Chapter 23
Robin had to fight to keep his face neutral as he squatted down next to the prone form of the Deadlord at his feet, contempt and disgust both warring for a place on his countenance. Arya and Femi both waited behind him, watching silently to see how the older man 'interrogated' such a monster. As he got closer he leaned in, Simia looking back with the same blank, neutral expression. Absently Robin noted that, once he got close enough, he could actually see iris' and pupils in the creature's glowing red eyes.
"I should kill you," he muttered, just loud enough for the Deadlord to hear him. "I let you live once. And it cost me."
As he spoke he ran his thumb across scar on the bridge of his nose, making it clear what exactly the Deadlord had done to him. In response Simia's eyes widened a fraction before she went back to the neutral expression.
"Oh, I forgot," Robin chuckled. "You haven't done any of that in this timeline. But I'll just bet you still hurt my friends."
He reached down, gently undoing the rag gagging the Deadlord.
"Have you killed any of the Shepherds?" he asked plainly.
"Yes," Simia answered without hesitation.
Robin's reaction was as instant as it was visceral, his fist snapping down and crashing into the side of the Risen's face with a sickening crack. He took a breath, massaging the bruised knuckles as Simia gasped into the floor, black blood running down her chin from a split lip now as she shook her head clear.
"Why?" Robin hissed, looming above her.
"Because you ordered… it, master," Simia said, looking up at him.
Robin would be the first to admit he'd never expected to see emotion on a Risen's face, much less a Deadlord. Oh sure, he'd seen them, this one in particular, angry, violent, raging and screaming. And in her last moments in his own time, he'd seen a flash of fear in Simia's eyes. But nothing like this. The confusion, the hurt, the yearning in the Deadlord's glowing red eyes actually brought Robin up short.
"What has this one… done to displease you… master?" she asked, more black blood running down her chin and onto the deck.
A cold hand of ice wrapped itself around Robin's heart as he processed what the Risen was saying. He was afraid, and in that fear he snapped. Robin gave a furious roar, grabbing Simia by the back of the head and slamming her face into the deck.
"I am not your master!" he thundered. "I'll kill you! You and every one of your misbegotten kind!"
There was a moment of silence, Simia's shocked and hurt expression mirroring the looks of fear on Arya and Femi's faces for a moment before the Risen closed her eyes, a serene expression settling on her face now, even as it was ground into the rough planks of the Dreadnaught's decking.
"If that is… your desire," she almost whispered, the words slurred as she spoke into the deck.
Robin panted, crouched and ready to strike, his hand automatically going for Raziel on the small of his back. He hesitated for a moment, and despite his promise to Chrom indecision still clawed at his mind. In that moment Femi shuffled forward a step, the young Dark Mage clearing her throat nervously.
"Aren't you supposed to be… interrogating that thing?" she asked. "I mean, killing her now would be something of a waste, right?"
Robin leapt off Simia as if she were aflame, running a hand through his long white hair and only now realizing he was drenched with sweat. A wave of nausea threatened to overcome him, and he forced himself to focus.
"Where is Grima?" he asked, his voice emotionless.
"Your true form is… subjugating Tellius," Simia answered instantly, looking up again.
"Stop that, I'm not Grima," Robin sighed. "And Ylisse?"
"Your spawn were… left in charge of the… Ylissean continent," Simia supplied hopefully. "You intended it… as a test for them…"
"Them? As in plural?" Robin asked, before waving his question away. "Forget it, not important right now. What about Valm?"
"Valm is… already dead," Simia said, a proud and bloody smile rising to her face. "You entrusted me… personally to… finish the extermination. I have done so… master. I have followed… your order... so please, do… not send me from… your sight."
"Stop. That," Robin repeated. "The other Deadlords?"
"Spread out in… Ylisse and… Tellius," Simia said, looking back down.
"This seems a l-little easy," Arya stammered. "How do we know that she's telling the truth?"
"What does she have to hide?" Femi spat. "From the sounds of things Grima's already almost won. Why hide that now?"
"Probably doesn't hurt that she still thinks I'm Grima's avatar," Robin sighed, leaning back against the ship's railing. "To think this spread as far as Tellius…"
The three of them took a moment to process this, the only sounds the slow, steady drumbeat of the refugees footsteps as they embarked the ship and the gentle slap of the waves against the Dreadnaught's hull. Simia shifted, studying first Robin and then the two girls at his side.
"And the Ylissean Exalt?" Robin asked after a moment.
"She was… the test," Simia said, smiling again. "The spawn that… slayed the Exalt… would earn your favor."
"At least she's still alive," Robin sighed, sagging with relief.
"W-we're going to go see her, right?" Arya asked suddenly.
"We will," Robin nodded. "But she won't be the Lucina that we left behind. Make sure you remember that. She won't be your instructor, or my… my wife…"
He had to take a deep breath, closing his eyes to compose himself.
"Did you learn what you wanted to?" Femi asked.
Robin nodded, glaring down at Simia again.
"I did. The important stuff, anyway. We have no further use for this… thing," he said, scorn dripping from his voice.
Simia, for her part, froze, her shocked face staring plaintively up at Robin.
"I can… still be of… use!" she promised. "Please, master! I can… still serve! Do you desire… proof? I will kill… everyone here! I will kill the… human cancer! I will slay… your disciples! Prove my worth! I will-"
Her rant was cut off as Robin planted his foot on top of her back, forcing the air from her lungs. He reached for Raziel slowly this time, eyes narrowing as Simia desperately tried to twist to see him again.
"I can… still fight," she said, her voice coming out as a ragged whisper now.
This gave Robin pause, an idea forming in the back of his mind. He let his hand drop from the dagger on his back again, crossing his arms and cupping his chin with his hand in contemplation. It was a crazy idea. Most, his closest friends included, would no doubt label it insane. They would call his trustworthiness into question. But looking around, Robin could see that this broken world was dangerously short on one thing: fighters.
"Sir? Sir Robin, why are you hesitating?" Femi asked.
"Shhh! He's thinking!" Arya shushed her friend.
"Femi, look the other way," Robin said, stepping back off of the Risen. "You too, Arya."
"No," Femi declared, a frown creasing her delicate features. "No, no, no! I was given orders to make sure you didn't cast any spells, and I'm going to make sure you don't cast any spells! No!"
Beside her Arya nodded vigorously, presenting a unified front.
"What were you planning?" his student added. "You can kill her- it, with a- your dagger just as easy. Or do we have to… burn Deadlords?"
Robin shook his head, gesturing wide around them.
"Look around girls," he said sadly. "These people, they have nothing left. No fire in them. No hope. No strength. If it comes down to a fight, we'll be carrying them, and soon we won't even have the energy to do that. We need strong fighters if we-"
"You are not suggesting what I think you are," Femi cut in, eyes narrowing.
Robin smirked, dropping his arms and clasping his hands behind his back.
"Funny. You're a lot more respectful to Tharja," he said with a playful grin.
"She's not crazy!" Femi snapped. "You want to let this… this abomination live? You think you can convince it to help us!?"
"No, I think I can force it to serve us," Robin corrected her.
"How?" Arya asked softly.
"You're not seriously entertaining this hare-brained… you can't be serious!" Femi said.
"A binding spell for a familiar," Robin explained. "With my… ugh… instinctive understanding of Risen I can cast a binding spell and make her my familiar. Probably."
"You sound so confident," Femi snarked. "Do you even know how to do the spell? The rite for a permanent binding is far more complex than the simple temporary one."
"Yes, little-miss-perfect-mage, I do, actually," Robin said, rolling his eyes. "I've been friends with your teacher for a long time, I've picked up a lot that she doesn't know about. My brain happens to be something of a sponge for information like that. I trust you have the ritual chalk and reagents?"
"You're actually planning on doing this?" Femi asked, deflating a little.
"Of course," Robin scoffed.
"Unnecessary…" Simia spoke up from the ground. "I serve you… master. Always."
"Yeah, until the actual Grima is floating above our heads and you realize you were wrong about me," Robin snapped over his shoulder. "Shut up and sit there quietly until we're ready for you. Femi. Chalk and reagents. Now, please."
"How will you cast the spell?" Arya asked. "Lady Tharja said that casting any more magic would kill you."
Robin rolled his eyes again, holding out his hand and flexing his fingers a little. With a pop a small tongue of blue-black flame leapt from the center of his palm, burned for a few seconds, then dissipated. He had to grin to hide the wave of vertigo even the small spell caused him, though, playing it off with a veneer of his usual confidence.
"Do I look dead to you?" he asked.
"No," Femi declared. "No, I won't help you do this."
"I can do it without you," Robin pointed out. "A temporary pact to start with, then a permanent one once I get the materials for the rite myself."
Femi was silent for a moment before groaning loudly.
"Lady Tharja will kill me!" she pleaded.
"No she won't," Robin laughed. "She may hex you, but you're too important to kill right now."
"But you just almost died!" Femi persisted. "What if something goes wrong and you do die?"
"Then she'll probably kill you," Robin shrugged. "Come on. Sometimes on the battlefield you have to take a gamble to win."
"I… I say we do it," Arya said suddenly. "We could use the extra fighting power. Plus it would be good to have some help that doesn't need to eat or sleep. Right?"
"Right!" Robin laughed, clapping his hands. "You're out-voted, Femi."
"I could go to Lady Tharja," the young mage threatened weakly. "Tell her about what's happening, what you're planning…"
"And by the time you got back I'd be done," Robin said.
Femi let out another groan, scrunching her fingers through her hair in sheer frustration.
"Fine! Fine! Damn it all, fine! I'll help!" she finally relented. "But on one condition! You can't be part of the pact!"
Robin and Arya both blinked a little, taken aback.
"That… kind of defeats the purpose," Robin pointed out.
"Your soul is already damaged," Femi said. "Lady Tharja said so herself. I won't go willingly adding any additional strain to it. It has to be one of us."
"I serve only… the master!" Simia hissed from the ground.
"You'll do as you're told," Robin snapped over his shoulder.
The older man seemed to think this over for a moment before sighing and shaking his head.
"No," he decided at last. "No, I can't do that to either of you."
"But you'd do it to yourself?" Femi spat. "Lady Tharja was right, your martyr complex is ridiculous."
"I do not have a martyr complex!" Robin snapped. "You die twice and see how you fare!"
"I'm a Dark Mage!" she shot back. "I'm not afraid of death!"
"Well you should be! Not everyone gets a second chance like I did!"
"So you'd waste it!? Throw your life away, for what!? The chance to have a pet Deadlord!?"
"Enough!" Arya shouted above them. "I'll do it! I'll form the pact!"
Robin and Femi both looked up at her declaration, both wearing varied expressions of surprise. As Femi opened her mouth to protest further a new voice cut in, its owner leaning casually against the railing behind them.
"I think I speak for everyone else on the boat when I say that this is a bad idea," the local soldier, Victor said. "Pretty sure none of us are very partial to sharing a boat with the monster that's been hunting us for years now."
"Victor. I didn't see you during the attack," Robin said diplomatically, turning to face the younger man.
"Had to get the water properly secured," Victor shrugged. "And see to it the horses were properly stowed. Going to need meat for the journey, after all. Don't change the subject. That thing. Off the ship. Now. Preferably in pieces."
"He's right!" another of the soldiers, one shepherding the civilians below deck, called.
"That thing deserves to die," a third man grunted from the gangplank.
Robin nodded, seemingly considering this. He stepped forward, away from the two girls and the Risen, eying Victor and the other soldiers. Behind them the civilians kept their eyes down, continuing their march as if nothing was amiss. Or perhaps trying very hard to pretend that nothing was amiss.
"Okay then, I think a little demonstration is in order," he said. "Victor, you and the other guards draw your weapons and all come at me at once. Don't hold back."
The Valmese man blinked, trading glances with his cohorts before shrugging and drawing his sword. The other two did the same, the man at the gangplank appearing to struggle to hold his weapon up. Robin just shook his head, not even drawing his own weapon. The three men charged at once, although it would be more accurate to say they shambled much like the mindless masked Risen their movements were so slow and weak. Robin barely tried, batting their weapons aside with his open hands, before spinning and snatching the sword right out of Victor's hands. They locked eyes for a moment before Robin smiled again, flipping the weapon around in his grip and holding it out to Victor pommel-first. The young soldier accepted his weapon back with a sheepish look, and Robin smirked.
"That's why we need that thing," the tactician explained coolly. "I could do that, and I'm sick. Far from my best."
He turned back towards the girls, and as he took a step Robin was overcome with an intense wave of nausea, bringing him to one knee as he coughed up more blood. He waved off the girls' concern, grinning as he forced himself back up. Behind him Victor waved the other guards back to their duties, the civilians barely even registering this new development. The Valmese man offered Robin his arm, which he gratefully took.
"Arya," he said, wiping his chin with the back of one hand as he leaned on Victor. "Are you sure? I can't force you to do this. I can't even ask you to."
"I'm volunteering," she said firmly.
"Alright. Femi, would you be so kind as to start on the magic circle?" he prompted.
The young mage let out a long sigh before reaching into her pouch for her ingredients. It didn't take long for a decent sized pentagramic magic circle to form on the deck, Femi's practiced hands making short work of the complex wards and sigils. Tharja had always said that the young mage girl was a genius when it came to Dark Magic theory, but now that Robin could see her in action he realized just how true Tharja's comments had been. Robin contributed, too, pointing out where she should change the symbols to suit their particular needs.
"That line there, change that a little to open the Deadlord's mana supply," he said. "Take it from the air. There's enough of Grima's taint floating around she shouldn't have to draw anything from Arya."
"I still don't like it," she admitted as she worked. "I see the logic behind what you're saying, but I don't agree with it."
"Me either," Victor piped up.
"Yeah, I know," he sighed. "Oh, there. Change the direction of that ward. It's a lot stronger-willed than a bird or a cat. Easier to leave the free will intact to a degree."
"Are you sure that's wise?" Femi asked, glancing up before shaking her head. "You know what? Forget it, I'm not even going to try to argue anymore."
"Now you're learning," Robin chuckled. "Take notes, Vic."
"Please. Never call me that," the soldier shuddered.
"I think we're just about done," Femi sighed.
"Hold up, add another line to the western side there," Robin instructed, giving her the details for a small addendum.
"What's this for?" Femi asked as she worked.
"This particular section will fix the thing's damned halting speech," Robin laughed. "It drives me nuts. There, perfect."
Robin nodded, giving the circle one last glance before lifting himself off of Victor's shoulder. He crossed to the silent Deadlord, looking up at him with a forlorn expression, and picked her up by the back of her armor. Then he bodily tossed her into the circle. The Risen let out a small pained gasp as she landed, looking back up at Robin with those damned yearning eyes.
"Okay, Femi, hit it," Robin groaned.
The young mage nodded, the circle beneath the Deadlord flaring with red light as the spell started to take.
"Please, lord…" Simia gasped, struggling to turn to face Robin. "I serve… only you!"
"So does she," Robin said coldly, pointing to Arya. "You just got bumped down the food chain."
There was another flash, and Femi motioned Arya forward. She knelt by her friend, placing her hands in the magic circle and locking eyes with the Risen. Then, all at once, the light faded.
"Okay, it's done," Femi sighed, leaning back on her haunches.
"Good," Robin sighed, leaning back against the railing again. "Now, help me come up with a way to explain this to everyone-"
"Robin!"
"Well, damn, that was fast," Robin groaned, taking a deep breath before turning. "Look, there's a good explanation for… uh… who… Say'ri!?"
Standing before a very befuddled Robin was an older version of Say'ri, but a version that looked like she had been dragged through hell and back. Her regal bearing was gone, replaced by a harsh coldness in her eyes that stung at Robin to see. Her pretty face was marred by scars, half of it covered by a rough leather patch that couldn't quite hide the old injury. He took all of this in in the second he had before the woman barreled into his chest, wrapping her arms around him and knocking them both to the ground in a heap.
"Robin!" she repeated, her grip almost choking the life from him. "Fie, love, I thought never to see you again! You died! I… I…"
Whatever else the once-monarch was going to say was lost when she was forcibly hefted off of the tactician, a glowering Simia using both of her bound hands to drag the older woman up and toss her backwards. To Say'ri's credit she caught herself, landing on her feet and glaring with a surprising amount of animosity at the Deadlord.
"Release the master, woman," Simia hissed, her faltering speech apparently now repaired as Robin had intended.
"Deadlord!" Say'ri snarled, hands going immediately for her sword. "I don't know how you managed to sneak onto my ship, but-"
"Stop!" Robin called above them. "Stop, for the love of Naga!"
The sudden shout caused him to roll over, holding himself up on his elbows as his body violently shuddered in an intense coughing fit. When he was done Robin sat up, wiping the bloody spittle from his lips with the back of his hand. Simia was at his side in a moment, her ashen features creased with worry. Another emotion Robin was sure Risen incapable of.
"Master, are you-"
Robin cut her off, roughly hauling himself up using the Risen's shoulder as a crutch.
"Call me that again and I'll take your ability to talk away," he growled. "Say'ri. It's good to see you again, but I'm not-"
Robin was brought up short as he glanced up, Say'ri's sword pointing directly at his nose.
"I… think I have some explaining to do," he said slowly, holding up his hands.
"Robin, even for you this is… irresponsible," Chrom sighed almost an hour later.
The Exalt stood with his eyes tightly shut, massaging the skin between them. The rest of the Shepherds, as well as the majority of the surviving Valmese leadership stood, sat or otherwise lounged around on the massive forecastle deck of the Dreadnaught as the last of the civilians boarded. At the head of the deck Robin, Arya and Femi stood with the Deadlord Simia. The two girls looked sufficiently chastised, but Robin scoffed and crossed his arms.
"Yes, what was I thinking, acquiring us a soldier that doesn't need to eat, sleep, that doesn't feel pain and is totally loyal," the tactician said sarcastically.
"Do you even hear yourself right now?" Cordelia asked, frowning. "You sound exactly like Validar did."
Robin opened his mouth to rebut, but closed it again after a second.
"Damn. That… that hurt," he smirked after a few seconds. "But you raise a good point. Chrom, catch."
The bigger man glanced up in time to snatch the dagger that had been tossed at him out of the air, a sheathed Raziel resting in his fist.
"If something goes south and I lose it, that's the best way to-"
"Don't you dare say it!" the Exalt thundered, tossing the ancient weapon to the floor.
"It's called being prepared," Robin said calmly. "Insurance. You never did understand the concept."
"I shouldn't need 'insurance' against my best friend!" Chrom said angrily.
"You always were soft on the people closest to you," Robin smirked.
"I'll take care of it," Gaius announced suddenly. Both men glanced up, the thief reclining against the deck's railing already twirling the ancient dagger between his fingers. "If Bubbles loses it again… I'll take care of it."
"Gaius, you can't…" Cherche said, trailing off.
"Seems like a good plan to me," Sully huffed.
"Seconded," Idallia piped up from next to Basilio, the big Khan remaining silent.
Standing a small way away from the two Khans Galle watched impassively, his face expressionless as he watched the proceedings. Robin hadn't spoken to his former student since his little explosion during their previous group meeting, and while he was worried about Galle he knew he shouldn't have been. Galle was, without a doubt, the best student he'd had. Robin would never say as much out loud, but the results spoke for themselves. Galle would cope. Even if the boy didn't realize it himself.
"Well, now that we have all that squared away," Robin said, turning to the patiently waiting Valmese.
"Oh, are… are you done?" Victor asked, quirking a brow. "We still have time. Care to argue any parentages while we're at it? Who slept with who's wife?"
"Quiet, Victor," an older man said, his voice dripping fatigue.
It took Robin a few seconds to place the familiar-looking man. It was King Liung of Chengshi. The years had not been any kinder to the fiery old monarch than they had Say'ri, his expressive face lined and his shoulders bowed as if under an incredible weight. He moved with a heavy limp, filthy bandages wrapped around his right calf.
"I do so love watching manspawn quarrel, though," Nirath chuckled.
Say'ri stood silently, glaring impassively at Simia with her arms crossed.
There was another girl with them, and while it was hard to tell under the grime and the malnutrition she seemed to be similar in age to Galle and Arya. Her long blonde hair was filthy, tied away from her face in a rough ponytail, and her beaten and scored blood red armor spoke of countless battles. On her head was a matching red circlet, two small nub horns protruding from the red steel around her forehead. From the armor alone Robin could tell she was Valmese, but there was something else familiar about her, too.
"We're taking them with us, at least," the girl said, her tone similar to Liung's. "But that… thing…"
"It should be destroyed. Immediately," Say'ri spoke up.
"Okay, one thing at a time. I know you, you and you," Robin said, pointing to Liung, Say'ri and Nirath before turning to the girl. "But you I don't know."
"I don't know the wolf-queen, though," Chrom said, stepping forward. "And since we have the time, I'd say that proper introductions all around are in order."
"Hah! You always were the diplomatic one," Liung chuckled, shaking his head.
"Is he talkin' about the same Chrom?" Vaike asked, turning to Cherche.
"If this world is similar to the one that I came from he would have been much older when Ylisse invaded Valm," Owain supplied.
"We all already mostly know each other," Robin groaned, rolling his eyes.
"Be that as it may, we will do this right," Chrom declared. "I am Exalt Chrom the First of Ylisstol, sovereign of the Haildom of Ylisse. These are my Shepherds."
"Oh, I'm a Shepherd now, too?" Idallia scoffed, crossing her arms.
"Shut up, girl, read the mood," Basilio rumbled, stepping forward. "I'm Khan Regnant Basilio. This is the new East Khan, Idallia."
"Charmed," the slight Ylissean-born Khan drawled.
Liung nodded, an amused smirk on his face as he stepped forward to Chrom. "If we are doing this properly… I am Liung, former king of Chengshi. You seem to know Say'ri. This is Nirath, leader of the last of the Wolfskin tribes."
"Queen," Nirath spoke up. "My people may be scattered and my forest gone, but I am still a Queen, manspawn."
"By your people's standards, perhaps," the blonde girl muttered, rolling her eyes.
"And this young flower is Lady Helia, heir to Walhart's Imperial Valm. Or what's left of it," Liung finished.
Helia gave the Shepherds a terse nod, before zeroing back in on Chrom.
"Putting aside the matter of the Risen for now," she said, pointedly glaring at Robin's little group, "You say you are Exalt Chrom. Yet you look like a man half his age."
"Exalt Chrom is dead," Say'ri spat.
"The Chrom of this world is, yes," Chrom nodded, frowning. "It's, ah, rather hard to explain…"
"We are from an alternate world where Grima was defeated," Idallia cut in. "In that world an insane mage transported us here, for what we don't know. And now we're trying to get back."
Chrom turned to look at the former merchant, Basilio towering beside her clearly trying not to burst into laughter.
"Okay, perhaps it's not that complicated after all," Chrom shrugged. "Merely… farfetched."
"Well, truth or not we can't just leave you here," Liung said.
"They speak truth," Nirath supplied. "Or at least they believe that they do. Although this one does not smell like the Robin I remember."
"Uh… thanks?" Robin quirked his head.
"You really defeated him? You killed Grima?" Helia asked, her voice hushed.
"We did," Chrom nodded. "Robin and I both. Together."
"I'm sure we can do it again," Robin shrugged. "What's a horde of angry, undead monsters against two Awakened heroes, right?"
"So modest," Idallia muttered, earning a snort from Galle.
"Then if we can get these ships to Ylisse we have hope," Liung sighed, a small smile rising to his filthy face.
"Maybe," Chrom said hesitantly.
"Then make ready!" Liung declared, his voice carrying in the still gloom. "You will be treated as honored guests! Victor! Prepare cabins for the Shepherds! As many as they need!"
"Y-yes, Lord Liung, sir!" Victor stammered, snapping to attention before bolting off.
"We appreciate it, Liung," Chrom said. "Truth be told, we weren't sure how we were going to get back to Ylisse in the first place. And we haven't eaten anything in days."
"Well, we don't have much, but you are welcome to the same rations as the rest of us," Liung said.
"Just hold your nose and they don't taste as bad," Helia offered with a small grin. "And if you find mold be thankful for the extra nutrients."
Chrom barked out a laugh, the groups beginning to drift away, conversation among the Shepherds picking up again before Say'ri's shout halted them.
"Hold!" the Chon'sinian Queen declared, glaring at Simia again. "What of the… creature?"
"I guess 'I'll put her on a leash' won't cut it?" Robin asked with a slight grin.
The next few weeks passed as a blur of inactive boredom for Robin. Much of his time was spent split between resting in the cabin he shared with Arya, Femi, Tharja and Ita, or wandering around the gargantuan ship.
Robin had to admit one day as he meandered around the outer edge of the ship that Valmese Dreadnaughts were truly an engineering marvel. The Valmese fleet had been gigantic to begin with in their own time, but clearly the Western shipwrights had perfected their craft even further in the future. Hundreds of people were cooped up in the holds, far more than any Ylissean or Plegian ship would have been able to carry. Far more than even ten Ylissean or Plegian ships could carry.
He moved aside as a small procession of refugees shuffled past under the watchful eyes of a pair of Liung's soldiers. He spared the men a nod, smiling encouragingly at the huddled refugees as they passed. The first thing Robin did was organize a rotating 'exercise walk' for any of the civilians with the energy to still move about the deck. Being cooped up in the hold non-stop until they reached Ylisse would be disastrous for the refugees. Dysentery, scurvy, not to mention all the myriad little infections that they would get were going to run rampant no matter what they did, but Robin could do his best to try to alleviate the worst of it. Plus, by keeping those with energy moving they would keep them distracted. It didn't appear that the refugees had any fight left in them at all, so Robin was confident that they wouldn't be fighting amongst each other, but it would be better not to take the chance.
In the first week alone there had been nearly fifty deaths among the refugees, the bodies of the dead respectfully laid to rest at sea. There had simply been too many weak and infirm who had attempted the desperate flight to the coast. Apparently many more had died during the great evacuation, and there had been further deaths since, too. Disease, fatigue, malnutrition, all these factors had weakened the people to an almost enfeebled state. Robin had no doubt there would be even more among the dead before they reached their destination. Maribelle, the closest thing they had to a priest, had officiated funeral rites for every single one, the Magistrate not even flinching in her duty.
Robin continued on his own aimless walk, glancing up at the overcast sky. The first sign that they were escaping had been when those with the keenest eyes among their number had been able to make out individual clouds above them. Eventually, as they continued to travel east, the rest of them could pick out the lines of the clouds, too. He, Owain and Arya had spent almost an entire day after that lying on the deck, looking up at the clouds and trying to make out shapes. Then, a week after that, someone had pointed out that it was getting brighter and darker at regular intervals. They had actual day-night cycles again. There had been much exhausted rejoicing at this revelation, the number of refugees applying for the exercise walks almost tripling at the time. Still, though, the sun was weak, and still glowed a deep, mournful crimson color. But it was getting brighter.
Of course, the thing Robin had been most grateful for was the return of his vitality the further from Valm they travelled. He was in no way back to one hundred percent, but he didn't feel like he was going to keel over at any moment, and he'd stopped coughing up blood. He was still occasionally beset by random bouts of dizziness and nausea, but the tactician doubted those would go away while they were still in this world.
Climbing up a set of stairs to the main deck he came up to the wide open space, stopping a moment to survey the various groups spread out and catch his breath. On all the other ships he'd travelled on in his life he had taken notice of the organized chaos of the sailors as they want about their tasks, caring for the ship and their cargo. Here, though, the refugee crew sat in groups, watching with the same sense of exhausted lethargy as the rest. Even the soldiers were beginning to tire, the guards on deck sitting with the sailors and watching the horizon with blank stares.
A number of the Shepherds, too, had taken to spending their time on the deck rather than be cooped up in the claustrophobic confines of their cabins. Sully and Vaike had set aside a section of deck as a training ground, little more than a large circle drawn in charcoal that they could get some exercise in. Robin supposed that the familiarity of having a dedicated training ground probably helped relax them a little. Usually he could find Chrom up here, too, but today Sully and Vaike occupied the training circle alone, the deputy Knight Commander having forgone her usual armor facing Vaike in her sleeveless riding gear. Already they had drawn a small crowd, a few of the bored soldiers sitting or standing to watch along with a trio of Nirath's younger wolves. Basilio stood with his arms crossed at the edge of the circle, the two other Shepherds looking to him expectantly.
"I want to see a good clean fight," the older man declared. "No weapons, hands and feet only. Keep it above the belt, open-hand strikes, no elbows or knees and no Chrom Specials. Now go to your sides and when you come back I want to see something to entertain these poor sods."
Robin had to smirk at the disappointed groans from the two combatants as they moved to opposite ends of the circle. 'Chrom Special' was the nickname that the current Shepherds had given to the act of headbutting a foe, thanks to the Exalt's penchant for using the move during duels. Robin was just sorry Chrom wasn't present; he loved watching his friend squirm in embarrassment every time someone mentioned a 'Chrom Special'.
He turned away from the ring as Sully charged Vaike, the axeman giving a surprised yelp as she tackled him to the deck. Robin had seen this a hundred times now. By now anyone else besides Vaike would have learned to side-step her opening charge. Instead he ignored the sounds of Vaike being pummeled behind him and scoped out the deck again, eyes settling on another familiar sight; Olivia and Arya training together.
As much as she had hated to admit it, Lucina had once confided in Robin that Arya was ill-suited for her heavy Ylissean sword style. The Plegian girl lacked the necessary musculature for it thanks to the years of malnutrition she had endured. In short, she would just never be big enough to handle a Ylissean broadsword. It had worried Robin for a time. His own style was largely a combination mishmash of other styles and improvisation, unsuitable for teaching to a beginner like Arya. At least by learning steps from Olivia she was learning something more suited to someone with her slight build. Combining that with the basics that Lucina had taught her would be the best thing for the girl's swordplay right now.
Deciding to leave them to it, mostly because he knew how easy it was to throw Olivia off her groove if she found out someone was watching her, Robin turned to head towards the forecastle deck and check the horizon himself. As he walked, though, he realized that he wasn't the only one watching the pair.
"Victor? Everything alright?"
The young Valmese man glanced up, a blank expression on his face before he nodded.
"Yeah, fine," he said, going back to watching the girls. "Just thinking."
He was leaning against the railing of the upper deck, his arms crossed and a thoughtful expression on his face.
"As long as thinking is all you do," Robin warned, his light tone taking the bite out of the words.
"You can relax," the younger man scoffed. "I have enough trouble talking to the girls from around here. Women that beautiful? Yeah, I have no hope."
He went silent for a moment, his gaze taking on a far-away quality before he spoke again.
"Do you think… we'll all look like that again one day?" he asked quietly.
Robin couldn't help but smirk, quirking his head. "If you grow hips like Olivia I'd be a little concerned."
"That's not what I meant," Victor chuckled. "I mean that… whole. Do you think we can recover that much?"
"Of course," Robin said, smiling. "Look at Arya. When I found her a year ago she didn't look much better than any of you. No offense."
"None taken," Victor grinned. "She's still a little scrawny, though."
"Give it time," Robin said encouragingly. "It's like growing a tree. Doesn't happen overnight. Just remember, look but don't touch."
"Aye-aye, oh hero tactician," Victor smirked.
Robin gave a groan, running a hand down his face. "Owain just couldn't keep his mouth shut, could he?"
"To be fair it does suit you," Victor laughed.
"Yeah, yeah," Robin sighed, waving the comment off. "I'm going to keep moving. You good?"
"Yup," Victor sighed. "Meant to be on guard duty anyway. Not much to guard out here, though."
"Stay sharp," Robin warned. "You never know when a giant dragon will fall down on top of you."
Victor instantly perked up, eyes roaming the sky. "He won't… actually do that, right?"
Robin just laughed, shaking his head and leaving the soldier to his guard duty. He took a few meandering steps away, eyes roaming the deck again. For a moment his gaze lingered on Arya, a satisfied smile rising to his lips as he watched her progress through the same movements Olivia was. She was a little stiff, a little slow compared to the dancer, but Robin was happy to see that she was improving. Then he was walking again, his path taking him past where Nirath and her pack had made themselves comfortable.
Once they had reached open waters and were safely away from the land Nirath had claimed a corner of the main deck and had one of her remaining followers set up her furs. It was just like Robin remembered her den back in the forest in Valm, so many years ago now. The old wolf had perched herself in her human form atop a pile of old rags and furs, and had barely moved since. Robin had counted barely thirty wolves that split their time lounging around their Queen or pacing in the holds. Many who had died during the first week had been members of her pack, exhausted from defending the refugees from the Risen alongside the Shepherds. For the first few nights the mournful howls of the shapeshifters had kept Robin awake.
Not surprisingly Ita sat at Nirath's side, reclining against the edge of the Queen's mound in her human form, too. Robin had gathered that this was a position of high honor among their tribe, and for the entire voyage so far Ita had been almost insufferably pleased with herself.
"Robin," Nirath called as he approached. "Checking in?"
"Just bored," he admitted.
"How's your little pet settling in?" Nirath chuckled, weakly glancing up at him.
Robin was surprised at how frail the wolf queen looked. Her skin seemed thin around her sunken eyes and jutting cheekbones, giving her an almost skeletal appearance.
"Tied up in the hold," Robin shrugged. "Beyond that I don't care."
Nirath gave a low, rumbling chuckle, Ita smirking as well.
"How are you feeling, anyway?" Robin asked, crouching down in front of the Queen's mound, his voice low.
"I am tired," Nirath sighed. "I will die soon, manspawn. It is only a matter of time."
Robin's gaze flicked over to Ita, but the way that the younger wolf had shifted her gaze away meant that this wasn't news to her.
"Is there nothing we can do?" Robin asked.
Nirath barked a laugh, closing her eyes and smiling. "You are an odd human. There is nothing that can be done. I have already made my peace. My people will fade from this world, just as I have. Just as the Taguel have. It is enough to know that we thrive in your own world."
"And we always will," Ita promised, unusually somber.
The old wolf queen gave another weak chuckle, turning a maternal smile on the younger wolf. "If all the runts are as strong as you I have little doubt."
Ita almost seemed to inflate with pride for a moment, before frowning and cocking her head to the side. Robin closed his eyes and sighed through his nose, already very familiar with that expression.
"What's wrong?" he asked dejectedly.
"I hear something," Ita growled, rising slowly to her feet.
In the dark hold of the great Valmese Dreadnaught Arya stood, her hand lingering above the latch that would open the hatch to the Deadlord's prison. Simia had been confined to this hold, under constant guard, since they had set out. Even now, two of the Valmese soldiers sat on stools facing the door, while one of Nirath's wolves lounged in its canine form, curled up next to the door silently watching her.
Arya took a breath to steady her nerves. Ever since she had been bound to the Deadlord she had felt… different. The most obvious example had been the dreams. Hazy, incoherent dreams of battle and slaughter, each night waking Arya up in a cold sweat. Then while she was awake there were the mood swings so severe even she had noticed them. Fortunately, Arya was naturally a very meek young woman, so it was easy enough to clamp down on the bouts of irrational anger, but they still scared her. There had been no physical signs yet, something that both Femi and Tharja were keeping a close eye for, and even though it was embarrassing to have to parade in front of them in nothing but her smallclothes every few days it did make her feel better that they were keeping an eye on her.
With a final deep breath she threw the latch back, the clacking sound of iron against rough wood almost deafening in the quiet hold. She closed the door behind her, becoming almost wholly enveloped in darkness, and outside she heard the guard get up and lock the hold again. Deciding she didn't want to hold this conversation in darkness Arya cast a small fire spell, a flame the size of a candle's dancing sullenly above her hand.
The magic flame revealed the Deadlord Simia, kneeling with her back against the wall, bound and chained, her head bowed and her face hidden by shadows and her lank, thick hair.
Arya swallowed her fear, advancing slowly into the hold. There was an odd stink in the air, and in a strange way it reminded her of the desert. The hold smelled of heat and sand, of blood and shimmering air, and in a way, Arya found it almost nostalgic. It smelled like Plegia, as if Simia herself was a part of the country, of the desert.
"Why have you come, whelp?"
The student tactician froze at the sound of Simia's voice, like wind and dry leaves in a dead valley. She had to swallow again, hesitating a moment as she tried to work some moisture back into her dry mouth.
"The dreams…" she began, trailing off.
Why had she come? Of course, boredom had been a factor; she could only read what little material they had salvaged from the Mage's Tower so many times. But Arya had felt drawn here. Not by some unseen force, but by duty. She had chosen to be bound to this creature, this Risen, and aside from occasionally sticking her head into the hold to ensure that Simia was still bound she hadn't had anything to do with the thing. Except for the dreams. Except for the mood swings.
Simia glanced up, her dully glowing eyes piercing in the gloom as she regarded Arya with a bored expression.
"Speak," she said, her voice a whispered rasp in the dark. "You serve the master. Do not hesitate. Do not show weakness. Do not show doubt. Speak."
"What… are the dreams I'm having? Since I was bound to you?" Arya managed to stammer.
"I cannot see into your head," Simia almost seemed to grin.
Arya frowned, her brow furrowing slightly. "The dreams of violence. Of death. Are they from our pact?"
"It would be more productive to ask the mage," Simia pointed out, spitting the word 'mage' as if it were a curse.
"I would but…" Arya trailed off again.
This time Simia was silent, clearly waiting for the girl to finish.
"They feel like memories," she confided quietly.
"Maybe they are," Simia said. "Maybe you are hallucinating. I do not know. Nor do I care."
Arya knelt down now, her gaze level with the baleful glow of Simia's.
"So what do you care about?" she asked curiously.
"Killing you and regaining my freedom," Simia growled.
"But you can't," Arya said, her tone a statement, not a question.
"Yes, thanks to your damnable mage," Simia spat.
Robin had been very insistent in explaining to Tharja, during that first night in their shared cabin space when she had cornered the man, that he had adjusted the binding spell to ensure no harm would come to either Arya or Femi. In theory, Simia should have been totally incapable of harming them. But Arya didn't want to test said theory, so she stayed out of lunging distance.
"Even though these were Sir Robin's orders?" Arya persisted.
This, finally, seemed to cause the Deadlord to hesitate, her head cocking as far as the chains around her neck would allow.
"Once I kill you I will have reminded the master of my worth," Simia whispered, her glowing eyes fairly radiating malice. "He will forgive me. His spawn make better disciples anyway."
A moment of understanding passed between the two as they locked gazes, neither willing to back down and show weakness. Arya understood the creature now, or at least had a better understanding of it. As for what Simia had gained… she wasn't sure. But the Deadlord looked satisfied, at the least.
Just as she was about to ask if the Risen was uncomfortable the sound of the latch opening from outside made them both glance up, a shadow blocking the torchlight from the doorway. Simia sucked in a breath, though, attempting to sit up as straight as her bonds would allow.
"Arya? What are you… never mind, not important," Robin said. "Come with me. There's trouble topside and I don't want this… thing out of my sight."
"What's happened?" Arya asked quickly, practically leaping to her feet. "Are we under attack?"
"I don't think so," Robin sighed, tossing her the keys to the Deadlord's shackles. "We've found one of the other ships and it… doesn't look good. They're drifting, their masts are destroyed and they're not responding to our hails. I'm going to go take a look. That's coming with me."
"So am I!" Arya declared.
Robin nodded, grinning and nodding at Simia. "Good. Leave its hands shackled and meet me on deck. Hopefully this is nothing, but I'm not taking any chances."
AN: Executive decision, I'm making this story my main focus now until it's done. It's so close to finished, I've been working on it since 2014 (!?) and I'm sick of sitting on it. And no, I am nowhere near done with my AU metallover-Awakening canon, don't worry. So onwards to the end! The… Future's end! Eh? Eh? … screw you all, I think I'm funny…
Next update is Blazing Trinity. Then back to this. Sorry Self Insert fans, I'm kinda burned out on the wacky hijinks right now.
Follow me on Twitter for more bad jokes! - metalloverCAB