Author's note: So! Less than two weeks until Three Houses comes out! After which I will probably be devoting all of my free time to playing it! So it might be a little while until the next chapter comes out because I really want to get some playing time in on that before I have to go back to school, where I can't play that but can continue to write this. As for this chapter...I love writing Grima. I changed my mind a bit on how to do it, but once I got the picture down I had fun with it. This chapter covers a lot of what we know already because of it, since I wanted to explore familiar events from his perspective, so I hope it's not too repetitive! Now without further ado, enjoy.
When Takumi asked Robin why Grima had chosen to save the tactician, Grima paused. It wasn't as though he'd been doing much, trapped in Robin's mind as he was, but he had been mentally pacing, and thus when Takumi said something Grima hadn't expected, he stopped.
"Why would he save you?" the boy had said. "Why save you? You're just one person."
It was a good question. One that Robin, and thus Grima, hadn't been asked before. After all, Robin hadn't revealed the full breadth of his situation to anyone else during their time in Canta. He tended to hide as many facts about his possession as possible, and as Grima was unable to communicate with anyone other than Robin, there was no other way to let anyone know. No way for the knowledge required to ask the question to go out.
If Robin would be so kind as to say the sorts of things Grima liked, or acted in a way he approved, it wouldn't be so bad. Being stuck in the mindscape of someone he agreed would be...somewhat bearable. But Robin had his own ideas and was unfortunately stubborn, so Grima was left sitting back to watch Robin make a fool of himself far more often than he was comfortable with. Robin was Grima's vessel. Not only born for the position but currently fulfilling it, albeit in a non-conventional, non-desired way. What he did reflected back on Grima. Perhaps not at the moment, as they weren't in a land where people were particularly aware of their situation, but as soon as word got out that Robin had a god trapped in the back of his mind, Grima would have to face the humiliation of being a rather pathetic one. What kind of god was he to not even have full control over a single body? And not only a single body, but one that was specifically created to be his? One that had been formed with puppetry in mind?
Frankly, it didn't even need to be full control. Grima was still dealing with the effects of his defeat in his home world and the multiple body-transfers he'd undergone, and his power was slow to return. If he were in their homeland of Arit, he'd have long recovered. There he had hidden shrines and sources he could draw power from. There he was connected to the earth from which he'd been born, and naturally absorbed energy from his surroundings, sigils or not. A dragon in his homeland was a true menace because he could take strength from the land around him where the puny humans who fought him quickly ran out of energy, regardless of whether they had companions who could heal them. They simply tired. He would not, were he in Plegia where he'd set down his roots ages ago. The more dragons there were the more difficult it was, as the power was split between every dragon who attempted to draw from the land's energy, but only a handful remained in Arit. None remained in Plegia, having long learned to avoid trespassing in his domain. It was his land to control, and his land to feed from.
But he wasn't in Plegia. He was no longer in Arit. He was trapped in a human in an entirely different world, and his attempts at setting down roots in the land had largely failed. Connecting oneself to the land took time. Usually several months. For a dragon, a creature who could live for thousands of years if undisturbed, the period was hardly significant. It was the equivalent of a few days for a human. Maybe only one. And the power gained from such a short period of work was tremendous, paying itself back in full after only a few short months. The only real inconvenience was that for the months of 'construction,' the dragon needed to remain in one place. They could venture out a short distance to take care of a few things, but they had to return every few days, and stay for hours at a time. There was a limit to how far from the site they could go without breaking the forming bonds.
Robin and Grima had already been in Canta for several months. (Or...some period of time close to that. Grima didn't care much for time. It passed. It was measured. He didn't bother keeping track. He hadn't for ages.) If Robin had stayed in one place, Grima could have formed enough of a bond to the land to heal the vessel of nearly every injury he'd taken without depleting his own energy reserves. Robin had done a fairly good job of avoiding injury in his battles, after all. There wasn't much to heal when the idiot wasn't hurting himself in extremely thoughtless ways.
Seriously. It was a significant fault the boy seemed to have. Falling on his own knife? Having a nice little roll on blistering ground which spewed lava everywhere? For someone whose job was to think, Robin had a terrible habit of not doing it during very important moments.
But for the smaller things, such as the spells which largely rolled off Robin's high resistance and the small cuts and bruises he received protecting others, a bond to the land would've given Grima enough energy to fix the injuries without needing a staff or potion. It would've taken a little time, but Grima could've done it so long as he had enough energy to begin and enough time in one place to finish construction. Most likely. He hadn't though, and thus Grima was left having to care for Robin with his personal reserves.
Though, maybe it would be for the best if the connection to the land Grima had enjoyed in Plegia was impossible in this new world. If Anankos were able to form such a connection, he'd be much more of a force to be reckoned with then they'd initially planned.
Anankos was likely the last dragon left in his realm, meaning all the land's power was his to command. He could thus draw nigh endlessly from his surroundings, strengthening himself and making even the strongest blows glide off his scales. Dragonskin was known to be one of the strongest materials in the world for a reason.
But that was its own topic. One he'd spent too much time thinking about.
Since his 'revival,' Grima had found himself drifting off on tangents quite often. A side effect of having spent ages without anyone worthwhile to speak to, most likely.
In his original timeline, it wasn't long before those who'd orchestrated Grima's return were killed off by the Shepherds or merely bored him so much he ignored their presence. Furthermore, he'd gone mad after a time, even with the other Robin's body under his control. Most conversations he would've had were cut off by the combination. After that he hadn't done much speaking, and when left to one's thoughts, it was easy to run all over the place. Especially when those thoughts were being corrupted by the decay of one's own mind. There was no real reason to keep thinking about a single thing if he were only speaking to himself and had no one else to inform. He was the only one that needed to understand, and he'd think about and understand whatever interested him most at the moment. When he'd traveled to the new timeline, he'd had more interactions with other people, but that habit never left him entirely. Especially after finding himself trapped within the new Robin, who hardly ever spoke to him. Though Grima hadn't put much effort into reaching out, so some of the blame might have lain with himself.
Now that he thought of it, Robin had a similar habit. He was prone to tangents, to going off into his own head as the world continued on around him, changing topics as Robin took the original one to a depth far deeper than necessary. Was it something Robin had developed on his own? Was it something borne from Grima's presence, whether it was from the current one or the piece of Grima Robin had held since birth? Robin had taken on a few familiar characteristics lately. It might have just been a natural progression of his personality as he matured into a smarter person, but…
Well, interesting as that was, it wasn't that important. It was entertaining, yes, but it didn't do much for Grima. Other than making being stuck with Robin slightly more bearable, but if Grima had any say in the matter their current situation wouldn't be a permanent one, so it meant little in the long run.
As long as the long run was one Grima liked. If he were to be stuck in Robin forever…
He still didn't know what was going to happen to him. He'd never tried to separate himself from the Robin of his original timeline until his 'death,' when he'd jumped to the current Robin. At that point he knew he'd die if he didn't find something to inhabit. A pathetic situation to be in, and he couldn't identify what it was that made him think that, but he knew it to be true. If he were to separate himself from Robin in the present, would he die like he was sure he was going to the last time? He had grown stronger since that battle, his strength having come back to him bit by bit. Not yet to his full power, but he was stronger. He couldn't see himself simply fading away after leaving.
Yet, there was something that made him want to stay. Security, perhaps? Fear of the unknown? It had been a while since he'd felt that.
But no, maybe it was just that...he didn't know what else to do. He was in a foreign land. Even if he conquered it, the people would never be his. The land, the earth wasn't his. It would be an empty conquest, and he didn't care for that. There would be no satisfaction in his victory. Not to mention there was another dragon trying to attempt what he'd ideally be doing. He didn't want to be anybody's false successor. He was no copycat. Copycats were simpletons who couldn't come up with their own ideas, couldn't find their own strengths and had to rely on what they'd seen of others. He was better than that.
So maybe he didn't leave because he wouldn't have anything to do, were he to escape. He didn't have a dragonstone on him, and knew the type Corrin held would do him no good. For all he knew, if he left Robin's body, he'd transform back into his dragon form and face persecution. Pitiful humans trying to destroy him for Anankos' crimes, or something equally ridiculous. And with his strength as low as it was, he wouldn't be able to defend himself as he once had. Not to mention the looming threat of madness. While mad, he'd felt free. But looking back on what he'd done, he greatly preferred having a good grip on his sanity.
So he stayed. Robin's life was interesting enough, even if it was frustrating having to sit back and listen at points. As things were, he was gaining strength without having to expend any (subtracting the few times Robin had decided trying to get himself killed in boneheaded ways was a fun way to spend his time, forcing Grima to intervene). He had free entertainment in the form of Robin's interactions (though, the quality of said entertainment varied greatly). He had a good grip on his sanity, which he had struggled with for centuries. His circumstances weren't the worst.
So he was content for the time being. Robin served him well, and Grima would protect him in turn.
Robin finished his conversation with Takumi about that time, and Grima watched as Robin stared out into the canyon, swaying with the old bridge beneath his feet.
A moment later he jumped, and Grima took a deep breath, ready for the pressure of travelling between worlds.
Before it came, however, a new voice entered the scene. One Grima was not familiar with. "You are not welcome here," it said, echoing about. Where in the world was it coming from? It had appeared directly in Robin's mind, not from some outside source. No regular human was capable of such things. It continued: "This is my domain. I will not allow you to trespass. We have had our war, and I have won my home. What happens now is between me and those wretched humans. You are not welcome here."
'Those wretched humans.' Them. Not we, or us. The voice believed himself separate. Above them, based on the tone.
Suddenly Grima was hit with realization, the same moment as a new pressure hit Robin's body. He felt Robin's consciousness begin to fade, and with it his own. Robin was the dominant presence in their body, and thus when he slept, so did Grima.
But Grima wasn't going to give up so easily. He gathered up the energy he'd been building over the past few months and pushed back against the new voice, against the new force, against that interfering bastard Anankos. What did he think he was doing!? Why was he going for Robin!? Was it because he sensed Grima's presence and wanted to destroy him before he could pose a true threat to Anankos? Was it because Anankos knew Robin was at the head of Corrin's army, and he wanted to start destroying them from the top?
Grima's vision blurred as Robin's consciousness drifted further and further away from the surface, and he let out another curse. Being stuck in a human wasn't completely terrible when the human was awake and functioning, but when Robin went to sleep, Grima was shoved into darkness, stuck in the back of the boy's mind with nothing to entertain himself with but his own thoughts. In that space he was also completely powerless to affect anything in the outside world, through Robin's power or his own. There he could see nothing and feel nothing, and that situation was unacceptable given their current predicament. Dangerous.
Grima split his energy in two, sending some toward Anankos' invading presence, and some towards Robin's fading mind. It wasn't nearly as precise as he would've liked, the sudden burst being much more messy than anything directed toward someone's mind should've been. But he had no time to focus on the details. He needed Robin to remain awake. Of all the times to start to go…!
It might've been somewhat Grima's fault. He'd been drawing on Robin's energy for a while, and the boy was tired. Had he been at full strength, Grima was confident Robin would've been able to hold onto himself and fight off Anankos' influence, even without Grima's direct involvement. Robin had great mental fortitude, and the stronger one's resistance, the better their ability to fend off both magic and psychic attacks.
But Robin wasn't at full power, and the situation wasn't nearly as favorable as Grima would've liked. Anankos was strong, and his attack was hard. Had Grima spelled his own doom?
No, he wouldn't accept that. He wouldn't accept defeat at the hands of some mad stranger he'd never seen, never heard up until that moment. He was the fell dragon. Anankos was nothing compared to him. Nothing.
"Leave us alone, you crazed bastard!" he screamed, baring his teeth in hopes the expression would find its way to its target. "And don't ever so much as dare touch us again! I won't let you kill him. He's my damn body, and far better than the likes of you should ever approach. I swear, if you attempt to lay your hands on us again-" Robin's body hit something, a sharp pain lancing up Grima's head, causing his world to flash black. But he wasn't going to give up. He would not stop in the middle of his address, he would not allow himself to be humiliated by such a lowly dragon as the mad Anankos. He would not let himself be defeated by someone who hadn't even won the battle to maintain their own sanity.
Grima fought his way to the front of the mindscape he was trapped in, pushing past the blank presence that was Robin, continuing his rant even as the world swirled around him and faded to black, knowing Anankos was still there, knowing he would hear Grima's screams. "-I will rip you apart piece by piece when we finally meet! I will find the dullest of wyrmslayers and press it to your skin, carving off each scale with the precision of a child who's never handled a blade, making sure each one is so ruined your memory is completely desecrated, your corpse so maimed that no person, sane or otherwise, would even think to worship you! I will find every one of your monuments and defile it, polluting the land around it so your name is associated with a curse, with death and nothing more. I will find whatever survivors exist in that forsaken land of yours and fill their heads with stories of your wretchedness, of your vile words, of your inability to control yourself, nothing more than a monster lucky enough to be born into a blessed form, but stupid enough to throw it all away for the embrace of madness. Whenever your name is spoken, it will be spoken in hatred. Not fear, because you're undeserving of such power. All that remains of your body will be displayed, in its misshapen, perverted form; a sight to mock for the failure of what it once was, and to despise for what it had once done. You will have no power, from either followers or fright. Lay a hand on us again and I swear, with all the power I have left in me and all that I will come to bear, that I will completely destroy you. Whatever you've done in the past is no concern of mine. But touch what I have claimed, what I have worked with, what I spent a thousand years trapped in darkness and pain 'waiting' for, and I will make you suffer more than you have ever imagined, more than I or any other dragon to grace your or my world has ever had to endure!"
Grima's head was swimming. He was sure that, were his vision working, he'd be seeing red. The pathetic, the worthless...the damned worm Anankos had gotten on his nerves in a way that sent Grima back to a state he hadn't felt since before he'd gone through Naga's portal to the new timeline. It felt as though the logical parts of his mind were shutting down on him in favor of rage and hatred. Of madness.
Maybe it was because Robin had gone quiet, so he was no longer serving as a layer of protection against the insanity that had almost consumed Grima in that time. That had consumed him before Naga's chosen sealed him away, a millennia before Robin had been born.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
He didn't care. He was infuriated. He was going to destroy Anankos. He didn't care what it took. Anankos had interfered in something he had no right to interfere with.
Ah. Maybe that was why Grima had been sent to the new world by whatever power had brought him there. To destroy Anankos. To put him in his place. To teach him that he had overstepped his boundaries, to crush him for playing where he had no right to play, where he had no right to exist.
Anankos knew no etiquette. He didn't know how the world worked. How power worked. How possession worked. How claims worked. He should have stuck to his own realm. To his own world. He shouldn't have trespassed on the realm of another. He shouldn't have tried attacking Grima, or Robin, or whoever it was at this point he didn't know but Anankos shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have gone that far, shouldn't have broken all the unspoken rules that not even Grima in all his madness had broken until he'd been attacked first because even after Naga had marked him a traitor he had continued, he had continued to do nothing and to stay where he was supposed to be in his own land, until the attacks became too much (and yes he was attacked first that time and first this time and was Anankos really trying to incite war? Because trapped as he was Grima could do war, he had an army at his disposal and he could create more if he only had the time and the corpses-) and only then did he decide to respond. They wanted a fight and he delivered it. He delivered it and he could a thousand times over.
Anankos wanted a fight. He'd made the first move against them after all. Maybe they were going to Valla to bring the fight to Anankos, but they hadn't attacked anyone yet, they'd just traveled. Robin (Grima) ((Robin)) had yet to kill anyone, but Anankos went for them directly, not only in their minds but against their body, sending them careening toward the side of the canyon where they otherwise would've fallen straight, taking revenge against them for a crime they had yet to commit, as if he was scared they were going to hurt him, because he knew they would win if they were ever to fight him, and then-
And then-
Ah.
Robin flickered back, and for a brief moment, Grima saw the sky. The red at the edges of his vision crawled back. He hadn't even noticed it come in. Grima felt the gathering magic threatening to tear Robin's pathetically human body apart recede. He felt his mind collapse in on itself, drawing itself back from the thousand paths it had embarked on as it came up with destruction and pain and suffering and revenge and all those things Grima's sleeping mind had latched onto and nurtured over those thousand years of being sealed away at the table. Over those things it had cultivated, occasionally harvesting, occasionally abandoning while he moved that other Robin's body around in his old timeline, in the future where he'd achieved his- dreams?
Was that his dream? Destruction?
Yes. Of course. Naga had tarnished his name, called him a destroyer. He'd fulfilled his duty. She'd done it thinking she would have a martyr or some other sort of scapegoat (she'd never explained her logic to him, and he didn't care. or maybe she had, but it wasn't as though her words meant anything. once a liar always a liar. why would he believe her after what she'd done?). He took her betrayal in stride and expanded it to its limit, fulfilling her prophecy and more to damn her and her people for their impudence. His people had been destroyed. His name had been tarnished. He wanted revenge. He wanted to avenge them. He wanted-
Robin's presence flickered once more, and instead of Grima's mind clearing, it only dulled.
Had it really cleared at all?
Or had his madness faded just enough for him to think he was sane, as it had in that old future, when he'd killed those stupid Grimleal 'advisors' Validar had appointed left and right because he was bored, or because they annoyed him, or because he wanted to test out what his new body was capable of and they were the most convenient targets?
The truly insane were never fully aware of just how deep that insanity ran. Sure, some could tell something was wrong. But what was that? Could they identify it all? Could he identify it all? Could-
Robin's presence flickered and burst, overwhelming Grima in his place locked away next to Robin's mind, next to his soul-
It faded once more, and with it, Grima's consciousness. His last thought was that no, he wasn't nearly as sane as he'd believed himself to be.
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When Grima drifted back to the surface, back to a point he could feel, it was to a slight shudder. A shake from the outside.
He ignored it. His body was still thrumming with power that it wasn't ready to handle, weak as it was. The shake was likely only a side effect, nothing more. He had yet to attempt drawing his full energy to this Robin's body, and the form was thus unaccustomed to that kind of force. That type of energy. It couldn't process it correctly, left to tremble as sparks of excess energy hopped across and under its skin, trying to convert themselves into an energy the body was used to using.
Grima had long since gotten over that failed processing in the old Robin's body; had gotten to the point he could cast spells without the use of the tomes that regular humans required. He'd molded that body to shrug off dark magic without a thought, to absorb it on occasion if the blow was weak but the power was of just the right type. He'd tempered it and he'd changed it to be his perfect vessel, taking what Validar and his followers had set up and tweaking it until it was just right, until he didn't feel like he was dragging around some uncomfortable, misshapen meat suit every day as he went about his business.
Still, that Robin's body was not truly his own, regardless of the things he did to it. When he saw his reflection in a pool of water or a mirror he passed (never a mirror in his own domain, he'd had them all removed), he never thought of the figure staring back as his own. He recognized who it was, of course. But it was always Robin staring back. Never Grima. They looked similar, but they weren't the same, and Grima doubted he'd ever be able to get back that old manakete form he'd grown accustomed to over the years. Even that had always felt off compared to his true form, compared to scales and wings and claws and towering over whichever humans came to pester him. But that first 'human' form, the manakete version of himself so to speak, had grown on him over time; he'd become accustomed enough that when he did see that reflection, he did see himself staring back. He recognized it as his own, not as some simple possession.
But Robin wasn't Grima, and it had gotten on Grima's nerves whenever the boy's annoying father claimed he was. That Robin was 'the perfect recreation of our Lord Grima's flesh, the rebirth of our God in all his perfection, the blessing we've waited so long for,' or however the man said it at least once a week at the Dragon's Table in the original timeline, where Grima had been stuck listening as he slowly shook off sleep to take control of said 'blessing.'
Which he technically could have done without. It might have taken him a few more years to return, and his sanity might have been a tad more...questionable...but he hadn't needed that dog's help. All it had been good for was securing bodies; dark mages who threw themselves at his feet, happily (stupidly, mindlessly) sacrificing themselves for his 'cause.' Good fodder for Risen, and easily accessible. There was no need to go searching for gravesites or killing off villages when there were thousands of eager volunteers nipping at his heels wherever he went. It cut down on the amount of time he'd needed to get his revenge, taking out some of the tedious sections he didn't care much for.
Getting revenge as a whole was certainly enjoyable, but even when doing something much desired, one could find little pieces that weren't particularly interesting. Little steps that just...dragged on too much.
Another shake. This one was a little harder. Was Robin's body going into shock or something? Grima had fought back Anankos. He knew the interferer had done no lasting damage. That damn rock they'd bashed their head on had done more than Anankos had. But Grima was fairly certain he'd healed that as he fought Anankos. Anything he missed should have been healed while Robin and Grima slept. His power did feel a bit drained, so it had to have gone somewhere. But why was he shaking? Grima had always been able to feel what Robin did for the most part, but it was always dulled. Like sound through water. He could tell what was happening, but there was a layer between him and the event, the instigator. A punch became a hard nudge; an ear-splitting scream became a loud announcement; a deep burn became a slightly uncomfortable warmth. Unless there was magic involved, what Grima felt was only a fraction of whatever Robin had to endure.
The shaking seemed to be hitting Grima directly, though. So it must have been magic. But what kind of magic only made someone shake? And only from one point? Was it just shock, a reaction to a magic overload that had excess energy sparking about, making Robin's body shudder when it hit a nerve?
The third shake was much harder than the first two, and Grima decided he'd had enough. He snapped his eyes open, ready to yell at Robin to wake up and deal with his own problems.
For whatever reason he'd been laying down, an oddity considering he usually saw himself standing while stuck in Robin's headspace. So he shoved himself up on one hand, ready to begin scolding his currently-useless vessel.
But when his eyes opened and his torso was perpendicular to the ground, he didn't see the endless black realm that his normal spot in Robin's mind was composed of. Instead, he saw green and blue and white. The colors and the sudden movement dizzied Grima, and he found himself swaying. Odd. Was he drained from his fight with Anankos? Was his mind still trying to recover from his brief drift back towards madness, in that time where Robin had gone and he'd been alone? It was certainly spinning more than normal, alongside the world and its eerily bright colors. That wasn't right either. Was Robin just in a particularly good mood or something? Brightening up his head space with an upturn in his demeanor? It had happened a few times before, but usually the space just turned grey or some other boring color, little specks of white occasionally gracing the air. Once it had gone a little purple, which was a lovely change, but it hadn't lasted. But green and blue? Unheard of.
Grima took in a breath, trying to give his mind some time to clear, and Robin's some time to catch up with him.
He paused as a thought hit him.
Was he seeing through Robin's eyes? Was that why there was color? Why there was green and blue and white where there should only be black, gray, or purple? But why was there so much? It was supposed to be paler. More pastel. Filtered.
Throwing his head from side to side, Grima found the world moved alongside him. At his command.
He darted his eyes left and was greeted by the sight of a collapsed tower, ashy blocks of crumbling stone strewn about the grass near it, the remnants of the wall standing only a dozen feet high on one side, and half that on another. Besides it was a pile of broken wood, partially rotted away over time and weathering, partially worn away by the abuse of birds' beaks and insect's burrowing if the small holes said anything about the wood's history. Behind the two Grima saw what he guessed to be an old windmill, a red cylinder missing more than a few bricks visible over the top of the broken tower, a few large vanes Grima assumed to be its sails leaning against the side of the structure.
He looked right and saw unmarked hills, bright green blades of grass moving gently in the breeze that rolled over his person and over their tips. Above the hills were numerous floating chunks of earth, some barren, some covered with broken structures similar to what Grima had seen to his left. One even appeared to hold a shrine, some sort of arch covered with symbols staked into the grass below it, a slab of stone that likely once held the visage of some holy person or god underneath. Others held pools. Below them, back on the rolling hills, small flowers peppered the ground, some pink, some blue, some...oh the color of it all. Why was there so much color? Why could he discern a lavender from a periwinkle? Why wasn't the land faded? Why did it seem like he was looking with his own eyes?
He looked left again. Then right. Then left. Then further left.
There were bodies all across the ground, wearing various garbs, but that wasn't important.
What was important was that each command he gave, his body followed. His body. It was listening. It was following his directions.
He looked front. There, kneeling with a smile, was Corrin.
He looked back to the bodies. They belonged to the troops Robin had gathered, the ones he'd sent to Anankos' realm ahead of himself.
The girl began to giggle. She was certainly having a good time, completely oblivious to his current predicament. "Glad to have you back with us, Robin."
At the address, Grima looked back to Corrin. Once again, the body followed.
He stared for a moment, waiting for Robin to respond. But he didn't. The boy didn't so much as stir. Grima thought to respond for a moment, but paused. What would he say? Was he...was he in control of Robin's body? Had he somehow won it over without even trying?
If that was the case…
He bit his lip to keep the grin from rising. He had his chance. He hadn't asked for it, he hadn't had the time to properly prepare, but...
Corrin's giggles stopped abruptly. A horrified expression crossed her face, as she breathed the word, "oh," eyes wide.
Grima's eyebrows rose. Why pause? Had she figured it out? That the person in control of Robin's body was not the man she thought? That would be fairly surprising. The girl was far from stupid, but she had a way of missing things that were right in front of her that sometimes astounded him. If she knew what was going on, Grima would freely and happily hand Robin's body right back to the boy the second he woke up.
His doubts were confirmed once Corrin spoke again, an irritating, over-the-top smile on her face. She spoke quickly, rushing her words to the point Grima was mildly impressed she didn't trip over them. "Before you start freaking out, although it's probably too late for that, please know everyone's fine! They're not dead! Just unconscious. Right now the four of us are the only ones awake, but everyone else is alive and well, okay? I promise you your plan didn't fail and kill everyone horribly while you were asleep."
Behind her, her companions began to choke. Grima simply continued to breath, not very amused. He shifted slightly, opening and closing his hands to test out how well Robin's body (Grima's body? Their body) responded to his commands. The response was a bit sluggish, but it was there. He glanced down at his boots as he curled his toes. Rolled his ankles a bit. Tightened his shoulders. Sent a small, almost nonexistent sliver of energy towards his core, trying to begin the awakening process for the rest of his power which was still trapped within, sleeping alongside Robin.
When he looked back up Corrin was still staring at him, eyes wide and stage smile still beaming.
He couldn't help but laugh. What a situation to find himself in. He had control of a body he'd fought to overpower for years in his original timeline, of a body his other self had practically destroyed when it tried to take over in its timeline, and it was all because of some fluke. Practically no effort on his part.
He'd expended a fair amount of energy rejecting Anankos' presence, but he hadn't done so with possessing Robin in mind. He'd done it out of irritation. And madness, which had begun to creep up on him as soon as Robin began to fade. Accidental acquisition. How lovely.
It took considerable effort to stop laughing once Grima felt the expression of amusement had lasted long enough. He quirked an eyebrow. "Well, you certainly have a way with words," he told Corrin, grinning.
Corrin responded with a smile of her own, this one much more toned down. A real smile, not a forced one. The honesty was much appreciated. Or the end of the stupid grin.
"Glad to know that at least you appreciate them," she responded. Mid sentence she'd turned around, trying to make a jab at the two behind her. Grima had to stifle a huff of irritation at the action. She was being so childish. But, it was an honest display of irritation. Unlike Robin, this human didn't seem to spend much time fighting her emotions.
Rather, the half human, half dragon. Or half...whatever she was. Grima knew what dragons were. Whatever strange creature she was was something else entirely. Certainly not divine dragon. Nor earth dragon, nor ice, fire, or mage.
Grima's lips curled further, moving toward a sneer. "Mm, I didn't say I appreciated them." It was the honesty of her expression that had made him laugh, not her words. He thus felt moved to give her a cheeky reply. "Just that they were...interesting."
There was more commotion from the two by them. Azura and Jakob, Grima thought their names were. What were they doing, standing there and listening in on his conversation? They were unnecessary. Uninvited on his part.
Corrin didn't seem to mind the noise. "Oh really?" she asked. "Then how would you say it? You know, tell the previously unconscious person whipping their head around at all their seemingly dead comrades that everything is okay in the shortest way possible to make sure they're well informed, but not worried or guilty."
"Easy," Grima responded with a bored look. "I wouldn't."
After all, it wasn't his problem if someone was confused. He hadn't killed the others, so he had no need to explain their deaths. Not to mention he saw no point to it. The man who got himself so worked up over a few deaths without even checking deserved the pain of misunderstanding. It would teach him not to be so hasty next time.
"You wouldn't?" Corrin didn't seem to understand what he was saying. Grima sighed as realization dawned on her face. It took too long for his liking. "Oh I get this one. Because you don't have to, since you weren't the one in the situation?"
"That is true," he afforded. But he still wasn't amused. He was growing tired of her. He had other things to do, like testing out just what his body was capable of. What he could make it do. The abilities Robin had had since birth, but was too afraid to reach for.
Corrin kept on going, continuing to prod him with her positivity. "Well we have a ton of people to wake up after this, so you better come up with something. You're the tactician, so this sort of thing falls under your jurisdiction."
"Mm," Grima hummed, not motivated enough to give a proper response. He huffed, watching the hood Robin wore puff up for a moment before falling once more. It got in the way of his line of sight. Compromised his vision. It was a nuisance. A lot of things were, at the moment. Such was the price of having a body again. The sudden thrust back into his senses was a lot to deal with.
It was similar to what he'd felt after his original awakening at the dragon's table after a thousand years of slumber. Being caught so long in his own mind, with only his awareness and thoughts to accompany him, he'd grown used to the silence. The numbness. The lack of taste, of smell, of touch, of sunlight, of water, of people. He was so used to nothing that, when he woke up surrounded by blood and screams and sparks and commotion, he'd felt assaulted on all sides. His takeover of that Robin hadn't been very smooth because of it, which only served to worsen the situation and his discomfort. He couldn't fully concentrate on his actions when just existing felt like a constant attack. Violence begets violence, and so the bombardment from his reactivated senses carried over into his attack once his consciousness connected with Robin's.
But that was for another time. As were many of the things he was thinking about. He seemed to be getting off track far too often. His thoughts just...didn't want to line up. It was as if there was something in the way.
Grima didn't like it.
So he returned his focus to what he'd been doing, bringing his hand in front of his face to watch how it responded to his movements.
When he tilted his hand up, he noticed the fingertips and palm of his glove were a darker shade than their surroundings. The fabric felt slightly damp in those spots as well. "Ah." Maybe that was why his thoughts were so misaligned. He was bleeding. The rock had done damage after all "I thought I felt a bump."
Clearly, he wasn't going mad again. He was just injured. Though the spot had already healed over, so the real injury was gone. To think some simple, immobile stone had managed to do more damage to Robin's body than the 'great' dragon Anankos. But regardless of the cause, and regardless of whether or not the injury was fully healed, the exhaustion from doing so remained remained, and no matter how powerful you were at your best, exhaustion was a recipe for mistakes, disorganization, and disaster. He'd be over it soon enough though.
Corrin, unfortunately, didn't seem to agree, shouting for her servant to heal him and almost throwing a fit when the man agreed with Grima, telling her that Grima had been honest about his lack of injury and there was nothing for him to do.
It was frustrating, but that wasn't a real issue. Annoying, yes. A waste of his time, yes. But harmful? Not in the slightest. If he broke down every time someone disagreed with or got mad at him, Grima would have crumbled to dust ages ago.
What nearly made him snap was when the servant suddenly switched sides and suggested Grima was drunk.
Drunk.
He didn't even know how to react to that statement.
All he could do was repeat the word as the trio in front of him babbled on about his supposed inebriation. Or concussion. But they kept bringing up stupid things Robin had done and Grima simply didn't know how to respond. How could he without revealing who he was? And if he did, would they even believe him? Who believed what a drunk said when what they said sounded insane?
He felt odd, certainly, but...not in that way.
But, whether he was drunk or not (the answer was not, as he very much wanted to tell the three, possibly accompanied by bashing their heads against a rock so they'd know how it felt), he knew he didn't appear to be in good condition. He thus wasn't surprised when the three suggested leaving behind, citing Robin's recent habit of seriously injuring himself as their reason for doing so. Grima found himself in agreement. Robin had never been so careless in the past. Was he doing it just to spite Grima?
The answer to that was no, of course, as Robin didn't seem to bear any serious ill will toward Grima, despite all that he had done. Robin seemed far more interested in repairing their relationship than straining it. Mostly for the sake of gaining knowledge, as Grima felt Robin's eyes widen and watched as his mind scape brightened each time Grima fed him even a hint of information about his past or reasoning. But regardless of why Robin chose to do it, he had done nothing but attempt to bridge the gap between the two. Grima could therefore find no reason for Robin to intentionally hurt Grima or slow his recovery. Other than a wish to keep Grima in check, and away from possible attempts at restarting his conquest, which Robin was vocally against. But Robin only ever scolded Grima about it; he never took any direct action. Whether the thought had never crossed his kind, or whether Robin simply didn't act on it Grima did not know. But he was grateful for the trust. He'd done very little to earn it. Were his and Robin's relationship any different, he would think less of Robin for giving it so freely. But with souls so intertwined, senses so close, minds linked, Grima appreciated the trust rather than questioning it. He valued it highly as well. Loyalty and trust were exceptional qualities in a man. Robin had shown himself capable of giving both, as well as capable of making good, informed decisions about who to give them to and when to give them.
Finally, Corrin finished her speech, telling Grima she wished to start waking the others while Grima (Robin, really, as she had no idea who she was actually speaking to) stayed where he was to rest.
Grima found little problem with the situation. He wanted some time free of distractions to figure out what he was capable of.
Still, while he was happy for the action, he was careful not to show it. She was suspicious enough.
Unfortunately, this led to her maintaining the apologetic tone he'd grown tired of. Humans were too free with their apologies. The more they gave, the less they meant. The most intelligent move was to hold onto one's apologize for truly worthy moments. That way the person receiving the apology knew it bore a heavy weight, and would receive it with grace. The apology from the man who gave a hundred each day felt like a nice, but rather empty saying. The apology from the man who was known only to give them under exceptional circumstances was more powerful than any action could be.
"I'm sorry we keep having to leave you behind," Corrin said, frowning, looking briefly at the ground between them before reestablishing eye contact. "But at the moment, it's for the best. Now go lie down in the shade and get some rest, but try not to fall asleep. I'm not totally sure how to deal with concussions, so this might be totally wrong but I think it's how it goes so just...do that."
Oh. How nice. She was giving him medical advice that she wasn't sure of, which could possibly lead to him worsening his health.
Even if it came from a 'good place in her heart' and Robin might put it, it was careless. He was almost dumbfounded, actually. Who gave medical advice that could possibly worsen their patient's condition? He started to tell her, but found himself unable to come up with the proper words to express his feelings.
Grima made an attempt anyway. "Corrin. You are incredibly…" He trailed off. The words that came to mind weren't very polite, and saying them would break character. He had to pretend to be Robin until he'd gathered his bearings, and Robin would never be that rude to one of his friends. Blunt, maybe, but he would never call someone harebrained. To their face, at least. Grima settled on a new sentence entirely "Just go do what you need to do. I'll be here in the meantime."
With an exaggerated bow, Grima did as asked, lying back down on the grass, staring at the clouds drifting through the sky overhead. After a moment he decided to pull up the hood. Robin tended to do that when he took naps in bright places. The motion would hopefully convince Corrin and her friends that he was doing the same, relieving them of their worries and getting them to leave faster.
Of course, as soon as he put his head down he realized he had put a little too much of his own personality into the gesture. Pulling the hood over his head? Okay. Bowing beforehand? Robin had done it once or twice, but Grima had a feeling his bow was too deep, his smile too condescending as he did it if Corrin's sigh was any indication.
She did finally leave though, taking her two companions with her, which was what really mattered. Grima stayed down for a good two minutes to make sure they weren't suddenly about to turn around before sitting back up, ready to conduct some further tests.
Though he'd needed a few seconds to balance himself, Grima had moved well enough earlier. Ideally he'd bolt out of sight before Corrin could turn back around, so he'd be gone before she could tell the direction he'd gone in, but he decided against it. He wasn't entirely sure that his ability to run would be as good as he wanted it to yet, and if he tripped that would alert Corrin. He'd have to walk or quietly jog instead.
To avoid catching her notice he waited until she and her friends were talking to the older of the Nohrian princes, engrossed in their conversation and facing away from Robin. Then he stood, removing his coat. He arranged it in a way it puffed up slightly, large enough to resemble a curled body from afar. If anyone went to examine it it would be an obvious decoy, but it would at least serve its purpose long enough for him to get away. Once done, he carefully walked down one of the hillsides, turning sharply at the bottom to make his way over to the collapsed windmill without being seen. As long as there were no surprise blockages on his way, he'd be able to skirt the bottom without being seen as he made his way to the rubble, where he'd use the cover of stone to keep prying eyes away from himself.
The back side of the mill was much the same as the front. One of the missing sails had fallen to the ground behind the wall, snapped almost in half by some stone lying on top. Moss grew along the bottom, the shade from the mill keeping the area damp and dark. Good for plants, but not to Grima's tastes. Dry and warm was his favorite. Light was variable. But it was a good place to work without being seen, so he kicked aside several pieces of stone and brick and set his back against the wall, looking out, away from where he'd come from.
He could see caves in the distance. They came from large mountains, topped with greenery and reaching the clouds. The entrances were very small, and the paths to them too treacherous for the inexperienced or unprepared climber, peppered with jagged boulders and gnarled trees and tangled briars all leaning toward a fatal drop.
The caves weren't impossible to reach, however, and could provide good shelter if the group wasn't able to find any other suitable locations. The obstacles that blocked the easy path wouldn't be impossible to remove. For the trees and briars, they could deploy mages with fire tomes to burn them away. Grima hadn't paid much attention when Robin had talked to Xander about his forces, but Grima was sure there was at least one soldier in his employ that could take care of the brush. For the boulders things became more complicated, as they appeared to be lodged into the mountainside, some more so than others. It reminded Grima of a carving, almost, the way the rock curled in to make sharp edges in some places, smooth spikes in others, and jagged ridges where the two met. For such a bright land the path was uncharacteristically dark. But it brought variety to the landscape, and that Grima appreciated.
The land wasn't his main focus however. He could easily and comfortably discuss such things with Corrin and the others at any time. His goal at the moment was to determine how much of his power he had access to.
Grima started small. He held out his right hand, balling it into a fist. He slowly raised his index finger, concentrating on the tip, on the gentle flow of energy through his body.
There was definitely power to be found. He was thrumming with it, ever so gently. But the trouble was found in his ability to access it. He wasn't used to having a body again, nor was the power he'd been gathering since he'd come to inhabit this Robin's body used to being channeled through it. So his energy had grown, but his ability to harness it had not followed along. He'd had few chances to practice doing so, after all.
Until that moment, that was. Standing alone, no Robin or pests to bother him, he finally had the opportunity to begin latching back onto the energy he'd been slowly accumulating since he'd come to share Robin's body. He sent it toward his finger, humming as he felt the thrum concentrate along his core before rolling up his chest, toward his shoulder, down his arm, through his hand, into the single raised finger, pointed toward the sky.
A second later a black wisp appeared, floating softly into the air above It didn't flicker as a fire did, nor did it bubble as water was prone to do. It didn't float in one place, rotating at a lazy pace as ice did. It simply drifted upwards, fading into the air.
Grima watched for a good minute as the stream continued, gradually darkening the air around it. The longer he manifested his power, the longer it remained visible, swirling around itself, moving further and further away from its origin point as it enveloped the surrounding air. The stream itself never grew; he never let out more power than he'd originally given. He kept it even, steady, constant, strong. The best force was an undying one. It didn't need to be powerful. It just had to continue on, outlasting its enemies.
There was many a time he could have eliminated all his foes at once, removing the threat as soon as it had appeared. Where hundreds had come up against him, but only tens died. Where he passed enemy encampments he could have easily squashed had he felt like it, destroying the strength of numbers alongside morale at the same moment. But he hadn't acted. Chose not to. It was entertaining to watch the struggle; to watch his foes think that perhaps they could win against the seemingly unbeatable foe, because that foe could never defeat them all at once. He'd never done it. Not that they'd seen Never taken them all out with a single blow, and as long as some of them lived, so did their dream, so did their chance at victory. It didn't matter that the war had dragged on for years, because he had to be getting tired. They were getting tired. They had fewer and fewer people volunteering to join their cause every year, but it was okay, because they still had sheer numbers, and his power wasn't enough to defeat them as long as they had that.
But they didn't, really. They never did. They would never have enough fighters to overcome him, and they would never have enough to outlast him. Every man they lost became a new corpse who could fight for Grima's cause. A fresh candidate to become a Risen. He'd always had them surrounded, even if they couldn't see it. He'd always be able to outlast them, sheerly based on lifespan. The children of the originals might fight with the passion and fury of their parents. Some of the grandchildren might as well. But some would doubt; some would question why they were fighting a war that two generations could not win. Why bother throwing their lives away for a victory that was supposedly just days away thirty years prior? Volunteers would drop. Deserters would rise. Allies turned opponents would grow, crying out for the war to end in desperation, pleading to Grima to leave them alone or to simply accept them to his side because they could fight no longer, saw no reason to, knew the war was pointless in the end because they could not win when he'd contaminated the very land they stood on, polluted the air with threads of dark magic, stolen away the brightness of day, of which their ancestors had written song and book aplenty but the children had never seen with their own eyes.
Grima had seen the beginnings of such things in his original timeline, shortly before his venture into the one his current body hailed from. And that was only the second generation.
The third, the fourth, the fifth...It would be interesting to watch how they reacted. But that timeline was gone. Grima could not travel freely between times or worlds. He'd ridden Naga's wave the first time, and he hadn't the slightest idea what had brought him and Robin to Canta. And...as enjoyable as it all was, sometimes he wondered what he would do when he was done. Conquest was fun, but what would he do with the conquered? When none remained who wished to oppose him? Or rather, were confident enough to vocalise that wish? Hatred never died. The strength to fight did, but the hatred that fueled it didn't. It simply went into hiding, smouldering within a person and baking them from the inside as they were forced to live with the feeling, too tired to act upon it, too scared to see the blaze it could grow into if it were only allowed room to do so.
Maybe after a few generations of subservience the people would act out again. They would forget why they had been forced into submission in the first place. Forget the fear, lose the ability to understand why their ancestors had been so frightened.
Maybe he'd let them. Give that generation free reign to proliferate, to spread their roots across the continent. See if they were worthy living on their own, if they'd worship him as he was meant to be worshipped, as he deserved to be worshipped, as he was destined to be revered.
And if they didn't, he'd just crush them all over again. That would give him something to do.
Back in his present time, however, none of that was relevant. The air was clogged with magic, yes, but the land was not polluted. The people were not scared of him. He was hiding alone behind a mill, not sitting upon a throne surrounded by easy but drawn out victories. He didn't have that kind of success.
What he did have was proof of his ability to freely cast magic. Robin bore some type of thunder tome and a sword. He had no dark tome, no dark charm, no symbol other than Grima's own. But the body was performing as Grima wanted it to, calling forth dark energy and warping his surroundings as he did it.
With a wide grin Grima crouched toward the moss along the bottom of the mill, pointing his finger toward it. He watched as it blackened, curling in on itself as it shrivelled away. It was carried off by the breeze which flowed through cracks in the stone, floating past Grima and down the hill, away towards nothing in particular. He chuckled. Then, he put his finger back down, curling his hand into a fist once more as he straightened his legs to stand.
He was satisfied with the results of his little experiment. He hadn't cast any spell in particular. He'd called energy from within himself and brought it to its physical form, darkness naturally following. If he tried hard enough he could get the energy to appear in its pure form. But he saw little reason to bother. He liked putting his own little spin on things. It was fun. And it made an impression. Even when from such a small thing as the little wisps he'd called forth.
Pleased, he moved onto a more complicated spell: Nosferatu. He wouldn't be able to test it as well as he would've liked, given there was no person nearby to cast it on, meaning there was no way for him to test his ability to draw someone's lifeforce back toward himself. But he could practice casting it and choosing an area for the spell to land. He could determine whether or not this body was even capable of starting the spell without a tome. It was a very useful one to have, as it greatly reduced one's need to call on healers or rely on potions. And it wasn't a particularly unpleasant to cast… It had a certain rush associated with it. Grima always enjoyed using magic. When a mage called forth a spell, before the magic manifested in front of an enemy, it ran along their own body, rushing past them to gather their energy and find its shape. It had a certain thrum to it that some people grew addicted to. Stabbing someone with a sword or lance could be fun, and the action could be felt in one's legs and arms and mind. But magic ran across a mage's whole body in a way no physical attack could ever manage. As long as the mage was good at what they were doing, that was. And a Nosferatu spell did it twice: once during the initial cast, once during the callback. That was true power.
Dark magic did have an uncomfortable tilt to it. The initial rush was unpleasant if the caster wasn't used to using such magic, and maintaining concentration took a toll after a while. The unskilled mage could easily be consumed by their power, left to shake on the ground as their energy drained out into their surroundings, the life leaving them bit by bit. But for the mage who knew what they were doing, who could properly harness that power, the after effect was well worth the effort. It easily overcame the initial discomfort once the mage had enough experience.
This time he let the energy gather above his palm. He'd started with a single finger, the small point being easier to concentrate a precise type and amount of energy with. But now that he'd confirmed his power listened as he wanted to (though... not yet with the amount he wanted to), he could move on to wider areas. The Nosferatu spell formed in a similar way to the first, nameless spell. It appeared like a small wisp of smoke, dissipating into the air once it was a few inches away from his palm. Then, after a few seconds of letting it stew, Grima stiffened his fingers, curling them in slightly and watching as the spell surged, suddenly bulging and swirling around itself, a pulsing ball of reddened smoke and energy the size of his head swimming in front of him. He threw his arm forward and aimed the spell a tree further down the hill, somewhere far, but not in sight of anyone on the other side of the mill he hid behind. It hit its target, enveloping the tree in a short moment. But the tree was not a man, nor was it a beast, nor any type of creature such spells could draw life from. So it faded away without returning to where Grima stood, as he expected. The spell was as successful as he wanted it to be. As he could make it without a true target. And for that, Grima was satisfied.
The next spell he tried was Ruin. It formed without problem. Then was Flux. Simple as the rest. Grima planned to try out Mire next, but stopped before the spell could form. Someone was approaching.
He quickly sank to the ground, leaning against the wall of the windmill and staring lazily out at the islands in the distance, relaxed as though he was considering a nap in the shade.
The soft crunch of grass and petals stopped not long after. Grima looked to his left, where the sound had come from, and found Takumi standing there holding Robin's coat. He allowed himself to make a startled expression before scrambling up the wall, blinking a few times in mock surprise. "Ah!" he said, doing his best to sound caught off guard. "Takumi! You found me already? And here I was, thinking I'd get a nap in before someone dragged me back to work…" That sounded like Robin, didn't it?
Takumi stared back at Grima with a frown.
Grima mimicked the expression. "Is something wrong, Takumi? Is it- oh, if you're worried about my hair, I promise it's nothing major. The wound has already healed." He tilted his head to the side. "Although, maybe walking around like this isn't a very good idea. Have you seen any streams around? It might be a good idea to dunk my head in and wash this out before someone else freaks out over it. Your older sister already had her moment when she first woke me."
Takumi's frowned trembled. "What were you doing?"
Grima's frown deepened. Stubborn brat. Couldn't he leave it well enough alone? "I already told you. I came over here to get a nap away from all the commotion. Not that it had actually started when I left, but Corrin can get pretty loud and peppy, and I thought it might be best to sneak away while I still had the chance. Avoid the headache before it actually starts, you know?"
Grab the bait. Please.
"You left your coat."
"I thought it would help keep her off my trail for a little while longer."
"You never leave your coat. Not even when it's ridiculously hot. You wore it in a lava field."
"The price of privacy can be steep."
"And what part of napping involves casting dark magic?"
Grima flinched. The boy couldn't have seen him casting. How did he know that? Not that he'd admit it though. "No part. Why do you ask?"
Takumi narrowed his eyes. "You can't hide from me. I know you were doing something. The air here...hurts. We might not have dark magic in Hoshido, but that doesn't mean we don't know the signs. Dark magic might go away in the sun, but it takes longer in the shade. And the air's definitely not the right color here. It's darker than it should be. Like the grass and stone are more gray than they're supposed to be."
Grima scoffed. "I would like to point out that things do look darker and grayer in the shade. Which I am currently standing in. And you've gone through a lot in the past few hours. It could just be a side effect of that."
"Really? Then how about I check?" Takumi asked, eyes narrowing even further. Grima wasn't sure how the boy was going to do that. What, did he have some sort of magic sensor?
Apparently he did, because Takumi threw Robin's coat toward Grima and twirled the odd bow he carried off his back, stopping it in front of him. He held it up with one hand, pointed towards Grima. He then raised his other hand, touching the top of the bow before dragging his hand down, blue light forming in the path his fingertips had taken. His fingers held their place in the middle of the bow as the light dropped further, forming a complete bow string. Around it the air glimmered, revealing dark wisps floating in the air.
Takumi took a step toward Grima. Then another. With each step more wisps were revealed, visible thanks to the blue light that reflected off them. With each step he drew his hand further back, the bow string increasingly taut. An arrow began to form.
Grima stayed motionless. His frown dropped into a straight line, his furrowed eyebrows into a blank expression.
Takumi's voice grew angry. "I'll only ask this one more time. What were you doing?"
"Are you worried I've given myself to Anankos?" Grima said, done with his little charade. His tone grew mocking. "Last I checked you were his puppet, not I."
His words drew a flinch from Takumi, who snarled in response. "I said answer the question!"
Grima tilted his head back. "I thought you were only going to ask once more? Although, I suppose that doesn't have to count as another instance. It's more a reminder than an actual repeat of the question, so I can let it slide-"
"Robin, I swear-"
"It's rude to interrupt someone." Grima felt no guilt over the hypocrisy. If anything he was proving his point further. "But if you must know, I was testing myself. Seeing what I could do with this body. What it's capable of. Away from prying eyes like yours."
Takumi paused. "You…" His voice grew quieter, and his bowstring flickered. The arrow disappeared entirely. "Are you...him?"
Grima raised an eyebrow. "Him? There are many, many people that word could apply to."
"You know what I mean!" Takumi shot back. "You're Grima, right? The one Robin was talking about right before we jumped."
"Now we're getting somewhere," Grima replied, letting emotion come back to his face as he smirked. "I'm not sure if I should consider you bright or stupid for taking the amount of time you did. On one hand, your sister didn't manage to figure it out even after a full conversation, and at that time I had such a poor hold on my bearings that I must've given a terribly shoddy Robin impression. On the other hand, she didn't have any magic or fancy bowstring to show her one thing or another. And on a third, though at this point we've run out of hands so I'll move on to wings, she was never given any other name to assign Robin. So you, who came at me assuming I was the beast that tried to control you, you're a different case. I don't know what you thought you would get coming here alone. But I admire your tenacity."
"I got a conversation, didn't I? You told me who you were. You wouldn't have done that around the others."
"Oh, so now you presume to know me?" Grima chuckled as he watched Takumi flinch once more. "That's awfully bold. I'll let it slide though. You're interesting, I'll give you that. Past evidence hasn't shown Anankos capable of forcing the one he's possessing to hurt their allies, so if Robin were under his control, it wouldn't be the largest threat to you. There'd be no attack, just eavesdropping, right? You might even have helped stop something bad from going on," Grima admitted, waving his hand a bit. "But past evidence doesn't mean everything. We have no reason to believe he's shown his full hand. Especially now that we've reached his domain. His powers will be stronger here, his abilities unlocked to a level they couldn't have reached in Canta. So while it's nice to see you wanted to solve a problem before it worsened, it wasn't the most well thought out move. Were Robin possessed by Anankos, and had Anankos held full control over Robin, you would've been killed. You can't beat Robin in a fight. Not without dying yourself, and even then that kind of victory would only occur were some strange thing to happen or your luck to shine as it never has before."
Takumi stared Grima over, finally lowering his bow. He didn't return it to his back, but he let the bowstring dissipate and dropped the hand holding it to his side. He remained tense, however, his knuckles white where they gripped the intricately carved wood.
"Well, at least you aren't completely different from Robin," Takumi said with a forced grin.
"How so?"
Takumi's false grin morphed into a true smirk. "You both like to hear yourselves talk." Grima grit his teeth, unhappy with the phrasing for such a comparison. Takumi's tone indicated he didn't intend to give out a compliment either. "As much as I like Robin, he has a habit of talking for a really long time without breaks. Especially when he's trying to explain something. Like he doesn't want anyone to get a word in until he's done, and he's never really done. Not in anything less than a two minute speech."
That was true. Robin did tend to go on for long periods. But what was so wrong with that? It helped prevent misunderstandings. By saying all that needed to be said, rather than breaking it all up, he could save time that would otherwise be spent answering the pointless questions that arose when someone started asking them before the original speaker had managed to cover them. The whole, '"but what about X?" that was asked approximately fifteen seconds before the speaker meant to cover X' type of ordeal. There was nothing wrong with speeches. Nothing at all.
For that to be what reminded Takumi of Robin...well, Grima supposed it wasn't the worst thing. At least Takumi wasn't trying to claim Grima was a drunk like his irritating friends had done.
So Grima took a deep breath and tried to address Takumi in a more polite tone. "And what will you do now? Knowing that I'm not really Robin, and that I've run away from your group to cast my evil dark magicks?"
"I didn't say they were evil," Takumi responded. Good to know. The boy could be rather prejudiced at times. "I just said it was dark. And to be honest, I haven't decided what to do yet. Robin didn't seem too worried about you though, so nothing too bad. He said you saved his life back on the ship. That means you care about him, right? I don't think you'd force him to abandon us. Or that you'd hurt us. We're his friends, after all. If you saved him, you'd never intentionally hurt or kill his friends. Robin's real big on that sort of stuff. So maybe I'll let this slide too. You can't be that bad a guy."
"..." Grima stared at Takumi, expression softening. He closed his eyes. "Don't make declarations you cannot support. You don't know what I will or will not do. You don't know what I have or have not already done." He reopened them slightly, just enough to reveal a sliver of red iris. He hated when people made assumptions about him without any proper evidence to back them up. "Robin and I may share a body, but that does not mean we're the same person. What I do is not up to his discretion. So if I were you, I'd hesitate before treating me as you do Robin. Our judgments don't always line up."
Author's note:
This chapter again went a couple different ways as I played with how insane I wanted Grima to be. I mentioned several chapters back that Robin sort of serves as Grima's dragonstone and maintains his sanity, so I thought it would be fun/fitting if Grima started to slip a little bit when Robin started going away. But a full chapter of that would get old, so I gave it back after a while. Think of it as a sign that Robin is/will be okay, because he's managed to keep Grima at least somewhat grounded. I have a ton of his reasoning that's not explicitly stated throughout this chapter written down in my notes if you're at all curious, but I won't put it here because this note's already long. Thanks for reading, and please leave a review if you have the time! I read them all, and I really appreciate them.
Originally posted July 14, 2019. Word count: 12,593 not including author's notes.
Until next time, Mariyekos.
