Disclaimer: I don't own Fire Emblem. Fire Emblem belongs to Intelligent Systems and Nintendo.

By the time Rynne stood outside her brother's door, she was out of breath and her heart was pounding so hard that she was certain someone would hear it.

But she was here.

Sunrise hadn't happened yet.

And, she clutched the book to her chest, she had the perfect birthday present for her brother.

Rynne glanced over her shoulder, hardly daring to breathe, before she eased the door open and slipped through.

"You made it." Robin grinned his lopsided grin at her. He was sitting at his desk where he'd learned all the histories of every dragon kind. Where he'd riddled through the ancient books that smelled of charred leather.

But he wasn't reading anything, and the lack of ink splotches on his cheek meant he hadn't been scrawling down anything in that secret book of his he kept hidden inside one of his spare boots.

Rynne hurried over to him, mindful of her tail. Tying it up had been harder than she thought, and so she had only been partially successful.

Beaming up at him, she handed him his present. "I'm sorry it took me so long, but I found it. For you! Happy birthday!"

Robin blinked at the cover. The candles flickering on his desk made the faded gold on some of the letters gleam. He read the title slowly, going over each letter with care.

"Where did you find this?" he asked in wonderment.

Rynne grinned and rocked on her heels. It wasn't often she could really surprise her brother. "One of Henry's ravens helped me find it at market. And it wasn't easy, not with that Anna—"

Robin's gaze cut across to hers. "You got this from an Anna?"

She nodded, pleased when he grinned at her.

"Then it's perfect."

She had only just puffed up a little with pride before he squinted at her. He reached out and gingerly ran a thumb across one of nubs on her forehead that would grow into proper horns if left to their own devices.

"Does she know—the Anna, I mean. Does she know that you can do this?"

Rynne shrugged and pushed away her brother's hand. "I don't think so. But even if she did, who's going to believe her? People don't turn into dragons."

The ghost of a smile rested in the corner of Robin's mouth. "Manaketes do."

"I'm not a manakete," she said, primly smoothing her tunic.

"But what if you were?" Robin put his new book on his desk and leaned toward her, strangely intense. Like he was waiting for something, but she had no idea what.

Rynne just shook her head and laughed. "I'm not old enough to be a manakete."

"They all have to start somewhere."

"But I don't have one of their magic rocks." Rynne jutted her chin out. Why was her brother being so silly? There were too many wyverns near the castle for even the bravest of manaketes to even consider nesting here.

"Hmmm."

"I don't! And if I did, if I was, I would take you and mother, and we could go live in the mountains instead of here." This had been a dream she'd dreamed for as long as she could remember.

Their father had died one night, their mother had said, of a broken heart. A dream he'd been waiting for his entire life had turned to ashes and smoke in the time it took to release one breath and breathe in another.

That was why they were servants in the castle. To repay some debt their father owed. Only one of the higher Grimleal had seen the spark of magic in Robin's eyes, which was why he got to read as much as he liked, and why she and her mother worked out of sight of the others. They were too common, without even an ember of magic between the two of them.

"Really? You would?" Robin was watching her carefully as he always did when his hopes got away from him.

Rynne nodded, tracing the grain of his desk with her finger. "Anywhere you wanted to go, I could fly us there."

"Then I promise to do everything I can to make your dream come true."

"You can't train to be a manakete. You either are or you're not." Rynne frowned. It had hurt more than she'd let on a few years back when she'd learned once and for all that she couldn't be a manakete when she grew up. At best, she'd be only half a dragon, and where was the use in that?

Better to be a whole human than two halves of different things that would never add up.

Robin crooked his mouth to the side as he fiddled with a small bundle wrapped in a dour black cloth. "Sometimes things that seem impossible turn out to be possible in the long run. Putting your whole self into trying is a kind of magic of itself."

"If you say so." Long experience had taught Rynne the exact opposite. Putting your whole self into anything only led to weird draconic transmutations. She grimaced at the memory of the potion she would have to take to make her extra appendages disappear.

"This is for you." Robin swept the bundle off the desk and held it out to her like one of the ancient ones bestowing a dragon's gift upon a worthy servant. He dangled it just beyond reach. "Don't open this until tomorrow. Promise."

Rynne held out her pinkie and waited until her brother had locked his around hers. "I won't. What's in it anyway?"

Robin gusted a sigh as he relinquished the prize. "If I wanted you to know what was in it right now, I wouldn't have wrapped it up and told you to wait until tomorrow."

"But it's your birthday." Rynne gestured to the dragon book.

For some reason, most of the light went out of Robin's eyes. "I know, but you're the only little sister I have, and I wanted to make something special for you too."

"You made it?" She examined the bundle a little more critically. As much as she loved her brother, he was far better at magic than he was at making things. But as her fingers curved around it, she smiled as she realized at least part of the package was a book. "Will you teach me more words?"

Robin laughed softly and tousled her hair. "One day I'll teach you to read hundreds of thousands of words."

"Really?" Rynne's thoughts staggered at the idea of so many words. So very many wonderful, marvelous words. If she knew that many, then she could be just like her brother.

That was her other big, impossible dream. To one day grow up to be exactly like Robin. She grimaced at his tendency to eat his food without removing the peel first, so maybe not exactly like Robin.

But close.

"Really." He gave her a light hug before tugging one of her pigtails.

"Hey!"

Before she could retaliate, he tossed a small vial to her that was filled with what tasted like bitter death and despair.

"Better hurry and drink that. Mother will be looking for you soon."

Grimacing, Rynne upended the vial into her mouth. No matter how fast she was, the sludge-like potion insisted on coating everything it passed on the way down to her stomach. It smelled like bog water, and tasted a hundred times worse.

"Bleh!"

Robin turned away, his movements careful and precise. "Tell mother I love her when you see her."

Rynne shuddered as her horns, scales, and tail slowly retracted. Repelled by the vile potion, no doubt.

"Why can't you tell her yourself?"

Robin didn't look at her. Instead, he traced his finger along the lettering of his new birthday present. "I have to do some additional training, so it'll be hard to sneak away any time soon."

Though the potion had distracted her at first, Rynne could tell something was wrong with her brother. He was normally quiet, but if you mentioned any topic he was interested in, he would talk both your ears off before he remembered himself. And while he smiled as he always did, there was something about his smile tonight that was different.

Any grudge she might have felt over the potion vanished. Rynne darted forward and gave her brother a hug. "All right, but only because you asked me to."

Then, because Robin had been right—their mother would be looking for her any moment now, she dashed away, running full tilt to her own quarters. That side of the castle had more servants, but fewer guards, and servants running down the corridors was hardly unheard of, so no one paid her any heed.

She had only just darted into her own room and crashed into her sleeping pallet before she heard her mother's voice through the parchment thin walls. Doing her best to slow her breathing, Rynne turned over to face the wall. She slipped the gift from her brother into her bag before cuddling it close.

"Rynne?" her mother called as she twitched aside the tattered cloth that served as a door. "It's time to be up and about, love."

Rynne yawned and stretched, pretending to rub the sleep from her eyes. "Already?"

"Already." Her mother pursed her mouth before setting two heaping bags of flax on the little table that was the only furniture in the room. The table wobbled a little, but the legs didn't break.

"Wha-why is there so much today?" Rynne jumped to her feet, forgetting that she was supposed to still be waking up.

Her mother gave her a sharp look that was only slightly softened by the smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. "You aren't the only one who can understand what the birds say."

The blood drained from Rynne's face, and a horrible knot clenched itself in her gut. "So, you, ah, know?" She shifted nervously from foot to foot without quite being able to meet her mother's eye.

"Indeed."

When her mother said nothing more, Rynne dared to sneak a peak, only to yelp as her mother pulled her into a tight hug.

"You're going to have to spin twice as fast," she murmured. "And twice as well."

Rynne nodded, speechless. Mother didn't usually hug her, and she never hugged Robin. Why was everyone acting to oddly this morning?

Oh. Speaking of Robin . . .

"Robin says he loves you."

Her mother's breath hitched and she held Rynne for a few seconds more before she let go and stepped back.

"It needs to be finished by suppertime." Her mother waited for her to nod before she hurried away to carry out her own duties.

Rynne frowned as she ignored the grumbling in her stomach to get started on her spinning for the day. She dipped her fingers in her small pot of mucilage and began adding twist to the fibers.

Robin never asked her to pass messages on to their mother. Occasionally he'd ask her to deliver a page from a story he was writing, but never more than that.

She'd once tried to decipher one of his written missives, but there was a distinct lack of dragons, and all of the other words seemed to twist in on themselves, unwilling to give up their secrets. When she'd asked her mother what the story was about, her mother had gotten this odd look in her eye. Like she was staring at a dream nestled against the horizon.

It was nothing, she'd said. Just a pretty fairy tale meant to help her while away the hours that much faster.

Rynne dipped her fingers again, spinning her thoughts along the length of the thread that she was rapidly spooling around the spindle.

There was something . . . something small . . . something . . .

. . . Just something hidden there that she couldn't quite make out.

Robin had never given her a present as grand as a book of her own before. His presents had always been small. A quiet spell tucked here, another one tucked there. A bright flower. The skeleton of a leaf. Nothing that anyone else would notice for the treasures that they were.

And both of them had been so very sad. Robin would never admit it, and their mother would simply ignore any questions she might ask, but they couldn't hide the sheen in their eyes or the way their faces bunched up like they were eating something sour.

Her thoughts continued to spin in that direction while her spindle became heavier and heavier with thread.

But it wasn't until she had to transfer the thread from the spindle to a bobbin that Rynne's thoughts circled back to the present hiding in her bag.

Her movements stilled with her awareness. He'd given her a riddle and made her promise not to open it until the morrow.

Which left a single burning question: had she promised last night or early this morning?

What was so important about waiting until the next day anyway?

As each thought began to pile upon its neighbor, Rynne darted a glance at her bag. Then she shook her head and wetted her fingers once more.

She had promised her brother—and not just any promise either—and she didn't want to let him down. And while she might have been crossing her fingers on the other hand, it didn't feel right to go back on her word.

Sighing, she picked up her spindle, drafted a bit of the flax, and continued to spin.

It was going to be a long day.

The light from the window slanted into her room. Gone was the cheerful yellow of the morning. Now the light was stained a deep vermillion as she reached for some flax, only to find nothing but air and a few loose fibers clinging to her distaff.

Rynne blinked stupidly at the two fat bobbins and her spindle as she flexed her aching fingers. Her stomach had gone from grumbling to snarling at her with needle-sharp teeth. It was only when she glanced out the window and took note of the sun tumbling toward the horizon that Rynne realized she hadn't eaten anything the entire day.

Her muscles burned and her joints creaked as she got to her feet.

"Oof." As she raised her arms to stretch, a smudge of yellow caught her eye. Someone had placed a dragon fruit on her table. That someone had even taken the time to cut it into slices.

She had eaten three of them before she thought to wonder who had left them for her. Robin, perhaps? Her mother? None of the other servants knew enough of her to do more than mark her presence, so it had to be one of them.

Thinking of Robin, she shoved another slice into her mouth before she pulled out the bundle he'd given her.

It was the right shape to be a book—at least in part. But why would he give her a book when they both knew she couldn't read most of the words written in it? And unless something had happened to drastically change their duties and their stations, he wouldn't have any more time to teach her than he did now.

Rynne nibbled on her bottom lip as she weighed her options. Night would fall in not too long, which meant the day would practically be over.

"A day isn't just made of daylight," she muttered, deepening her voice a bit to sound more like her brother. A pretend Robin was better than no Robin.

She shook her head. "But it's called a day. A day can't hold a night, can it? That's why there's two words instead of one."

"You're over thinking this."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Hmph."

Her eyes darted over to the bundle once more. "The day's pretty much over. And I did promise not to open it until the next . . . day." Her shoulders slumped.

"Precisely." She smirked her best Robin smirk.

"Please? Just a little look, and then I promise to leave it alone until tomorrow."

She could see the look he would have given her if he'd been there. All raised eyebrows and uncompromising lines.

Huffing a sigh, she put the bundle back in her bag, put her cloak back on, and slipped out her window. If she had to wait out the night, she was going to do so on her favorite perch.

The stones of the roof were pleasantly warm against the soles of her feet. She scurried across them, weaving through small courtyards over to a forgotten corner. The roof dipped slightly there and the stone tiles hadn't joined quite right, creating a small depression she used to curl up in when she was younger. These days, she mostly still fit—as long as she was sitting upright.

The rooftop was pleasantly quiet, and would be for a few hours yet. The king preferred sunrises to sunsets, and most everyone else had adopted his schedule.

Rynne hummed softly to herself while she tried to guess what else might be in the bundle. Did the book have dragons in it? She'd always loved the heroic sagas of the ancient ones—old even at their first retelling. What would it have been like to be an earth dragon? To form mountains and valleys, jewels and pebbly rocks?

She pulled her cloak more tightly about her shoulders. The sun's light had almost gone, and the slight wintry edge to the air hadn't yet been mellowed by the spring.

When she was younger, she'd dreamed of growing up to be an earth dragon. If she had, she could see Robin and her mother whenever she wanted. She could learn to read, properly. And they'd never have to tip toe through life again.

Caw. Caw.

One of Henry's ravens swooped down, dipping a wing in welcome before landing on her head.

There were times when Rynne wished she'd been allowed to keep her horns.

"I can't come play." She hugged her bag. "I don't want to miss the moon setting."

The raven leaned down so it could look her in the eye.

Caw?

Rynne sighed. She fished the present Robin had given her out of her bag. "I can't open this until then."

Caw. Ca-ca-CaW!

"Because I promised. We can go wyvern watching tomorrow night."

The raven blinked at her, the red sheen of its eyes glinted in the silvery light of the moon that had splashed down from the sky. When it realized she meant what she'd said, it hopped into her lap and began to tear at the string holding the bundle together.

"Hey!" Rynne made a swipe for the bird right as she realized it was actually helping her. She mustn't open it, of course, but Robin hadn't said anything about ravens. She dropped her hand.

"Just be careful. I don't want you to damage anything."

The raven stopped tearing at the string long enough to give her a scornful look. Of course it wouldn't damage anything on accident. Henry's ravens were far more intelligent and capable than all the rest of the birds combined.

"I'll find you a pretty stone tomorrow." She could hardly keep still as the string finally began to split. "The shiniest there is."

The raven nodded its head in acknowledgement. With a final sharp tug, it ripped the string in half. Then, because Rynne hadn't made any move to unwrap the bundle, the raven tugged a corner of the cloth until it fell away completely.

Caw-caw.

"Fine," Rynne said, her attention focused on her gift. "Two shiny stones."

The raven cawed something in reply, but she'd already forgotten it was there. Reverently, she peeled back the rest of the cloth, her eyes growing wide at the unexpected bounty. Robin's gifts had always been wonderful, but this was something else.

She lifted a pale blue pendant and held it up to the moonlight. It shimmered with pearly silvers and lavenders specks wherever the moonlight touched it. She slipped the silver chain over her head and admired it anew.

Caw-ca-ca caw?

"No, you can't have this one." Then, to make her point, she tucked the pendant under her tunic.

The next present was a long sash made of soft, gauzy material that pooled like water, yet hardly weighed more than a cloud. She wrapped it around her shoulders, feeling as though she was wearing the most prized possessions of an ancient dragon's hoard.

The last, and final, present was a small book with an indigo cover inlaid with tiny crystals that sparkled like the night sky. The leather was soft and supple against her fingers and somehow smelled of rain.

Even though she wouldn't be able to read anything, Rynne opened the book anyway. To her surprise, there weren't any words inside, just a detailed illustration of her brother. She brushed her fingertips across it, missing Robin all the more.

"You opened this early, didn't you?"

Rynne jerked her fingers away as though she'd been stung. Her brother's voice. How had—

The picture of her brother tried to look stern, but the corners of his mouth kept curving upward. "You had your fingers crossed when you promised, didn't you?"

Rynne gaped at the book. How had he known?

The picture of Robin shook his head, but he was smiling. "It's all right. I spelled the string so you wouldn't be able to open it too early."

"R-Robin?" Rynne breathed. Was he somehow in the book itself?

Some of the laughter went out of his eyes. "You're probably wondering why I gave you this. In truth, now that I've come of age, I have to leave the castle. And if you're listening to this now, it means I've already gone."

Lightning zinged through Rynne, hot and bright and painful.

"What?" This was a mistake. There had to be a mistake somewhere. Her brother couldn't just—

"I won't be gone forever. I just don't know when I'll be allowed to return."

Allowed to return? What did that mean? She was halfway to her feet when the illustration moved.

The Robin in the book straightened and smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "In the meantime, I have a special quest for you. There is a special stone from ancient times that holds great power. Knowledge of the stone, and the stone itself, have been lost to most everyone. But that's the stone I'm charging you to find. I don't know where it is or what it's called, only that it's there waiting for you to find it. These five gifts will aid you on your quest."

Five gifts? But—

"The stone on the pendant is a worry stone. So whenever you're lonely or scared or anything at all, just hold it and rub the surface with your thumb. Over time, the color should change. Don't forget to do this as often as you can."

Rynne pressed her hand against the small bump in her tunic where she'd tucked the pendant. It was beautiful, but why had her brother thought she'd need something like that?

"Since I won't be there to give you the potion whenever your dragonish parts appear, just wrap the sash around you. It will make those parts invisible to those anyone else." Robin held up his finger as he always did when he wanted her to pay close attention to what he was saying. "Invisible, not insubstantial. They won't see your tail, but you can still whack them with it."

He paused. "You probably shouldn't whack anyone with it."

A great empty hollow feeling pulsed inside her heart. How could Robin have left? And why hadn't he said goodbye?

"The string can be used to fasten things properly. It won't untie for anyone but you."

The raven made a derisive noise before it went back to preening its feathers.

"The cloth is really good at holding things. And as for the book . . . Well, since I won't be able to go with you on your big adventure, this book is the next best thing. Whenever you feel like it, just open the book and talk to it like you're talking to me. I've enchanted it so it will capture your words just as it has captured mine. The book is big enough to hold every adventure you go on. When I get back, I'll have to show you the trick of it."

Rynne's chin trembled as her vision went blurry and her sadness burrowed like a miniature sun into the back of her throat.

"I want to say I'm sorry for not giving you this in person. It was better this way, but I'll miss you. A lot. Please don't forget me, okay?"

"Robin," Rynne whispered. She choked back a sob as a perfect replica of herself faded into view on the page across from Robin's. A tear splashed down on the page, deepening the little dark puddle of inky tears dripping down from her picture.

"He's really gone this time, isn't he?"

Rynne startled. She scooped her treasures back into her bag before she turned around. Tharja and Henry stood a stone's throw away from her. Henry grinned at her as he always did, while Tharja bore a striking resemblance to a storm cloud.

"You knew?" Rynne demanded, more than a little piqued. How was it they knew before she had? She stuffed the sash into her bag.

"Of course," Henry said as though it all made perfect sense. The raven flew up to perch on his shoulder. "Why else would he ask us to help you?"

"H-help me?" Rynne's feet were proving to be as steady as her eyesight. She swallowed another sob as she dashed her tears from her eyes with her sleeve. "I don't need help."

"That's where you're wrong," Tharja said, everything about her sharp and pointed and black. "Now that Robin has left the castle, your time has come as well."

"No it hasn't." Rynne crossed her arms to hold back the giant wall of fire burning up her insides. "I have to—"

"Don't be difficult. Your mother can't hide you any longer, not with Robin gone." Tharja scowled.

"But I—"

"Yeah, and Robin wouldn't let us mess with anyone who came looking for you, so the only option is for you to go."

"What do you mean, mess with?"

Tharja scoffed, her disgust clear. "Make dead. Now are you coming or not?"

A terrible pounding that started in Rynne's heart traveled up to her head. None of what anyone was saying made any sense. Why would Robin leave just like that? Why did she have to leave too? And what about her mother?

"Don't let Robin's leaving be the CAWS for losing your head," Henry laughed.

He was the only one.

Everything swirled into a mess inside her head. Her mother. She needed to talk to her mother. This had to be a trick. There was no way Robin would just vanish on her like this.

Tharja sighed. "Since you intend to be difficult, you have only yourself to blame. We did ask nicely."

Rynne hugged her bag against her chest. Her mother would clear everything up. Make everything better again. With wooden steps, she started back the way she'd come. When she reached the edge of the roof, the air went thick and silent. She only had time to look over her shoulder before the magic streaking from Tharja and Henry's fingers hit her hard enough that everything turned into a blindingly brilliant white.

And then it started fraying to black around the edges.

The echo of Henry's laugh followed her as the darkness swallowed up the light.

Just as Rynne felt herself fading away as well, the magic stopped gnawing on her bones in favor of spitting her out.

She fell with a soft plop into a shallow pond just as the horizon turned gold along the edges.

A/N: I had some unexpected free time, and this chapter appeared. :) It feels really weird writing a Robin-even a really young Robin-who can talk. When this idea was bouncing around at the back of my cranium, I had no clear idea of when Robin would end up in Ylisse or how, exactly, she'd get there. Hah! Now I know.

I really, really can't wait to play with Robin's presents a little more! She has no idea how . . . interesting . . . some of that stuff is. 0:D

I just want to thank all of you for stopping by, reading, commenting, and sharing. You guys are awesome and I hope you enjoy the journey! Have a great month! :)

WildKat25ShadowWolf13: Thank you so much! I really appreciate it. :) Yes, Rynne will serve as the Shepherd's tactician. Their battles will be on a different scale-and more grown-ups than Risen to navigate around-but it'll all be good prep work for what is to come in about a decade. :) Yes, this is most definitely a Chrobin story. :D It's just going to be a very slow burn due to their ages. (Falchion is nearly as tall as Chrom is. Not that this stops him from attempting to tie her sheath to his belt whenever he manages to escape Frederick's watchful eye. :p)