The next morning Arthur awoke to Frederick's voice, which sounded the wake-up call to the sleeping Shepherds. Yawning and stretching out his legs, he looked groggily to his left and found that Robin was nowhere to be seen. Huh? Was last night a dream? No way. She must have just gotten up early. Arthur yawned again, trying to summon the willpower to get up. After a few seconds of this he successfully rolled out of bed and started packing up his bedroll. In the distance he saw Robin, in her distinctive black cloak, rifling through the Shepherds' convoy. I need to talk to someone about this. Luckily, it just so happened that Arthur knew a romance expert.

"Sumia!" he called out, seeing the gray-haired pegasus knight sitting nearby in one of the convoy's wagons. Walking over, he lifted himself onto the bed of the wagon and sat across from her. "Hey, could we talk for a bit? I need some advice."

"Sure," she replied, stowing the book she had been reading in her bag. "Advice about Robin?"

Arthur sputtered, surprised that she had predicted the topic of discussion. She knows? "Um… yeah? How did you know?"

"Well, I saw her get up and walk over to your bedroll last night, and then she didn't come back… so I figured, y'know… that she 'stayed the night'." Sumia smiled conspiratorially at the scandalous thought.

"Okay, Sumia," said Arthur, blushing at her implication. "Whatever you're thinking, it wasn't like that. She was… cold!"

"She was cold in her bedroll right next to the fire?" said Sumia, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "So she went and got into yours, much further away from the fire?"

"Well, apparently her blanket was thin," said Arthur, trying to ignore as Sumia's eyebrow climbed higher. He hadn't expected this sort of ribbing from Sumia – . He sighed, shaking his head with faux-seriousness. "And here I thought you would be an understanding confidant. Clearly I should take my dramatic tale elsewhere."

"Oh no, Arthur!" said Sumia, suddenly distraught. "I was just making fun! Tell me everything!"

Arthur smiled. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist. Y'know that book you loaned me? The Princess of Plegia? I read some of it – it's absolutely filthy, Sumia! But I figured if you liked it you wouldn't possibly pass up on a real-life story in that vein."

Sumia blushed, embarrassed. "I– I skipped those parts!" she shouted, face reddening. "And anyway you read it too! But… er… yes, I do want to hear your story. Get on with it, Arthur."

"Okay. So last night Robin came to my bedroll and got under my blanket. She told me that she was cold," said Arthur, ignoring Sumia's skeptical look. "And we had spent the day learning this fire spell, so she asked me to warm up her hands with it. We talked for a bit, and then… I wanted to say something more but I chickened out and we went to sleep."

Sumia absentmindedly . "This fire spell – how was it performed?"

"Well… er… it kind of makes warmth come out of my palms," said Arthur. "So… since her hands were cold… I put my hands on them." He rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed.

"So, she got into your blanket and asked you to hold her hands?"

"Well when you put it like that it sounds different! It was hard to tell at the time!" said Arthur, exasperated. He sighed. The story wasn't over yet. "There's more. I woke up in the middle of the night and she was having a nightmare. So I woke her up, and…" Arthur briefly remembered how he had woken her, how she had pinned him to the ground, and how she had raised her hand above him and prepared to skewer him with a thunder spell. Let's cut out the 'she almost killed me' part of this story. It would just complicate things. "After I woke her up, she told me about the nightmare and… er… asked me to 'hold her'. And, well, I did. But she wasn't there this morning, so… I don't really know what any of this means."

"So let me get this straight, Arthur," said Sumia, clearly amused. "She hopped into your blanket, asked you to hold her hands, and then asked you to spoon? And you still aren't sure if she's interested? Arthur…how is it possible that you are this dense? Are all men this dense?"

"Oh? Are you worried Chrom won't pick up your signals?" asked Arthur, embarrassed and desperate to move the subject off himself.

"S-signals?" Sumia asked, stammering. "T-to the captain? W-why w-would I…?" She finally acquiesced to his accusation. "Oh alright! Am I that obvious?"

"To pretty much everyone but him," said Arthur, shrugging. "I guess we both realize now how stupid people can be in these sorts of situations. But really, Sumia, I don't know if I'm being stupid. I know it sounds promising but things with Robin are just… complicated. She has amnesia! And I kind of don't know how much it made her forget. Her behavior seems interested to you and me, but what if she doesn't see it like that? She might have forgotten what sex is, for Naga's sake!"

Sumia choked on a sip of her morning coffee when he said this. I guess her normal conversations don't quite go like this. Coughing for a few seconds, she finally regained her composure enough to speak. "Uh… well… that kind of… lack of information…would certainly complicate things. But I kind of doubt it. I mean, she knows basic information, right? She can speak…so she must know the basic definitions of words. Like, she knows what running is, right? She knows what fighting is. So she probably knows what… er… y'know… is. You won't have to give her the 'Worms and the Wyverns' talk."

"'The Worms and the Wyverns'?" said Arthur, trying to restrain a smile. This was very important business, time-sensitive business. Making fun of Sumia more would have to come later. "But yes, I see your point . She probably knows what it is. But that's not my point! That's just the tip of the iceberg with the amnesia thing. I mean, she could already have a boyfriend for all either of us know. She might have a whole life already. And she's just… she's vulnerable right now, Sumia. She woke up with no memories and no relationships. How do I know whether she's clinging to me as a friend, or something else? And how do I stop these thoughts from tearing apart my brain in the meantime?"

"Those are… a lot of questions I don't really have answers to," said Sumia. "'m sorry Arthur, it seems like it's just a tough situation. You could try just… asking her? What's the worst it could do?"

"What's the worst it could do?" said Arthur, mind racing. "I can think of some worst-case scenarios. What if I make her uncomfortable with me as a friend in the moment she needs friends most? What if I make her uncomfortable in the Shepherds? What if she thinks I've been deceitful, and it permanently makes her mistrust the people around her? I mean, these are some of her first memories. I don't want to make a wrong move if it could have a long-term damaging effect."

"Sometimes people just hurt each other, Arthur. It's unavoidable. Anyway, Robin seems like a tough cookie. I wouldn't worry too much about breaking her. Taking any relationship to the next stage comes with risk, for both people. And… don't take this the wrong way, but it seems like you have a tendency to fixate on negative outcomes. Maybe you should be asking more positive questions. What's the best it could do? What if it brings you closer? What if it is what she wants? What if it's exactly what she needs right now?"

"Okay… focus on the positive… easy. Thank you, Sumia," said Arthur, calming himself. "So you think I should ask her?"

"The sooner the better," said Sumia, voice unnaturally confident. "The closer you two get without clarifying things, the more you'll worry about the fallout. Just be casual."

"And you'll do the same with Chrom?" he asked. Arthur greatly valued her advice, but wondered whether she applied it to herself. Plus, she clearly took great amusement in flustering him – she deserved to be flustered a bit herself.

"M-Me? I– er – my s-situation is just s-sort of different, s-so I don't think I'll… what with Chrom being Prince!" Sumia looked down. "Actually… that's one of the problems. Both Chrom and I are nobility. Our marriages will probably be arranged, and his will likely be with someone above my stature. Speaking of which… aren't you noble?"

"Well… yeah, I am. But Pyrath doesn't follow the noble formalities as closely as you guys do on the continent. I suppose I'm supposed to have an arranged marriage, but my father hasn't brought it up any time recently. What does it matter? I wasn't planning on asking Robin to marry me yet! If things don't work out then I can have an arranged marriage. If they do, then I can deal with my father."

"Deal with him? How? Just tell him no? Aren't you worried he'll disinherit you?" Sumia seemed very interested in the topic. Arthur imagined, infatuated with Chrom as she was, that an arranged marriage was something she spent a lot of time worrying about.

"Well, I'm an only child, and all my uncles and aunts died in the last war with Plegia. So disinheritance isn't really a worry," said Arthur. He had never really thought much about marriage – neither he nor his father brought it up. The topic of marriage was too close to the topic of his mother. Arthur shook the thought from his head, continuing to speak. "I suppose if my father objected I would just tell him that I'll marry who I want. He's an honorable man, and kind. I think if I were honest with him he would let me follow my heart. And if not? There's nothing he could really do. What about you, though? You're not getting an arranged marriage, are you?"

Sumia sighed. "Well… I'm the seventhborn in my family, and my father is a real stickler in matters like this. He would certainly object to me marrying a commoner, but… Chrom? It's a marriage upward. My father would be happy, but I still worry. People talk. And Chrom has no shortage of noble girls trying to catch his attention – practically every girl in the Halidom would like to get their hands on the Prince. I guess I worry that if I told him… he and everyone else would think of me as just like them. Just another girl interested in the prince for his status. Imagine the shame! Everyone in the kingdom would look at me and see the seductress who tried to sink her claws into the prince! How would Chrom look at me?"

"Now who's focusing on negative outcomes?" said Arthur. 'Didn't you just tell me to focus on the positive?"

"This is different!" said Sumia. "I could ruin my reputation! My family's reputation!"

"Doesn't seem all that different to me," said Arthur. "Honestly, I think you should go for it, Sumia. Chrom knows you better than to think you're after him for his status. As for the others…you've only got one life – I would try not to let other people's opinions control how you live it."

"Easier said than done," said Sumia with a rueful smile.

"True…" said Arthur, trailing off into silence. Things are so complicated on the continent. On Pyrath things felt so simple. I was alone a lot more, but that meant I was also free of expectations. Out here there are all these expectations about who people are and how they should act. Does anyone really want all these expectations? Or are we all just so hopelessly trapped in them that we've convinced ourselves it's by choice? Like Sumia. She's into Chrom, she wants to tell him, but she fears what it would make others think of her. Like me. I'm into Robin, I want to tell her, but I fear what she'll think of me. Why? The only person telling me not to is myself. Can I get rid of this hesitation? Or does it exist for a reason? Is it paranoia? Or caution? How can I tell the difference?

You're overthinking, Arthur. Let's just take action. "How about a deal, Sumia?" he said suddenly, seized by the impulse to take at least some action. "You think I should be more forward with Robin, I think you should be more forward with Chrom. Next time we stop, we'll switch wagons. I'll go with Robin if you'll go with Chrom."

"A-alone with the captain?" said Sumia, clearly nervous at the prospect. "I don't know if I can do that…"

"Well how do you plan to seduce him if you're never alone with him?

"I wasn't planning on seducing him!" she said angrily. "I was planning on… er… romancing him."

"Same difference, dork," said Arthur. "Either way, it will require alone time."

"Oh, alright," said Sumia, reluctantly acknowledging his point. "But how will we get him to ride with me?"

"Not to worry," said Arthur, steepling his fingers. "I have a plan."

— At The Convoy's Next Stop —

"Hey Chrom, I think Sumia wanted to ride with you."

"Okay," said the Prince, shrugging. "Anything would beat riding with Frederick again. You know he talked about proper weapon maintenance for two hours this morning? I love Frederick, but I'll lose my mind if I have to hear one more word about what type of rock makes the best whetstone." Chrom jogged over to Sumia, who was sitting in one of the wagons glaring daggers at Arthur. I guess she thought my plan would be a bit more covert. He shrugged. It worked, didn't it? Now the second half. Where's Robin? Arthur looked along the convoy and saw her at the back, leaning against the backmost wagon with a book in her hands. Arthur walked over, heart beating more quickly as he remembered the most recent words they had exchanged, the previous night.

"Hey Robin," he said, hesitant.

She looked up quickly. "Oh, hey Arthur," she said, stowing the book in her bag. She seemed… nervous? Arthur wasn't quite sure, but she seemed off — fidgeting, not making eye contact. Does she regret last night? Is she worried I took it the wrong way? "What's up?" she asked him, tone cautious.

Should I still ask? Fuck it, too late to back out now. "Oh, I was just wondering if you wanted to ride together?"

"Oh?" Robin said, seeming surprised. "Yeah, I'd love to ride together." She swung onto the wagon, dangling her feet off the back. Arthur sat beside her, careful to maintain a small distance. She spoke again, voice uncharacteristically soft. "We didn't talk this morning, so… I worried a bit. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night."

"If you made me uncomfortable?" he asked, surprised by her worry. "No! I mean, the only thing uncomfortable about last night for me was worrying whether you were uncomfortable."

"Oh. You were worried about that?" she said, chewing her lip thoughtfully. "You don't have to be. I was very comfy. And plus, I didn't have any nightmares after that first one."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Arthur. Okay, Arthur. It's game time. Just say it. "If it helped, then… would you want to do it again?"

"Well… yeah!" she said. "Do you, though?"

"Yeah, like I said, I was only uncomfortable because I was worried about you," said Arthur, bracing himself to say even more. " I'm fine with sleeping together, if you think it helps."

"Okay…you're fine with it," said Robin, seeming to mull the words over. "You're fine with it. But…" she paused, looking him in the eyes and stressing the words. "Do you… want me there?"

Now this is a loaded question. Leave it to Robin to devise such a devastatingly difficult question. Was he letting her sleep with him? Or did he want her there? Was he just a friend? Or something else? He hesitated for a moment, but he knew that too long a hesitation would give the wrong impression. Just answer!

"Yes," said Arthur, trying to focus over the sound of his heartbeat in his throat. "I want you there."

Robin smiled and broke eye contact, twirling a bit of her hair around her finger idly. After what felt like ages to Arthur, but was probably around a second, she spoke, a single word that sent an electric shiver of excitement through Arthur's body.

"Good."

— That Evening —

"Oy!" shouted the Feroxi driving their cart. "We're nearing the capital!"

Arthur and Robin, who had been practicing magic in the back of the wagon, perked up at this announcement. Curious to see the Feroxi capital, Arthur stood up in the wagon so he could see over the wagon's cargo. In the distance, he saw a sprawling city, one unlike any he had ever seen. The only other large city Arthur had visited was Ylisstol – it was a dense, walled city, most of its buildings several stories, made of stone, in the same style. The Feroxi capital was completely different. This city was unwalled, with buildings of every conceivable style sprawling as far as the eye could see.

"You like it?" asked their driver. "Welcome to Arena Ferox."

"Arena Ferox," said Arthur, pondering the name. "I've always wondered why they call it that. Is there an arena?"

"Well yeah, there are plenty of arenas! But you have it backwards, kid. The word arena comes from Arena Ferox – this city has been the world's most famous competitive fighting area for the past thousand years."

"Amazing," said Arthur, shaking his head in wonder at the city sprawling before them. "It's like nothing I've ever seen before. The architecture especially. Why is it so… diverse? The houses are made in so many different styles!"

"The city is open to people of all cultures," said their driver, beaming with pride at Arthur's interest in his home city. "Plus, any foreigner who sheds blood for the ruling Khan is granted a plot of land here – the better they fight, the more they get. That offer tends to draw many of the world's best warriors here. Over the centuries, mercenaries from every corner of the world have settled down in Arena Ferox and built in the styles of their homelands. My great-great-grandpappy came here all the way from Jugdral!"

Entertained by his enthusiasm for the city, Arthur and Robin spent the rest of the ride asking their driver about the history of Arena Ferox (his great-great-grandpappy was frequently mentioned) and asking him to identify buildings that jumped out at them. Their cart rolled slowly through the city's southern thoroughfare, alongside which were shops of every conceivable kind. Eventually they arrived at the center of the city, where the main thoroughfares in all four directions met.

"Welcome to the Palace of the Khan!" said the driver. Placed in the very center of the city was a massive circular building towering four stories into the air, well above the surrounding buildings. The palace had an exterior of polished wood, and every inch of its surface covered in finely detailed carvings. Arthur was awed, and looking to his side he saw that Robin seemed to be as well. Their driver grinned at this, obviously pleased by their awe. "You like? It was built a thousand years ago, by the first Khan of Ferox. And it's not just a palace! There's also an arena in the center – a giant open space where they hold ritual combat, gatherings of the khans, and all sorts of other things."

Arthur saw that the other Shepherds were swinging down from the wagons. This must be their final destination. Thanking their driver, he and Robin gathered their things and disembarked, meeting the other Shepherds in front of the palace. The palace guards informed them that the Eastkhan was expecting them, and escorted them inside. Chrom, Robin, Lissa, and Frederick formed the core leadership of the Shepherds – they left the other Shepherds to meet privately with the Eastkhan. They returned not long after to inform the rest of the group that in return for Feroxi support, they would be fighting for the Eastkhan, Flavia, in the upcoming Tournament of Khans. Fate smiled on the Shepherds – they had arrived just in time. The tournament was to be held that very night.

The rules were simple. They would choose their five best fighters to participate. Robin had decided that these would be Frederick, Chrom, Robin, Arthur, and Vaike. Each fighter would duel another fighter from the opposing team, to death or surrender (although Flavia had mentioned that surrender was the modern custom). Those who lost their duel were eliminated from the competition. Those who won duel opponents who had won their duel. This would continue until all the members of one team were eliminated.

Arthur and the other Shepherds spent the next few hours in the Palace's training area, practicing. Nerves were starting to grip Arthur – he had never been in a fight like this before. All of his previous battles there had been no time to think beforehand. Now, waiting for the battle to approach, he was starting to get nervous. He tried to calm himself while repeatedly striking a training dummy. It's fine, Arthur. You're ready. How tough could it be? Just a fight with the most formidable warriors in a warrior kingdom, with the fate of the continent hanging in the balance. No biggie whatsoever. He delivered one more blow to the training dummy as Flavia entered the room.

"Time to fight!" she shouted to the Shepherds, summoning them from their training. She led the Shepherds five chosen fighters out of the room, through a series of corridors, until they arrived at a wooden door, ornately carved with images of every conceivable weapon. "This is the door to the central arena," said Flavia. "Go make me the Khan, and your Halidom will have all the support it needs."

Chrom's face was set with determination. He opened the door and led the others out, where their senses were suddenly assaulted – blasted with chill air, bright light, the roar of a massive crowd. It was an open-air arena, stands filled to the brim with screaming fans. Adjusting to the sudden change of environment, Arthur pulled his attention towards the arena floor. Focus. Across the arena from the five Shepherds stood five other warriors, one of whom Arthur recognized. A swordsman, blue-haired, blue-clothed, wearing a blue mask. Marth.

"I'll deal with Marth," said Chrom, narrowing his eyes as he looked across the arena. The other four of them spread out, taking positions across the arena from the opposing warriors. Blocking out the sound of the crowd, Arthur evaluated his opponent. He could see why he was a champion – the man was a giant, probably seven feet tall, muscular, holding a two-handed greataxe larger than any Arthur had ever seen. He carried himself with confidence, and his eyes were intensely fixed on Arthur, probably evaluating him in the same way. This man was clearly a deadly fighter, someone not to be trifled with. Well, so am I.

Arthur drew Rust with a flourish and shot his opponent the cockiest grin he could muster. Start the mind games early. Let him think he's fighting an overconfident noble. As he waited for the start of the match, Arthur remembered one of the pieces of wisdom his combat instructor, James, loved to repeat. What your opponent thinks you can do matters as much as what you can truly do. If you can make your opponent underestimate you, they will take risks that you can exploit. Combat is not just about being strong or fast – it's also about reading the other person. Read them, and make them read you wrong. Hmmm… might as well lean into the overconfident routine. Arthur raised his sword overhead and blew the crowd a kiss with his other hand. Then he brought his sword down and stuck it into the ground, leaning on it lackadaisically as he waited for the sound of the gong, which would signal the match's start.

GONG

The gong rang, and his opponent rushed at him, alarmingly fast for a man of his size. Closing the distance between them in seconds, he brought his axe in a wicked horizontal slash. Arthur backed up quickly, doing his best to narrowly avoid the strike. He's fast – I don't think I can beat him in a fair contest. But if I can get him to underestimate my speed, I can win. Their battle continued for a few minutes, with Arthur narrowly dodging his opponent's strikes, delivering no counter-strikes, trying to give the impression that he was simply doing all he could to avoid his opponent. Arthur adopted a panicked expression, but smiled internally.

Time to strike. As his opponent readied for another strike, Arthur readied to end the match. His opponent's axe came down in a vertical swing, and Arthur dodged it. Now, as rapidly as he could, Arthur brought his sword in front of him and lunged at his enemy. The man was ready for a counterattack, but based on Arthur's previous performance he had not been expecting it this quickly. He pulled his axe into a defensive position, hoping to knock aside Arthur's stab with its handle. But he was a moment too slow – the tip of Arthur's sword was already at his torso. Arthur hesitated for a moment, stopping his sword a hair's breadth from the man's stomach. He didn't want to risk killing his opponent. In that moment of hesitation, his enemy completed his parry, knocking Arthur's sword away with his axe's handle and backing away.

Fuck. How am I supposed to win? I don't want to kill him, but I'm not sure if I'm skilled enough to incapacitate him. Luckily for Arthur, it never came to this – his opponent had just tossed his axe to the ground. "You had me," said the man. "I yield." He crossed his arms, raising two closed fists above his head (the Feroxi signal for surrender?). The crowd roared in approval, and Arthur looked around to see how the other Shepherds were doing.

Only Vaike had lost his first duel, fought against a brown-haired swordsman wielding a katana. Frederick, however, had won his first duel more quickly than any other Shepherd. He was already engaged in a second duel against the swordsman, in what looked like a winning match – while Frederick seemed his usual immaculately composed self, the brown-haired swordsman was dripping with sweat, frantically dodging each stroke of Frederick's lance. After a few more moments of this, the swordsman signaled his surrender.

Robin was just finishing her duel against a heavily armored knight. Exploiting her better agility, she had been running the knight in circles since the start. Arthur watched as the tired knight made a sloppy strike at Robin with his lance. As he did so, she slipped past his guard and pulled his arm, causing him to lose his balance and fall face-first onto the ground. The knight rolled over, a difficult process in such heavy armor, only to find Robin's sword at his throat. He surrendered.

Chrom was still fighting Marth. The two blue-haired fighters seemed perfectly matched in skill, and if Arthur was not mistaken they seemed to employ practically the exact same technique. Standing across from each other, each wielding a copy of Falchion, it was impossible to think the two had no connection. Especially knowing what Arthur did – there were time travelers in the mix. Who is Marth? He jumped out of a portal, right? He must be one of the people Dialga mentioned, intruders from another timeline. But what exactly does that mean? Could he be an alternate version of Chrom? No, their physiques are completely different. Unless he's Chrom from a timeline where Chrom isn't as bulky. Doubtful, but I'll keep that theory in the backpocket until a better one comes along. The two continued to fight as Arthur mulled over Marth's identity. After a few more minutes of back and forth, Marth stepped back from the fight and held up a hand, prompting Chrom to pause for a moment. Marth looked around for a second, perhaps evaluating this situation. "This tournament is over," said Marth, sheathing Falchion. "I yield."

The crowd went silent for a few moments – they had probably expected a more climactic conclusion – but this did not last. An announcers' voice rang throughout the arena: "The Eastkhan's champions are victorious! People of Ferox, we have a new ruling Khan! All hail Khan Flavia!" This was enough to get the crowd screaming.

Arthur, however, was still confused by Marth's decision to yield. Not that it was an unreasonable choice, given the situation. All of Marth's teammates had been defeated – in order to win the tournament, he would have needed to defeat Chrom, Frederick, Arthur, and Robin in succession. And if Marth could not defeat Chrom, he would stand no chance against Frederick. It just struck Arthur as out of character for the masked warrior. Arthur didn't know him well, but Marth didn't seem like the type to give up. There's clearly more to him than meets the eyes.

I need to talk to Marth in private. Last time they had met the blue swordsman had jumped out of a portal and a number of cryptic words about the future. What did he say? 'This world stands on the brink of calamity'? If anyone knows more about this timeline stuff, it'll be him. Arthur slipped away from the other Shepherds and looked around for Marth. There! The distinctive blue-clothed warrior was just exiting the arena, slipping through one of the ground-level doors. Arthur followed, opening the door and finding himself in a dimly-lit corridor. He walked down the corridor and turned a corner. Around this first corner he found Marth, or rather saw the warrior's caped back as he walked speedily down the corridor.

"Hey, Marth!" said Arthur. "Wait up a moment! I wanted to talk to you about something!"

Marth showed no indication of hearing him, continuing to make a beeline for the nearest corner. He'll probably try to lose me once he's around the corner. I have to get him to stop.

"Hold up, Marth!" Arthur shouted. "It's about saving this timeline!"

Marth suddenly went rigid, freezing in place. Then he whirled around, running rapidly at Arthur. Marth drew his sword in a flash, poised for a killing blow before even Arthur's preternatural reflexes could respond.

"Wha–!" Arthur exclaimed, backing up against the corridor wall as Marth held his swordpoint at his neck. "Hold on a moment, Marth!"

"I have good reason to believe you aren't what you seem, Arthur," Marth said, enunciating his name venomously. Marth pressed Falchion into Arthur's throat, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough that even slightly more pressure would. "You know more than you should. You reek of Grima. Give me one good reason not to kill you here and now."

What?! Are we not allies? I thought Naga and Dialga had a deal! Wait, didn't Dialga mention something like this when we first met? Suddenly the words came to him vividly:

There will come a time when one of the other champions presses to reveal your purpose. You will show them your brand, and inform them that they have allies this time that they did not before.

Was Dialga talking about Marth? I hope so, otherwise I might be dead. Careful not to make a sudden movement, Arthur slowly opened his right palm, turning it upward in the dim light to reveal his hourglass-shaped brand. Beneath the mask, Arthur saw motion as Marth's eyes flickered towards his palm.

"You have allies this time that you didn't have before," Arthur said, hoping that the words would be enough to ease Marth's hostility. He felt the pressure of Falchion against his throat ease slightly.

"The Time Dragon sent you?" asked Marth cautiously.

Fighting the instinct to nod (not a great idea with a sword against my throat), Arthur gulped. "Yes. I'm here to help save this timeline."

Marth paused for a moment, pursing his lips and taking a few deep breaths. Thinking? Calming himself down? Girding himself to slice my throat? It was hard to tell with his eyes hidden under the mask. Slowly, the swordsman dropped Falchion from Arthur's neck. "Okay" he responded curtly. "Our patrons are allied. I cannot kill you without risking their alliance." Marth paused, and when he spoke again his voice filled with the same venomous suspicion as it had been earlier. "But don't think this means I trust you, Arthur. I will be watching you, and if I decide that you are not as committed to saving this timeline as you claim, I will not hesitate to end you, alliance or no alliance." With that, Marth turned and stalked away.

Arthur rubbed the front of his throat tenderly at the spot where Falchion had rested. Gods, he was fast. He certainly wasn't that fast when fighting Chrom. Did he throw the match? Arthur shook his head, watching as Marth turned a corner and left his field of vision. Is that how he ends every conversation? Saying something dramatic and stalking away? For fuck's sake. Nearly killed by two allies in two days. You really do have quite a way with people, Arthur.

Only a few seconds after Marth turned the corner to his right, he saw motion in his left peripheral, and turned to find Robin turning the other corner, approaching from the corridor to the main arena. "Robin!" he exclaimed, laughing nervously. "What are you doing here?" Did she hear anything?

"I could ask you the same question, mister. I saw you weren't with the rest of the Shepherds, decided to check this door out, and here you are! Very suspect behavior, Arthur," she mocked, but Arthur thought he heard an edge of real suspicion in her voice. He supposed it had been a fairly suspicious move on his part.

"I was following Marth," he told her. Not a lie. "I wanted to learn more about him, so I figured I would follow him and ask." Not a lie.

"Oh," said Robin. "Did you catch up with him?"

I can't tell her. If I do, she'll want to know what he said, and I would either have to make something up or reveal my mission. Could I tell her about my mission? No… not yet. Dialga said I should 'reveal nothing of my purpose' to the Shepherds. I don't want to lie to her, but… my mission is to save this timeline. Hundreds of millions of lives hang in the balance. That has to come first. Plus, things are complicated enough with her. I can't add this on top of that. I'll come clean as soon as I can.

"No," said Arthur, rubbing the back of his head. "That guy is just too good at mysteriously appearing and running off before anyone can ask him questions. Maybe we'll get some answers next time he shows up."

"Oh well," said Robin, shrugging. "We should probably head back to others. They're about to have a celebration feast upstairs!"

Robin led Arthur through the labyrinthine corridors of the palace, up several flights of stairs and finally into a packed banquet hall. Robin had called it a feast, but from a brief observation it seemed like Feroxi feasts had much more to do with drinking than with eating. Arthur was excited – on Pyrath, his only real alcohol consumption had been glasses of wine at formal functions. Here, surrounded by boisterous Feroxi warriors, friends, and Robin – it seemed like a much better environment for alcohol. I'm going to get wasted.

The night passed in a blur – Arthur drank with Robin, then Chrom, then Sumia, and from there… it was hard to remember. His only vivid memory of the second half of the feast was drinking with the gigantic warrior he had fought in the arena, verifying several times that there were indeed 'no hard feelings', and hugging him. As the night drew to a close the atmosphere in the banquet hall grew quieter, with people slowly filtering out. Arthur, finally sobering up a bit, was sitting in one of the banquet hall's chairs, eyes closed, rubbing his temple with his right hand, when a hand pulled at the sleeve of his left.

"Arthur," came a familiar voice. Robin. Arthur opened his eyes groggily and saw Robin standing above him, cheeks flushed. "Tell me you're not going to sleep in here. Let's get you to a bed," she said, pulling his sleeve more forcefully.

"All right, all right, I'm coming," said Arthur, standing precariously. Still holding his sleeve, Robin led him out of the banquet hall and through the winding corridors of the palace (how does she have a sense of direction right now?). Eventually she stopped, opening a door and leading him into one of the guest bedrooms the Shepherds had been assigned. One bed.

Suddenly Arthur remembered their discussion that morning. Oh yeah. I told her this morning that I wanted to sleep together again. Well, not 'sleep together', but… standing here with her now, his promise from that morning felt… different.

Robin sat on the bed, patting a spot next to her in a gesture for Arthur to sit. He did. Sitting on the bed, Arthur felt as though the air between them was… charged, somehow, like it was one false move from shattering.

Robin, however, seemed to have no problem shattering it – after a few seconds of stillness, she feigned a yawn and leaned against him, bringing their bodies into contact. He remembered how she had asked him to hold her tightly the night before. Inhibitions lowered by the alcohol, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into him. As he did so, she turned her head, making eye contact with him, faces only a few inches apart.

No second-guessing, Arthur. It was obvious what she wanted. Slowly, heart in his chest, Arthur leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. By instinct, he put his hands on her waist. He felt her hands on his back. She pulled herself closer, kissing him more forcefully. He did the same in response. Her lips tasted like alcohol, but he didn't mind. His probably did too.

Wait. He broke off for a moment, his conscience clawing its way in front of his passion. "Should we really?" he asked her, plumbing for a reason to stop despite the voice screaming in his mind to continue.

"Why shouldn't we?" she whispered, her breath hot on his ear.

"You're drunk, Robin."

"No I'm not… or…so are you." she said. "Either way… it's fine." Even under the influence, her logic was airtight. She pulled him towards her again, pressing her lips against his even more desperately. Arthur kissed her back, brain fogging with lust. Why stop?

Wait, Arthur, WAIT! Wasn't there a reason to wait? Fuck, what was it? Oh yeah – I still haven't told Robin why I'm really with the Shepherds. I can't do this before I tell her. It's not right.

"Robin–" he said, pulling himself away again with great difficulty. "Wait."

"Wait?" she asked breathlessly. "I thought… you wanted this?"

"I do!" said Arthur, chest clenching at the hurt in her tone. "I just… I can't… right now."

"You want to, but you can't?" said Robin. "What's stopping you?"

"My conscience."

"Your conscience?" said Robin, frustration now creeping into her voice. "What, do you think you're taking advantage of me?! Oh, poor amnesiac Robin, I can't take advantage of her because she's weak and helpless and needs a friend? Is that what you think?! That's not who I am. I'm not weak, and I'm not helpless."

"That's not what I meant! I know you're strong, Robin – I would never think that you're weak. Do you think the only reason I would care about your feelings is because I think you're weak? Is it impossible that I know you're strong and I want to protect your feelings?"

"I…guess not," said Robin reluctantly. "But then… what did you mean? Your conscience is stopping you?"

Arthur sighed. How much can I say? I can't tell her. Not until I ask Dialga. "I… can't tell you right now, Robin," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"You can't, right now. You can't tell me, right now" said Robin, repeating his words as though saying them to herself, stressing the final two words. "Okay. Okay. You can't right now. When?"

"As soon as I can," he said, voice emphatic as he tried to convey his authenticity.

"Well… that's not really a time… but alright, Arthur. I can wait," she said. She stood, pulling the door of his room open and standing in the doorway for a moment. "But I won't wait forever." With that she exited, pulling the door shut behind her, leaving Arthur alone.

Arthur flopped down on the bed, pressing his face into his pillow in order to muffle the stream of shouted profanity that escaped him. Gods dammit, Arthur. Didn't I do the right thing? Why the hell do I feel like this? Filled with thoughts like these, Arthur tossed and turned for what felt like hours before finally falling asleep.

Awaken, child.

A familiar voice rang in Arthur's mind. He opened his eyes and found himself in a familiar room, a dark room with stone, rune-covered walls, illuminated solely by blue light which seeped from a stone portal in the center of the room. It was the room in which he had met Dialga. This room is on Pyrath. How the hell did I get here? No use thinking about that now. Dialga's voice chimed in his mind once more, although the dragon was nowhere to be seen.

How goes your mission?

To be honest, I've been a bit distracted recently. "To my knowledge, the mission is proceeding well," he answered. "I have encountered one individual from another timeline – he called himself Marth, but he seemed to be acting in the interest of this timeline – although he does seem to be hostile to me personally."

Take no offense. Naga's champions have been through much. Forgive their caution – they learned it in a harsher time than the present.

Arthur shrugged. He was not the type of person to hold grudges anyway. He had already forgiven Marth for the hostility. He paused now, remembering their most recent encounter and his… encounters with Robin afterward. Right – I need to ask about telling Robin. "Hey, Dialga. I actually did have one question about my mission. How secret do I need to keep your involvement? For instance, can I tell individuals who could use the information? Let's say… for example…the Shepherd's tactician? She could probably help save the world more efficiently with more information about the situation. So, could I tell someone like her about my mission?"

You think it would be tactically helpful, hmm?

Even though Dialga had not appeared visually, his voice sounded almost… amused? Does he know? Oh Naga oh fuck he's going to fire me as his champion. Dammit Arthur, stupid! Compromising the mission because of your horni–

You may entrust your true mission with those you trust wholeheartedly. I urge you, however, to take the utmost caution. The eyes of Grima are everywhere.

Phew. But there the name was again. Grima. The name that floated around Plegia, and Robin. In their last conversation, Dialga had spoken in very harsh terms about Grima. Would Dialga dislike Robin for her grimleal heritage? Arthur wasn't sure, and thought it best not to find out. No need to complicate things further. "Grima, yes, of course. So far there has been no sign of Grima except for a few mobs of Risen."

Good.

"Actually, Dialga," Arthur said, suddenly seized by curiosity as he remembered what Marth had said about the alliance between their patrons. "Perhaps it is not my place, but… you mentioned having created an alliance with Naga against Grima in this timeline. Were you not allies in the other one?"

I would be disappointed were you not curious, child. My alliance with Naga and enmity towards Grima are recent developments.

"Recent developments?" asked Arthur. Dialga is a god, aren't they? If they changed their mind, then are they… fallible? "So… you weren't hostile toward Grima previously?"

No.

"So then… why do you have a line of holy-blood carriers? If I remember correctly, the holy bloods were manifested in the First Exalt's War, to create champions for each side." Arthur wasn't sure he should be asking his patron so many questions, but he simply could not restrain himself. Who could restrain themselves from asking questions in a conversation with a god? Plus, Dialga didn't seem to mind. " So… if you weren't aligned with Naga or Grima, then… why did you form a blood pact?"

You ask a question that I cannot answer. Understand, child – we dragons are not quite the gods mortals think us. We are practically immortal, and yet we are still finite. We, just like mortals, are growing beings. I am the being from which flows the stream of time. I can move through time as I wish – and yet even I exist within the linear flow of time. Only my parent, the Primordial Dragon, exists outside this flow, and even I find such an existence unfathomable. To answer your question, I do not yet know why I formed the blood pact in this timeline. I have not yet done so – the pact will be formed by my future self. It is in this world's past, but in my future.

"Oh… that's odd. But wait, how can that be? If it's in your future, then won't you have a choice? You mentioned timelines… if you flow with time, then, are there multiple Dialgas? Are you, like… switching with the others?"

I can say no more, child. You are not yet prepared to understand the details of time travel. In time, perhaps. When you have proven your capacities.

"Oh… okay," said Arthur, disappointed. Wait… when I have proven my abilities? Will I be able to time travel? Arthur was burning with questions, but Dialga's tone had an air of finality about it.

You require rest, child.

As Dialga said these words, Arthur found his mind slowing, growing drowsy. His eyes narrowed, vision closing until he was in total darkness.

Sleep.

(Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait. This is the longest chapter I've written, and there was a lot of ground to cover. Hope you liked it!

Also, Sumia canonically reads smut, okay? That's an official lore fact – it is canon that her favorite book is Ribald Tales of the Holy War, which I'm pretty sure is just Genealogy but with lemons. If she existed irl I think she'd probably be an absolutely freaccy fanfic reader. Anyway I am currently planning on having her have more of a friend or brother-sister dynamic rather than a love interest [not a harem fanfic – unless you guys really really want it to be, in which case I am a benevolent god and might budge a little]. I would definitely consider writing a sperate Sumia story because I like her character, and I think the whole notion of a person wrapped up in fantasy worlds is a fascinating psychology to explore in our current high-media era. It would be especially perfect for us Fire Emblem fans, amiright? Author Pro Tip: periodically insult yourself and your audience.

Song: Sit Next to Me – Foster the People)