The leaves rustled softly over the caress of the wind. Morgan pulled her shirt tighter against herself. Light shimmered gold and filtered through the blanket of bright green leaves that served as the forest's canopy.
"It's so pretty around here," the girl in the baby blue cloak remarked, twirling in stride. She grinned happily.
Morgan glanced over at her older sister. They had seen each other on the road on only the most spurious of occasions, and she looked much different then when last Morgan saw her. They were nearly the same height, in fact, Morgan was pleased to believe that she actually exceeded her sister's height by about an inch. She still wore her naturally curly, chestnut-colored hair in that silly style, most of it bunched up on her head or hanging past her shoulders, save for those two bangs that hung by her ears. Inevitably, one would always droop over her face in a moment of carelessness, but she had kept it that way since they had been no older than ten. When she was younger, Morgan had adored the little argyle pattern that was on Sylvia's favorite undershirt, but now she found it tacky, which, of course, only encouraged her older sister to wear it more often. Then there was the cloak, baby blue or periwinkle, Morgan could never decide, the same color as the cloth she had been swaddled in as a babe, or so Sylvia had told her. Steven had refused to ever confirm or deny the notion. Still, Morgan couldn't argue that it complimented her sister, as well as her black trousers and boots, meant to be ignored so the audience could focus on the brighter parts, as the young performer had once explained. If there was one thing the redhead was jealous of about her sister, however, it was her eyes: They shimmered an ocean-blue, and made Sylvia's smiles radiant and her tears moving. She had a show-woman's face, that much was certain, and her fair complexion didn't hurt the matter.
"Uh, help you with something, Morgie?" her sister chuckled, now staring back.
"It's just been a while," Morgan covered, "I think I'm taller than you now."
"Yeah, right, Squirt," she moved to tousle Morgan's hair, but the redhead sidestepped her.
"Don't even think about it," she warned.
"If it wasn't so long, you wouldn't have to worry," her sister shrugged.
"I don't, ordinarily," Morgan sighed, "but I just had it fixed up a little."
"When did you do that?" Robin coughed, sidling up between them.
"Inigo's picked up a few other talents over the years," his youngest daughter declared simply.
"I only solicit my services to the most discerning of customers, however," the prince made his presence known, grabbing his wife's shoulder.
"Right," the older man sneered, "the less I hear about your husband's 'talents,' the better." Morgan groaned.
"I forgot I never gave you guys a proper wedding gift," the girl with the blue cloak realized, finger to her chin, "How's about I make a flock of doves appear?"
"Depends: will they be doves, or rabid crows, like last time?" her sister rolled her eyes.
"Easy mistake," Sylvia waved her hand, "I was having an 'off' day, is all. Sheesh, all it takes is one slip with you."
"I think I've given you plenty of chances," the redhead argued.
Sylvia prepared to respond when she felt a palm catch her chest and hold her back. "Did anyone else see that?" their father asked.
"Yes, a bird," Inigo blocked the sun from his eyes, "Your doing, Sylvia?"
"No way, I don't even have the feathers for that spell yet," she denied.
"That sounds more like dark magic, Sylvie," Morgan realized.
"Well, a girl's gotta broaden her horizons sometime, right? I mean-"
"Girls," Robin declared over them, "focus, please. Are we sure that was a bird?"
"I'm here, too, you know," the prince protested.
"I don't retract my statement," he breathed, "Now, did anyone else see this bird?"
"Yeah," Morgan nodded, "It looked like a big hawk."
"Hmm..." a smirk appeared on their father's lips, "Apex predators out of the gate, eh? A respectful opponent, if nothing else."
"Now what are you mumbling to yourself about, daddy?" Sylvia grinned at him.
"Nothing," he sighed, "how far is this town you talked about?"
"Oh, Gestalt is only another few miles. Shouldn't take more than an hour," she predicted, scanning the horizon.
"We'll need to ascertain the names of local leadership once we get there, assuming you haven't led us on a wild goose chase, Sylvia," he glanced down at his daughter, projecting a corporate tone.
"Oh ye of little faith," she giggled, "You'll see, daddy, I just don't like to show off my hand."
A hawk and a crow landed on opposite branches of one another in the canopy of trees high above and preened their feathers before squawking at each other.
In high contrast to the stand-offish nature of the Valmese port town, the townsfolk of Gestalt were decidedly more receptive to their visitors. No sooner had the small group entered the town and extended a greeting to a farmer working a few miles out of town than were they offered an opportunity to stay in the town's in and petitioned for a meal at a bistro that boasted itself the best in all of Lieben. Robin graciously accepted both offers, and with a short walk, the group were all seated in the selfsame bistro.
Robin picked up a glass of water and drank from it greedily, more than a little parched from the journey, "So... you say this dynasty is called 'Lieben,' Sylvia?"
"That's right. You traveled with Duke Virion of Rosanne, didn't you? Lieben is Rosanne's westerly neighbor," the girl reported, impatiently awaiting some tea she had requested. She tapped her fingers on the table idly, "They used to go to war constantly, but the people have grown out of it. They're more like friendly rivals now."
"Herr Gentleman's order," a large man grunted as he sat a plate down in front of Robin, adorning it with a steaming hunk of meat.
"My thanks," Robin nodded at him, "Mind if I ask you a question?"
"By all means," the man bowed.
"This dynasty, Lieben," the former tactician began, "Who runs it? Who is your lord?"
"Lord?" the man screwed his face up, then laughed, "Ah, you're talking about General Argent. He's the highest-up in Lieben, but he's nobody's 'lord.' Fellow keeps to himself, and his people are better for it, not like the nosy nobles of other nations."
"And has General Argent reigned for a long time?" Robin pressed.
"Oh, yeah," the man folded his arms and nodded, "Every man and woman in Lieben can trace their history back at least five generations, but that man... His family history is as long as the world itself. It's been said he's a descendant of Camus the Sable himself."
"Camus the Sable?" Morgan repeated, slurping up a spoonful of soup.
"He was a knight of unparalleled valor and strength who fought against the Hero-King at one time," Inigo recited, recalling his required historical lessons, "but how he would have ever ended up in Valm is beyond me."
"It's just a legend," the man shrugged, "I'm not saying it's true. General Argent sure fights like an ox, though, and that's why Lieben's been at peace so long."
"That's right," Robin declared, finishing another swig of water, "I remember hearing about the problems with Lieben's stability during the Valmese campaign."
"Yup," their server grunted, "Used to be tough around here, all of our 'leaders' were just opportunists, in it for the money and recognition, but with no real capacity for leadership. It all changed when Argent took over, during the fight to kick out Walhart, though."
"Hey, that's good news, isn't it?" Sylvia suggested, "If this guy was against Walhart, maybe he'll be a bit more receptive to you."
"Maybe, but I wouldn't be too sure," Robin cautioned, taking a bite of his food, "Best-case scenario is that I get to speak to him, and I find out where these soldiers that attacked Ylisse are coming from."
"He sounds like an okay guy," Morgan shrugged in acquiescence.
"Any idea how we could go about speaking to General Argent?" Robin asked the large man serving them.
He tilted his head, "Well, the castle town is about five hours' march to the northwest of here, but I can't guarantee you'll get to see him."
"That will do, thank you," Robin saw him off.
"Robin," Inigo got his attention, "Do you think we should speak to Virion while we're around? We might need some serious aid to take down our adversaries."
Robin nodded, "A fair point, but we still don't know where our adversaries are, and I'd like to get a better idea on that point before we start considering requisite force. I don't want to lose our opportunity to speak to this General Argent."
"But what if-" Inigo's thought was interrupted as a thunderous noise shook the building. Robin stood gingerly and hurried out of the door, accompanied shortly by his daughters and son-in-law to discover its source.
"Ah-ha! Robin, it is most pleasant to see you again! I had heard you were in the neighborhood!" a gallant shock of steel-blue hair leapt down from the wings of a menacing black wyvern.
[...]
He rubbed his hands over his cheeks. They felt coarse and chapped. Of course, he had been crying. He rubbed his eyes as his head hung low.
The people moved past him in silence, milling around and doing their best to aver their eyes. It was what they always did. So long as they pretended he didn't exist, they could go about their normal lives without any trace of guilt. He had moved into the alleys, to avoid having to see them, too. They disgusted him.
His stomach growled. He tried to fight the pain, but he was beyond the point of ignoring the sensation. Muscles in his chest tightened as his stomach ached again. It had been three days since he had eaten last, and he could already feel himself beginning to waste away on the cold street. It hurt to move.
The same thoughts buzzed around constantly in his mind: I feel sick. I want to go home. I'm tired. I miss my family. They were all the same impossibilities he had visited and revisited every moment since landing on the streets. He had seen these feelings in the eyes of street orphans while accompanying his parents through town often enough, but had never felt the full weight of their implication until this particular day, where they clouded his mind like an impenetrable smog that suffocated him and held him down in his state of helplessness, gasping for air.
There was a small sound of tapping on the street. The boy picked his head up: a half-eaten apple had fallen to the ground before him. He leered to each side to see if the gift had been some sort of trap, then gently held his hand out. He screeched and jumped back as a rat suddenly leapt onto the morsel and began gnawing at it. "G-Go away," he told it in a weak voice, waving his hand vaguely over the food. The rat ignored him. "I... I want that," he informed the rodent in the same tone, reaching for the apple again. The creature squeaked at him viciously, smelling his hand. A few of the rodent's kin emerged from the street and began to take their turn as well, causing the boy to be jolted back again in frustration. He sat and frowned as the small grey beasts nibbled away his only source of nutrition. "Leave, all of you," he commanded, swiping his arm over them. The crowd of rats glanced up at the threat and went back to chewing. "I said... go away!" the boy summoned his courage and thrust out his hand, seizing the fruit.
A rat clung to the item and bit his finger as he pulled it up. "Ow!" the boy shook his hand, trying to fling the creature off, but still it held. "Go!" he insisted, grabbing the rodent and throwing it away. The others began to scale the boy's collapsed form, trailing up his arm to the apple again. "Get off!" he told them, shaking his arm wildly. He pushed himself up to distance himself from the ravenous beasts and took a bite of the fruit, what little of it remained, as they swarmed at his feet. His brow knit in anger. "Go away!" he shouted with more conviction, stomping his foot blindly. A panicked shriek arose from the crowd of rodents, paired with a crunching sound, and the small horde scattered. The boy glanced down to see what had been the source of the disturbance. Beneath his foot, there lay the crumpled cadaver of one of the rats, a bone sticking improperly out of its abdomen, and a tiny puddle of red blood spilling out. One of its eyes was shut and the other was bulging out of the side of its head. Some of its grimy fur was matted to the ground, and some to the boy's boot. Unable to restrain himself, the boy vomitted at the sight and dropped the apple, falling to the ground again and sobbing into his open palms. "I'm sorry..." he pleaded to the rat, "I didn't mean to, really, I just... I wanted the apple, and you wouldn't go away..." He wiped his mouth clean and averted his eyes, too fatigued to move again.
"Hey, kid," the boy picked his head up to the sound of a voice. A girl with messy black hair that seemed to have been haphazardly cut short of her shoulders and a face caked with dirt kneeled before him, "Are you okay?"
"I'm hungry," he moaned weakly, closing his eyes.
"Everybody on the streets is," she nodded, sidling a bit closer. She waited for him to continue, but he only heaved quietly, his head bobbing as he lamented his situation. The girl sighed, offering a palmful of tiny sapphire spheres, "Here, there's a nice lady who gives me some blueberries every other day."
The boy only leered up at her in reply.
"Come on," she encouraged, "I've got no reason to hurt you. Just take them before I change my mind."
With that, the boy ignored his reason's objection and took the berries, scarfing them down hungrily. He wiped his mouth of the juices and looked back up to his visitor, "Thank you."
"Sure, kid," she mused, sitting down. "So, your parents abandon you too?"
He scowled, "No! They didn't abandon me! They were taken!"
"That's what they all say," she breathed, "trust me, kid, as much as you want to believe it, if you're out here, your parents weren't exactly kicking and screaming about leaving you."
He pushed himself up to stand, "I watched them! The soldiers...!" The boy sank back to his knees, forced to recall the moment. He instinctually touched the spot on his cheek where the blood had splashed. "The soldiers..." he repeated uselessly in a more sober voice.
"Oh, so you're one of those," the girl nodded with comprehension, "that's funny, they don't usually leave any of them alive."
"One of what?" the purple-haired boy demanded.
"I dunno," she shrugged, "the creepy people with the weird clothes that the Conqueror has been slaughtering."
"I'm not creepy," the boy defended, "My clothes aren't weird."
"Whatever you say," she dismissed, "Hey, you want some more food?" The boy nodded hastily. She elaborated, "We can get a whole store of oranges at this one market if we're really careful." It didn't take much convincing; the boy nodded again and the girl took him by the wrist down a few alleyways and across a few gray streets until they found the warm pinkish stone and colored tapestry roofs that meant they had reached a marketplace. The boy lifted his head abd tasted the air. "Now," the girl announced, "we just have to sneak over there when the merchant leaves and we'll have it all to ourselves." She glanced around the area before ordering, "Go hide over there."
The boy crouched behind a stack of crates and swatted away a group of flies as he got into position as instructed. The girl clambered quietly past him underneath a tarp and began to inch toward the stall on her stomach. As she drew closer, the boy noticed the merchant scratch his neck and yawn, then step out of the way, keeping his eye on the stall until he had rounded a corner that obscured his line of sight.
"Too easy," the girl chuckled in the boy's direction as she licked her lips.
The boy wanted to answer, but suddenly felt a chill as his thoughts became hazy. His stomach tightened, as his vision clouded acutely, the cleared to show the girl reaching out from her spot to grab the sides of the basket that contained the succulent prize. No sooner did she place her small palms on the wood, however, than did a voice cry out, "Hey, you!" The girl leapt as a guard marched toward her. She tried to scramble out of the way, but was caught by her dirtied foot and worn-out boot. "Little rat," spat the armored man who had caught her, "Why don't I go see what the other guards will make of you, eh?" The girl kicked and screamed as she was dragged away by her tousled black hair. The boy wanted to cry for a moment, but then his vision clouded again, and, at once, the girl was a few paces away from the stall, where she had been moments before.
The purple-haired boy had a plethora of questions, but his first reaction was to whisper a shout to his new companion: "Don't!"
She froze and looked up, then frowned at him, "What? I'm not going to miss this chance just because you're having second thoughts!"
The boy was still dumbfounded as he watched the same guard he had seen a moment ago enter the area. He gestured toward the man with his thumb. The girl noticed and ducked her head down.
"Damn," the man grunted as his armor shifted, "I thought one might be that stupid. We'll get 'em next time." He disappeared as quickly as he had emerged and was replaced by the returning merchant, whom the girl scrambled to avoid once more. When they were rejoined, they left the marketplace.
"That was too close," the girl breathed, "How did you know he was coming?"
"I don't know," the boy murmured, "I just saw him there... and you... and..."
She furrowed her brow at him, then shrugged, "Well, however you did it, I'm sure glad you were there. How do you feel about coming with me?"
"With... you?" the boy stared absently.
"Yeah. We can go places together, and I'll keep you safe and fed, so long as you keep... er, doing whatever you did back there," she elaborated. The boy wasn't sure it he could replicate the action, but he supposed this chance was one-time-only and shook the girl's small hand when she offered it. He was pleasantly surprised to note that it felt soft.
[...]
"Sire?" he was awakened. The watery blue eyes stared back at him. He was all at once warm and drenched in his own sweat.
"Another fever?" he realized by the state of his dress. She had taken him back to bed and stripped off his shirt.
"A particularly bad one, sir," she reported, her eyes expressing the concern that her voice circumlocuted.
"You were worried?" he said with a half-dose of sarcasm.
"No, sir," she lied, "I know you can hold your own with this ailment. I only believed you would prefer immediate company upon your awakening. I meant no disrespect."
"Nor did I infer any," he eased her fears, sitting up more properly, "Your dedication to me is venerable, Dahlia."
"No, sir," the rose-haired woman refused, "I only came to your aid as any proper subservient would her own superior."
"Dahlia," he held his hand up and raised his voice, then softened it, "thank you. Will you get me a glass of water and a new shirt?"
"Right away," she nodded.
"And get someone to change out these linens for tonight. They're filthy," the man noted with additional distaste.
"Sir," she bowed again.
"Lord Nihilus, sir," a man wandered into the room, "I've grave news."
A flickering ember growled in the eyes of the man with the amethyst hair, "What is it?"
"Lord Arc lies dead. Ylisstol is back in Ylissean hands," replied the messenger.
"I see," he breathed disaffectedly, "Perhaps this is punishment for his recklessness, or for mine. In any case, thank you, lad, but has Lady Dahlia informed you of the rules of this chamber?"
"Sir?" he cocked an eyebrow.
"Lord Nihilus does not permit anyone other than myself or Lord Cyrus to seek him out in this bedchamber," Dahlia recounted coldly, "Forgive me for failing to uphold the responsibilities inherent within this privilege, sir."
"I'll find a suitable penalty," the man grunted, "for now, please see to it sensitive information not unnecessarily distributed to the public."
"Yes sir," she acknowledged. The messenger did not have time to gasp as the cold sting of metal pierced his lung.
[...]
"Brr…" the princess shuddered, shriveling into her shawl, "I hate the cold."
"Only a bit further now, milady," the silver-haired man smiled genially.
"I shall furnish whichever of mine noble vestments you would desire, o mother," Owain nodded to her.
"Thanks, Owain, but I'll be fine. Let's just hurry inside," she encouraged.
"Yarne? Ya been awful quiet since we got out here," her husband noted, glancing at the taguel.
"What?" he jumped, "Uh… sorry, I guess my mind was on other stuff."
"Aren't you at least pleased to be rejoining your mother and father?" Steven wondered, pulling his cloak more tightly as the wind whipped up.
"O-Of course," he shivered, "I just don't feel so good, is all." The silver-haired man shrugged and turned his eyes back to the road ahead. It was only a few more minutes of walking through the crunching, deafening blanket of snow before the party eventually reached the gates of the East-Khan's palace. Steven began to push the door open and was joined quickly by Owain, who flexed boldly as he stepped forward.
"Skrimir's Might!" he declared as he gave the door a shove. It budged only slightly forward. Steven rolled his eyes and continued opening the large stone edifice until the path was clear. The guests sidled up in to meet their hosts.
"Lissa, Donnel," Khan Lon'qu acknowledged first, "It's been too long. Nice to see the both of you again."
"Likewise, Lon'qu," Lissa smiled.
"Have you forgotten the visage of the most formidable warrior to have ever graced these halls?" Owain pushed himself ahead of the group.
"I would never forget Khan Basilio," the west-khan glanced down his nose at the boy, "But there is one here whose name eludes my recollection."
Steven nodded with a clinical smile and unbuttoned his cloak to let his chest breathe, "Indeed, that's no surprise, Sir West-Khan."
"Lon'qu, please," the khan held his hand up, "I haven't earned the title of khan yet, and I do not care for excess formality."
"As you wish, Sir Lon'qu," the young man nodded. Lon'qu sighed. "Likely my face is unfamiliar to you because the last time you bore witness to it was a bit shy of twenty years ago, when this face still belonged to a bright-eyed little boy."
His eyes widened as he was reminded, "Ah, yes, the silver-haired boy… Robin and Anna's oldest, correct?"
He nodded and produced the same clinical smile, "I am called Steven, sire, and your deduction is correct."
The khan stroked his chin lazily before leaning on his shoulder, "Your father… what's become of him? I hear these are tumultuous times for Ylisse."
"Quite," the young man nodded with more than a hint of irony, "On the issue of my father's location, however, I can provide no information that you would find useful. I do apologize."
"Hey, weren't you even surprised we came, Lon'qu?" Lissa noted with her finger to her chin.
"News travels fast these days," he shrugged, "that, and…"
"I travel even faster," coughed the mature, silken voice of a certain taguel.
"I did what you asked, mom," Yarne nodded to her.
"So I see," she reported, "Well done, my son. You may retire, if that is your wish."
"And you must be Lady Panne, Last Mother of the Taguel," reported Steven as he scanned her face.
"You smell of your father's musty airs, man-spawn," she grunted at him, "Like my mate, I do not care for these titles the humans place upon me."
"Still, I am humbled by your presence, Lady Panne. All who fought alongside my father have my sincerest respect," he bowed.
"I assume you Ylisseans are not present for some sort of ball," the taguel supposed.
"Correct," Steven stroked a lock of hair out of his face.
"We need a place to stay; Ylisstol was overrun," Lissa finished.
Lon'qu's eyes tensed, "Truly? Things are worse than I had feared. Of course, you are welcome to remain in the palace until these circumstances can be properly dealt with."
"Much obliged, Lon'qu!" Donnel cheered.
"My attendant can show you to some spare rooms," the khan offered with a sweep of his arms, summoning a gruff-looking man. The group began to filter out of the throne room, with the exception of Steven, who lingered until they were all out of earshot.
"Do you desire something further?" the khan wondered.
"It's troubling," the young man muttered more to himself after a moment, his chin resting on his fist, "I've heard some news about the new east-khan."
"All of it good, I'm sure," grunted the khan regnant.
"That's just it," Steven still appeared to be talking to himself, "It's a bit... too good. Call me skeptical, but a boy of that age making so efficacious and altruistic in such a barbarous-if you'll excuse the term-land such as Regna Ferox makes me more than a trifle suspicious."
Lon'qu bowed his head, "I cannot disagree... I have had similar considerations, but I can do precious little. Any attempt at espionage would likely be taken as treason."
Steven stroked his chin until a small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and his eyes warmed, "But say a misguided Ylissean insurgent was trying to gather information..."
Lon'qu shook his head, "Inadvisable. The east has stepped up guard against these sorts of things. Besides, if you were discovered... the Feroxi aren't very forgiving to foreign spies. With Raimi at the chopping block..."
"I thank you for your concern, but I've made up my mind," the silver-haired man's fists balled up, "At any rate, you don't get to where I am without knowing how to gather some information in secret."
"I hope you understand this isn't an offense I can pardon you for if you slip up; it'll destroy any trust the public has in the old system," the khan regnant continued.
The young man cracked his knuckles, "I have it under control. Fret not for me, Khan Lon'qu. After all, saving political careers is essentially my job."
Lon'qu reclined in his throne and smiled, "You're your father's son, no doubt."
[...]
"Uh, mom? You been staring out that window for at least an hour now. Aren't your legs tired?" the young man stroked back his auburn hair.
"Your mother's just... relieved, dear," she explained, a hint of the dried tears on her face still evident in her voice, "I just needed to think for a minute."
"Got any thoughts you want to share with me?" he suggested.
She smiled back at her son and pecked his cheek, "I want to see your dad as soon as I can. That's what I'm thinking."
He smiled meekly, "Yeah, I kinda figured."
"Will you leave with me tomorrow?" she wondered at once.
"Tomorrow? Uh... you don't wanna take a little extra time to rest?" he rubbed his neck.
"No. I'm going to see your father as soon as is physically possible. No exceptions," she said with firmness in her eyes.
He sighed, "Ah, all right. Just take it easy, okay? I'll do all the heavy lifting."
"Sure thing. Get some rest, sweetie," she instructed. He assented with a nod and walked out, shutting the door softly behind him.
"Robin," she whispered wistfully to the starry sky, "I'll see you again soon, okay? Don't cash out on me just yet."
[...]
Sylvia glanced up. Her father was no longer drinking his tea. "Hey, you awake over there, papa?"
He started, his eyes slightly widening, "Sorry, I suppose my mind was wandering. Are you finished?"
"Sure, let's get moving," she smiled, pushing up out of her chair. He did the same and softly patted her back. "I'm sure she misses you too, daddy," she leaned into his side.
[AN: Terribly sorry for the late update, folks. I've had a few developments in my personal life that have affected my schedule, not the least of which was starting at college. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this new chapter, and I hope I can manage to get the next one out a little sooner! Thanks for reading, and please leave a review, if you'd be so kind! I'd sure appreciate it!]