The Blades of the Palemoon

He knew a truth,

A truth that should not be spoken.

A Fellblood is cursed,

The vessel must be broken.

It had been… months.

Lucina had to credit her companion, he had a resilience that few others possessed.

Robin's condition had been worsening gradually, the relief Tharja's spell had given him waning more and more over time. They'd sustained themselves by going into the desert towns disguised to buy food, Robin having a substantial deal of gold coins on him. He'd melancholically referred to it as 'the only benefit of being a former prince'. They'd survived, thus far.

But the past two days, the tactician was clearly far past his limit. He'd started coughing up blood, stumbling in the desert sand. He was spiraling. It was… concerning. Truthfully, she was not convinced he would survive.

Typically, a trek across the desert would take quite some time, in a two man party. Several weeks, at the very least. It took them the time it would take a marching army, Robin's injuries making progress slower and slower.

Few words were spoken, but few were necessary. She… understood him, in a way she could not quite explain. Despite their lack of words, she had come to think of him as a true friend.

That made her all the more terrified on that day, when her friend finally collapsed in the sand.

"Robin!" She yelled, running to his side. "Robin, please, we're so close! The Ylissean fort on the border, you said it was nearby, yes?"

"I… did," he answered, weakly. "It would take you perhaps… perhaps a few hours… you should go, Lucina. I fear that… I'm beyond saving, at this point."

Lucina clenched her fist. The fact of the matter, ultimately, is that Robin is irreplaceable. Perhaps her father had the heart and strength to save the world, but Robin had the mind. They needed their tactician.

"Come now, my friend. This is no place to die. There is much you have yet to do," not listening to any rejections, she bent over, picking her charge up and carrying him on her back. He moaned, told her to go on alone, but she would not hear it. The weakness in his voice struck her more than his words ever could.

After a time, he fell quiet, leaving Lucina to trudge through the sands silently. The area they were coming up on, she hoped that she could find a competent pegasus knight, one that could get them straight to Ylisstol as soon as possible. Robin's life depended on it.

He was known as the Prince of Plegia. That alone put him at risk, as those in power were likely to make hostile moves against him, even if he carried the Exalt's favor. Lucina knew well how dangerous the Council could be.

"Lucina?" Robin asked suddenly, voice fading, growing softer. "If… If I… reach Chrom, become… become the tactician of his honor guard… what will you do?"

She was silent for a moment, trying to think of the best way to confront the question. She felt him rest his head on her shoulder as she carried him, her Exalted blood and his declining health making his weight insubstantial to her.

"I… suppose I'll leave once more. There's a great deal to be done, after all," she said, the lie she forced herself to believe. In truth, she feared what would happen if she were around her father for too long. The longer she was around him, the closer he'd get to discovering her identity.

"Don't…" Robin said. "Please… don't leave… me…"

She turned her head to face him, finding that his eyes were closed as he leaned on her. She feared that he'd lost consciousness. She wasn't certain he'd ever regain it.

She sucked in a breath, not yet willing to give up on her companion.

"You've been alone for quite some time now, haven't you?" She asked, though she knew he could no longer hear her. "Very well, my friend. I will do all I can to support you."

Though he said nothing, though he did not open his eyes, she could swear that she saw the faintest hint of a smile. Perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight, but she hoped he'd heard her.

Setting her gaze forward, she moved forward, looking inward. Their wordless relationship thus far had not been one that she'd minded thus far, but it left her wanting to know more. She felt that she did have a true understanding of her companion, yet there was much she was unaware of. His past, what he wanted for the future…

Was she forcing him to fulfill a title he had no interest in? He hadn't objected to the idea of being a tactician, even knowing what it would ultimately entail. War with his home, while recognizing it as his home… while knowing men and women on the other side. Was she being cruel?

She shook her head, thrusting the thoughts from her mind. He seemed to trust her intent, if nothing else, and she had to trust it as well. There were other, more important things that needed her attention.

Should she stay with the Shepherds? Wouldn't that be… dangerously selfish? Her father recognizing who she was, knowing the truth to her identity, it… it would throw everything off.

But then, a dangerous, tempting part of her mind pondered, isn't everything out of sorts already?

Her instinct was to dismiss the thought, but she found it made sense. With time already seemingly in disarray, would her presence amongst the Shepherds harm things even more? Or could it be beneficial?

On her back, Robin stirred, though he did not wake. She felt his breath, weak but present, and she found a new determination, something that made the decision for her. A realization, one that bid her stay amongst the Shepherds.

As the Prince of Plegia, his life would be under threat. In her own time, the Council had already hated Robin. The idea that a 'nobody' was made tactician of the prince's unofficial honor guard had deeply offended the aristocrats. They'd only barely put up with him, and none of them had known he was Plegian. This time, they would have ample ammunition to use against him, and would undoubtedly use it to justify his… death.

She would not allow it. Any assassin who would get to him would have to get through her, first. Lucina carried her charge, a renewed determination filling her.

Yes, she would keep him safe. Perhaps, in time, she would make him happy, too.

So she trudged forward, the desert's moon watching over her trek, her companion matching the shade of the moonlight.

"Tell me, where was he last seen?" The assassin asked. His accent was thick, though Validar failed to place it. Somewhere in Valm, certainly.

"The grounds of Castle Plegia. He was gravely injured, you may be searching for a corpse, unless his ally is carrying his body," Validar said, rubbing his chin. The morning sun had only just begun to rise, the light in the throne room dim.

"Where have you searched?" The assassin asked, his hood casting a shadow over his face.

"Mostly up and down the Western Trail, close to the coast. It's where the bulk of our population is, as well as the majority of cheap, affordable food. If he wants to blend in, and have easy access to food, he'll stay along the coast. His ally remains… enigmatic. We don't know how well he knows the area, but Robin is familiar. If he gave any direction, it would be to follow the Western Trail to Ferox, and seek asylum there," Validar responded, creasing his brow after a moment. "Though, we have also sent sentries into the desert, but they have yet to return."

"You think he chose the desert instead?"

"I think he is no longer drawing breath, however… if he is, I acknowledge that there is a chance he did just that," Validar said. "He knows the land, perhaps better than any who were pursuing him. It would certainly be the harder trek, but he would know where to go for food… we've put out posters of his and his ally's faces, but we do not know what his ally truly looks like. His face was covered."

"Hood?"

"Mask."

The assassin nodded, "You think, if he took the desert route, he is headed for Ylisse?"

"Yes," Validar affirmed, "Though, it would be foolish of him. Perhaps the weak-hearted exalt would take him, but that would only result in him being dispatched by the assassins of the irate council."

"I see."

"But, even in that case, proof of his death would still be acceptable," Validar said. "Even if it means infiltrating Ylisse."

"Am I to do this alone?" To this, Validar smirked.

"No, no. Tell me, are the tales of your skill exaggerated?"

"No." He had no need to embellish. Validar could respect that.

"There's a sect of the Plegian Royal Guard, they serve as assassins. Their skill is nearly unparalleled. I want you to face one in a duel to the death. Should you win, you will take three of them to complete your mission."

"They would not resent me for killing a comrade?"

Validar laughed. "I trust you, they are numb to losing comrades by now. It is a policy of the order."

"And what is this order of assassins called?"

The King smirked, smug. Robin would die, whether from blood loss, infection, starvation, or a blade in the night.

"The Blades of the Palemoon. They will serve you well, I assure you."

"So, I take it Regna Ferox went well?" The Exalt asking, smiling at her brother. "Three months is good time, for an outfit the size of the Shepherds."

The Exalt's bedchamber was cool in the late night's air, Emmeryn herself only awaking to greet her brother as he returned, sitting next to him on one of the couches that was in her room. Chrom returned her smile, though the bags under his eyes certainly made it less serene.

"We moved fast, sister. I don't like leaving you here," he admitted. "We had to participate in the Khan's tournament, with myself representing East-Khan Flavia."

"And I suppose you won?" She asked.

"Yes, well.." he began, thinking back.

Blade clashed against blade, each champion giving their very best, and it seemed their skill was equal. Chrom may have possessed the edge in strength, but this champion's speed, reflexes, and experience seemed to make up for the deficit.

As they locked blades, Chrom smiled. His opponent seemed a few years younger than he, around the age of sixteen. He took the chance to get to know his rival in between blows.

"May I ask?," Chrom said, ducking under a sword swing. "You fight with great skill, and it would be an honor to know your name."

"M-m-m-m-m-my n-n-n-na-... name?" For whatever reason, the boy seemed to be thrown off kilter, no longer focused. Chrom was not above taking advantage of such an opening.

He charged his opponent, bringing his elbow down on the boy's throat, before sweeping his legs out from under him with a kick. As his opponent lay on the ground, Chrom dipped the point of Falchion to his throat.

"I… win?" He said, realizing the room had been silent, when just a moment prior it had been filled with roars and applause. The crowd remained quiet for a few seconds that felt like years.

"WHAT WAS THAT SHIT?!" Chrom flinched from Basilio's bellow.

"Oh, come now, you old oaf. It's your fault for enlisting a champion so young," Flavia said, smirking. Despite being on opposite sides of the arena, each perched on their thrones, their voices carried remarkably well. It occurred to Chrom that he had to apologise to Vaike and Sully. He thought they were loud.

"Alright, fine!" Basilio said. "The winner is Chrom, of Ylisse, and Flavia now stands as the Khan-Regent." His voice became a grumble by the end. Chrom turned to regard the boy, offering a hand.

"Come, seek me out, once you have the chance," Chrom said, smiling. "I'd like to have a word with you."

"My, he truly impressed you enough to be offered a place amongst your outfit?" Emmeryn said, eyes slightly widened.

"In truth, though his skill is very noteworthy, I took him on more because of a gut instinct. I sense a… familiarity, in the boy," Chrom answered.

"Many of milord's decisions are predicated upon 'gut instinct'," Frederick said, the knight standing guard in the corner of the room. "I had hoped you would talk sense into him."

"Oh, come now, Knight Frederick," Emmeryn responded, chuckling goodnaturedly. "Perhaps he is a bit… headstrong, but one cannot deny that his instincts are usually correct."

"Perhaps, until the day they are not."

"And that," Chrom grumbled, "is why I have a two hundred pound behemoth clad shoulder to toe in steel following me at all times."

"You jest, milord, but it is the truth," Frederick said, stone-faced as always. Chrom sighed, defeated.

"Pity for you, dear brother," Emmeryn said with a laugh. "Tell me, what is this newcomer of yours named?"

"Ovain. He's called Ovain."

Owain sneezed. Perhaps someone was speaking about him, somewhere.

He rolled over in his cot, the moonlight seeping in through one of the windows in the room. He enjoyed seeing the Shepherds' Barracks, restored to what it was meant to be. He didn't even mind that he lacked a room, having to bunk with Vaike and Stahl.

Thus far, he'd maintained a strong facade, making absolutely sure no one knew who he was. He even conjured a fake name, and that was one the spot! Lucina would be proud of him, he felt confident he was doing exactly what she would do, were she in his position.

Lucina…

He wondered how his dear cousins were doing. Truthfully, he worried for them both. Owain may play the part at times, but he was no idiot. Something went wrong. The past was different.

Unfortunately, he couldn't get a great deal of details about what major events were different specifically, too worried about maintaining appearances to ask. He simply had to trust his cousins would adjust. If nothing more, all of the Shepherds he'd met thus far had been the same as they once were. So… painfully similar.

Save for one. Owain did not know where his father was, the swordsman not being in Regna Ferox at the time he had been in the original timeline. He also couldn't help but wonder where Robin was, the tactician nowhere to be found.

He knew what the others thought, what his comrades thought. Robin was the man who doomed the world. Their degree of belief varied wildly, Owain admittedly being one of the more skeptic members of their group. He understood there was a great deal of evidence, but…

To him, Robin was the man who would sit with him and Severa as children, reading stories to them, recounting his tales and exploits. Those stories are what engrossed him to the idea of being a hero, like one from a great story.

Both he and Severa had been devastated by the news of the fall of Chrom and his Vanguard, and to watch the rest of the Shepherds fall, one by one… it had been Hell.

Adding to this was the news that the cause of the decline, the cause of the End Times, all centered on one man's betrayal. Robin's betrayal.

Owain could never reconcile his two conflicting views of the man. Was he a monster, or was there an explanation of any kind? For the sake of his youth, he had to believe the latter. Were it so easy for the others…

Severa felt betrayed by a man she looked up to as a father figure of sorts. Many in their group felt that way. Gerome, on the other hand… he had a much more… pointed reason, to hate the tactician.

It had been a dark day for the boy.

Owain sighed, realizing all he could truly do was hold out hope. His cousins were alright, his friends were okay, and Robin…

Whatever dark path Robin may have been forced down, whatever evil he had been forced to commit, Owain would do everything he could to help him, to bring light into his former hero's eyes.

For now, Owain would serve alongside the legends of his youth. It was good to see them well, especially his mother, though he had to be careful around her.

His brand was more easily covered than Lucina's or Inigo's, but it did little to change that he couldn't be seen shirtless. His brand being on his arm meant that high gloves were helpful.

Perhaps someday he could walk with his mother, side by side, each aware of what the other was.

Perhaps one day, she would see his brand, and remind him that he is loved.

The assassin's opponent hit the floor. He let out a long, tired sigh. Validar hadn't been joking, the Blades of the Palemoon were truly, truly skilled. He had nearly died several times to his opponent, despite being made clear that the Blade he had faced was considered the weakest in the order. He had only won due to the ace up his sleeve.

"Ah, very intriguing," Validar said, clapping slowly. The dark, cramped arena was filled with spectators. Other Blades, the assassin presumed. "I recognize the technique you used, it is one unique to Valm, but outlawed by most of the continent, is it not? A forbidden art, they deemed it. Far too dangerous to be used."

The assassin scoffed. The king had a point.

"Nevermind that, assassin. You accomplished your task, now three of the Blades will be assigned to you," Validar continued. The assassin approached him, needing to know the answer to a few of his wonderings.

"Tell me," he began, voice low, "why is it that we hunt the former prince of your nation? What is your reason?"

Validar's face darkened.

"In my… youth, I was what you may call a zealot. While most of the Plegian populace are Grimleal in faith, I was an extremist. I had every intention of resurrecting the Fell Dragon itself," the assassin's eyes widened, but the king continued. "Prince Robin is the result of such ambition. He is, in every way, the perfect vessel for the Fell God. He was meant to be the Heart of Grima. He is the Fellblood."

"As the years continued, my heart would change, mostly after the loss of his mother. Despite this, he was determined to bond with the beast. Robin felt that it was his birthright, his inheritance. He fled the kingdom after we found him attempting a spell that would merge him with Grima. He may die, he may already have, but it is for the best. Better him than all the world," Validar said, not missing the assassin's tense body language.

"I suspect he would take refuge in Ylisse, hiding his true ambitions from them. He may be after the Fire Emblem itself, in the hopes it can be used for a twisted version of the Awakening. He's a silver-tongued liar. He knows how to manipulate, and he would do anything, say anything to further his goals."

"...Then this goes beyond a payment," the assassin responded. "This is the fate of the world. I demand no compensation. Just let me stop him, provide me the resources I'll need."

"They're yours, my friend. Whatever supplies Plegia may have to offer."

The assassin was quiet for a moment. "How dangerous is Robin? How wary must I be of him?" Validar scratched his chin, lost in thought."

"He is… a skilled mage. He's yet to become a master of spellcraft, but he knows enough to be dangerous. He can be quite cunning, the same way a rat running from a dog can be. I… have not seen it for myself, but he's practiced with a blade." Validar said. "Ultimately, he will be weaker than the Palemoon's Blade you've faced."

The assassin nodded. "Very well. When you assign my men, tell them we leave at dawn.

Chrom groaned. He hated early mornings, he hated debriefings, and he hated the High-Command.

"You mean to tell us that some Feroxi brat is more worthy of joining your little Honor Guard than one of our esteemed soldiers?!" Lyseth yelled, trying to be as threatening as the old man could be.

"I took him into our company because, at his heart, I believed him to be a good, kind, and capable soldier. This has nothing to do with the spot of tactician you are all so desperate to see filled," Chrom spat. "I will be the one to determine who it is. Not any of you."

Before Lyseth could retort, Emmeryn's firm voice interrupted.

"My brother did what he has done, and we are to trust his judgement. There are more important threats looming on the horizon than the employ of one swordsman," the council fell silent. The benefit of the Exalt being so kind and caring; it made it that much more jarring, that much more sobering when she wasn't.

"We have spotted wyvern squadrons close to the fort we maintain that marks our border. They never left their territory, nor their airspace, but they are almost certainly scouting," Emmeryn continued.

"Then we must make sure the fort is ready for an attack, from land or sky," Chrom added.

"It's already covered," The Wing-Commander Phila answered. "The fort's current commander is capable enough to at least halt any advance from the ground, and Cordelia left a few weeks ago to lead the aerial units in the area."

"Good," Chrom said. "The Shepherds can go there as well, to provide additional security."

"That won't be necessary," Emmeryn said. "Your warband has only just returned, take the time to rest while you can. If for no other reason, please consider that, were the worst to happen, you would serve as Ylisstol's first and last line of defense. We need you here, until the situation has stabilized, or deteriorated to the point that your presence is necessitated."

Chrom had another thing he hated; Doing nothing.

Still, he nodded. His sister was right, he needed to be close. Needed to protect her.

He had no intention of becoming an Exalt. Now, or ever.

The Blades were a quiet bunch, the assassin would soon discover. They trudged through the sands, following his hunch that the disowned prince would make his way through the desert. It wouldn't be easy to find him, or catch up to a man with a head-start of several months.

Despite the heat, the Blades of the Palemoon wore their order's full attire, personalized masks that were shrouded by a cowl, with thick leather armor, light and flexible enough to not hinder movement, but dense enough to provide protection. All of their attire was black, including their blades, and not a bit of skin showed from head to toe.

Their weapons were also peculiar, fighting with a long katana in the right hand, and a short, hooked blade in the left, more a long dagger. He'd also been made aware that they carried far more weapons than those which were visible.

One of the Blades noticed the assassin's gaze, focused on their weapons, and walked closer to him.

"The dagger serves a great deal of functions, it's meant to be much more than a weapon," the Blade said, his voice muffled. His mask resembled the visage of a tiger, though it had been shaded gray. The assassin nodded.

"I find it surprising you would speak to me so casually. You seem to resent me less than your comrades," the assassin noted. The Blade chuckled lightly.

"The other two don't resent you for killing Ikam. The Order believes words and language have grown wasteful. At least, that's what the official stance is," he said, his voice lowering. "In truth, I think they just converse as little as possible to spare themselves the pain."

"The pain?"

"Pain caused by losing comrades, such as Ikam. You killed a man we slept beside, yet none of us resent you. Because, to us, he was never a man, he was a sword, deigned for a purpose that he failed to accomplish. In truth, I suspect most in the Order are simply desensitized to losing allies, at this point," unlike the other two, this Blade spoke freely and without reservation.

"For an Order so prestigious, why are you so accustomed to losing members?" The assassin asked. The Blade turned, staring at him for a moment.

"The king did not tell you a great deal about the Order, did he?" The Blade ventured, continuing at the assassin's shrug. "Every Blade of the Palemoon is meant to be the absolute elite, unmatched in mind or skill."

"But for an Order with members of such grand ability, I suppose it makes sense to wonder why our mortality rate is so high. In truth, the Blades are only deployed for missions of extreme importance, and extreme secrecy."

The Blade looked down at the sands the trudged through for a moment. "The reason we have been able to remain a secret for so long, the reason that the missions we undertake are so easy to keep off the books is thanks to our defining tenant."

"Upon completing a mission, the Blade will take his katana, and stab it through his heart."

The assassin stared at the talkative Blade, in shock by the barbarity this order seemed to employ.

"I understand that, to an outsider, it sounds preposterous. I've been that outsider… perhaps I still am. The Blades are rarely used, but when they are, it means a comrade will die. Much easier to deal with when you didn't know the name of who died."

The assassin couldn't help but be dumbfounded, before a realization struck him. "But… Ikam, you knew his name. You mean to say the others don't?"

The Blade cast his gaze over to the assassin, the sand blowing against his cowl from the win. "I am what you would call… uncommitted. I know most of the Blades by name, if at least so that they have someone who remembers them."

"You're uncommitted to the Order?"

"The faith of the Order, specifically. The reason they're so willing to die is because they believe in the next life they will find peace."

"Why will they not try to find it in this life?"

The Blade grunted, nodding toward one of the other two Blades in their company. "That one, the taller one… his name is Jezeriah. He was found half-dead in a sewer at age seven, burns and scars littering his body. He has never talked about what happened, how he wound up there, but the Blades were the ones who found him. They offered him a chance at peace, they'd say, even if it isn't in this lifetime."

"The second one, Hakim, was a slave for most of his young life, before a Blade cut down his owner. By that point, he felt he had no hope, no chance at peace, so he joined the Order. Perhaps as a Blade, he could find it in his next life."

"It sounds like a cult, to me," the assassin whispered, so that only the Blade beside him would hear.

"Maybe so, but they're all devoted."

"And you?"

The Blade chuckled again. "I'm the only amongst their number that didn't have a choice. I was forced to join, to become a Blade."

The assassin was quiet, for a moment.

"Then, this mission will end with your death?"

"Yes, no matter the outcome."

"What is your name, Blade?"

There was a quiet moment, a long, quiet moment.

"Gaius… My name is Gaius."

An even longer stretch of silence followed.

"Then know well, I, Priam, will mourn for you, Gaius."

Lucina staggered up the hill. For all of her Exalted strength, it was nearing its limit. Still, she had to carry on. For the sake of the person on her shoulders.

Robin had broken into a feverish sweat, wheezing and breathing shallow breaths. The end approached him, quickly. She quickened her pace, the fort looming over her head. She had to move faster, had to get him… to get him…

Was her mission hopeless? She could not trust any medic at the fort with his health, that much she knew. In truth, the only cleric she knew she could trust with him was her Aunt Lissa, who was several hundred miles away in Ylisstol. How would she get him there in time? How would she even get past this fort?

As if a divine showing, as if a light beaming down from the heavens, a pegasus came down in front of them, landing heavily, kicking up desert stand. The rider pointed her lance at Lucina and her charge, the hill making her seem larger than life.

"Identify yourselves," she said, grip on her lance tightening.

"Lady Cordelia!" Lucina called out, disguising her voice as best she could, the steel mask on her face starting to burn. The pegasus knight's eyes widened at being recognized, and Lucina took advantage of her thrown-off state. "We require immediate extraction directly to Ylisstol, my comrade needs a cleric, and the only who can heal him is Princess Lissa! The fate of the Halidom depends on his living or dying!" She took another step forward, halted by the lance pointing square at her now.

"I'm sorry, but if your friend needs help so badly, he can be tended to by the fort medic. To meet with Lissa is essentially to meet with the Prince Chrom, both of these would need special clearan-"

"Please!" Lucina pleaded, before pulling her ace. "The fire spreads, Naga's demise..."

Cordelia was silent for a moment, recognizing the code, before reciting the counter phrase.

"...is at the hands of Men, and Grima shall rise."