In spite of everything, I manage to get a decent night's sleep. By the time I wake up, the other Pastukhs are going about their usual morning business. Thankfully, it's Stahl's turn to make breakfast, so our new guest's first meal with the Pastukhs should be a good one.

"How'd last night go?" Vaike asks me as I start digging into my bacon and eggs. He's the closest friend I've got outside my family; always there to lend a hand or hear me out. I toss my head lightly in Nikita's direction, swallow my current mouthful of food, and respond "Fairly quiet, except for her. Found her in the southern markets, getting attacked by some thugs. Her name's Nikita."

He grimaces. Vaike's no stranger to the rough streets of Ylisstol - he was born and bred there - but he picks up what I'm implying and he doesn't like it. "Jesus. How's she holding up?"

"She's getting better, but she doesn't remember where she's from or much of who she is. I was going to let her stay here until we can find somewhere safe for her."

He nods, easy-going as always. "Anything I can do to help, Chrom?"

I shrug. "Try and make her feel welcome, I guess. Just dial down on the usual Vaike charm." He chuckles softly at my last jab, then gets up and walks over, and I tune out as he introduces himself as "the Vaike". Some things never change. Stahl comes in with another plate of food for Nikita, apologizing for the delay.

I take my plate back into the kitchen, where our favourite cook is busy stacking dishes for the others to clean later; the cook never cleans up, after all. "Have you seen Sully today, Stahl?" I ask, adding my dish to the ever-growing pile.

"Not yet, captain," he replies. "There was a dispute at the airport first thing this morning, something about an asylum claim getting complicated, and since you and Fred were dead on your feet she had seniority."

I frown. Ylisse has been taking in asylum seekers for the last few months now, ever since the US signed a non-aggression pact with China after the Diaoyu debacle. It's not so much a war as an expansion; South-East Asia's rolling over quietly, but Japan and Australia haven't given up even without the world's former superpower on the playing field. Everywhere east of Turkey is too scared of China's retaliation to accept refugees; everywhere west of there is making too much money off their agreements with the new world leader.

Oh, other countries will take desperate Japanese and Australian runaways, sure, but only Ylisse is willing to honour our UN obligations to refugees. I shudder, remembering the pictures of the 'work camps' in Russia Emmeryn showed me. These people need our help; this is beyond political games.

"Ugh. Do you know where she is now? Frederick, Lissa and I need to see Emmeryn, and I need her in charge while we're gone - and I need to tell her about Nikita." Lissa and I have semi-regular meetings with our sister, depending on how chaotic either of our schedules are; it's unfortunate timing for Nikita, but I really do want to see Emm again.

"Nikita's the new girl you picked up, right? Vaike can fill her in when she gets back. She's driving back now, so it won't be long; I can keep everything in order until she's here."

"Alright. Do me a favour and make sure nobody bothers her. She's hardly in the best state right now." I turn to leave, before casting a glance back over my shoulder. "Thanks, Stahl. Keep up the good work."

He smiles in return. "Any time, captain."

0o0o0

Lissa and I pile into the car again, Frederick tapping impatiently at the steering wheel. The last I saw of Nikita, she was being tended to by Maribelle, so she should get some peace and quiet away from Vaike's boisterousness. Once we're in, he opens the electronic gates and slides the car out with practiced ease.

Ylisse's streets aren't crowded. Petrol prices have skyrocketed after the Straits of Malacca became a warzone, so being able to run a car is an unaffordable luxury for most. There's a handful of pedestrians making their way around and we pass a few cyclists, but apart from that, we're alone on the road.

Then, about halfway to the palace, the wheels burst and a quartet of Range Rovers scream around the corner. Lissa screams and ducks into the space in front of her while I throw myself flat over the back seat. Frederick skids in a semi-circle, head down and scrabbling for the pistol at his waist. I hear gunfire, hopefully shots fired into the air to scare off any civilians.

This isn't my first brush with the Mafia but I hope to God it isn't my last. Glass shatters somewhere. Lissa is still screaming. I look out the window for a moment; men have started getting out of the SUVs, revolvers and pistols in hand. Frederick loads his own gun, but I'm not stupid; we're not going to be able to fight our way out of this.

Their leader's more flamboyantly dressed than the others, all cufflinks and gold. It's a sharp contrast with the bastard child of an AK-47 he's holding, Ylisse's own Naginata assault rifle. He smiles, showing off some more ornamentation in his mouth. I duck back down immediately, but I know he's spotted me. He starts yelling so that we can hear him despite the ringing in our ears. "Prince Chrom!" he begins mockingly, "Surrender now and you might just keep your head!"

Frederick turns to face me, desperation in his eyes for the first time in what feels like forever. All his other firepower is in the boot, disregarding the fact there's a dozen of them, no matter if they're just hired goons. Emmeryn would do anything to get me and Lissa back. "Surrender or die" is a lose-lose situation.

"We're quite open to negotiation, little prince, but we don't have all day! Get out here!"

An impossibly loud, impossibly distant crack echoes through the street. There's a thump of someone falling over, and when their boss speaks, it's with an utterly shocked tone. "A sniper?" he shouts, and there's a mixture of panicked muttering and boots hitting bitumen before he yells "Get back here, you mongrels!"

A second shot rings out. Another thump. I cautiously poke my head up, and the Range Rovers are squealing away; self-preservation wins out, it seems, once their leader's dead. There's no guarantee the sniper is friendly, but after a few seconds of silence, I nod to Frederick, and he opens the door, stepping outside, pistol at the ready.

I sit up and lean over to tap Lissa on the shoulder. Her uneven breathing slows and calms as she realises we're safe, and she turns to hug me fiercely. "That was too close," she whispers.

"I know," I whisper back. I'm at a loss for words; once again I wish Emmeryn was here so she could comfort her younger sister.

"It's safe," Frederick calls out, and we unceremoniously crawl out of the car, trying not to look at or think about the dead men in the street. A door swings open creakily, and Frederick spins faster than I've ever seen him move, gun at the ready.

Sully walks out of a nearby building, next to a foreign-looking stranger with a bolt-action rifle slung across his back. The redheaded Pastukh lazily salutes as she approaches.

Frederick sighs, lowers his pistol, and asks "What, exactly, happened here, Sully?"

She glances at our saviour before answering. "This damn genius wanted to bring that" she points to the gun "into Ylisse, and Customs got snippy. I told 'em if we can't handle some fucking yank with a rifle, how could we beat back these goddamn gangs?" Gesturing vaguely at the corpses, she grunts. "Then I got a SMS from one of our moles saying they were going after you, captain, and this idiot wanted to come with. Didn't want to drag a civvy into it, but looks like it worked out."

"Worked out?" he says in an offended tone, and I'm immediately surprised an Australian refugee would know any Ylissean. "The prince'd be dead without me, sweetheart." Turning to face me, he bows with just a touch of facetiousness. "Virion, at your service; the sharpest of snipers, the-" Then something clicks over in his head and he swings back sharply to Sully. "Did you just call me a yank?"

"Australian, American, who the fuck gives a shit, Ruffles, you're all rich assholes who speak English."

"Yes, English, the language I'm so clearly relying on right now," he drawls sarcastically. "I never thought I'd learn more Ylissean swears from such a lovely woman than my own grandfather taught me, let alone in a single morning."

"Stop with the flattery before I flatten your face, Ruffles."

I bury my face in one hand. "Can we focus on the fact that a dozen men just tried to kill me and Lissa?" I state in a forced calm. Virion immediately shuts up, halfway through some witty retort, while Sully grunts again. "Yes, Captain."

"Do you think we're compromised, Frederick? Or did they just get lucky?" I ask.

He frowns thoughtfully in response, before finally saying "I can't say for certain, sir, but I don't think so. We're close enough to the palace for them to expect us to come past here, and we've been using this car for several months now. The only person of any suspicion is Nikita, but she couldn't have contacted anyone in such a short time - I don't believe we even told her where we were going."

I sigh, taking a moment to check the wheels of our vehicle. They're shot to hell, probably during that initial burst that sent us diving for cover. "Right. Sully, I still need to see Emmeryn. Get your car. Virion's with us until further notice. We can discuss the rest later." Sully salutes sharply, jogging off to wherever she parked her car, while Virion pulls his rifle off his back and starts cleaning it up.

He's paler than the Australian image I have in my head, and lanky too. His hair's a silver-grey all the way to the roots - premature aging, perhaps? And he's wearing a cravat of all things - that must be where the 'Ruffles' nickname came from. "So, Virion," I begin, and he looks up coolly from his weapon, "Your grandfather taught you Ylissean?"

He smirks a little. "He emigrated from here to Australia, and he didn't want us to lose our roots. Looks like it paid off, eh?"

I don't reply to that, just examining his weapon of choice. I'm no expert, but it's clearly designed for sniping, with a stocky bipod and a massive scope. Virion grins as I take in the black beauty. "A genuine Blaser Tactical 2," he drawls in an exaggerated Australian accent. His grin disappears as something shifts in his eyes, suddenly full of melancholy. "It's all I really have left of home."

"Your family didn't get visas?" I ask sympathetically. He shakes his head, looking down at the gun again.

"My parents wouldn't go; they wouldn't 'abandon the country they loved'. My sister," his breath hitches, "she signed up with the army. God, I still can't believe that." He puts his rifle back on his back as Sully pulls up in her sedan, and suddenly the insufferably smug flirt that must have given her fits at the airport is back. "Back for more, sweetheart?"

She decks him almost casually. "Shut up, Ruffles." Then she turns to me. "I'd say you should have the front seat, Captain, but I don't wanna leave a lech like him in the back seat with Lissa."

"Not even with Frederick between them?" I counter, and she blinks, considering it. "Then again, I don't think Fred will fit into the middle seat."

Lissa's patching up Virion's now-misshapen nose, light-heartedly scolding him. "Be thankful it isn't broken." He feebly protests that he's not a pervert, but none of us are listening.

Sully wrinkles her nose at the scene. "I'm not putting him in the front," she scowls. "Even if we don't crash I'll break his neck anyway."

While we're arguing, Lissa cheerily opens the front side door and sits down, giving us a mischievous smile when we finally realise she's made up our minds for us. Chuckling, the rest of us get in with no particular rhyme or reason, and we make our way to the palace to see Emmeryn again.

0o0o0

Virion's not allowed into the palace, unsurprisingly, so Sully volunteers to make sure he doesn't wander off and get himself in trouble. Frederick escorts us to our sister, royal guards keeping a watchful eye on us at all times.

We enter the guest room where Emmeryn receives us - she has plenty of gaudy areas for official dignitaries and the like, but for us it's more personal and private. She's waiting there, serene and regal as ever. Her robes of office are spotless, the tattoo of Exaltation on her forehead exposed by her hair pulled to either side, and she has the kindest smile of anyone I've ever seen on her face.

"Chrom, Lissa," she says gently. "How wonderful to see you again."

"It's good to see you too, sister," I reply.

"Emm!" Lissa's response is a fair bit more energetic, and she launches herself into a tactical hug strike that the Most Exalted receives with open arms. "I'm so glad you're safe!"

Emm's eyes don't harden - I think she's physically incapable of that - but even the absence of kindness in them is painful. "Chrom?"

I sigh. Better to admit it now, I suppose. "We were…ambushed on the way here, Emm. The Mafia wanted to take me hostage. Sully stopped them, though." And a refugee with a sniper rifle, I add mentally. Not a sentence I ever expected to use.

"Chrom, I know you mean well, but this is why I do not want you involved with the Pastukhs," she replies, stress creeping into her voice. "You are enough of a target as my brother, let alone leader of a vigilante group."

"Emm, the people need me," I say, with more steel than I really need in my voice. "What good am I signing papers and attending galas while criminals steal from, murder and rape our citizens?" I see Nikita's terrified face in my mind, her shallow breathing, the anguish in her eyes. "What good am I if I'm not there for them when they need me?" I end hollowly, staring at my feet.

She embraces me, and I quietly accept the gesture, eyes closed so I don't weep all over her expensive carpet. "I know, Chrom," she whispers, and I can tell she's thinking of our father. "I'm sorry." I wipe my eyes clear as we break apart, and she smiles softly.

"Why don't we talk about something more pleasant. Lissa, how is your friend Maribelle doing?"

0o0o0

Our meeting went peacefully enough after that. As we exit the royal palace, Sully grumbles at the three of us about Virion's various misadventures in the nearby marketplace. He didn't break anything or shoot anyone, though, so I consider it a victory.

Sully drives us back to the Pastukhs' base. Frederick's already arranged for our other car to be towed away and repaired, along with a paint job and a new licence plate. The bodies are gone, too, but even Virion is silenced by the grim red streaks left where they died. I don't think even the rain will wash that away.

We return to a base in remarkable order, given that Stahl had to hold the fort for nearly an entire day. It's ironic, but the trained negotiator is usually utterly incapable of stopping the others from trying to kill each other. Lissa runs past him, panickedly muttering something about Maribelle, while Frederick squeezes between us, silently making his way towards the lounge room. Stahl grins tiredly at me as I walk in, offering something vaguely resembling a salute. "Welcome back, captain."

"Good to see you, Stahl. How is everyone?"

"Maribelle's been in a state ever since Lissa sent her a text message about the attack. Vaike thinks you must have punched someone so hard their heart exploded, and Sumia dropped by with some take-away for dinner."

He frowns as Sully and Virion walk in. "Who the heck is that, Sully?"

She gives him a flat look. "You're a fucking shitty swearer, Stahl. This is Virion. He's from Australia."

"Oh!" Stahl exclaims, switching to English. "Hello, uh, Virion. Nice to meet you."

The sniper waves him off. "No need, Stahl; I'm fluent. Nice to meet you, though."

"Huh, okay. What brings you here?"

The cold stare he gets in return chills me to the bone. Stahl just glances away. "I meant to the Pastukhs, not to Ylisse. That's, uh, yeah."

Smiling again, Virion replies, "I saved your prince when some thugs had him cornered this morning." He casts a glance around our base, the juxtaposition of military and civilian life that my world has become. "And I suppose Chrom recognises talent when he sees it." His glance wanders to Sully. "He certainly recognises-"

His next comment is cut off by a kick to the shin. "Seriously, Ruffles? How long is this going to take?" Sully spits. "Anyway." She turns to me. "I got no issues if you want to make him a Pastukh, as long as I can keep hitting him when he's being stupid."

"You'd keep doing it even if I said you couldn't," I respond with a grin. "But yes, we could use people like Virion in the Pastukhs. He's a bit rough around the edges, but you don't see talent like that with a rifle often."

"Hungry, captain?" Stahl asks. "I'm famished, and Sumia got Japanese." I nod my approval, and the four of us make our way towards the kitchen, where Fred's helping serve the food Sumia brought. If there's one 'benefit' of China's 'war', I reflect darkly, it's that Ylisse has arguably the best Japanese food in the world now.

The girl in question is humming peaceably to herself as she doles out a wide variety of dishes. She looks up in surprise when I walk in, and shouts "Captain!" Running over to meet me, she manages to entangle herself in three different chairs and falls over in a heap.

"Are you okay, Sumia?" I ask. She pulls herself back up, avoiding eye contact as she brushes herself off. "I don't think the heels help." They really don't - she's not a Pastukh, technically, so she doesn't really need practical footwear, but three-inch heels when you're naturally clumsy on your feet is still a bad idea.

"Y-You noticed?" she says, blushing. "I was so tired of people calling me short."

"There are more important things in life than your height," I dictate almost-wisely.

"You'll be taller standing up than falling down, high heels or not!" Sully barks at her, and Sumia shrinks away. "Anyway, enough bellyaching about being short, let's goddamn eat already!"

With the six of us to serve, the food's out in the lounge room in short order. Vaike challenges Virion to an arm-wrestle, which he wisely refuses, while Sully manages to not use the words 'rape' or 'fuck' for an entire conversation with Nikita. She seems to be getting along well enough with everyone so far, which is good to see. The Japanese food baffled her for a moment, but she managed to figure out how the chopsticks worked through trial and error faster than any of us did with instruction.

When the meal is over and people start retiring to their rooms for the night, it's soon just me, Sumia and Nikita. They're both giving each other a look, and I don't like it. Sumia's had a crush on me for what feels like forever, and while she's a good friend, I honestly don't feel that way for her. Nikita's a rape survivor clinging to her saviour, and I'm not the sort of person to exploit that.

"I," I begin, "have had a very long day. Goodnight, Nikita, Sumia." I get out of there before either of them can protest, and my dreams are troubled by golden teeth, my father's face, and the cracking report of a hundred thousand Naginata.

0o0o0

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please, leave a review if you have anything to say.

First things first: thanks to the kind people who have faved, followed or reviewed Waking Up! It gave me a lot of motivation to keep writing. Unfortunately, my internet access is limited at best, so something I write might take days or even weeks until I can upload it. Sorry for the delay!

There's some fairly major divergences in terms of geopolitics in this universe. I'm not good enough to choose one point in time and change everything from there, but to cut a long story short, China is expansionistic as all hell, and the US is unwilling or unable to stop them. Three guesses as to what Australia and Japan are supposed to represent in-game and the first two don't count.

For whatever reason, I love using the word 'Naginata' in relation to Fire Emblem: Awakening. It just sounds cool. In this case, it's an AK-47 derivative created back during the Cold War.

I don't want any ship-to-ship combat over Chrom/Sumia and Chrom/Avatar. I prefer Chrom/Cordelia anyway, as my other fic shows clearly (/shamlessplug), but I know people on all sides of this argument can be complete lunatics about it. So don't be.

Thanks for reading, see you next time!

Ungulateman