Author's note: It's been a long time. A long long long time. But I'm not dead! How has everyone been? I'm well and healthy for the most part, only been very busy. Always been thinking on the story but just recently found some motivation again over the winter break. The Awakening OST is so nostalgic, had the battle preparations theme on loop while I was writing this up. I swear I'll put up the next chapter in less than half a year, promise. And how could I forget? Happy New Year 22!
The information wasn't perfect, but it was enough to locate their quarry. Though she complained about unfamiliarity, Cynthia got along readily with the band of rebels and acquired a new pegasus from one of the towns they passed by. Gram's network proved to bear fruit—over the course of the weeks, Say'ri had gotten in touch with enough men willing to support their cause to feel comfortable terming their efforts as a proper Resistance. The map that once had little more than outdated supply lines gradually gained more detail, decorated with pins denoting their forces and targets to strike at as the days ticked by.
The ambush on the convoy occurred under cover of night. Part of Lucina was relieved to hear her sister belting out heroic catchphrases as she and Gerome swooped down on the wagons for the opening strike. Cynthia's spirits were high, happy to simply take to the air once more.
The initial fight was brief but vicious. As she fought back-to-back with Severa, fending off the cavaliers circling them until Yarne's intervention allowed them to slip away, Lucina realized a growing issue with their choice of battlefield. The sprawling fields had some cover for her to take advantage of, but it offered their grounded units little in the way of cover and gave the mounted cavalry free rein to make full use of their mobility. Not content to let Lucina's side come to them, the Valmese raced about the plains to flush out and strike at whoever they saw while their superior speed and agility minimized the risk to themselves.
It wasn't an issue for Gram and his men, but his cavalry was roughly equal to the opponent on an individual basis. Mutually disadvantaging the cavalry of both sides in rough terrain would've favored Lucina and the other infantry that acted as the main imbalance. It would've widened the gap in their favour, but Lucina's allies could still pull their weight. She didn't linger on it, focused on the here and now of cutting her latest enemy down from his horse and then vanishing behind the caravan that took a thrown javelin for her.
A deafening shriek of tearing metal turned eyes all along the convoy. Gerome took it upon himself to have Minerva break open the wagons in the middle of the battle, seize a Hammer from where it lay within, and cave in the chest of the great knight acting as their enemy's commander.
When the Valmese turned their backs, many of the rebels gave pursuit across the plains, high on victory. After the first three kills, the rest of the enemy riders understood that they weren't about to all survive—and so almost all turned back around. With no illusions of retreat, they fought like rabid animals while Lucina and the rest of the grounded units were too far away to help. By the time she reached the new frontline riding with Cynthia, most of the fighting was already over and the last of the Valmese too far away to overtake. The stragglers of the convoy's mounted guard vanished into the same darkness they were attacked from.
Net results were a valuable shipment of silver weaponry, the horses and convoy itself, high-class armour that could be refitted at the next armory willing to take them, priceless information in the form of claimed letters and maps, and a very painful lesson with the price of more men than they should've lost. In the end, pursuing the rout only cost them unnecessarily. So long as one escaped, Valm would know they were here in a matter of days—and especially the vanished princess of Chon'sin.
The night was spent attending to the injured and dead until dawn. Gram kept his composure throughout each burial. Within minutes of leaving his shovel embedded in the earth, he retired to his tent, closed his eyes, and took what little rest he could before dawn broke.
Lucina wished she could do the same. Every moment of rest was crucial to keep functioning when it mattered most, but she knew she wouldn't be able to. She felt restless, uneasy. As much as she knew their cause to be just and the action necessary for their fledgling Resistance to establish themselves, what amounted to banditry by any measure would never sit right with her. With an unpleasant ache near the bottom of her chest, she resigned herself to another day of marching and doing anything she could to sharpen her own tactics. Lucina's experience came entirely through firsthand experience—certainly, books were beyond rare in her time, especially those on warfare.
"Ah." As the sun broke over the horizon, a tiny frown crossed her face with her attention on the mask in her hands. "It cracked again. I have to repair it when I have the time…" A deep shuffling noise drew her gaze upwards to the sight of Minerva waiting for her rider as he finished cleaning his axe of blood. "Gerome—"
"Scouting." A nudge to his steed's side as he made to take flight.
"Wait." The command was quiet and understated, but plenty enough to halt him in his tracks. "I would speak with you."
"My performance?" he asked. "What needs improving?"
"Not that. Your skill on the battlefield is marvelous as ever." Lucina rounded to stand before him and Minerva. She reached out, stroking the wyvern's crest. "I feel as if you have withdrawn from us—only appearing to the battlefield and vanishing the moment it ends. I want to know what you're thinking."
"There's no need," said Gerome.
"Why would you say that?"
"What good would come of it? I am a blade that exists to strike down your enemies. A weapon doesn't speak or dissent." A faint scowl, and he added, "It doesn't bicker pointlessly with its wielder. Don't concern yourself with whatever lies in my mind." He adjusted his position in the saddle, Minerva spreading her wings once more. "The right tool for the right job. Isn't that what they say? You provide the inspiration and strategy. I will cut down any who dare oppose you."
Lucina shifted her weight. "There is a certain wisdom to what you say," she admitted slowly. And yet his words didn't feel entirely right to her.
"Now, I have some enemies to track, and I think you have a council to attend." Gerome twitched the reins and Minerva bowed her head, stepping back from the princess of Ylisse.
She sought for the something eluding her a moment longer. Try as she might, Lucina had to accept that she would not find it today and let it go. "Farewell, Gerome," she said reluctantly. "I shall look for you on the battlefield."
When she entered the war tent with mask donned, Lucina found Say'ri already there with the intel seized from the Valmese. Say'ri's brow was furrowed in concentration, hand to her chin in thought as she stood and pored over the papers laid out on the table before her. Lucina spared them a passing glance—text and notes dotting maps and filling pages, several written in an unusual vertical script with unfamiliar symbols that looked nothing like the common tongue.
"Nn? Ohayou goz—" Say'ri cleared her throat and stopped hunching over the maps. The first signs of dark bags were visible beneath her eyes, the long dark hair so often kept in a smooth current now unkempt and messy. Between the battle and handling the aftermath, there had been little time to clean up. "Good morning, Marth. I trust your allies are in fine condition?"
Perhaps not in perfect condition, but Lucina didn't see fit to throw her own troubles on the pile in front of them. "Yes," she said. "I wish I could say the same of Sir Gram…"
"Ah, don't get hung up on it." The tent flap lifted and the paladin in question joined them, green-hued armour still stained with dirt and blood. "We didn't exactly sign up for green pastures here. So, what do we have on our hands?"
"The Conqueror continues south into Chon'sin," said Say'ri. "Word of Yen'fay's surrender has met with accept and dissent in equal amount among the dynasts. The Valmese mean to stamp out every sign of resistance."
Gram folded his arms over the map. Thin red lines streamed down the continent of Valm, a complex yet steady network pumping from north to south. "Cutting one supply line is a hindrance, but it barely makes the frontline stumble."
"No figure to unite around," noted Lucina. "The reigning monarchs dead, the heir surrendered, and the princess missing… it will crumble quickly."
"My home is in turmoil once more," murmured Say'ri. "This night's encounter was but a convoy's guard, far from the frontlines where Valm's strength is most focused. Their resistance will not triumph divided, but those who continue to defy the Conqueror will unite under my banner. I must return home to aid my people before they are crushed."
"Our company isn't about to go breaking through Fort Steiger yet," said Gram. "You'd need the better part of every rebel in this country to take the fort now. Even if we do, we'll be chased to the frontlines and meet the Conqueror's men with another horde of 'em breathing down our necks."
"Perhaps we travel with as few as we can," said Lucina. "Moving in small numbers under cover to evade checkpoints and patrols." It had served them well travelling up the continent so far.
"Aye," said Say'ri. "We consolidate strength in north and south alike and return to strike with our gathered number."
Gram leaned back and assessed the two of them. "'Course, the royal of the nation is going on this journey. And I take it you'll be bringing your merry band with you?"
Lucina paused. She had to keep her own objective of securing the gemstones in mind. Even more than that, some of her friends remained unaccounted for. There was no trace of Noire and she had long since lost contact with Inigo's team. If there was any time to search for them, it would be now.
She also needed the gemstones to be able to truly fell Grima for good. Azure resided in the Mila Tree under Walhart's control. Vert would be in the grip of the Conqueror himself soon. It would likely remain there every step of the way until he returned to Valm Castle, where it would be harder than ever to pry free. Perhaps, with speed and precision, Lucina could claim it before then…
"Thinking awfully hard on it, Marth." Gram's voice snapped her back to the present. "Care to fill us in?"
"My comrades and I will accompany Say'ri into Chon'sin," said Lucina. "We found success navigating around the Conqueror's forces in these numbers so far. And Say'ri, about our discussion in Rosanne…"
"Aye," she said. "Hold fast to your word and my decision remains unchanged. But we must make haste. Here, just south of the fort—Luo'zu of the West has taken up arms against the Conqueror and refuses still to stand down. He will provide us the means to traverse the land."
"Our contact will remain in Rosanne," said Gram. "'Course, if you come back to a siege at Steiger, don't wait for an invite! It's a shame to part ways so soon, but you can look forward to a proper militia when you return. I'll see to my men—you see to yours and get going as soon as you're able."
"You have my gratitude," said Say'ri with a quick bow.
As they exited the tent, Lucina glanced back. Gram stood over the maps, hands waiting to push the parchment aside as soon as he had gleaned everything he could from it. In the moment it took for him to notice his ally had yet to leave the tent, his grave expression looked as if it had aged ten years at once.
"Hey, now! You're even clammier than usual today." With the same casually amused smile as ever, Gram flapped some of the pages at her. "Did you forget you need some of these? Or is there something on my face?"
"My apologies," said Lucina. "It's nothing. Perhaps my imagination…"
"Don't worry, we'll keep busy up here in Valm—life is about to get a lot harder for Walhart and his boys when their suppy lines start drying up! I'm still itchin' to really put this resistance on the map, and that depends on you. Don't make me wait forever, you hear me?"
"…Of course." Lucina relaxed. "May yours be a safe journey."
Autumn brought with it cool winds and the vibrant orange shades of leaves filling the fields of Ylisse. Grima was always busy comparing notes with Morgan on the presence of Risen and sorting out how to cycle through the Shepherds, keeping them sharp with live experience. The fell dragon himself and the future children remained within Ylisstol for most of the year, only leaving on occasion to accompany the prince on his increasingly uncommon visits to nobles away from the capital of Ylisse.
In between those trips, Morgan came to him with complaints that one of her teachers for pegasus riding was pregnant. Grima couldn't do much about solving that, but the absence of one teacher meant another had to pick up the slack. It was fortunate it didn't add yet another item on his list of tasks to run.
"You have my thanks for overseeing Morgan's flight training in Sumia's absence," said Grima with Nah watching them from down the hall. "These are for you. Take them."
"Robin, please…" Cordelia accepted the bouquet regardless and put it beside the dozen other bundles of flowers on her windowsill. "Thank you, but I think I'll run out of room to store all these before long."
"Is that so? Hmm… I was under the impression flowers were a commonly accepted offering…" He didn't entirely understand the appeal himself. The aesthetic didn't make up for the effort of caretaking unless it was used as a factor in setting the stage for another plan. Grima muttered to himself, "Then, that book on weapon enchanting next? Gifts of food would have to be factored into diet, and—"
"I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart, I truly do, but if there's something you wish to say…" Cordelia caught his gaze, but couldn't glean anything no matter how long she looked. "Perhaps you should simply say it?"
"Your mood has diminished as of late and I want you to be happy." Grima considered pointing out that he only bothered because it influenced her performance in combat and general work, but the more he thought about it, the less useful it seemed. "Those words alone wouldn't suffice to achieve that goal. You seem pleased to receive gifts. Is this an incorrect method?"
"You certainly don't mince words…" Cordelia looked again at her umpteenth bouquet. "This was all to cheer me up?"
"That's correct." His expression remained perpetually inscrutable.
"Nothing to confess, by any chance?"
"Nothing whatsoever."
Cordelia couldn't help a small laugh. What was she doing, reading anything else into it? "I'm not the kind that needs gifts on a regular basis, but I am happy you're looking out for me—in some manner. Thank you. I've spent long enough rolling in self-pity. I shouldn't try your patience any further."
"How did this condition of yours come to be?" he asked.
"I was just moping about the married man I've fallen for," she sighed. "Once in the past, I tried to do too much, and got myself into trouble as a result. At that time, he stepped in and rescued me from myself. If it hadn't been for him, I don't know what would have happened…"
"You fell in love," said the fell dragon slowly. "With just that?"
"It's a little silly, I know. But there's a little more than that. He's a wonderful leader, and he always takes the time to talk with people no matter who they are. I just wish I could stand by his side…" Cordelia sighed before snapping out of it. There she went again, drifting into pining! "Why do you ask?"
"No reason." Grima glanced at her one more time before setting off. "I'd like to speak to you more when we find time. Have a good day, Cordelia."
"And you!" Cordelia waved till he was gone. She sighed again at the veritable garden of multicolored flowers sitting on her windowsill. She managed to slip up and wallow so badly, she had Robin of all people showering her with gifts? It wasn't unpleasant in the slightest, but definitely not what she expected from him either. "But truly, what am I going to do with these…?"
Running around playing house with the Shepherds ate up virtually all of Grima's time. He had barely set foot in the castle garden with Nah at his heels when he heard his vessel's name called by yet another person.
Donnel flagged down the tactician and said, "Robin, that's where ya went! I was wonderin' if ya could give me a couple pointers."
"On using your lance?" said Grima. Part of him wondered if Donnel was better suited to wielding a sword…
"I'd appreciate it, but I'm more lookin' at fittin' in. Been around a right while but I still ain't feelin' like I'm really all here. Yer always makin' the rounds, so I figured ya might know a thing or two."
"You're a wellspring of untapped potential. Set it free and you'll have no issue, on or off the battlefield. Your earnest nature should lend itself easily to communicating with them." Grima folded his arms and looked the boy up and down. "…A specific example would help more than vague platitudes. Go find Tharja. On most days, she's too tired after training to stalk me and retires to her room at this time. I can't imagine stocking her more exotic reagents is easy in Ylisstol."
"A couple fetch runs? I'll give it a shot. Thanks!"
"Best of luck. Tell me how it goes." Grima sent him on his way. That gave Donnel something to do and helped distract Tharja. Besides interacting with the farm boy directly, a better supply of ingredients would make her more inclined to spend her time weaving hexes instead of stalking Robin.
Running water danced in the fountain, the sound of its flow greeting his ears as he turned back to Castle Ylisstol. Was it really so simple to provoke love? Sumia became queen of the realm primarily by shoving pies down Chrom's gullet… at least, that was most of what Grima saw them doing. No doubt more occurred beyond his sight, not all of which he was interested in knowing. If he remembered correctly, Tharja and Donnel became a couple in his own time. Shaking the witch would be a huge boon to his freedom of options. The only other Grima had the slightest concern of learning his secrets was Panne, but the taguel was more inclined towards spending time in the woods than the palace.
With some aid from Morgan's efforts to befriend them, Grima was in better standing with Cordelia and Sumia. Lissa and Lon'qu seemed to bear him little ill will. Miriel remained opaque, treating him just as she did before… no, she'd become slightly more open since her engagement with Stahl. In the months spent in peaceful Ylisstol, it was easy to forget the side of Robin that emerged on the battlefield and settle for seeing the Robin presented as working tirelessly to make connections. Grima had no illusions that the problem didn't threaten to emerge again should another incident occur—buried, silenced, but not quite dead.
"Stop poking at me," said Grima.
"I'm studying you." Nah let his coat fall back down while she stood on the tips of her toes to open his eye as wide as she could. "Weird… you seem totally human. I thought you'd have six eyes or hidden wings or something."
He batted her away with a scowl. "What does it matter to you?"
"Falchion never seems to hurt you more than usual when you spar with Chrom. It works on wyverns and manaketes, but not you. What gives?"
"…I am like you in some ways and different in others," said the fell dragon. "It takes more than any heap of enchanted metal to sever my essence. You would need the power of Naga herself to bite deeper than flesh. More importantly, stop eating weeds from the garden!"
"These are good ones!" Nah protested through a mouthful of grass. "The stuff they serve in the mess hall tastes too strong. But I guess that's to be expected, isn't it? I spent most of my life living off these in the cold, cruel world of death and despair…"
There she went again. Grima rolled his eyes and said, "Stop doing it around me. Enough rumours orbit me as is. The last thing I need is to be seen making a child eat grass."
Nah locked eyes with him and willfully, deliberately stuffed another fistful of weeds in her mouth.
Grima forced down the sudden urge to punt her across the courtyard. With a flick of his coat and an irritated growl, he rounded and set off towards the city.
"Or you could tell me about the past," said Nah. "What happened a thousand years ago? Why are there so few Manaketes? Where did they all go?"
"You think I will gossip with you late into the night like giggling schoolgirls?" spat Grima. As she got down and tore up more fistfuls of weeds, he growled in frustration and said, "Fine, fine! I will tell you more of the history of dragons. Put down those plants and listen well!"
His mind drifted to more pertinent topics as his voice functioned automatically to keep Nah preoccupied and not grazing. Bit by bit, he toiled at cementing his better image among the Shepherds. Part of him was somewhat pleased that he was leashed to the prince and not to do battle, where his way of fighting would surely cause some friction against that image. The vast majority of him burned with the need to feel the dying rattle of a life leaving its body through his blade. He and Morgan took to hacking up the forest every few weeks to work off the urge.
The royal court was another matter. Word of his altercation with Mimas spread. That damn worm's position was far from high, but he had his allies within the court, who in turn knew others to form a web that stretched through almost all of the nobles. Striking at one meant striking at all. On top of that, everyone knew that Robin, for all the power his position gave him, had zero interest in making any connections in the court. He accepted no attempts at gifts and flattery. The power he wielded was unavailable to the others, which made him an obstacle.
They merely became obstacles to him in return. A wave of protests for any suggestion he made to the prince. Snide looks at the Plegian lowlife that forced himself into the royal court of Ylisse. Anger bubbled within the fell dragon's chest at every session. How was he supposed to fund a military on scraps? Grima knew exactly what he was doing, but that didn't make them any less annoying.
"SKREEEEEEE!"
The wyvern's bite tasted dirt. Nah burst into her draconic form as Grima dived forward, rolling onto his feet with legendary tome and silver sword flying into his hands. He was in the middle of brooding! Who interrupted his brooding?!
"Minerva, that's quite enough!" Cherche yanked her mount back and got her under control. "We don't maul new friends!"
"…You must be Cherche." Grima recognized the wyvern as the same one Gerome mounted in battle. He'd almost decapitated it on sight. His weapons returned to their scabbards and Nah reverted. "Welcome to Ylisstol. I take it you received our letter?"
"I'm sorry—for Minerva and the delay. Ships across the ocean are becoming scarcer by the day." With an elegant curtsy, she added, "Yes, I am Duke Virion's humble servant, Cherche. It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Robin, and…?"
"Nah," said Nah. "I mean, my name is Nah."
"So you know of me," Grima said to Cherche.
"Word of Ylisse's tactician spans the seas," she said. "Some more charming than others. The right hand of the prince in all from warfare to politics, the genius of the battlefield that emerged from nothing and drove a stake through Plegia, the merciless demon whose laugh heralds death for all who hear it…" Her wyvern huffed. "Minerva's hung up on that last one."
"The usual tall tales," he muttered. Recognition of his vessel didn't amount to much in the eyes of the fell dragon. Moreover, he had to brainstorm on befriending Cherche. Befriending her wyvern was the most straightforward approach, but Grima never could stand any such inbred malformed excuse for a dragon. "Chrom will be venturing north next week with supplies to Regna Ferox—several villages are still under repair near the east shore. I've also received reports of bandits accosting travelers in the area. This would be a good opportunity to test your abilities."
"Gladly. I look forward to seeing Ylisse's tactician in action!"
Cherche's smile was met with a much less humored one from Robin. "About that," he said.
It took little time after passing the Longfort to find the ruffians' handiwork. If anything, the Shepherds had to pass right through their territory to get where they wanted to be.
"Another convoy." Leading their own carts alongside Chrom and his immediate retinue, Grima let his eye wander up the other train of wagons. At a glance, lightly defended, owned by civilians, with its guards most likely temporary hires.
Also, a few of those guards were dead and several of the wagons partially broken. The lead carriage's door hung ajar with the owner attending to an injured soldier as Chrom rushed to them.
"What's happened here?!" asked Chrom.
"Nothing but death ahead, travelers," said the merchant sadly. "I'd turn back if I were you… Whatever your business here, it will have to wait."
"Lissa!" barked Grima over his shoulder. "They have casualties. See that they're not critical."
As their healer took over, Chrom led the man a short distance away. "Just tell us what happened."
"Bandits have blocked the road ahead," said the merchant. "They're demanding a king's ransom in illicit tolls for all who wish to pass."
Oops. Grima knew some bandits would come crawling out of the woodworks to scavenge what little they could from the ruined villages, but he didn't expect them to expand their territory this close to the border. He reasoned Ylisse's increased trading with Regna Ferox encouraged them to try their luck. His shipment of silver swords likely wasn't delayed by the living dead after all—simply by the living.
"Our caravan's livelihood is at stake," bemoaned the man. "We'll do no business in this country now…"
"The flow of goods must be secured, milord," supplied Frederick, "or the people are likely to starve."
"Then we'll secure it." Chrom said to the merchant, "You and your caravan can wait here. We'll let you know when it's safe."
"The blood has mostly dried, but little snow has gathered here." Grima could almost feel the rust shaking loose from the cogs in his mind as he joined Chrom's side. "I can't rule out fliers, but snowprints by the dirt road suggest mostly infantry. The ones responsible couldn't have run far."
"The next village is near," said Frederick. "One must ride ahead and warn them of what's coming."
A curt nod from Grima. "Cordelia, I entrust that to you. Cherche—fly ahead and scout them out. Let them know we're here."
"No concerns with being spotted?" asked Cherche as she mounted her wyvern.
"I'll be deeply impressed if you were to be shot down. More importantly, I expect they'll ready for battle rather than flee. They will come to us when they know we're here." Insufferable worms always think they can maul greater beings by nipping at their ankles, he thought. "Now go! Morgan, I need the map for this area."
"One step ahead of you, Father!" she chirped.
It didn't take long for their fliers to return. With their input, Grima had his map dotted with enemies in minutes and a plan of action to accompany it. "Another merchant already protecting the village?" he mused.
"We should hurry to their aid," said Chrom. "Before they're overwhelmed."
"Indeed," muttered Grima. He didn't trust the combat skills of anyone he didn't have in front of him. "Donnel, Kjelle. Once you cross this bridge, head south over the other bridge and loop the long way around to the village."
"I have to work with him?" Kjelle shot a derisive look at the small farm boy.
"Deal with it." Grima found his eyes on Donnel as well. Dialing back the curt bite, he said, "Don't feel overwhelmed. You are in good company despite her words. Remember your training and I have every confidence you will perform well."
Donnel straightened up and nodded firmly. "I won't let ya down."
"Think of it like a live exercise. Cherche, help them in the mountains and corral the enemy towards their allies. Olivia, Lon'qu, Owain, track down and flush out enemies in the nearest woods. I expect you'll be done quickly. Cross the bridge after that and proceed to the village. The bandits will split their attention between attacking the village and attacking you. Maribelle, I want you to go with Donnel's group. Once they reach the mountain or Olivia's group encounters combat en route to the village, join the latter. Show us what our new valkyrie can do."
Maribelle jumped into the saddle with a toss of her hair. "And high time I did!"
"Cordelia…" Grima lapsed into momentary silence. A Heal staff rested securely in her saddlebag, protected under her steed's wing. Possibly useful to Donnel's group in the worst case scenario, but speeding to the interfering merchant's side was of utmost importance. "Fly Chrom to the village and aid the merchant. When Olivia's team meets up, you two will descend on the mountains from the north, trapping any surviving enemies between yourselves and Donnel's group."
Chrom's expression tightened. "So I must lead."
"As a leader should," prompted Grima.
"I know, but…"
"I'll be fine." Sumia came to her husband's side, bundled warmly against the cold Feroxi weather. "I know Robin will make sure of that. Or are you telling me you think I'm healthy enough to come all the way out here with you, but not healthy to be left alone for an hour?"
The ripple of laughter from his men only made Chrom's face redden more. "My mind knows that, but I can't help but worry for you."
"I'm glad, but it'll be all right, dear. I promise." Sumia gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
The sound of their tactician clearing his throat broke up the moment. His back carefully turned to them, Grima said, "Recall that there is a stray merchant intending to hold off a pack of bandits alone whose survival may well hinge on our timeliness. You have your orders—all others on standby. Prepare!"
As they broke off into their groups and readied for battle, Chrom spent a moment longer holding Sumia. "I'll return as soon as I can." One last quick kiss, and then he joined Cordelia in the saddle.
"Engage!" barked Grima. A synchronized yell from the Shepherds greeted his orders, followed by gales beat from powerful wings and the beating steps of his infantry. The din quieted before he commented, "I thought you would stay in the carriage."
"I'm in a lot more danger of suffocating in a stuffy wagon than finding a stray arrow in my neck." Sumia giggled as she joined his side to watch them go. Already, Robin's eyes were scanning the nearby foliage just in case. "I can't help but get up when you're giving out orders!"
"Good to see you haven't lost any discipline."
Sumia watched him return to observing the distant battles beginning. "Is something on your mind?"
"In five months' time. Was that correct?"
"Pardon? I'm not sure what you mean… Well, Lucina is due then, yes. What of it?"
"So four have passed… I see you were busy after the wedding."
"Robin! I can't believe you!"
He ignored the smack to his arm. "It is also important that I know your condition. It is a crucial factor in how I can protect you from potential attackers."
"Even so, you could really stand to be a little more delicate with your words sometimes."
Grima was a bit too preoccupied with a hundred other ever-present issues to worry about something like delicate wording. He breathed in. "I apologize. I'll consider that moving forward. Did you find my book selection to be of use?"
Her eyes lit up. "Gods, very! I'd be bored out of my mind without it! I didn't even know the castle library had half of these! Did you read all of them already? How did you pick them all? I just finished The Blinding Blade, why don't we have a seat in the carriage and go over it? I'd love to hear your thoughts!"
"The Shepherds are in battle." Grima took the wind right out of her sails. "I must stand watch."
"Oh… Right. All right."
"We will discuss it after the battle," he assured her.
"Milady," said Frederick. "Regna Ferox is tremendously cold. May I suggest you return to the carriage?"
"I'm perfectly fine, thank y—wah!" Sumia slipped on a patch of ice, narrowly regaining her balance just before she tipped over and took a spill.
"Hmm." Morgan joined her father's side as the great knight helped his charge to the carriage anyway. She could just make out Cordelia on her mount in the distance, easily slicing through the lightly falling snow. "That's a lot of missing firepower. You, me, Nah, Freddy-kins—"
"I would prefer you did not call me that," called Frederick.
"And Lissa and Ricken aren't deployed either. You're sure about this composition?" Morgan tugged on her father's coat to gain his ear and quietly add, "Maribelle leaving Kjelle's group halfway?"
"Look at this wagon." Grima waved at the damage in its side. The wood splintered apart with rough blows that crushed more than they cut, both for the holes deliberately punched into them and the stray gashes that missed their marks. "Poor aim, low-grade weaponry, and would you call their positioning very tactical? It's unnecessary. This is a good chance to hone our recent recruits in real combat. We remain with the convoy."
"Ohh, okay." So it wasn't a gambit to tragically, unfortunately, sadly send someone to their deaths. Morgan shrugged and spun around to call, "In that case, Nah! Let's get back to you-know-what!"
As his daughter dragged Nah into whatever game they were playing this time, Grima folded his arms and kept his attention on every Shepherd he could see in the distance.
Grima liked battle. In the moment, there was nothing to concern himself with but the movement of his enemy and the deliverance of death. At the same time, it was endlessly complex—a bottomless dive into their psyche, picking apart every little habit and unwitting action until everything they were lay unravelled in the palm of his hand. The clash of wits and guiding the greater tide of the battlefield called to the tactician. The sensation of flesh parted by his silver blade and the calamitous crash of lightning appealed to the fell dragon.
He liked battle, and this wasn't a battle. A ragtag run-of-the-mill gaggle of bandits barely knew the second thing about pitched battle except throwing themselves at the nearest opponent and hoping they were too scared or inexperienced to put up a real fight. And just as the cherry on top, Grima couldn't get his own hands dirty. He knew better than to go pushing the limit, even if the prince hadn't spoken a word of it since.
Air escaped the fell dragon in a low, deep exhalation between a sigh and a growl. He'd gone far longer enduring far worse than standing guard in the cold with a whole lot of nothing to do, but that didn't mean he'd ever like it.
The defender of the village was some red-haired Anna. She held off the enemy better than Grima expected, but he didn't regret the decision to send her backup. Any death under his supervision would become a stain on his record. Parting ways with the merchant woman, the Shepherds rested in the village before continuing their own journey east.
"Judging by the prints and reports of their movement," muttered Grima under his breath, "the bandits came from the east as well." The sun shone through the inn room window, his papers vibrant under its light. Morgan's notes lay scattered around the map, her assessment generally in line with his own thoughts. "The river ahead blocks them here, forcing them north… these ruins are most likely their hideout."
"We could clear it out in no time," scoffed Nah over his shoulder. "Does it really take that much focus? We'd run them over easily."
Grima's quill tapped an incessant beat against the inner lip of his inkpot. "Don't start poking your nose in my tactics. You're irritating enough to begin with."
"Then talk to me. Tell me more about what happened to our kind! Or I'll go out and eat the first bush I—"
"Shut up and listen," snapped Grima. Anything to keep the brat from making more problems for him. "The decline of dragons was not all at once. The onset of madness deprived them of their true forms, forcing them into frail human bodies and becoming manaketes. With the knowledge and power gifted to them, the humans seized this opportunity to rise up and seize control over the world. They multiply like vermin—a scourge too numerous and too quickly reproducing to stamp out. Dragon turned against dragon to protect or destroy the humans. Many were weakened or killed by infighting with their own kind. Over the course of millennia, the glory of our kind faded and was forgotten. Valiant knights slaying the wicked dragons became a mainstay of many cultures' folk tales and legends."
"But why? Why can't we stay in dragon form all the time? Why did they start losing their minds?"
"You think me omniscient? You are only mostly correct. I do not know."
"Fine. Where did they all go?"
"Perhaps if you cleaned out your oversized ears and listened, you would have heard the answer."
The quill completed an arrow pointing a group into the hideout and stopped. Grima looked up and was utterly unfazed by the deep draconic growl emanating from the tiny girl in front of him.
"I meant the ones the Hero-King fought," said Nah. "They were sealed away deep underground after his victory."
"Under the Dragon's Table," muttered Grima as he resumed drafting maneuvers.
"They—what? With you?"
"Eventually. In a certain sense."
Nah groaned. Oh, come on! What kind of answer was that? "Okay, what happened to them? The Grimleal worship you for a thousand years and then you come out to kill all humans, but no other dragons emerged with you. I never saw or heard of a single one."
"Who says they didn't emerge?" he said. "The Dragon's Table has opened in the past, after the time of Marth. The Table went empty and they spread across the land, destroying and burning all in their path."
"And I'm supposed to believe that sort of thing never survived into legend," snarked Nah. "When could that have happened?"
Now it was Grima's time to growl in frustration. He continued sorting through papers and said, "Try to use your mind. Why do you assume it is not a legend today? One known to all of Ylisse?"
"That doesn't make sense. After Marth's time, the only war against any dragon in known history was against…" Nah blinked. "You."
A page turned between the fell dragon's fingers.
"What are you?" asked Nah.
"Right now?" He didn't look up. "A tactician named Robin. But you may know the god that rises from the Dragon's Table as every evil of this world. Thus am I known to humanity."
As Nah tried to process everything she just learned, the silence that fell was music to his ears. Creatures with concepts of social structure craved attention and Grima was tired of appeasing this one. He was perfectly content to focus his attention on coordinating the Shepherds' entry into the bandits' hideout. Even if the enemy was mere fodder, the risks were never zero.
Grima was cautious. He always watched his back, noting everyone following him from the future children to Tharja barely hidden under a table to the strange band that he occasionally glimpsed in Ylisstol. He first spotted them two months after the royal wedding. Hanging back far from his other stalkers, concealed around corners, refusing to approach, Grima would've overlooked them if not for how they always wore the exact same faded brown cloaks with the same tears and patches no matter which day he spotted them on. A competent assassin with designs on his life wouldn't be so sloppy as to be caught by such a detail, but the patchwork sliced-up sections of an unmistakable six-eyed sigil on their garb told him their true allegiances. The fell dragon pretended to pay them no heed and continued about his business as if they didn't exist.
The Grimleal didn't follow them north. Better that they didn't risk being spotted tailing half the Shepherds, but Grima was also irritated that they didn't have any other means of contacting him. What happened to Aversa spontaneously teleporting into his tent and back out with none the wiser? Either someone was miserably incompetent to the point that they forgot the tools at their disposal, or they were disgustingly incompetent to the point that they lost staves as priceless as Warp and Rescue.
The quill wrote its final order and came to rest on the desk. The maps in front of Grima were jam-packed with notes for any reasonable possibility plus the maneuvers to address them. He'd grill the prince on the details and trim it to the most important bits for the rest of his units.
"I have a question for you as well, Nah." His work done, Grima sat back in his chair with an arrogant grin. "How many statements did I make without giving the truth today?" She snapped out of her thoughts. Smile growing, he added, "I did not lie. I only failed to provide all information. How many facts did you just hear that aren't facts at all?"
The fell dragon's ever-present air of hatred was intimidating, but Nah had long since grown used to it. Right now, the stupid smug face in front of her was just infuriating! Her hand went for her satchel and the chair squealed across the floorboards, Grima ready to launch up and face the imminent red dragon.
"You should be on your knees thanking me for deigning to regale you with even a single hint of the forgotten past," said Grima. "Cease to look down your nose on me and know your place, snivelling whelp of Naga."
"Make me," challenged Nah.
"I won't be caught dead coming to blows with the likes of you," he spat.
Growl…
Nah let her stone fall back into her satchel and Grima stirred at the noise. That wasn't either of their voices.
It was her stomach.
Scarlet eyes narrowed into a murderous glare as he caught on to the plan forming in her head. "Do not," warned Grima.
The door flew open and Nah was bounding down the inn steps four at a time, running across the street with the fell dragon chasing.
"Get back here!" he yelled.
"You can't stop me from eating!" she shouted back.
"What good is a tactician nobody listens to?! I said get back here, you underfed runt! If I must sit in the mess tent and eat like a functioning member of society, so do you!"
"Prepare yourself, Morgan!" Pulling along an elegant cart with a huge lidded plate on top, Owain called, "My culinary masterpiece is complete! Um, Morgan? Mother, where's Morgan?"
"Oh my gosh!" Lissa looked around in horror. "I totally lost track of her!"
"Where'd she go? There's only so many places to play in this village…"
Shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand, Owain searched for the missing little tactician. Despite the snow searing his vision after spending so long whipping up his dish in the kitchen, the air felt peacefully still and surprisingly warm. And somewhere in the white, Morgan had wandered off without Lissa noticing in the time it took Owain to fetch the dish he spent the better part of the day cooking up!
"Morgaaan!" Owain called out. "Where'd you—GWAAUGH!"
A pile of snow exploded no more than two paces from him, flying white obscuring everything as Owain reeled back over a stray brick and onto his rear. Hand flying to his sword, Owain scrambled back out of the strange shallow dip in the earth he'd fallen into—
"Gotcha!" Gloved hands removed the replica death mask, giving way to Morgan's blinding smile with a joyous laugh. "Didn't have time to dig a real pitfall, but ambush successful! C'mere, Lissa!" The two girls hopped in the air for a victory high five.
"Hah…" Owain's half-drawn sword clicked as it returned to its scabbard. "You were in on it too, Mother?"
"As if I'd lose track of her that fast!" said Lissa. "My head's not THAT empty."
"Ooh, that's it, isn't it?" Morgan pointed excitedly at the covered mystery plate. "I'm so hungry, I could eat a horse! Lemme at it!"
Owain dusted himself off and twirled and pranced his way to the cart, sweeping away the domed lid with the magnificence of drawing a legendary blade from its millennia-old slumber within a stone. "Behold! Before thine eyes stands the cake to end all cakes, the fabled… uh, what'd I name it again? Was it, er, Infinite Truth of Absolute Deliciousness, or did I call it—"
"Okay, here goes!" Morgan snatched up the fork and went to town on the cake, chomping away as quick as she could stuff it in her mouth. Her father would lecture her about not watching the cooking process and making sure it wasn't poisoned, but really! What were the odds of that? And it was so good and she was so hungry, she couldn't wait a second longer!
"Um… I wasn't finished… presenting it," said Owain lamely.
"Oh yeah, I promised Maribelle we'd do snowmen together!" said Lissa. "Haven't brought her far enough north to play with snow before. Have fun on your date, Owain!"
"Mom, it's not a date!" He groaned and waved back as she ran off anyway.
Morgan slammed her fork down beside the empty plate and flopped onto a nearby bench, stifling her burp. "Oh gods, that was incredible… Totally makes up for freezing my butt off out here!"
"Ha! I eat recipes like that for breakfast! Metaphorically, I mean." It had only taken Owain several weeks to figure out how to bake a cake that tasted good enough to keep up with the castle cooks and then several months more to decide on the right way to show it off. The latter went out the window, but Morgan looked plenty happy with just the cake. "Now, are you ready to acknowledge me as your true and rightful partner in battle?"
"I'd say you passed round one with flying colors!"
"…There's more than one round?"
"Yeah, of course! We have to be sure about this kind of thing, you know? Hmm, but what's a good next step…?"
While she was busy scrunching up her face and poking at her brain to shake inspiration free, Owain joined her on the bench. "You seem happier than usual. Cool with sharing?"
"Am I? Darn, that means I need to put more happy into my daily happy." Morgan threw her arms out excitedly and said, "Why wouldn't I? This is the first chance I got to work my head for real in forever!" It would've been perfect if she could fight alongside her father. Chrom hadn't said a word, but Grima insisted to Morgan that they heed the prince's warning to avoid pushing his patience and remain out of each other's battles. "What about you, Owain?"
"It's… a reminder." He folded his arms behind his head and leaned back on the bench. "I haven't killed someone in a while… I almost forgot what it felt like. We've been in Ylisstol for, what, half a year now? Things like waking up in a soft bed, not fearing opening your eyes to a Risen standing over you, eating with friends and relaxing in a village filled with life—we didn't have those things since we were little kids. Seeing my parents again… it still feels like I'm dreaming."
"Sounds like you came from a sucky place!" Morgan's attitude was no less peppy. "Hard to imagine it."
"It's too easy to take what we have now for granted," he muttered. "You won't be able to enjoy any of this if Grima gets what he wants."
"I know that." Her cheery smile morphed into a pout at his double-take. "I know I'm adorably happy-go-lucky, but I can think! Y'know, sometimes. When I feel like it. I don't like thinking too hard about big vague stuff. It's all complicated and weird, so most of the time I just listen to Father. He always has a plan!"
"You do realize you make it sound as if you don't like thinking," said Owain.
"Hmph!" A haughty turn of the head and folded arms spoke all her displeasure for her. Morgan relaxed quickly and beamed at him. "I mean I like this world! I wanna keep it too."
"Then, if we fought your father—"
"I'll kill you." Morgan uttered the words as casually and cheerily as anything else she said. "I mean, probably! If we really have to. No hard feelings? But I don't wanna, so how about let's not. It'd be nice if I could have my dad plus the world!"
"Sure would be nice. But Morgan, I really don't think that'll ever happen."
"Listen here." Her cheeriness flickered, briefly giving way to deep irritation. Morgan rested her elbows on her knees. "I won't let you have his life, but I won't have the world destroyed either."
"You have a way to stop him?"
"How couldn't I? Matter of fact, I'm doing it right now." She hopped to her feet, hand extended and waiting for him to take it. "Think you can trust me on that?"
"Morgan… I think I know where you're going with this." He hated to see the way her face fell as those tentative words struck her all at once. Owain pressed on, "At the end of the day, we're still talking about Grima. Humanity can never rest easy while he's free. That makes sense, doesn't it?"
"No, it sorta doesn't!" said Morgan hotly. The smile was gone, the offered hand balled into a fist at her side with an indignant stomp. "Why does he have to? Because he's meant to? Because some 'destiny' says so? What are you and Lucina and all the others here for?!"
Owain drew back slightly. Anger was something he'd grown used to seeing on the fell dragon's face, but Grima's daughter almost never truly got mad. It looked completely wrong on the girl that was always all smiles and bubbles.
Aw, crud. There went her knee-jerk reaction again. Morgan shook her head from side to side, rattling the hot flare loose from her head to settle in her chest. A deep breath drawing in the chilly air helped it cool. "Sorry," she said. "That was rude. I just… you guys wanna change your fate and everything, right? Every once in a while, it gets me thinking—why did I come back in time? Father is the only thing I can remember… there's gotta be a reason for it." Dark gray eyes flitted about the ground. "The only person I still remember or the rest of the world… Why do I have to choose one or the other? That's too cruel. I want to believe there's another way. No, there has to be another way."
Owain had to think about it. It was true that Grima didn't harm a single hair on them in all the months they spent in his presence. He seemed content to focus on preparing for the war with Valm, studying with Morgan and getting to know his Shepherds. If Owain set aside the knowledge that Robin was actually the god hellbent on world destruction, then more often than not, the only person before his eyes really was just Robin. Did Morgan really think it was possible to pull that part out of Grima? The question bounced around in his head until it came to rest in a different form.
Did Owain really think it was impossible? He was already living the tall tale of twelve teenagers banding together to defy a destiny long since set in stone and cut down the fell dragon of ancient legend.
"I know he's done a lot of terrible things," said Morgan. "But I know there's more than just that in him." She lifted her head and declared, "I can bring it to the surface. And I won't give up until I have it. Winning without bloodshed—that's the mark of a real tactician."
"Morgan…" For a moment, Owain glimpsed the same strength of will in Morgan's eyes that drew them all together around Lucina.
"After all," she said, "we're fated partners! That means you have to listen to me!"
"Hey!" he protested, getting up. "You can't pull that card right after going on about breaking fate!" As soon as he said it, he remembered where else those words came up before, and he couldn't help but chuckle along to Morgan's laughter. "Okay, okay, I see where you're coming from. It'd sound absolutely crazy from anyone else… actually, it does still sound crazy… but if anyone could do it, it'd have to be you."
"So? So? You get it, right? This is totally possible, right? There's a chance, right?"
"I mean, I guess it's higher than zero—"
"That's what I'm talking about!" The bubbly Morgan was back, beaming ear to ear. "Congrats on passing round two of the destiny duo decision deciders! Wow, you're on a roll today!"
"Everything you said just now was round two?!" Owain's shoulders sagged. "Morgan…"
"Doesn't mean I'm not serious," she reminded him. "Now, if we're going to swear sacred oaths, we'll need a symbol of our promise. Something strong and timeless. Something… valuable." Her hand drifted to her locket on its own and then she snapped her fingers as inspiration struck. "Aha! Gemstones! We must swear loyalty on a pair of gargantuan gemstones!"
Oh, gods. Where was he supposed to get those? "S-so be it!" he declared nonetheless. "I'll scour the land for the two finest gems in existence!"
"C'mon, maybe someone's selling huge rocks around here!" Morgan tugged him along with the eager lightness of a girl with all heavy thoughts drained from her head. "Who knows? You might even rank up to fate buddy level three in one day!"
"I will climb the staircase of trials no matter how tall! Actually, how tall is the staircase of trials?"
"How many steps can I get away with putting on it?"
