Hey everyone! I apologise for the huge gap between updates, but a lot has been happening lately! My sister got married, my thesis work is advancing, my Inuyasha fic got nominated for a fandom award, and I just came back from Pixelatl (an animation festival and congress in Cuernavaca)! It's a lot to do and it's a lot of pressure, but I'm also very excited for all this.

Some replies:

Aylatha: yes, this is supposed to Alm and co. that I'm talking about, but before Marth goes and becomes king of all Archanea and unifies the continent…though I admit I'm kind of fudging the time line a bit/a lot, hahaha. And thank you so much for that message chain! It was very informative and I appreciate your help.

FallenRaindrops: I honestly love writing Chrom. His happiness and optimism is really so refreshing, and his overall sunny disposition is why I really really have so much fun during his POV chapters. The Shepherds are warming up to their new member and Robin and Henry are settling in better now, but it will be a while before they'll fully mesh together.

Unfortunately, this is a Validar chapter. As I discussed with my wonderful beta (newmrsdewinter, check out her fics please!), writing Validar is just a constant stream of retching noises. I know that he's basically the result of my authorial choices for this fic, but it doesn't mean I like them, and the fact that only geographic distance is keeping him from Robin and from fulfilling his role as a rapist (BLEECCHHHHHH) is really awful to consider. So writing his chapters are the hardest of all.

Without further ado…here's another creep chapter. Sorry.

When Validar's eyes finally opened, many hours later, his vision had not yet caught up with his lids and had to wait a bit more to adjust from its initial blurriness.

With great difficulty, he sat up and groaned. The room swam around him unsteadily. His limbs felt curiously light and numb, as though the memory of their weight were nothing but mere phantoms. What had happened, exactly?

Validar took stock of his surroundings. The stone torches had been blown out, and with the little power left in him, he summoned more fire to survey the damage—it seemed that no area of the chamber had been left unscathed. Deep cracks ran throughout the platform. Entire chunks of rock had been ripped out from the walkway. The scrying pool's water had been completely vapourised in the attack, and the dais were he had conducted his summoning and moved his pieces around the gameboard had been reduced to nothing but dust.

Yes, it was all coming back to him now…his own attempt to rein his runaway bride back in…and, after he had to bear with the failure of his subordinates…he too had failed.

Anger started to pulse and throb within Validar's veins as he stood up shakily and limped his way back to the exit.

Not only had his bride consciously chosen to flee from the Grimleal—from her fated destiny—she had also fought tooth and nail to keep herself out of reach. Such a thought was incomprehensible to Validar. What reason could she have to deny the undeniable? Why struggle so fiercely when her life's path had already been scripted out in full since her conception? Worry and disbelief occupied his thoughts throughout the entirety of his journey back out of the labyrinth, and so absorbed was he that the long trail of blood he left behind was never registered.

But the slow burn kept building up steadily, easily, as Validar's mind feverishly dwelled upon his defeat and the events that led up to it.

First was the loss of his daughter, his bride, the Vessel…then the utter incompetence of all those who worked under him to not only bring her back, but who had somehow missed the signs of her impending escape and failed to prevent it…and then was the loathsome, wretched fact that her whereabouts now lay in Ylisse.

She will be corrupted by that heathen nation, Validar fumed. His free hand smeared a bloody swath across the stone walls that he leaned so heavily upon as he walked. His other hand pressed firmly against the burnt, seeping wound that ran from his collarbone to his ingle. The pain was but a mere secondary concern compared to his rising ire; that Validar's own attempt had been so astoundingly thwarted was a deep blow to his pride.

And then came the shock of finally laying eyes upon the Shepherds themselves. The useless bandit had informed him of their presence after reporting Garrick's death, though the mere act of simply watching them, in the Vessel's vicinity, brought his blood to a heady boil. How dare they taint her with their worthless breaths!

The absolute final, infuriating straw came when Validar remembered focusing the Eye's lens upon their leader, and a scream tore loose from his throat and his rage exploded as he recalled the man's blue hair and Naga's Mark upon his shoulder.

After Validar had spent the following day holed up in his study to heal himself, the next week was spent in seclusion so he could think. And oh, did he allow himself a good, long think.

His nails tapped slowly yet rhythmically on the desk as he thought some more.

The first order of business was to devise a fool-proof scheme to bring the Vessel back once and for all.

The second was to root out whoever had aided her and that abominable worm of a boy in their escape; for it was abundantly clear that the two had some sort of help along the way, and whoever their coconspirator (or conspirators) was, they would be dealt with harshly.

The third was to punish the boy as slowly and gruesomely as possible for corrupting the Vessel's mind with whatever nonsensical, heretical, blasphemous notions he brought from the outside world and convinced her to resist her destiny. Validar knew he would be a nuisance from the moment he first laid eyes on the lowly creature. He would certainly be having more than a few words with Mustafa soon, for it was through the general's assurances that the boy was granted access to the Grimleal's domain…though Validar cursed himself for not having taken a stronger stance against it. No matter. The little insect would be crushed as he deserved, and Validar would take great pleasure in doing so.

And last, but certainly not least…the issue of the Vessel herself.

Validar rolled his wedding ring around in his hand in a sudden burst of restlessness.

Boy or not, Validar simply could not understand the reasons for her flight. Perhaps most likely something to do with the existential fear that came naturally to all mortal creatures, the fear of the immutable destiny that dictated the life path of every living being from birth to grave. Such a dread was not foreign to Validar; he had experienced it himself as a youth still under his father's tutelage. But with time and experience came the acceptance of his fate, and his childish worries cooled and tempered into a mature understanding of his preordained task in life, washing away whatever doubts he previously had. Yes, he had fretted over the discovery that the Vessel was not Grima's physical Avatar in this world, but diligent attendance to his duties and meditation kept him focused on the Grimleal's role: to bring about the return of Grima (and the destruction and rebuilding of the world, by extension) by whatever means necessary.

It was high time that the Vessel realised that. That her destiny, her scripted part to play, was to incubate their god and prepare for His return. When she would be finally recaptured and brought back—

His ashen hand clenched painfully around the ring.

Validar had debated heavily over the appropriate level of punishment needed for her transgressions. It simply would not do to put the Vessel at such risk that her body would be rendered unfit for duty. And yet…to act with leniency or even a hint of mercy was out of the question. Vessel or not, she was still below his rank as Hierophant, doubly so given his legal guardianship over her as her sire and husband. She was to defer to him on all things without question and support him on any and all endeavours he would undertake. Instead, she had forsworn her position, committed treason towards the Grimleal, and run away.

Just like his first wife—

With a roar, Validar hurled the ring so hard across his study that its impact shattered one of his glassware cabinets.

No no no, he thought angrily, as he started a mad pace around the room. There would be no repeat of his disastrous first marriage, not when he was so close to achieving his goal. Shahin had been a mere fluke in the Grimleal's designs, and there was no way the Vessel would follow in her footsteps. Validar would make sure of it. He would spare no expense in assuring her recovery. He would personally see to every single step as the Grimleal would mobilise for their biggest mission yet.

And once she was back, Validar made a promise to himself to break her spirit as thoroughly as possible. He would stamp out whatever misguided rebellious impulse that took root in her heart, no doubt a product of her mother's sick blood. He would impress the futility of her actions upon her by forcing her to watch as he slaughtered every single one of her abetters. And once he would finally impregnate her with his seed, he would reserve a special punishment to ensure that she would never even think of defying him again.

For he was the hunter, and she was but his falcon, forever bound to him and Grima by her jesses and fetters.

His emergence from yet another period of seclusion came as a bit of a shock to his flock. Having to deal with a rash of apostasy trials had been taxing for them, moreso given the loss of their Vessel. Validar's first speech since his reappearance was meant to boost their morale and inform them of the first step in his plan.

"For you, who art Grima's loyal followers," he intoned soberly, "will surely show your devotion to Him by giving us your strength."

"Yes! Hail! Praise be to Grima!" the joyous worshippers cheered and wept.

Scouts were dispatched to every corner of Plegia to begin bolstering their numbers, in the event of a full-scale invasion of Ylisse being necessary. Having learned from his disastrous experience of hiring of outside sources and mercenaries, these agents were handpicked from within the Grimleal's ranks and sent out under the condition of absolute secrecy. It would simply not do for Gangrel to catch wind—and possibly even the Feroxi and Ylisseans, should there be spies on Plegian soil—of their plans and thwart them. They were also tasked with beginning to test and prod Ylisse's border.

Next came the announcement of the traitor within their midst. "Possibly even more than one," Validar said, relishing the boos and outraged hissing from his audience. "We must find them and punish them as they deserve."

"They'll rue the day!" His flock responded with shouts.

Though he disdained witch-hunts as much too crude for his liking, Validar reasoned that their implementation was justified under the current circumstances. Soon, accusations were flying everywhere: lower ranked priests singling out their congregants, friends turning into foes, even parents and children siding against one another. No real progress was made on that front, to his frustration. At the very least, unsavoury and unbecoming behaviour was unearthed, and Validar made sure that the Grimleal were not allowed any sort of leeway simply because of their current state. They had standards to uphold, after all.

His generals were tasked with overseeing the scouts and trials; after Jamil and Chalard's deaths, Validar became even more leery of his advisors and had begun limiting their power and duties. Only the generals had failed to truly disappoint him throughout his time as archpriest (Kazem's death notwithstanding), a rare feat indeed, and for that Validar was thankful.

Well…perhaps all but one.

Mustafa had to bow his formidably muscled body under the door frame to even fit through. He looked out of place amongst Validar's beakers and books and treasures, though he showed no outward sign of discomfort as he stood at attention.

"You called for me, my liege. Name your task, and I shall carry it out at once."

Validar regarded him from behind his desk almost lazily, rolling a heavy quartz marble between his fingers before setting it down. He did not deign to rise from his seat.

"At ease, Mustafa," Validar said. "As always, I appreciate your extra-punctuality whenever you answer my summons."

Mustafa bowed deeply. "I only live to serve."

Silence blanketed them, muffling their perception of outside elements. Their focus narrowed to a single pinprick as they regarded each other. What could Mustafa be thinking? Validar wondered. He already knew he was being watched; the boy had been his responsibility for a long time, after all. But how to know for certain if he was the one who aided their escape? If he was the traitor in their midst? Mustafa had given no indication whatsoever as to disloyalty of any sort, and his manner had been nothing short of impeccable throughout his entire career…save for that glaring, worm-shaped hole in his record. That was enough for Validar to indict the man on the spot, but he needed solid proof. It would not do to run around wasting valuable time and resources in the event that Mustafa was innocent…and there was no shortage of other potential suspects to consider.

Even so, Validar allowed his heart to harden at the sight of the general, his large muscles straining against his leather harness, his bald pate contrasting with his long beard. The Grimleal's misfortune had certainly not started with Mustafa…yet their ongoing woes were worse due to his foolish decision to bring that treacherous little vermin into their sanctum.

Validar was curious to know what kind of excuses Mustafa would try to spin if he truly was the one they were looking for.

"Inform Aversa of our next meeting. And do remind her to be on time…she's been playing coy as of late, you see, and her increasing tardies have begun to grate on my patience."

"Understood."

Mustafa's reply was quick and to the point, his bow deep and respectful. Years of audiences with his lord in the study had still not rendered him quite adept at navigating his huge mass through the door frame, and Validar waited calmly as the man squeezed out with difficulty.

The archpriest waved his hand lightly. The signal prompted general Sula to step out from behind the protective shadow of a tapestry.

"See to it that Mustafa is monitored more closely," Validar ordered curtly.

Sula, like his colleague before him, bowed. "As you will it, my liege."

Aversa was in an unhappy, petty mood that night. She sat sulking in a corner as Validar carefully inspected the prisoners she had procured from Zuhsa's dungeons. Not that he cared for the reason, of course—but he would have a word with her over her attitude. Conduct unbecoming of her station and position had no place in his presence, and he thought he had made that abundantly clear many years ago.

Validar specifically requested Ylissean captives. Loath as he was to be in the same room as them, much less even think about them, they were a critical component of his plan: they would not arouse too much suspicion when sent into Ylisse in search of the Vessel. After Garrick's disastrous incursion and the additional failure of his other men, the last thing Validar needed was for Naga's whore to become apprehensive over the border and strengthen its protections; though the measure would certainly anger Gangrel, which was a prospect that delighted Validar immensely, it would also mean attracting attention to the Grimleal. Validar was extremely attentive towards news of the outside world and knew that Gangrel was leaving the borders alone for the moment. Reports of sudden activity at the border would alert him to Grimleal presence.

And Validar needed absolutely no interference with his plan.

The torchlight cast long shadows over the selection of men kneeling on the floor with burlap sacks covering their heads. He had specific criteria in mind for his choice of agent: not having been captured more than three years ago, relatively good physical condition, at least some level of knowledge in combat…and being desperate enough to accede to his every demand.

He cast a critical gaze over the prisoners; so far, none had captured his interest. They were far too weak and broken-eyed for his tastes. Completely unsuitable for the mission at hand. As Mustafa forced them up to stand, one by one, and took off their burlap coverings to better inspect them, Validar felt his annoyance grow with each failed candidate. Was this to be a complete waste of his time?

"Are you sure these are all the ones you could find?" he remarked tersely.

Rolling her eyes, the sorceress reached for a goblet of wine from the sideboard, downing half of it in a healthy swig. "Unless I've missed a couple hiding in the latrines, then yes, this is all."

Validar's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

Mustafa bagged the man he had finished inspecting and moved on to the next in line. Validar stopped the general as he uncovered a prisoner standing close to the middle.

Red hair, Validar thought disgustedly, and green eyes. The man's naked torso was lean— almost to the point of emaciation—littered with criss-crossed scars and purple, green, and black bruises. His pitifully ragged garment did a poor job of concealing his equally abused lower half. All in all what was expected of a captive languishing in the depths of a dungeon for years…but there was a spark in his eyes that Validar recognised all too well. Those who had already given up or were on their way did not possess such a light.

In spite of himself, Validar's interest was piqued.

"Your name," he demanded.

The man lifted those nauseating eyes and licked his cracked lips. "Some guys call me Chuckles."

Without missing a beat, Validar snapped his fingers, and Mustafa stuck a short blade into the prisoner's bony hip. He crumpled to the cold floor with a muffled groan.

"I won't repeat myself again," Validar said coolly.

The human heap stirred. Despite the tight manacles locked around his thin wrists, the captive managed to push himself up, and slowly rose to a crouching position. "…Gaius."

Feroxi ancestry, then. "And why, pray tell, were you in Zuhsa?"

"Same as all the others."

Mustafa shook his head; grabbing Gaius by the wrists, he stuck the man's arms out and unwrapped the filthy cloth around his left elbow. A small, cross shaped tattoo was sent into sharp relief by the torchlight.

"If I remember correctly…" Validar's statement bordered on sibilant, "A cross is used in Ylisse when criminals are marked for death."

Gaius stayed silent.

"So…what was your crime?"

"…Just did a favour for a mate."

And what an expensive favour that turned out to be, Validar did not say. He merely regarded Gaius for a few more seconds before turning to the rest of the candidates with Mustafa.

As the prisoners were led to a holding cell for the night, Mustafa and Aversa, citing the late hour, bid him a good night's rest before they took their leave. Validar waited until Mustafa was completely out of the hall to seize Aversa by the wrist and, winding back his hand, slapped her hard across the face.

"Need I remind you to mind your manners in my presence?" he hissed.

The sorceress licked at the corner of her cut, bleeding lip, her head bowed in reticence.

"You are not a child anymore, Aversa—you are a grown woman, a woman serving directly under my command. You have been trained for your position for years, and for years your performance has been commendable. Stellar, even. But lately, you've been starting to show some cheek…as though you had the right. And frankly, your newfound attitude has been grating on my nerves…"

"…Things have been stressful with Gangrel," she replied sullenly.

Validar laughed, the sound high and cruel. "And what exactly do you think I've been dealing with, hm? You think your mission is so much more difficult than leading the entirety of the Grimleal? Than the recovery of the Vessel?"

"I never said that. Gangrel is acting odd lately and I need to—"

One look from him was all it took to shut her up. She swallowed thickly and looked off to the side, chastened.

A long chilly, silence permeated the room.

"I am warning you, Aversa…" Validar turned his back on her. "Do not allow yourself to become distracted. Gangrel is a mongrel and a nuisance, but ultimately, he is nothing. You would do well to remember that."

He stepped out and walked to his chambers, wondering what on earth had gotten into his closest subordinates.

The prisoners were subjected to an intense few days of feeding and healing—they needed to be in better shape for their testing. The dozen or so people looked much healthier with more meat on their bones as they queued, shuffling and uncertain, close to the entrance of the skull's arena. Armed guards pushed them towards the centre with menacing spears and maces.

Validar presented them with very simple instructions: the last one standing would earn their freedom.

He sat and watched idly from a divan as the bloodbath before him unfolded. So far, their numbers had been reduced to about half, with a disappointing amount being slaughtered almost immediately. He contemplated the possible results of the match while munching on some grapes.

So far, a pair of identical twins, a muscular one-armed man, and an elderly mage were the best of the bunch. The amputee was clearly a war veteran with years of experience behind him, and it shone through as he plowed into his opposition with single-minded determination. An arrow buried itself into the junction between his neck and shoulder and he tore it out with a yell and a large spray of blood and gore. The twins were ready and waiting for him with bows drawn.

Where is the convict? Validar thought to himself irritatedly. He had been doing nothing but hiding behind columns like a coward. He had to admit—considering that the man had lasted up to this point, at least his strong survival drive was of note.

As if on cue, a column burst into a shower of sparks and rubble, dust flying everywhere in a huge cloud as the mage threw spell after spell. The red-haired prisoner rolled out from his hiding place and proceeded to run and evade, refusing to engage his opponent. Validar turned away from the sight in disgust.

The twins were far more entertaining; their movements were lightning quick, and their use of the weapons provided to them revealed a high level of skill. Though the veteran had the advantage of size and strength, the women were shrewd fighters who managed to play an exhausting game of keep-away with their increasingly desperate adversary. The swings of his club became aggressive and erratic as he tried to force them into close combat. Instead, the twins managed to taunt him with hit and run tactics, running in close enough for light, almost teasing, punches and kicks and quick salvos of arrows, and always pulling away at the last second if he tried to turn and reach for them. Such a concerted display of teamwork amused Validar, and he wondered who of the two was the strongest.

One of the twins knelt down in preparation for her sister. The other archer ran to her, planting her foot in her sibling's cupped hands and being launched into the air with a shout. Her momentum placed her squarely over the veteran's head, and the woman, twisting around in a whirl, drew back her bowstring to shoot him right in the eye.

He roared and dropped the ground as he clutched his mutilated socket.

Validar was pleased with the performance. The twins looked very promising indeed, though one of them would have to eliminate the other sooner or later. Oh well. He would enjoy the entertainment while it lasted. It was much better than the sorry excuse the convict was passing off as combat. His stubborn refusal to fight was beginning to fray Validar's patience—his looks certainly did not help matters.

Who does he think he is? Validar's nostrils flared in a snort. He's no saint…what does he think he's accomplishing by running around in circles like that? He's only prolonging the inevitable.

Not to say the mage he was up against was any better; the old hag looked as though she would crumble into dust at any moment. Though her magic was powerful, obviously the result of years of study and training, her age worked against her. Her body strained from the harsh use of energy, and her wheezing was the dry, brittle sound of wind struggling to enter her lungs.

Validar turned back to the twins with a scoff, having set his heart on them. The man was at their mercy now, blind in one eye and howling in pain as he attempted to yank the arrow out—but it was all in vain, as one of the sisters leapt onto his back and started stabbing him viciously with an arrow in hand. He dropped to the floor with multiple wounds oozing from his neck and head and his skin looking like a sea sponge.

But then, Validar beheld an odd sight: the old woman collapsed with a barely audible groan, and she slowly raised her hand to beckon the redhead to her. He was at her side immediately. She bade him lean closer, and he lowered his ear to her lips, though Validar was only mildly curious over what she might be saying. They were wasting his time by not fighting, but he supposed he could allow them whatever small inanity at the moment. They would die anyway in the end.

The mage was the first to go. The redheaded convict drew a jagged dagger from a small sheath and slit her throat in a single clean swipe.

Validar was irritated over his win. At the very least, he would enjoy watching the twins tear him to pieces, and he would be rid of the nuisance and memories his presence brought him.

But no…the convict and the twins stood at a complete standstill. They simply watched each other calmly.

What on earth are they doing now?

To his complete annoyance, they continued to stare. And stare. And stare some more.

"Get on with it," Validar hissed from his divan. "I don't have all day. And I will certainly not deign to do your job for you."

It seemed his command had fallen on deaf ears. Irate, Validar motioned to the guards, but the action prompted the three to—finally!—begin approaching each other. Validar leaned back comfortably in his seat to watch.

And was taken aback as one of the archers drove an arrow deep into her sister's throat, and then did the same to herself. The prisoner stood by mutely as they collapsed softly onto the sand and twitched uselessly around for a short while before their movements gradually stilled.

The only sound present in the entire arena was the veteran's soft gurgling as he lay dying.

Validar was positively incensed. Out of all the possible candidates available, the one the Grimleal was now dependant on was the green-eyed, red-headed Ylissean.

Some minor god must have decided to play some sort of trick on him.

Validar rose from the divan with slow, loud clapping. The action was anything but congratulatory, and each movement, each burst of noise from his hands, only served to rile him up further.

"Your display of skill has been noted," he said with obvious insincerity. "You shall be taken back to your cell to await further instructions."

The prisoner offered no response. His infuriating eyes stared back dully from under his long, greasy fringe, and did not resist as the guards let him out of the arena.

Validar drank heavily that night as he contemplated the significance of destiny's cruel prank.

After a bath, a haircut, and a fresh change of clothes, the prisoner looked closer to something human. Validar couldn't care less. He was only there to perform a single specific task, and the mere thought of having to waste precious resources on a Ylissean like him was utterly revolting. But this was for Grima's sake, so Validar had no say. He could only grit his teeth and bear with it as best he could.

"Your testing has produced satisfactory results," he said as he presided over a tableful of boxes and rolled cloth. Even talking to the man made him feel as though he would vomit. "And your knowledge in thievery will certainly be useful…but your mission is not one of theft."

The convict—Gaius, Validar reminded himself balefully—shifted his weight slightly as he considered those words. "If there's nothing to steal, then whaddaya need me for? Doesn't look like I'm the best guy for the job when there're all these people here."

A guard swung the shaft of his spear into the back of the prisoner's legs, sending him tumbling down to the floor. "Don't talk back," the guard grunted.

Validar smiled briefly at the sight.

Mustafa moved forward to present the wares on display: ebony boxes housing sturdy silver daggers, at least some three fingers long; small bottles of coloured glass filled with an oddly murky liquid; a set of tiny darts, delicately feathered with hummingbird plumes imported from Valm; a shortsword, a collapsible quarterstaff, more daggers hidden inside leather boots and vambraces, and a reeking box.

"The hell's that?" The prisoner's nose wrinkled and he slid back on the floor when he saw the box.

"You'll learn in due time," Validar replied tersely.

"This stuff sounds pretty damn shady. I mean, it's not like I'm so clean myself, but I don't take jobs unless I know what's going on—"

The guards delivered a sound thrashing until the redhead was mercifully silenced. Validar thought he heard some bones crunching, and though he was mildly irritated over having to use up more vulneraries on an Ylissean, he was far more pleased by said Ylissean being beaten. The blood around the man's mouth and nose certainly helped to improve his mood somewhat.

"As I was saying…" Validar walked around to the back of the table, with Mustafa politely ceding his spot to his liege. "There is something of mine currently within Ylisstol. I want it back, and I want it back now."

Licking his bloodied face, the convict's eyes swept across the table's contents, shrewd, calculating. Validar did not like that expression. "What kinda thing?"

Chatty thing, isn't he, Validar thought as he raised a hand to stop the guards from hitting the man again. He snapped his fingers, and Mustafa strode forth, withdrawing a small cameo from a pouch. The prisoner stared intently at the profile.

"You're asking me to…get another necklace back?"

"No, you simpleton. Not a silly piece of jewellery." Validar rolled his eyes. The prisoner stared some more until his own widened ever so slightly.

"That's a person. Not a thing," he said flatly.

"Your mission is to retrieve her as soon as possible. Her companion should also be apprehended and returned."

Something hard glinted in the man's green eyes; a remembrance of sorts, a defiance clearly born of past experiences. This was a man who had not known many comforts in his life, nor did he expect to in the near future. Someone who, if his mouthiness was any indication, had little to lose save for his own life. The sight was absolutely nauseating. "No."

The temperature in the room dropped instantly.

Validar stared back. "…What do you mean, 'no?'"

"Means I won't do it." The prisoner struggled to his feet, but managed to right himself in the end. He pressed a thumb to his nostril and blew a noseful of blood off to the side, the crude gesture yet another show of careless disrespect. "I knew this was all shady as shit, all the dragging us out in the dead of night, the tests, the fighting. Now you're sayin' you want to what? Kidnap someone? A hit job? They've got a bounty on their heads or something? I may be nothing but a dirty rotten crook…but I'm no kidnapper, and I'm no murderer either. Find someone else."

"I do not think you quite understand the gravity of your situation…or the fact that you are certainly in no position to refuse." Validar's tone was just as chilly as the room.

The convict, infuriatingly enough, laughed in response. "Or you'll what? Use me as a human sacrifice? You're Grimleal, right? Don't think I didn't notice that, with all the creepy clothes and decorations around here." He swayed unsteadily on his feet, but his gaze never wavered. "You can go ahead. I don't care much for gods or whatever, and I'd rather that than being used for your dirty work. Or better yet, I'll just do it myself—!"

He seized a dagger from the table and held it to his throat. Just when the edge pierced skin ever so slightly, the weapon was flung from his grasp as four guards tackled him, struggling as he kicked and bucked until they finally managed to pin his limbs to the floor.

Validar's patience was reaching its limits—and dealing with an Ylissean had stretched it thin enough.

"I don't like disobedience," he hissed, his steps slow but firm as he approached the prone captive. "You have a mission to carry out and your willingness bears no importance."

The redhead coughed up a mouthful of blood. "Oh yeah? And how're you gonna make me?"

Validar began to recite an old, complicated spell, tracing shapes in the air with a finger. Confident that he knew the man's true name, he allowed the Curse Seal to take form, and pressed it into his cross-shaped tattoo.

The effect was instantaneous: the prisoner howled in agony, writhing, screaming, as the seal's magic coursed through his veins and painted them black on his skin. The guards released him in a horrified stupour. They could only watch as complete and utter pain took hold of his body and allowed for no other thought but of pure torture.

Validar smiled serenely. Then he snapped his fingers.

The soft thump of a limp, spent body was as loud as a shout echoing from a canyon. There was no breathing to be discerned. Not even a single twitch of his fingers or lips to indicate he was still alive.

"My liege…?" Mustafa did not look particularly frightened, but his concern was irritating.

"Don't you fret, Mustafa," Validar said. "Just watch."

Validar snapped his fingers again. As if on cue, the man's body seemed to slowly inflate with air. A deep, shuddering breath rattled him down to his very bones, and his eyes rolled listlessly back to their proper position.

"Gaius, was it?"

The prisoner's only response was a baleful, hateful glare, a look that positively burned with unbridled rage and pure loathing. Validar was positively delighted by the reaction—it meant he had a hook under the prisoner's skin. A hook he could dig in deeper to draw blood and start breaking the man down and out of his silly delusions of resistance. Validar stepped close enough to the prone man that the hem of his robes could have been touched by an outstretched hand. Ah, but Validar would never allow his garments to be sullied like that…the gesture was merely to taunt, to reinforce the fact that there was nothing that could be done to retaliate. And so he leaned in slightly, a minute bend at the waist, just enough so that his whisper could be heard.

"You are nothing but a filthy mongrel. But, like any dog, you have your uses…and you already know the consequences of even contemplating disobedience of any kind."

Seeing the convict flinch when he raised his fingers as though to snap them again was deeply satisfying. Validar smirked, pleased with finally getting his way, and left Mustafa to debrief their newest asset before sending him on his way tomorrow.

Validar watched the pair stride off into the horizon, the sunrise painting their figures a stark black against its golden brilliance. Tharja was to accompany the agent—Gaius—and serve as his supervisor while in Ylisse. She would ensure that his performance was up to snuff…and that he would refrain from attempting to escape. Not that he would manage to achieve any significant distance if he did, what with the Curse Seal embedded deeply into his skin, but Validar needed everything to stick exactly to the plan. Any sort of deviance could jeopardise their mission. And Validar knew that Tharja was more than willing to accept her task given her single-minded obsession with the Vessel.

(If she were a man, Validar would have cut her down instantly for such impudence)

He stocked them with spyglasses to communicate with him and the skull, as well as high-grade weaponry, warp staffs, medical supplies, maps, and travelling rations. Gaius was also given a new wardrobe that helped to conceal his criminal tattoo and the Curse inscribed on it better than the measly rag he wore when Aversa plucked him from Zuhsa's dungeons. Why, seen from a distance, and with his head covered up by a dastmaal, he could even be confused with a Plegian.

The brief thought was dashed by the disgusting memory of red hair and green eyes. Validar's lip curled as he kept his eyes on the pair.

"Mustafa," he said, after a long silence, "be sure to send a message to the border team. Tell them that they are to expect those two's arrival in a month's time."

The general bowed deeply at the waist. "At once, my liege."

As the general retreated back into the skull, Validar returned to his thoughts. The sheer anticipation coursing through his veins made it quite difficult to stand still. With the Curse Seal keeping the criminal bound to his orders and Tharja keeping an eye on him, Validar was sure that this time, his plan was foolproof. This time, nothing could possibly interfere with destiny.

The Vessel would be rescued from the corrupting sphere of Ylisse. She would be brought back to her rightful place as his Hierophant, standing at his side, and then he would kill the mongrel prisoner as he deserved, for being an Ylissean. He would plant his seed into the Vessel's womb, and it would grow and quicken into the physical body needed to usher Grima's rebirth into their plane of existence. And with Grima's birth would come the Awakening, and the return of the Wings of Ruin and Breath of Despair would destroy the world and begin it anew; as had been fortold, as had been ordained.

This Validar swore upon his very life.

There we go! Validar's creepiness was really tempered by finally introducing Gaius to the fray—he's also one of my favourites to write, especially in TCaH, though I'm afraid he's been through harder circumstances in this universe. Next chapter is back to Robin at least!