Chapter 4: Lying in the Bed You've Made

A gentle warmth washed over Chris' face as light filtered through his closed eyes. He pushed himself away from it and into the bed, one which felt much softer than he was used to. Slowly, he drifted back into the quiet around him. Realizing loosely that he was laying on his back, he tried to get more comfortable by turning onto his side—

"Ow." Until a numbed pain washed through his shoulder, snapping him out of his tiredness

He leaned up, finally opening his tired eyes to take in the room around him, one that definitely wasn't his bedroom at home.

He felt his hand sink into the bedding, way more than he was used to. Lifting up the heavy white blanket on top of him, Chris felt a rush of colder air flow inside, quickly dropping it with a quiet fump to keep its gentle warmth around his legs and waist. The clean pillow he was resting on almost collapsed behind him as he rolled himself up, taking in more of the room.

Grainy stone bricks lined the floor and walls of the room, with almost nothing to decorate them except for the nightstand and glass of water on his right, and the window to his left. Its wooden shutters wide open; showing rolling plains of grass that almost flowed in the winds outside. He could even hear a soft breeze of it slowly make its way around the room, filling it with the smell of those distant hills and pine trees.

Chris wondered where he was, realizing that he probably didn't know whoever the owners of this room were, and tried to get up. As he did, he paused, opened his mouth, and tried to speak his first words of the day.

"Whe—"

A dry hack cut him off as he broke into a coughing fit. He immediately jumped at the glass on the stand, grabbing it and greedily swallowing the cold, rusty tasting water. Slamming the glass down, he noticed the pitcher next to it and poured himself another. He repeated it, drinking and pouring until he'd managed six glasses down. He poured himself another one for later before flopping back down onto the bed.

"I don't think I've ever been that thirsty before, what happened last night?"

Shuffling back into the covers, he remembered what woke him up in the first place. He looked over his shoulder, noticing he was wearing a shirt he'd never seen before. Some kind of rough, thick shirt that felt almost the same as his blanket did. Its brown fabric rough and gritty, completely different from the clean, cloud-white sheets he was laying on.

Shaking his head, he refocused on where that pain had been on his shoulder. He pulled the shirt away from it and moved his hand there. Some kind of thick fabric was tied onto it, and looking over his shoulder showed it was some kind of bandage.

He huffed out a dry laugh. "Weird, that's where I got shot last… night."

The door opened, stopping Chris' panic cut short as a short woman stole his attention. A few thick, blond curls of hair trailed down her head from two white bows; each one almost like a vine, but comparing the two felt rude. As she walked, he could see her baggy white and pink clothes somehow not ruffling as she closed the door behind her. A light blush formed on his face when he saw her, until he noticed what she was holding.

In her gloved hands, she carried a tray of what smelled like the most delicious food Chris had ever seen. A bowl of some kind of white, chunky soup rested on top of it as the woman walked over. Every step she took was calm, slow, and fancier than he'd ever seen before she stopped, looking directly at him.

"Oh," she gasped, "good, you're awake. That is certainly an improvement from yesterday."

Setting the tray down on the nightstand, she pulled over a small wooden stool from the front of the bed—one its end had been covering—and sat down in it in a smooth, clearly practiced motion. Looking at him for a moment, she nodded over to the soup.

As he reached for it, his hands warmed from the wooden bowl as he did. He carefully ate a spoonful of it, slowly processing the creamy, salty flavors of it. This lasted until his hunger took over, as he started eating as fast and carefully as he could.

The woman politely coughed, stopping Chris in his tracks. "I do believe there is some explaining to do. Whatever battle you roughed yourself up in was certainly a strange one. My treasure—Lissa, you must know her—spoke of undead monstrosities of some sort. Frederick even corroborated the—finer details of her description, though I digress."

"You were shot in your back with an arrow," she stated bluntly, crossing her arms, "and while such an injury was already dealt with surprisingly well with only a vulnerary from the looks of it, it was joined by two peculiar stab wounds into your chest and thigh. Thankfully neither hit any major arteries or you may not have made it out of those woods alive."

Staring at her, Chris slowly processed what she said. The two sat in a careful silence until he finally opened his mouth.

"That… actually happened?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes, it did," she answered, "and, I'm sorry that we could not do more about the scarring."

"Scarring—" he shook his head, that wasn't important. "Wait, nevermind, where's Robin, and Chrom, and everyone else? Did they make it? Did—"

She raised a hand, stopping Chris as she explained, "They are fine, most likely returning within the day if they haven't slowed," she gestured to the soup, "right now, however, you need to eat. You were unconscious for almost an entire day and are still recovering, I'll not have you malnourished under my care."

Chris moved to ask another question before she slightly raised her umbrella, something that scared him away from asking anything else… for some reason. With nothing else to do, he went back to eating the soup, each bite creamy and heavenly as he went through it. Looking at one of the thicker chunks, he realized that there was some kind of fish in it. And he didn't even normally like fish.

"I'll have to thank whoever cooked this, maybe… huh, what is her name?"

He finished chewing and swallowed, moving to ask a question before he was cut off. "My dear, as I just said you need to eat right now. Questions pertaining to the others must wait until then."

"Um… I was actually wondering what your name was."

"Oh," she gasped, "I must have forgotten my manners! My apologies."

She lightly stood up and bowed, her hands rising up from her side as if she was holding a sword. "I am Maribelle Themis, it is a pleasure. And I don't believe you have introduced yourself either."

"Oh right, I'm Chris… uh, Chris Anderson," he answered, bowing in the same way Maribelle had, "and thanks for healing me."

She blankly stared at him for a moment before hiding a laugh behind her hand. Her giggling bringing another blush to Chris' cheeks. "What?"

"I apologize," she waving him off as she calmed down again, "but a gentleman does not bow when introducing themselves, especially when in a bed." She lowered her hand. "Though I do appreciate the effort, regardless of your mistake. Most commoners rarely consider manners when talking to a lady."

"Oh, sorry about that," Chris mumbled, shuffling deeper into the sheets. "What should I do then?"

Maribelle looked him dead on, her eyes widening at his question. "Oh, you're interested?"

"Yeah." He nodded, quickly adding, "I, uh, don't want to be rude…"

"Indeed you would not, though your manner of speech could certainly use some work, not to mention your posture—" She cut herself off, looking at the bowl in front of Chris before huffing another polite cough. "Ah, my apologies, I was distracted. You need to eat. Then we have other matters to discuss. I suppose your lesson on proper manners will have to wait until later."

Chris quirked his head. "But can't you talk when I'm—oh, that'd be rude, right?"

She nodded as a light smile crossed her face. "Precisely, you do seem to take well to Ylissean manners at least." She gestured to the bowl again. "Now, if you may. It is quite rude to leave a lady waiting."

Chris hesitated, but after a quick nod from Maribelle he started eating. As he did, his thoughts turned towards the question he'd first asked when he'd woken up. And how the worst answer to it was the true one. That everything had been real.

Those thoughts sent a shiver down his back, Grima was… somewhere, he'd almost failed to convince Robin of anything, he jumped off of two different roofs running from Risen, Frederick probably hated him, he barely helped in Southtown and didn't deserve to be a Shepherd, he shouldn't have been in this world in the—

A tap against his head snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up only to see Maribelle pointing towards the soup with her umbrella. He blinked, then nodded and slowly went back to eating.

With each bite the same as the last, his thoughts wandered again, now focusing on the person in front of him as he pushed the others away. Maribelle was definitely someone from the game, that much he knew. His main problem was remembering what she did. Though as much as he tried he just couldn't remember anything about her, at least, until he brought an empty spoon to his mouth.

He considered asking for more, but that'd probably be rude. So he just set the bowl aside and looked up at Maribelle again.

"Now that that is settled. I'm afraid I must inform you of your… condition," she said, shifting in her seat a bit. "As I mentioned before, we were unable to prevent your injuries from scarring. Though there shouldn't be any lingering ailments brought on by them."

"To that effect," she added, "you will not be leaving this bed for at least the rest of the day. This is to make sure that your body fully recovers. Is that clear?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah sure, but is everyone else alright?"

"Do you mean milord and the other Shepherds? If so then they should be arriving within the day. Though Frederick and Lissa are both here as of now, one of whom you'll most likely be seeing soon enough."

"Wait, why are they ahead of everyone else?" Chris asked, "And what do you mean by 'seeing him soon enough?'"

Maribelle frowned for a moment before sighing. "They were responsible for carrying you back here. I fear your injuries may have been worse had they not done so."

"Really?" Chris said. "Oh, I guess I owe them then. I shouldn't have made them do that."

"I do believe it was unavoidable at the time, though, as I mentioned previously, Frederick has wished to speak to you once you've been woken up."

"Got it, I'll probably thank him when he does," he agreed. "And thank you for, uh, all of this."

"It was no trouble to me, you are welcome." She stood up, moving the stool back to where it had been before. "Though as one last comment. If you are trying to be more polite, I'd recommend against asking more than one question at a time."

"I did tha—oh, yeah, sorry about that."

"So long as you learn from your mistakes, there's no need to apologize." She turned back around, heading towards the door. Only to stop suddenly just before it.

"I almost forgot," she added, "Stahl should most likely be your next visitor. He is cooking today and was supposed to deliver this meal as well. Though I told him that you should first meet your healer rather than him."

"Oh, okay," Chris answered before perking up. "Oh right, could you thank him for the soup, it was great."

"I'll pass on the message. Do take care, I would prefer you leave this dull room sooner, rather than later."

Chris nodded. "Yeah, I'll try to."

Maribelle gave him another stare before leaving the room quickly. As she did, Chris noticed the tray she'd left behind, wondering if anyone would be picking it up anytime soon.

After a moment he shook his head, a frown set in. "I guess someone will come in and clean them up," he mumbled, covering himself up in the bedsheets again, "it's not like I could help out much, anyways."

Chris pursed his lips, softly thumping his finger against the sheets he sat on. The same stone walls surrounded him as his eyes slowly drifted around the room, hoping for something to have changed in the last minute since he'd checked.

Other than the tray having been picked up by what looked like a butler soon after Maribelle left, everything was pretty much the same as before. The bed was still nice and warm, and the walls were still just as made of stone as before. The only real difference was that the wind blew inside a little harder, enough that he'd looked away from it once or twice, blinking the dryness out of his eyes whenever it happened.

Despite this, he kept looking out that window, hoping for the only interesting thing around to happen. Though for now, he was fine enough watching the soft flow of the grassy plains outside.

It was better than the walls, at least.

A knock pulled Chris' eyes to the door. "Yeah, is that Stahl?"

"No," Frederick's voice said, "may I come in?"

"Oh, yeah sure," he answered. Frederick pushed the door open with a quirt creek, tray and soup in one hand as Chris asked, "Wasn't Stahl supposed to do that?"

Frederick nodded, making his way over to the bed. "Yes, though I felt that I could do this well enough myself. I would need to talk to you regardless, and so" he set the tray down, somehow without a sound, "it would be more efficient if Stahl focused on his other duties while I performed this one."

"That makes sense." Chris picked up a spoonful, about to take a bite before setting it back down. "You, er, Maribelle said you had something you wanted to talk about."

Frederick looked at him for a moment, mumbling something about 'teaching him manners' before forcing a cough. "Yes, though you should eat first. I am able to wait until you finish."

"No, you've probably got more important things to do than watch me eat soup." He set the tray on the nightstand again, scratching the back of his head as he added, "I still feel bad for making Maribelle watch me like that."

"I see. I suppose I will get started then," he said, still standing as he paused for a moment. Chris glanced at where the stool was across from him until Frederick sighed. "I have served milord for years now. I can easily attest to his more—rash behavior at times. But even so, what you displayed at that fort was enough to surprise even myself."

Frederick gestured loosely to Chris. "You lept off into a horde of those monsters to, I assume, draw them away. After which you were shot at from behind with no protection other than the clothes on your back. All the while giving the rest of our party no sign nor reason as to why you did so" He paused, gaze sharpening. "Do you know what I would call such behavior?"

"Uh, brave?"

"Reckless, I might even refer to it as suicidal." He gestured at Chris' wounds. "And I'd almost say you succeeded in that regard. Did you even have a plan for once you made it to that other fort?"

"I—well, I thought there was going to be more oil in that other fort. So I was planning on, uh, burning it down on them." He looked up to meet Frederick's eyes, only to drop them immediately after the glare he got. "And I—I still got them away from you guys. At least I did something, right?"

Frederick stared at him for a moment, moving the stool over before sitting down, his eyes drifting somewhere else. "From our position, milord and I would most likely be able to handle most of those creatures. With both yourself and milady healing us, we might not have had a problem holding them back. There was also the oil you seem so invested in, which could have been useful in slicking the floors, ruining their positioning and making our defense far easier. From there, it would be as simple as thinning the hordes."

"If you had waited another moment," Frederick continued, his eyes sharpening back onto Chris as he shuffled away. "I would have elaborated on such a plan, one with minimal risk to all parties aside from the enemy's. Instead, you chose to leap off of a roof without even informing us of whatever plan you had. Leaving us to fend off the leftover five or six on our own. Far easier, mind you, though this is diminished by the concern both of my lieges had as they worried for your safety."

Chris flinched. "I just—I just thought my plan would help."

"Yes, and if you had told us of any of it we would have devised something far better," he shot back, drawing his hands into his lap.

Chris tried to answer back until he stopped himself. He thought back to what he'd done, and just how he'd messed up this time. Slowly feeling himself shrink into the bedding around him as he looked up at Frederick, only to be met with the same stern look.

"In all honesty, that was not the worst you could have done that night."

"It wasn't?" Chris' head snapped up towards him. "But weren't you just saying I shouldn't have done that? I thought you were saying my plan was terrible!"

"Oh no, of course it was terrible. Such that it could have, and very nearly did, lead to your death," he corrected, leaning back into his chair. "Though it could have also been worse. You were not entirely frozen in inaction, that in itself is admirable. It is even one of Milord's highest praises of you. Not only that, but you even managed to assist that woman, Robin. Though I suspect that she may have been of more help to yourself. That is, however, beside the point."

"No, your fault lies in that you never considered our thoughts. You simply took off, without care as for our opinion on the matter when it could have easily been given."

"This is, however, not to say you can't act on your own," he said, raising a finger as his eyes finally lightened. "As I said, that in and of itself is not a fault. But you must not act alone when you are within a group, for without that a battle is little more than a mob."

A moment passed, Chris still sitting in his bed as Frederick looked at him, waiting for a response. He looked down, noticed how tightly he was gripping the blankets under him, and slowly let go of them.

"I… I'm sorry. I'll try to do better next time."

Frederick nodded, rising up from the stool before placing it back where it was. "Excellent, please come to me as soon as you are well enough to leave the room. Until then, I wish for your swift recovery."

"Oh, yeah, and thanks," Chris said. He leaned over towards the stand to pick up his tray, the soup felt warm enough as he brought it closer to himself.

"Ah, I almost forgot!" Frederick turned around, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a letter. "This is for you, shared in confidence by—" He froze in place. A moment passing before he spoke again.

"Christopher, may I ask a question?"

He looked up from the soup he was reaching for. "Sure, go for it. But my name isn't—"

"You said you were from another world, correct?"

"Yeah," he nodded, giving him a confused look, "why do you ask?"

"And you were only in Southtown, before you met milord?"

Another nod. "Is something wrong?"

Frederick ignored him again. "And you met no one that day, aside from a priest and his pupil?"

"Frederick, are you okay?" Chris set the tray of lukewarm soup back on the nightstand. "I thought I told you all of this."

"You did not answer the question." He closed the door behind him. "Did you meet anyone else that day?"

"No, I didn't," Chris said, shaking his head. "What's this about?"

"Then you are unaware of a swordsman by the name of Marth, yes?"

"I—I think so…" He thought for a moment, Marth might have been someone from the game but—

"Oh, right. He's talking about Lucina."

A hazy blur of blue and silver flashed through his head as Chris remembered the night before, or two nights before. Whenever it was, that was definitely Lucina. But should he just tell him now? Would it be better if he did? Would it be better if he just—

"Christopher."

"Oh, uh… no. No, I don't—do not." He tilted his head, the motion feeling awkward as he did it. "No, I do not know who 'Marth' is. Why do you ask?"

Frederick's glare sharpened, almost to a spear's point as he started again. "I have chosen to trust your story up until now, however absurd it may be." He took another step forward. Armor clanking as he stood right next to Chris, forcing him to look directly up at him.

"And yet, two nights prior we met an individual who knows of you, despite your otherworldly claims. As of now, neither of you have shown yourselves as a threat, in fact only helping whenever possible. Yet despite this, neither of you wish to elaborate on what exactly it is you imply you know, leading to my own suspicion of your cause. As such, I must ask this of you, here and now."

He leaned in, forcing Chris back away from him. His hand forcing down the bedsheets as he slowly said, "You are lying about something. I do not know what, nor if you have malicious intent in doing so. With this, I will ask that you tell me of it now, Christopher. What do you know?"

"I…" Chris trailed off into thought. He'd already told Robin about the game, or at least a part of it. Despite that, the fact that he'd already mentioned it to someone else, he felt like he just couldn't do it to Frederick.

Why? Why did he care so much about it, why did he—

"If I say anything, why would they want me here? I can help them better if I keep it to myself."

He tried to shake off the thought, but it stayed with him. Maybe that was the reason the whole time. Wouldn't it be better if he just said it? Even if he couldn't help them after that, why should it matter? They were going to help people, save lives. Why would he keep it to himself when he could do that.

"I'd just be giving up on myself, like I always do."

"Can I… uh, can I think about this some more," he stuttered, staring at the blankets under him once again.

Eyeing him down one final time, Frederick held for a moment before lifting his hand. He stood up, towering over Chris once again before he let out a sigh.

"Alright then, though I will see to it that you explain yourself properly," he said. Moving towards the door once again.

Once he'd made it to the doorway, he turned back, adding, "And before I forget, know that I only allow this because of milord's high opinion of yourself. I am giving you a chance here, one which I hope for your own sake I do not regret. Farewell, Christopher."

He closed the door behind him, leaving the room eerily quiet. Blinking, Chris let go of a tired breath leaving him as he leaned over to pick up the tray and ate. It'd only been a few minutes, but the soup probably just didn't taste as good because of that.

Glancing at the letter again for what had to be the twentieth time, Chris shook his head of the same thought he was trying to avoid. He twisted and turned to look at the window, at the door, at anything else in the room again until his eyes fell back onto the same ancient-looking paper. Eventually, he yielded, carefully lifting up the paper as though it would fade into dust if he wasn't gentle with it. Something Chris couldn't honestly say wouldn't happen from the looks of it.

Crisp, browned paper sat in his hands as he stared down at it. The envelope's edges curved and cracked, with tightly bound twine holding it together, marking grooves on the faces where they dug themselves in. Chris' name was scratched in faded cursive, the ink barely visible on its face.

Despite the curiosity that felt like it was burning through him, he couldn't bring himself to open it. The same doubts as before coming to him, as if he didn't want the answers to those questions, ones he hadn't thought to ask before.

He was in the future, or past, or whatever it was. Lucina knew him, and even had a letter for him. Someone in the future wanted to give him this, maybe even Lucina herself. They wanted him to know something. They needed him to know something.

Finally, he broke. He struggled to rip off the dry twine at first before the top of the letter popped open. He reached for the browned paper inside of it and quickly glanced at the top of it. Surprisingly well-written cursive peaked out—the same kind of cursive that was on the front of it—reading:

To who I once was.

"It's… from me?" he mumbled, a small pit forming in his stomach. After another moment of hesitation, he almost tore out the rest of the paper within. His breath nearly stopping as he read, apparently, his own writing.

I will tell you this in no improper terms, I failed. Three wars have come and gone, all in the pursuit of preventing the fourth, one I now stand before, waiting in the wings for the first charge in what may be my last battle. I know I certainly don't deserve anything better. Nonetheless, here I am, hunched over a small desk on the outskirts of our camp, composing this letter for you In hopes of a better outcome than what I could do. At the very least, to prevent myself from making the selfsame mistake that doomed this world.

It was all my fault. That knowledge you right now withhold to yourself, that was the beginning. From Emmeryn's death, to the harrowing war in Valm, to the desperate last stand against the rise of Grima, all of it was my fault. If I hadn't withheld everything from them until it was too late, then perhaps we would have won, prevented this horror. Perhaps they'd still be alive, in front of me now.

I wish I had a plan for you, I truly do. Some grand-scale plot to defeat the fell dragon once and for all, a method to end this madness. And yet, I simply cannot trust myself after my own failures. Failures which led to this letter's creation. Failures which lost me far more than I even knew I had. Failures which will most likely plague you before you can even commit them. With this, I have only one possible idea for how to victory, one possible end to, at the very least, my own mistakes.

The door next to Chris creaked closed, snapping him out of the letter as he quickly hid it next to him. He looked around the room, only noticing that the tray wasn't on the nightstand next to him anymore.

"Oh, that was probably a butler…" he mumbled. After another second he slowly pulled it out again, letting go of a shaky breath as he continued.

Change everything. Act whenever you can. The further you get from that original story I once knew, the further you are from what the fell dragon knows. This will ruin the future children's knowledge as well, but I've already advised them on what they need to do. Whether or not they trust me after my choices is a different matter entirely. They should know well enough I don't deserve anything after what I've done, but they will hopefully at least act against the fell dragon. Which itself is all I can hope for.

With this in mind, tell them everything. Tell Chrom, Robin, Lissa, everyone if you have to. Tell them what you know. They are far more cunning, more clever than you are, than you will ever be. But they are. So tell them, of it all, of everything. Even my own actions. And if they hate you for my mistakes, both the Shepherds of the future and the past, then so be it.

I would include more within this letter, but I doubt anything I can devise will be of use to you. I've never been much for intelligent plans, nor do I remember what little I came to this world with. And so feel nothing but sorrow for what little I can give you aside from what you and the future children already know. And knowing what I've done, little would come of it.

As such, to you, my future self. I'm sorry,

Chris Thomas Anderson.

The papers slipped from his hand a little before he straightened them out again, looking them over another time, and then another. Eyes flicking back and forth, he hoped to find… something, on the pages, anything besides what was obviously there. After another minute, he set the letter back on the nightstand. A single question managing to bubble over the storm in his head.

"I—I write in cursive in the future?" he asked himself, a small snort bubbling up as he looked up towards the ceiling, whatever light smile on his face falling as his thoughts formed.

He glanced at the door again, the memory of Frederick's glare and his last words before leaving sent another, deeper chill down his back. He'd honestly considered keeping everything from the game to himself. He'd even done it in the future. And apparently, that'd ruined everything.

That same idea flickered in his head again, almost like a broken lightbulb in a corner. That maybe he could just do it better than his future self. Just as fast, it went away, replaced by the same pit in his stomach.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, he knew what he needed to do.

Footsteps echoed through the stone brick halls of the Shepherds barracks. Robin's pace slow as she made her way towards the louder main area, where she could hear the Shepherds—other Shepherds talking, some louder than others.

What had been a peaceful nap was interrupted by a loud crash of something wooden shattering, and so she took to figuring out what it was. But coming across the better-lit main area and kitchen of the barracks, she noted the scene and quickly figured out what had made the sound.

Afternoon sunlight poured in from the windows, Robin's eyes wincing as she walked out of the dimmer hallways and attempted to scan the room through it. In front of her were a dozen or so chairs sat around a few larger wooden tables. Most of the Shepherds she'd met before were gathered together, with a few she'd missed before adding to their number.

Vaike and Sully were standing under Frederick's glare as he gestured towards what looked like the remains of a chair, most likely the source of that crashing sound from before. Vaike's shirtless chest having a scratch on it from something that should be figured out later, while his rust-colored shoulder armor lay discarded in… the pile.

Two new mages—a woman and a young boy, wearing dull red/brown and lighter teal mage's robes respectively—sat next to the previously disorganized books. Books which were now, thankfully, stacked neatly. The red mage was focused on a similarly colored book, while also taking notes, and eating her dinner. All while the boy had to occasionally put down his book in order to eat. Robin decided that she'd have to ask her about multitasking later, especially with all the time she'd spent on the trip to Ylisstol planning just that trip.

Donnel sat… alone. The bronze pot still on his head despite their armory holding plenty of head protection for him if he needed it. Though he seemed fine enough there, turned towards the wall as he was with an extra bowl of what now looked like soup.

Across from him, Lissa and Maribelle were chatting with a lime-green armored knight next to a woman with light brown, almost silver hair down to her waist, meeting the purple dress that covered her. Robin realized that she was someone she recognized from earlier that day, but couldn't catch the name of during her introduction. From the wing accessories in her hair, Robin assumed she was a pegasus knight, or at least someone interested in them.

In front of most of the Shepherds was a bowl of the aforementioned soup. With the green knight having three in front of him alone, one of them already empty while the other two were topped full.

Lissa perked up, waving at Robin and pointing to a chair next to the knight. While joining the mages in whatever they were doing looked appealing, she couldn't do so now that Lissa had asked, and moved over to where she'd gestured.

"So, Robin. How'd you like your new room?" she asked, dropping into her seat fast enough to scrape it along the floor.

Maribelle cringed, turning to her and softly saying, "Lissa, dear. You know not to do such things. Though it is good to see you in a better mood than before." She turned to back to Robin. "And I must say I am curious how you've accustomed yourself to your room, as well."

"Well," Robin started, looking around for where they got their dinner from, "if you must know. I didn't have much in the way of possessions, so I decided to take a nap before trying to figure out where a library is."

"Oh, I can help with that!" The pegasus knight perked up. "You're going to love the main library, it's stocked full of more books than you could count."

"Well, thank you for that then. It'd be a pleasure…" she trailed on.

"Oh! I'm Sumia. And you're Robin, right?"

"I am, and while I'd love a tour, I think I'll be fine enough on my own," Robin said, deflating her before she hastily corrected. "Not that I have anything against you! I just doubt what I'll be reading will be of interest to you."

Sumia shook her head, her smile returning to her as she said, "Oh no, I don't mind that at all. It'll be easier to find whatever you're looking for if I'm there to help you."

Robin smiled as well, turning to ask what the green knight was eating before the door slammed open. Chrom slowly stepped in and let go of a tired breath, most likely exhausted from whatever meetings with 'the council' he'd been in. Immediately both Sumia and Robin got up, walking towards him as Frederick joined them shortly after, their paces matched.

At least until Sumia tripped on some loose papers, only barely caught by Frederick and Robin before she hit the ground.

"Sumia," Chrom said, a light smile on his face, "are you sure your boots fit? Perhaps we should clean the barracks a bit."

"Oh no, it—I mean yes, it was the boots," she hastily corrected, a strong blush across her face.

Robin took a step forward to change the subject as she backed off. "I'd actually like to see to cleaning the barracks, specifically the… pile," she added, gesturing to the large mess of supplies in the corner, an idea Frederick seemed surprisingly hesitant of.

"That isn't the first time I've heard that," Chrom muttered, soughing as he continued, "though maybe you could figure it out. For now though, I'd like to know how Chris is doing."

Frederick froze at his name. "Milord," he said, his voice slightly concerning in its tone, "if I might have a private word with you regarding him."

"What's wrong? Did something happen to him?"

"Nothing milord, it is about my prior suspicions of him, as well as that Marth character we met prior," he corrected, eyeing Robin for a moment before dropping it.

"Frederick," Chrom sighed, "I've already made myself clear that you can't be suspicious about them simply because of things we do not know."

"That is exactly it milord, I have found something which calls into question his story." Robin stifled a gasp, watching as he continued, "An accusation he did not refute when I proposed it, simply asking for more time."

"He didn't deny it?" Chrom asked, sighing after Frederick nodded. "Then I'll ask him about it myself."

Frederick hesitated a moment before nodding. "He's currently in our medical room, most likely eating his dinner. There isn't very much to do in there, something I should rectify soon enough."

Chrom nodded before he walked off, making his way down the hall as Robin caught up with him, drawing his attention as they walked. "If I may, I'd like to join you. I still have some things I'd wish to say to him."

Chrom simply nodded as they walked down the other hallway. Many of the doors having certain objects and even words carved into them, just like on the other half. At the end of it, Chrom stopped, opening what was apparently the medical room, though it looked indistinguishable from the others around it.

Inside, Chris sat in his bed, the room stark empty, and similar to Robin's. Dull stone walls surrounded a small bed, with a nightstand replacing the desk she'd found in her own room. Atop the stand sat a tray, itself carrying a bowl of soup, completely untouched, as well as, Marth's letter, now opened.

The two moved closer, Robin noting Chris' blank expression. He was relaxed into the pillows behind him and clearly deep in thought, ones which, from his clenched teeth, were ones he wasn't fond of. As she got closer, Chrom tapped him on the shoulder, making him jump in place before calming himself down just as fast.

"Oh… Chrom," he muttered, eyeing the nightstand before shaking his head. "How, uh, are you?"

Chrom let out a sigh. "I've been better, but you certainly have as well, I'd hope."

"Yeah…" He trailed off. Eyes focused on the nightstand again, on the letter, Robin realized.

"Could you," Chris hesitantly said, gesturing towards the door. "Could you shut that? I need to, uh, talk. To both of you."

Standing still for another moment, Robin nodded, glancing at the letter as she did so, and briefly remembering Marth's words as she'd given it to them.

"I cannot tell you now, though I suspect that you will know of its content soon enough."

The door creaked shut, and slowly, Chris relaxed. Or more accurately, he deflated, even more so than he'd been as they'd walked in. He took another breath, stewing on his next words before letting it go.

"Robin," he started, looking up at her, "you remember what I was talking about on top of that fort. That stuff I wasn't telling you about."

"Yes," she answered, confused why he'd bring such a thing up as she noticed Chrom looking at her. Himself confused as to what they were talking about. "Is this about that?"

He nodded, now looking at Chrom. "Do you remember when I explained myself to you guys, about where I was from?"

"Yes, you mentioned you were from another world." It was now Robin's turn to be confused, how were those two things related, and how was he from another world to begin with?

"I—" he stopped, his sheets in a tight grip as he swallowed, "I, wasn't completely honest about that." He looked up at Robin as well. "To both of you."

Chrom took a step back, a small one, but still a step. "What—do you mean?" He was looking at him differently now, almost concerned.

"I wasn't lying to you, I'm definitely from another world, but… there's more to it than that," he slowly admitted, his gaze focused on the bedding he lay under.

"Chris," Robin said, taking another step forward. "Just tell us what it is."

He said nothing, allowing silence to fill the room again as he sat there, thinking once again. Eventually, he shook his head. Finally looking the two of them in the eyes.

"You might want to sit down for this, there's a stool over there," he nodded to the front of the bed, wincing a little as he looked at Robin and added, "but I don't think there's two of them."

Moving the stool into place, Chrom offered it, but Robin waved him off. He hesitantly took the seat, sighing as he looked Chris in the eyes again.

"I don't really know how to start this, so I'll just, uh, say it," he started, swallowing something as he continued, "I know what'll happen in the future."

[Insert witty comment about the chapter like all the other cool SIs do in their ANs]

As always, I'd like to thank Sushion (aka Bunni) for her wonderful help in tolerating my dumbassery until I can competently slap a keyboard right, so big thanks to her there. And as well to that one writing discord I'm about to plug in the paragraph below.

Oh look, a completely unexpected discord code to the Fanfiction Treehouse (9XG3U7a) that you all should go look at. And as for the shameless thing of someone else's I'm plugging, you should go check out the podcast there. They give very good advice for writing, both fanfiction, and general writing. It's like google, but they're also funny, so go check it out. Or don't, I cannot legally force you to do that… yet.

In other news of possibly more interest, I may be accelerating my upload pacing soon, as I managed to write chapter 7 in like, 6 days before editing. So if you see I've updated the fic earlier than you expected, that's probably why. Once again, thanks for all the support y'all have been giving, it always helps to see people care about this thing, and, uh, guess you'll see where this chapter goes next time.