"So of course, I notice immediately that the grounds we're fighting on is coarse, made of sand and dust. There's this scary swordsman in the distance who's been eyeing me besides that Marth guy - he totally has the hots for Chrom, by the way. The scary man's Lon'qu, we just got him too when we were coming back."
"Yes?"
"So yeah, the bell rings and the orchestra starts playing and it's beautiful. Sometimes a guy's thrown off the stage and into some poor violinist, but it's probably an honor or something because the orchestra just keeps on playing."
"Of course."
"So with my tactics, I order Frederick and Kellam to deal with the myrmidons while Miriel snipes the enemy mages so they don't take our tanks out - no matter how much I want Freddy to take an Arcfire."
"That would be sad, yes."
"And then once that's done, we see Lon'qu just quietly walking towards us - kind of terrifying, really. But Chrom decides it's a good idea to leave me alone with the man to fight Marth - At that point, I'm sure the feelings are mutual."
"Yes, of course."
"And then I realize that Miriel's done with the mages, so I come up with a brilliant plan using wind magic and the sandy groun- Are you even listening?"
Emmeryn blinks, setting down the teacup as Robin interrupts his monologue to ask a question.
"Yes?"
She has her questions too.
Such as why her brother's tactician is in her room at two in the morning.
"So like I was saying, we combined the power of Elwind with the natural weather and cause a sandstorm-"
Emmeryn decides at that point to brew some more tea, sleep forgotten.
Perhaps Robin is… Unique?
Maribelle presses herself against a pillar in fright as said tactician stalks past her, arms full with bags of bakery goods - it's only six in the morning and the man's already finished his errands (and quite probably finished his wallet, too).
Nope, Maribelle isn't afraid of him. Indeed! All she is doing is following the emotional hierarchy set by her brain - and whenever she lays her eyes on the tactician the emotion atop said hierarchy is best represented by the word 'escape'.
Not fear.
That emotion hasn't been completely amplified after watching the show that the Shepherds had demonstrated the day before, utterly annihilating their enemy without any deaths on either side with the victory to boot! No fear! None at all!
"Maribelle. What are you doing?"
Death has come.
"Oh! Robin! Hello!" She's terrifie- surprised by his uncanny ability to suddenly appear behind people. "Lovely morning, isn't it?"
"I was asking what were you doing."
She doesn't want to turn to face him, rather, she can't. Her legs are strangely frozen to the ground and her kneecaps seem to be the slightest tad wobbly.
"You're hiding behind a pillar and acting creepy." Maribelle shivers, those words seem like they'd suit someone else rather than her. After all, behavior such as that would only suit something distasteful like a dark mage, yes?
"I had dropped my parasol! You see… And… I was picking it up!"
She literally drops her parasol in front of him and picks it back up, brushing off any invisible dust as if nothing had ever happened.
Maribelle keeps her eyes on the head of a deer that hangs by the wall, the glassy eyes stare back. "Dearie me, how silly."
She can sense Robin's gaze into her soul. Her fight or flight state has been rendered to an Accept your fate state. Still refusing to turn around, she understands nothing when Sumia hums that the man's rather chipper at their teatimes.
She feels more like a mouse being stalked by a snake.
"Okay." He states simply, before brushing past her uncaringly as he strides down the corridor, ignoring Kellam entirely as the man attempts to greet him.
Maribelle's legs feel like giving out, not even facing down two bandits with a broken staff can give her the fear that Robin represents. She almost feels sorry for their enemies, as every strategy they come up with seems to be completely demolished by Robin's tactical genius as if he's already prepared for such a situation.
But that's nonsense. Because there'd be no way he could think of every situation that a party could take before the battle. Just idle nuances of thought that flit through her mind.
"Good morning, Sir Kellam." She manages to breathe out her condolences through a polite greeting, watching the man's expression brighten at having someone acknowledge him.
Her day's begun to a frightening start, though she refuses to recall any details of such an incident later on at breakfast while Lissa attempts to loosen her lips with a bag of fresh pastries.
"Get out."
"Nope!"
"I'm serious, get out. Now."
"Uh… Hello? Nope means nope? A dot is a dot? A line is a line? Chrom is Chrom?"
Lissa knows she's getting on his nerves and oh by Naga does it feel good. She's propped herself up onto the table that he's writing on, with a massive shit-eating grin on her face as she deliberately lets crumbles from the cookie she's munching fall on the impeccable surface.
"I'm doing something, young princess. It's called working. Though I doubt your immature mind can handle such stress." Ordinarily, she'd take offense to that. But this is Robin. "I'd appreciate it if you stopped dropping crumbs around my work."
Normally, she'd leave him at this point and go find something else to do - have tea with Maribelle, talk about bizarre things with Vaike or bully Chrom. But she now has a justified reason for her actions. Totes.
Because she hasn't seen the tactician appear to a proper meal in the last two days.
"C'mon! Take a break! We're done with all the Ferox stuff, yeah? Go have a nice time, yeah?"
Robin ignores her, choosing to dab his quill into a near-empty inkpot.
"Get some nice clothes, yeah?"
He scribbles something down, brushing aside the crumbs.
"Enjoy yourself for once, yeeeaaahh?" She drawls, happily watching his eye tick with barely-restrained anger. "Yeahhh-"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"Robin. Why are you drinking gravy?"
"Sustenance."
"... Oh."
Stahl decides that leaving the food hall with his plate of venison is the best choice for survival.
"I'm sorry. What?! I thought I heard something about inviting Plegia into Ylisstol during these times. Want to correct me on that, Robin?" Robin idly notes that Falchion seems to be a lot sharper than it was a couple of seconds ago.
"Well, to be completely accurate - it's for a single night and anyone who receives an invitation will be allowed to attend a formal banquet inside the cas-"
"Are you out of your mind?!"
"Possibly-" His eyes widen in alarm as Chrom's hand drifts dangerously near his blade. "I have good reason to!"
Oh, good. That stays the blade for a couple of seconds.
"Is that so?" Chrom seats himself back down across the table, his posture once again relaxed. "Mind telling me it, then?"
Robin doesn't blame him - he's been here for only about three weeks now as a strategist and his strategies have been… Eccentric, to say the least. Chrom's no idiot, he'd hardly let a rival nation walk into his own freely off of advice from a man quite possibly from said nation.
Flicking through his little blue book of strategies, he lands right at the one he needs. Perfect.
"It's bait." He smirks at the prince's confusion - of course no-one can understand his strategy unless he explains it.
Poor fools.
"We've seen recently from the borders of Ylisse where Plegian bandits have been poking at the towns lining the area, bandit raids - that I stress with utmost importance - that are being directed by the Mad King, Gangrel."
"How-"
"Easy, I've taken a look at the data from the past six months or so - read different emergency reports given to the guards, seen the bounties taken in Ylisstol, mapped out the skirmish areas and so on-"
"All in…" Chrom peeks out the window and into the moonlight. "Three days?"
"Yes." Robin taps his fingers against the desk irritably. It'd be great to meet someone who doesn't interrupt his strategy for once in his life. "As I was saying, once you look at the data - pages fifty-five to sixty-ish, I'm not too sure - but once you've seen the data then you can clearly see a pattern."
Chrom picks up the blue book, his eyes drifting over the contents curiously.
"Bandits on wolves?"
"Pages sixty-five to seventy."
"Ah."
Robin indulges himself in some peace and quiet as the prince reads up in the flickering candlelight while occasionally letting out a quiet whistle or a dry chuckle. It's been a tiring past few days, planning out his next maneuver as more and more reports of bandits from Plegia lay in. But missing a couple of nights is fine if it's for the sake of Ylisse. For the sake of staying useful.
He has to keep working. For Chrom's sake. For the entirety of the Shepherds. For both their safety and to be useful, so he doesn't need to feel unwanted, so he can be perfe-
"And what has this got to do with your current strategy?" Chrom's voice breaks through Robin's clouded thoughts as the man automatically scowls in response.
"It's obvious, isn't it? Whoever's directing the strategy at Plegia knows as much as a sheep walking into the slaughterhouse. If they're dumb enough to forget to make their bandits look like bandits then they're obviously going to come to this and attempt something-" A yawn breaks his sentence. "- and that something would be like crippling the royal family to kill morale, or to attack our stocks - I can assume it's the first because we have literally everything in surplus within Ylisse… Except for our exalted bloodline."
"Ah. I see." Realization dawns upon the prince as a wry grin begins to form on his lips. "You're setting a trap for people setting a trap."
"It's more like exhausting them emotionally because of their thinking that they're walking into a trap that then affects decision-making in later larger battles… But sure. Setting trap for the trap-setters-" Another yawn. "It'll be a formal dinner, they can bring their weapons - and as many guards that they'd like. The more the better."
"The more the better?" That doesn't make sense, couldn't that mean that Gangrel could show up with his entire army?
"The man who shows up with a battalion has no confidence. The man who shows up without is desperate. The man who shows up with the right amount…?"
It's at that moment where Chrom sees the reserved spark of intelligence from his friend that barely anyone notices and the danger that follows it.
Not from the threat of any physical danger, Robin can barely wield a shortsword alongside that hand of his. But that rare glint in his eyes with the quiet, smoldering passion reveals Robin's nature to Chrom instantly.
He hasn't seen anyone this… Cunning? Shrewd? Dangerous?
Twisted.
He hasn't seen anyone this twisted since his father.
"Who shows up for the right amount…?" Chrom tentatively repeats Robin's question, his hand resting on Falchion out of pure instinct.
Maybe he isn't aware of the effect he has, or maybe it's all part of his plan. But Robin gives him a lazy smirk before plucking the little book out of Chrom's hands.
"The man who shows up with the right amount… Is ripe for an assassination."
Stahl doesn't think that a mess hall is a safe place anymore.
Safe to say, the halls used to be his - a nice place of solitude where he could consume food en masse.
There were no insults hurled, no fights between tactician and prince, there wasn't food being tossed across the place - and Stahl always got third helpings.
"And I've said that we're going with the damned idea! So why are we arguing?!" Chrom roars out before an empty bowl smacks into his head, Maribelle lets out a quiet 'Oh dear' and drags Lissa under the table.
"You're clearly not on board! How can I make a Naga's damned plan when you toss every single suggestion out of my head?!" Robin's standing on his side of the table, breathing heavily as he glares at Chrom through eyes that are practically being dragged down by the bags beneath.
"Because rat poison isn't just a simple method!" Huh. Chrom is scarily accurate with a spoon, a fact learned first-hand from the Shepherd's tactician. The man topples off the table and manages to kick Virion's teacup out of his hand while doing so.
Stahl has no bloody idea on what's going on, while Vaike and Sully are cheering on different sides. Miriel beside him has set up some kind of wind barrier that causes stray objects to bounce off it and Frederick has his face in his hands.
"Well then WHAT POISON?!"
"WHY ARE WE GOING WITH POISON?!"
Whoops, there goes his broccoli. He watches it fly into the air just before a pair of angry men crash onto the table, fuelled by ambition.
Oh. Lissa's started cheering Robin.
From then on, it just becomes a blur for Stahl as he hastily finishes his steak. Vaike and Sully have joined in the wrestling, Lon'qu's quite literally taken his food out of the building, Lissa's doing an aerial bombardment of sardines while Maribelle's opened up her parasol as a shield.
These are the Shepherds.
At one point Sumia comes in and trips over the two men punching each other, spilling gravy all over the three of them. Now Frederick's pulling Sully and Vaike apart and Virion's cleaning up the remains of a teacup.
"What is going on here?"
Amidst the chaos, Stahl sees one light.
Exalt Emmeryn. Standing in her graceful and eloquent glory, her head tilted slightly to the side in confusion at the quite literal scene of carnage before her.
And then one of Lissa's sardines splat on her forehead, leaving a tomato-paste mark on the sacred brand. Miriel sets down her clean bowl and wipes her mouth delicately. Happy with her meal, she lets out a content sigh and lowers the barrier.
The room goes silent.
"For the record-"
"Be silent."
"Ok. Got you. Yep." Chrom withers under Emmeryn's gaze as Robin returns from her bathroom with a wet cloth - how he knows where everything is located is a concern - both equally shamed by the Exalt.
"I'm going to leave this… Here… And…?" Out of everyone that Chrom has interacted with, it's surprising to see that his sister is the one who keeps Robin on a leash.
"Sit. Beside Chrom. And face the wall."
"Yes, ma'am." Chrom doesn't see any of the intellect in the tactician's eyes as he obediently sits beside him and rests his forehead against the wall.
Emmeryn is terrifying when she smiles.
"Now both of you are going to play nice, apologize to each other and then think about your actions for the next hour, I'll be leaving this room to attend to a meeting with Phila-" She silences Chrom's response with arguably some of the most ominous words he's ever heard. "I have eyes everywhere."
"Yes, ma'am." They respond in unison.
Emmeryn lets a small smile grace her lips as she sets aside the cloth before leaving the room, the audible sound of the lock clicking in place before she's gone.
And then they're left in silence. Chrom facing the bed while Robin faces the wall.
He doesn't know when, but at one point one of them starts chuckling and then the other one joins in. It's not long before they're rolling on the ground, wheezing over the most ridiculous event to happen all night.
It's at that point in the night where He and Robin come to a compromise, to only assassinate should Emmeryn's life be in danger in any sort - should the plan, of course, be approved by Emmeryn herself.
The Exalt herself smiles softly, lifting her ears away from the door before continuing down the corridors away from her room.
Perhaps there're some sardines left in the kitchen for dinner.
One week later.
Plegia.
"My lord, an invitation to Ylisstol for a formal banquet - they say that Exalt Emmeryn wishes for trade negotiations." The letter is torn open and scanned by greedy eyeballs. Mad King Gangrel laughs, either in joy or derision - the tactician doesn't know.
"Wonderful! You can come armed? With as many troops as we want?! Brilliant! They just gave us a chance to beat them provided we get past the obvious trap that they've set!"
"So you're saying… We spring the trap and then overwhelm the capital with our forces…?" Aversa purrs, massaging his bag from her position behind his throne. "A cunning idea, should there truly be a trap and enough soldiers. We needn't worry about your safety, as you have me and your dear tactician with us."
"An easy win!" Gangrel laughs, tossing the tiny letter aside. "What do you say to this, tactician?"
The tactician chews her lip nervously, tugging at the sleeves of her (ridiculous) over-sized coat. Gangrel doesn't mind the uncertainty, she's only begun growing as a tactician - at the age of 15 no less! - he already knows what to do, his own plan forming in his head. But it'd be useful to nurture this child, seeing how interested Aversa is in the girl.
"I-I mean… I dunno…" She rakes a hand through her dyed-white hair, eyes flickering between the letter and Gangrel. "It seems like a trap… But at the same time… It doesn't make sense."
Yes, she's inexperienced. But they'll show her. He'll show her how wars are won. The Conquerer won't know whats hit him until its too late when he invades in the years to come. She has talent but lacks confidence and experience.
"Come with us then, Morgan. And we'll see for ourselves how these Ylisseans conduct themselves in the presence of a King."
A lot's changing, and I've always been a military strategy buff so creating different strategies that only make sense to the person who's made them is something I love. That and confuddling my own readers as I make a strategy and implement it, slowly drip-feeding pieces of the puzzle until they can make out the final image themselves. I've always enjoyed that element of mystery, so I had to introduce that too along with my strategy - they go hand-in-hand, don't you think?
I think the main focus of this story for me at least is to capture different character's personalities in different situations and create strategies that get the reader's attention, the type that makes you think "Ah, I see how it is" when the plan's laid bare- leave a review on any of the elements please, it'd give me a better insight to how I'm doing from an anonymous third-party.
I had to update this, simply to state that I haven't forgotten any of my stories, but I'm chipping away at them bit by bit - like how a prisoner cracks his walls each day with a spoon.
I did a bad thing where I wrote some of From the Ashes while… Not fully in control of my thought process. And then woke up the next morning without a single scooby about the plot points I opened and closed. Safe to say, I'll refrain from any mind-inhibiting liquids while writing (I'm trying my best to not say alcohol because that makes me look irresponsible, okay? Jeez.)
Don't forget that the poll for Robin's pairing is up on my profile, give that a tick if you want to see who he ends up with.
But I think I'm starting to get back into this, a 'writer's block' doesn't exist, they always disappear after you start writing daily, bit by bit. Trust me on that.
We'll be back to speed in no time.
Apologies for the wait. Thanks for the read.