Cloaks and Daggers

The desert air turned frigid as the moon rose, temperature dropping with the night as quickly as it rose with the day. The Shepherds pushed on until they reached a wooded valley the following evening, two ruined watchtowers on either side signifying they'd met the Feroxi border, and Chrom called a halt to the march. They'd make camp here and push for the coast in the morning.

Shepherds pitched tents by torchlight but no one complained. They'd rather be out of Plegia than stay another night in the desert.

Robin paused by a group of soldiers, flipping through a folder, and moved on. He was in high spirits, after fending off Tharja's advances last night he requested she be given her own tent, to be located on the opposite end of camp from wherever he was at any given time. While Chrom explained that would be quite impossible Robin hadn't seen her all day, so perhaps it had worked after all.

"No not by the trees, damn things are infested with piss-ants."

"That's not a real thing, is it?"

"Damn straight that's a 'real thing.' Bloated with this gunk, crush one and the smell draws every ant within a mile to attack. Do not set up the tents by the duff, I promise you'll regret it," Sully grunted, lifting a rolled tent and thrusting it into a recruit's chestplate.

The man was mid twenties, fair skinned, tall, Ylissean. Messy hair barely within regs, he carried himself with a reformed military posture that hinted he'd prefer to slouch and say I'm just trying to get by, please don't look at me.

"Excuse me," Robin stopped by them, looking around and forgetting to return the automatic salutes, "Cherche?"

"Sully," Sully corrected.

"I'm not looking for a Sully, I'm looking for a Cherche."

"By Duke Virion's side, no doubt. Sir," she answered, salute becoming a gesture up the canyon.

He thanked them and moved up the valley walls to where the noble had claimed ground. Sure enough, Virion sat on a rock while Cherche finished constructing their tent. They looked up as he approached with a disarming smile.

"Ah, master Robin. To what do I owe the pleasure? No doubt my expertise on Walhart's forces‒?"

"Actually I was looking to speak with Lady Cherche, if I may borrow her for some time."

Virion closed his mouth, suppressing a flush.

"I assure you whatever you need I can provide, my vassals needn't be bother‒"

"Manual labor."

"Off you go, dear," Virion bid farewell, stooping to finish hammering the final stake in the dirt.

Cherche rose, dusting herself and retrieving her axe.

"Cheers. Pawn to D-five," Robin called to him as he departed.

Cherche followed Robin until they were some distance from camp, and slowed.

"Dare I ask what labor need be performed so far from the company of others?" She stopped, planting the axe haft in the ground and watching him suspiciously.

"Hm?" Robin stopped too, looking around, "Oh, no I just wanted to talk for a bit. Routine stuff, all new Shepherds go through it."

She cocked her head at his smile and he continued.

"I like to check in with all the soldiers. It's good to see how you're all doing, how we can make the most out of your abilities, and that everything's good with you."

"And it gives a face to the man on the hill?" she queried. He shrugged with a grin. "I wasn't aware I'd been conscripted."

Her tone wasn't that of indignation nor surprise. A simple statement, indicating her acknowledgement that her life had been repurposed.

"We don't force anyone to fight who doesn't want to," Robin assured, taking a seat on a rock. "But I understand you're a capable warrior, and Virion pledged his resources to our cause, so I thought we should have this talk. Do you think the Shepherds' purpose align with your own?"

"Will you reclaim the lands lost to Walhart?"

"That will be… A byproduct of the current agenda, yes."

"Then yes."

"Are you skilled with that axe?"

"I could perform surgery with this axe."

Robin sat back, bouncing the folder on his knee as he took her in. She hadn't moved from where she stopped, smiling with that same image of restrained cheer she always carried. It was only when someone looked past the surface pleasantries they could see a woman who knew she'd spent her entire life a servant. It was different than someone who didn't know better. A quiet, accepted sombre. Cherche was intelligent, capable, and confident, but the fight had left her eyes long ago.

"You were a trained shield-maiden before," he waved his hand, "becoming ah… Indentured?"

Large auburn eyes watched him carefully. She nodded. He thought for a moment, playing with the folder.

"And after this war, what do you plan on doing?"

"Returning to the estate to serve Lord Virion," she answered without hesitation.

"Okay, or, if things work out well, we could find a place for you among the Shepherds."

"My place is by my lord's side."

"You sound like my not-wife."

"I couldn't leave him."

"Yes yes, just… Just think about it. Not saying a soldier's life is glamorous, but… It's a way out, for some people. A lot of the ones I know didn't have choices growing up, service was the only way out for them." He kicked a pebble towards her with the toe of his boot. She watched him. "So they do their time, serve their country, and… They're free. Not going to pretend I know about your life or what you came from, but… When I look at you I see someone who wasn't given a lot of options… And this could be your second chance."

"I didn't realize you were a part-time recruiter on the side," she smirked, then her face fell more serious as her mouth opened.

"I don't need an answer yet, just think about it. You've got some weeks to decide," he cut her off before she turned it down, making to push off his knees to rise.

"Is that my dossier?" she asked suddenly, looking to the folder.

He let out the pre-getting-up-sigh and looked at her. Ever composed, her urgent tone hinted she didn't want the conversation to be over. She didn't want to go back quite yet. He grinned and held up the folder.

"This is my collection of cat drawings. I carry it around to make people nervous."

She raised an eyebrow, evidently waiting for the real answer.

He blinked. "Is that strange?"

"If it's true."

"It's true."

"Then it's strange."

"Wanna see them?"

"...Yes."

She lifted her axe and moved around him as he spread the contents across his knees.

"I found this little guy in the capital. He was super friendly so I didn't have to weigh him down with a blanket or anything." He passed her a sketch of a calico, "Unlike this little monster. I had to draw him from memory. Refused to stop moving, running away whenever I cornered him."

"These are quite good," Cherche admired the work with that gentle motherly smile. "Are you an artist?"

"Cat enthusiast," he announced proudly, puffing out his chest. "I just try to keep my mind busy. Practice new things. Learn how to be better. Keeps my brain from rotting."

He collected the papers and closed the folder.

"So you don't need to write down… Anything we just talked about?"

"About cats?"

"About how I can contribute to the Shepherds," she clarified, staring at him with the look he knew too well: How did you get to be chief tactician.

"Nope, I know exactly where I'm going to put you," Robin stood, waving the folder as if it were somehow relevant.

She glanced at it. "...Those are drawings. Of cats. You just showed them to me."

"Oh, right," Robin muttered, frowning at the folder. "Guess this won't work on you anymore."

The matter seemed settled and he made for the path again as she stumbled after him.

"W-wait, you haven't told me where I'm‒"

He held up a hand, expression shifting to alert.

Distant shouting. Metal. A warhorn.

They dashed the way they'd come, sounds of combat growing louder. They exited the trees overlooking the valley, spotting dark shapes skirting along fires spreading between tents. No battlecries or enemy standards.

Risen.

But their movement was strange ‒ not savage. Slow, methodical.

Organized risen.

"Find the nearest unit and fall in, they'll‒!" Robin ordered, turning to see Cherche leap from the overlook with a whistle, wyvern appearing from nowhere to sweep her towards the fray.

"Yeah just sorta do your own thing, that always works. Why I have a job…" Robin muttered, frowning.

He squinted in the dusk light, spotting Chrom's honor guard holding rank against a semi circle of undead assassins. Closer, below Robin, Tharja backed into a rocky corner, isolated tent cutting her off from the rest of camp. Three risen bore down on her, coal-like eyes glimmering from under dark cowls. She glared at them, opening a tome readily. They fanned out to either side until her back was against the wall.

She tore a page from the book, black flame engulfing her hand before expelling onto the nearest risen. She sneered until the flames died abruptly, long cloak barely singed as the soulless eyes loomed nearer.

Organized, magic-retardant risen.

"No fair," she muttered with a deepening scowl.

"Could use a hand over here!" Vaike called out from further down the valley, holding two risen at arm's length as a third stalked towards him.

Robin grit his teeth as he leapt, knowing he didn't have enough time to be everywhere at once and trusting someone else would answer Vaike's call.

He hit the ground alongside two fireballs, staggering the risen as he tumbled to thrust his sword into the third. It ghosted through him, chilling the air as it passed and thrusting the knife into his shoulder. Robin staggered away, no longer between it and Tharja, but the assassins eyed them evenly.

Another horn blast made three sets of coal-like eyes glance up the valley, then back to one another as Robin's sword plunged through an undead's skull. It dropped soundlessly as the other two blitzed into action. They were blindingly fast, able to jump between him and Tharja with barely so much a flicker of movement. Within three seconds Robin was parrying blows from one, then being pushed back by both, then found himself fighting air as they rounded on Tharja.

One trapped her tome, the second appearing behind her to shiv her back.

"Tharja!"

She caught the knife as blood poured from her back, whispering an incantation. Her blood seeped up the blade, absorbing into the risen's skin before it went rigid, coal-eyes extinguishing as it collapsed with her.

The other turned its attention as Robin bore down on it.

Every sword swipe was met with air, traded for two or three shallow cuts across his body. Wherever he aimed, the risen ceased being. He had to change tactics.

Lightning shot from his outstretched hand and the risen cut along his forearm. A solid gout of flame filled the cowl from close range, illuminating a stitched mouth and withered features before the risen was blinded with fire, failing to see the sword tip until it was through its eye socket.

The blade stuck and Robin let it go, running to Tharja's side to flip her onto her stomach. She'd lost some blood, though not nearly as much as he was expecting to see. The wound was deep but Tharja's wound was already coagulating, staunching the flow. He pressed on the cuts with one hand, removing his robe with the other.

"Medic!"

He looked up to see Cherche's wyvern swoop overhead towards the upper canyon before shouldering out of his sleeve and tying the cloth around her slim waist. She may not be losing much blood but there was no telling the internal damage.

"You do care," she muttered faintly, hair blowing slightly from her breath into the dirt.

"I expect my robe cleaned and pressed when I get it back," he muttered, looking up as Maribelle rounded the corner with a limping Vaike.

Another warhorn.

"Go! I have her," Maribelle urged him, Vaike grimacing as he dropped beside Tharja.

Robin yanked his sword free and ran up the dried riverbed, seeing the honor guard holding at the ruined watchtower. More assassins crouched in the shadows around the entrance where Frederick, Sully and Cordelia kept others at bay. He halted.

Run in swinging and he'd be twenty Robins by the time he reached them. He had to draw them away. Divert the flow. But beyond waving his sword about screaming like a maniac he didn't know how to distract them, because that diversion would end about as quickly as it started.

A wyvern shrieked, dive bombing into the crowd as a knight rolled from its back and turning a two meter tall risen into a one meter long smear. The knight didn't even recover, smashing bodily forward into another risen that couldn't blink away in such confined space. Behind him the wyvern rampaged, Cherche's axe outranging every dagger that neared the beast's hide. She hadn't lied, the precision and expertise she wielded the weapon with was an art; the synergy she had with her mount was akin to sharing a brain, wyvern knowing when to turn to avoid a blade and when to trust Cherche to turn it.

The knight was a less artistic, but no less impressive display of bravery, throwing himself into the fray and using his armor when he lost his weapon. The honor guard pushed out, risen thinned enough to go on the offensive. Risen didn't retreat or panic, so the sooner the fight ended the better the chance of decisive victory.

Chrom emerged from the ruin, free from Frederick's protective wing as the guard pushed further down the slope. From the distance Robin could see the risen pulling back, but it wasn't for sudden lack of numbers. They had enough to continue pressing in on the door ‒ and a dragon attack wouldn't shake their morale let alone a single wyvern and a reckless knight.

No… Something wasn't right. They weren't pushed, they were pulling. His shouts were unheard through the combat, pushing himself past ghosting assassins and under a wyvern's tail sweep.

An assassin passed through Frederick, the captain turning to see the risen blink up the steps and through Falchion's swing onto the archway above Chrom. It leapt, blinking the remaining distance to appear inches above Chrom and directly into Robin's sword.

It hit the ground on its back, Chrom stumbling away in surprise.

"W-What was that?!"

"Wow did you see that? I've never thrown a sword before but that was awesome. And am I glad it worked!" Robin dusted Chrom's shoulder as he passed to retrieve his weapon from the stunned risen.

He finished it off with a twist and turned to face Chrom, seeing another assassin just behind the fighting. He opened his mouth to shout but the assassin was already past the knights, coming straight for Chrom's back. He stepped forward, Chrom turning on the steps. Too slowly.

Robin couldn't do anything with Chrom between them, and he knew he'd arrive too late.

"Father!"

A form outstripped him, long blade flashing over Chrom's shoulder to decapitate the lunging risen, then pistoning backward to collide hilt with Robin's forehead.

Robin fell back, more in surprise than pain. Then once he'd settled on the cold stone steps, pain too.

"W-what… Was… Why…" He rolled in place, cradling his head as he made out the slender form silhouetted against the moonlight.

Cries of victory called into the night. The risen were being cut down. Frederick drew near Chrom and sheathed his weapon at the sight of the newcomer. Chrom was frowning at the woman.

"What did you call me?"

"I… It doesn't matter right now," she dismissed as he moved to help Robin until she stepped between them.

"What matters… Is that this man is going to kill you."

"Pardon?"

Robin's clutching fingers felt like the only thing holding his skull together as he stared at her.

"You heard me, traitor," she stepped forward, sword raised until Chrom yanked her back.

"Robin is no traitor," he assured her, still frowning. "What are you doing here, and what… Did you call me?"

Conflict brewed behind her eyes, evidently torn between what she should say next.

"I believe we should make camp, and allow Marth the chance to explain herself in private," Frederick spoke from over Chrom's shoulder, eyeing nearby guard who were returning to allow the grunts to mop up the remaining risen.

Chrom nodded without looking away from her, as if afraid she might disappear as she usually did. She nodded finally and looked down to Robin with distaste. The shock of her words was becoming less important as his forehead ached and he sat up tentatively, silently asking if that was alright with her.

She sniffed, following her father and Frederick up the canyon towards the river on the other side of the valley.

Robin made the rounds. They'd lost some supplies but there were no casualties. The new variants of risen took everyone by surprise but reports were conflicted as to the full range of their abilities. Some stated encountering magic-resistant risen, others claimed conventional weapons did little to their marble-like skin and that magic was the only thing that could harm them. Robin ordered reports by the following evening, wanting to collect new data while it was fresh. If Grima was diversifying his forces, they needed to stay on top of it.

Chrom returned with Frederick and Marth almost a full hour later and motioned for Robin to join them in the watchtower, the impromptu command center. Frederick lit a fire as Robin sat across from Marth, watching her carefully for another sucker punch. He'd endured her brutality in the colosseum once before and after tonight was growing tired of it. She returned his gaze with equal displeasure that he was still alive, evidently hoping the headshot would have killed him.

"She's not going to attack you again," Chrom declared, staring at her pointedly. She watched Robin noncommittally.

"Does she know that?"

"I think we've gotten off on the wrong foot," Chrom took a deep breath and shook his head, "This is my daughter… Lucina."

Robin blinked.

"Like… Fruit of your loins, daughter, Lucina."

Chrom nodded. Frederick stood silently behind him, expression unreadable.

"She has the brand."

"Could be fake."

"I… Doubt it." Chrom gestured.

Lucina rose so Robin could see better. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she sniffed once in congestion. He leaned in until their faces were inches away, spotting the brand within her left pupil. He refused to be impressed.

"A tattoo."

"Really?" She met his gaze evenly.

He folded his arms, taking her in with narrowed eyes. "Were you crying?"

"Why, were you?"

"She's from the future…" Chrom spoke loudly, beckoning them to sit before one of them was sent to the infirmary, "The future where Grima wins."

Robin looked down at him. Chrom was serious. Or, was serious that he believed her. Robin looked to her again, backing away to his seat.

"And… I make that happen," he concluded with a disbelieving frown. She stiffened. "I, what, make a bad call or something? Finally let Chrom take to the battlefield like he's always begging me? I keep telling you, it's a bad idea‒!"

"You murdered him, before every Shepherd you see around you today."

An awkward silence fell over them as they exchanged looks. The fire popped.

"You… Saw me do that," Robin asked, brow furrowed. She shook her head slowly.

"But every Shepherd brought the same story home. My father's most trusted friend betrayed our cause. Betrayed the Shepherds ‒ and disappeared after that day. Grima rose unopposed, and the kingdoms of men fell."

"And you just figured this out recently? Why not kill me the million other times you had the chance?" Robin scoffed, looking between Chrom and her.

"I've been searching for the Harbinger of Death, a man so renowned for his ruthlessness and cunning his own soldiers feared his wrath more than the enemy. It took me so long to find you because I wasn't looking for my father's court jester."

That was a lie. She didn't blink, delivering her explanation in one breath. Too rehearsed. She didn't want to share the real reason, that was her business, but that didn't mean they had to tolerate it. Robin stared at Chrom, holding back an outright laugh.

"Where did you find this woman?"

It was clear by Chrom's expression he wasn't putting Robin on the stand, but neither was he completely disregarding everything Lucina was saying as he should have been.

"You can't seriously believe her."

"I believe she believes it."

"Yeah, because she's crazy."

Lucina fidgeted in her seat, clearly restraining herself from lunging at him again. Frederick's hovering presence was likely the only thing keeping her at bay. She cleared her throat and continued.

"Since learning Robin the Ruiner and you were the same man, I began my search for you. And tonight I find you among an assassination attempt on my father's life."

"That… Does look bad," Robin admitted, before shaking his head, "But I would never betray your father, or help Grima."

"I have a world behind me that proves otherwise," she spat, glancing up to see Frederick still within stopping-distance. "Why won't you believe me, Father?"

"Lucina, if you're going to join us you're going to have to place the same amount of trust in Robin that I do. I've fought, lived and bled with the man for the last three years. I know him. And I believe you're trying to keep what you know from coming to pass, but I refuse to believe that's the whole story. There must be some mistake, somewhere in the history. It just can't be Robin."

Lucina shook her head sadly, seeing Chrom's confidence unswayed. Robin could see the refusal pained her, but her determined expression said she'd stick by Chrom's side.

"I… Know you're not. But truly do hope you're right, Father. Because if you're wrong…" She glowered at Robin again, "The world pays for your mistake."

"Okay, let's say everything you've said is true, I'm the anti-Goddess and all that," Robin leaned forward, watching her intently, "What happens?"

"You killed my father‒"

He twirled his hand in air, motioning her past that part.

"The undead spread through a miasmic plague that killed the land and turned water toxic. Black clouds that never rained covered the sky. Plants withered, animals died… And humans turned on each other as hope was lost. By the end… Our enemies could have watched from afar as the remnants of humanity tore itself apart."

"Did anyone set sail, try to find new land untouched by the Fel dragon?" Chrom asked, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder as she stared into the fire.

She shook her head, expression darkening.

"Were ships unable to sail?" he asked, but she scoffed.

"We had vessels. We didn't have anyone foolish enough to sail them." She ended with a tone that stated she was finished with the topic.

She looked up finally, meeting Robin's cool gaze. Her eyes hardened again.

He knew, when she looked at him all she could see was the world she came from, and hated it. Hated him, for his apparent hand in it. What unsettled him were the lacking signs of deceit. Other than why it took her so long to confront him- he'd have to get the truth about that later. But she didn't pause to conjure new imagery, didn't volunteer more information than was asked for, and retained past tense every time she referred to their future.

He glanced to Frederick, seeing the knight had likely reached a similar conclusion.

Another awkward silence fell over them again. Robin felt it would be appropriate for Chrom to spend time with his dearest bundle of chuckles and excused himself to write a letter to Olivia. Lucina watched him go with warily, as if he might suddenly drop the charade and charge her father like a psycho.

And she'd be joining them? He thought he'd be sleeping with one eye open to keep a lookout for Tharja, but double the threats meant double the watch. No sleep, here on out.

Lucina made her distrust of him plain, and he could only think of the infinite ways it would complicate the job of leading Shepherds in battle with her second guessing his every action for the ulterior motive of killing Chrom.

Killing Chrom. He wasn't capable of that, he loved the man like a brother. He didn't consider himself greedy, there was no way he'd be bribed or coerced into doing it. What she said was impossible, yet she seemed so sure. Sure enough to kill him on the spot tonight, anyway. From what little he knew of her, she didn't seem like the type of person to lie or act on impulse. But with that anger…

It wouldn't surprise him if she was simply wrong. She seemed like the type who misunderstood things often.

The Ruiner, he mouthed. History apparently had not been kind to him to remember his every attempt at sparing lives as "ruthless." He prided himself on minimizing casualties. Reducing risk factors, negotiating surrenders, avoiding battles they could win but at great cost ‒ these were how he remembered the last war. He'd must have done something truly terrible to throw all those out the window.

He passed soldiers as he mused to himself, tracking their morale.

They were shaken by the sudden appearance of risen, but were overall in good spirits for surviving the ordeal. He found Virion fretting over missing contents from his private stock, Cherche standing firmly between him and the accused mercenaries. Robin considered not intervening until he saw Gregor a little further up the path and pushed past.

"Gregor!"

"Oy," the large man hefted a sloshing barrel over one shoulder, turning to see who'd spoken before continuing his work.

"When your contract was renewed I believe there were some stipulations about aggravating the locals," Robin jerked his head back to where the mercenaries were pretending not to understand Virion's growing frustration.

Gregor frowned with his lips.

"Gregor does not know what rich man complains of, when war is over he will still be man with the ruffles and the tea. But Gregor will talk to his men, remind them to stop with the meaning."

"Ey!" he barked abruptly over Robin's shoulder making him jump. Virion and the mercenaries looked. "Ne draznite!"

"There, everything well again," Gregor nodded approvingly as the group finally denied seeing Virion's valuables and dispersed.

"Everyone make it through the attack okay?" Robin watched the small band leave with a frown.

Soldiers often acted childish when they didn't have anything to do. Riling up others, only minutes after a battle, wasn't a good sign when they'd be spending weeks in downtime.

"You are worry, think maybe contract was bad buy, no? Think dogs shiver because they are cold?" Gregor grinned and shrugged the barrel higher on his shoulder, tapping his nose. "Dogs shiver with excitement. When we make war on Walhart, you want Gregor's dogs. On this you trust Gregor."

"Alright, on that I'll trust Gregor," Robin nodded, and pressed a finger to his temple, "Oh, right, um… Knight to… D… Four?"

Gregor frowned as he produced a paper from his pocket. "Taking own pawn? Bold."

"No that's not right. E-four? E-four." Robin confirmed as Gregor nodded, then returned to the issue at hand, "Just try to keep your guys out of trouble, alright?"

"Wet swords, no trouble. Dry swords…" Gregor trailed off ominously as he strolled away, humming a deep tune to himself.

Robin shook his head. He'd never understand mercenaries. Warmongers who can't get enough violence from the state, so trade allegiance for bloodshed. That was their true payment, gold was for the image of civility.

"Please, it's not worth adding to the report…"

"Bullshit, you're the hero of the hour after that performance. You're getting a friggin medal for that stunt."

"It was nothing, really. Please, don't..."

Sully looked up from sifting through the burnt remains of a tent as Robin neared, recruit ramrod stiff as if hoping to be mistaken for an empty suit of armor. It was the same man that was with her when Robin had inquired about Cherche. The same man who'd dropped from the sky and delivered their exalt from peril.

Their hands remained in salute as Robin bore down on them, eyes burning with intensity.

"Who said you could do that?"

Neither Sully nor the recruit moved, unsure what he was talking about.

"The sky! Dropping into hell feet first. Who taught you to do that?" Robin demanded, getting right into the recruit's face and scowling as he yanked the salute aside, "Get that hand down, I'm not an officer."

He was, he just never remembered his rank.

"S-sir! Just seemed like the thing to do. Sir."

"'The thing to do,'" Robin repeated, shaking his head. He paced, looking around and scratching his chin as Sully slowly lowered her hand as well.

"That was without a doubt, the most amazing thing I've seen on the battlefield," Robin rounded on him again, shaking his hand enthusiastically, "Well done, Specialist…?"

He smeared the ichor stained shoulder pad but the name was unreadable in the dark.

"Stahl, sir," Sully offered before the man opened his mouth. They both looked at her, and she shrugged, "It's what the mercenaries are calling him after that last one. 'Iron,' because no one made of flesh and blood would have done something so incredibly stupid as airdropping into two dozen risen with nothing but a sword."

"I had backup," Stahl flustered, silently begging the talk to end there.

"Where you from, Stahl?"

"Ylisstol, Sir," he answered automatically, grip on the helm under his arm tightening.

"Looking forward to going back?"

"Yes, sir. Family owns an apothecary and I'd like to return to the family business."

"A conscript, then," Robin's eyes narrowed.

"Sir."

"Stop that. And I'm sorry you missed your calling as a hero!" Robin sighed, shaking his head before brightening, "But you've given me some ideas. A lot of them. Brilliant, airborne knights. Able to drop in, redeploy as a crow flies… How'd you like Cherche?"

"Who?"

"Your partner in crime!" He gestured towards the wyvern knight and her mount further up the valley wall watching them. Stahl blushed and opened his mouth, but Robin was on a roll.

"I had thoughts of making her a scout, but this! Dropping in, surprise hit and runs… With knights! Sully, we can have knights that fly!"

"We have knights that fly. They're called scouts."

"We can have more knights that fly! How many do you think we could fit on there?" he muttered, eyeballing Cherche's wyvern, "Five?"

"Or two."

"Four."

"Or two."

"At least three."

"I wouldn't."

"And they can complement one another! The one on the mount carries a lance or bow for ranged support while the deployed knights deal with the close combat…"

"I think Cherche prefers an axe."

Robin's hand waved at her like a monkey swatting away a fly.

"I've got to get drafting. But you!" He rounded on Stahl again who leaned back, "I'm putting you in for a transfer. First platoon, second squad. You're a rising star and I'll be keeping an eye on you."

Stahl opened his mouth in surprise and Sully clasped his shoulder with a grin.

"Looks like we'll be spending more time together," she smiled wickedly.

Second squad was hers, and she worked the best out of each of her men. Robin squinted at the shoulder plate again and waved at Sully once more.

"Handle that, would you?" he said, turning and running his hand across the sky like a banner, "I want the world to know: Stahl."

"I thought you weren't an officer."

He pointed at her warningly as he departed up the path and moved along the canyon, checking in with groups of soldiers in the midst of salvage and cleanup.

Sully turned to Stahl.

"That was him."

"He's… Excitable?"

"You have no idea. The day he accidentally set Chrom's sword on fire, we were all practicing with flaming weapons by the end of the evening."

"Accidentally…?"

"Those were dark days," Cordelia sighed as she led her pegasus past. "He's calmed down a bit since then. Need a hand packing up? I think we're moving camp further up the valley."

"So he just gets inspired and starts brainstorming absurd ideas?" Stahl asked, throwing his pack over the pegasus' back and following the two women up the path.

"They'll start off crazy, but by the end usually something useful will come of it." Sully shrugged. "The paired fighting style we train with, he invented the techniques. The bows on horseback were a nice addition to the ranks, even if training the archers took forever."

"Retraining soldiers in the middle of a war seems… Counterintuitive," Stahl suggested with the tone that added But I'm not an expert or anything.

Sully and Cordelia chuckled at that.

"Welcome to the Shepherds. Flexibility is key here, Robin believes in keeping each soldier a well-rounded army of one. You'll learn a lot here, but you'll always be first into danger. Something you shouldn't have too much of a problem with." Cordelia smiled, lifting Stahl's bag from the mount and handing it to him.

"I just wanted to do my time and go home…" Stahl sighed miserably as the path split and Cordelia continued up towards where the other horses were being tended.

"Sorry newbie, war is calling," Sully grinned as she patted his armor encouragingly. "Time for heroes."

Further up the valley Robin was pacing in front of the medica tent. He didn't want to go in, he wanted to get to the drawing board, but he did feel somewhat responsible for Tharja's health. Even if she wasn't his wife, she felt like his charge. She was here because he was, and though she was far from helpless it was his duty to keep her from harm.

He was struck by another idea and turned to leave when Maribelle came from the tent.

"Oh, you."

She looked him over with disapproval.

"Here to check on your wife?"

"She's ‒ no. I mean yes, but she's not… Is she okay?"

"In remarkable health, before I even finished. She's quite the hardy one."

"She was stabbed," he stated in disbelief.

"And she's already healing. Most of the wounds have closed on their own. Her... 'clothes' look worse."

"So I don't need to see her?" he asked hopefully.

"Like you weren't here to do just that." She wrinkled her nose in disapproval, "She's fit, but don't… Exert her. She's been through much today. And I'm only allowing it because she insisted on seeing you."

With that she turned, waving an uncaring hand saying Do whatever, and left. He sighed, squaring his shoulders before pressing into the tent.

Light came from a single flickering candle, Tharja stomach-down across the raised cot. Her back was bound but she looked up without wincing as he entered.

"Here for my followup? Should I undress further?" she offered with a playful smile.

"What? No. Don't do that."

Robin moved quickly to keep her from rising, pulling the stool up to sit beside the bed. He looked over her bare back visible between the bandages. She watched him, enjoying the attention.

"Maribelle says you're healing quickly… Mind telling me how you survived that?" he asked finally, meeting her dark eyes.

"Those?" She followed his gaze, uncertain to his question, "How did I survive kitty-scratches?"

"I don't know what cats you grew up with, but one of those 'scratches' to a vital organ would have put Frederick down for good, and you already look ready to pounce," he sat back as she leaned in.

"Centuries of pedigree," she sighed simply, as if reminding him.

He frowned at her, and she continued.

"You never considered that you might be just a little tough to kill? Our ancestors have been selected for the best traits for centuries, yours doubly so… As you'll recall?"

He took in her expectant expression. "I don't remember much about my past, but I do know Validar is insane, and that I don't plan on putting much stock in his words."

"You remember enough, then," her smirk widened, and she rested her chin on her hands while kicking her feet slowly. "From what I remember he has an… Ill reputation."

He chuckled, looking over her with new appreciation. "What were you doing in a place like that? You don't seem like the brainwashed-type, and that's all I imagined people living that way."

She considered him, playful smile fading. "I'm not supposed to talk about that."

"But making fun of Validar is okay?"

"Very."

"Why did you lie? Saying I'd touched you, you had no idea who I was or what you were getting yourself into."

"I never lie," she stated, resting on her cheek while watching him. It was an absurd statement but she didn't smile. "I just didn't tell the truth."

He grinned, appreciating the difference. He reached forward to hold her wrist. "Get some rest."

"I could be plied for more information," she offered quickly, watching him rise. "Were I to spend the night beside my husband…"

He rolled his eyes. "That would be difficult, given you don't have a husband."

"If you're feigning reluctance to tease me…" Tharja murmured, resting her cheek on her hands to watch him go, "It's working."

"I guess this 'no means no' thing only goes one way..."

"Hm, now he's getting it."

"I've never said this before, but thank the gods you're too injured to stand." Robin bowed, bidding her goodnight and stepping into the warm night air.

He left the tent and made up the valley towards the command circle, unaware of the hard gaze from the watchtower following his every footstep in the dark.