Author's Note: I know it's been about half a year, but believe me when I say university is a killer. I'd hoped to have been able to at least maintain a semblance of an update schedule through the latter half of 2015, but unfortunately it didn't happen as my workloads at school have been tremendous.

That said, I'm going to be graduating this February, so as I apply for a job, hopefully I'll be able to churn out chapters at a quicker pace so we can get this story back on the road.

For those of you who are still sticking with me, thank you ever so much for your patience. The support has meant a lot to me even as I toiled away at things that weren't even related to this fic.

As usual, thoughts, feedback, discussions, etc. can all be sent to me through reviews. Follow-ups can be done through an exchange of PMs.

With that said, let's get the ball rolling! Naga be with you!

Chapter Four – Two Falchions

Location: Central Ferox

It had been several days since the clash at the Longfort between the Shepherds and the Feroxi border guard manning the Northroad Gate. After the altercation had been resolved and situations explained, Captain Raimi had offered Chrom and the Shepherds to stay a day within the confines of the Longfort, citing that the weather that evening would be far too treacherous for them to even think of setting up camp without a local guide to steer them to areas that offered plenty of natural protection from the elements.

Chrom had been about to object, citing the pressing need to meet with the Khans as soon as possible, but Robin had pulled the prince aside and advised him to accept their offer of hospitality. Aside from allowing them the chance to rest with four walls around them for a welcome change of pace, Robin also noted that the Feroxi guard would need to wait for a replacement troop to arrive before they could proceed escorting the Ylissean group.

"It's a matter of pride for them that they rectify their earlier transgression, Chrom," the snow-haired tactician had said. "With the amount of ground we've managed to cover so far, we're still a little bit ahead of schedule in spite of all these delays. If we ever needed to make up for lost time, I'm sure the Feroxi wouldn't mind picking up the pace a little bit. We can afford a night's rest here."

The tactician had then smiled lightly. "Besides, I'm sure that if the Feroxi are saying that the weather's going to be bad, then it's not something we should take lightly. It's going to be bad."

True enough, the snowstorm that hit the mountainous borderlands that evening had been nothing quite like any of the Ylisseans had ever witnessed. The Feroxi guards had laughed it off, saying it was a regular occurrence in their country that helped them build toughness and character.

Lissa had balked at their choice of words, eliciting chuckles from both Chrom and Robin as they recalled the events surrounding their first meeting.

The prince had decided to heed his tactician's advice and wait out the rest of the day, even offering to help clear out the large amounts of snow from the pathways leading further into Ferox. With the replacement troops arriving the following morning, the Shepherds – accompanied by Captain Raimi's border guard – were now en route to the Feroxi capital. The Feroxi had been only too willing to accept the pace that Robin wished to set, allowing the Shepherds to make good time through the snow-covered Feroxi countryside. Their journey quickly took them through the craggy mountain ranges that marked the Ferox-Ylisse border and down into the densely-forested lowlands that made up much of the landscape of Regna Ferox.

Even days after, Chrom still found himself marveling at Robin's expertise and skill. He would easily admit to himself and to others that listening to the white-haired man as he explained his reasoning behind his proposed courses of action had been quite the enlightening experience as a soldier, a leader, and a prince. The amnesiac tactician's logic was sound, and his analysis of the situation made plenty of sense… and not just from a purely strategic standpoint, but even from a logistical and morale standpoint. The snow-haired man just had this uncanny ability to seemingly be able to absorb information at a glance and then go on to make carefully crafted decisions based upon what he knew of the situation while accounting for unknown variables.

Skill aside, it was simply incredible just how much knowledge Robin had managed to unlock in the weeks since they'd first met. Every time Robin learned something, it only seemed to be a key to him relearning or discovering something else that was hidden within the recesses of his mysterious but undoubtedly brilliant mind.

If Chrom had any lingering doubts about asking Robin to take up the role of the Shepherds' tactician, they were quickly being dispelled by the snow-haired man's performance thus far. Just about everything he'd done so far had made Chrom feel like he'd made one of the best decisions he could have ever made, though he knew in the back of his mind that he couldn't say that for certain until Robin was tested by trying circumstances similar to those that the tacticians of old have had to face.

The prince could only hope that such a time would never have to come to pass.

Location: Outskirts of Arena Ferox

After spending the better part of another half-week trekking across the snow-covered, forested expanse of the Feroxi lowlands, the Shepherds could finally see their end goal in sight as the massive structure known only as Arena Ferox came into view. It was no wonder the Feroxi were such a hardy people – with weather and a landscape that one could only describe as "punishing", it was a testament to the Feroxi people's strength that they have managed to make lives for themselves in such harsh living conditions.

Their journey through Ferox had been fairly uneventful. They'd passed through a few villages, settlements, and outposts during their week of travel, but Robin found it rather curious why the locals inhabiting these areas hadn't paid them any more than a few questioning glances here and there. He'd initially thought it due to the presence of Captain Raimi and her troops, but raising the question had just led the Feroxi captain to let out a hearty laugh and explain to the amnesiac tactician that the Feroxi had once been composed mostly of nomadic tribes. It was almost natural for travelers to be passing through settlements as they had done.

"Woah…" Lissa breathed out as the Shepherds crunched through the snow, their pace having picked up just a little bit more with their destination finally within sight.

Beside Chrom and Lissa at the front of the column, Captain Raimi could not help but let out a slight chuckle. "It is an impressive sight, no?" she said, fondness creeping into her voice as the group neared the city gates.

Robin frowned, his gaze wandering over the structure as the group approached. He had to admit that Raimi was right: it certainly was impressive. Four huge gates equally spaced out around its massive, towering walls were the only ways in and out of the city, with said walls also containing an innumerable number of nests for archers and snipers to take position in. The tactician just couldn't help but feel that – name aside – Arena Ferox looked more fortress city than sporting arena.

He shook his head. 'Yet another place I wouldn't want to have to try invading… Naga forbid that Ylisse and Ferox ever go to war while I'm still around…'

Normally, the snow-haired tactician wouldn't have walked right with Chrom at the head of the order like this, much preferring to be a few paces behind so that he could give himself a wider field of vision. However, the Feroxi had been rather insistent that he do so. Frederick had pulled him aside and reminded him that the Feroxi valued strength and battle prowess above all else – clearly, his actions in battle had earned him some sort of recognition from Raimi and her troops and that it would be best if he gave in to their wishes.

Raimi's harsh features gave way to a small smile as the walls began to loom over the group. It wasn't just joy at the prospect of being home, Robin thought to himself.

'No… it's pride. The people of Regna Ferox take pride in how they've managed to build lives for themselves… and in how they weather the harsh winters each year and grow stronger because of it.'

The tactician could feel some of the Shepherds behind him staring up at Arena Ferox's high walls. No doubt they'd never seen anything quite like it; neither the Exalt's Palace nor the Grand Cathedral in Ylisstol even came close in size. Of course, he felt the same way, having lived – to his memory – for all of a few weeks, but he kept any reaction from his face as they passed through the gates.

"Welcome to the seat of Feroxi power, Your Highness," Raimi said as the Shepherds took their first steps into the capital of Regna Ferox. "Welcome to Arena Ferox."

Robin nearly smiled to himself as Chrom fidgeted. He had to wonder whether the Prince of Ylisse would ever truly break out of his inability to get used to the titles and social niceties demanded of his station… or if he'd ever even be able to act as said station demanded.

As the Shepherds walked through the garrison located within Arena Ferox's thick outer walls, Robin couldn't help but notice just how different everyone looked, and he didn't mean that simply by comparing the physical traits of the Feroxi to those of the people he'd seen at Ylisstol. There was absolutely no sense of uniformity, pattern, or style that he could identify from the Feroxi soldiers keeping watch and patrolling the walls, the telltale sign of a culture that prioritized individuality above all else. Each soldier he saw or passed was an absolute riot of patterns and colors that was completely different from the last. Furs, leathers, iron plates, and chain mesh were mixed and matched together seemingly at random, while all manner of accessories from previous hunts or campaigns decorated each individual warrior's garb.

The tactician slid up next to Raimi. "Could you humor my curiosity, Captain?" he asked. Upon the armored woman's grave nod to continue, Robin discreetly indicated the Feroxi warriors they'd been passing with a slight inclination of his own head. "I couldn't help but notice how there seems to be no uniformity whatsoever amongst the Feroxi warriors. I'm curious why that's the case."

"We Feroxi warriors are our own selves," she explained as the group continued to make their way through the almost maze-like garrison. "We are encouraged to forge our own identity from an early age. We each serve individual warlords as part of their personal army, while they in turn answer directly to the Khan under whose jurisdiction their territory falls under. Warlords are only allowed to keep an army as large as their resources can maintain, and so they must first prove themselves capable of leading and providing for those who serve them."

Robin nodded in understanding. "Ah… so Regna Ferox is somewhat similar to feudalism, in a way. You serve your warlords, and the warlords in turn provide for their vassals and feudatories… I take it these customs have been in place for centuries, maybe even since the beginning of your nation's existence."

Raimi bowed her head. "You catch on quickly, Sire," she replied as she led group towards another gate. "Indeed, Regna Ferox has functioned in this manner since the days of our forefathers, when our nation was first founded in the aftermath of the Great Schism. Those were dark times, and our people had nothing save for what was on their backs and what was beneath their boots. We have survived through strength, and we shall continue to survive through strength. That has been – and always will be – the Feroxi way."

Before Robin could reply, his attention was quickly taken by the sudden change in brightness as the Shepherds and their Feroxi escort stepped through the gate and into open air once more. When his eyes had adjusted to the brightness, the tactician found himself at the top of a staircase and looking out over a bustling fortress town. A large dome-like building that Robin surmised was their destination stood in the center of the cityscape, dwarfing all other buildings around it in much the same way that the Exalt's Palace did in Ylisstol.

"So… do the Feroxi border guards serve any particular warlord?" Chrom asked as they descended the staircase, trying to keep the conversation going. "You mentioned serving individual warlords, so I assume you'd serve your own."

Raimi glanced at the prince out of the corner of her eye. "We of the border guard answer only to the reigning Khan," she replied. "Tasked as we are with protecting our nation's borders, only the chosen few are allowed to join our ranks. It is an honor and a responsibility that the Khan has seen fit to bestow upon us, and so we must answer their trust with our very best efforts at every waking moment."

Chrom nodded, and Robin could easily tell if the man was wondering if such a system could ever work in Ylisse… a meritocracy wherein promotions and assignments were based on a person's ability and the efforts he'd shown rather than the station which he had been born into.

'No way in hell that's happening,' he thought, giving a shake of the head that was equal parts sad and mirthful. 'The nobility would never allow for it.'

Robin chuckled quietly to himself before allowing himself to be taken in by the sights and sounds once more.

The marketplace Raimi had led them into was as busy as the commercial district Robin remembered being led through in Ylisstol, but with a wildly different atmosphere. All around their little group, armed and armored Feroxi went about their business, with many of them wearing thicker furs and cloaks than those he saw within the fortress walls to stave off the coming winter cold. As with the soldiers they'd passed indoors, each individual was a riot of colors and patterns – patterns which were slowly being picked up on by Robin. Some wore what seemed to be tabards around their shoulders, indicating rank, while others seemed to wear pieces of cloth in a certain manner which he guessed identified the clan to which they belonged.

However, the tactician still felt like something was eluding his senses. He could feel that there was something out of place with the Feroxi that he wasn't quite noticing straight off the bat.

Pushing it to the side, Robin returned to observing his surroundings as Raimi led them down another busy street where the Feroxi way of life made itself evident. The sounds of steel clanging against steel filled the air, as blacksmiths hammered away at their latest creations in front of their shops. Hollers and promises of good deals joined the cacophony as merchants attempted to attract customers to their displayed wares. Herders and shepherds – 'Real ones this time,' Robin thought to himself with a barely concealed snort of amusement – led their livestock to pens and tanneries and what have you.

It was almost as if Raimi was giving them a tour that displayed just what her homeland was capable of. Indeed, as she'd said, they'd made their lives in a very difficult environment, and for that Robin couldn't help a tinge of admiration for their relentless determination. The tactician was surrounded by an atmosphere of controlled chaos that he guessed would be typical of the northern nation's heavy industries. To most of the common folk, he had no doubt that the city's more industrial sectors and their general sense of a country preparing for war would have been viewed as irritating or barbaric, especially to outsiders unfamiliar with the Feroxi lifestyle or culture. However, as a military man – if he could hazard a guess as to his past self's true nature – Robin felt strangely at ease, as if this was what he had been doing his whole life.

'Still… this all seems too…'

Robin frowned at the word that was entering his mind. It didn't sit well with him at all, given the situation.

Normal.

Everything seemed perfectly normal, and life was as Robin would have expected it to look on any other day – in spite of the unrest to the south, the Feroxi were content to simply continue with their daily routines. Whether it was a sign of ignorance, bravado, or an ironclad trust in their leaders, the tactician couldn't quite tell. In fact, everything looked so normal that something felt completely out of place considering the situation across their borders, even if Robin couldn't quite put his finger on what it was just yet. Surely, the Khan must have heard of the tensions down south by now and strengthened their defenses in anticipation of the Risen threat or Plegian marauders reaching their lands. For them to be so lax was just inconceivable considering all the trouble they had just crossing into Ferox in the first place.

Were they simply that confident in the Longfort's ability to repel invaders, or…?

Robin took another look around, and that was when he saw something obvious that he'd missed before. It was then that he realized why his original conclusion had seemed so unnatural.

No matter where he looked, there was not a single Feroxi that didn't carry a weapon or have one within reach. Men, women, teenagers… even the children carried small knives and daggers at their belt, and that was the point he knew that Regna Ferox was most certainly not ignorant, nor were they lax. Oh, no. That was most certainly not the case. The Feroxi had no need to prepare any sort of additional response for the happenings in the south.

The Feroxi were born ready. Every waking moment of theirs is spent ready to fight.

If there ever came a time when the nation was threatened, they would rise up as one to defend their homeland. Their people were the army.

Robin suddenly felt very foolish for even considering something as laughable as the Feroxi having their guard down. If their guard had been down, they surely wouldn't have had any problems at the Longfort, and neither would the Plegians who had attempted to masquerade as them before.

He shook his head. He wouldn't make the mistake of underestimating a nation or its leader again… not when he was responsible for the lives of his company and the prince of the very realm that had given him a home and a life.

Location: Khan's Palace, East Wing

Robin allowed his gaze to wander around the large hall he, Chrom, Lissa, and Frederick had just stepped into, noting that its size was about the only similarity to the hall where he'd met the Exalt Emmeryn. The rest of the party had been attended to upon their arrival, led away to an apartment complex that the Feroxi kept maintained for foreign dignitaries and other guests. Vaike had looked more than a little disgruntled, but the mention of food had quickly placated the fighter.

A royal blue carpet lent the hall a modicum of elegance, running as it did across the hall's entire length, but that was pretty much the only real display of wealth aside from the throne that sat on a raised dais, a polished silver crest of Regna Ferox hanging above it. Instead of rich tapestries and paintings, trophies of all kinds decorated the hall's walls – heads, skulls, pelts, tusks, teeth… just about anything that could be used to identify some of the most ferocious wild animals that prowled the northern steppes hung on the chamber's walls. Equally of note were weapons and armor pieces of various makes and origins adorning racks on the walls, clearly spoils of war judging from the fact that even after having obviously been restored there were still clear signs on each piece from where steel and silver had once cracked or been worn down from use and abuse.

'That's a longsword from Ylisse… I'd say it's from a couple of dozen generations back… oh, that one there's a curved blade from Plegia, and… I think that looks like a broadsword and shield set from– '

The tactician stopped mid-appraisal. Where in Naga's name had all that come from? First combat tactics, then magic, and now he found he was even capable of something like weapon appraisal?

He sighed inaudibly. 'I really have to wonder if I'll ever get all these questions answered… Every small morsel of knowledge that comes up just brings more unanswered questions with it.'

About midway through the hall, Raimi stopped and turned to face their small party.

"Prince Chrom, please wait here while I summon the Khan," she said, tone respectful if a little curt. "I will return shortly."

Chrom nodded. "Of course," he said, taking in a deep breath to steady himself. From what Robin understood, it was his first diplomatic mission without Emmeryn to take charge, and so the tactician could understand if the prince was a little nervous. Hell, even he was a bit on edge; his first fight in Southtown was less nerve-wracking than this!

"By your leave, then," Raimi said, giving the prince a slight bow before turning and heading towards a side door at the other end of the large hall. The door closed audibly behind the armored Feroxi warrior, leaving Chrom, Lissa, Frederick, and Robin to wait alone for the Khan to grant them an audience.

"Something the matter, Robin?" Chrom asked. "Couldn't help but notice you sigh earlier, even if you tried to hide it."

Robin shook his head. "Nothing at all," the tactician replied. "I'm just a little annoyed because I recognize the origins of those weapons hanging on the wall… and I have no idea why or how."

Chrom took on a thoughtful expression. "Huh… that so?" he hummed. "That's interesting. Maybe you were a traveler at some point in your life? A bit young, I must say, unless your parents were attached to a nomadic group or one of the larger merchant caravans traveling the continent."

Frederick frowned. "That may be, Milord… but that would fail to account for his training in the combat and arcane arts. Perhaps he was the child of a member of a mercenary group?"

The prince shrugged. "Doubtful. Robin's a bit too educated in matters unrelated to mercenary work."

"Either way, it's not important right now. We'll work it out eventually, so it would be best if we kept ourselves focused on the here and now," Robin cut in, trying to steer the topic of discussion away from him. "I'm curious as to what Raimi said earlier, though. The Khan is away?"

Chrom shrugged lightly. "Out training, I'd wager," he replied. "The Khans of Regna Ferox prefer battle to politics."

The prince suddenly smiled. "Or rather, battle is their politics."

Frederick gave his liege a disapproving frown. "And were we not careful, Milord would be keen on emulating their brand of politics at home."

Lissa giggled. "Chrom always was good at breaking things."

"Oh, ha ha," the beleaguered prince fired back, his face heating up from the two pronged assault he was receiving from his sister and bodyguard.

Robin couldn't help but chuckle at Chrom's badgering. It was admittedly helping him calm his nerves and anxieties about all these unanswered questions.

"A warrior ruler, eh? I can picture him now…" the tactician said, grinning. "A giant of a man of unparalleled thew, with arms thicker than my head is wide, his broad chest covered in a forest of hair…"

The tactician couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the image he was conjuring.

"Oh, am I now?" an amused and undoubtedly female voice called out from behind him. "Please, do go on!"

"Eh?"

Robin froze, all cheer instantly evaporating from his face. Beads of cold sweat ran down his suddenly-pale face as he turned ever so slowly to look wide-eyed at the newcomer that had emerged from the far end of the hall. Chrom would have laughed were he clearly not as nervous as Robin was, although Lissa's choked giggling let the tactician know at least someone was finding something humorous about the whole situation. Even the ever-stoic Frederick had managed to crack a half-smile at the situation he had managed to land himself in.

The new arrival taking long, graceful strides towards them was a tall, well-built woman clad in superbly crafted, well-polished red and white armor. She possessed the tanned skin that was a prevalent feature in Regna Ferox, and long blonde hair held up in a messy ponytail. While she wasn't quite what Chrom or Robin would call a beauty, she still possessed handsome facial features, with full lips and sharp, intelligent eyes being the main highlights.

Those lips were smirking in what Robin could only hope was genuine amusement, else he might find that his new life would be coming to an end much sooner than he'd ever hope or expect. Behind the woman, Raimi sent the tactician a vicious smirk, thoroughly enjoying the situation playing out before her.

"You're the–?! Er, I mean… that is to say… the khan, I presume?" Chrom got out, using what diplomatic ability he had to try and salvage the situation.

The blonde woman's smirk morphed into a grin. "Yes, one of them – the East Khan. My name is Flavia," she replied, still grinning as she continued to eye the tactician with genuine amusement, watching as he squirmed beneath her attention.

Seemingly satisfied that he'd made him uncomfortable enough, Flavia turned her attention to Chrom, her grin quickly dying as her expression turned apologetic.

"I apologize for the troubles at the border, Prince Chrom," she said. "You and your party are welcome in Regna Ferox."

Having regained his senses, Robin took a moment to appraise Flavia's body language. She really did seem contrite and sincere in her apologies – perhaps he and his big mouth hadn't gone and ruined any potential for receiving aid from their allies just yet.

Chrom stepped forward and offered Flavia his hand, though one could sense the uncertainty in his actions even if the prince hid them well. Flavia watched Chrom for a moment, her eyes appraising the young prince, who tried not to fidget and squirm under the scrutiny. However, her lips broke into a grin and she stepped in closer to clasp his forearm – a warrior's greeting.

The prince couldn't help but grin back as he returned the gesture, glad that he'd managed to overcome the first hurdle of diplomacy.

"Thank you, but I'm confident we can put that little misunderstanding behind us," Chrom said as the two leaders stepped back from each other.

Robin hid a glower from where he stood. 'Really? They almost turned you into a pincushion, Chrom,' he thought, keeping his tongue in check before he put them in a more precarious situation than they probably already were in.

"I suppose it's true, then?" the prince continued. "I heard from your captain that bandits posing as Ylisseans and myself have been crossing your border and ransacking your villages."

At this, Flavia scowled, her expression dark at the mention of the bandit raids. "Yes. Those Plegian dogs!" she spat, clear distaste for the Plegians etched on her face. "We found documents proving as much on the corpses of one of their captains. And while some of our border troops may not have much experience dealing with Ylisseans…"

At this, Raimi grimaced, clearly aware of the slight jab being sent her way.

"… The accent I heard was unmistakably Plegian when I took to the field to deal with one of their latest raids. Much as they try to, there's just no real way a Plegian can fully erase his accent and mimic your own, Prince, no matter how good an actor he may believe himself to be."

Flavia shook her head. "Clearly, Plegia's king must see some benefit in raising tensions between our kingdom and yours."

"Damn them!" Chrom growled, the prince's emotions getting the better of him before he could catch himself.

A look of embarrassment crossed his features as he realized his error, and if he didn't know any better he could feel Frederick's disapproving glare boring a hole into the back of his skull.

"I… Forgive me, Your Grace," he said quickly, trying to make amends for his words. "That was… indelicately put."

To Robin's equal parts relief and surprise, Flavia threw her head back and let out a hearty laugh in response.

"Ha! Yes, damn them, and damn delicacy!" she said loudly as she laughed, giving the prince a good, hard slap on the shoulder. "Here in Ferox, we appreciate plain speech. It makes it so much easier to understand one another if you just say things straight!"

"Well, in that case, you should have some words with your damned border guards…" Chrom said, grinning as he shot a glance at an embarrassed Raimi, which got more raucous laughter from the Khan.

"Ha! Now that is Feroxi diplomacy!" Flavia barked out, grinning wildly. "Yes, I like you already, Princeling!"

Lissa leaned in next to Robin and whispered, "It looks like the source of Emm's frustrations turned out to be a good thing here…"

The tactician snorted, his laughter only becoming much harder to keep in when he noticed Frederick giving them what was quickly becoming his trademark frown and glare.

"Maybe she sent Chrom here precisely for that reason…"

Beside the pair, Frederick sighed as he watched his liege get a little more excitable and find himself more and more at home among the tough-talking Feroxi. Almost as if he decided it was best to steer things back on course, the knight cleared his throat at the same time Raimi did from behind Flavia, providing a surprisingly synchronized reminder for the two leaders over what they were supposed to be doing.

"Milord." "Khan Flavia."

The two calls snapped the two back to reality, and they both quickly recalled that they had important business to take care of.

Appropriately chastised, Flavia coughed as she straightened herself, looking more like the impressive leader her title said she was.

"Well, introduction and niceties aside, let us move on to business. I know why you've come, Princeling," Flavia said, mirth fading from her tone and her expression as she grew serious once more.

Chrom, as well, straightened himself fully, clearly aware that the next few minutes – maybe even seconds – were what he had come all this way for, and could potentially decide the fate of his nation.

"Unfortunately," Flavia continued, a frown marring her features. "I cannot provide Ylisse with the reinforcements she needs."

To his credit, Chrom remained the model of composure as he took the news in. He didn't flinch, didn't grimace, didn't deflate, or show any other outward sign of displeasure, dismay, or disappointment, as was proper for the lead dignitary of a diplomatic envoy. At Chrom's shoulder, Frederick stood rock still, narrowed eyes and slight frown being the only clues as to what was running behind his stony expression.

Lissa, however, held no such training or compunctions, and showed enough for all four present.

"What?!" she cried out, giving voice to the party's shocked thoughts. "But why not?!"

At Chrom's other shoulder, Robin's brows furrowed together as his mind began racing behind the hazel eyes that continued to watch and observe. The situation and her statement were both curious.

'Why not, indeed…?' he thought. 'Perhaps it has something to do with how she identified herself… the East-Khan, wasn't it? Does that mean there are other Khans who share in the authority over Regna Ferox?'

For her part, Flavia simply sighed. "It is not for a lack of a desire to aid you, Princeling. I simply lack the authority to commit Feroxi troops to your cause."

'Bingo,' Robin thought to himself. 'They probably rule by council or something, which means she'd have to get them all on her side… either that, or power somehow shifts between them and we've come at an absolutely terrible time when power's not with the one who might be the most sympathetic to our plight.'

Chrom's expression grew troubled. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but I don't understand," he said. "Aren't you the Khan?"

Flavia shrugged. "As I said earlier, I am one of the Khans – the East-Khan, to be specific," she replied casually, almost as if she were talking about the weather. "There are two of us, the Khans of the East and the West, and every few years we hold a tournament to decide who will become the new Khan Regent. The Khan Regent acquires total sovereignty over both the East and the West, and that also comes with control over all the warlords and armies. And, most importantly, that also means they have the final say when it comes to forging alliances…"

"Which means that right now the West Khan is the one with sovereignty, correct?" Robin supplied.

Flavia nodded. "That's right. The oaf won the last tournament, you see, and so…"

"So we are to receive no aid at all?" Chrom bit out, whatever patience he had obviously beginning to reach its end at such a roundabout explanation.

At this, the Khan grinned viciously as she crossed her arms.

"Only if you give up so easily, Princeling!" she scolded, which brought a glimmer of hope back to the young man's expression.

Robin almost shook her head at how easy it was to manipulate the Prince's emotions.

If Flavia's expression were any indication, she must have been thinking along similar lines.

'He's way too naïve… but I guess that's what to expect of someone who hasn't quite had to deal with the harshness of reality.'

The sound of Flavia's voice made Robin push that thought aside as the Khan continued to speak. "I will be straight to the point: the next tournament is nigh, and I am in need of champions to represent me."

"What does that have to do with us?" Chrom asked.

"She wants us to represent her in the tournament," Robin cut in. "Is that right?"

Chrom turned to his tactician. "Robin! Don't speak out of turn!" he said, his irritation from earlier clearly not having abated just yet.

Flavia, however, simply laughed it off. "At ease, Princeling. As I've said, we at Ferox prefer plain speech." She jerked her head in the direction of Raimi. "The captain of my border guard has told me on the way here that you and your Shepherds are quite capable in combat."

She then nodded at Robin. "It is as your tactician here surmises. Perhaps you would consider representing the East in the upcoming tournament?" she asked, stunning Chrom, Frederick, and Lissa with the proclamation.

After a few moments of shocked silence, Flavia sighed inaudibly. "If you win me the title of Khan Regent, then you can consider the alliance a done deal."

Chrom swallowed. "R-really? Just like that?" he asked.

Flavia chuckled at Chrom's gobsmacked expression. "Is it so unbelievable an offer, Princeling?"

Said prince shook his head. "N-no, Your Grace," he replied. "I'm just surprised is all. I would have assumed Ylisseans – outsiders, in general, really – have no place in such Feroxi traditions."

A bark of laughter from Flavia was his answer. "Ha! On the contrary," she replied. "The khans themselves do not fight – they choose champions to represent themselves. Otherwise, our land would be rife with blood feuds and dead khans!"

Flavia laughed again, as if the whole idea amused her.

Still, Chrom nodded. While he didn't quite understand why Flavia found it amusing, he did understand why the tournament was fought in such a manner.

"We don't involve comrades or kin for the same reason," the Khan added once she had gotten her mirth under control. "Over time, it was decided the tournament should be fought by outsiders, although the outsiders have never included foreign royalty… well, that I know of! Ha!"

Another bark of laughter came from Flavia, before she fully wiped the mirth from her features and regarded Chrom with as serious a look as the prince had seen from her thus far.

"Regardless, it is your choice to make, Princeling. I will not force you into this course of action."

Chrom turned halfway to see the reactions of the rest of his party. Frederick's expression was stony as always, but Robin could detect the resigned acceptance that had become almost customary of his steward and bodyguard. Lissa looked concerned for him, but deep in her eyes was the same determination he felt to help his people in whatever way he could.

And finally… Chrom's gaze landed on Robin. The tactician's expression was almost unreadable, even after Chrom held his gaze on the man for a few more moments. However, he gave the prince a nearly imperceptible nod, and to Chrom that was all that was necessary.

Turning back to Flavia, he gave her a nod. "There is no choice, East-Khan," he said confidently. "My people are desperate. We face not only Plegia's constant attacks, but the added threat of the Risen scourge. If fighting for you in this tournament is the quickest way to an alliance between our two nations, then I will gladly take up my steel and put my life on the line."

Flavia raised an eyebrow, almost as if wondering where this Princeling had been hiding all this time. Thoroughly amused, she let out another bark of laughter.

"Haha! Oh, I like you indeed, Princeling," she remarked. "I do hope you survive the tournament!"

Turning to regard the entire party, she beckoned them towards her. "Come, I'll show you where the tournament is to be held," she said. With that, she turned and walked towards the door she'd entered through, Raimi and Chrom falling into step with her with Lissa, Frederick, and Robin following close behind.

As they walked, Flavia seemed to remember something, and turned to Chrom. "You'd do best to be wary, though," she said. "I hear that a swordsman of exceptional skill champions the West-Khan's cause."

Chrom almost smiled, clearly relishing the thought of facing a powerful adversary. "No matter how able the opponent, he shall be defeated by Ylisse's necessity," he said firmly. "I can't lose, not when my sister and our people depend on it."

Flavia grinned. "Well-spoken again – I look forward to seeing if you're equally skilled with a blade! Raimi spoke highly of you, so I trust you won't disappoint!"

Robin frowned. 'I hope so, too… otherwise, it's Chrom's life that will be forfeit.'

Location: Coliseum

"I'm surprised you're okay with this," Chrom remarked as he stretched, limbering up in preparation for his match.

A few paces away, Robin shrugged from where he was leaning against a pillar.

"I'm not. I'm also not exactly in a position to tell you what you can and can't do, either," he replied as his eyes scanned the pages of his tome, making occasional marks and notes here and there with a writing implement he'd managed to borrow… without permission, that is.

The two men currently stood in one of the waiting areas in the circular structure that was Arena Ferox's Coliseum. Outside, the roar of the crowd filled the air as combatants fought tooth and nail in the Coliseum's fighting arena, a circular pit set right in the center of the structure that served as the stage for the Khan's tournament. Hundreds of Feroxi filled the stands all throughout the arena, shouting their support for the fighters representing their respective warlords.

It had been a couple of days since Chrom had agreed to represent Khan Flavia in the tournament, and in that time Robin had tried to find out as much as he could about the West-Khan's champion so that he could draft possible strategies for the prince to use in the duel. With the alliance they so desperately needed riding on the outcome of this tournament, just about any advantage they could gain beforehand could prove decisive.

However, the tactician's efforts had proved futile, as no matter what he tried, information on the West-Khan's champion remained incredibly scarce. All that he'd been able to glean from his two days of searching had been that the swordsman had arrived barely a few days before they had, challenged the West-Khan's former champion, and handed said champion a resounding defeat.

Chrom raised an eyebrow at Robin's declaration. "You're my tactician, Robin. You're supposed to be telling me what's a good idea and what isn't."

Robin sighed, marking the page he was on with a slip before snapping his tome shut with an audible click.

"That may be true, but I also have to take into account whether taking risks could make achieving our goals any easier if they pay off," the snow-haired tactician said. "I've given our situation some thought over these past couple of days, and I honestly don't see any other option more straightforward than this. It's a one-on-one duel until one side concedes or is no longer capable of fighting. You win, Khan Flavia becomes Khan Regent and we get our alliance and our reinforcements. You lose, and we have to go grovel before the West-Khan. It doesn't get much simpler than that."

It was Chrom's turn to sigh. "Yeah, simple," he muttered. "No pressure at all."

Robin's expression softened into one of sympathy. "Hey, don't worry. If anything, there's not one person in the Shepherds that doesn't believe you'll win."

Chrom glared at the tactician. "Not helping, Robin."

"You thinking too hard about the situation won't help much, either," the snow-haired tactician replied easily as he opened his tome and went back to reading through it. "Leave that part to me, Chrom. Just focus on what's in front of you, and fight your hardest."

"Robin's right, Chrom!" Lissa chirped as she entered the room, Frederick right behind her. "You should just get out there and kick the other guy's butt! Show him who's boss!"

Behind the princess, Frederick nodded gravely. "And I will be right there to protect you in the case of any grave danger, milord."

"We can't interfere with the duel in any way, Frederick," Robin said distractedly as he made a mark in one of the pages. "We do that, we automatically lose."

Frederick directed a scathing glare at Robin. "If milord's life is in danger, then I shall not hesitate to become his shield, Sir Tactician."

Said tactician sighed again and snapped his tome shut. Irritation welled up within him, but he clamped down hard on it and tried to keep everything under control of reason.

"The very concept of battle already puts him in danger from the very beginning," he replied, still keeping his tome even. "So you're telling me that you'll get down there the moment Chrom's opponent takes a swing at him? Use your head, Frederick, please. We can't interfere, because to do so would be to insult the culture of Regna Ferox. It's their way of life, not ours. Hell, you're the one who reminded me of that, weren't you? Your loyalty to Chrom is certainly admirable, but you're being blind in your devotion, and that can get us into more trouble than you might imagine."

Frederick bristled at Robin's retort, anger flitting across his features for a brief moment before he schooled them into impassivity once more.

"Your words will be taken under consideration, Sir Tactician," he said curtly. Turning to Chrom and then to Lissa, he gave each a short bow in turn. "By your leave, milord, milady."

With nothing more than a departing glance at the snow-haired tactician, the knight turned on his heel and walked out the way he came, shutting the door behind him with a fair bit more force than might have really been necessary.

A moment of uncomfortable silence followed Frederick's departure before a knock came at the door. Before Chrom could even get a word in, the person on the other side opened the door and stepped into the waiting room.

"Good day, Prince," Raimi greeted, giving Chrom and Robin nods of respect. If she noticed the uncomfortable atmosphere in the room, she was doing very well at pretending it didn't exist or was simply choosing to ignore that it was even there. "Khan Flavia has sent me to inform you that it is time."

Chrom nodded in understanding. "I understand. Please let her know that I will be there."

Raimi gave a short bow and wordlessly left the trio to their own devices.

"Well, I guess that's that, then," Lissa quickly said before the earlier silence could settle in again. The princess moved towards the door, turning to give the two men still in the waiting room – Robin, in particular – a reassuring smile.

"Big Brother, you just make sure you win, alright?" she said. "And don't worry about Freddie, Robin. I'll just give him a good talking-to when I see him."

Chrom nodded, and Lissa gave her brother a cheeky grin before pulling the door open. The moment the door closed behind her, Robin sighed once more.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that," the snow-haired tactician said. "I–"

Chrom shook his head. "Don't worry. I know you meant well. Frederick just can't stand the thought of his devotion ever being wrong," he replied. "I'll talk to him, too. Help him see the sense in your words."

Robin smiled weakly. "After you win."

"Mm, after I win," Chrom parroted distractedly.

The tactician gave the prince a nod of finality before pocketing his tome and moving for the door. His hand made for the handle, stopping just inches away from it before finishing the journey and resting right on the handle.

A moment passed as Robin, with his head down, seemed to think some things over before raising it. He didn't look at Chrom, however.

"If things turn against you, don't hesitate to forfeit," he said. "We can always try talking to the West-Khan if we lose, Chrom. This isn't our only chance or our only option, and it definitely isn't worth your life."

With his last piece said, the tactician opened the door and slipped out into the hallway, closing it silently behind him.

Chrom stared at the spot where his tactician had seemingly struggled with himself, wondering what had come over the other man and what had been going through his mind in those few moments of hesitation.

After a moment of contemplation, the prince closed his eyes and took a deep breath, clearing his mind of everything that was unimportant to what was coming up.

'I appreciate the concern, Robin… but there's no way we're getting to that point. I don't plan on losing. I can't lose.'

When he opened his eyes, he had only one thing left in his mind: victory.

For Ylisse, any other outcome was unacceptable.

Robin sighed as he walked down the hallway towards the private viewing box that the East-Khan had been kind enough to offer for the Shepherds' use during the tournament.

'I really shouldn't have confronted Frederick like that… I know we're all on edge, but I still shouldn't have gone about it the way I had.'

He wondered what had come over him in that moment. He'd thought himself to be a fairly calm and collected individual, judging by his own behavior in the weeks since being found by Chrom. He'd found ways to work around everyone's quirks and personalities, Frederick most especially considering he tended to be the hardest Shepherd to give orders to.

The tactician sighed again as the entryway into their viewing box came into view.

'Well, regardless, I'm starting from square one with him again,' he thought wryly to himself as he stepped past the two guards that stood at attention on either side of the entryway and into the viewing box. As he stepped in, it quickly occurred to Robin that they were being given quite the treatment - their box was in a prime position with a commanding view of the action, located as it was right next to the boxes reserved for the East and West-Khans' own personal use.

'I guess even the Feroxi have a thing for showing favor towards important guests.'

Right as he turned the corner, Robin very nearly bumped into Frederick, who was standing at the back, almost right next to the entryway. As Robin might have expected, the knight still couldn't trust the guards that had been personally assigned by the East-Khan to watch over them, as he stood closest to the entrance that a threat was most likely to come from, his eyes looking out over the rest of the Shepherds that were mingling amongst each other, and even out into the almost riotous crowd of Feroxi that were clamoring for the next contest to begin.

The knight's expression was impassive as always, lips set in a grim line and eyes narrowed as he looked down at the tactician that had no doubt slighted him earlier. Robin merely stood his ground, meeting Frederick's gaze evenly without showing any of the anxiety or hesitation he might have been feeling deep down.

The tension fell over the two like a blanket, and if Robin's mental fortitude was any less than it was he'd probably have backed down right there.

'I can't, though. I'm a tactician. He needs to see that I'm stable and firm.'

Before either of them could move or speak, Lissa's voice rose above the din of conversation.

"Hey! Robin! Over here!" Lissa called out, her voice shattering the tense atmosphere between tactician and knight and bringing them both back to reality.

Turning to face the princess' way, Robin saw her kneeling on her seat, one hand resting on top of the seat's back while the other waved at him. If she had seen their little stand-off, she was doing a good job at pretending she hadn't.

'Actually… did anyone even notice?'

Sparing a glance at Frederick to check his reaction, Robin found himself surprised when the larger man – still glaring, mind – simply stepped aside to let him past.

Robin gave the other man a nod before silently making his way down the steps to the front row of their box. He stopped for a moment to look out into the fighting arena down below, imagining how the battle would most likely flow in the large, circular area.

'Lots of space to move… it'll definitely be hard to run an opponent out of escape options in an area like this. This battle will be decided by fighting skill, plain and simple. There's no real opportunity for duplicity or tactics… then again, Chrom's not one for either of those. He'll want to outfight his opponent.'

Nodding to himself, Robin shuffled into the front row and took the one remaining empty seat, between Lissa and Sumia. The tactician looked to his left to acknowledge the pegasus knight next to him with a nod.

"How are you doing, Sumia?" he asked kindly.

Said knight gave him a small smile. "I'm well, thank you, Robin," she replied, hiding any signs of any discomfort she may have been feeling. "And you?"

Robin shrugged easily. "As well as can be, I suppose," he said. "The work never really stops, but I'll manage. I'm glad you're doing better, though."

As much as Sumia tried to hide her condition, and in spite of Lissa's immediate first-aid treatment back at the Longfort, he'd easily figured out that the heavy bruising the pegasus knight had suffered during the battle with the Feroxi border guard had yet to fully heal. He'd asked Sumia about it, and with just a little coaxing she'd admitted to exactly what he'd guessed to be the case.

If Robin had to guess as to why – Lissa had had no problems with healing him back in Southern Ylisse, and he had been in worse shape than Sumia – he'd put it down to Lissa not quite being in the best condition herself – her struggle with the extremely cold climates may have impaired her ability to focus enough magical power to heal Sumia all in one go.

'It's not her fault, though. Perhaps with more experience and a stronger staff, she'll be able to eventually pull off full heals even in these kinds of weather conditions.'

Granted, he had to admit that Sumia had been a real trooper every step of the way, soldiering on without complaint through the harsh weather and terrain.

'Then again, she might just not want her beloved Captain to worry about her,' he thought. 'They're both just a bit too obvious and oblivious about their feelings.'

Sumia frowned. "Hmm, but you shouldn't burn yourself out, Robin," she said. "If you ever need help, you should say so. I'm sure we'd all be willing to help you at some point."

Before he could reply to that, a blaring horn sounded out over the Coliseum, prompting a round of cheers from the crowd.

'It's time…' Robin thought to himself as he and Sumia – now both serious – turned their full attention to the arena pit once more.

Chrom entered from one side, head held high as he walked with a confident gait towards the center of the pit. The crowd immediately let loose a roar as the East-Khan's representative came to a halt just outside the engraved inner circle, holding himself tall before the Feroxi observers.

'There's Chrom…' Robin thought. 'Now, to see who his opponent will be.'

"Robin!" Lissa cried out, grabbing the tactician's arm hard and pointing down at something in the fighting arena. "Look!"

Robin narrowed his eyes as he leaned forward and tried to pick out what had Lissa so alarmed…

And that was when he saw him. Walking in from the shadowed opposite end of the arena was a very familiar figure – a young, slender man in fine clothing and armor, and an unforgettable butterfly-shaped mask obscuring the top half of his face.

Marth.

Chrom's opponent was none other than the enigmatic swordsman they'd met when this entire mess had first started.

"I see him…" he murmured lowly, hand instinctively going to the tome resting within his coat.

This was not going to be good.

The roar of the crowd had been deafening from the moment he'd stepped into the arena.

Chrom was indeed more than a little nervous. No man who knew he was about to go into a battle potentially to the death could ever say he wasn't nervous in the lead up to said battle, especially not with so many people watching as if it were some sort of spectacle.

He'd been kneading and fiddling with Falchion's hilt while he waited, wondering what sort of adversary he'd be facing in single combat.

His earlier nervousness, however, had been quickly replaced with genuine surprise the moment his opponent stepped into view.

"You're my opponent?" the prince asked incredulously when Marth had stopped just short of two lengths from him. "You're the swordsman that Khan Flavia was talking about?

"I am."

"Marth, I would speak before we cross swords," Chrom said. "Would you allow me one question, before we begin?"

Silence was the prince's only reply as the masked swordsman simply stared him down.

"… Fine, then. I suppose our swords can do the speaking for us!" he growled, drawing Falchion from its sheath and twirling the sacred blade about with a flourish before settling into a simple opening stance, weapon held out before him in a balanced two-handed guard.

Chrom couldn't be sure, but he could have sworn that Marth's lips almost quirked upwards in a slight smirk as the masked swordsman drew his own blade and – much to Chrom's surprise – twirled the blade about in a remarkable imitation of his own flourish before taking nearly the exact same stance.

'Now he's just taunting me…' Chrom thought, eyes narrowing. 'Don't fall for it, Chrom. He wants you to get riled up and lose focus.'

In spite of telling himself not to lose focus, Chrom very nearly did exactly that as his eyes ran over the gold and silver blade Marth held in his hand.

'Wait… that's…!'

In the masked swordsman's hands was an exact replica of the sword Chrom held in his hands – a sword that was supposed to be one of a kind, passed down through the descendants of the hero Anri, through the royal house of Altea, and hundreds of years later through the royal house of Ylisse.

"That sword…" he murmured under his breath, disbelief etched across his features. "Where did you get that sword?!"

Again, silence met the prince, although Marth's expression held a more noticeable frown.

Chrom scowled. 'Fine… so that's how it is,' he thought, taking in deep, calming breaths to quell his frustrations. 'If you won't answer me now, then I'll just have to get them after I beat you!'

With nothing left to be said, Chrom surged into action, intent on achieving as swift a victory as possible. Breaking his stance, the prince took off in a short sprint and leapt high into the air, turning the motion into a spinning blow that would have crushed any normal man with the momentum behind its strike.

The clang of steel meeting steel resounded throughout the arena, Marth's knees bending slightly as the smaller man swung his sword to meet Chrom's attack head-on in a shower of sparks. The slender masked swordsman had needed both hands on his blade's hilt to help absorb the force of the impact, but there was no mistaking the fact that he'd absorbed the full force of Chrom's attack.

'What?!'

Chrom's eyes widened in shock – there was no way Marth should have been able to know exactly when and how to block!

He had no time to ponder how Marth could have known the openings in his attack, because the masked swordsman was already moving into action.

Marth quickly pushed the prince's sword aside before spinning into a blindingly quick counterattack that nearly took Chrom's head off had the prince not raised his own sword to parry. The masked swordsman's Falchion copy then moved into motion, invading Chrom's circle of defense with swing after swing and forcing the prince onto the defensive.

Chrom's mind was a flurry of activity, questions being thrown up and discarded as quickly and as furiously as his body was working to defend itself from Marth's offense. He swung Falchion in two high arcs, deflecting a pair of overhead strikes from Marth, before quickly bringing the sacred sword across to his right side as he stepped to the left, his blade clashing with the masked swordsman's own as the latter lashed out with a quick strike aimed at the prince's exposed right shoulder.

Continuing his movement into a spin, Chrom brought Falchion around to the left, raising it just in time to block a particularly vicious blow from Marth as the masked swordsman used the momentum from his own spin to batter Chrom's sword aside. Unwilling to allow the prince any time to breathe, Marth arrested the backswing from his previous strike before striking once more from the opposite side, his Falchion colliding with Chrom's own blade as the prince barely managed to bring his sword back into position to block the follow-up attack from the masked swordsman.

Releasing his off-hand grip on his Falchion copy, Marth swung with an unbelievably quick and precise one-handed slash before continuing the motion into an acrobatic overhead strike that very nearly took Chrom by surprise had he not already been giving ground before the masked swordsman's relentless assault.

Ducking beneath Marth's attack with the space he had, Chrom took a step back before raising his sword in a higher guard, managing to deflect two more overhead strikes that were coming in at his shoulders before he stepped in and took the third head-on, managing to get Marth's own sword in a deadlock.

"Tell me!" he ground out in between clashes as he struggled to hold Marth at bay. "Who taught you to fight like that?!"

As usual, there was no reply from Marth as the masked swordsman regarded him silently, merely a shower of sparks as the two Falchions ground against each other before their respective wielders both gave a shove, sending both swordsmen skidding back.

Quickly regaining his footing, Chrom twirled Falchion in a flourish before settling into a stance, the sacred sword held at chest level and pointed directly at Marth even as the latter performed an identical flourish, holding his own weapon at head level. Both took a step forward before lunging forward into mirroring leaping thrusts, both Falchions barely managing to deflect the course of the other and preventing either swordsman from scoring so much as a glancing hit.

Skidding to a halt as his feet hit the ground, Chrom quickly turned, only to see Marth toss his sword up into the air before following up after it in a graceful somersault, his slender frame eclipsing the light pouring in through the open ceiling. Catching the spinning weapon at the crest of his leap, Marth carried the sword's own momentum into his own movements, spinning and flipping several times in midair before descending with incredible speed.

As Marth brought his own blade down in a near-perfect replica of Chrom's own opening technique, he finally gave the prince his first reply since the fight began.

"My father!" the masked swordsman answered forcefully as he hit the ground blade first.

Chrom barely managed to roll out of the way of the unexpected move before Marth's Falchion pierced the spot of arena floor where the prince had been standing only a moment before.

Too stunned by what he'd just seen to even take advantage of Marth's momentary vulnerability, Chrom could only watch as the masked swordsman rose to his feet and turned with deliberate slowness before leveling the tip of his Falchion copy right at Ylisse's crown prince. Sunlight glinted off its blade, and in that moment Chrom couldn't have thought the Falchion a more terrifying sight.

There had been no mistaking it. Marth had copied the very same technique he'd used to open the duel, move for move.

"There's no way…" Chrom whispered, reappraising the opponent standing before him as he rose from a crouch to his feet.

'Marth… just who are you?!'

Robin watched with interest as the two swordfighters renewed their clash. Their combat styles held some remarkable similarities, with both being capable of powerful, two-handed strikes designed to overpower an opponent's defenses. This quality wasn't so much a surprise when looking at the well-built Chrom, but the fact that someone of slight build such as Marth was capable of delivering such powerful attacks had thrown him off.

'He never fought in that way back in the forest… Odd. His technique's changed.'

That was where the similarities had ended, unfortunately. While Chrom preferred to maintain a proper defensive foundation while lashing out with powerful – and oftentimes brutal – attacks and counters, Marth instead kept up a relentless assault with a dazzling display of skill and elegance that was truly a sight to behold. While his sword strokes were at times equal in power to Chrom's own, it was the speed and precision with which the masked swordsman moved that Robin found to be the most impressive aspect of his fighting style as he employed fluid motions and aerial strikes and acrobatics to overwhelm his adversary.

No matter how Chrom moved to try and force the momentum of the fight back his way, Marth simply outmanoeuvred him at every exchange, dancing in and out of the engagement as he worked his way around the Ylissean prince's defenses and continued to press his advantage.

"He's quite the gifted swordsman…" he murmured, eyes narrowing as Marth continued his assault, launching precise strikes from a variety of angles and forcing Chrom to give ground yet again. "I think we might be in trouble here."

Lissa gave him a nervous look. "Brother's going to be alright, won't he?"

Robin didn't answer as he continued to observe Marth's movements. The feeling from the forest was back – he just couldn't shake off the impression that the masked swordsman was hiding something in just about everything he did.

'Even the way he fights just feels off… and it's not because he's extraordinarily good – which he certainly is. There's something in how he fights which just doesn't add up.'

The tactician frowned in concentration as he leaned forward, watching intently as the duel continued to unfold.

He needed to figure out what it was. He just hoped it didn't come because Chrom – in the heat of battle – forgot that discretion was the better part of valor.

Chrom took in deep gulps of air in between parries and ripostes, filling his burning lungs with the much needed oxygen that enabled his body to keep on moving and fighting.

Marth's fighting ability was simply unbelievable. It didn't matter what sort of defensive posture Chrom took against the masked swordsman; the smaller man either met him strength for strength – something which surprised him a great deal – or used his naturally greater agility to weave through the prince's blocks and counters with almost frightening ease.

'It's almost like he knows exactly what I'm going to do every time!' Chrom thought as he brought Falchion up into a defensive posture, intercepting Marth's Falchion copy as the masked swordsman struck with blinding speed from the left. Reacting quickly to Chrom's movement, Marth pirouetted around him to strike from the opposite side, but the prince was just about quick enough with his blade to deflect that strike as well. Marth continued the motion, twisting into a midair spin and bringing his sword down in a powerful overhead blow which Chrom was able to catch with Falchion before pushing the masked swordsman back with a burst of raw strength.

Finally seeing an opening, Chrom stepped forward and put all his strength into a wide, two-handed sweep. As he'd come to expect, Marth easily saw through such a telegraphed move and leaped backwards, but it had accomplished Chrom's goal of opening up some breathing room.

Marth chose not to approach for whatever reason, allowing Chrom to regain some vitality as he tried to discern the masked swordsman's next movements. Chrom looked quite worn out, holding Falchion in a loose grip as he kept a low guard to try and conserve his strength and get the feeling back in his burning arm muscles. On the contrast, Marth's posture, stance, and bearing were as regal and composed as they were at the start of the duel. It was as if the masked swordsman was seemingly no worse for wear in spite of his high-energy acrobatics and movements.

"Who is your father?" Chrom asked in between harsh, ragged breaths. He still couldn't quite believe that someone with a body frame like Marth could strike with such force and yet remain as mobile as he did.

Marth's expression was cool and neutral. "I think I've said enough for one day, sir," he replied evenly.

Chrom narrowed his eyes. "Hmph. Is that how it is?" he asked, raising Falchion as he took a stance once more.

Again, the masked swordsman chose not to reply and simply raised his blade in a one-handed high guard, aggravating Chrom once again.

"Lissa owes you her life, and for that you have my gratitude," the prince said. "But within these walls, I represent the East-Khan and the interests of Ylisse. I can't promise to stay my blade, but I vow not to shame you."

Marth's lips quirked upward into a mocking smile. "Heh… I never expected such youthful arrogance…" he murmured lightly, clearly amused by something.

Despite himself, Chrom raised an eyebrow. 'What?'

As quickly as it came, Marth's amused smile was gone, replaced with the masked swordsman's usual frown as he took off into a sprint.

"We shall see who shames who!" he yelled as he launched himself into a leaping thrust at Chrom.

'I know I shouldn't be enjoying myself, but I can't help it.'

Those were the thoughts rushing through Lucina's mind as she leaped at Chrom, her Falchion extended forward as she thrust it right at her opponent. Chrom sidestepped the move, raising his own Falchion to push her own sword out of line as she shot past him. As her feet hit the ground, Lucina could feel Chrom quickly approaching, trying to use the brief opening to deliver a powerful overhead strike.

Already arresting her momentum, Lucina skidded to a stop and, planting her feet, brought her blade up and around in a quick two-handed strike of her own, managing to redirect Chrom's attack before it could reach her and sending his sword angling towards the ground. As Chrom's blade hit the arena floor, Lucina quickly spun and lashed out with Falchion in her right hand, hoping to take advantage of the prince's overextension.

To her surprise, her blade hit nothing but air. Chrom had used his momentum to dive forward into a roll, evading Lucina's attack before rising to his feet and sweeping with his own Falchion, forcing Lucina to leap back outside of his attack range.

A minute smile played across Lucina's lips, one that she couldn't quite keep from her features.

She couldn't help it. Facing the Prince of Ylisse in a duel left her with a rush that she hadn't felt since before the beginning of those dark days.

He was younger than the man present in her childhood memories, his features still possessed of all the youthful vigor that had characterized the stories about him that she'd grown up hearing. He was strong, quick, and skilled – as naturally gifted as he had been described in those same stories, certainly – but he was still lacking the extensive battle experience that had honed his natural talent and made him such a formidable swordsman in the future, even if his speed had begun to taper off ever so slightly in those times.

While Chrom wasn't a complete greenhorn, given he'd been keeping the domestic peace in Ylisse for a fair amount of time now, it was clear as day to Lucina that his fighting prowess wasn't quite as refined as the man she'd known in her time. His fighting style was still rough around the edges, but perhaps given time, given the events that were going to transpire… he would be able to reach or even surpass the heights he had reached in her time.

'Events that will not happen if I can help it…!'

As if you can do it alone, little girl.

Lucina nearly choked. The voice was whispering again.

'S-shut up… I won't give in!'

She renewed her assault on Chrom, striking hard and fast as she attempted to break open her opponent's defenses. The mocking voice continued to merrily probe at her concentration, prompting Lucina to pour more and more strength into striking the ghosts of her past down.

'Harder…!'

She battered Chrom's Falchion aside with a vicious blow, her own copy of the blade scraping against the prince's shoulder plate as he barely managed to escape a direct hit from Lucina's follow-up attack.

'Faster…!'

Spinning in midair, Lucina struck once, twice within the span of one leap, forcing Chrom to backpedal. Landing in a crouch, Lucina quickly rose and pressed her advantage with a series of quick slashes that came in at Chrom's defenses from just about every angle.

You're weak… you're mine…

'Shut up! I refuse to lose to you! I'm no one's slave – no one's toy!'

Lucina screamed – whether out of anger or fear, she did not know – as she brought her sword down in an easily telegraphed attack, one which Chrom had no problems meeting head-on.

The two Falchions clashed once more, the two blades showering their wielders with sparks as metal ground against metal.

As the two swordsmen pushed against each other and struggled for dominance, Lucina found herself starting to lose ground thanks to Chrom's superior physical strength. Grunting in exertion, she leaned back and struck the Ylissean Prince with a strong headbutt that sent him staggering back, clearly disoriented from the powerful blow as he brought a hand up to his head.

She had been ready to press her advantage, but the sight of blood streaming down from where her mask had cut into Chrom's brow stopped her cold.

'W-what am I doing…?' she thought to herself. The momentary distraction nearly proved to be her undoing, as Chrom somehow found enough bearing to raise Falchion for a powerful overhand strike. Rolling to the side, she managed a quick return blow, but it lacked any of the accuracy and power that she'd displayed earlier in the fight.

Lucina quickly tried to refocus her thoughts, but seeing Chrom's blood coating the right side of his face shattered her composure at every turn, allowing the Prince of Ylisse to take the initiative for the first time the entire duel. As Lucina faltered, Chrom seemed to gain in strength and confidence, pressing his newfound advantage hard as he employed the same powerful strikes she'd been using against him mere moments ago.

She hissed in pain as Chrom's Falchion weaved through her defenses and cut into her left arm ever so lightly, leaving a shallow wound running along her bicep. She tried to focus her thoughts on the physical pain she was feeling now, tried to bring her conflicting emotions back under control, but she just couldn't get the glaring, simple fact out of her mind.

She'd drawn blood. She'd drawn Chrom's blood.

'T-this isn't… I…'

She wasn't supposed to win this duel.

Her entire purpose for becoming the West-Khan's champion was to ensure that Chrom's confidence in himself as a leader and a swordsman grew, and to ensure that he got the alliance and reinforcements that Ylisse so desperately needed.

Why had it been so easy to forget?

Because you're weak. You're all alone here. You're nothing.

Marth grit her teeth at the voice's answer, trying to fight back tears of frustration as she tried to force a counterattack through an opening. She lashed out with a one-handed horizontal slash, following up with a sequence of diagonal slashes aimed at Chrom's shoulders before raising her blade for a final overhead strike. The prince wove his blade through a series of maneuvers she'd probably seen a hundred times by now, but this time he had no problems repelling her attacks before responding in kind with strikes that she had difficulty parrying and blocking.

'No! I-I came back here because… because…!'

The voice laughed at her inability to string an answer together.

Lucina shook her head, trying to keep the voice's mocking words and laughter out of her thoughts at least until she could find a way to end the duel.

She knew that the time for games and enjoyment was over. This whole duel was over. It should have been over from the very beginning, its outcome decided by her before she'd even set foot into the arena and drawn her blade.

The only thing left for her to do was to somehow let Chrom win, and betray the West-Khan's trust.

Just as you betrayed the trust of so many others…

Lucina tried not to choke as she parried a diagonal slash from Chrom before returning it with one of her own, the speed and power behind her counterattack sorely lacking.

Robin frowned as he watched the face of the entire duel shift right before his eyes.

'That's very odd. Marth's suddenly started fighting very differently… ever since she drew Chrom's blood.'

His eyes widened.

'Wait, when did I start thinking of Marth as she?'

The tactician found himself inching forward unconsciously until he was on the edge of his seat. The cheers and jeers from the other Shepherds and from the rest of the crowd were drowned out. As far as Robin was concerned, it could have been completely silent and he wouldn't know the difference.

Everything was tuned out as Robin's attention was given solely to the two swordsmen fighting down in the arena pit.

His eyes watched Marth's every movement, and his ears listened intently, picking out every sound of battle, every shuffle of feet, every clang of steel against steel.

More than that, Robin listened to every sound and cry the masked swordswoman made as she fought.

He could feel the pieces in his mind begin to move together to form the outlines of a picture – one he'd spent the better part of almost two weeks trying to put together.

Lucina was wearing out fast.

It wasn't even down to her physical ability, given the fact that she was now consciously holding herself back so much. The voice was growing in strength, and she couldn't tune it out and fend off Chrom's assault at the same time.

You could never tune me out… not when I speak the truth.

Lucina grit her teeth, unwilling to give it the satisfaction of a reply as she tried to focus on defending herself from Chrom's furious strikes as they rained down on her like a storm while throwing out counters that were easy enough for the man to block without disrupting his offensive rhythm. She was holding on for now, much as Chrom had earlier, but she knew it was only just a matter of time. She just needed to find the proper opportunity to give him the chance to win.

You can't even beat Chrom. What chance do you think you have against fate itself?

The simple brutality of the statement stunned Lucina, who stumbled from the shock for a brief moment as her mind tried to wrap itself around it. Her back foot slid as her grip on Falchion slackened, leaving her completely open.

That one lapse was all the opportunity Chrom needed.

The prince's backhand struck Lucina hard across the cheek, sending her sprawling to the ground as Falchion flew from her nerveless fingers. The blow had been incredible, enough to white her vision out for several moments.

Before she could even regain her bearings, she felt a foot press firmly on her abdomen. As her vision cleared, Lucina found Chrom standing over her, his foot pressing down on her stomach as he held Falchion inches away from her neck. Lucina looked to the side, seeing her own weapon lying out of reach of her fingers. A drop of blood dripped from Chrom's face and onto her mask as he regarded her steadily.

"It's over," he said through deep breaths, seemingly unbothered by the red liquid coating half his face. "Yield, Marth. I don't want to take your life."

Lucina closed her eyes for a moment. Chrom was certainly right.

This fight was over.

"Impressive… if not surprising…" Lucina murmured lowly, trying to keep her shaky voice even. "I yield, sir."

You yielded to the Prince today. Without him by your side, you'll yield to me, too.

Lucina tried not to react outwardly, even as she felt herself grow cold at the statement.

The voice was wrong. It had to be wrong.

… So why was she so afraid of it being true?

Robin was on his feet as soon as the duel had concluded.

'She threw that match.'

There was no mistaking it. The movements had been far too unnatural for it to be anything else. Marth had, to the best of his knowledge, simply held herself back in the latter stages of the duel, throwing away what had at the time looked like an incredibly assured victory.

'She had Chrom right where she wanted him. The entire duel was in the palm of her hand. So why? Why throw it away?'

The rest of the Shepherds around him were celebrating, and the entire Feroxi crowd was cheering wildly as the contest finally resolved itself and showed that a change in leadership was on the way.

Unlike the rest of the troop, Robin was in no mood for celebrating right now. What he was in the mood for was asking questions. Weaving his way through their little group and past Sully and Vaike's rambunctious cheering, he made his way out of their private viewing box and into the hallway.

The tactician barely even made it a few steps when the sounds of heavy armor clinking behind him made him stop to hear the words of the only member of the Shepherds who'd notice his disappearance.

"Where are you going?" Frederick's voice called out behind him.

Robin didn't look back. "Something about Marth bothers me, and I need some answers. I'll be back shortly."

"… I see. I shall inform milord if he makes an inquiry as to your whereabouts."

Robin nodded, and without another word took off into a brisk walk, raising his coat's cowl over his head.

Lucina was silent as she sat in an anteroom just outside the fighting pit, contemplating her actions and what had happened over the course of the duel.

She'd taken her leave almost immediately once Chrom had taken his foot off her stomach, not intending to stick around long enough for him to ask any questions. She wasn't sure if the prince had noticed the similarities between her fighting style and his during their duel, but she certainly wasn't about to find out if he had.

What had been more worrying than being found out, though, was her loss of focus and composure midway through the duel. Had the sight of Chrom's blood really unnerved her so? Or had her recognition of her inability to control her own actions been her undoing in the end?

"Am I actually… that weak…?" she asked herself lowly, looking at her reflection on Falchion's blade as she balanced it over her thighs. Chrom's blood still stained one side of her mask from when she'd butted heads with him, some of it trailing down to leave streaks across her face. Her hand went up to her face, fingers tenderly brushing over the angry welt that was marring the pale skin of her cheek where Chrom had struck her with his fist.

Of course you're weak. Without him, you're nothing.

"Shut up… I'm not weak!" Lucina ground out through clenched teeth as she tried to tune the voice out. Every time a reminder of the past – her past – came up, it was always there, always laughing, always dredging up images of nightmares she'd rather lock away in the deepest and darkest recesses of her mind and heart to be forgotten.

You are. You just don't want to admit it.

"I'm not!" Lucina replied, her voice strained and a little less modulated than she would have liked.

The voice laughed as it reveled in the masked girl's conflicted emotions. However, before Lucina could even bite out a response, a new voice from outside cut in, dispelling the dark atmosphere that had shrouded her mind and consciousness.

"Ah, you're still here," the new arrival said, his words jolting Lucina out of her thoughts and bringing her back to reality. The voice quieted, retreating to the darkness as quickly as it had come.

The masked girl cursed her inattentiveness as she sprung to her feet, Falchion instantly in hand and pointed at the entryway that led out from her anteroom into the rest of the arena.

"Who are you? Show yourself!" she called out, trying to keep her voice steady and low even as it threatened to betray the image she'd strained to keep up ever since returning to this time.

Lucina watched intently as a hooded man slipped in through the doorway, revealing himself to be wearing a familiar purple coat with gold trim.

'A Plegian coat… could it be the tactician? What is he doing here?'

The man's hands moved up to his cowl, slowly as not to startle Lucina, and lowered it, revealing all-too-familiar features and confirming Lucina's suspicions.

"It's you… Sir Tactician," she said lowly, acknowledging the presence of the snow-haired man she'd fought alongside – and subsequently saved – less than two weeks ago in Southern Ylisse.

Said tactician nodded, hands held away from his sides as if to say he meant no harm. He regarded Lucina steadily, his hazel eyes boring into her almost as if they could see through her mask. Lucina had to resist the urge to lift a hand up to check that her mask was still on.

"Indeed," he said in reply, tone light. "I'd appreciate if you at least referred to me by name, though. You don't see me calling you 'Sir Mask', do you?"

Lucina frowned as she sheathed her sword, using the time to think things over. What sort of game was he trying to play here? On one hand, she was still suspicious of the tactician… but, on the other, her instincts were telling her that the snow-haired man was a genuine person whose regular personality was a far-cry from what most would expect from someone in his profession… and what she herself remembered of him from her childhood.

Ultimately, she decided to play along with him for now and see where things went.

"Very well, then… Sir Robin," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "What do you want?"

Robin raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's interesting. I don't recall ever mentioning my name to you."

Lucina's eyes widened as she felt her blood go cold. Her hand instantly flew to Falchion sheathed at her hip.

'Wait, wha- oh, Naga…'

She cursed as she realized her slip-up. She'd forgotten that the snow-haired tactician hadn't once mentioned his name to her at any point. He was suddenly smiling – oh, gods, she wanted to wipe that smile off of his face – as if to say she'd walked right into a trap.

"W-well, I heard your companions calling your name out back in the forest," she said quickly, mind racing as she struggled to come up with a cover story. "I remembered your name from there."

The man's smile turned into a frown as his brows furrowed in thought.

Lucina held her breath, hoping against hope Robin would buy her hastily-concocted story. It was partially true, of course, but she'd already known his name from long before, and she'd rather keep questions about that from coming up at this point in time.

Robin shrugged easily. "Well, I guess they did yell out my name a couple of points in time," he said lightly, although something in those sharp, hazel eyes of his told her that he wasn't quite buying it but was simply going along with her story. "That aside, I just came to ask a question or two, if you'd be willing to humor me."

Lucina's eyes narrowed from behind her mask. "You may ask your questions, but whether I give you answers or not is my decision alone."

The corner of the tactician's mouth quirked upwards. "Heh. I expected as much, given that Chrom couldn't get answers out of you back there, either."

Lucina frowned. 'He heard us over the crowd and the sounds of our fighting?'

There's no way he could be serious about that… could he?

"Well, thankfully for the both of us my first question's a simple one…" he said, his voice trailing off as if he were unsure about whether to continue.

Robin looked away, seeming to consider his words for a moment, which made Lucina feel just the slightest bit of unease.

What was the tactician going to ask that he would have second thoughts when he was already here right in front of her? The man was usually prepared for what he needed to say, after all.

Finally, Robin turned to face her fully once more.

"Why did you throw that duel?" he asked quietly.

Lucina froze at the accusation. 'What?'

Robin sighed. "I see. So I wasn't imagining it. You did throw that fight."

The masked girl gripped hard on the hilt of her sword. "What makes you think that, Sir Robin?" she asked, barely keeping her voice from cracking. In spite of herself,

Robin shook his head. "The way you fought," he answered. "You were incredible during the first half, maybe two-thirds of the duel. You had Chrom right where you wanted him. You mostly matched him for power, and you had a decisive edge in speed and mobility that he couldn't overcome. I don't think I've ever seen a difference in skill that drastic in my life." He thought it over for a moment before chuckling to himself. "Then again, I've not been alive for very long, given the little memory problem I have."

He turned now to look at Lucina, his eyes searching for her own even through her mask. "And that brings me to the remainder of the duel. After your headbutt drew blood from Chrom, it seemed like something in you changed completely. At first, I originally thought you might have simply been disoriented yourself, but it quickly became apparent to me that you were physically fine. No, it was a mental thing. It was as if some realization or other made you incapable of fighting as you had before…"

Lucina sucked in a sharp breath. Robin was sharp – extraordinarily and frighteningly so. She'd thought she'd been able to at least hide most outward signs of her loss of composure, but apparently nothing had been able to escape Robin's observation skills.

"I just want to know why you did what you did, Marth."

Lucina swallowed. The temptation to tell someone everything was real. She wanted to – she wanted to very badly. Carrying the burden alone was too much for her, but…

He couldn't know. No one could. Not yet – maybe even not ever.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I can't tell you anything."

Robin nodded, almost as if in understanding.

"I see," was his simple reply.

Lucina tried not to fidget under his observant, eagle-eyed gaze. She had to get away now before she divulged any information that could bring abut consequences.

"I… I must go. Please, excuse me," she said hurriedly.

Without so much as waiting for the tactician's reply or acquiescence, Lucina hurried past him and towards the anteroom's entryway.

'Quickly, quickly…'

"Marth," Robin called out. "One more thing, before you go."

Against her better judgement, and with every instinct screaming at her not to do it, Lucina stopped walking and turned halfway to look at the tactician out of the corner of her eye. The man had turned to face her, his expression as cool, calm, and collected as it had been since he'd arrived.

"Yes?"

Robin paused for a moment, and again Lucina felt uncertainty settle in her gut like a block of ice.

"You're… not really the Hero-King, are you…?" he asked. "In fact, you're not even a he. Am I right?"

Lucina gasped in surprise, unable in the slightest to keep it from sounding girlish. It didn't matter whether she had been able to or not, though.

He knew. He knew.

She tried to grip Falchion's hilt, but for some reason it felt like all her strength had left her hand as her fingers clumsily fumbled for the weapon. It almost felt as if she no longer had the nerves to move them.

'What else does he know? Has he already figured out who I am?' she thought in a panic, her mind imagining all the worst-case scenarios. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, her breath was growing quicker and shallower, and her heart was pounding in her ears. 'What if Chrom finds out? What if – oh, gods, have I made a mistake in doing all this?'

She had been so caught up in her thoughts that it took her a few moments to realize that Robin had closed the distance to her, his hands holding onto her shoulders with a firm but gentle grip.

"Hey, easy there," Robin said, trying to calm her down. "I don't know why you've chosen to hide your identity, your gender, and even your face, but I don't think you hold any ill will towards anyone." He gave her a smile, trying to reassure her. "I'll keep your secret; it's not mine to tell, and I'm sure you've good reasons for hiding it. You can trust me, Marth. I promise."

Could she, though? Lucina wondered if she really could trust the man she knew so little about.

More importantly, could she even trust herself as she was right now?

'I have to get away,' Lucina reasoned. She couldn't risk any more information coming out, especially not to someone who was so close to Chrom. 'I just have to get away.'

Wiggling out of Robin's grip, she turned her back on the snow-haired tactician.

"I-I'm sorry. I can't say any more," she said, not even bothering to try and change her voice's pitch. Robin had her all figured out. What was the point in trying to hide it from him? "P-please, excuse me."

Lucina fled from the anteroom, the voice in her mind laughing at her all the way.

She did not look back.

After the duel's conclusion, Chrom had been led back to a small sitting room at the top floor of Arena Ferox. As other duels began to determine the other ranks in the hierarchy of the Feroxi leadership, the victorious Prince of Ylisse now found himself awaiting the arrival of the newly inducted Khan-Regnant who would now be able to give him what he most wanted.

Lissa and Frederick had already been waiting for him in the room by the time he arrived, with Lissa immediately getting her older brother to sit down so she could tend to his injuries while Frederick let him know that Robin was taking care of some business. The prince idly wondered what it was that Robin needed to do, but pushed it from his mind – he'd just ask him later.

As his younger sister worked on him, Chrom took a moment to admire the décor that gave the room a decidedly homey feel. It wasn't as extravagant as the waiting hall where Khan Flavia had received them, but it certainly still had that cozy feel that he'd come to associate with Ferox, with furs being used as carpets and bench padding while wrought iron braziers crackled happily and provided warmth and light to the chamber's interior.

He winced, almost flinching when he felt a sting of pain as Lissa touched his forehead wound.

"Hold still, Chrom," Lissa chided as she dabbed a cloth over his brow, trying to clean the blood out before applying some medicine to the cut. While using a staff would have fixed the wound without much problem, they had the opportunity to allow the wound to heal naturally, so it was better not to unnecessarily use up any more of her staff charges before they got back to Ylisstol.

"I know you want to look around, but this wound isn't going to clean itself."

The prince grumbled, but tried to keep still as Lissa worked. It wasn't long, however, before the door to his right opened.

"I admit that your fighting style surprised me, Prince Chrom," a voice called out, prompting Chrom to turn and Lissa to make a noise of complaint as the vulnerary she'd been applying to his cut smeared slightly over his forehead and temple. "I would not have expected one from Ylisse to be capable of fighting so quite like a Feroxi. You don't have too many of the theatrics or flashy moves I've come to expect from Ylissean nobility."

Khan Flavia strode in, a wide smile on her face, with Captain Raimi once again right behind her.

"Many nobles from Ylisse may choose to engage in pointless showboating, Your Grace, but I've never had much patience for them," Chrom replied honestly as Flavia took a seat on the bench directly across his own. "It holds true now, especially, when Ylisse is in a dire situation and I need to bring results back home as quickly as possible."

Flavia grinned wolfishly. "Hah! Well spoken," she commented, chuckling as Lissa continued to fuss over the Ylissean Prince. "And well fought, as well! You've more than earned my respect, Princeling, and not many nobles can say that they have. More importantly, however, you will have your alliance. Regna Ferox will provide Ylisse with the assistance that she needs, and you can be assured that I will personally lead the effort."

Chrom nodded, breathing a huge sigh of relief at the news.

"Truly? You have my heartfelt thanks, Khan-Regnant," Chrom said as he clasped wrists with Flavia once more.

The newly-inducted Khan-Regnant laughed. "Oh, you have it backwards. It should be me thanking you!" she proclaimed as she stood. "It's felt like forever since I last held full power! Come, my new friends! Tonight, we celebrate, and we celebrate the Feroxi way!"

Before Chrom could even get a word in, Flavia had already stood and swept back out the room, barking out orders for a feast to be prepared.

"Bah!" a gruff voice rumbled from behind Chrom. "Any excuse for a party where she can get drunk and Flavia jumps on it."

The prince of Ylisse turned to see Robin's imagined description of the Khan come to life – an absolute giant of a man clad in gold armor that covered arms, shoulders, waist, and legs while leaving most of his muscled chest exposed was leaning up against the doorway. The bald-headed, dark-skinned man was gazing at them with his one appraising eye, the other covered by an eyepatch that didn't quite hide the frown marring his chiselled features.

Chrom frowned. "I'm sorry," he said, unable to keep the hint of sarcasm from his tone. "Have we met?"

The giant of a man stepped forward. "I'm the West-Khan you so rudely removed from power, boy!" he exclaimed loudly, before continuing in a more modulated voice. "You're quite handy with a sword, lad – definitely skilled for someone as young as you are. And to think I'd finally gotten my chambers exactly as I'd liked them…"

The hard look on his face dropped to be replaced with a jovial grin.

"But, that's not such a bad thing. I'm quick to forgive and forget! Now that those advisers and hangers-on will be pestering Flavia instead of me every step of the way for the next few years, maybe I can go live and let live some before reclaiming my throne!" he said animatedly, letting out a boisterous laugh as he extended a hand. "I am Basilio the Mighty, West-Khan of Regna Ferox. I am honoured to meet a man of your strength, Prince Chrom of Ylisse."

Chrom clasped the man's wrist as he did with Flavia's, and the prince couldn't help but think he'd like the West-Khan. Basilio had a natural strength and vitality, much like Khan Flavia, and a penchant for being quite loud and boisterous. Perhaps it was down to the Feroxi culture that led to him being so full of life and energy. Basilio's features seemed a little rougher, more aged, than Flavia's, but he still possessed a vigor that Chrom thought would be more suited to coming from men much younger than the West-Khan, and he was sure that his unique combination of experience and strength made him a very formidable warrior and leader.

"That said," Basilio commented as they released hands. "I was sure I'd picked the stronger man. I was definitely surprised when you emerged victorious."

Chrom furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you know about the man I fought, Khan Basilio?"

"Who, you mean that 'Marth'?" the Khan snorted. "He's nothing more than a sellsword with delusions of grandeur, or that's what he's been telling me and anyone who'll ask, anyways. I think there's a lot more to the kid than meets the eye, that's for sure. All I know for certain is that he turned up one day and knocked my old champion flat on his arse. It was love at first sight, and I'm usually too old for such things!"

The West-Khan roared with laughter for a few moments at his own quip before he seemed to remember where he was and whose company he was in.

"Anyway, I've no idea where he is right now. Just up and disappeared the moment the duel ended." He shrugged. "Could be in the quarters I loaned to him, could have hightailed it out of here already. Nobody really knows with him. The kid kept to himself the entire time."

Chrom nodded, processing the information as Lissa sighed.

"He's so dark and mysterious…" she said dreamily.

"Sounds like Marth's got at least one fan," came Robin's voice as the tactician entered the room from the same door Flavia had entered and left through.

Chrom raised an eyebrow. "Robin. Where in damnation have you been?" he asked.

Robin shrugged. "Tried to find Marth and get some answers. I… wasn't too successful, unfortunately."

Chrom sighed. "That's a shame. I think we'd all want to know a bit more about him, even if I think Lissa's reasoning isn't quite on the same page as the rest of us."

Lissa flushed lightly. "H-hey! I mean, c'mon…" she stammered out in protest. "He is kind of dreamy, isn't he?"

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know, milady," Frederick deadpanned.

Chrom's eyebrows furrowed. "And I think you're kind of dreaming," he snapped, earning a glare from Lissa and another booming laugh from Basilio.

Lissa's hands went up in mock-surrender. "Yeesh! Sorry for being human and a girl, Big Brother. I am at that age, you know."

Before the siblings could begin arguing, Frederick coughed to gain their attention.

"Milord? Milady? As fascinating as this discussion is, perhaps we'd best be preparing to return home?" the knight suggested. "The Exalt would no doubt appreciate news of this alliance as soon as possible."

Chrom nodded. "Right as always, Frederick."

"But you'll be missing the great feast I have no doubts Flavia is already planning!" Basilio said in mock surprise.

"He's right, Frederick!" Lissa said as she ran towards the door and turned to face them, arms spread wide to bar them from entering or exiting. "You've already deprived me of one feast, and look what sort of trouble that got us in! As your princess, I order you to not deprive me of another!"

Basilio chuckled. "She's certainly got spirit, I'll give her that," he said. "Besides, we've already sent one of our fastest messengers to Ylisstol. He should be there long before you even cross the border, even if you left now."

Robin nodded. "I agree, I think we should take them up on the offer. Morale will suffer if we leave immediately," he said. "We've barely just arrived, and we've no urgent reason to leave if Ferox has already dispatched a messenger to the capital. It would do everyone some good if we got some downtime before leaving."

Seemingly swayed, Chrom sighed.

"Well… I guess we could stay a day or two before leaving…" Chrom muttered uncertainly.

The West-Khan grinned as he cracked his knuckles.

"Excellent," he said. "Well, then, let's go fetch the rest of your motley crew so we can set you all up in some proper lodgings for your stay."

Location: Khan's Palace, Grand Hall

Flavia certainly did not disappoint.

The feast she'd planned was held in the Grand Hall reserved for use by the Khan-Regent as part of his or her personal quarters or when he or she was receiving important dignitaries. While Basilio was still technically in charge, Flavia – as the winner of the Khan's tournament – was well within her rights to use the hall for special occasions – occasions like this one. It was decorated with the height of Feroxi finery – high-quality pelts and woods were used for the furniture and décor, while the finest metals were used for the braziers that provided light and warmth for the hall's interior. Off to the side was a massive personal armory with an assortment of training gear and actual weapons and even a personal smithy.

All in all, it was something fit for the private quarters of the leader of a warrior nation such as Regna Ferox.

"Welcome to my humble abode!" Basilio had said, performing a mock bow as he led the Shepherds into the hall. "Well, my abode until Flavia officially takes the reins of power in a few days. Once she moves in, my abode is wherever all my junk happens to land!"

The West-Khan had then laughed loudly before corralling the Shepherds towards tables upon tables of food and drink…

Which is what led to the situation Robin currently found himself in.

Flavia sat at the head table with Basilio and Chrom, the Khans having convinced the Prince of Ylisse to drink with them while they regaled him with tales of past campaigns. At the next table, Sumia was making a not-so-subtle attempt to look after Chrom even as she picked at her meal.

'Oh, Sumia…' he thought, smiling to himself. 'If only the both of you weren't so blind, you'd have realized it by now…'

Meanwhile, Virion was – in typical Virion fashion – attempting to woo every serving girl who passed him by, while Vaike and Sully were engaged in a drunken arm-wrestling contest that Sully was clearly winning. Finally, since Frederick was keeping Lissa from the alcohol, the princess contented herself with gorging herself on the platters of food along with Stahl, who hadn't slowed any in his eating since the party had started.

He sighed as he sipped at his drink, some sort of Feroxi ale, before washing it down with another gulp of water. Whatever the Feroxi put into their alcohol certainly gave it one amazing kick, one that Robin doubted he could down without some water in between each mouthful.

'How they can drink this stuff like water, I'll never know…'

Robin turned away from the goings-on of the party, his thoughts wandering back to a certain masked swordswoman. Marth had been in his mind ever since the duel – ever since the forest, in fact. Of course, when tactics were needed thoughts of her took a backseat, but in his idle time she would always be there at some point. He couldn't help but wonder as to her origins, her motivations. He wanted to know what drove her to do what she did, where she came from.

The sound of a chair being pulled brought Robin out of his thoughts, and he turned to see Basilio flop into the seat right across his own.

"Something on your mind, Tactician Robin?" the West-Khan asked, setting a bottle of liquor down on the table. They'd been introduced by Chrom after a rather embarrassing affair in which Robin had bluntly asked the larger man who he was and had then been told that Basilio was the very man Robin had ended up describing before their meeting with Khan Flavia. Needless to say, the tactician had been horrified to realize that his rather imaginative descriptions had actually been spot on.

Robin shrugged lightly. "Well… just the one," he said, sipping at his ale again. "But it's a long story, so… not sure if you'd want to hear it."

Basilio chuckled before taking a swig from his bottle. "I've seen many a young, promising man in my time," he said. "But none with eyes quite as sharp and deep as yours. Tell me about it, lad. I want to know what goes on in the mind hidden behind those eyes."

The tactician contemplated the offer for a moment, but realized that he couldn't talk when all he had was nothing but conjecture.

'Hell, what good will it do to keep it to myself? I can trust someone with Basilio's experience, surely.'

Before he knew it, he was talking. Robin talked about how he met Marth, his initial reads on her, his observations and the conclusions he's made over time… he talked for quite some time, and Basilio listened for well over an hour, only stopping Robin to ask for clarification at some point or another.

By the end of it all, the West-Khan himself looked to be in fairly deep contemplation as he gazed thoughtfully at a spot on the table.

"Hmm… I admit I had my own suspicions about the way Marth was acting… his – her – behaviour was very strange…" he finally said, looking up to look Robin in the eye. "Did you know that he – she – actually asked for the same thing your Prince did from Flavia? Even in the event Marth won and you had to come to speak with me, I was certainly willing to form that alliance with Ylisse. It was a win-win situation for you."

Robin raised his eyebrows. "I didn't know, actually," he replied. "… Wait, hold on. You said she wanted the same thing we did?"

Basilio nodded. "Aye, she most certainly did," he replied, before leaning in closer. "Tell me, lad. Can we – and, by we, I mean all of us Ylisseans and Feroxi – trust Marth?"

The tactician contemplated the question. Could they? It was a difficult question to ask when the subject was one who played her cards so close to her chest.

Eventually, he blew a breath out. "I think… we can," he said slowly. "She may be a hard read, but I don't think her intentions are bad. I've been observing her as much as I can, and I think that she holds no ill will towards us. While she hasn't exactly been forthcoming with information, I think there's a good reason she's trying not to say much about where she comes from and why she's doing what she's doing."

The West-Khan leaned back and sighed deeply. "Well, this conversation certainly was not what I was expecting when I sat down with you, lad," he said, letting out a deep laugh. "But it confirmed my suspicions about you. You're every bit the keen observer I thought you were. You're sharp, analytical, and quick to think on your feet… all fine qualities to have in a tactician."

Basilio crossed his arms regarded the snow-haired tactician steadily. "That said, out with it, boy," he said. "I know you have something you want to ask me. You've been glancing at me for most of the evening, and I doubt it's because you're enamored by my rugged good looks."

Robin leaned forward. "As a matter of fact, I do, indeed," he said, resting his chin on his hands. "Can you tell me where Marth's quarters are? I'd like to be able to talk to her if she's still around."

"Oh? And why is that?" Basilio asked. "You said it yourself, she hasn't exactly been forthcoming or generous with information."

"I think I can get through to her," Robin replied. "She's shown herself to be quite conflicted as of late. If I can show to her that she can trust me, then maybe…"

The West-Khan laughed. "You don't need to go so far to justify yourself, lad, your case was already made!" he said, laughing again at Robin's confused expression. "I could never say no to someone with eyes as honest and determined as yours, so let old Basilio help you out."

As Basilio began to outline directions on how to get to the quarters he'd set Marth up in, Robin could only hope that the masked swordswoman was still there.

For some reason, his instincts were telling him that Marth was the key to everything.