us, even somewhat?" she asks.
"I can see the merit of some of your ideas. But the ideal means nothing if the method used to carry it out doesn't live up to it," I reply.
"I agree wholeheartedly. I found that it was usually General Mustafa who kept Lord Aventine in check when it came to his more extreme suggestions, but… well, I've been informed of Mustafa's execution since I came back. I don't know what will become of us. This movement was always run by the two of them. They were perfect companions in some ways, and perfect foils in others. I can only pray that we can stay afloat without Mustafa's guidance as well."
"Well, someone else will just have to keep Aventine in line, then," I say. "You seem capable."
She shakes her head. "I'm needed out in the field. I can't stay here to keep things in check. I have to trust that he will keep his head, even in the wake of this tragedy."
We stop at a door on the east side of the hall. As she opens the door, I see it's an unoccupied bedroom. Jesus, how many rooms does this family need? This villa is deceptively dense.
"Well, I'm sure you're tired. I'll leave you to it," I say as I start walking away.
"Hold on a moment, Randall. Would you stay for a bit? There's something I want to ask you about," Phila says, gesturing for me to come into her room. I do so.
"What's up?" I ask.
"When you gave that magic sheet to Exalt Emmeryn, did you do so knowing that she was going to be captured? That she would be executed in that way?" Phila asks.
"Sort of. I had a really strong feeling about it," I reply.
"A 'strong feeling'? Lord Aventine has mentioned your propensity for having access to hidden knowledge before, but he seems a little too willing to write it off for my tastes. I want to know how you could anticipate that series of events unless you were a part of them."
"If I were part of the plan to capture and execute Emmeryn, wouldn't I have expressly avoided giving her anything that could've helped her survive a fall like that? You've got it backwards there, Phila," I reply.
"Perhaps you decided to turn traitor against them. I'm not making any speculation on your current loyalties, I just want to know how you got that information in the first place."
I point to my temple. "It was all already up here. Call it divine intervention if you like. That's all you're getting from me, sorry."
She glares at me for a moment, then sighs. "I see you're just as vexatious a man as Lord Aventine can be. You two must have such fun together," she says as she begins unstrapping her pauldrons and chest plate, letting them fall to the floor with satisfying thuds.
"Oh, we have a blast," I reply. "Why do you think he gave up on learning my secret so easily?"
She lets her hair down as well, and I'm surprised by how long it actually is as her grey, straight locks fall a little over halfway down her back. Not quite Cordelia length, but getting there.
"Actually, Phila, there's something I'm hoping you can do for me, too," I say.
"Oh?"
I poke my head briefly into the hallway to assure myself no one's listening outside. I lower my voice regardless. "I want you to get a message to the Shepherds for me. Without telling Aventine."
"Why? And what's the message?"
"He thinks I'd try and leak secret information about this group through a coded message of some kind. I just want them to know that I'm not with the Plegians and that I'm at least relatively safe. It would put my mind at ease, and I know it would for them as well."
She hesitates. "Look, I'm sorry that you were kidnapped. It's not something I would have done. But I don't know about disobeying a direct order from Lord Aventine. It's not like we have ample reason to trust you."
"You can look over the message yourself if you like. I just want to put my friends at ease and try and keep them on the same agenda that they already made. It'll be bad for everyone if Robin tries to divert from the original plan."
"And you think she'd really do that?"
"I don't know for sure that she wouldn't. And that's enough to make me want to contact them."
More hesitation. "I'll consider it," she says finally. "Anyway, you were right before. I am tired. Can we continue this discussion another time?"
"Yeah, of course. Thanks, Phila."
I wait to fist-pump to myself until after I close the door behind me.
I don't know what to do with myself lately.
Ever since Master Validar was abandoned by that person he insists is Lord Grima, he hasn't had the drive to do much of anything. He sleeps most of the day, then wakes up only to rage in his chamber and break things. He says we are lost, doomed to wander the earth without our god's guidance.
I want to be happy. We're finally free of that horrible person, whoever they are, and I should be able to relax at last. But instead of that hooded figure terrorizing me, now it's Master Validar who frightens me. I don't know what to do.
I can't turn to Gangrel. That base, vile boy could never understand. And even if he could, he spends much of his time in his own chamber now. It seems we are operating without any guiding hand. And without Grima, without Master Validar, without even Gangrel, I am at a loss.
For now, all I can do is keep Master Validar fed and taken care of. He certainly doesn't seem willing to do it himself anymore. And so, I shrug off the chill of our bunker's dark and drafty halls to bring him some stew.
I hear his shouts before I even reach the door. I rap my knuckles against it with my free hand. "Master Validar? I've brought dinner."
"Away! Away with you! Leave me!" he shouts.
"Master, you must eat. You must keep your strength up," I plead.
A few long moments later, the door swings open. He looks as sallow as he did yesterday, eyes sunken and darkened. He at least managed to pull a tunic on over his underclothes today.
"Fine. Give it here," he says, snatching the bowl from my hand and spilling some of it onto the floor in his doorway. "Now begone." The door slams in my face.
I swallow the emotion welling in my throat as I walk back down the hall to my own chamber. I will not cry. I refuse. I have to be strong. I just have to support him until he becomes himself again. Then everything will work out.
"My, you look more than a little dour," a voice right behind my left ear says, making me jump and whirl around on my heel.
My throat catches, choking my words. "No…" I manage to spit out. I thought I was rid of this person. The one thing that was supposed to be good about this situation. But they're back. I feel the temperature of the hallway drop drastically as I look at hooded figure in black. "What do you want?"
"What do I want? Same thing as always. I want to see something interesting. But I think more to the point, what do you want, Aversa?" they ask with a chilling grin. It's amazing how no matter what angle I look at them from, I can never see anything above the lower half of their face.
"I want to be left alone," I reply, trying to keep the desperation from creeping into my tone.
"I think we both know that's not true. You could have left any time you wanted. Once I abandoned old Valli, he wouldn't have been able to stop you leaving. But you stayed. You let him drag you down to… this. This pathetic, sorry state."
"I… I have to stay with him. It's the promise I made to him."
"A promise? Do tell. When did you make it? Where? Why?"
"That's… I…" My head starts hurting. Why can't I remember?
The grin widens a bit. "Now that's funny. I wonder why you can't seem to recall. But I think you might know, am I right?"
I try not to remember it, but the memory returns unbidden.
"By the way, you're totally being brainwashed, and it's super funny."
I don't know if they said it aloud or if it's just ringing in my brain, but there it is. That sentence that's haunted me for months. It's eaten away at my dreams, prodded my mind when I'm awake. It never goes away. Gnawing at me.
"That's what I thought. You know, it's sad watching this, Aversa, it really is. You're young, beautiful, powerful. More capable than Validar by any metric. But he's holding you back. And you're too scared to let that go." They lean in closer. "I can fix that, if you want."
My heart skips a beat in terror. "Fix? What do you mean?"
They raise their right hand. "I can fix it. It would be that easy." They snap their fingers. "Just like that. All you have to do is say you want it."
"H-how do I know you'll show me the truth? You might fill my mind with lies of your own," I say in an attempt at a defying tone. Are my knees shaking?
"You don't, and I could. I definitely could. But what would be the fun in crafting a bunch of lies that would push you in the direction I would like? To me, what's interesting is to watch someone else live up their potential all on their own. That's why I'm offering you this. Because watching you bring our hermit friend down the hall his daily soup ration ad nauseum is painfully dull."
I search for a sign that they might be lying to me. That I'm being played for a fool. I feel as though they've never done anything but terrorize me. But… is that it? They did tell me where the Shepherds were going to be some months ago. They said that would be interesting as well. As far as I know, they've never lied to me before. Maybe they're really telling the truth. Is it really alright to agree to this?
As if in answer to the question I didn't ask, they reply, "Unless you'd prefer to keep playing nursemaid for that waste of breath over there." They gesture with a nod backwards at Master Validar's chamber.
I feel ice in my stomach.
"Do it," I say.
The grin, if possible, widens even more. They place their hand, surprisingly warm and pleasant to the touch, on my forehead.
And then they release my shuttered mind. An incredible wave of pain, unlike anything I've ever felt in even my most grueling training session, washes over me. It's as though someone has jammed carpenter nails into every corner of my mind and is wrenching at them, twisting and yanking and ripping the walls of my memories apart.
The memories come streaming back all at once. Too much. An entire lifetime. Decades of my life, lost, and all returning in one unbearable tidal wave. The pieces don't just fall into place; they're thrust so roughly that the frame of the puzzle threatens to crack. I fall to my knees on the floor.
I was a happy girl. I lived with loving parents, and my village was almost always warm. I had friends. Kind, gentle friends, with kind families. We played in the field all summer long, year after year. I never wanted to leave.
And then he came. Master Validar— no, not master anymore. Validar came. I was so confused. Why did my friends look like that, all blackened and withered? Where were my parents? Where was I being taken?
I can't hold back my anguished scream anymore as I remember the next years of my life. The training. The molding. The honing of my prodigious skill with dark magic. The cold, hard bed in my cold, dark bedroom. The cruelty of Validar, as he taught me to embrace my hate, my anger, my rage. He wanted me to hate him, and indeed I did. But he never gave me a chance to kill him. I killed more than a few Grimleal instructors in my adolescence, but he never put himself in harm's way.
I can't remember a time when I wasn't being punished for something. Failing to make my bed properly. Failing to bow deeply enough to my instructor. Speaking too quietly when asked to respond. Speaking too loudly. I was kept on the verge of starvation. I fed not on food, but on the life force I could take from my instructors with my Nosferatu tome.
I begged for death. I begged for anything, anything but this. The life I was living was too much. But at the first sign that I might turn my tome on myself, the guards were quick to disarm me. I never got the chance.
And then, one day, Validar offered to take it all away. Let me forget all of it. One curse, and I could leave it all behind.
How could I refuse?
I had no idea what he truly intended. That he would never let me go. That I would be made to devote myself to him, body and mind and soul, and never leave his side. That he wasn't done with me, and never will be.
Never would have been. If I hadn't remembered.
When at last I can open my eyes, I find the hooded person crouching in front of me. They look absolutely elated.
"Ohoho, would you look at that? That fire in your eyes. And here I was wondering if you might not be able to take it. If after I took away the veil, there might not be any Aversa left."
I bristle. "Don't call me that anymore. That was a false name, given to me by a man worth less than the dirt he now wallows in. He gave me a new name, in the hopes that I would never recall any memory of my past."
"Is that right? Then what should I call you?"
"Call me by the name my parents gave me. I am Diana. And I will have my revenge."
The hooded person remains quiet for a moment, but soon a small chuckle escapes their lips. It grows to a laugh, and before long they're cackling at the top of their lungs, throwing their head back and barking laughter at the ceiling.
When they look back at me, I see that their hood has fallen. When he has calmed down enough to speak, and I see at last that this is a man in front of me, he says between lingering chuckles, "Oh, I made the right choice. This is going to be great."
He offers me a hand up to my feet, and I take it. His hand is just as warm as it was against my head. "You said you're only after things that are interesting, right?" I ask.
"Oh yes."
"I think I won't disappoint you, then. Because now that I'm back, I have some business to take care of."
His eyes twinkle with delight. "Oh, don't I know it, Diana. You and I are going to do great things together."
A/N: I have been waiting about seven and a half months to write that last scene. You guys have no idea how excited I am for this. Aversa got so screwed by Awakening's canon story, and I felt like she deserved much better. Not only that, but what kind of parent would name their kid Aversa? Anyway, I hope y'all like the direction I'm taking a few things with the story. I bet a lot of you are surprised by how much socio-political drama I've been cooking up lately, but I totally love that shit, so I hope you guys are having fun with it as well. The nuance of what makes a war actually happen is largely absent from Awakening (and from a lot of games in the series, if we're being honest), so I wanted to breathe a little life into that side of things.
It wouldn't be an author's note if I didn't give a shout out to my bois, Mixed Valence and NotTheArchitect. MV updated Earthborne fairly recently, so make sure you're caught up there, and I have it on good faith that NTA is well on his way to getting another chapter cranked out as well. And here is your Mixed Valence out of context quote of the week: "The Korean foxes are gonna eat u... Scratch behind the ears! That's their weak spot."
So, since the last chapter went up, I've had the immense joy of having several fine people in the Discord server grace me with fanart for BaRD, by which I was and remain beyond flattered. One fan, who wishes to remain anonymous, had an adorable scene from chapter 28 commissioned from an artist friend of his, which blew me away. And another artist who's in the Discord herself, Morskijez, has blessed us with two incredibly cute images, one of which is Lissa and Randall acting out the "When Frederick isn't home" scenario, and the other of which is Randall and Robin getting their drink on atop a pub table with their buddies. It's all delightful, and I love it with all my soul. The links to all the works I've described are up on my profile, since as much as I want to link them here in the chapter, FFN is determined to buck me on this.
Join the Discord yourself and come say hi! It's always a great time to get to talk directly with my readers: discord. gg/ 3mdunvc
As always, comments and critiques are welcome. See you next time!