21. Professional Rivals
((Author's Note: Also contains trace elements of Ace Combat.))
Chrom falls, and the skies burn around him. Mage fire singes the air, and bites at his lungs when he breathes in. The winds snap at his face and draw tears from his eyes, even as he plunges through clouds. His wyvern gives a pained hiss, fighting to fly again… But he can see the singe marks on the wings, and his stomach seems to fall even faster than the rest of him; he already knows that Beruka won't have the strength or wingspan to fly.
At least not while he's still a solid weight in the saddle.
'If I'm going to die… I don't want her falling along with me.'
The last seconds of combat flash through his mind, as he fights with the straps and barding. The sky had started clear and deep blue, with only a few specks dotting the horizon. Some of them were snowy white with hints of feathers, others the leathery black of wyvern wings.
Such bright pegasus feathers had no business looking so hostile, or feel like they were defiling the sky. But he still felt a jolt of adrenaline and rage rush through him. The volant axes rattled at his side, eager to be used, while Beruka pulsed with frantic energy. He gave a signal to the wyvern, tapping his heels to her ribs, and she lunged forward. Ready to fight, ready to win back the skies.
He wonders how many were felled, before he was cut apart in turn. There's four axes missing from his saddle, and he's certain all of those hit home. Not a bad sortie… But not the sort of thing he'd want as his last stand, either. He risks a glance down, and sees the ground rushing to meet him. The green bowl of the valley is no longer a beautiful sight, and instead looks hard and unforgiving. Even now, he can see flecks of red in the trees; either the early colors of fall, or splashes of blood.
There'd also been quick gouts of blood staining the sky, as they clashed with Plegian pegasus and wyvern riders. Beruka laid in with tooth and claw, diving out of the air to slash at wings, while Chrom followed up with axe strikes. They'd all but danced through the skies, uncontested… Until a black smear dodged past his sight. He caught the feathers of a black pegasus, and knew he was looking at a dark flier.
A second later, crackles of lightning shot past Beruka as Chrom furiously turned the wyvern. The scaley wings barely dipped down in time, and Chrom ducked his head before the spell could spear through him. That blast of magic told Chrom that he was facing The Witch, on top of everything else. Plegia's best flier. But he hadn't fled; instead, turning Beruka to chase and try to close, determined that this time they'd clash… And only one of them would fly free.
'I just thought it would be me.' Chrom thinks, feeling Beruka's sides flutter as the wyvern fights to stay alive, to find some sort of grip on the air currents. As he takes on the main harness, he picks out the scorch marks of lightning. He'd never thought that a pegasus could flare out its wings the way The Witch had; but she'd gotten her pegasus to perfectly catch the wind as Chrom chased her, and vault over him in the span of a breath. In one move she'd reversed their spots, and put him perfectly in her sights. He hadn't a chance to evade, and his skin burned when the lightning struck home.
And now, he falls. To where the ground will shatter him…
…But only him, if he has any say in it. He whispers a brief farewell to Beruka, before yanking away the last catch on the harness. The last buckle gives way, and he falls free from Beruka. The wyvern gives a startled cry as the barding falls away from her as well, mirroring his plunge in a strange metallic rain.
Beruka's startled cry follows him down; he can see her wings just manage to flare out, and catch the wind.
And then, out of the clouds, he sees her. Her pegasus is a black storm cloud, and dives after him. Chrom grimaces; he'd never thought The Witch was the sort who would watch and savor her opponents dying. But still she shadows him, echoing his fall-
A gust of wind slams into him, slowing him for a split second. The Witch lays herself across the neck of her pegasus and dives past him in the pause, and with a start he realizes her lips are moving, chanting the incantation that shapes the wind and keeps him aloft. His shock cuts out a split second later, right as the pegasus moves directly underneath him, and flares its wings. The horn of the saddle drives into his stomach, and he's half convinced he'll have bruised ribs as lightning burns… And yet, he's still alive. The pegasus turns its dive into a blistering strafe along the ground, barely missing the treetops before sending up plumes of water as they race across the lake.
It's only when they arrive at the shore, away from the fighting, that Chrom can gather his breath and roll off the saddle. He can't break his eyes from The Witch, as she moves strands of snowy hair from her face.
"…Why?" He finally manages to gasp out. "Why did you just save me?"
She pauses at his question, as though she isn't certain of the answer, herself. Above them, the sounds of battle gradually fade away.
"Because… It didn't feel right, watching a fellow knight plunge to his death." Chrom rubs at his ears; maybe there's still a left over rumble of thunder stuck in them, making him hear things. He blinks his eyes as well, wondering if they're still dazzled by the lightning. But when his senses come back clear, nothing has changed; and the look The Witch gives him isn't one of hate, or even fear… But rather, a look of respect.
"I… Would sooner not see you die, Exalted."
"Is that what they call me?" He finds himself asking. A surprisingly noble title, considering Plegia.
"Actually, they tend to call you 'That Ylissean Dastard," at least in the commanding circles." Her lip curls in disgust, showing what she thought of those people. "But since they're the same people continuing this useless war… I prefer to go with what the other ace riders call you."
"Th-thank you?" He finds himself saying. And then to his surprise, he adds on more. "Though if you prefer, you could just call me Chrom."
The Witch pauses over that, considering the name. And as she does that, he considers her in turn. This is the first time he's seen her at a standstill, instead of cutting through his own fliers. He's never imagined The Witch looking surprised.
He's always sought her out during the air jousts, and she seemed just as eager to meet him. Always testing the other, learning from what the other did… Until now. And a part of him still can't understand why she doesn't go for a fatal blow.
"R-Robin." She cuts off his thoughts. "My name. My name is Robin."
"Oh." He shuffles uneasily from his place in the dirt. Adrenaline is still coursing through him; maybe that's what makes his tongue so loose. "It's a good name. Th-that is, it suits you."
He's also never imagined Plegia's air ace blushing like that.
"So… What now?" He still half expects her to strike him with lightning… Even if he starts to hesitate over the notion of fighting against her. "Y-you do have me dead, by all rights. You bested me."
"I-I know…" She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for something. "And since that's the case, since you're at my mercy… I hope that means you'll be willing to talk terms."
"Terms-?" He repeats dumbly. Robin simply nods.
"I… Don't feel much loyalty towards my country any longer. Maybe their reasons for starting this war were just… But not in continuing it. Or their actions during that war. I don't wish to make war on civilians, or turn Hinoka into a living bomb."
"They've seriously been considering that?" He recalls the reports; of frontier villages and fortresses seemingly scorched to their foundations, with only the bones of pegasi or wyverns among the ruins, almost like they'd been set ablaze by magic. The gruesome images had given him enough courage and anger both to fight. And yet now-
"Are you… Saying you want to come with me-?" She gives a cautious nod, like she's still afraid he'll object.
"I saw where your wyvern flew off to. And I can likely take you back to your base… But in exchange, I don't want to be shot out of the sky. And given a chance to say my piece, to see if your forces will accept another flyer."
"…If they didn't, I'd be ready to defect, myself. I think we'd have to be mad, not accept someone who can fly like you." Chrom suddenly finds himself saying. And yet, he also feels that has to be true. Because a part of him has already come to respect this woman; she's as fierce as her ace flying title, and yet has the gentleness of true name. He wouldn't want to rob a bird her place in the sky.
Carefully, he reaches up with his hand, to see if she'll accept it, and the truce. Robin squeezes his hand from gratitude. And Chrom finds himself wondering if he should get shot out of the sky more often, if it means he can see her smile like that.