Foresight
Chrom stared out over the approaching land, red eyes apathetic, resolution set. The sun was high above, they'd be seen miles out. His mind drifted away from strategy.
He'd awoken a day ago after the storm had passed, first seeing Olivia's relief at his recovery, then Frederick's stony resolution. The way it always looked when the knight was forced to deliver bad news.
The sorrow Chrom felt after losing his parents, and later Emmeryn, had all been suffered in silent grief. After Frederick left them alone in their quarters, the young prince could only turn to face the wall. Inside he felt only numb, empty.
Olivia had entered the bed behind him, holding him close as she buried her face in his back, crying silently.
Chrom blinked bleary eyes to the present, clearing his throat gruffly and taking in the port. Naturally the loss of the Ghazi was a possible scenario Robin had planned for, and the invasion would be down to a single landing site: Port Valm. Chrom took a deep breath, remembering being handed the plans, Robin's carefree grin in place.
The prince had a lesson prepared for Lucina on maintaining an image for the soldiers, choosing what words to inspire with, how to motivate the weary. She was to head one of the detachments by herself, her first leadership position on the battlefield. He didn't need to look to his left to remind himself she wasn't there anymore.
No, not now. He couldn't think about that now.
"Sir?"
He looked to his right where Frederick watched him carefully. Chrom touched his friend's shoulder plate, saying nothing as the soldiers prepared below deck.
Stahl clenched an armored fist, calming his trembling fingers with a deep breath. He exhaled and relaxed his grip, hand steady. Someone jostled him roughly but he didn't even look, the ship was so crowded he doubted it was intentional.
"...and that's our secret weapon," Sully bellowed, pacing the bench of knights armoring up, "Valmese might be expecting a ship. Might even be expecting attack. What they won't expect is a goddamn clownship packed with the meanest sonsa bitches from our side of the pond, hooah?"
"Hooah," the deck echoed, metal and boots stomping the ground.
"Our boat's a couple pounds of meat lighter than it should be right now," Sully paused and knights bowed their heads in respect. "And that's coming right out of their hides."
Stomping and banging shafts echoed agreement.
"They owe us that much, and if any of you fail to collect your due today, I'm taking it out of your ass. So before you think about dying, think about who you'd rather deal with. Me, or Valm?"
"Valm!"
"Who's dying today?"
"Valm!"
"Some people go their whole lives wondering what they're made for, that makes us lucky. Today we, we find out exactly what we're made for!"
Clamor and Hooahs got the blood pumping as the soldiers finished suiting up.
Stahl sat against a wall, watching his gauntlet as it began to tremble again.
Waves drifted in and out. Like consciousness. The ground swayed in and out of focus, water turning to sand, sand turning to dirt.
Heavy breathing accompanied by birds in the distance. Sun either rising or falling.
Her body hurt. Thinking hurt. She wanted to lay still, somewhere no part of her was touching the ground so the pain might lessen. But the form against her never stopped moving, panting as it knelt and climbed and navigated terrain. Every time her blurry eyes opened she was looking down on new surroundings.
The world was darkening. Night falling over them, slowing their progress to a crawl through thick foliage. She wanted to ask for a halt, let her rest and awaken when the pain stopped, but could only manage a light moan of discomfort.
"Shut up," a man's voice mumbled.
Too many words to process. But the voice was soothing. Familiar. Safe. She was safe.
Lucina nodded off.
The ancient archway stretched towards the grey skies, rain beginning to fall. The white light shimmered before them, beckoning with a warmth they'd never known, glimpses of green foliage, quaint towns, bubbling rivers and sunlight enrapturing even her attention.
"So, are we doing this?" Inigo asked, grinning at her and looking around, "Think we've seen all there is to do here."
"Is it safe?" Severa asked, raising an eyebrow as he backed away from them and did a spin on his heel, slipping into the portal with a shrug.
"It's why we've come," Gerome reminded her, "Stay, or go."
Severa squared her shoulders, making sure he was watching, and marched towards the light. She hesitated a second before stepping through and disappearing. The others followed one by one until only Gerome and Lucina remained.
"I'll follow you," Gerome offered, "Make sure you get through okay."
"Gerome, go," Lucina commanded, turning from the portal to survey the dead landscape. "I need a moment."
He paused, clearly not wanting to leave her alone.
"I'll be okay. Go, I'll see you on the other side."
"Don't wait long."
She heard his bootsteps until she didn't, and stared to the clouds above. Now, she might be the last person on this world. She was truly alone.
It wasn't a desire for adventure that led her here, as her brother. It wasn't the fear of something worse, as it was for Severa. It was her responsibility, to humanity, that no one share this feeling. No one should be alone.
The portal flickered and she turned to see a creature step through it, pale eyes fixated on her. It took the form of a woman, but the long limbs, forehead crest, and pure white skin told her it was something else altogether.
"Do not falter, child," it announced calmly, "After you've come so far."
"Naga…" she uttered, unsure if she should kneel or show some form of respect to the elder dragon. "N-no, I was just… I will complete my mission, I will not hesitate to do what needs to be done."
"You do not know what needs to be done."
"I will rise to any challenge," Lucina stated, hand on Falchion's hilt, "I promise, I will not fail you, or humanity."
"You already have, many times over. So this time, I will grant you foresight, of what becomes your fate if you do not act swiftly."
Lucina frowned, unsure what Naga meant as the manakete closed their distance, leaning close to whisper in her ear.
Her eyes widened and she stepped away from Naga.
"I-impossible. I w-would never, could never‒ he did this!" she gestured around the hellscape for validation, but the pale eyes never blinked, "He's the enemy. I would die before I..."
"I can not explain the actions of mortals, only their consequences. Now you share my knowledge. The rest I leave to you, child of man."
Lucina moved towards the portal, watching Naga for some indication that had been a poor jest, but the dragon merely stood motionless, watching the wastes.
She stepped through the light.
Lucina's eyes shot open and she lurched upward brandishing air. She blinked, feeling her calf for her knife but finding bare skin. She stared at unfamiliar surroundings, trying to remember anything.
The wooden walls and flat roof were an unfamiliar sight, only light coming from a small fire burning under a pot suspended in the middle of the room not a meter from where she lay. Her bed was little more than a straw mat on the earthen floor.
Where was she?
She couldn't see any doors. How had she gotten in here?
Lucina turned to lift herself off the ground and almost collapsed from the sudden discomfort that shot up her side. As if thinking about it suddenly reminded her body she was supposed to be in great pain, the slight discomfort became a throbbing ache that made her hiss and lay back gently on the mat.
She could hear things outside the room. The walls were thin, voices in the distance, yet they weren't muffled. She looked towards the sound, seeing starry sky beyond the vertical shutters.
She also realized she was undressed. Layered thin white cloth made for smallclothes but no parts of her usual lightweight armored attire were in sight, and that made her uncomfortable. Vulnerable.
An unfamiliar pleasant odor came to her attention and she lifted her hair, smelling soap. Dirt clung to her arm where she'd tried to rise. She'd been bathed recently. She didn't know if that made her more or less uneasy.
What would bring her peace would be Falchion. Even if she couldn't swing it in her current state, it brought her great comfort. It reminded her of home, of father…
Memories flashed before her and she remembered everything.
The ship. The wave. The monster slid towards them, tentacles sweeping them into its mouth, blackness, then blinding light… Someone holding her close… Robin.
One of the walls on the other side of the room slid open and a woman entered. Her long black hair was tied back in a headband, and though she moved with purpose, her short stature made it difficult to consider her a threat.
Lucina stared numbly, making a token movement to rise before the woman crossed the room.
"Fie! Rest, you will injure yourself further."
"Where…" Lucina mumbled, trying to remember what happened after that flash, where had Robin gone.
"You must rest," the woman commanded, lowering Lucina's shoulders to the mat gently yet firmly, "You are safe."
Lucina met her eyes with a gaze that made it clear she wasn't resting until she had answers. The young woman sighed, moving to the other side of the room to take a log and add it to the fire. She produced a cup and filled it with the contents of the hanging pot, offering it to Lucina.
When she considered how much effort had been put into keeping her alive, Lucina doubted it was poison. She took it, watching the woman as she brought it to her lips. It was bitter, but almost immediately the ache returned to a state of discomfort.
The woman sat on her legs before her, hands on her thighs.
"You are in a small village in the Chon'sin province of Valm."
It wasn't an answer to the question Lucina had been about to ask, but it was a useful one. Her eyes stopped wandering and focused on the woman.
"I am Say'ri. You are Lucina?"
She nodded after a moment, feeling the unasked question of How did you know that? needn't be asked, but Say'ri continued, bowing deeply from where she sat.
"It is an honor to meet a member of the Ylissean royal family. Please forgive the living conditions we offer you."
Lucina felt her face flush, pulling the sheet higher over her bare shoulders.
"I-I, don't‒"
"Oh," Say'ri waved her hand before her face, "No men are permitted inside your quarters, do not fear."
Culturally their lines of thinking seemed to be going in separate directions, but Lucina shook her head.
"N-no, your accommodations are too kind. I've done nothing to warrant such generosity, nor do I have means to repay it."
"I believe you do, but we will speak of the matter when you are rested." Say'ri started to rise, nodding to the corner, "I was to give that to you when Robin departed."
Lucina stared at the bundle topped with Falchion. Say'ri must have deposited it when she first came in.
"We normally don't permit anyone armed within the village‒"
"Where is he?"
Say'ri stared at her, and Lucina cleared her throat. "Please."
"Fie. He should be resting. He appeared worse than you when he arrived. But the local villages have been suffering at the hands of bandits of late, taking women and supplies. When he heard of this..." She shook her head, the rest of the story told through her expression. "I did not expect the Ylissean tactician to be so reckless."
Lucina hadn't even risen to a knee before Say'ri crossed the room, firm hand on her hip preventing her from getting up.
"He placed great trust in me, and I will honor that trust in making sure nothing happens to you. Please do not try to rise again, I do not want to place you under guard."
A single knock at the door made them both look. Say'ri moved to open it, revealing a masked man garbed entirely in black. They murmured an exchange as he handed her a scroll with both hands, bowing his exit.
She read it, turning to Lucina. "The Ylisseans have taken the port. I must send word their heiress is alive."
"Wait." Lucina almost sat up before catching her gaze and lying back down.
Say'ri's eyes softened, "Ask."
"Who are you? Why do you know who I am, who Robin is…?"
Say'ri tilted her head. "I am Robin's contact to the resistance here in Chon'sin. He has proved instrumental in organizing our efforts from abroad and…" Say'ri slowed her speech as she read Lucina's expression, "You have not heard of me."
"I… was aware he sent letters to Valm," Lucina muttered sheepishly, recalling the massacre of the messenger hawks.
"Yes. We would not be here today if not for his guidance. You are… Fortunate."
Lucina blinked, unsure what world she'd woken up in.
"I am needed elsewhere. Please rest. Finish your tea, if you need anything call out. They will send for me."
Say'ri reached the "door," sliding the wall open, turning to her, bowed again, and closed it. Lucina stared after her for another minute.
Why?
She distracted herself from the burning question by focusing on Falchion. She grunted, ignoring the pain and sliding towards it across the dirt floor. She kicked the sword's tip, hilt falling into her grip. She slid back to her mat, one arm wrapped around Falchion as the question bubbled to the front of her thoughts again.
Why had he saved her?
It would have been easier to look after himself at sea, and getting her to this village couldn't have been an easy task at peak health, which he hadn't been since before Port Ferox. Even after she…
Her grip on Falchion tightened, shame making her want to curl up and hide.
She'd taken some solace in that the guilt of sentencing him to certain death couldn't be matched. She didn't know it paled in comparison to having him save her immediately after. The heavy feeling in her stomach was nothing she'd ever felt before.
The possibility that he'd saved her life so she could feel this way was quickly overshadowed by the obvious: he'd saved her, again, because he was good; she'd tried to kill him, again, because she was not.
She took a deep breath, trying to arrange her thoughts, rationalize an explanation for the disparity between everything she'd known from her time and the man who'd saved her life time and again, knowing she wouldn't have done the same for him.
Naga herself had sent Lucina on this mission. To question the very being from whom her lineage originated was… Sacrilege. Hubris, to assume she knew greater. And yet… When everything she'd witnessed, everything she'd seen firsthand contrasted so starkly with what she'd been led to believe… What she'd chosen to believe, who wouldn't doubt?
Naga's whispered words floated through her mind and she pushed them aside as irrelevant. Her judgment was as clear as it had ever been. She could have, possibly, maybe been mistaken. About everything.
She ran both hands through her hair, unsure if she was more ashamed of the actions she'd already done or what she was about to do. Both were betrayals, either to Robin or to the goddess.
"Whatever it takes." Her father's words echoed back to her and she closed her eyes, consciously relaxing the muscles that had tensed during her mental debate.
She had to speak with him. Explain herself, and ask for forgiveness. She owed him her life, and an apology. Several apologies. And Naga...
"Naga forgive me…"
Insects hummed into the night, entire forest alive as the moonlight peered through bamboo leaves. The trees ended past the overlook, with a beautiful view down the slope and across the stream over rolling hills. Marred by two dozen men milling around tents and campfires, drinking and laughing loudly into the night. The camp was spread around various flats up a small hill, separating tents and groups into smaller clusters.
Robin winced adjusting himself, prone on the rocky outlook protruding from the trees into the valley. He'd been watching for about two hours and thought he'd drawn up a decent account of their forces. They'd made camp exactly where Say'ri said they'd be, and didn't look about to move soon. They were relaxed, merry, off guard.
He coughed, cracked rib jabbing deeper with the convulsion. Unpleasant, but not debilitating. There was too much work to do to be debilitating.
Screaming came from the camp and his attention turned to a girl, little more than a child, being dragged from a large tent in the back.
"There you are…" Robin muttered, eyes narrowing as he focused on her long ears, mane of chartreuse hair thrashing back and forth as she struggled to bite her captor. And if one was here, her stone couldn't be far...
She was dragged towards one of the other tents on the bluff, digging her heels in after the brutish man uncaring as she tripped and stumbled. Her coverings could barely be considered clothes, leaving little to the imagination, but Robin supposed when you lived to that age you could pretty much wear whatever.
Any war torn country had its share of opportunists who took advantage of the chaos and turned the law of the land into the law of the jungle. These were the worst kind of people, all irredeemable in Robin's eyes, and yet the right to take their lives wasn't his. Still, he grimaced as the man turned to scoop the girl over his shoulder, she was just a kid… Sorta.
Robin sighed, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself off the rock and righted, soreness aching throughout his body. He needed a vacation.
"'Ey, Roddick, keep her quiet would ya?" Vasto called over the sounds of his mates around the fire.
"Tell me what to do again and that'll be the last thing you do," Roddick called back, tossing the girl into the tent unceremoniously, "We're moving out in the morn, you louts haven't even packed the horses."
He turned to the tent and frowned, eyes fixated on a shape crossing the stream.
"Oi!" Roddick called, urgent tone bringing an end to the merriment, "Look lively lads, we got ourselves a rotter!"
Gecko swore and scrambled to his feet as Vasto rose and turned to see what Roddick was talking about.
Rotters had only begun appearing in Valm a couple weeks ago. Some foreign witchcraft that reanimated the dead to walk again. While they didn't scare Vasto, only ever appearing in groups of two or three and being easily dispatched, he'd taken the excuse to desert and try his luck on the road. Turned out, he made a decent pillager.
The rotter waded through the stream slowly, making directly towards them with uneven gait. Even if he couldn't see the obvious limp and ragged clothing, a rotter wasn't too clever when it came to tactics. Noise and light attracted them in a straight line, they made little attempt to hide their approach or sound, and this one was proving no different until it raised a hand at them.
"Hey."
Vasto frowned, looking to his right. Gecko wrinkled his nose in confusion, scratching his head.
It was fairly obvious what they were, who they were, they made no effort to hide themselves. Not because they were stupid, but because they didn't have to. Every village for miles knew this was their turf, they ventured out to raid, and the locals couldn't do a damn thing about it.
Rotters learning to talk made more sense than a person wandering directly into their camp.
Everyone had risen now, forming a semicircle as the stranger limped forward. Vasto looked him over, eyes narrowed. Unkempt hair, stubble, obvious injuries from the pained expression simple motions gave him. This was a dead man walking.
The only thing that hinted otherwise were his eyes. A spark amidst the grey, a hidden intelligence that set alarms off in Vasto's head the instant they made contact with his. Intelligent people didn't do what this guy was doing.
Vasto gripped the sword on his belt as he approached, but the stranger didn't stop until he was in in the middle of the semi-circle-now-turned-full-circle around him.
Vasto waited for him to speak, tilting to meet the man's wayward eyes.
"Usually we have to go out of our way to meet our quota for killing," Vasto spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear, "But here we got one saving us all the trouble!"
When the intimidating laughter subsided he continued, "You bring us more than a chuckle, little man?"
"An offer, actually," the young man spoke through a hoarse voice, "If I asked you all to return to living dutiful, god-fearing lives on the farm, would you pack up this little slave convoy you have going and go home?"
The laughter boomed louder than it did at Vasto's joke. He didn't like that.
"What an offer that is! I'll have to think ‒ no, actually I won't. My turn: give us something worth our time, and maybe we'll send you home with all your fingers." Vasto caught Roddick's eye, and grinned. No way this guy was leaving.
"I'm afraid I don't have much, though I'm something of a bard by trade!" the younger man offered quickly as knives unsheathed. "I can regale you with tales of journeys to lands you've never seen, stories of friendship and beautiful-yet-pain-in-the-ass princesses."
"Got any stories 'bout love?"
Vasto stared at Gecko, who shrugged defensively. "Been awhile since I heard a good story 'bout love. All the rapin' an' pillagin' can be a bit… Routine."
"I'm humbled by the presence of such a wordsmith," the stranger acknowledged, bowing, "But if you would hear me, I do have tales of love. Have you ever heard of the Prince and the Dancer?"
"That does sounds familiar…"
"Or the tactician and the exalt?" he quickly suggested.
"I wanna hear that one," Roddick replied, motioning to the fire. "Sit, eat. You look like shit, and I don't want you dying in the middle of the story."
"You are too kind," he thanked, taking a seat as uninterested bandits moved back to their positions around camp and a small gathering situated around their fire. "Well, it all began in a sunny field, when a handsome and charismatic prince, a ditzy but loveable blonde, and a jackass were out on a stroll…"
"And then, the ships crash, pkrrrrrrggggghhhwaaaawaaaah!"
Model ships demonstrated.
Beady eyes stared, then turned upwards. "You jest, sire."
"And if the ships land safely, what then?" The deep voice ignored the previous comment, making the models tremble on the table.
"To view the remainder of this episode, please insert more food."
"A waste of time," the shrill voice dismissed, pudgy form turning to leave. The steel door closed, sound resounding off the stone walls before small hands resumed sailing ships around the map.
Heavy boots approached the much smaller form sitting before the table. A large gauntlet found the back of the chair, and an armored knee touched the ground.
"The strong cannot hide. Not from me," the deep voice rumbled. "I know the mind you mask is far greater than you feign, and I seek to help you reach your potential."
"Blub-blub-blub…" One of the ships sank, turning on its side.
"You are young. You don't understand what's to come, how close we are to the precipice, how desperately we need unity, now more than ever. You've never seen a world broken."
The remaining ship slowed to a halt as soft grey eyes narrowed.
The man's voice continued, "When our kingdoms crumble, what will you say? I will say I did what I was capable of. I fought, I led. I did what I was able to create peace."
"By stamping out people who are different?"
"By unifying all people, all cultures, under one banner."
"Through war."
"Conflict is the crucible through which all things grow. If we are not strong, unity will matter little."
"If we lose our humanity, victory will matter less."
The knee lifted, giant resuming his full height. "Humanity can be regained. Survival cannot."
Boots made for the door. It swung open, and footsteps echoed down the corridor.
"You left the cell open!"
Dying echoes answered.
Eyes shifted to the open doorway, then back to the table. The ship that hadn't sunk finished its journey to the edge of the map, alone.
The chair slowly pushed back.
Robin spent the next hour half-improvising a tale of genderbending and romance, only moderately bothered by how easily crossing one line crossed the other, and answering stupid questions like "Why come the knight didn't kill the undead with his hammer?" and "How didn't the knight slay the water monster with his hammer?"
"And that's the end?" Roddick asked, as Robin's story came to an inconclusive end.
"Well yeah, it's sorta developing as it goes along."
"Not bad, but I wanted more romance," Gecko muttered, scratching his chin.
"Everyone keeps saying that…" Robin muttered, spotting the brute Roddick wandering towards the small tent again. "But my specialty is horror, as a matter of fact. Tell me, do you know the Curse of the Dragon's Tear?"
"Horror stories are dull, not a lick of truth to them," Roddick yawned.
"This one is quite real, I promise you," Robin vowed in all honesty. "It began when the first great dragon was slain, they said her tears fell to the earth, becoming crystallized. Now they resemble gemstones, each marked by the symbol of Naga."
"Oi," Gecko turned to a Vasto, "Wazzat like the thingy we found?"
"They're quite rare, and extremely valuable," Robin continued, watching Gecko's excitement mount.
"Roddick, go fetch that gem we found," Vasto called just as the man was about to enter the tent with the captive.
"What'd I say about giving me orders?" the larger man barked rising fully and making towards them.
"I'll fetch it," Gecko murmured, tugging Robin's sleeve, "Wait right here."
"What you say don't matter, I'm in command," Vasto snarled, standing as Roddick approached the fire.
Robin yawned, placing the time a little after midnight as the fistfight erupted. Others gathered to see the alpha males go at it. He turned to see a tent flap lift slightly, girl with elfin features watching warily with purple reptilian eyes. Seeing she was noticed, the tent closed again.
Gecko reappeared, carrying a bundle of cloth and handing it to Robin. He unwrapped it, finding the large blue gem, shaped like a tear, mark of Naga visibly glowing from inside.
"This is definitely one. Got it from one of your captives?"
"Nicked it while she was sleepin'," Gecko grinned toothily, before frowning, "How'd you know that?"
"Well, they're also called dragonstones. Manaketes use them to draw upon Naga's original power," Robin invented, having no idea if any of that was true while inspecting the gem closer in the moonlight and moving around the shifting crowd who cheered for the fight.
"Dunno why this is a horror story, sounds like we struck gold!" Gecko exclaimed happily, "Guess that curse business ain't as real as you thought."
"Oh, not for me," Robin explained, stopping before a tent and turning to face him. "It's only cursed if you took it. Cause, y'know, when the dragon gets it back, it'll be pissed."
Their eyes met and comprehension dawned on Gecko's face just before Robin tossed the gem behind him.
Gecko dove for the tent just as a flash of light from inside preceded the cloth rising, stretching, and shredding as a form the size of a small building towered over them. Cheers for the fighting died down as attention shifted in a long moment of silence. Then chaos.
Robin strolled past the fires, taking a skewer of meat from the rack and sniffing it as the dragon rampaged behind him. Well-done was better than uncooked, and he nibbled lightly. He actually wasn't sure when he'd eaten last. He'd skipped out on Say'ri's offer for supplies when he'd arrived, and was at sea a day or two before that, so…
He looked over as a man screamed annoyingly before a long tail whipped around, impacting him with the force of wrecking ball and sending him sailing silently through the air to land folded in half.
"Get the captives before they escape!" Vasto screeched, addressing two men who stumbled towards the tent before intercepting the dragon's path.
Robin closed his eyes as a streak of red spattered across his face, and tossed the contaminated meat. He turned to see Vasto charging the tent instead. He wasn't sure if the bandit was looking for hostages to ransom or playthings, but knew neither would be happening.
Vasto ran full sprint, panicked tunnel vision blocking out the shape moving to his left until a split second before the sword clipped his ankle. He tumbled head over heels, rolling to a stop and staring around.
"Wow, was not expecting that," Robin muttered, lip curling in disgust as he examined the curved sword, "These things are sharp."
Vasto stared at him, making to rise before collapsing to the ground. He stared down, breath quickening as he took in ankle that ended in a protruding bone.
"I mean, I was really just aiming to wing you, maybe give you a limp for the rest of your life but…" Robin pointed, raising an eyebrow, "That is disgusting."
Vasto's unintelligible cry rose as he took in his boot laying two meters away, oozing blood.
"Still, I actually don't feel that bad," the younger man reported, frowning as he approached another fire and foraged for a roll of bread, dragon some distance behind him razing tents and men to the ground with fiery breath.
"I mean, you're bad guys. You know that, right? You were probably gonna kill me before the sunrise."
"I… Am… Going to kill you," Vasto seethed through deep breaths, finally focusing on him.
Robin chewed thoughtfully, pointing with his roll, "Now I'm not much of a fighter. But I don't see myself losing to a dude with one foot. Things start going south, I'll probably be the bigger man and walk away... Get it? 'Cause, the foot..."
Vasto groaned loudly and Robin suspected he didn't get it, dragon roaring triumphantly. Robin looked to see Roddick lifted into the air by massive talons, one sweep of leathery wings abducting him directly skywards, soon only visible by silhouette of missing stars before disappearing.
"Where were we," Robin turned back to see Vasto attempting to crawl away, and sighed. He held the bread in his mouth, approaching to kick Vasto in the side to flip him over.
The bandit attempted to fend him off but Robin pushed his head against the ground, hard, and he stopped moving.
Robin pulled the pant leg down, binding the stump to stop the bleeding. He found a cup from the nearby fire, sniffing the contents and returning to pour it over the covered wound. A body nearby provided an elevated surface to rest the leg, and Robin finally moved to the single remaining tent.
Captives gasped as he pulled the flap open, and he swallowed his bread.
"Come on, I'm on a schedule."
Roddick hit the ground behind him, wetly.
"Sir."
Chrom looked up from the long table. From the balcony overlooking the harbor, silhouetted ships could be seen against the morning sunrise.
"Right on time," Chrom muttered, tapping the parchment predicting their arrival. Frederick turned before a knock at the balcony door preceded Cordelia. She met the knight's eyes and blushed faintly despite the urgency in her demeanor.
"Valmese forces are marching on our position, sir. They'll be here by nightfall."
"Already?" Chrom brushed aside papers to stare at the map, "The nearest fort is three day's march from Valm Harbour, how did they mobilize so quickly?"
"They're on marching orders, covering forty kilometers a day," Cordelia explained, shaking her head.
"In armor, with supplies? They'll arrive exhausted, what are the enemy tacticians thinking..." Frederick asked, staring at the map.
"We're in a bad position, ocean at our backs and one foothold on the continent. If we're pushed back, this war is over." Chrom moved their pieces into the water. "It's a gamble, but their tacticians are thinking exactly what…"
Chrom fell silent, and the others exchanged awkward glances. He ran a hand through unwashed hair. He hadn't even had time for a shower, dried blood caked his forearms until it met a clean line at the wrists where his gloves usually ended.
"Send a messenger to brief the Khans, get their council," Chrom muttered, rubbing his face.
The enemy was going on the offensive, something they hadn't counted on. Walhart's combat doctrine relied heavily on armored counterattacks, having that same armor bearing down on them when they'd barely set foot on the land was not an appealing prospect. He wished like hell Robin was here…
His gut twisted as he thought of his friend.
They were plunging into the belly of the beast, it was best to bring the Shepherds up to speed before the rumor mill started spinning too wildly. Undoubtedly many had already heard of their loss of tactician and princess, but he owed them the truth from his own words.
He looked over seeing Frederick's gaze quickly shift.
"Was there something else?" he asked the scout, and she straightened.
"Ah, y-yes sir." She paused, visibly uncomfortable, "Robin's uh… Widow, would like to speak with‒"
The door to the room burst open behind her, guard protesting Tharja's march on the balcony.
"My husband is alive," she announced, clutching a tome to her chest.
Chrom exchanged a glance with Cordelia, dismissing her. The scout hesitated, clearly interested in the rest of the conversation but nodded, excusing herself.
"I know this has been hard for you, and I admire that you were able to put aside your grief for the battle of the harbor‒"
"I could focus on the battle because I knew my husband is alive," Tharja interrupted, cutting him off with a wave of her hand.
"And if I may ask, how do you know he lives?" Chrom asked patiently, sleep deprived eyes narrowing.
She lowered her book to the table, but rather than flip to a spell or secret message like Chrom was hoping, she placed a hand over her chest.
"As you know your heart still beats. I know he is alive. Here, in Valm. We must find him."
"Tharja, I would like nothing more than to do so, and would give anything to make your suspicions true, but…" Chrom shook his head, helplessly looking to Frederick who avoided his eyes. No help there.
Before he could continue a messenger arrived from the room.
"Sir, a letter, from one of the revolutionist villages."
Chrom took it and blinked several times, shaking his head. He handed it to Frederick, who glanced it over.
"Please summon a translator," Frederick asked the messenger, who departed.