Chapter 3: Empty Streets
Morgan brushed the hair out of her face. She couldn't believe how bad things had gotten in just a few days since she'd left. The area around her father's home was positively blanketed in snow despite only being slightly frozen when last she left it. That the winter was this bad was troubling for her. Regardless, she pressed on through the snow, which pulled and gripped her ankles as she suffered to struggle through it, until she reached the threshold of her father's home. She pushed the wooden door softly open only to discover that no one was inside. She knew that instantly, as her father wouldn't dare be in the house in this sort of cold with no fire lit.
Wiping the snow off her shoes and pants, Morgan walked into the small hallway and sighed. Where might he have gone at a time like this? It was completely illogical. Despite knowing better, she trudged up the groaning staircase toward the warmth of her father's bedroom, though that warmth had been sapped out quickly. She sat down on the cushy, but broken bed and thought to herself. Where would her father go? Mother was scheduled to be back sometime this evening, and he certainly wouldn't leave her mother, of all people, out to dry. No, they clearly loved each other far too much for that. Morgan looked around the room for some kind of a hint, whereupon her attention was caught by a conspicuous piece of canvas buried in the back corner of the room. Shrugging, Morgan got up and pulled at the object, finding it slightly larger than expected. She laughed softly to herself as she recalled it, now. It was a portrait of her that her father had comissioned when she turned sixteen. She chuckled as she recalled how she had hated having to sit still for the whole process, how she had barked at her father for forcing her to sit there all that time... She couldn't argue with the result, however: it was a fine painting.
Now something else distracted Morgan: a piece of parchment and an inkwell sat on a desk tucked away in another corner of the room. She approached this, too, and read her father's messy, lightning-quick handwriting:
Dec. 3,
Fourteen logs remaining for the fireplace.
Anna due to return tomorrow.
Snow falling. Might get up to eight inches. Find extra blankets for Anna.
Gods' sake... Damn me. Sully told me the forces that attacked Ylisse struck where Morgan was headed. Going to the capital to find out what the hell I'm going to do, and what Chrom is planning. Hope to every god there is it's you reading this, Anna, Morgan.
Thirteen logs.
Morgan looked up from the page with a grimace. That figured. Well, there was nothing to be done about it: she had to make her way to Ylisstol. The trip would be long, and, in this whether, it would be cold, but she was going to find her father and get a plan of attack sorted out, end of story.
She dipped her father's pen in the inkwell and scribbled a single word onto the page: "Seen. -M"
[...]
"...and that is why I, the great and powerful Master Owain of Ylisse have brought yon sacred parchment to the battle-scarred palmsof the most ferocious and indefatigable Khan Lon'qu!" Owain exclaimed with finality, posing majestically.
"That'll do," the newer West Khan dismissed the excitable lad, "So, you mean to say Ylisse wishes to employ my aid, and thusly that of all Regna Ferox?"
"That is most incontrovertibly correct, my magnanimous fellow royalty! My mother appeared to fear that her brother, my most unimpeachable and relentlessly powerful Unlce Chrom, would be too proud to ask for your aid himself in such an event, and so I have most scrupulously been called upon to circumvent the exalt and extend this wish myself, which I believe I have done with the utmost alacrity!" he continued to report.
"Gods above, cut the theatrics, boy," commanded the khan, "tell your mother that, despite the strong bond between myself and the people of Ylisse, I cannot at this time provide the aid for which you are asking."
Owain's face fell, "What? But... why?"
Lon'qu shook his head, "Ironically, I must answer in the same way Khan Flavia did many years ago to your uncle: I lack the authority. Regna Ferox has changed over the past few decades, boy. We've kept our warrior tradition, no doubt, but people don't just want cold and killing anymore, they want real results, a world that they can raise their children in. As such, splinter groups have been threatening the power of the Khans for the last five years, at least, and I'm at odds on a number of issues with my eastern counterpart. I can do nothing for Ylisse except to wish them the best at this point in time."
"That's... lame," grunted Owain, unable to muster a more grandiose reply.
"Indeed," Lon'qu sighed, "Now, if there's nothing further..."
"R-Right..." Owain stuttered, "I'll, uh, go tell my mom. I mean, er, I shall report thy most impactful and significantly devastating information to mine noble mother, whereupon we shall elect a course of action and divine a reply to-"
"Just go," ordered the khan with an exhale.
[...]
"Halt!" ordered the young man, decked out in gold armor, standing before the gate, "you can't just waltz in here!"
The cloaked man stopped in his tracks and waited, saying nothing.
"Show some respect!" ordered a man's voice from behind the guards, "Don't you have any idea who that is?"
"G-General Kellam!" the young man who had spoken jumped, "I... um, we didn't see you there! And, er, incidentally, no, I don't think I know this man. Should I?"
"Don't bother with them, Kellam," Robin pulled the hood off of his head, "stories about an old fossil like me will never have reached boys like them."
"Old?" Kellam scoffed good-naturedly, "You're still younger than I am, Robin."
"True," he sighed, "but I haven't been near Ylisstol anywhere near as much as you."
"Also true," Kellam nodded in reply. He turned to the guard, "What are you waiting for? Step aside. That man is the Grandmaster of Ylisse."
"The... What? Did you just say... Oh, gods! He's wearing a Plegian cloak! That's the man!" the soldier bowed before Robin, "P-Please forgive me my indiscretions, master."
Robin said nothing and sidestepped the grovelling man. As Robin proceeded into the castle halls, he looked to each side to note the Ylisseans were each bowing before him, as the guard in front of the hall had done. He watched them carefully as he sauntered up to the throne. When he had reached it, the soldiers all stood behind him, as if they had expected him to take a seat upon it. He turned to address Kellam, who had been walking alongside me, "Why do the knights act like this?"
"You're a hero, a legend, even, to all of them, Robin," he resolved, "They only desire a moment to bask in the light of your existence."
Robin shook his head, "There is no such luminscence to be found here. Only a darkness that encroaches upon more with each passing moment." Kellam looked at the former tactician somberly.
"Robin, it's... well... it's good to see you again," Lissa nodded to him from her brother's throne.
"Too right," Robin bowed, "A pleasure, Lissa."
Lissa raised an eyebrow, "Where is Sully? I was under the impression that she was sent to bring you here."
A snarling Sully shoved open the castle gates, releasing a strike of frigid air at just that moment. She marched forward and grabbed Robin by the collar, "What the hell were you thinkin', disappearin' like that, you wise-ass?"
"I'm Chrom's friend, not his mutt. I don't need a keeper," he growled at the redheaded cavalier. She released him, angry, but clearly not moreso than he.
"That aside..." Lissa begged to digress, "Robin, I'm certain you know why you're here."
"Ylisse is under attack. That's why you want me here, at least," he rubbed his shoulder.
"I'm so sorry about Morgan and Anna..." Lissa bit her lip.
"Don't apologize. The dead don't apologize, so we have no reason to return the favor," he grumbled.
"I didn't mean to imply..." Lissa's face fell, "I hope with everything that is within me that they're still alive, Robin."
"I lost everything once. I've always been prepared for a moment like this," the disgruntled former tactician shut his eyes and tapped his foot expectantly.
"With all that said," Lissa shook her head, "I was wondering if you'd give Ylisse the most gracious benefit of your assistance again."
"You sound a bit like your son, being so formal," Robin grunted in laughter, "I'll help you, under the caveat that you understand that anything concerning my family takes priority for my part."
"I can accept that," Lissa agreed, "I would feel the same, given your position."
"But you're not in my position," he threw out, turning his back, "False empathy is a sickening trait, princess. Don't pick it up."
Lissa remained silent watching him walk toward the door.
When Robin had made it back outside, Sully hurried forward to accompany him again, "So, here's the deal: We're going to catch up with Chrom, who went into the site of the first attack two days ago. There aren't many of us to escort you, but Stahl's rounding up the rest of the Shepherds we can find and bringin' 'em to the same place, where we'll all rendez-vous and figure out what we're doin'."
"I understand," he declared curtly, eyes shut.
"Well, then it looks like your escort is all here," Sully announced as a clanking sound emerged from within the castle, "Heya, honey."
"Mother, please, must you call me that on-duty?" Kjelle frowned.
"How's she going to keep pace with us?" Robin gestured with a thumb.
"She's a lot better at riding than you might remember," Sully smirked with confidence as her daughter mounted up, "Incidentally, you'll be riding with her."
"No volition to move on my own? Is that how little you trust me, Sully?" he replied with a disbelieving smirk.
"Hey, you made your bed when you ran away from me, genius. Now you gotta sleep in it," she called her horse to the ready, "Now, saddle up. We don't have all day."
"You certainly don't," called a voice from before the castle gates. It had taken the small escort this long to realize that the guards before the gate were collapsed into pools of their own blood. A man with blue hair addressed them.
"Gods damn it," Robin sighed, rolling his eyes, "I really don't have the patience for this sort of thing."
"Don't worry, old timer. I'll be sure to make it quick, then," the blue-haired man offered a menacing grin.
"Kjelle, back inside. Get Lissa outta here," her mother ordered. The junior knight complied without a second thought.
"You're not going to get anywhere," the man opposite the small party shrugged, "Like chickens with their heads removed, you all fail to realize that you're already dead."
"Sully," Robin commanded, "how did rogues get this far? I thought there were perimeter guards every fifty meters extending out from the castle in any given direction."
"Oh, I can assure you there were," the man laughed, "an army has a way of causing trouble, though, you know."
"Army?" Robin scoffed, "What army?"
"This one," the blue-haired man raised his arm. A chorus of voices chanted in unison behind him. Robin strained his eyes to see an ocean of soldiers in a rainbow of clothing over the hillside.
"How did no one see these men approaching?!" the former tactician snarled in Sully's general direction.
"Hell if I know!" she barked back.
"Oh, it's not your fault. Even the greatest tactician can't be prepared for every little circumstance, can he?" mocked the blue-haired man.
"Enough with the irritating bravado," Robin rolled his eyes, "who are you? Are you with the assailants who struck Ylisse two days ago?"
"Yes and no," the man opposite them recounted, "We share a similar means to our individual ends, and that's about it. As for me..." The blue-haired man produced a silver axe from his side and lifted it onto his shoulder, "Mine name is Arc. Folks have taken to calling me the 'Tenebrous Hero.'"
Robin sighed, "You damn mercenaries and your bloody nicknames... What will it take to get you to leave, Arc?"
"A couple more corpses and a job well done, I should think," Arc nodded.
"That's what I was afraid of," Robin sighed, producing a sword from within his cloak.
"Robin, the hell do you think you're doin'?" Sully reprimanded, "You can hardly walk!"
"I don't need to walk, I need to fight," the former tactician acknowledged, setting his stance.
"Ha!" the Tenebrous Hero smiled, "Shame I've gotta kill you. You seem like my kinda guy."
"Yes, I've seen your sort before," Robin smirked, "Leader, big hero to all his men, revered by them all... I'm sure there are plenty of men who are 'your kinda guy.'"
"Cute," growled Arc, "now let's hear you say that when I split your skull in half." He leapt forward into a mighty swing with the axe that Robin only narrowly managed to dodge. The former tactician responded by bringing his knee into his adversary's face, causing him to double back. Irritated, the blue-haired mercenary threw a punch that landed squarely in Robin's ribs, knocking him to the ground. He stood with some difficulty and charged at Arc with his blade. Their weapons met in a spark of steel and they pushed on one another with all their force. Realizing his disadvantage, Robin broke the standstill and spun to lacerate his foe's side. No luck, he dropped the axe low to block the strike. Robin felt a pull on his shoulder and he was tossed back, further receiving a kick that knocked him to the ground once more. "Tch," Arc scoffed over the fallen tactician, "There's no real fight in you. Archers! Open fire!"
As he gave the command, only a single arrow fell, and it landed at the Tenebrous Hero's own feet.
"The hell?" he whipped his head around.
"Damn," sighed the redheaded girl, "Well, I never claimed to be an expert archer." She looked to the blue-haired man, "Oh, incidentally, I killed your archer buddies. Bad placement, so obvious."
"You little bitch!" he swung his axe toward her, but the girl leapt out of the way.
"Watch your mouth," growled a voice from behind. Arc turned his head just in time for the bridge of his nose to have a crimson swath cut across it by Robin's blade.
"Oh, to hell with this," he backed up, rubbing the sensation on his nose, "All units, attack!" Robin's eyes narrowed as the ocean of troops began to move. Arc seized the moment of surprise to grab the former tactician and toss him into his daughter, and then to flee, rejoining his men.
"Damn," Robin cursed, picking himself up, "Sully, we need to get out of here!"
"Get on, ya jackass!" she offered her hand to Robin and the redheaded girl. Sully's horse reared and tore off as the tide of soldiers slammed into the castle gates.
After several minutes of rough riding that felt more like hours, the group fell into a small limestone cavern tucked away on the side of the hill upon which the castle stood.
"Dammit," Robin cursed, "dammit."
"Pissin' griffons, I think I mighta broke my damn leg," Sully complained.
"What the hell did you even do back there?!" Robin growled.
"Made sure your dumb ass made it here, that's what!" she barked back.
"And you were gonna be my escort! Yeah right!" Robin threw his hands up, coughing.
"Robin! Isn't there someone a little more important you might wanna talk to?" Sully suggested, maintaining her harsh tone.
Robin looked over to his side, finding Morgan sitting up, her eyes half-open, pushing her hair back behind her shoulders and out of her face. His eyes widened as they met hers. "Morgan... you're... alive."
"And well enough, I suppose," she nodded.
"You shouldn't have come for me," he sighed.
"Is that really the first thing you want to say to me?" she inquired, lowering her brow at her father.
"Yes," he replied curtly.
"I don't mean to break up the family drama, but there's the matter of the goddamn castle falling under attack to attend to!" Sully noted.
"I know that!" Robin leered coldly at her, "You were the one who suggested we speak in the first place!"
"Well, we've spoken," Morgan watched her father.
"We have," he acknowledged without sympathy.
"So just what in the hell do we do now?" Sully demanded.
Robin exhaled, "I... I don't know. I don't know, and I'm tired."
Morgan pulled a skin of water from her belt and offered it to her father's lips.
[...]
"Show's cancelled," sighed the boy in the salmon-colored cloak, lamenting the openness of the cobblestone street.
"No mystery as to why," replied his companion, wearing a matching periwinkle ensemble.
"Shall I go get my bows and my blade?" inquired the boy excitedly.
"Not yet. Don't get to revved up, we've gotta wait for Steve," reasoned the girl, sighing at her companion's impatience.
"Man, Steve's always slowin' us down. It's like that guy doesn't have any concept of hurry within him. Seriously, the world could be ending and he'd still be walking," griped the boy, "I can't stand waitin' around for him all the time."
"It's called patience, Leo, and I've found that a measured approach making use of it generally serves a lot better than running headlong into danger like you seem to relish," corrected a silver-haired man as he drew up on the pair.
"Aw, can it, Steve! Like you know anything," grumbled the boy.
"I'm ten years older than you, Leo, so, yes, I'd like to think I know a thing or two," the silver-haired man folded his arms.
"Boys, boys, will you ever get over fighting amongst yourselves?" chided the girl, "We've got business, haven't we?"
"Sylvia's right," the silver-haired man nodded, "we should start figuring out how we're going to make this happen."
"'We,'" the boy scoffed mockingly, "Everyone knows it's gonna be Sylvie an' me leading the charge and you hanging to the back, like always, Steve."
"I thought I told you to call me 'Steven,'" insisted the man with the silver hair, "didn't I, Lee-Lee?"
"I oughta box your ears," the boy rolled up his sleeves.
"Boys, today!" Sylvia demanded, putting hands on both of their chests to hold them back.