Chapter 4
Chrom pushed himself up from the grayed floors of the prison. The unbearable stench of sulfur and iron-like blood flooded his nostrils and caused him to clutch his temple as he was gripped by a headache. When the pain seemed to pass, he wiped his forehead, then his eyes, and looked ahead.
Standing across from him was a youth, bearing purple hair that was mounded into a sort of ball on his head, though the mass was parted distinctly and cleanly to reveal the forehead beneath, forming a convex crop of amethyst that projected in front of his face. This youth also sported a smattering of mauve stubble along his jaw, which seemed unusually tense and wrinkled, given his age. A pair of burgundy eyes stared into Chrom's as the youth gave a sort of nod to his head that must have been a signal, as Chrom heard a pair of footsteps leaving.
"Exalt Chrom," acknowledged the youth, "are you well?"
"Not particularly," Chrom grunted, able only to rise to his knees.
"I apologize. My associate was unduly confrontational," declared the youth earnestly, "It's so hard to find good help, you know?"
"Mock me all you like," the exalt growled, "by now my capture has already been discovered and the executioners will be hauling you away before the sun rises tomorrow."
"Unlikely," resented the youth, "but, all the same, you misunderstand me, sir. I mean not to mock you. I wish to consult you."
"'Consult' me?" repeated Chrom with interest.
The youth nodded, "My nation... she'll need a proper leader, and I look to you principally for guidance. Your miraculous use of the sword garnered Ylisse political impunity during the course of your rule."
"My rule has yet to end," Chrom strained, "but, in any case, I did not choose to make use of the sword, it was thrust into my hand."
The youth raised his violet eyebrow, "You mean it is inaccurate to say that you incited war with Plegia by striking down a guard during a hostage negotiation-"
"He was going to murder my sister," Chrom growled.
"-and striking at he Valmese when the made landfall in Port Ferox?"
"They intended to dominate the entire continent. I would never allow an enemy onto my homeland, given the choice," reasoned the exalt.
"Ah, but there's the term: choice," resolved the youth enigmatically, "You did have the option to avoid these conflicts."
"But making such a choice would have undeniably negative repercussions for my countrymen!" argued the exalt with a cough.
"And that is why you feel war was forced upon you?" pressed the purple-haired youth. Chrom paused to consider, then nodded. The youth shut his eyes and laughed lowly, "We are of a like mind, Exalt Chrom. You will be more than helpful in guiding my nation to its deserved future."
"What nation is it of which you speak?" Chrom wondered.
"She goes by many names sir," sighed the youth, "Men live and die to give her the names she retains and loses, but they always change... Ylisse, Ferox, Valm, Plegia, Altea, Begnion, Daein, Renais, Frelia, Gallia, Caelin, Pherae, Ostia... Oh, how trifling it all is.. they are all one and the same, are they not?"
"No," Chrom rejected flatly, "each is a unique land with its own culture and people."
"Like every other supposed nation," the youth rolled his eyes, "On this point, let us agree to disagree, Exalt Chrom."
"Why is it you've imprisoned me, if all you desired was an advisor?" the exalt posed, lapsing back into a seated position.
The youth shook his head, "I am not so naïve as to believe you would willingly be party to Ylisse's destruction. You would be her most dogged defender, thus my subterfuge. Cowardly, you might say, but to win a war such as this, I must throw such archaic relics as honor away for strategic superiority. Such is often the case among the underdogs of revolution, no?"
"Is that what you think this is?" Chrom gritted his teeth, ready to lash out.
"It is what I know it to be," the youth nodded. Before Chrom could protest, he called, "Guards, give the exalt some water and see to his wounds. I'm finished with our parley."
[...]
Robin sat up, rubbing his spine as it cracked from the motion. He grimaced and sighed, rubbing his eyes. A chill ran through the air and forced him to huddle his arms to his chest momentarily as the cold oppressed him. Shutting his eyes, the former tactician allowed a sigh and ran a hand through his hair indelicately, shoving apart more than a few tousled locks. His cheeks tensed and arms throbbed as he pushed further into his seated posture. A stabbing in his elbows, a weariness along the length of his humerus, and a quiet sense of dread rebelled against the man as he rose. Like a mallet on a wall up the road, a dull sound echoed in the back on the man's head and beat the edge of his skull. He licked his teeth as they vibrated in disharmony.
The cave they had ducked into was cold and moist, and Robin frowned on feeling the sensation of his soaked clothes and dampened skin adding another ten pounds to his every inch of motion. He groaned, cracking his knuckles and flexing his wrists, his legs altogether refusing to cooperate in the ordeal. With a final breath, the tactician heard his neck also jolt in irritation as his eyes met those of his daughter, who seemed to have been staring for some time. "Good morning," he covered hoarsely, emptying a sizable portion of his lungs.
The red-haired girl murmured in acknowledgement, then stroked her hair behind her head. She fussed a moment with the bag that sat in front of her, eventually producing a scrap of bread that she wolfed down with vigor. She looked back up and over at her father, "Oh, er... Hungry?"
His stomach twisted and tensed, yearning. "No, thank you," he breathed without addressing her.
"Suit yourself," she shrugged, downing another piece.
"Hell's bells," Sully griped, pushing herself up, "I slept like a sack'a crap. How 'bout you two?"
"My back's pretty stiff," Morgan answered, proving it by pushing on her back until it cracked.
"I'm fine," Robin denied, shaking his head. His eyes willed themselves shut another moment before he regained control. Morgan stared at him intently. Rather than complain, Robin decided it best to pull himself up and out of the craggy prison and to step outside to see what had befallen their surroundings following the attack. It was no surprise: the Ylisseans had been slaughtered, what little of them remained at the time. The fields already ran red with blood, which had now settled into a muddy maroon, and weapons, pieces of armor, and not to mention the odd body part, were strewn about like the results of some occultists' festival. The castle was unable to be viewed from Robin's angle, the inside most especially, but the former tactician had some reasonable assumptions. The smug mercenary Arc would be sitting on the exalt's throne, sipping mead from his personal chalice and laughing among his most adored men, getting drunk before midday on the sweet aubade of victory. Robin retreated into the cave, sulking unwittingly.
"So," he breathed, seating himself between the redheaded pair, "we need a plan of attack."
"Attack?" Sully cocked an eyebrow, "You're kiddin', right? Those goons'll run us through before we can say 'run!'"
"I'm aware," Robin rolled his eyes, "that's why it's not the castle we need to strike at."
"No? Then what's your target?" Sully continued.
"The suspicion was that the ships that carried the first attackers flew Valmese colors, right?" recalled the former tactician.
"Definitely," Morgan supplied, "I saw some with my own eyes."
"Then I can think of only one hope for checking this advance," surmised Robin.
"Oh hell no," the redheaded knight protested, "there is no way I'm walking into Valm on a wild goose chase tryin' to break up an invasion! That's gotta be the worst plan you've ever had!"
"Actually, I think he might be right," Morgan observed, "such a massive occupation might mean a drain on their domestic forces. If we cause a big enough stir for them back home, we might be able to coerce them into retreating."
"My thoughts exactly," Robin nodded.
"And what about Chrom and Lucy, not to mention Stahl and the other Shepherds?" Sully scratched her head impolitely.
"Find them and bring them along. Morgan and I will keep in contact," Robin decided, standing.
"You want me to just ride around occupied territory 'till I find 'em?" the knight growled.
"If you can't do it, I'll happen upon some other knight who's got the stones to save his country," the former tactician coughed.
"That's a low blow," she jabbed a finger into his chest, "I'll go, but it's on your head if I get into trouble."
"It always has been," he shrugged. Tempted to make another comment, but persuaded otherwise, Sully marched out of the cave, calling to her horse.
"Just me and you to Valm, eh?" Morgan piped up, "You must have a lot of confidence in me."
"And you me if you're going to go along with it," nodded the former tactician.
"Don't get me wrong," she put a hand out, "as a strategist, I still trust you."
"That's all I need," he accepted tersely.
"Now," the redheaded woman swept her hair back, "if Sully's got our only horse, how are we going to get around?"
"You've got feet for a reason," grunted Robin, walking out of the cave.
"Wha-? You want to walk all the way there?" she called after him.
"No, but does it look like we have a choice?" he sighed.
"I'm already becoming disenchanted with this plan," Morgan complained, following suit.
[...]
"Sir," saluted a guard formally from the end of the room.
"Yes? What is it?" begged the purple-haired youth."
"News from Ylisse, sir," explained the guard.
"So soon?" he reclined in his seat, "This is unexpected. Well, out with it."
"Sir Arc has claimed the castle at Ylisstol by all reports, sir. He stormed it with a crowd of men just a few days ago, and already they hold a firm occupation. Neighboring territories dare not move against him," described the guard, following a bow.
"What?" the youth crushed the glass of wine in his hand in surprise. He grimaced as the shards of it scraped his hand and the liquid dropped to the floor, "That imbecile... he was told to wait until I handed down my orders."
"As if that thickheaded buffoon could he trusted to obey anyone," scoffed the woman at his side, "He'll just sit there stroking his ego 'till you pat him on the head for a job well done, my lord."
"Would that I might have chosen a less rebellious partner," frowned the youth.
"Chide yourself not, sir," insisted the woman, "this was Arc's doing, not yours."
"He's under my employ," frowned the youth, "blame falls to me."
"An honorable stance, but you mustn't let it consume you," she advised.
"Sage counsel as always, Dahlia," acknowledged the youth, "You, messenger!"
"Sire?"
"Inform Sir Arc that if he wishes to continue making use of my resources and having his head upon his shoulders, he will not target any additional civilian institutions unless so ordered," commanded the young man.
"Arc you dreadful fool..." lamented a man with green hair, "Just who do you think you are? Conceited bastard probably thinks he owns this operation."
[...]
"Well, thanks for your help, guys," Stahl breathed, finally sitting up.
"Don't sweat it, Mean Green, we're happy to help," bowed the thief, un-wedging the lollipop from his mouth.
"Yes, it was quite kind of you to dispel those vagabonds, but I wish you hadn't let such harm come to you," perpetuated the noblewoman.
"I'm just glad to have been able to keep you safe," the green-haired knight proclaimed, sitting up, "though, I do have it in mind to ask you a small favor..."
"Well, if Chrom is asking so kindly, how can a member of his court possibly say no?" Maribelle touted with a smirk.
"How did you know?" Stahl wondered.
"Really, dear, why else would you be here?" Maribelle leered at the knight, who nodded at her, embarrassed.
"You can count me out, I think," declared Gaius, throwing a gummy bear into his mouth.
"What's the matter?" Stahl pressed.
"Look, I wanna help you guys, sure, but I gotta family to look after now, and I don't need another war to risk my life in. My neck's been on the chopping block too long for me," the thief contended.
"I see," the knight's eyes fell, "Well, I suppose I can't force you."
"But I can," Maribelle folded her arms and leered at her husband, "What is this tripe? Would you really have your lovely wife fight alone?"
"You know that's not what I mean," he scowled.
"I don't see anything that contradicts it," she tapped her foot.
Gaius rolled his eyes, "Fine, you got me, let's just get this over with. If I die, though, you have to bury me in melted chocolate."
Maribelle's eyes narrowed, "The purpose of some of your desires still greatly eludes me, Gaius."
"Chrom'll be really happy to see you guys along," Stahl's disposition brightened.
The group proceeded out the doors of the small house and prepared to set out for their next destination when they were halted abruptly by the THIUNK of an arrow puncturing the ground by their feet.
"No sudden moves, Shepherds," grunted a voice over their shoulders. A tall man swung a blade around behind them and had a pair of archers just behind him train their bows on the non-wounded members of Stahl's party, "Just stand still, and we'll bind you up and have you brought back to Lord Datura. He'll promote me for sure! Ha!"
"And if we refuse?" Stahl challenged, his glare showing he was unafraid of the thug.
An arrow planted itself in Stahl's thigh, earning a grunt of pain. "I've got more troops," the man touted, twirling his blade more. "Let's see..." he began, "send the lady first."
"Not today!" called a defiant voice. At once, an arrow was lodged into the speaking man's eye, causing him to fall onto his back in horror and anguish.
"The hell?" called out one of the archers. He jumped as a sword protruded from his abdomen.
Another trained his bow, but couldn't manage to steady his arm. He collapsed in a pool of the blood that drained from his neck, a throwing knife squarely there inserted.
A figure finally emerged from the shadows, wearing a bright red hood that covered and obscured his face. Another pair of archers took aim and fired on him, but he leapt out of their path and returned fire at double time. The air rang quiet as all the assailants were felled.
"That was some performance," complimented Stahl, offering his hand
The figure did not take it, "I did that which was necessary."
"Well, thank you," Stahl bowed, "Say, we're banding together a group to fight-"
"Stahl!" called Gaius, "You don't wanna do that."
"It would appear my reputation precedes me for your friend," the man smirked beneath his red hood.
"Gaius, please," Stahl insisted, "I'll make the call."
"Don't," dissuaded the figure, "I wouldn't be able to join you, regardless, I've my own affairs. I certainly didn't come to save you."
"Then what did you come for?" Stahl pressed.
"To protect someone I do care about saving," surmised the figure enigmatically.
"Still," Stahl began. Too late: the figure had dropped a cloud of smoke and vanished.
"What was that all about?" the knight scratched his head.
"You really don't know who that is?" asked Gaius with incredulity.
"No idea," Stahl admitted.
Gaius sighed, "You noble folk really need to get out more. That man was the 'Crimson Hood.' He was around during the Valmese war, acting as an independent, apparently. There's been tell he killed a total of anywhere between a hundred and a thousand troops by himself. One story I heard even says he nicked ol' Lobster Boy on the schnoz while picking apart one of his patrols."
"He sounds perfect," Stahl folded his arms.
"There are just as many stories of him ripping apart the dynasts when they got too close and even gutting some Ylisseans. He doesn't strike me as a guy with a great sense of camraderie," the thief noted.
"Right..." Stahl nodded in perceptible disbelief, "well, all the same, we should get moving."
"Right behind you, Mean Green," the thief whistled.
[...]
"Master," introduced a young mercenary. Arc beckoned him forward.
"News, son?" he guessed.
"A warning, sir, and a reprimand from Master Nihilus. He asks you to no longer antagonize civilian institutions," reported the young man.
"Is that right? Well, why does he bother making such a meaningless demand?" scoffed the Tenebrous Hero, "He can no more hold me back than he can the wind with his bare hand. I don't act for myself, I bend to the will of my men, and they thirst for battle, blood, and bullion. You can tell him that."
"Hear, hear!" cheered a mercenary.
"Lord Arc is always on our side!" agreed another.
"I will report as much," bowed the young man. He stared nervously as a gathered crowd of mercenaries eyed him unscrupulously. "Might I ask that you tell your men to kindly allow me through?" pleaded the man.
"No more than I might make the same demand of the wind," chuckled Arc. In a moment, the group of mercenaries had jumped onto the man and had begun tearing him apart.
[...]
The man with the leaf-green hair twirled his blade a moment, gauging the item playfully in his hand.
"Sometime today, Cyrus?" called his "attendant." He smirked. The man had been brought along to rein him in to ensure he didn't simply execute the clueless mercenary on the spot. Of course, he wouldn't dream of killing either Arc or his "attendant," unless Nihilus bid him do so. Nihilus was why he got to have so much fun, after all, and he would die before disappointing his new boss.
Before the attendant could distract the swordsman again, something caught his eye: a red ponytail bobbed on the horizon.