A/N The (not-really) big too-oh! Not much happening here except set-up. It's been so long that I've forgotten the name of that corrupt noble I inserted. Looking back on it, naming a villain after a old childhood bully seems like a petty thing to do. Oh
well. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

If he closes his eyes, he can clearly envision the dark, cavernous dungeons, the glowing violet hues of the symbol on his skin and on the others' skins. In the shops of apothecaries, his mind is assaulted with the stench of foul brews and burning flesh. With his tongue, the finest wine tastes of the dirt it was exalted from, their sweet flavor tainted with the cost in obtaining it. And sometimes, when all is quiet, Robin hears the screams of the living sacrifices. Once in awhile, he hears his own voice either joining the shouts or spurring them on.

Oh yes, Robin remembers.

His memories were largely intact after all, since that fateful day when he had met Chrom. Robin had been lying in a field, clothes drenched in blood and surrounded by the decimated bodies of his foes. And… one other. His mother had been amongst her number, but try as he might, he couldn't recall the cause of her death, or the reason for his appearance in his field. Mother, why can't I remember? He finds it a miracle that Chrom offers him a place with the Shepherds so readily, and thinks the prince a fool. Still, Robin had accepted.

Robin remembers his childhood.

He had been a carefree, only child, showered with affection by doting parents. Mother and father… their faceswere so hazy now, but he could never forget the warmth of a mother's touch, nor the low rumbling laughter of an approving father. That had all come to an end when men in dark cloaks had taken his blood and taken his father. When Robin's father returned, everything changed. The kind Validar was gone, replaced with a selfish man who lusted for power. He remembers his mother yelling at her husband-how dare you, he's just a child, think about us, think about what will happen to us-and his father slapping his wife-do you realize how long we have waited, this is what is to be. And through it all, Robin had watched quietly.

That was the beginning of the end.

As a child, the Plegian-born tactician had been fed lie after lie after lie from his father-Robin, you are the future. Robin, you will do great things. Robin, the future is yours to make. Robin… I love you. Reconsideration makes him think that perhaps his father, Validar, was telling him a truth about love. You only love someone if they benefit you in some way. For his father, it was the blood that flowed within Robin's veins. Infused with dark magic and fortified through horrendous experiments, Robin would have been the ultimate tool in reawakening the Fel Dragon. He was powerful, intelligent, and determined… but in the end he knew he remained another cog in the machine and the empty promises of affection and family crumbled into dust.

But through it all, there was always that part of him that refused to be a part of anyone else's mechanisms. So determined was he to forge his own fate.

Thus, Robin is not a trusting person. His philosophy: give others the power and they will take your life in their hands. A bleak outlook. The tactician supposes it is only natural, given the circumstances of his past. He maintains a clearly defined boundary between himself and the other Shepherds in the army.

Of course they rebel, in their own way. Lissa whines and jumps on his back playfully. Sumia and Cordelia offer him sappy book recommendations. Stahl performs the odd job for him now and then. Gaius occasionally slides him exotic orange-flavored candy, cheekily calling him "Bubbles" whilst doing so.

They all fail, though not because he hates them. Robin wants to accept their extended hands, but he cannot ignore the sea of emotions that trusting them would entail. The memories… they drown him with their voices. Don't forget that your father loved you too, once, they say. You became a tool. What are you to them now? Who's to say this is different? The Shepherds all fail because he…

Will not.

Let anyone.

Hurt him.

Again.

So why does the corner of his mouth twitch when Chrom claps him on the back for a job well done? Why is it that a small chuckle escapes him when Miriel confounds Vaike with her extensive vocabulary? Just why does-when he sees a certain blue butterfly mask-he feel lighter on his feet?

He feels his icy exterior melt just a bit. Robin supposes that this is what making friends was. Despite himself, Robin allows that small sliver of hope. Because… for the first time in a long time… he is happy, all because of Chrom's willingness to trust a broken stranger. A small leap of faith.

That is why, when his opinion is asked for on whether or not to let "Marth" join the Shepherds after the Regna Ferox arena duel, he says yes.

Unknowingly, Robin maintains a small smile long after he awakes.

The young, white-haired tactician wakes up on a straw-stuffed mattress and several pillow feathers in his mouth. His body feels sore, but of the kind that comes from contorting your limbs in your sleep. He yawns, smells the alcohol on his breath, and
grimaces. A slight throbbing is coming from the back of his head, most likely from the same culprit as his breath.

Oh well, he shrugged. It could be worse. I could have a terrible headache.

"Nnnggghhhh," came a loud groan to his left. Robin noticed the the bed parallel to his, as well as the prince-shaped lump that occupied it. A blanket was draped over the figure, but judging from the continuous moans, it was neither comfortable nor effective
at blocking sunlight. A few strands of blue hair peeked out from under the scratchy material. "I have a terrible headache!" Chrom complained.

"Same," Robin chuckled. Bright blue eyes glared at him. "Frederick was right-you are a bad influence on me. Drinking that much is all your fault," he claimed jokingly. "You're out of the Shepherds." The Robin of yesterday would have taken his words literally,
but their dynamic seemed to have changed. Somehow, despite the short amount of time knowing him, Robin was more aware of the prince's mannerisms, and thus he only clicked his tongue amusedly.

"You can try," he responded dryly. "A tactical decision, I'm sure." The mage took a moment to stretch his muscles again and nudged Chrom with his foot. "Speaking of Frederick," Robin said, "we should probably head down. He should have prepared the supplies
for travel."

Chrom rose from underneath the blanket like a bear from hibernation. Sleepily, he nodded his head, then winced as the motion worsened his headache. "Yes, he bought them last night. Oh, and I forgot to tell you this, Robin, but we're going to have to visit
Ylisstol," he informed the new tactician.

Robin looked at him, confused. "Come again?"

His companion nodded again, this time slowly. "The capital of this country. As the new tactician of the Shepherds, you need to meet the people who will be following your orders. Currently we all reside in the palace." Chrom eased himself off of the bed
and began strapping on his boots.

It dawned on Robin that he would be making major decisions on the battlefield, decisions that dictated who lived to fight another day and who paid a permanent visit six feet under. He gulped. "Are they nice?" he asked weakly. "Are they like… Frederick?
I wouldn't blame them. An amnesiac that you've known for less than twenty-four hours isn't exactly your standard recruit…" Robin put a hand on the back of his neck worriedly.

Chrom's frame shook with mirth, and he paused from his shoulder armor to look at Robin. "They aren't your standard soldiers either," he reassured Robin, "but believe me when I say that all are equally capable in battle. I'm sure once they see how you
work, they'll be won over." Robin grinned, and dropped his hand.

As Robin pulled his cloak back on, Chrom fiddled with his shoulderguard, muttering as the straps fell out of his grasp once more. "Need help?" Robin asked. Chrom's shoulders sagged in defeat, and Robin took the leather in his hands. "It's faster if you
ask for help," he muttered, sliding the metal clasps into their place. "Careful. You might turn into my second retainer at this rate," kidded Chrom.

Robin rolled his eyes.

"Milord, Robin," called Frederick with a tilt of his head. His tone was considerably warmer, though it maintained a professional distance.

He was perched atop a barstool, already outfitted in the full armor from yesterday. From the looks of it, he had been conversing with the bartender but had paused briefly upon their arrival. Two chairs to his right, Lissa swung her legs from a chair that
was too high for her short legs. In front of her was a plate of half-eaten eggs and toast. She gave them an enthusiastic wave, beckoning them to join her.

"I'm fresh out of the hangover stuff. The guy who usually comes 'round here and delivers that stuff didn't come this morning. If you ask me, it's those kids he keeps around. At that age they're always wanting their papa," the bartender was saying with
a shake of his head. Frederick inclined his head and thanked the man before turning his attention to his liege.

"The preparations are ready, Milord. When you have finished eating, we can depart for Ylisstol," informed the chestnut-haired knight. "Oh, and I checked with the innkeeper as well. Yost has already departed for the North on a side trade route. We shouldn't
be running into him anytime soon."

"Thank you, Frederick," replied Chrom. He occupied the seat between his sister and his friend and Robin took the stool on the knight's opposite side. "I'd ask for a hangover drink, but judging by your facial expressions, they don't have any." Frederick
shrugged, and Robin took the exclusion as an opportunity to order.

"Some bread and eggs please," he asked a nearby waitress. As she walked away, he felt his eyes drift to the wine bottles and a smile flitted on his face. He was pretty sure that he won whatever drinking game he and Chrom had played.

Still, several strands of conversation managed to pierce Robin's reveries.

Frederick spoke in low tones. Discreet, private even, if not for the fact that Robin was mere inches away. "...if your father had any others," the knight was saying. Chrom shook his head as a negative, responding, "I know of only two, but they both live
in Ylisstol and take after their mother. Emmeryn and I tried reaching out to them years ago, but they want nothing to do with the royal family. Still, we've placed eyes on their movements, just to make sure they aren't involved in anything against
the crown. Why, did you meet another?"

Frederick hesitated. "I may have, last night" he spoke pensively. "A woman with the telling blue hair. Her facial features greatly resembled yours, but with a softer edge. Admittedly, her eyes don't bear any resemblance to your bloodline, but that
can be attributed to her mother. She was very closed woman, so I couldn't confirm her heritage, but the possibility is highly likely that she is the product of such a… coupling."

Ah. They were discussing an illegitimate child, or woman more like.

The prince put a hand to his chin thoughtfully. His brow was furrowed, indication of his worry. Robin could understand. For some reason, he understood the implied dangers of a bastard in the court. Though born illegitimate, a child of the late Ylissean
king could still assert his or her claim to the throne, which posed a problem to the reigning monarchs. A few whispered words here and there, unresolvable conflicts sprouting out of nowhere, and a ruler's credibility would be put to question. Lo and
behold, the courtiers would produce a bastard raised to support their beliefs, one deemed 'more fit' to rule.

Some would outright dispose of the problem through permanent means, but Chrom seemed to be of the merciful type.

"Is she here right now?" he was asking.

"No milord. I checked early this morning and she was gone."

Chrom sighed. "I suppose that's that, then," he exhaled. "I don't want to bother her if she clearly wants to be left alone, but I have to do what I can to help Emmeryn. Those nobles can be bloody vicious. We'll send someone back here to look for this
woman and guard her against any threats. Maybe I shall have to send extra men..."

The knight's lips curled ever so slightly. "Forgive me, milord, but she does not seem the type to need protection. It was only my own lack of attention that her wounds reopened."

By now, Lissa taken notice of her brother's discussion. "Oh, you mean that woman you brought last night? I thought she was a dream," said the blonde princess happily, but her cheerful voice was laced with apprehension.

Meanwhile, the waitress had returned with two heaping plates of food and two drinks. She set them in front of the men. The steaming egg and crunchy bread beckoned to the tactician, but he pushed the plate to the side in favor of observing the drama.

It was pretty obvious that the little princess favored her retainer, and Robin couldn't blame her. He was the standard for fairytale knights-loyal, strong, good-looking, and attentive. Well, maybe not too attentive. Frederick seemed completely oblivious
to Lissa's feelings. Robin supposed it was for the best, but he couldn't help finding the whole situation entertaining.

Frederick muttered, "well, I mean, she was fairly attractive, and mysterious, and definitely seemed capable, but I wouldn't go so far as to call her a-"

So he likes to be curious, does he? quipped Robin mentally. He remembered the knight's early suspicion of him. But only in women, I guess...

"WHAT? YOU? HER?" screeched Lissa, throwing her cup dramatically in the air. It shattered spectacularly on the floor in an equally dramatic fashion.

Her brother shot his eyes to the knight. "Hold on there, Frederick. I thought you said she looked just like me. Does this mean that all this time you've thought of me as-"

Frederick waved his hands frantically. A hot flush creeped up on his neck as he stammered, "m-milord, milady, please!"

And throughout the ensuing exchange, Robin watched quietly and continued stabbing yolk-soaked bread into his mouth. Yes. Quite entertaining.

A/N Kind of filler, kind of not. Most of the stuff here is important. As for the whole bit about Morgan, I've decided to delay it a chapter because this needed to be said to add context. Besides… it's my average chapter length, so meh.