Birth and Re-Death
Chapter 38: You're Gonna Carry That Weight
It's okay because it's still fighting Plegians.
My mind keeps circling back to this idea, taking comfort in the freedom from responsibility that it provides. I acknowledge to myself that it's far from a permanent solution, but it's the only one I have right now. I know that the world needs the Shepherds more badly than it needs a republic in the short term, but will that always be true? Will there come a day when the country would be better off ceding power to the common people? When that day comes, how can I know there will be a group to stand up and make that happen if I allow the Patriots to be crushed now?
And that's assuming I even have the power to take them down. The Patriots have grown in number and in power surprisingly quickly. They're certainly no match for the Shepherds, obviously, but to the average Plegian soldier, they're a hell of an enemy to have. As it stands, the only ways I could see the Patriots falling apart are if the Shepherds turned their attention to destroying them or if they were waylaid by an organized Plegian force.
I suppose infighting could kill the organization, like with anything. And at this point, it's reasonable to assume I could start some degree of infighting. But I don't think I want that either. These aren't bad people, as far as I can tell. Their grievances are legitimate, and they've conducted themselves admirably so far. What's more, I've come to care about them individually, as real people. They've become my friends. I don't want to turn my back on them either. Spending all my time with them, struggling with them and fighting by their side, they've become important to me. I'm aware that there's probably a fair helping of Stockholm syndrome going on here, and that I may have subconsciously become friends with them as a defense mechanism, but it's difficult to parse through all the same.
Thankfully, I don't have to. We're still fighting Plegians. There we go. Back in my comfy place.
"Randall, we're stopping here for the night. The scouts reported that Southtown is only a day and a half out from here," Eileen calls from up ahead. I look around and realize that in all my ruminating, I've been falling behind the group.
"Sure," I call back. I can think about all this when we're safely established in our new home base.
We've made it a general habit to keep the noise to a minimum as we travel east, as we have no guarantee that the roads won't be prowled by Plegian patrols or supply caravans. We've separated the Patriots into several groups that are staggered along the road, separated by a few hours of travel, but even so, we can't afford to look conspicuous. As a result, the campfires we hold are a far cry from the usually joyful and raucous affair that is a Shepherd campout.
The front group mostly consists of myself, my 'circle,' and the Plegian members of the Patriots, several of whom will be joining me in the scouting and subterfuge operation when we get to Southtown. Basically the hope is that with the Plegian uniforms we still have, a group of Plegian soldiers won't raise nearly as many eyebrows, even though I don't 'look very Plegian' myself. When I asked Eileen and Banks what about me makes me look like I'm not a Plegian, since I can't for the life of me tell the difference, they had no real answer for me.
"You can just tell," Banks says with a shrug. "It'll probably be fine. You don't look Ylissean either."
"But what does an Ylissean look like?" I ask impatiently. "What's the actual difference?"
Trevor says, "Well, look at me."
I look at him. "Yeah, and?"
"Now look at Banks."
I do so. Several seconds pass. Trevor gestures to his face, as if telling me where it is like I'm missing it.
"What am I supposed to be seeing?"
"You really don't see it?" Banks asks.
"I guess not! I mean you look like different people, yeah, but so do Pike and Trevor, and they're both from Ylisse. Just tell me what I'm missing here."
"It's literally all over our faces. I can't believe you don't see it," Trevor says exasperatedly. Eileen and a handful of others around the fire laugh at my apparent faceblindness.
Pike interrupts, "Hold that thought, you all. Look who's come to join us."
I turn to look in the direction Pike is facing, and I'm surprised to see that Aventine is shuffling away from his tent, where he usually stays pretty religiously, toward us. He's wearing the green robes I first met him in. It's been a long while since anyone except me, Vasto, and Hadrian has seen Aventine in any context outside of him quietly shuffling along, so to everyone else this must feel like a rare sight indeed, which explains why the whole group goes silent as he approaches.
All eyes are on him as he makes his way to the fire, where a Plegian whose name I haven't learned yet hastily vacates his stump to allow Aventine to sit. The old man smiles gratefully and grunts slightly as he lowers himself onto the petrified wood. No one says anything. For all the talk these folks have been doing about how frustrated they are with him never coming to speak with them, now that he's here, it seems no one knows what to say. Not even him, by the look on his face.
"Good of you to join us, Aventine," I say, hoping to break the silence.
Aventine gives me a small smile. "Yes, well, I thought it appropriate. After all, from what I hear, a lot of you have taken issue with how little I have interacted with the majority of our members. Perhaps it's a little late, since we have already left many of our members behind, both in the group behind us on the road as well as back in Themis. But that's no excuse to put it off any longer. You all have waited a long time to hear from your supposed leader. And according to a trusted associate of mine, perhaps it will help you all feel as though I truly care about this revolution if I take the time to speak to you. So if I may, I would speak." He's never sounded this tired in all the time I've known him.
He looks around at the various people now crowded around the fire. At some point between when he arrived and now, it seems everyone who was off doing something else has rushed over here to listen. "I've heard wonderful things from our captains, Vasto and Randall, about how your work is going." Since when am I considered a captain? Since when do we even have ranks? "I want to express right away how thankful I am for the sacrifices you all have made for this cause. I heard we have a new name that you're all quite taken with. The Patriots. I couldn't have picked a better name myself. And it certainly rings true for the group I see all around me right now. I hardly recognize this group, and not just because I spent so much time shut in my office. Most of you are fairly recent recruits. You wouldn't believe how things were for us even two, three years ago. Let alone at the very beginning."
He pauses, then sighs. "However, I want you all to know these things. Where it began. What this organization's origins are. And who your leader is. If I want you to trust me, then I must trust all of you." He glances in my direction as he says that. "I'm an old man now. There's little point in me keeping secrets from you all now. My story is not short, nor is it pleasant, but I would have you hear it."
No one says a word in protest. I'm not about to miss out on a chance to get an actual read on this guy. I notice that I've been involuntarily leaning toward him as he speaks. The bastard might be as slimy as they come, but he can hold a crowd's attention.
"Believe it or not, I was a young man once. A young nobleman, growing up happy and carefree in the Ferrieder barony, ruled by my father. I received an excellent education, and was surrounded by friends who challenged me to be my best and supported my endeavors. One of those friends was the woman who would be my wife, the beautiful and kindhearted Gloria. Another of them was the future Exalt of Ylisse, Gideon."
The room audibly bristles at the mention of his name.
"I know it may surprise you all to hear that I was so close with the Exalt. It was a surprise to my family as well. When they learned I had gained the prince's confidence, they urged me to stay by his side at all times. 'Get close to him, and the future of our family is secured for all time,' they assured me. Of course, they were wrong, but not for the reasons they might have expected.
"Gideon was as good a friend as one might hope for. A sharp lad, a skilled fighter, a charming diplomat, but never boastful of his many talents. At the time, I won't hesitate even now to say I was blessed to know him. When I finally married my beloved Gloria when we were each 23 years of age, I was proud to have him standing by my side, the brother I had never had.
"As my family had predicted, my friendship with Gideon eventually brought my wife and me to Ylisstol. When we were nearly 30 years old, Gideon's father passed away, leaving Gideon to take over as the next Exalt. Gideon had come to rely on me and my advice in all manner of state affairs, so I was appointed official advisor to the Exalt. Of course, Gloria and I were elated. Our lives could hardly be going better. We had prestige, good friends, a fine home in the nation's capital, and above all, each other.
"And then the gods saw fit to bless us once again, in the form of Robert. My son. I know all parents say this about their children, but I will maintain until my dying day that no finer person ever called this world home. He was my pride, my joy, and in the end, he was my sorrow, too.
"You see, Gideon had been married as well. He loved Catherine more than anything. As it turns out, more than he loved even the country he was sworn to govern. Early in her pregnancy with Princess Lissa, Catherine fell ill. On the day Lissa was born, Catherine passed away. To anyone else, it would have seemed tragic, but not unheard of. Motherhood can be a dangerous undertaking, as our own Duke Hadrian and many others know. I myself thought it was an unfamiliar disease taking hold of her when pregnancy had left her weakened.
"Gideon was of a different mind. He believed his wife had been cursed, hexed, or otherwise attacked by a member or group of members of the Grimleal. He believed this very strongly. I could not then and cannot now tell you why. Something had him convinced that there was a conspiracy in the Plegian leadership to undermine him and destroy his family. Nothing could convince him otherwise, and believe me, we tried. Even an official statement from the then-hierophant of the order denying involvement was not enough to placate him.
"Instead, he started stoking the fires of passion in our countrymen to convince them to despise the Grimleal as he did. As the older among you no doubt recall, propaganda about the evils of the Grimleal religion became commonplace. It didn't take long for him to have a mass movement dedicated to annihilating the Grimleal from the face of the earth. And so we went to war.
"I don't need to tell anyone here about how horrible the war was. I was powerless to stop it; my words fell on increasingly deaf ears as I watched our young and old, our strong and weak, everyone sent off to die in that gods-forsaken desert. The draft began pulling younger and younger men.
"Eventually, even my fifteen-year-old son's friends were being drafted. Now, I was not only a nobleman, but official advisor to the Exalt. I knew my son was safe from the draft. That was my only comfort in those dark days.
"However, as I said, my son was a better person by far than I am. He understood what I selfishly denied: no matter our station, we had no right to deem ourselves too important to join the battle into which we were casting our citizens. We in the leadership had started the war, yet we would seek to avoid the consequences. But not Robert. He saw his friends marching off to war and knew in his heart that it was not right that he should stay home merely by the grace of his father's station.
"And so, in secret, he volunteered for the draft. My wife was horrified when she found a note in his bed explaining that he could not bear to watch his friends go to a fight that he had been exempted from. That he was going to fight for his friends and for us, his family.
"I begged Gideon to begin negotiations for peace. I pleaded with him, telling him that allowing my son to go to battle would be the same as throwing him live onto his own funeral pyre. Gideon would hear none of it. His goal was singular and all-consuming. He would avenge his wife with the blood of every Grimleal in Plegia or he would kill his country trying."
He pauses, struggling to find the words. My gut clenches as I put together what he's about to say before he starts talking again. "I will never forget my darling Gloria's face on the day we learned that Robert has been killed in battle. I will never forget the despair I felt. Mere weeks after he had left for basic training, his life was thrown away in a battle over an irrelevant ancient religious monument in the Morzas Mountains. His life was spent on nothing of any major worth to anyone.
"That was the day I lost my Gloria as well. She retreated to our room, and for years she refused to leave. She moaned and wept and screamed until her throat was thrashed beyond all use. She refused to have it healed. To this day, over a decade and a half later, I have not heard my wife's voice. Even now she sits in the bedroom at our mansion, quietly waiting for death." He loses his voice momentarily after he says this. The man next to him raises his hand and tentatively places it on Aventine's shoulder. Aventine does that old man smile-frown thing that I assume you learn on your retirement day, and says, "Thank you. I'm fine."
He clears his throat and goes on. "In another life, I may have ended up the same way. But I had for months been in communication with Generals Mustafa Issachar and Campari Leone of Plegia, holding secret meetings on the subject of steering our countries toward peace. While these conversations had started innocently enough —for who could protest negotiations for an end to such a brutal war?— they became something more over time. Mustafa and I began meeting privately between the two of us, discussing how we would run our respective countries if we were given the opportunity. Our ideas, I'm sure it won't surprise you, had a great deal in common.
"Eventually those conversations had turned to the idea of revolution, of coups and takeovers and grand reorganizations. I believed I was only speaking in hypotheticals; how could I seriously consider betraying my closest friend? But Mustafa seemed to mean every word. I kept him at arm's length for months, listening but never committing the way he did to this vision of ours.
"That is, until my son was taken from me. Gideon hardly reacted at all, let alone contritely, when he learned that Robert had died. 'Regrettable,' he said. 'I heard he was a soldier with promise.' This was when I knew that my friend Gideon was already gone. The man who had held my son on his shoulders as if Robert were his own child was no more. And the person who had replaced him needed to die, before he could take anyone else's children as he had mine.
"Organizing the coup with Mustafa was easy enough. Being the official advisor to the Exalt gave me a great deal of leeway and freedom from suspicion. We would each orchestrate the killing of the royal families of our respective countries and carry them out, then quickly take control, call for peace talks, and put an end to this pestilential war."
Aventine pauses and takes a long breath. "The one who killed Exalt Gideon was me. It was actually quite easy. He never really suspected a thing. He always wore his armor, Falchion at his side, ready to face any attacker at any time, but he rarely wore a helmet or any protection for his neck. It was as simple as waiting for the conclusion of one of the meetings of his war council, standing behind him as the meeting adjourned, waiting for the other advisors to leave, and then reaching around and slicing his throat with my dagger. I don't know that it ever occurred to him that I might kill him. He looked so confused as he bled to death in my arms. There was no recognition in his eyes that he deserved what was happening to him. I'd had so many things I wished to tell him. That it pained me to have to kill one of my oldest friends. That this was for my son, and for my wife. That it was for our people whom he was leading to the fires of hell. But in that moment, I said nothing. We merely watched each other as he died."
He takes another moment before going on. "Blaming his death on an internal conspiracy was easy for someone of my stature, especially when there had been a recent Grimleal attack on the homes of some of our higher officials. Simply blame the dead officials, obfuscate the timing of these deaths to imply that it was our own assassins that made short work of them, and the problem went away. Paying off the right people took care of the rest. It would have been easy for the Exalt's other advisors who had been in the room moments before to deduce that I was Gideon's killer, but no investigation was ever conducted concerning my involvement. I suspect by that point, no one was going to go to any great length to investigate Gideon's death. The rest of his advisors were just glad to see him gone.
"Then came what was meant to be the conclusion of our coup: get rid of the children of Gideon. End his family line forever, and the path to our new republic would be open to us. All I had to do was give the order for Emmeryn, Chrom, and Lissa to be killed.
"But I relented in the end. The war had taken my son from me, and I had killed the man responsible. These children were not to blame. I remembered holding baby Emmeryn in my arms, admiring the Brand on her head while her father beamed proudly at his children's godfather. They reminded me that Gideon had been my friend once. That I was a father. Disease had claimed their mother, and madness had claimed their father, but they still had their lives. A father protects the lives of children. And so I relented.
"In short order, we were swept up in a new tide. Emmeryn proved prodigiously intelligent even at a mere nine years of age, and she took control of her role more ferociously than anyone anticipated. Soon we were playing her game. Mercifully, it was a game of which peace was the goal. Mustafa was at first skeptical of my decision to not only spare the children, but also allow Emmeryn to take charge. His mind changed when he met her in person. We quietly agreed to ourselves that although our dream of a republican continent was not dead, we could afford to delay that dream for a while if someone like Emmeryn were in charge.
"And for fifteen years we have bided our time, watching with growing concern as Gangrel became the tyrant we know today. The need for our revolution, at least in the west, was upon us at last, it seemed.
"But Gangrel was too fast for us, and we were caught unawares. Gangrel had the Grimleal begin looking into assassinating Emmeryn. Their leader, Validar, was one of our contacts, so we organized a plan to fake an assassination attempt. While Validar and his men stayed in my home, our own Henry was dispatched to recruit allies for the Ylisseans to 'intercept' the intruders. This way, Validar could prove that the Grimleal were working for Gangrel while not sacrificing an innocent woman. Of course, we didn't anticipate the Shepherds intervening, so the Grimleal operatives really were killed."
So I was right to suspect that Aventine was behind that as well. Though he claims it was actually supposed to be a fake, just like Vasto's attack at Breakneck Pass was supposed to only result in Emm's capture, not her death. Still, I was there that night. Those Grimleal weren't playing around; they really wanted to kill Emmeryn. Aventine needs to pick better friends in the future. I consider interjecting to say as much, but decide that's a matter better left for private conversation.
He continues. "Unfortunately, things didn't get better for us after that. Despite the abundance of operatives we had in the east when the Shepherds clashed with Captain Vasto's men, we were unable to secure Emmeryn's capture, which would have taken her safely out of power and allowed me to step in and begin taking charge. Vasto and his men were defeated by the Shepherds, whom we had underestimated for the second and final time, and Emmeryn decided of her own foolish volition to return to Ylisstol. She flew straight into Gangrel's clutches, despite Commander Phila's efforts to protect her." His eyes drop and he stares into the slowly dimming fire.
"To make matters worse, we have lost Mustafa, our founder. And now we have a state of chaos in both countries. The continent is in the grips of war, with no clear end in sight."
He looks up at us again. "But we in the Patriots are stronger now than we have ever been. We are the ones who may inherit these lands. We have had many fine people join our ranks, and your support for our cause gives me confidence that we will not falter again. Mustafa gave his life for this revolution. I would honor his sacrifice with victory. I am thankful that you all have decided to come with me to bring this land into the next age. We will build a new continent together. I believe that with all my heart."
I know that when he says that the Patriots decided to be here, he doesn't mean me. I never got to make that choice. The only choice I've really made since I was taken from the Shepherds is the extent to which I wear a smile while I do what I'm told. I know this.
But when everyone else cheers triumphantly after Aventine finishes speaking, I find myself joining them anyway.
"Do you think this is really necessary, Robin?" Lissa asks. "Don't we have food already growing out east of the city?" She stands up, having finished with her routine exercising of Frederick's legs. We've started holding our strategy meetings in the medical wagon more often lately so Frederick can take part without having to inconvenience himself. I'm not a fan of how cramped it is in here with myself, Chrom, Lissa, Emmeryn, Frederick, and Phila, along with all the medical supplies, but I suppose there's nothing for it. At least it's warm with everyone crammed in here.
"Yes, we do. But that food will only provide meager portions to everyone if we have to feed both the soldiers and the villagers for the weeks it could take before the ground becomes suitable for regular planting. In the meantime, the Plegians are sitting cozy inside the walls, gorging themselves to their hearts' content on the food stores that the farmers worked for. By the time we have to actually fight them, at this rate we'll be half-starved while they'll be just fine. We need to be proactive in our effort to cut them off from their food, even now that we've averted the crisis on our end," I explain.
"I agree," Chrom says. "Anything we can do to take the fight to them is a welcome step forward."
"So to that end, do you think your soldiers are up to the task, Phila?" I ask. While I do think she's still hiding something from me about where she and her guards have been and what they've been doing, that won't stop me from putting a potential resource to work. And the group provides something we've been desperately short on for a while now: fliers. Anyone who can get safely over the wall and survey the layout of the city inside, particularly when it comes to where the food and arms are being held, is a valuable asset indeed. So I've asked the commander to start sending her fliers on recon missions to find out what they can about the enemy while we continue our focus on gathering food here on the ground.
Phila nods. "You can leave it to us. I'll brief my soldiers on the plan right away and have two of them in the air by nightfall."
"Thank you, Phila. I think that's all for now," I say. She bows as much as the limited space will allow, then ducks out of the wagon.
"Well Frederick," Lissa says, stretching as she stands up, "your legs seem fine. Anything else you need? I'm supposed to be on kitchen duty, so I should get going."
"Then please, don't let me keep you any longer. I'm fine, milady," Frederick says with a grunt as he scoots against the wall so he can sit up.
"If you say so. When Emm wakes up, tell her I said I'll come by in a little bit for our walk, okay?" Lissa says as she makes her way to the door.
"I will, milady."
I've taken a seat and started poring over one of my tactical manuals to see what they recommend for infiltration and sabotage strategy. Even if we find out where they have their food stored, we need a plan for either swiping it, cutting them off from it, or in a desperate scenario, destroying it.
"Robin."
I look up and see that Chrom is leaning over and standing uncomfortably close. I reel back a bit in surprise.
"Finally you hear me," he says a little irritably.
"What is it?" I ask.
"You haven't been sleeping. Again."
"Too much to do. I'll sleep when the city is ours."
He sighs. "You do know that our most optimistic projection is that the end of the siege is still weeks away, right?"
"Yes."
"You won't last if you don't sleep more."
"I'm fine, Chrom. Don't worry about it."
"Robin, you know that's just going to make me worry more. I can't have my tactician running herself into the ground. We're not in a crisis right now. We're on top of the food situation, and we have a plan in place to accelerate the siege now that Phila's here. You shouldn't have to be keeping yourself up at all hours, but from what I hear, you're constantly taking extra watch shifts."
I can't look at him when he talks like that. I know he's right, but I don't want him to know I know that. I stare stubbornly at the ground between his legs.
"Is something going on? Something I need to know about?" he asks.
I shake my head.
"Is it about Randall?"
"You don't get it, Chrom. If he were here, everything would be so much simpler. We'd have taken the city by now."
"Well, I find that rather hard to believe. Don't you think you're overestimating him just a little?"
"It's not just him. It's more… when he and I work together, we can't be stopped. My plans just work when he's with me. If we could just get him back, this siege could be over in a day or two, I'm sure of it. I don't expect you to understand."
He sighs again, then sits on the floor in front of me. "You're right. I don't get it. And I wish I could help somehow. But even if you're right, and he's being held in Themis, we can't spare the manpower and resources to make a trip all the way out there."
I fidget absently with the tassels that hang from my coat, poking the ends together across my chest. "I know. That's why I just want to get this siege over with. I want to move on as quickly as possible."
"I do get that. But surely you understand that killing yourself with lack of sleep isn't going to win us this siege any faster."
I don't like being talked into a corner. That's supposed to be my job. "I know."
"If you know, then go get some rest. I'll see Phila's fliers off myself later on, and I'll wake you up with some dinner. You can eat it in bed and then go right back to sleep. But if you don't get some rest right now, I'll have Frederick hit you in the head and make you get rest that way," Chrom says, his obnoxiously charismatic grin gleaming even in the dimly lit wagon.
Now it's my turn to sigh. "Fine. As you command, captain," I say as I get to my feet. It's only after being ordered to sleep that I realize just how heavy my limbs are.
"Sleep tight, Robin," Chrom says as I leave the wagon with a shiver as the evening chill greets me.
"You're right. I don't get it. And I wish I could help somehow. But even if you're right, and he's being held in Themis, we can't spare the manpower and resources to make a trip all the way out there."
Lucina holds back a gasp. Robin knew where Randall is being held? Even if it's just a suspicion as Father suggests, it's a stronger lead than anything Lucina has.
It probably wouldn't be received very well if it were known that Lucina has been eavesdropping on Robin and Father's strategy meetings for over a week now, but right now she's thankful that she was listening regardless. She isn't sure why Robin and Father are keeping this information from the rest of the Shepherds, but it doesn't matter. Unlike Robin, she's in a position to act.
She has been waiting for a long time to find out what her role in this new branch of fate should be. So many things have gone astray from the story she knew, and she felt lost ever since Aunt Emmeryn's botched execution. But now she has something that she can do that no one else can. She can infiltrate Themis and find out where Uncle Randy is located.
There's no time to lose. She hastens to gather some scant supplies for the road, then ducks quietly out of camp and starts making her way west.
"Don't worry, Uncle Randy. I'm coming."
The plan is set. According to the scouts, the place is crawling with red-clad Plegian soldiers, which continues to wrack my nerves the more I think about it. We've done infiltration operations before, kind of, but based on what the scouts report, the six of us are going to be outnumbered by a ratio of like twelve to one once we're in. What's more, the prior operations we've had that have involved infiltration have been light on the need for acting. It was usually just a matter of putting on a good show until they open the door and let us in. But here we need to avoid breaking character for an entire day, all the while locating their leader and other officers as quickly as possible without drawing undue attention. And if we're found out, we're basically fucked. There's no safety net this time around.
As a result, I'm not sleeping. It doesn't take long for me to decide that it would be useless to try. I decide to see if anyone else is keeping such late hours.
No one's around the long-since extinguished fire, but as I walk around the camp quietly, I see the glow of a couple lamps here and there. I wouldn't be surprised if they're my fellow infiltrators, equally nervous about tomorrow. One lit tent stands out to me, set up a ways away from the others. Aventine's tent.
He doesn't look surprised to see me when I slowly open the flap to see what he's up to. In the dim light, sitting hunched on the ground, he looks very old and small indeed.
"Randall. Come to join me? Come in." I do so and sit facing him in the now-crowded tent. "I'm not surprised to see that you're awake. From what I hear from Vasto, you're hardly a sound sleeper at the best of times."
"You could say that, yeah. I think maybe I've just seen too much shit in too short a time," I reply.
He nods understandingly. "I can empathize, as I'm sure you can guess."
"So all that stuff you told us was true?" I ask.
"Every word."
The silence between us is thick for a long moment. "It's hard to know what to make of you after hearing a story like that," I say at last.
"I don't doubt it. I don't even know what to make of myself, and I've had much, much longer to process it than you. Am I a good person? A villain? I wonder if it's fair to answer both. Or maybe neither. I've done so many things I regret, but I did them for what I believe to be a noble cause. If I achieve that end, what will that make me? A hero or a monster?"
I shrug. "I don't know if I believe in that stuff. Calling someone a hero or a villain is ultimately just a matter of perspective. I couldn't give you a fair answer about what kind of man you are, because you're the one who forced me to work for your cause. You entered my life story as a villain. I usually still think you're one. But to your wife and son, I'm sure you're a hero."
Aventine laughs bitterly. "Hardly. My wife blames me for Robert's death because I didn't prevent him from leaving. It was one of the last things she said before her throat lost the ability to articulate altogether. And as for my boy, I didn't say everything that his farewell note had written in it. He called me a coward for avoiding my rightful place on the front lines with our soldiers. His note said he was leaving to avoid the shame of being identified as my son. His last words to me were to disown me as his father. And by all accounts, I deserve it. I only acted decisively to stop Gideon when it was my own son on the chopping block. I watched him order thousands of other children to their deaths. But only one mattered to me. I only had the resolve to kill him when it was vengeance, not the fatherly duty to protect, motivating me. That's the man I am."
I have no idea how to respond to any of that. I can't even imagine the pain of being disowned by your own son and then learning he died before you could make amends. I don't know what keeps a man going after something like that. I just stare at the man hunched in front of me, unable to read his expression as he watches me try to read him, to understand him.
"Maybe I'm a villain after all. A villain with a good idea that he's looking to pass on to a hero," he says.
My gut clenches. I know he means me. It's like Octavia said back in Themis. He's using me. The face of a charismatic hero to give his objectives a happier face than he knows how to make anymore. An easier face to rally behind.
If I don't lay my cards out now, I'll lose my chance forever. "Don't put that on me, Aventine. You can't do that."
"You know that my vision for a new continent is a good one. I've seen your face when I talk about it. I see the way the idea grips you, the same way it gripped me almost twenty years ago."
"Aventine, there are things you don't know. Things that are going to happen. The world needs the Exalts right now. The idea of a republic is good, I promise. But there are things coming that you don't foresee. If we throw the continent into upheaval now, there's no guarantee that we'll be ready to face them. Just because your idea is good doesn't mean the time is right for it."
He doesn't say anything for a moment. He just stares at the ground between us. His brow furrows and unfurrows repeatedly, as if working out a confusing math problem etched in the dirt. Finally, he speaks. "Will you still fight for us tomorrow?"
The question jostles around in my head, trying to fit in the contours of my already cramped mind. Finally, it finds a place to settle down, in the comfort of my familiar mental refuge.
"Tomorrow we're fighting Plegians. I can still give you that."
He doesn't look at me right away, but he gives the ground an old man smile-frown. "I can live with that."
I think that's my cue to go. Before I make it out of the tent, though, he says, "Randall, one more thing." I turn around and see him rummaging through a sack next to his bedroll. A few seconds later, he emerges with a white thing in hand. "I was going to give it to you tomorrow, but now seems as good a time as any. You asked for this, remember?"
I take it from him and turn it in my hands. It's a mask. Looks like it's made of wood, covered in a thin layer of white lacquer. It's simple in its design, just a facial mask with holes for the eyes. The mask swoops out in the middle to make way for the nose, and then keeps that shape straight down past the mouth like a waterfall, to leave room for breathing properly, I guess. As a result it sort of has a dull edge down the front, like a sideways mouth in a way. It's weird, but it's also pretty simple.
"You told me you'd only go through with this if you could wear a disguise, as I recall. That should hide your face pretty well," Aventine says. I notice he's lost his usual smartass edge that he tends to speak with. He just talks like, well, a regular old man now.
I try the mask on. A perfect fit.
My group consists of myself and five Plegian members of the Patriots: Henry, Eileen, Banks, and a couple more guys named Matthias and Sartor. We're dressed the part of ordinary Plegian soldiers moving a small shipment of supplies into the town. My coat and mask are in the pack on my back, as well as a Flux tome and spare orbs for Longinus. For now, I'm dressed as a field healer, a simple black hooded shirt and black pants covered by a red cassock.
We've kept conversation light as we head toward the town (except Henry, who happily yaps and jokes around as if nothing's wrong, which I guess shouldn't surprise). The closer we get to Southtown, the more apparent it is that this place really is packed with soldiers. Red-clad men with swords and lances stand all around the exterior of the town, a few with bows dot the rooftops, and we can see more patrolling the streets inside the town. The reports that suggest there are at least seventy-five guys here don't seem exaggerated in the least. Looks like the closer we get to Ylisstol, the more concentrated the Plegian forces will be.
We approach the west side of town, where a surprisingly hulking guy in full armor stops us, lance in hand.
"State your business," he says gruffly, his voice somewhat muffled by the helmet he wears.
Banks steps forward; he's been elected to be the face of our group because he 'looks the most Plegian out of all of us,' which of course doesn't make any sense to me, but far be it from me to argue the point. "Just a supply caravan coming through town, looking to drop off some supplies to the soldiers stationed here," he says, sounding almost like he hasn't been practicing that line under his breath ad nauseum before we got here.
"Well, that's good to hear. We've been strapped for supplies for days. Keeping this many soldiers fed ain't easy, you know. Go on," the soldier says. Sounds like we're in. It's a good thing we actually did bring some food in the wagon to sell the deception. Showing up with an empty wagon would've been a death sentence if they really need the food like he says. But as it is, looks like we're doing well.
We proceed past the town perimeter toward the market in the center of town. I notice Eileen giving the soldiers we pass some strange looks.
"Something wrong?" I hiss in her direction.
"I don't know. These guys seem… off. The man at the entrance to town sounded weird, and these soldiers seem strangely… big."
"Big?"
"Most Plegians are slighter in build. I haven't gotten a good look at anyone's face, but I'm starting to get suspicious." Her eyes dart around, searching for evidence for her suspicions.
"What, are they Ylisseans or something?" Oh fuck. Have we walked into a trap?
"No, he didn't sound Ylissean. If anything…" She pauses.
I think I understand what's happening now. Sure enough, when I turn around, I see that the way back out west has been blocked by about half a dozen guys. A quick glance around the rest of town reveals that every soldier has their eyes, swords, lances, and bows trained on us. A silent agreement must have passed between every man here to turn on us at the same time. We're surrounded.
A man in plate armor steps over the bridge that leads to the east side of town. He pulls off his helmet, revealing a face with a coffee-like complexion and a confident grin. His dark hair is extremely short and his eyes are bright and attentive. He looks about thirty or so.
"Well, lookee here. I recommend you all keep your weapons nice and cozy at your hips until we come to collect em, alright?" he says in an almost friendly tone. "Much as I'm sure we'd all be entertained by the six of you trying to fight all of us, I suspect you're more useful to me alive. Sound good?"
We don't say anything, and take care not to move too suddenly.
"I must not've heard you. I asked if you understand where your weapons are supposed to stay," he says, his smile enduring despite the threat behind it.
"We get it," I say, taking care to leave all emotion out of my tone. I have to maintain some degree of control. In truth, I'm about to panic here. My mind goes into overdrive as we are relieved of our weapons and led across the bridge into what I realize is the same tavern I woke up inside all those months ago.
What the hell am I supposed to do? These aren't Plegians. These are Feroxi soldiers. Our allies. I feel my old mental hidey hole crumble around me. That day where I have to decide where my loyalties lie is here, and much sooner than I expected. I was hoping I'd be able to set the Patriots up with a nice home base and then try to calm them down enough that they'd be willing to wait until after the Grima crisis that's coming before starting any more shit, but now that act of getting them that base will involve fighting the Shepherds' allies. There's no recourse now. I have to choose. The people fighting for an ideal that I support, or the friends who took me in and are fighting to take back their homeland?
I have friends on both sides. The circle I've formed with the Patriots isn't a false one, and I refuse to think it's just Stockholm syndrome. They became my friends in spite of working with my kidnapper, not because of it. I don't want to turn on them.
But… they're not the Shepherds. They haven't been with me from the beginning. They aren't the ones who are going to defeat Gangrel and Walhart and Validar and Grima. They're good people. But they aren't the ones the world needs more.
I feel Cordelia shift to my left. "She's right, though. You are quite warm."
Suddenly my stew is really interesting to look at.
"O-oh, well, I do my best I guess?" I laugh nervously.
"You know," Gaius chimes in, "used to be I'd just suck on a candy and sulk when my old outfit was moving between towns, wasn't a lot of talking among us. But it's been a lot nicer with you all. Most of the time I can find someone to have a good laugh with, and even when I can't, I just… I dunno, it's been good." He stares at the fire. "I know we're at war and all, but in a way, I don't know if I've ever been this happy."
Libra sort of dances in place for a moment. I realize that he's physically fighting the urge to embrace me. I decide to take the first step and open my arms to him, and he accepts the hug gratefully.
"Forgive my emotional reaction, please. I'm just so glad to see you turning out so much better than I did. And to have you want to join me in serving the children of Naga who have lost so much, it's… it's almost too much for me," he says breathlessly.
Maribelle lifts her face enough to speak properly. "That's been the worst of it. I've missed you so much these past two months. Of course, Lissa has been there for me, and I've been keeping myself busy, so I haven't just been wasting away, but… I don't know, you always had this talent to pull a smile out of me even when things were at their worst. Who else would be sitting in a Plegian prison cell and think to start singing just to irritate the guards? What kind of person can still find something to smile about in a situation like that? Being your friend has made me so happy."
Chrom's head dips into his hands. "But you know what sort of man I am. I can't even control my anger among my friends and allies, let alone my enemies. How can I trust myself to lead our country into a time of peace? How can I know I won't end up like… him? Like Gideon?"
I look at the fire, counting the silhouettes of the people gathered around it. "Because you won't," I say. "We won't let you. You brought us into the Shepherds so that we can protect people. What sort of Shepherds would we be if we couldn't even protect our leader from the worst of himself? You can count on us, Chrom."
"Here," Robin says suddenly.
When I look back at her, her arms are outstretched. She looks a little embarrassed, and she isn't quite meeting my eye.
"Sorry?"
"I'm offering a hug. You've hugged me plenty of times when I had worries or bad stuff on my mind, so I'm returning the favor. So come get your friendly sympathy hug."
"...If I wait to give you that hug, will you hold that pose indefinitely?"
"Going once. Going twiiiice~"
"Fine." I close the one-step gap between us and claim my friendly sympathy hug.
They aren't the ones I need more. My heart aches for my friends now more than it ever has. I want to be back with the Shepherds. I need to be back with them.
I've made my choice.
We're taken through the tavern (I don't see that bartender I first met when I woke up, by the way) and down to the cellar, the door of which looks like it locks from the outside, making it a good makeshift jail cell.
I have to find some way to talk with their commander without the Patriots hearing.
"Alright, you Plegian scum. Down you go. The less trouble you make for us, the nicer you'll find us," a Feroxi soldier says gruffly. Once we're inside, he starts to close the door, but I interrupt.
"We're not Plegians! We were in disguise too!" I shout.
"Hah! You'll have to come up with something better than that," the soldier says, then shuts the door in my face.
I go back down the stairs and join the others. They're seated around a small wooden table with a solitary lit candle on it. That's the only source of light in this prison. It's also cold as fuck down here.
The cellar is quite plain. Stone floor, stone walls, all grey and, while not damp, extremely cold to the touch, the kind of cold that sneaks through your clothes like they aren't even there, like sitting on wet bleachers. No decorations to be found here unless you count the casks and barrels piled up on one side of the room. By all accounts, a pretty good makeshift prison.
Despite the cold, I don't hesitate to pull the red cassock off. I don't want to look like a Plegian soldier, even if it means I could be somewhat warmer. "Alright everyone, we need to focus if we're going to get out of this. These guys are Feroxi soldiers, which means that the reason they think we're the enemy is because we look like Plegian soldiers. In other words, if we can convince them that we don't work for Gangrel, that's our chance to get on their good side."
Eileen speaks up first. "Is that possible, though? Five of us are ethnically Plegian, and we're dressed like Plegian army regulars. We came from the west, which as far as they're probably aware is still controlled by Plegia."
Banks chimes in, "And what's more, they'll be expecting us to make some kind of far-fetched excuse like that. It'll fall on deaf ears."
"I don't wanna die!" Matthias shouts suddenly. I feel for the kid. By the look of him, he's definitely the youngest of us here.
"Matthias, look at me," I say. He does. "We are not gonna die. Okay?"
Henry laughs. "I dunno, if it were me, I wouldn't let us live. I bet they're just trying to decide how they wanna do it up there." Matthias moans something unintelligible and sinks to the floor.
"Thank you, Henry," I seethe through clenched teeth. "But no. If they wanted us dead, they'd have already killed us. They want to know what we know. They'll be asking us about the Plegian presence wherever we came from. Thing is, as long as we keep them busy, our friends will be coming along in about a day or so to save us. We just have to hold out for that long."
A collective sigh of relief fills the room.
"But if we can convince them that we're not even Plegian military in the first place, we may be able to avoid a fight. We don't want to start a war we aren't prepared to finish. So when they invariably come to question us, I'm going to ask to be taken to their leader. If he agrees to let us go, we can go and tell our main force that they won't be attacking Gangrel's army. We can work out a different solution with the Feroxi, since they don't even live here. They're just working with the Shepherds."
"That sounds good," Eileen says. "It feels better to have at least a kind-of plan." The others mutter in various shades of agreement.
Time passes in relative silence as I work through what I hope will happen. If I can convince the officer in charge to take me to the Shepherds somehow, I'm home free. But how best to do it? Should I try telling the truth, that I'm a Shepherd myself and that I was kidnapped? I don't know how widespread that knowledge is among the Feroxi army. Should I try and play hide the ball with my knowledge and insist that I'll only tell a Shepherd what I know? That would no doubt be regarded with suspicion, and based on what I know of Feroxi culture, it might get my head bashed in if I try and play that game. I guess I could offer valuable information in exchange for release. I don't know how well that would go over, and I don't know how much information they'd ask for. Plus, that kind of questioning could take more time than we have. We've only got about a day to work with. This is all assuming I'm allowed to speak with their leader in the first place. Damnit, I can't make a plan properly with so little knowledge!
I pace impatiently while the others huddle around the scant heat of the candle. I don't know how long we wait. Could be minutes, could be hours, without any external source of light, it's impossible to tell after a while. Thankfully, it's a thick candle.
After what feels like an eternity, the door slams open, and a couple Feroxi come downstairs, brandishing weapons and daring us to make a move. We waste no time backing up against the walls and showing how much we absolutely don't intend to make a fuss.
The man in plate armor from before comes down after them. With the light coming from upstairs shining behind him and silhouetting him, I can't tell what he's looking at.
After a few seconds, he speaks. "Which one of you is in charge?" Everyone, myself included, points at me. Might as well be frank on this point.
The man gives a satisfied sniff. "That's what I figured. Okay. We'll start with that one, then."
To my surprise, he doesn't point at me, but instead at Matthias in the back corner. The poor kid squeaks in fear. One of the Feroxi steps forward and grabs him around the upper arm and pulls Matthias roughly across the cellar and up the stairs while he spits out confused and terrified half-words all the way. The other Feroxi leave behind him and shut the door. The sound of the door slamming shut echoes across the cellar walls. A long silence follows.
"Well shit," Banks says. "That was heavy."
More time passes in tense silence. We don't hear anything from upstairs, and it's difficult to say whether that's a good thing or not. It's certainly stressful.
After some amount of time (no way to say for sure how long), the door swings open again, and the same three Feroxi come down again. Matthias is conspicuously missing.
"So, did you miss me?" the man who I've decided must be the boss around here says.
"Where is he? What did you do with him?" Sartor demands.
The boss laughs. "I don't think you understand how this works. See, I'm the one who asks questions. You just answer them. But since you didn't know the rules, I'll let that slide. In fact, why don't you come with me?" One of the soldiers seizes him just like he did Matthias, and drags him off upstairs.
The same uncomfortable silence follows. By now we've pretty much worked out how this is going to work. Sure enough, after a long while, they return and take Banks with them. Then they come and take Henry with them, who isn't gone five minutes before they come to take Eileen as well. By this point the candle has long since burned out. I sit alone in the dark, exhausted but unable to sleep, unsure how much time is passing, or whether time is passing at all. It certainly doesn't get any warmer down here.
Finally, mercifully, the door opens, and the boss comes down the stairs, alone this time. My eyes hurt at first from the bright light but quickly adjust as he pulls me to my feet by my shoulders with alarming ease.
"Now then, boss man, I'd like to talk with you," he says, and he steers me up the stairs. We go out into the main tavern area, which is conspicuously devoid of any other people. I can see out the window that the sun is up, which is surprising. It is the same day? Is it a full day later? I have no idea.
I'm surprised when he directs me to sit at the bar. He then goes behind the bar himself and gets out a glass and a bottle of liquor. He pours the glass and sets it in front of me.
What the fuck is going on?
"Go on, drink up." He gestures to the glass. I hesitate for a moment, but then comply. "Good stuff?" he asks.
"Sure, can't complain," I answer when I've swallowed.
"Good, good. You hungry? We had you down there a while, I know," he asks, already ducking under the bar to get something else.
"No, I'm fine," I lie. I look around the tavern. I see a staircase in the back that leads to an upper floor, probably more like two or even three upper floors based on the height of the building from the outside. I suspect that's where the others are being held.
"Bah, come on, you gotta be hungry," he calls from the inside of the bar. "Hang on a second… Ah, here we go." He emerges with a small loaf of bread and hands it to me. I do my best to wait a few seconds and try not to look too eager to eat it. It sort of works.
The man smiles. "There we go. That's gotta be better. Oh, I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Regulus. I'm the guy in charge around here."
"Well Regulus, I'm Randall," I reply, hoping beyond hope that he might recognize the name.
Doesn't look like it. "I wish I could say well met, Randall, but we sort of spoiled our chance at that, huh? I'm sure it's no mystery to you why we had to take you into custody though, right?"
I nod. "I get it. Regulus–" I begin, but he interrupts.
"Now I'm no fool. I'm sure you're wondering where your companions are, what happened or is happening to them. I just wanna assure you up front, they're fine. We just wanted to see what they know. See if they'd tell the same story, or at least a story we like. And you know what?" He waits for an answer to his rhetorical question.
"No, I don't," I reply eventually when I realize he isn't gonna go on without my response.
"Their stories are all over the gods-damned place. Some of em say they're from Gangrel's army, others that they don't work for him at all, hell, some of em even seemed to wince at the mention of his name. Couldn't make hide nor tail from it. I'm hoping you can help me out with that."
"Yeah, I can, because Regulus, I'm not your enemy," I say, but I don't get further before he starts talking again.
"Oh, sure, I bet you aren't. Really, I do. That's one thing that they all seemed to consistently answer in their interrogations: none of you expected us to be here. You expected Plegians. Unfortunately for you lot, we drove them out some time ago. But putting on their uniforms and acting the part seems to have worked out pretty well for us. You sure looked pretty dumbfounded when we surrounded you before. So, you wanna tell me just exactly who you people are, and what you're doing here?"
"Sure. We're — they're — a group called the Patriots."
"The Patriots. I've heard rumors about you. A group gaining popularity in the southwest, hell-bent on overthrowing both Plegia's and Ylisse's government, from what I hear."
"That's… not a bad summary. Anyway, we came here to find out who was in charge of the Plegian soldiers here and who the other officers were so we could take them out quickly when our main force arrives. But Regulus, there's something more important I'm trying to tell you–"
"Hold up now, a main force? I don't remember hearing about that one from the others. There's more of you coming, you say?"
"Yes, they're coming, and that's why you need to listen to me–"
"How many? When?"
"Will you just listen to me, goddamnit?"
"Of course, just answer my questions."
"I am answering your questions." This guy is exhausting.
"Good, then please, go on." He always answers immediately, never missing a beat. Doesn't leave any space between sentences, like he's rushing through a script.
"I'm not one of them, I'm a–"
"I meant go on with the answers to my questions."
"I'll answer your questions when you fucking listen to me!"
He takes a step back, raising his hands. "Whoa now, no need to get upset. I'm sure what you've got to say is important. But we're establishing trust right now. And in order for me to trust you, you gotta tell me what I want to know. Here." He pours me another glass.
I ignore it. "Fine. I'll give you whatever details you need, if you give me a minute to talk, uninterrupted."
"Of course. Now go on, drink up and say what you're gonna say."
I sigh and take the drink, then take another bite of bread for good measure. "A force of I think over a hundred folks is coming here, soon. It was supposed to be within a day or so of our arrival. And I have no idea how long it's been, so you might be running really fucking low on time."
"Is that right? So this isn't just an assassination plot you had lined up, then. This is a full-on takeover, sounds like."
"Yeah, you could say that," I reply. "But now I want to avoid that. Now that I know it's you guys here, I want to avoid bloodshed."
"Why's that?" he asks.
Ugh, finally. "Because I'm one of the Shepherds. I worked with Robin and Prince Chrom, fighting on their side for months, since before this war even started. I was kidnapped by the Patriots several weeks ago, and I need to get back to the Shepherds as soon as I can."
"Is that why you're actively working with the Patriots?" he asks, eyebrow raised.
"I can see where that makes my story less believable. But working with them is how I gained their trust, how I was allowed to move freely within their organization as much as I have. Otherwise I'd still probably be sitting as a prisoner in Themis right now."
He nods. "I see. So you worked with them, but only so they would trust you enough to give you an opportunity to escape."
"Exactly."
"And you want us to be that escape ticket for you."
"Now we're on the same page."
"Seems that way. So you're one of the Patriots, but not really."
"Yeah."
"So as a matter of clarification, even though you don't want to fight us Feroxi, that doesn't necessarily reflect on what the rest of the group thinks. Do they want to fight the Feroxi?"
"I don't think so. They probably would prefer it if you just kind of went away."
He nods thoughtfully. "I see. Well, you've definitely given me a lot to think about."
Time to make my official request before I lose my chance. "Now will you see to it that I'm taken back to the Shepherds? I'm really counting on you here."
He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I'd certainly like to, but it's not my call alone to make. If you're just putting on an act, and I end up leading you and an entire army behind you right to the Shepherds, that would be a problem."
"I already know where they are! It's no mystery to us! Like I'm telling you, the only reason I'm not there in Ylisstol right now is because the Patriots haven't let me leave," I protest.
He nods again. "That sounds reasonable. Of course, I can't make a call about whether to trust such claims as that without consulting my fellow officers, so I can't let you go right away. You understand, I'm sure." That same smile still adorns his face.
I realize he doesn't believe a word of what I just told him about the Shepherds. Or if he does believe me, he just doesn't care. He just wanted to know what I was going to tell him about the force that's coming. Hell, maybe one of the others actually did mention it, and he just wanted to double-check the details with me. I never should have trusted this guy. I bet on the wrong hand. "Yeah, I get it," I say. "But look, if you don't let me or one of the others go to warn them that you're not Plegians, they're gonna come in looking for a fight. We can put a stop to this fight before it even starts."
He steps out from behind the bar and grabs me by the shoulder. I consider trying to make a break for it, but I know it's a fool's errand. "I wouldn't worry about that. We've got the fight covered. And I'll tell you what: if what you said ends up being true, hell, I'll bring you to Prince Chrom myself. Sound fair?"
I no longer trust this guy as far as I can throw him, but what can I really say at this point? "Fine," I mutter as he ushers me down the stairs and shuts the door behind me, leaving me in the dark again.
I'm not in the cellar long before the door opens and the other five are shepherded inside in a single file line. I can't really make out what they look like in the dim light, so it's not clear what state they're in. No one says anything until the door is shut again.
"Is everyone alright? No one harmed?" I ask.
Everyone confirms that they weren't hurt by the Feroxi. I bet they were all presented with Regulus' good guy act. I recognize after the fact what he was doing with the liquor and the bread, that he was getting me to eat and drink on command so I'd be more willing to follow his other commands. That I'd associate cooperation with food and drink. It's a smart tactic. I underestimated him.
"That Regulus guy is scary," Matthias says quietly. "He seems nice, but I couldn't shake the feeling that if I answered wrong, he'd tear me apart."
"Yeah," Eileen says. "These Feroxi are… intimidating."
Every once in a while, someone makes some nervous smalltalk, but for the most part, darkness and silence reign over our little shared cell. We get small bouts of restless sleep when we can calm down enough, but we know that with every moment that passes, the town above this cellar gets closer to battle. We have no guarantee that they won't just come down here and kill us when the main force arrives. All we can do is hope that things turn out okay.
Time passes. It kind of drives us a little crazy, honestly. The lack of any sight or sound, the gnawing and growing hunger, the scraping thirst, the bite of the cold stone. Every sensation is augmented by the sensory deprivation. We could try and make conversation, sure, but what are we gonna say? Normally I wouldn't have much trouble picking up everyone's spirits. Hell, I did something similar when it was just me and Maribelle back in Plegia.
But I betrayed these people. No one talks about what they did or didn't tell Regulus, so maybe I'm not the only one, but it barely matters. I told them our plans. I've officially sold them out. They don't know this, but I've already sided against them.
And yet I did so in the hope that no one would come to any harm. That doesn't seem likely at this point. I did what I could to convince Regulus, but he kept such an iron grip on the conversation that I couldn't get a word in edgewise half the time. He wasn't listening to me as a person, but rather as a resource. And one that resource was used up, he disposed of me. I can't do anything to help him now.
I can't do anything to help anyone now. Not the Patriots, not the Feroxi. I just have to wait for them to clash.
I don't know how much time goes by before we hear something above us, but we're all startled when noises begin. A thud here, a bang there. Some muffled shouting. The fighting has begun. More than begun, it's made its way to the east side of town. I can't tell whether that's a good sign or not.
We don't really know what to do with ourselves. Do we stand ready to fight? Do we huddle up in the corner to avoid being seen? Do we try to set up an ambush from under the stairs?
We're still trying to decide when the door opens and we all just sort of freeze, waiting to see who's coming down the stairs.
"I found em! They're down here!"
Oh thank Christ it's Pike.
Eileen is the first to get to him. She sort of ragdoll-throws herself into his arms with a sound of indeterminate emotion. Thankfully, the beast of a man catches her without missing a beat.
"We've gotta get moving," Pike says urgently. "The fighting is wild up there. We might have a numbers advantage, but they know the turf."
We rush up the stairs and, once the pain from the bright light again subsides, we start scouring the tavern and the upstairs floors for our weapons and gear. Unsurprisingly, most of the upper floor is comprised of inn bedrooms, and by the look of it, this place has served as a barracks for the Feroxi since they arrived. It's what I would do.
Thankfully, in one of the closets in the second floor hallway, we find our weapons and packs stuffed inside. My body shivers with warming delight as I put my Osprey coat on over the comparatively thin black shirt. No one else really had other armor or clothes to put on, so they pretty much bolted as soon as they got their weapons. But under the coat, in my pack, I see the mask. I had nearly forgotten it. I deliberate for a few seconds before deciding to slip the mask onto my face. Thankfully, it doesn't look like it impedes peripheral vision too much.
I sigh inwardly. As if I didn't look edgy enough already. Well, nothing for it I guess. To complete the disguise, I pull my black shirt's hood up over my hair. Of course the Patriots will know who I am because of the coat, but to any townsfolk or Feroxi soldiers looking at me, I could be anybody. That'll have to do.
I grab Longinus and the Flux tome and head back downstairs. The noise outside is phenomenal. The streets must be in absolute upheaval. No one is fighting inside the tavern now, but there are maybe five or six bodies strewn across tables and sprawled on the floor.
I cross the tavern and reach the open front door. It's chaos in the streets. In the dying sunlight, dozens of fighters are packed into the central market. While archers on the rooftops fire down on the Patriots below, Henry and a few other mages shoot magic back at them. At the same time, Vasto and Kinba pass overhead regularly, sweeping archers off their rooftops or just taking swings at them with his long axe. From here, I can't make out anyone else in particular; the pandemonium is too much to make sense of.
In that moment, a thought occurs to me. Everyone is preoccupied with the fighting. Every Patriot, every Feroxi, all are focused on the fight. No one is paying me the slightest mind right now.
I could just leave.
It's not a long journey north to Ylisstol from here. If I can slip away from the fight now and start making my way north, I stand a decent chance. I'd have to worry about water, and probably food too, but this might be my only chance. If I don't take it now, I may not get another one.
I've made up my mind. I've already betrayed the Patriots. I have to get back to the Shepherds.
I duck back into the tavern and leave out the back door, booking it for the east side of town. I look for a way to cross the canal that runs from west to east across the town, eventually finding a narrow footbridge that leads to the north side of town. I start running north, the echo of my own breathing the only sound in my ears as the mask throws the sound backward.
I just have to get clear of town, get far enough away that no one knows where I am. There should be a big-ass forest north of town, assuming it's grown back at least a little since the ground came undone last year. If I can hide out in the forest, hopefully that will mean I can find a source of food and water for the trip back up.
To be honest, I was never really a distance runner. I sprint for a while, but before long I've slowed to what you might call a modest jog. I just focus on my breathing. Ignore the burning in your legs. Ignore the hungry knot in your gut. Just keep going.
I've been running for probably twenty minutes or so when a SLAM and a giant dark shape in front of me scare me so bad I slip and fall on my face onto the frosty ground. I scramble to get back up, and see what just blocked my path.
It's Kinba. Oh, fuck me. Vasto leans forward, staring down at me from behind the visor of his black helmet, axe held threateningly aloft.
"Going somewhere, Randall?" he asks. I realize I dropped my Flux tome off to the side when I fell, but he sees me turn my head to glance at it. "If you touch that tome, I'll have Kinba rip your head from your shoulders before you turn a single page."
I stand up properly, gripping Longinus tightly. I don't know what to say. I think my actions kind of speak for themselves.
"The Feroxi knew we were coming. They had ambushes set up all around the west side of town. Was that your doing?" Vasto asks.
I could try and deny it, say that we were interrogated separately and it could've been anyone who sold us out. But I think at this point, the cat is pretty clearly out of the bag.
"Yeah, it was," I say.
I can't tell what his face looks like behind that visor. I have only his momentary silence to go on. "I see. That's what I thought. I just wanted to be sure. Does anyone else know?"
"The officer in charge of the Feroxi, Regulus. He's the only one I talked to."
"So none of the Patriots know you sold us out?"
What the hell is he up to? "No. Is this the part where you kill me?"
He laughs. "Part of me would definitely like to. There are a lot of things I'd like to take my revenge on you for. Not least of which are my arm and leg. But no. Obviously I can't just let you go; you know too much. But I won't kill you either. You're still useful, maybe even necessary, for keeping the Patriots in line. Your rapport with the others has saved you, at least for now. But here's how things work from now on: you will do as you're told. If I tell you to jump, you jump. If I tell you to heal someone's wound, you heal it. And if I tell you to give a speech, like I'm about to, you give the best damned speech you've ever given."
"A speech?"
"Yes, a speech. When I left the fight, we were in a position where victory was imminent. By the time we get back, I expect the Feroxi will have been more or less cleaned out. So when we officially take the town, you're going to give a speech to the people of Southtown. You're going to assure them that we mean them no harm, that we represent the will of the people, and all kinds of other nice and flowery rhetoric. I'm no speechmaker, but you are. You will give a speech that satisfies me, or I will remove your arm with this axe. Are we clear?" Vasto says. Kinba snorts threateningly.
I consider fighting him. Despite what he said about Kinba eating my head, I might be able to distract him with Longinus for long enough to get to the tome. If I can hit Kinba in the face with a Flux and disorient her, that would essentially trap him, since he's harnessed in. From there, it's just a matter of killing Kinba, and Vasto would be all but beaten himself. It's not impossible.
But to be honest, I'm too terrified to try. If I had Robin here, if I knew that failure wouldn't be permanent, that would be another thing. But if Kinba kills me, that's it. I'm filled with a mortal terror that I haven't felt in a long time. Even my other fights alongside the Patriots didn't scare me like this, no matter how close the calls got. Those fights always felt like, no matter the odds, winning was a foregone conclusion. The Plegians are supposed to lose, after all.
I don't think Vasto is going to lose here. Fighting him would be a losing proposition, even if the tome were in my hand right now. I have no choice.
I drop my arms to my sides. "Yeah, we're clear. So what now?"
"We're not going to keep everyone waiting. You're riding with us. Kinba!" He clicks his heel against her side, and she rises from the ground with a great flap of her wings that knocks me off balance for a moment. Hang on, I thought I was going to ride with—
Oh shit.
As Kinba flies forward, she snatches me off the ground in her clawed legs, and suddenly I'm twenty, thirty, fifty feet off the ground. Obviously I spend our entire ascent up to cruising altitude shrieking like a monkey falling out of a tree. Something about flying sideways and facing the ground the entire time adds several layers of fear to what was already a quite unnerving activity. I know Vasto said he wasn't going to kill me, but I'm not 100% convinced Kinba heard that part.
Anyway, once I eventually decide that no, this probably isn't how I die, the flight becomes pretty dull, if wildly uncomfortable. Thankfully, Kinba flies much faster than I can run, so it isn't long before we're back in Southtown.
As we descend toward the town, it's evident that the fighting has pretty much ended. There are a lot of people still about, but they're all engaged in cleaning up the aftermath of the fight. Bodies are being carried out of the town, and from this height I can see they're being piled up south of town in two piles, I assume one for the Patriots and one for the Feroxi. Both piles have a significant number of people in them.
We touch down. As soon as we've hit the ground, we've got people gathering around to ask us questions. Pike wants to know whether we plan to bury the bodies or just burn them. Eileen reports that a few Feroxi fled to the south and they lost their Patriot pursuers after the sun went down, so we need to decide how fervently to pursue them. Someone reports that the townsfolk are all accounted for. Several people ask where we've been. A couple people ask what's up with the mask. A lot of people want me to heal their injuries.
Good, something I can do guilt-free that'll give me time to think. While I'm closing up wounds, of which there are a truly impressive number, I take stock of my new situation.
I'm back in the Patriots. I've essentially been kidnapped for a second time. But the only one who knows that right now is Vasto. I can hear him nearby, explaining to the others that we were pursuing some Feroxi that went north to try and reconnect with their commanders at Ylisstol. It sounds like he's going to keep the fact that I tried to bail a secret. Is he really doing it just because I'm useful? Is he doing it because of the trust we'd been building for the weeks we were in Themis? I do feel genuinely bad about essentially betraying the Patriots, doubly so now that I'm helping clean up the aftermath of that betrayal, but I'm not convinced I was wrong. I don't really owe them anything. Any responsibility I have for these people was thrust on me against my will.
I know all this, and yet, the sting of shame for running from the fight is strong. Was it a moment of strength, of conviction that drove me to run? Or was it weakness? Fear? I don't know. The uncertainty of the morality of my actions eats at me more now than ever. The conversation I had with Aventine lingers in my mind. Is pursuing a noble goal, like getting back to the Shepherds and reconnecting with Robin so we can use our power again, worth reprehensible means, like selling out your battle plans and leaving both sides to fight each other without you? Did I act the hero today, or the villain? Maybe both. Maybe neither.
Still, regardless of how I feel, I can't get back to the Shepherds if I'm dead. Vasto is a better fighter than me, of that I have no doubt. The only reason I beat him at Breakneck Pass was because I took him by surprise and severed two of his limbs, and even then he would've killed me if it weren't for Cordelia intervening. And now he's gonna be actively looking for any sign of danger from me. I wouldn't be surprised if he gets a few others to keep an eye on me. Maybe he'll lie and tell them I'm in need of protection or something. He'll be keeping watch on me at all times from now on. For now, it's pretty clear that my path is being chosen for me.
By the time I'm done healing everyone who needed attention, Vasto and the others have gathered up the townsfolk and organized them in front of the church on the north side of town, where there are enough torches to light up a decent patch of the town square. Vasto hobbles over to me, axe in hand, and growls, "Give us a show, Randall."
I have no doubt from the tone of his voice that he'll actually make good on his promise to dismember me if I don't go along with this. I sigh and cross the bridge, skirting around the crowd so I can get to the steps of the church and talk to everyone. The townsfolk, unsurprisingly, look absolutely terrified. They huddle together, the children grouped up in the inside of the crowd as the adults stand on the perimeter to protect them from us. As I mount the steps, I feel dozens of pairs of eyes turning on me, watching to see what I'll do. When I turn to face them, they start muttering, no doubt trying to speculate on who I am or what I'll say.
"People of Southtown!" I announce. The whole crowd falls silent in an instant. I see a few of the Patriots around the town square stop what they're doing to watch as well. I also notice Vasto glaring at me, leaned up against a market stall.
I put on my best booming public speaking voice. "I represent the group that is currently cleaning up the aftermath of the fight you just witnessed. We are the Patriots." Some muttering of recognition from the crowd. That's a little surprising. Maybe rumors of us really have spread this far, even to the townsfolk. "First, I want to assure you beyond all doubt, that none of you are in any danger. No matter what your first impression of us may have been, we are not here to harm any of you. Even our battle with the Feroxi soldiers who occupied your town was one of self-defense, as it was they who ambushed us unprompted. I and a few of my associates entered the town peacefully yesterday, and as some of you may have seen, we were arrested on arrival. When our main force arrived, it was with the intention of negotiating for the release of the diplomatic envoy that had been deterred from leaving. In other words, we attempted to come in peace, but it was the Feroxi soldiers who prevented that from coming to pass." That part is actually kind of true, now that I think about it. If Regulus had just listened to me, we could have avoided this fight.
"How do we know you're telling the truth?" one guy yells from the crowd. Several others voice their concern in reply.
"By the evidence of your own eyes. We fought with the Feroxi, but you'll notice we did nothing to harm any of the townsfolk, no matter how bad the fighting got." The crowd looks around, presumably to verify that, in fact, none of them had been injured. "We are not your enemies. We are your allies. We are here to make a statement, both to the Plegians and to the Ylissean-Feroxi alliance: we have arrived, and our voices will be heard. And the message that voice will carry is this." I glance at Vasto. He's still staring intently. "Governments that oppress their people will not be tolerated any longer. Not in Plegia, nor here in Ylisse. Our first target was and still is to expel the Plegian army from this country.
"If any of you saw the envoy we sent into town yesterday, you'll recall that we were dressed as Plegian soldiers. And of course, so were the Feroxi. We believed that we were here to expel the Plegians. That was always our goal in coming here. If the Feroxi had agreed to sit with us, rather than jumping to the conclusion that we ourselves were the Plegian army, we would have reached a peaceful agreement. As it was, we exercised our right to defend ourselves from attackers. As of now, it is not our intention to provoke the Shepherds, nor is it our desire to in any way deter them from their goal of retaking the capital. For as long as the Shepherds are fighting for their countrymen, I believe I speak for the Patriots when I say we have no intention of clashing with them."
I can see Vasto giving me the eye from behind the crowd. He doesn't like that I'm talking the Shepherds up to the townsfolk. Even so, it's not like I'm lying. Hell, we even sent Phila out to help them. You know what? I'm going to bring that up too. I'm already pushing the envelope, might as well push it a little further. Maybe word will reach the Shepherds that some among them are Patriots. "In fact, we have sent them a few of our own as a sign of goodwill to the Shepherds, and even now they are fighting to flush the Plegian enemy out of Ylisstol. If it helps put you at ease to have us here, just think of us as a separate group with a common goal." Vasto's eyes narrow dangerously. "Anyway, that brings me to my main point. We would like to stay here in your town, and use Southtown as our base of operations as we expand into the east and continue our campaign to take the fight to the Plegians. We're prepared to put in the work to earn our keep here, so don't worry about us being a bunch of leeches here. If anything, feel free to think of us as sort of protectors of the town. We'll keep you all safe from any Plegian invasion, as well as anyone else who might come knocking."
"You mean like the Feroxi army when they learn what happened to their men here?" a man in the crowd shouts. I recognize that voice. It's the bartender who owns the tavern I woke up in at the very beginning. I'm glad to see he's safe. "What if they don't take too kindly to hearing about all the soldiers that died here?"
"If the Feroxi ever come here with vengeance in mind, we can handle that. As you saw tonight, even when taken by surprise in unfamiliar territory, we still had what it takes to survive. And even if that does happen, and it goes poorly for us in the Patriots, you all lose nothing. You just have Feroxi occupiers instead, just like you did until today. So, I'd like to ask that you all accept our presence here, and in exchange we will do our part to make sure we aren't a burden on the people of Southtown. Is that acceptable to you all?"
A few moments of internal murmuring ensue. It doesn't take long for them to realize that in reality, they are only being given the illusion of a choice. A man in a fairly nice outfit, presumably the mayor, speaks up. "We find your terms agreeable."
I sigh in relief. "Thank you all. That's all." I start to come down the stairs, but then someone in the crowd shouts something I don't expect.
"Why are you wearing that mask?"
I hesitate. I can't tell them the real reason, that I don't want anyone to know that I was ever associated with this group, even by force. But that sounds like an answer that would definitely lose me a limb. I think I can come up with something more palatable to Vasto.
"Because even if I stand here in a leadership role among the Patriots, I'm not the one who's special. I could be anyone. The idea of liberty is what's special. That's what the mask means. Anyone could be me if they hold the ideals we hold. Who I am isn't as important."
With that, I leave the crowd as they start to disperse to their homes. The Patriots who were watching quickly get back to work on whatever tasks they were taking care of. As I cross the bridge back into the market square, Vasto stands in front of me.
"You were pushing it with that speech," he says.
"Was it good enough? Can I keep my arms?" I ask.
He sighs. "Yes. For now."
"Get out of the way. Let me through!"
Robin pushes her way through the crowd that has formed around the two dark fliers and their pegasi, back from their reconnaissance flight. Eventually, she makes her way to the front, where the riders sit on the ground next to their mounts. More specifically, one of them kneels on the ground, cradling the head of the other in her lap. The kneeling rider is crying. Robin notices the blood on both of the riders' clothes. Several other royal guards, as well as Cordelia and Commander Phila, are crowded around the crying rider, rubbing her back and attempting to reassure her past their own tears that it wasn't her fault. Only Phila appears to be holding back her tears.
Maribelle approaches Robin solemnly, staff held limply at her side. "She was hit with several arrows before they could get clear of the city. She was dead before they got to the ground. There was nothing anyone could have done."
"Gods." Robin notices the murmuring of the crowd that continues to grow as the surviving dark flier cries in anguish. "Everyone, let's not crowd around them like this. Give the royal guard some space, return to your posts or to your tents please. Thank you." Reluctantly, the crowd disperses with a few lingering looks at the tragic scene.
Before Robin heads off herself, she notices Phila looking at her. "Thank you," Phila mouths. Robin nods, then returns to the command wagon. The questions about what they may or may not have found when they were flying over the city can wait for tonight.
Outside, the royal guard escort the distraught survivor back to her tent. A couple riders carefully carry their fallen companion with them to prepare her for her sky burial. Cordelia is tasked with taking care of the pair of pegasi in the meantime.
As she takes them by the reins and gently leads them toward the makeshift stable-tent they have set up just outside camp, Cordelia looks at the now riderless black pegasus walking dutifully next to her.
"I remember you. You're Pallas," she says quietly. The pegasus snorts in recognition of her name. "You might not remember me. I'm Cordelia. I was a friend of Ceres." Pallas lets out a low, whining whinny at the mention of her master. "I know. She was a… a fantastic rider, a noble soldier, and a loyal friend." Her voice chokes up with the sobs that threaten to break through, but she swallows them stubbornly. "I can imagine how you must be feeling. A few weeks ago, I lost my partner as well. My Hyperion. Maybe you remember him at least. So it looks like we're in similar circumstances."
As she hitches the pegasi up with their fellows, she says, "I know that you probably won't feel up to it for a while, but if you ever want to take to the skies, I would be honored to join you. Until then, rest assured that I'll take care of you. Good night."
Cordelia turns and starts heading back toward camp. As she walks away, she could swear the whinnying of Pallas sounds exactly like sobbing.
In total, we lost forty-one people. Nearly half of the Patriots that came with us died. However, compared to the seventy-two bodies we counted up on the Feroxi side, we certainly came out on top. I examine all the bodies myself to make sure they are really dead before we start burying them.
Among the casualties on the Patriot side were Llewelyn, Banks, and Matthias. The rest of the people who died were either strangers to me or people I didn't know very well. It hits me hard to see that Matthias didn't make it. He was a kid, couldn't have been more than 17 or so. He had been so scared. 'I don't wanna die!' echoes in my mind as I look at his bloodied face. My fist clenches at my side. I might not have been the one who killed him, but guilt grips my heart all the same. Maybe the fight would have turned out more or less the same if I hadn't told the Feroxi that the Patriots were coming, but I'll never know for sure.
I inspect the Feroxi bodies as well. I don't know whether to be relieved, concerned, or angry that I don't find Regulus among the dead. Maybe he got away alone. Maybe he was with others. We never did have a hard count on how many Feroxi there had been. Part of me finds him responsible for how brutal this battle ended up turning out. If he had listened to me, if he had let me or one of the others call off the attack, things could have gone another way. I'll never know that for sure either.
"Come to pay your respects to your fallen Feroxi allies?" Vasto asks from behind me. I should have expected he was watching me.
"I came to make sure we weren't burying anyone alive. But yes, while I'm here, I think I'll pay my respects to all the dead on both sides," I reply over my shoulder, not turning to face him.
"Both sides? Even the ones you just betrayed?"
"Yes. I don't want to be part of this anymore, but that doesn't mean I wish harm on anyone. I tried to convince the Feroxi leader to let me go so I could call off the attack. I know you don't have any reason to believe me, but it's the truth."
"Considering all I saw from you was an attempt to turn tail and flee, I'd say you're right. I don't have any reason to believe you," he says venomously.
"By the time Pike was able to free us, it was already too late," I say.
"Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you're clear on how this works from now on. From today forward, every waking moment, you're to be with me. You are not to remove yourself from my sight. Any time you do so will be regarded as an attempt to flee, which I'll respond to with an axe. Are you clear on that?"
So that's how it's going to be. "Yes," I say.
"Good." He stands there and watches while I finish inspecting the bodies.
As I finish up and stand up, I finally turn to look at him. I can't tell what he's thinking. It looks like he's actively suppressing whatever emotion is going on behind his stoic expression.
"For whatever it's worth," I say as I walk over to him, "I'm sorry that I betrayed your trust."
He laughs bitterly. "I wouldn't worry about that. I never trusted you. Aventine seems like he might, or at least he's trying to. I don't doubt a lot of the morons in the Patriots trust you. But I never made that mistake. I know firsthand what you do to people. I was never under any illusion that you are anything but a captive under protest, and always have been. Sometimes you were putting on such a genuine act that it almost seemed like you believed it yourself. But I never believed it."
"You trusted me enough to let me go in a small group ahead of you, getting a full day's headstart."
"Henry still has his order to take your head off if you try to flee. I never trusted you."
I start walking toward the inn above the tavern, where we're being allowed to stay. Unsurprisingly, Vasto and I share a room again. "Well, just in case you're lying, and you really were coming to trust me a little, I apologize anyway. I didn't want anyone to get hurt. Everything I did, up until the moment I left town, I did to try to protect the Patriots as well as the Feroxi. I failed to convince their commander to let me go. For that, I apologize."
"Say whatever you have to if it helps you sleep at night. I don't care. Today I learned where your priorities lie. You'd throw them all on the pyre if it meant getting back to your precious Shepherds." He starts limping after me.
I don't have an answer to that.
A/N: So, I've finally emerged from the other side of the Three Houses hype fest. I won't lie, I didn't even think about writing for like two, two and a half weeks. Basically every free moment I had (and some that I didn't have) were spent on the game. Can confirm, it's fucking great, and I definitely hope to write about it at some point in the future. Anyway, that's my explanation for the delay. From now on, just assume any delay is due to law school, because that's a thing now.
We had a lot of movement in this chapter; it's my second longest chapter yet. Yet even so, some things have circled back around rather than advancing. Randall has been re-kidnapped, but I hope it's clear that things are already different this time around. Meanwhile, things at Ylisstol are about to heat up big time in the near future. The next stage of the war takes place there, so look forward to that!
As always, my beta readers need their thanks. Mixed Valence as usual was very helpful in pretty much every stage of this chapter, especially in figuring out how to make this battle between the Patriots and the Feroxi work both logistically and thematically. Earthborne had a fairly recent update, so go check that out! And very excitingly, Syntaxis has returned to the fiction scene with a vengeance! Two big updates from her, one in the form of the newest chapter of An Odd Awakening, and the other in the form of a brand-new Three Houses SI, Strings Attached. Both are very much worth your time. She was also very helpful in the evaluation of this long-impending draft. And now, for the first time in a long time, your Syntaxis out of context quote of the week: "Yeah Robin has "fuck me" eyes there. Classic tactics tbh."
Join the Discord (of which Syntaxis is now an admin!): discord. gg/ 3mdunvc
As always, comments and critiques are welcome. See you next time!