When the scouts finally reported on a clue about the Grimleal's whereabouts, Chrom announced that the Shepherds were finally leaving the chateau they had called home for nearly a week. A welcome reprieve for the soldiers, no doubt, but they could not simply rest for the remainder of the war.
Validar's forces were dwindling and his popular support was fading. The risen that infested Plegia had no cognition, and they attacked Plegian peasant and Shepherd alike with equal ferocity. Validar himself had proved to be more concerned with the awakening ritual than governing the crumbling kingdom he had inherited from Gangrel. The Plegian army was not what it used to be, and on that front, the Shepherd's current invasion went much smoother than their overthrow of Gangrel.
Unlike Gangrel, however, who even in his reckless insanity had an iota of pride, Validar was not afraid to wait in the shadows. Despite Robin's best efforts, and despite many Plegian civilians offering them all they knew for a meal without maggots, the heads of the Grimleal were difficult to track. Validar had the Fire Emblem, but nobody knew exactly where or under what conditions he could actually perform the awakening. That he had gone this long without conducting the ritual led Robin to believe he was missing something, and so, after the chateau was cleared, Robin had spent almost every moment strategizing and researching the topic in the study as the scouts did their work.
He considered these searches as he walked alongside Chrom and the others heading west. Every book ever written on the awakening described it in vague terms, Plegian sources too reverent to go into detail, Ylissean sources too afraid. Robin knew Validar needed the Fire Emblem, but what else did he need? The frustration at finding no answers was only compounded by his need to compose more tactics against Validar's forces, which, though small in number, were fierce.
The most dangerous thing in nature is the desperate and cornered animal, as it is the only creature that would knowingly gamble its life on terrible chances. The Grimleal, though not physically cornered, were desperate in their quest to resurrect the Fell Dragon, and that kind of mindset was perhaps the scariest thing for Robin. Every brave warrior was willing to die in battle, but to knowingly place oneself in harm's way as a trap, to sacrifice oneself and one's allies simply to take an enemy with them, to commit, for all intents and purposes, suicide in a quest to destroy the world was a level of reckless fanaticism that Robin was not prepared for. Gangrel's soldiers, especially after Emmeryn's death, could be swayed with words, by the hopelessness of the situation. Only a diehard few would ever choose destruction over capture, and they were swiftly dealt with.
Validar's remaining forces, however, had stomped out or scared off all those who might have been reasonable, might have been open to surrender. There was seemingly nothing these remaining men and women would not do for their cause, no plan or sacrifice or tactic too wasteful and stupid for them to try. The sheer brilliance was that, as a logical being who tried to save as many lives as possible on his own side, Robin simply could not get into the headspace of someone who would allow so many of their own to die to buy time for a ritual.
Virion provided practice against such an enemy in their games. He treated their little strategy competitions as the board games they were, never hesitating to sacrifice his pieces, a feat Robin, even in a fictional representation of battle, would never do. Whatever skills Robin was gaining from the games, however, it was not enough to defeat Virion, and gave him little hope that he could both find and defeat Validar and his remaining forces.
Chrom seemingly had no such worries, or at least had the fortitude to not express them. Robin envied the seemingly endless confidence in his forces that Chrom showed, the illogical belief that, not matter how steep the odds, the Shepherds would prevail. Robin wanted to believe…he had to believe…but it was difficult nonetheless.
…
Lucina alternated between looking at Robin and Inigo, as always concerned for both their well-beings. It was easy for her to determine what Robin was thinking and feeling, he projected it clearly on his face at all times. If he was making any attempt to hide these feelings, it did not show. Lucina had learned from her father long ago that projecting confidence was one of the most essential roles of a leader. Standing before the danger with seemingly no regard for the challenges one would face, believing wholeheartedly that one would succeed. Behind this projection, however, Lucina knew all too well the nervousness and uncertainty that plagued every leader who genuinely cared for their followers.
Lucina had always thought Robin and Inigo were similar in that way. Whatever they were thinking or feeling showed on their faces, or in Inigo's case, fell out of his mouth without much consideration. Now, having listened to some of Inigo's songs, having overheard his dissatisfaction with himself and his high, almost reverent thoughts about her…she was no longer sure.
Inigo was walking alongside his mother, neither of them talking, but seeming to enjoy one another's company. He was always closer to Olivia than Lucina was, and having spent so much time recently pondering her family dynamics, she questioned, for perhaps the first time, why that was. Someone had told her once that girls are more attached to their fathers, while boys to their mothers, and anecdotal observations seemed to confirm that. Yet, the difference in personality between her mother and her made Lucina think that simple explanation was not enough.
Olivia was shy, especially in this stage of her life, though she would grow more confident as her life went on. When on stage, or dancing alongside their comrades to build morale, she showed none of this fear. Lucina could understand shyness; it is not easy being the center of attention, to have dozens of eyes look upon you for entertainment, or guidance (or for a brief time after Chrom's death, both, in Olivia's case). Lucina herself inherited her father's bluntness, a blessing and a curse depending on the situation.
Indeed, she inherited much from Chrom, especially physically. Her female form would always prevent an exact resemblance, but the shape and color of their eyes, the firm upright posture, the strength that seemed never to be limited by their slender frames, all of it made it clear to anyone with functioning eyes she was her father's daughter. But, what did she get from Olivia? Owain and her had spoken about this once, if she recalled. A conversation that started when Lucina wondered where Owain got his theatrical quirks. He claimed that her habit of cocking her head when puzzled, a trait Inigo annoyingly described as "like a confused dog," came from Olivia, though Lucina had never seen Olivia do so.
Perhaps this was why Inigo was so hard for Lucina to grasp. She received none of Olivia's personality or feelings, but Inigo did. Like Olivia, he could put on a show for others, and not simply with dances or songs. A joke to elicit levity no matter how dire the situation. A serious word of encouragement to a fellow fighter. A flirtatious line that, while usually eliciting groans or eye rolls, just as often elicited a smile. Perhaps, Lucina thought, all his life had been a show for others, to bury and hide the turmoil deep inside himself, to not be the burden he thought of himself as. As she inherited so little from her mother, she simply never understood that.
'No!' she firmly told herself. Not always a show. He wrote joyful music to exciting songs like "Love's Philosophy," songs about love and courtship, not death and destruction like his Songs of Sorrow. Though, as she thought about it more, Owain did write the lyrics to Love's Philosophy. He wrote that "June" song to Owain's lyrics as well. Were there any happy songs Inigo wrote all by himself? The only original compositions where Inigo also wrote the lyrics she had heard were melancholy, and in the case of "Autumn Evening," so unbelievably depressing (yet so strangely beautiful) that Lucina's face cooled and her eyes felt glassy just thinking about it.
If only she could look at the other songs Inigo wrote. But he would never just show the sheet music, not even to her. Inigo was a perfectionist, just like their mother. He would never allow a song or dance to be shown incomplete, in this case, without music. Thus, Lucina resigned herself to the fact that, unless another piano and time to play it materialized out of thin air, she would most likely not have a chance to sate her curiosity.
…
Inigo wondered if Lucina realized how much she was staring at him and Olivia. He considered asking her if something was on her mind, but decided against it due to the crowds of soldiers walking behind them. Personal matters could wait for a personal time, he supposed.
Walking alongside his mother…well, a version of his mother, was an odd feeling. On the one hand, this was his mother, the same Olivia whose shyness never left, even if circumstances reduced it quite considerably. The same Olivia that struggled so desperately to show the world her talents, but was so afraid of failure she could not bring herself to do so outside of the necessity of battle. The one who he, alongside Chrom, owed his very existence (though he owed Lucina his current life).
At the same time, however, this was not his mother. She had yet to teach him how to dance. She had yet to hold him in comfort as his father was killed. She knew nothing of the future world where Inigo developed, knew nothing of the pain he caused by leaving her behind in cowardice. His real mother was dead, buried under a stone with his father and hundreds of others on the hills of a world where the sun never shined brightly and one could never see the stars. The last time he saw her was in a pool of her blood. The last time he spoke to her (assuming she could still hear him) was a parting goodbye to her gravestone after Lucina had announced her ambitious plan to get to the past. For all she gave him, he could give nothing more than a bundle of flowers, robbed of their full potential by constant overcast.
Even now, what could he give besides his service? He had a job to do, and nothing in the world, no matter what Validar planned, would stop him. Grima would never be allowed to rise. The risen would once again be dead. The world he escaped would never come to pass; not in this timeline. Yet, for all his determination, it did not make these quiet moments any less awkward.
"Do you know what I just realized?" Olivia said looking over at him.
Inigo shook his head briefly, to answer her question and clear his thoughts.
"We've been in Plegia all this time, but I haven't seen a single forest yet."
"Plegia is a desert," Inigo answered, "they don't have many trees."
Olivia looked out at the landscape. Relatively flat with distant mountains, their current area a sea of short grasses. Brown paths the only roads, exposed rocks the only milestones.
"It seems so strange to me," she continued, "There were plenty of forests in Regina Ferox, and even more in Ylisse. It makes me wonder how Plegians live without them."
Inigo had no answer, so he said nothing. The conversation quieted down as somebody noticed the village that was appearing on the horizon, a small place with brown fields surrounding it, fires from cooking releasing white smoke into the air. In their fight against Gangrel, such settlements would need to be approached with caution. In this fight, however, Plegians had seemingly lost their ill-will toward Ylisse. The Shepherds took nothing, as there was nothing to take, and they often offered food and protection in exchange for service, or traded spare rations for information.
Thus, the sight of the Shepherds approaching the village elicited no serious response from the townsfolk, and the approach to the village was without incident.