Lissa stared at the stone wall with fatigue, an illness creeping in the pit of her stomach. She grabbed her wrists gently and pulled her sleeves back a bit, finishing by tugging the ties in her hair until they were good and tight. She sat back, extending her hands to the floor to support her and sighed aloud.
A repetitive clicking droned away at her side. Having changed her perspective, Lissa's ears adjusted so she could hear the sound again, and she turned her head to face its source.
A snap sounded. "Aw, tarnation," complained the man with the pot on his head, "This ain't never gonna do it." The broken spoon fell from his hand.
"I appreciate that you're trying, Donny, but we need a real plan," the princess recommended in a whisper.
"I'm sorry," he moped, "I just thought that woulda worked a bit better, Miss Lissa."
She smiled at the familiar quirk, "Donny, you don't have to use honorifics with your wife."
"I just can't helps it," he admitted, "Yer my queen, and I'm yer humble subject, is all."
"Do you think you could nab that guard if we tried?" Lissa indicated a man who currently had his back to the pair through the iron bars.
"Boy could I," his brow creased in anger, "I'd whip that nasty polecat in a Ferox minute if I could just get my hands near 'em." To emphasize the point, Donnel reached his arm out of the bars and swiped a few times with the full extent of his arm, just barely missing the boot of the man before them.
"Knock that off," the guard scolded, kicking the purple-haired man back.
"Well..." Lissa reclined into another sigh, unable to prevent herself from folding her arms and pouting, "This is no good. There has to be a way out of here..."
A clattering came from the hallway, causing all heads in the room, including that of the guard to perk up in its direction. "Just leave me alone!" cried a panicked voice as another soldier tumbled into the room, his shield tossed aside.
"Out of my way, vagrant!" boomed an extravagant voice, "None shall imprison the peerless mother and father of the great Owain Dark!" A cry and a cough shot across the hall.
The guard in front of Donnel and Lissa's cell ground his feet into the floor, taking proper hold of his lance. "Watch out!" taunted a set of red eyes, "I got sharp, pointy teeth!" The guard lost his composure as the taguel pounced on him, the sound of flesh crunching as it was bitten rising over the cell. Lissa looked aside. A flash of light ended the affair, as the pair looked back upon Yarne wiping his forehead with his arm, "Yuck. I hate having to do that."
"Yarne?" Lissa pulled up to the bars with glee.
"Yeah," the taguel nodded, "I'm fine, thanks for asking."
"Can ya git us outta this here cell?" Donnel implored, rattling the bars.
"Sure," Yarne shrugged, "I just risked death getting in here, but I'll free you without so much as a 'thanks.'"
"Yarne, what's the hold-up?" Owain wondered as he stepped into the chamber.
"Owain, darling!" Lissa pressed her face to the bars.
"Yer okay!" her husband contributed.
"Begone, craven rodent!" Owain brushed the taguel aside and pulled a keyring from the collapsed guard. After a few tries, the young man found the right key and heard the door clang as it unlocked. His parents bounded out and enveloped him in an embrace, his mother nearly suffocating him.
"They went through here," described an outside voice, alongside a thunder of footsteps.
"Don't let me die!" Yarne transformed again and bounded out the cell's door.
"Will you be all right, my mother and father? Or do you require the assistance of your impeccable son-"
"Git along now!" Donnel encouraged his son from the door, waving his arm as Lissa passed him by.
"No appreciation for drama in this family," Owain scowled, following suit.
The group shoved past the castle walls as the thundering of soldiers' footsteps drew closer upon them. Reaching a door, the taguel at front smashed through it, the remaining family speeding into the threshold and Owain tipping a pile of crates to cover their tracks behind them. They continued running, pounding their legs as they broke out into the grass, not daring to stop.
"What the hell's the matter with you lot?" demanded a vicious growl from within the castle.
The blockaded soldiers whipped their heads around to face their daunting commander. "The, uh, prisoners got away, sir. A boy and some kinda killer rabbit jumped us," one explained.
"Got away?" the Tenebrous Hero repeated, looking down the bridge of his nose at the man.
"Yessir," he nodded, "b-but... Um, I mean, they couldn't have gotten far... If we hurry, we can still catch 'em..."
The man stroked back his indigo hair and stared at the barred door. He took a few more paces over to a window and stared out at the horizon, finding no trace of the escapees. "No," Arc shook his head, "there's no need. Just a powerless girl and her hick of a husband. Plus..." The Tenebrous Hero shifted his feet forward and strode intimidatingly up to the same young man who had spoken. "If you go, then I won't have any justification for doing," he reached his hand out, "this."
The young man squirmed, kicked, and pled in the grasp of the indigo-haired man, pushing the arm with all of his might. The remaining men sat in silence as a crack echoed across the castle hallways. Their eyes followed the back of the Tenebrous Hero as he walked out of the room, letting the body fall to the floor.
[...]
"So, it's a no-go," reported a dissatisfied Owain, staring apologetically at his mother.
Lissa's bottom lip belied her frustration, "Well, that's not a good sign. Lon'qu was always willing to help us. What changed?"
"I don't think it's him," Owain nodded, "he said it was the East-Khan that was giving him trouble."
"And who's the current East-Khan?" Lissa put a finger to her cheek.
"Um..." Owain paused, "Shouldn't you know that?"
"I was thinking!" she called back defensively. "I don't think we've ever met," Lissa was racking her brain, "When Flavia stepped down... who was it?"
"It's not worth discussing," determined a man's voice. A glimmer of silver hair shone in the firelight, "The man you're thinking of, no one has met him, not just you."
"Steven?" the princess recognized as the young man stepped into view.
"I'm pleased to see you unharmed, Princess Lissa," he bowed.
"You know you needn't be so formal with me," the blonde reminded, "your father and I were good friends."
"Just showing the proper respects," the young man bowed.
"So nobody's ever seen this East-Khan feller?" the sable-haired man piped up.
Steven shook his head, "He was installed as East-Khan as a demand of the people. They threatened revolution if Lon'qu denied their man the position."
"Might he have some reason to resent helping Ylisse?" Lissa compounded.
"That I don't know," the silver-haired man sighed, "he's quite the enigma."
"Sounds like we should head for Regna Ferox and get some answers," Lissa determined.
"You have your brother's conviction, my lady," Steven chuckled amicably, "but the mercenaries still prowl many of the borders. It will be difficult to get by."
"Then what does yon passionless orator suppose we do?" Owain challenged, "Naught but death awaits us in our sojourn here."
"That's why I said 'difficult' and not 'impossible,'" the silver-haired youth leered at the swordsman, "Princess Lissa, Prince Donnel, if you would be willing to wear disguises, I believe I can smuggle you over the border as clergy. From what I've seen, even these flagless dastards don't cut down innocent priests and clerics.
"Does the gentleman of silvery esteem forget his most valuable asset?" Owain thumbed at himself.
"You'll just need to act like our guard, Owain," Steven nodded at him.
"Then we have a plan," Lissa picked herself up.
"It may he advisable to rest," the silver-haired man cautioned.
"We're going," Lissa insisted, stretching her legs.
[...]
Morgan hesitated, staring at the massive wooden structure. It shifted and swayed with the breeze, eliciting a few churning noises. Eventually she called up onto the decks, "I didn't know you owned a boat, father."
The former tactician leapt over one of the ornately carved metal sidings and let a rope carry him to the dock, "There's a lot you might not know about me. One is that I like the sea." Robin winked at his daughter, "And she's not a boat. She's a ship."
"It's the same thing, isn't it?" Morgan stared at the vessel perplexedly.
"She," Robin emphasized, "is a 'ship.' That's like saying there's no difference between ground beef and filet." Morgan shrugged in exasperation, "Anyhow, the good ship Starling and her captain will get us to Valm in no time at all."
"Who's its captain?" Morgan examined the ship's deck for another body. Her father only grinned at her. "Oh, hells," she rolled her eyes. "Do you care to tell me why you kept this bo- ship moored in Regna Ferox, rather than nearer by in Ylisse?"
"Ylisse had no ports big enough to handle the old girl when she was built," the former tactician explained, examining the ship with pride, "I never really needed her before today, aside from the occasional sabbatical."
"Please, sir," implored a nearby voice, "to Ylisse. Name your price."
"Ain't goin' there, no way, no how," grunted the seaman.
"I know that voice," Morgan recognized. "Hey Inigo!" she jumped and waved.
The boy with the sapphire hair glanced up at the ruckus, "I'll be damned." He hurried over and embraced the redheaded girl, "Morgan, my darling! It's been too long! How are you?"
"You know me," she waved her hand, "getting by. You were supposed to come visit me." She tapped a finger on the young man's nose.
"I know, but I was sent on a diplomatic mission. I haven't had time to write," he apologized, "It's heartening to see you again, my dear."
"You too," she breathed, staring into his eyes. They jolted into a kiss.
Robin cleared his throat loudly and rubbed the underside of his chin.
"Oh!" the redhead jumped back, "Um, of course you remember my father, Inigo."
The boy nodded deferentially, "How could I forget? He's around the castle so much he might as well be my uncle. I suppose I have to settle for father-in-law."
"Well met, son," the former tactician saluted tersely.
"Now, what brings your lovely self to Regna Ferox?" Inigo wondered.
"Have you heard that Ylisse is under attack?" Morgan looked into his eyes gravely.
His face soured, "I had heard rumors. May I take it for truth, then?"
Morgan nodded somberly, "But we're going to fight back. The attackers were Valmese, so we're going to cause some trouble in Valm and bring the troops scrambling back home. Care to join us?" Robin cocked an eyebrow.
"Alas, I don't believe I can," the man with the sapphire hair reported, "My mother and father will be looking for me, I should think."
"Your father's already been dispatched from the castle, along with your sister," Robin explained, stepping forward, "Your mother, your aunt and uncle, as well as your cousin were also all... forced to evacuate. I know nothing of their current whereabouts."
Inigo's eyes flashed, and then he shrugged, "I suppose I'm not needed then, am I?" All right. If it's only to be closer to my darling, I'll accompany you."
"Oh, wonderful," the thief embraced him.
"Great," Robin rolled his eyes, "Help me lower the mains."
Inigo and Morgan shared a glance.
"The main sails," Robin elaborated with a scowl, "We need to get moving."
"Oh, right away," the prince hastened up the gangplank.
"Morgan," her father called, chewing on a bit of rope, "turn that crank and get the anchor up."
"Yes, sir," she droned.
"We're aboard a ship," Robin smirked, the proper response to an order is 'Aye, captain.'"
"I'd rather gouge my eyes out, captain," she resisted.
"You were more fun when you were younger," he laughed, fixing the wheel of the ship into place as she sauntered on deck. As the anchor slowly lifted from the water, the ship began to drift forward.
"Full sail," ordered the captain at his helm, "we'll need to hurry." Inigo looked at him expectantly and scratched his head.
"Just untie 'em all, son," Robin pointed at the various ropes that lashed the remaining sails to the vessel. The breeze picked up as the cloth ballooned to full size on release. The Starling groaned a bit before shredding the seas before her as she slid forward. "Steady as she goes," Robin murmured, mostly to himself, adjusting the wheel to strike out of the harbor.
Morgan and Inigo drifted next to one another in front of the crew quarters, just below the helm where Robin hummed a bit. "This 'diplomatic mission...' What was it that was so important as to keep you away from me?" she held her finger to her chin.
"A meeting with the new East-Khan of Regna Ferox. No one's seen him since he was installed," the prince noted.
"Hum," Morgan mulled the knowledge over, "so what was this mysterious man like?"
Inigo paused, furrowing his brow, "Quiet. A bit too quiet to be as popular as he seems to be in so boisterous a land as Regna Ferox. I struggled to get so much as a full sentence out of him, and yet the people draft entire dissertations in his defense. It's odd. I didn't even get a name, come to think of it."
"If we had more time, I should like to see him for myself," the redhead mused.
"Eyes front," the Starling's captain called out measuredly, "Looks like there might be a storm out in front of us."
[...]
The door was already hanging open as Stahl approached it. He glanced to each side to ensure he wasn't falling into a trap and tenuously knocked on the door's frame. He was relieved to see Miriel peek out, unharmed.
"Miriel. Good to see you're all right. I guess I can count on you to take care of yourself after all," the paladin chuckled.
"I thank you for your backhanded and possibly sarcastic expression of relief," she stroked her hair back, "but my survival, I must confess, is not as a result of my own endeavors."
"Don't bother, Miriel," groaned a man's voice, "they'll never recognize me."
"Kellam? You are here!" Stahl's face brightened still further, "then the captain of Ylisse's royal guard is still alive."
"For now, it would appear," the knight sighed, "but at great cost."
That shifted the verdant knight's countenance downward, "What cost is that?"
"The castle, Ylisstol has been overrun. I'm led to believe everyone else inside was captured, including Lissa and Olivia."
"What?!" Stahl gritted his teeth, "W-Well... we have to do something about that!"
"I agree," the knight nodded, "but I found my options pretty limited until you showed up."
"Right," the paladin clenched his fist in determination, "as you can see, I've got a few of the former Shepherds in tow. We were going to get everyone back together, but I think new information will mean that task is on hold."
"So we'll strike the castle with you?" Kellam elaborated.
"If you would," Stahl nodded.
"This offensive may be altogether an overzealous undertaking for our rather meager compendium of available personnel, however my preexisting knowledge concerning the capabilities of those here assembled reinforces my certainty in the likelihood of our success to an acceptable degree," Miriel pushed her glasses up.
"Glad to hear it. Let's not waste time," Stahl hurried to mount back upon his horse and spurred it to action. From here to Ylisstol would be something of a ride, but they had to get to the castle immediately.
"Hey, Twinkles, can I catch a ride on your steed over there?" Gaius groaned, "It's been nothing but walking all this time, and I could use a little custard break."
"Heavens' sakes, Gaius, hurry up," his wife sighed, shifting over.
"Thanks, baby," he breathed, wasting no time."
[...]
"Oof!" Chrom heard, accompanied by a loud thud. The exalt picked his head up from the stone floor, eyes dancing with spots of color from his less than comfortable nap. He wiped his face and stroked a lock of hair off of his forehead before his eyes focused in on the pink-haired woman across from him.
"Olivia!" he jumped, the recognition suddenly registering with his mind.
"Chrom!" tears hung in her eyes. She buried her face in her husband's lap as they sat together.
"I hope that you now see that I am not a monster, Exalt Chrom," mused a familiar voice. The purple-haired youth from before took his place before the small prison, "I had one of my own agents smuggle her out to be brought to you. You should be glad: Arc doesn't have the most... erm, flattering reputation in regards to female prisoners." The exalt only stared coldly at his captor, "But you see I am not capricious, and not without reason, but that I giveth and I taketh away."
Olivia shuddered, staring pensively at the man. Chrom held her more tightly, "I suppose you'll try once more to convert me to your insanity?"
"I can do no less," the youth shrugged, smiling.
"You won't change my mind, ever. Ylisse will oppose you, exalt or no," Chrom shook his head.
"Stubbornness," sighed the young man, "some say pride is the greatest folly of man, others avarice or gluttony, but they're all wrong. Ardency, that's what's brought most rulers to their knees. A sad, trifling character flaw. I suppose the irony of it is what makes their fall poetic."
"Cease your mad raving. I'll hear none of it," the exalt swatted his hand at the young man.
"W-What do you want?" Olivia's voice quivered from within her husband's breast.
"I want men to be free," the young man smiled at the rose-haired queen.
"Don't bother, my love," Chrom requested, "he's nothing but vague platitudes, unchecked ambition, and an exaggerated ego."
"Who are you?" his wife swallowed.
"How nice of someone to finally ask," the youth grinned broadly, then leered insinuatingly at the exalt. He breathed, "My name is Nihilus."
"Nihilus. So you are the fool who thinks he can tread the path of the Conqueror?" Chrom spat, "You're not half the man Walhart was."
The young man shook his head indignantly, "I should think not. Perhaps Walhart was strong and honorable, yes, but he was ultimately a fool. He failed to recognize that breaking the backs of his foes was not enough. Killing without an effort to maintain order wins one nothing."
Chrom rolled his eyes and looked away from the young man. He whispered to his wife, "How fare you, my dear? Have they hurt you?"
"No," she breathed, checking herself to be sure, "but the castle... I saw it being overrun. I don't know what's become of Lissa or anyone else who was there."
"Arc's doing," frowned the purple-haired youth, "I had no intention of moving against you this soon, but that man can no more be trusted to follow orders than can a toddler."
"And this... 'Arc,'" Chrom cocked an eyebrow, "he is your subordinate?"
"Unfortunately," the young man rubbed his neck.
"One unruly general leading your offensive... That's not much of a strategy," scoffed the exalt.
"No, but the rest of my men follow orders and, as a result, aren't yet in place. That one unruly general's behavior has forced me to change my plans, and involve the other five," he emphasized the final word, staring a challenging glare into the resilient eyes of the exalt.
"Other five," Chrom endeavored to keep his voice strong, "Who are they?"
A smile crept along the youth's jaw, "Now, I can't reveal all my secrets... but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give you their names. They've taken up the mantle 'The Six Degrees,' or so my men have decided they are to be called. You've already heard a bit about the Tenebrous Hero, Arc. There is also, however, the Silver Soldier, Argent, the Twisted Sage, Datura, the Long Shadow, Vlasis, and the members of my personal detail, the Twin Blades: the Storm Blade, Cyrus, and the Rose Blade, Dahlia. Remember them well."
"I never will understand arrogant warriors and their obsessions with nicknames," Chrom shook his head.
"They don't take them by choice, these are names given to them by those whose favor they win," the purple-haired youth shrugged.
"Right then," Nihilus breathed, "guards, would you be so kind as to remove Exalt Chrom? I'd like a moment with his wife." Chrom's head jolted up, but before he could raise a finger in retaliation, his hand was caught and he was dragged away, kicking and gnashing his teeth to either side, threateningly close to the guards' faces.
"Nihilus! If you put so much as one hair out of place on her, you can bet I'll forego all personal safety to see you rent to shreds!" the exalt called as he was dragged away.
"Not to worry," the young man glanced down at the queen, "I had no such reprehensible thoughts. You seem a much more understanding individual than does your husband, milady."
"P-Please... whatever you're thinking... don't..." she wilted.
He closed his eyes firmly, "Don't concern yourself with it. All I want is a bit of conversation."
"Conversation?" she repeated hesitantly.
"Yes," he smiled softly, "I believe I heard Chrom say your name was Olivia, correct? Where were you born, Olivia?"
[...]
The man scratched his head as the capital shined in the sunlight on the horizon, "Fantastic. You've proven an excellent guide, milady."
"Right," she nodded skeptically, "If you're headed that way, I believe this is where our paths must part."
The man with the leaf-green hair nodded at his traveling companion silently. He stared at her as she tapped her foot a moment, then cleared her throat. "Oh!" he laughed, "Of course. Give this dear lady her payment." The attendant responded immediately and hefted several sacks of coins, dropping them by Anna's feet.
"That'll do," she surmised, a smile flickering in her eyes as she glanced down.
"What did you say your name was, milady?" requested the man.
"I didn't," she folded her arms, "but I suppose you can call me Anna."
"Well met," he bowed his head, "should our paths ever cross again, I am called Cyrus."
"Cyrus," Anna leered at the man, "what's your business in Ylisstol?"
"I'm to relay a message from my employer to the blue-haired man who occupies the castle," Cyrus replied with a sly grin. Anna shrugged. "I hope you find your husband well, my dear," he added, rearing his horse.
The pair sped off into the horizon, leaving the redheaded merchant to sigh and roll her eyes as she lifted the bags of cash onto her back and prepared for the long, cold march home. At least Robin would be waiting for her. That thought warmed her heart. She could see his tense face now, glistening with that silvery facial hair that already stood to make him appear as a wizened old sage. His jaw would crease up into a smile, and his warm, melting, brown eyes would convey a welcome that required no words. He would drop onto the small, but comfortable sofa they had lined up before the fireplace and she would sit with him. Of course, she would have to tell him the news, and they would have to find Morgan, but just for one moment, she could feel the heat of the fire on her body and the warmth of her husband's breast pressed against her face as she held him. That sensation, she sighed, was all that would keep her going through these miles of dreaded snow. The house-she swore she could see it from her current position, despite its distance-glowed in a warm, peachy aura as the blue-black of icy evening enveloped the rest of the world behind and around her.