Chapter 11
Staring is not Polite; They Will Always Stare Back
(Terence || Terentius Aquilius Aurelius || Septimus Terentius Aquilius)
Why is it so cold? Seriously, why is it so cold outside? Isn't it supposed to be warm in the summer? I understand that Regna Ferox is supposed to be a Russia-slash-Central Asia analogue but they don't get this cold in the summer! Why. Is. It. So. Cold?
To be fair, I shouldn't be out here in the cold with barely anything to cover myself. Yeah, that's probably a rather large issue…uh…a light jacket definitely isn't enough when dealing with zero degrees of temperature outside…
Let's just wrap this up into one sentence, shall we?
Repeat with me everyone: Having a mental breakdown in the snow isn't a good idea.
We got it? Good.
Now, can I please leave the torment that my mind has decided to create? That would be…really great, thanks!
I sigh and watch as my breath turns to mist in the cold summer air and slowly drifts away. The snow is falling fast and thick now, though I'm not sure how much of that is on my mind and how much of that is the weather deciding to fuck me over.
The snow has reached my knees at this point, and it's getting harder and harder to walk around. Not that I'm trying, mind you, this pseudo-blizzard makes it difficult to see anything, which then impacts my ability to do anything other than stumble around blindly.
I'm sitting on what used to be a large stone around half my height, but at this point, it's been all but swallowed up by the white tide of cold snow that had slowly crept up the rock's side.
I look down at my hands. I wince as I realise that a thin glaze of crimson is slowly dripping off of them. A hallucination of my mind, I know, but that doesn't make it any creepier.
Or the cold blood drawing any less heat from my hands.
I quickly wipe away the blood on the bright white snow, leaving a couple of marks of bright red that quickly get covered by the sheets upon sheets of fresh snow being laid. That doesn't help, because moments later, my hands are once again stained with bright blood, this time fresh enough that I can feel the warmth still emanating from it.
I sigh deeply. This has been happening for a while now. If you start digging in the snow, you'll find layer upon layer of dark scarlet intermixed with bright white. Or maybe this has all been in my mind, and there isn't anything but my invisible sweat and tears underneath that snow.
It's getting harder and harder to see the seam where my imagination and reality separate.
I don't think I have to explain why this is problematic.
"You know what you did to deserve this," Someone whispers into my mind. An insidious part of my own mind, probably, but just as equally likely to be an aspiration of my brain created to process trauma. He's been trying to talk to me for the better part of…what feels like half an hour but could easily be much longer or shorter.
"I really don't," I shake my head, finally giving and responding to him. "If you want to talk to me, show yourself and talk while I can see you. You know that most of human communication happens through body language, right?"
That shut the voice up.
It appears that cold hard logic helps when driving off apparitions of your mind. Who knew?
"I am not an apparition!" The voice screams. "Listen to me! I can get you out of here. Just…follow what I say, alright?"
"And why should I do that?" I raise an eyebrow. "Do you have any proof that you can help me?"
"Does that matter?"
"W…What do you mean by that?"
"You want to get out." The person states with a hint of pitying arrogance.
"I would like to get out. Get out of this," I gesture to my surroundings. "I know that this is not natural. I know that this is most likely a figment of my own imagination. Well, either that or one of my two conspicuously quiet headmates has been playing an incredibly elaborate prank on me."
"No, the emotion you feel is much stronger than 'would like'. You desire it, greatly."
"What an astute observation!" I click my tongue in annoyance. "Who doesn't want to stop freezing to death? Seriously, why couldn't I have brought a thicker jacket?"
"Then follow me. Follow my voice. I shall lead you to your salvation."
"You know, you've been trying to talk to me for the past gods know how long, and I found that incredibly suspicious. But nothing tops this 'salvation' talk you're spewing right now."
"Do you want to freeze to death? If you don't, then follow me."
"Now you're talking in my language," I half chuckle, half sigh. "Where are you going to lead me to?"
"You would ask questions now? When your life is in danger?"
"A healthy mind begets a healthy body. A healthy mind asks questions," I shrug. "I still don't trust you at all."
"Who do you trust, then? Do you even have anyone who you can say with absolute certainty that you trust?"
"A rather personal question, the creepy voice in my head."
"Just answer the damned question."
"Wow, pushy as well. How does this help you at all? What do you gain from my obedience?"
"You help others for no reason. How…hypocritical of you to be asking that question."
"No, I believe it is because I help others without reason that I ask this question," I shrug. "I know that people like me are far and few between, so I am naturally more suspicious of anyone attempting to help me without reason, especially someone who I've never even seen before, never mind meeting."
"How arrogant of you to say that nobody else is like you. Perhaps they all simply dislike you, and refuse to help you out of moral principle."
I fall silent as I have no other response to this weird voice's statements. Well, since I have nothing else to say, might as well answer the question he was originally asking.
"Rufus. I trusted Rufus. Jugen…well, not so much, but I would trust him to have my back. I trusted Antoni. I trusted Signus. I trusted Amette. Augusta is a bit of a bitch, but I guess I trusted her…" I mutter softly, so softly that nobody should be able to hear me over the raging snowstorm. Of course, that voice is most likely mine, so it's not like that it matters. "None of them…are will me right now. Not by choice, mind you…most definitely not by choice."
"Huh. So you are actually capable of being trusting. Colour me surprised. So are you going to sit there and wait to freeze to death or are you going to actually follow my advice and get moving?"
"Where to, not-at-all-suspicious voice in my head?" I shrug.
"Ha ha, very funny. Get moving already."
"As you command. I'll have to get on creating the first ever schizophrenia meds in this world after I get out of this mental break…" I mutter as I stand up. The moment I do so, I get a strange feeling of vertigo; the world seems to break apart and combine together in strange and unfathomable ways.
I almost immediately try to sit back down but find that the rock I was just sitting on has disappeared. Great.
"Steady yourself. You can't die yet."
"Easy for you to fucking say…" I mutter to myself. "How the hell am I supposed to steady myself?"
"You've been teleported before, right? Just follow what you did back then and you'll be alright."
I swallow back my retort as a lump of material from my stomach attempts to make its way out as my vision reports my surroundings spinning around faster than the inside of a washing machine.
Right, right, this is feeling strangely like a teleportation…I really hope it isn't one.
I sift through Terentius's memories until I find the one where Konstantine taught him, well, I guess us now, how to deal with teleportational stresses.
Right, step one, anchor yourself.
Step two, calm your breathing and—wait a moment.
WHAT THE HELL DO I ANCHOR MYSELF TO!?
Seriously, how on earth are you supposed to do even the first step? The world is spinning like a kaleidoscope of white and blue! Everything and its spontaneously created mother is rocketing around at a speed approaching escape velocity!
Wait, hold on. He was talking about emotions, not…whatever this is. Look, it's hard to think when you're also trying not to spew your lunch of cold slices of pork and hardtack all over…something.
Emotions…tie myself down to an emotion…crud, what do I do now? Emotion…emotion…does confusion count? Isn't that more of a state? Or can annoyance do the trick? I'm really annoyed right now. I'm cold, I'm miserable, and I'm listening to a voice in my head who is both cryptic and an asshole, which is something I would have never thought could be possible.
"I despise your wording."
See? This is exactly what I'm talking about. It's infuriating, not just because he's right half the time and completely and utterly insane the next. I shall repeat this one more time, it's annoying as hell.
Huh.
That actually worked.
Hey, if spite can drive people to do great things, annoyance can anchor me to this world.
Right, step two, calm breathing. Easier done than said, ironically. I'm not breathing much right now. Trying to keep that vomit down.
Step three, figure out where you're going. Not going to help, skipped.
Step four, focus on where you're going and imagine yourself where you want to be. Well, I want to be in a warm room. Can I go there? Can I focus on going there? A warm room, a nice bed, free time to myself to just tinker around and not have to think about the future? Does such a place exist?
"Good, just keep focusing on that."
Thanks for the advice, cryptic voice. I'm already doing that, thank you very much. I don't want to think about the place I'm in right now. It's a terrible place. It's really damn cold.
Right, comfortable room. Happy thoughts. Warm places…warm places…warm places…warm places…
"UH…I think it worked a bit too well there, buddy…"
"What the fuck do you mea—" I stop myself as a open my eyes and realise that I'm…well, I'm not quite where I used to be.
I'm surrounded on all sides by pitch-black bricks, their faces burnt to an ashy black by…something. The room is small and cramped, with only a small window on my left letting in any light, causing the room to be much darker than the white hell I was just in. All the light that does come in is a dark and sickly yellow as if the sun had been infected by some virus and left to rot in the sky. A small dilapidated bed rests in a corner, seemingly ashamed of itself and its rather unsavoury state.
The heat radiating off of the walls is palpable. Almost instantly, beads of sweat start to form on my head, my body's natural reaction to the sudden increase in heat. The jacket comes off, and so do any other unnecessary pieces of clothing.
Even then, I still feel like I'm being cooked alive. The air itself seems to be sulfuric, and the slight burning sensation I can feel all over my skin is…oddly enough soothing, but also incredibly infuriating. The heat is so great that I swear I can see the air itself distorting as parts of the air are heated to such temperatures as to make them bend light differently.
"I'm…back…" I mutter to myself. "I…I think I remember this place. This was…on the third circle, right? No…this was…Lust…I think. Second circle. At least I'm not outside; the winds are horrifying."
I shiver as I remember a poor soul getting their skin and flesh ripped off of their bones. That is traumatising stuff right there.
Well, I went from a cold hell to a warm hell. I have no idea which one is better. At the very least, this is a hell that I know rather well, as opposed to the hell that I have no idea what I'm doing.
Still, this room itself feels…rather familiar. Almost as if…I've been here before? No, I definitely haven't. Terentius has though, but he's stopped talking a while back. Am I…in his memories or something? Acting them out? Or is this just me hallucinating? I honestly have no idea at this point.
"I think we have a much bigger problem than that right now, buddy."
"What are you talking about?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Do you remember what happened here the last time we went through this?"
"No? And what the hell do you mean we?"
"Run."
"Where!?"
"No, it's way too late, they've already—"
Suddenly, memories flash in my head as the distinct sound of a magical bell being rung brings back some of Terentius's repressed memories.
Black tendrils crawl everywhere, pushing against [my|his] body. They crush and contort [my|his] limbs into shapes that no human could ever achieve. Their very touch causes [my|his] skin to burn and fizzle. Something blocks [my|his] throat, but [I|he] must scream. They hurt! They hurt! Why are you doing this to [me|him]!? What did [I|he] do to deserve this!?
Another spike of vertigo slams into me, forcing me to sit down on the sorry excuse for a bed in the corner to stop myself from falling over.
They are coming! They are here! Run away! Run away! Go! Leave this place!
A pool of black material starts to ooze from the sides of the walls. My body freezes despite my many attempts to urge it to move. I look on in horror as I can not do anything else. I want to scream. I wish to scream. I must scream.
And yet I cannot.
My mind spins. There must be a way out! I cannot—I must not relieve those memories! I cannot—this can't be how this goes!? I deny it! I deny it! There cannot be…a repeat.
My eyes are locked in place, not even giving me the luxury of looking away from my impending doom. I want to close my eyes, yet they are forced open. Must I see this? I will already feel it; is this my fate?
I feel those tendrils infiltrate through my boots and slowly climb my legs. Their cold touch is a momentary distraction from the heat that permeates through the air before my body can register the toxins within the ooze.
Pain.
Pain.
Please! Anyone! Help! I cannot feel my legs any more! No, please! I can't do this again! Not there! Please! Please!
Someone! Please!
Please…!
Help…!
Me…
(Laurent Ablenmossre)
The past couple of years stand in direct contrast to the past few weeks. Understandable, really, but that doesn't mean it isn't annoying. Today, I'm staring at a page that I've found in the local newspaper. An…interesting institution, if I must comment upon it. I had heard of such a thing existing, and I can remember a time when people were still reading such things, but…
Well, by the time my memories formed enough for them to be remembered now, the press had been heavily censored by the Crown. Uncle's handiwork, I am told. I doubt that he was authoritarian…no, he definitely was not. But the circumstances that Grima's return brought on…well, at the very least the ends justified the means.
Flipping through the pages, I sigh as I read the reports. Such… frivolity. I could understand the idea of peace, but I had never considered what that meant. No longer was the front page about troop movements and the state of the war against the Risen and the back pages filled with obituaries. Instead, there were tabloid sections, gossip columns, and most disturbing of all, an entire section of the paper was dedicated to the goings-on of the Exalted Family.
Seriously! Did the people of this era have nothing better to do than stalking the Exalts? To him, Lucina was like an older sister whom he'd give his life to protect, and the fact that her family was at the centre of such attention disgusted him. Never mind the fact they were talking about the fact that Aunt Lissa and Uncle Terry were supposedly 'Going out'. Gross. As if Uncle Terry could be Owain's dad. Ugh. Just the thought of that makes me throw up. I'm pretty sure Owain couldn't possibly survive as Uncle Terry's kid; even Lucina had nightmares when he trained her, and she's not even his child!
I shake my head as I immediately skip forward to the new substantive news sections. At the very least, the systems of communication in this time are rather good, and thus the news of a new Khan's imminent ascension in Ferox as the Khantuur festival slowly reaches its zenith in Khantuurbaliq. Ah…the Khantuurbaliq…if I remember correctly, that's where Uncle Chrom first met Uncle Terry, in the arena of all places…and lopped off his arm. Yeah…it wasn't the best introduction one could have been given. At the very least, Uncle Terry had a rather ingenious device to replace his lost arm.
Hmmm…but Lucina said that Uncle Terry had been with the Shepherds in Southtown…that does make the plan change slightly, doesn't it? Hopefully, everything still works out up north.
I sigh and toss the newspaper on a desk; all its contents I either already know or are of no use to me. Once again, I'm compelled to retrieve Uncle Terry's last message. Of course, after three years, it's been rather damaged, but whatever formula of ink he used has managed to hold on even through hell and high water.
Good evening Laurent.
Attached below is a map of the Tyradian desert where you will be landing upon going through the portal. If you've followed my directions, you should be reading this while your boots are in the sand. If you haven't…well, reseal this message and read it when you need it, you doofus.
Anyhow, there's a relic near you that I need you to grab. It's called the Staff of the Goddess. I've marked it down below with a big red 'X'. Just ask the patriarch of the Mirage village, which I've also marked. While it isn't necessary for you to grab it before heading for Ylisstol, it would help a lot. Of course, if you find yourself in danger, leave it and run. Your health and safety should be prioritised before all else, and I'll be damned if I lose you before I can introduce you to your parents. Miriel would be so proud. Well, my past version, but you know what I mean.
You will arrive three years early, so you have a lot of time. Don't worry about the world as it is; get to Ylisstol and use the money I've included to settle down. I need you to gather information and allies before everyone else gets there. The more resources you can gather, the more people you can sway to our side—especially on the Plegian side, and the more information you can gather, the better chance we have at beating Grima before he even shows his scaly ass.
Once things get going, however, I still want you to lay low. Keep track of time, and assist those coming in after you. I've also enclosed the locations and times of your fellow Shepherds, so if I can't get to them, use the resources at your disposal to rescue them. Priority goes to Yarne and Noire; they will get into rather tough spots, and I'm not sure how long they'll last. Lucina will need your support. Give her food, provisions, information, and anything else she requires. I know you will already do so, but…just to be sure.
Other than that, I can only tell you the things you expect. Stay safe. Look after yourself. Lay low. And for the gods' sake, get some more clothes!
I have to stifle a smile that is slowly crawling up my mouth. That last order always made me imagine an exasperated Uncle Terry half-scolding me with a smile on his face. Ah…how I wish…no, I shouldn't say that. I'm sure that he's happier now…him, mother, father…all of them. I could see it in Uncle Chrom's face whenever I saw him.
"Hey, Laurent," A calm and disciplined voice interrupts my thoughts. I turn around to see one of the people I've recruited to our cause. The greatest of them, if history repeats itself. "I've got the papers you've been looking for all week."
Justinius Makedoniki, a distant matrimonial relative of the Plegian king. Like the Plegian king and all kings of Plegia and Macedon all the way to the Iron Queen Minerva, his hair is a bright crimson, shining in the morning sunlight. His eyes are a light green, a strange colour for a son of Macedon, but not overly noticeable in day-to-day life. He's wearing a light jacket despite the summer weather and has a bright smile on his face.
I had recruited him for a handful of reasons. Firstly, he's a person I knew. The great Macedonian, Hero of Steiger and the Primus Kataphraktoi…what a waste to leave him a drunkard on the streets, eking out a living with the worst dredges of humanity. Secondly, he's insanely competent and proactive when given a goal. He had given up cigarettes by month two and heavy drinking by month six, despite being absolutely hooked on them when I had first found him. Lastly…I didn't want him to embarrass himself in front of Uncle Terry when they would eventually meet.
"Looking at that piece of paper again, huh?" The former Plegian officer chuckles as I put it away. "What's even on it?"
"My orders," I sigh. "And those are not of your concern. Not yet."
"Of course," He nods and looks around the room, his gaze landing on the crumbled-up pile that was today's morning paper currently sitting on my desk. "As you say. Still reading the Tribune, huh? Not sure why you torture yourself reading that bullshit every day but suit yourself."
"I find it has a…interesting view of things."
"Interesting is a delicate way of putting it," Justin snorts. "I'm pretty sure they embellish just for the principle of it. You can buy your way to the front page with just a few bribes. Hell, I'm pretty sure we've done so a couple of times."
"Still…the subtext is still there. It's quite a good source if you want to know what the upper classes feel. Or rather, what they want the public to feel, and from there, you can work out what they're trying to do."
"Eh. Leave me out of politics. I'm just making sure that my home nation doesn't get shafted when this diplomatic tension finally snaps."
I shake my head and sigh. As you can probably tell, Justin is not the most patriotic Plegian. Hell, he's not even Plegian; he's Macedonian. The crown of Macedon had always been tenuously connected with their overlords through personal union in Plegathon. A few years back, two years before I arrived to this time, an uprising of disgruntled Macedonians in Epuru and Macedon proper protesting unfair taxes and systematic exploitation and corruption had been mercilessly crushed by the Plegian army. Among those soldiers was Justinius Makedoniki, the son of a Macedonian noble with blood ties that went as far back as Queen Minerva. At the time, he was the lieutenant of a company of cavalry. After the uprising, he was completely and utterly disgusted with the conduct and orders of the Plegian army, and resigned his post.
He slowly made his way to Ylisse, where he was a post officer for a while, before being laid off for drunkenness. How he found his way to Ylisstol, he never told me, but I found him, drunk out of his mind, in the middle of a bar fight that I had to break up.
After a while, I could finally understand why he was able to get into Uncle Chrom's inner circle so quickly. The man is efficient, a habitual workaholic, and constantly eager to prove himself. All excellent traits for a second-in-command.
"Speaking of which, how is the situation in Macedon right now?"
"Not…great. Gangrel has started conscripting in our lands, and nobody is taking it lying down. I wouldn't be surprised if another uprising is in the works."
"An uprising that will most likely get crushed."
"Yeah…unfortunately. Strangely enough, however, Gangrel seems desperate to get his hands on any man he can. Something is obviously happening. Something big. A war…maybe."
"Yes…a war…" I look at my calendar and wince. Just two more months until…
Until the world will start to unravel.
(Robin)
The negotiations had gone well. Terence had disappeared again once Lissa caught on to his reappearance, but other than that slight hiccup, we were able to strike an agreement with Khan Flavia.
The agreement was simple: We win the Khantuur tournament for her, and she'll grant Ylisse the alliance that we've been wanting. A simple agreement…and yet the logistics of said agreement were rather complicated. Firstly, we'd actually have to get to Khantuurbaliq, where its namesake tournament would be taking place in the first place. A difficult proposition, since we hadn't planned to be travelling half the continent when we set off from Ylisstol.
Thankfully, Khan Flavia was kind enough to bestow upon us a herd of horses and enough supplies to last us to Khantuurbaliq without having to resupply once. An incredibly generous offer.
That's when our problems began. On our way to get said horses, Vaike stumbled into something in the snow. We had first thought it was a large canvas bag or something similar, and a merchant had somehow lost it in the snow. When we decided to fish it out of the snow…
Ugh, I still can't get the image of Terence's frostbitten face staring up at me.
Thankfully, we were able to get him inside fast enough that Lissa was able to start treating him nearly instantly.
"Is he going to be ok?" I purse my lips as I stare down at his pale face. "Please tell me he's going to be alright…"
"Well, at the very least, the cold won't get to him…" The blonde princess sighs. "Honestly, I'm confused as to why he isn't dead yet. Hypothermia and frostbite should have killed him by now…and yet…well, he'll get out with only a couple of ice burns to add to his collections of scars."
"That's…good…"
"Yeah…no kidding. Are you holding up alright, Robin? You were the first to see his face…and well…" Chrom grimaces.
"I'll…be fine. I hope."
"How does he get himself into these situations…" Lissa huffs. "Seriously, I was just about done with bandaging his wounds, and now he goes and gets himself caught in the worst snowstorm I've ever seen."
"Lissa…? Can I ask…a question?"
"Yeah, Robin?"
"Do you know why he isn't waking up?"
"Huh…I've been asking myself that question. He should…be fine now…" Lissa frowns.
"Hold on. I got this," Chrom goes up to the comatose man and grips his shoulders. Ignoring his sister's protests, Chrom vigorously shakes Terence's shoulders, to the point where I'm concerned that he will dislocate his head from his neck. "WAKE UP!"
Of course, nothing happens.
What did Chrom expect? Seriously, shaking a person to wake them up? Honestly, I could think of better ways to—
Terence's eyes shoot open, bloodshot.
And then—
"GRAAAAAAAAHAHAAAHAHAHAHAAAHAAHA!"
—he screams in an ear-splitting voice. Chrom, who's the closest to the sudden and unexpected sound, nearly leaps off the bed as he tries to get away from the auditory assault on his ears.
I flinch and cover my ears while Lissa jumps from her stool and bolts to the door, calling out for the other shepherds.
I turn my attention back towards Terence and feel my heart drop like a rock. He's spasming, arms and legs obviously not under his control. His eyes have glassed over, and his mouth is slowly filling with foam, pitching his screaming up and down randomly. His breathing is so quick and ragged that I doubt he can actually get air into his body, which is obviously not helping things.
"Chrom! We need to help him!"
"Well, obviously! But how!? Is he getting possessed?"
"I don't know! Uh…!" My brain fumbles around for ideas before remembering I still have that potion that Terence had given me before the fight with the Risen.
Acting before I think, I grab the potion, uncork it, and jam the opening of the glass bottle into Terence's mouth. The red liquid quickly drains into his body, and the bottle also stops his screaming and slows down his breathing.
This manoeuvre thankfully gets Terence to calm down enough that Chrom and I have enough breathing room to calm down. Oh, sure, he's still mumbling strange and concerning sentences under his breath and spasming once in a while, but he's gotten a lot better.
"Naga…what was that…?" Chrom calms his breathing. "I don't think…that was natural…"
"No kidding…" I shake my head. "I think he's alright now…"
"Hmmm…I think I've seen this sort of thing before…" Chrom mutters to himself after a few moments of silence.
"R—Really? What is it? How do we stop it from happening again?"
"H—Hold on, Robin. You see, some old soldiers would report seeing visions and breaking down randomly after they got discharged. I was wondering if this was something like that…"
"Hmmm…that would fit what Terence was saying about him being a former soldier…how do we stop it from happening?"
"I…don't know. I think you have to listen to Lissa…"
"It's called PTSD, dumbass," Both Chrom and I are startled by the hoarse voice we hear as we turn our attention back towards the bed where Terence is now sitting up and giving his hands an annoyed look. "Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. A rather difficult condition to treat, though I could probably use a [Lesser Restitution] serum on it to keep the worst of it at bay."
"Terence! You're alright!"
"Alright is a relative term. I'm not dead. Is that considered 'alright'?"
"W—Well, I guess so?"
"It's certainly better than being dead. What happened, Terence?"
"Nervous breakdown, I think. Getting into a fight with real flesh-and-blood humans triggered something bad in me."
Chrom winces.
"Are you going to be alright?"
"Yes. Like I've said, [Lesser Restitution] should keep most of the worst symptoms of PTSD away from my mind for a while," Terence mutters something about 'other selves' under his breath, but I'm not able to catch it. "Don't worry too much about it, Chrom."
"Hmmm…Terence?"
"Yes?"
"Why do I think you're keeping something hidden from the rest of us?"
"Why do you think so, Chrom?" Terence's eyes narrow at the Prince. "There are just some things better left in the dark and forgotten about. There are more things that ought to be forgotten about but stubbornly refuse to be let go. Those are the things I'm trying not to remind myself of right now."
"R—Right…" Chrom is off-put by the sudden Venom in Terence's voice. "So…uh…how are you feeling?"
"Physically or mentally?"
"Either?"
"Absolutely fine for the former, my constitution must have held the cold at bay; absolutely shit for the latter, I'm about to tear off my skin from the pain."
"Don't! You can't do that!"
"Yes, I know that Robin. It's just…ha…" Terence shakes his head and rolls his eyes at my sudden burst. "An expression. There's nothing else to it."
"C—Can you stand up?"
"I should be able to…" Terence grunts as he literally leaps out of the bed, landing spectacularly on his feet and brushing off some dust off his shoulder. "Yep. As I expected, physically immaculate."
"Oh, right. Khan Flavia gifted us some horses to use on our journey to Khantuurbaliq!"
"Really!? Now that's some good news," Terence shoots me what is probably meant to be a reassuring grin, but I can see the pain behind those eyes. "At the very least, we won't be trudging through the snow for no reason for the foreseeable future. Man, travelling through snow sucks."
"Well, I won't disagree on that…Are you feeling well enough to ride a horse?"
"Again, I'm physically fine. I just feel like my head has been bashed in with a warhammer; it hasn't actually, but it certainly feels like it. Do…Do you know that feeling?"
"When you haven't slept in a long time and you feel like shit?"
"Yeah, that's the one. Imagine that, but multiply that feeling by…a couple of orders of magnitude," Terence snorts in amusement, but still smiles.
"Yeesh. Get some rest, yeah?"
"I don't intend on doing anything else. Sorry…I probably pushed back our departure date by a week or so…" Terence sighs bitterly.
"No, we had to get some things done…uh…" Chrom shoots me an amused look as I realise I've spoken a bit too much.
"Get what done? We were already packed…"
"Oh, Robin!" Chrom grins as his eyes light up mischievously. "What happened~?"
"I…" I groan. Terence just looks confused, but I know he'll ask incessantly if I don't answer here right now. Plus, I can't keep this a secret forever. He's going to learn…well, as soon as he sees me on a horse. "I…don't know how to ride a horse…"
"Why would that—oh…" Terence makes a weird face that seems to be between confusion, amusement, and exasperation. I think amusement wins out in the end because he starts laughing loudly. Actual laughter, mind you, not the pained laughs from before. "Pffft! Let me guess, you decided that riding a horse 'wouldn't be so hard', tried to mount one, failed miserably and had to be rescued when the horse didn't follow your directions?"
Whatever retort I had in mind instantly turns to ash as I stare at Terence. He just repeated word-for-word what had happened.
"Wow. Got Robin figure out, huh?" Chrom snorts in amusement as he tries not to break out in laughter at my face.
"H—How did you—u know?"
"I can see the future, remember?" Terence taps his head. "And the rest was relatively easy to figure out."
"HA! Is that really a good use of your far-seeing skills?"
"Hey, it's not my fault that my mind's magic decided to show me a vision of Robin struggling to get on a horse while everyone around her is either laughing or trying not to laugh," Terence grumbles. "I would have loved to know that this was coming in advance, but I guess someone thought the image of Robin fumbling with reigns is more important."
This just makes Chrom laugh louder and my embarrassment grows.
"Come on, Terence!" I groan. "Stop it!"
"Alright, alright," Terence smirks with a mischievous light in his eyes. Oh gods, I still remember Sully's horse…argh… "But, in exchange, I get to teach you how to ride a horse."
"Huh? You can ride a horse?" Chrom blinks.
"Prince Chrom. I used to be an Equis. A Cavalryman. How would I not be able to ride a horse?"
"Oh. Right."
"Wait, why is that a punishment for me?"
"Because I'm going to teach you everything you need to know about riding a horse from the time I get out of this bed to the time we leave. I can survive not sleeping for a week and a half, can you?"
I gulp as I realise that Terence isn't joking.
"Hey, did Lissa say when I would be released?"
"Well, you were just in a coma for a good twelve hours. We…uh, didn't have a plan for this."
"Great. Does that mean I can get out now?"
"I mean, can you walk?"
"Probably."
To test whether or not he could, Terence decides to do a standing (sitting?) frontflip off the bed…and succeeds, landing on his feet as a bright grin flashes onto his face. He then looks at me, expectantly.
Oh no.
(Terence || Terentius Aquilius Aurelius || Septimus Terentius Aquilius)
What did I learn today?
Firstly, riding a horse is actually a lot more difficult than it first seems, as noted by Robin falling off her saddle again, for the fifth time today.
Secondly, horses apparently like me far, far more than their winged counterparts.
Thirdly, horses like carrots. Like holy shit they like carrots. The one I'm currently riding managed to swindle me out of seventy-eight carrots. I'm not even sure how she even managed to eat seventy-eight carrots.
Fourthly, don't forget to bring Dawnbringer with you when you have a mental breakdown, or else she will not stop screaming at you.
{Once again, master, I must remind you not to leave me behind!} I can feel Dawn heating to uncomfortable levels on my waist. I wince every time she touches my pants, as it feels like she's about to burn a hole through them. These aren't thin trousers either, mind you, and yet I'm fairly certain that it's about to catch fire.
{First you refuse to utilise your full potential by refusing to fight at close range. Sure, fine, that's alright, you are a wicked spellcaster. Then you start to wear me on your backpack instead of your waist. Fine, fine, if you insist. I'm a little annoyed, but sure. BUT! BUT! You managed to faint in the snow, and then stuck in that hospital bed for two days! Two! Whole! Days! Do you know how scared I was!? That you had died and I was not able to stop it!?}
I wince as Dawnbringer's words are implanted directly into my brain at the highest possible volume. While her ability to telepathically speak to me gives me the ability to multitask, allowing me to conduct this conversation while also being able to keep visual tabs on Robin's fumbling attempts to keep herself stable while the horse is at any speed higher than a slow trot, it also means that Dawn is able to insert words at the highest possible volume directly into my brain. Fun.
"Alright, alright…" I mutter to myself quietly as Dawnbringer finally slows down in her tirade and allows me to respond to…literally anything she's said for the past ten minutes. "I got it, I got it. No need for you to scream into my mind…"
{Hmph. As if you would listen if I did anything else.}
"Hey, don't be like that! I listen to people!"
{Shall I remind you of the multitudes of instances where that is not true?}
"Ok, maybe not that, but I take suggestions!"
{Shall I remind you of the many times you have failed to take valid suggestions from others and that resulted directly in some catastrophe of yours?}
"Ok…ok…you win," I mutter under my breath. Feels bad, man, losing a debate to a sentient sword. Sure, she's more intelligent than most of the human population, but still! Feels bad! "I'll listen…I'll listen…I'll make a scabbard that turns you invisible so I can still keep you on me but not have anyone know."
{Good. Why you want to hide my splendour I cannot fathom, but I shall acquiesce to this one condition of yours.}
"Again, I've told you a thousand times. You're way too much for me to flaunt around. Did you see how Lucina's eyes were immediately attracted to you?"
{Hmph. You should not be judging the nature of others based on that girl. She is an exceptional person.}
"High praise coming from you, Dawn…why?"
{Is it not obvious?}
"No…?"
{Hmph. I shall refrain from informing you, then. You shall see in time.}
"I hate it when you're cryptic, Dawn," I sigh in annoyance, much to the sentient sword's amusement.
At this moment, Omari—the horse I am currently riding—decides that she's getting a little hungry and swings her head around, informing me that I should feed her.
Sighing, I activate the medallion around my neck to cast a [Speak with Animals] spell on me, so I can better communicate with the horses.
"Hungry. Give food. Carrot…yum…"
Fortunately, a horse's mind is much easier to please than their winged counterparts, so I grab a small carrot from my bag and place it in front of Omari's mouth, and she gobbles it up without any words back, content with my offering.
I hadn't even turned off my amulet when I saw Robin in the far corner of the track fall out of her saddle again and used my current mental connection to Omari to urge her forward, towards where Robin was currently lying in a heap on the ground surrounded by a cloud of dust, her horse incredibly confused where her ridder suddenly went.
"Robin!" I call out with a sigh. "Are you alright!?"
"Y—Yes, I'm fine!" Is the shaky reply. "I just got a little spooked, that's all."
"Spooked by what?" I ask incredulously as I get closer. When I reach a distance that I feel is appropriate, I calmly slide off Omari's saddle and land on the ground, hand out to help Robin back up.
She does take it, but not before pouting at me.
"N—Nothing…" Robin sighs. "Also, please stop doing that?"
"Doing what?"
"You know, effortlessly sliding off your horse?"
"What? You mean dismounting? That's how I was trained to do it."
"Well, could you do it…less impressively?"
"I'm not sure how I could do something less impressively…do you want me to teach you how to do that?"
"I…sure…" Robin looks at the ground before taking a big breath and staring her horse down. "Alright, Robin, you can do this! Just like Terence taught you! You can get on that saddle!"
This sudden and loud outburst directed at her horse, of course, considerably confuses said horse, who I have to reassure.
"Be careful," I mutter as Robin tries her best to get on her horse. Unlike the smooth movements of someone more experienced like Frederick or Stahl, Robin resembles a child trying to climb onto a tall ledge while also trying not to grab onto said ledge. Since in this analogy, the ledge is a living animal that doesn't like to be grabbed.
I have to hold back my laughter by biting the inside of my cheek, though I don't think I manage to suppress my smile enough. Thankfully, I got my facial muscles under control by the time Robin finally managed to mount her mount.
"And there! Ha! I did it!"
"You did it!" I clap earnestly. Look, she's deserved this, ok? Robin really, really can't ride a horse. "Now, try galloping around for a bit more. I think it's almost time we got lunch anyway."
"Alright," Robin nods her head. "But…"
"But?"
"Can we…uh…talk while we're trying to do this? I need something to distract me a little."
"Aren't distractions going to harm you more than help you?"
"No…I think I understand what I'm supposed to do," Robin nods her head. "But…I get a little nervous when the speed picks up…"
"Ah," I nod. "Well then, what do you want to talk about?"
I urge Omari into a light trot wordlessly, causing Robin to yelp in surprise and hurriedly start her horse moving as well.
"Well…are you comfortable talking about what happened…?"
"Comfortable…?" I wince. I…no, the correct answer is no. "Don't think so. Give me a little more time…perhaps…"
"N—No, it's alright if we don't talk about that. Uh…oh! Right! Can you use a sword?"
"Um…what do you mean by that?"
"Well, you see, there's been a rumour going around that you refuse to fight in melee because you're too good at it. I've…uh…actually bet a not-inconsiderable sum on you being good at melee," Robin has the gall to look embarrassed at herself. The fucking gall.
{Hmph. She's figured you out. I like this girl.} I ignore Dawn's comment as my brain spins to try to find an answer to Robin's question.
"I…well…it's…half right? Half wrong? I can fight with a sword and lance, we were all trained in it when we joined the Legions, but I'm not particularly good at it. I dislike fighting with those weapons for a different reason, though…" I tell a half lie.
{Yes, a half lie. You are one of the best swordsmen I have ever seen. Truly.}
Ignoring Dawn once again, I stare at Robin's face in order to judge her response.
"Wel…uh…I guess I win this bet?" Robin chuckles. "Vaike did specify 'being terrible with a sword' in the bet, and you're not terrible…so…he owes me seventy gold now."
Robin nods, satisfied with her newfound monetary gains.
"Well," I snort. "Congratulations on winning a couple of dinner's worth of gold. I think. I really don't remember how much money is worth."
"Seventy gold is a lot!" Robin gasps. "It's nearly all of Vaike's savings!"
"Then why the hell did he bet them!" I remember that one paralogue where Risen stole everyone's money and that most Shepherds do actually save money. I also remember that Vaike came from a rather poor family and only managed to gain his current status by being Chrom's friend.
"I…actually, that's a good question," Robin nods to herself. "Why…did he bet that much money on this?"
"Speaking of, I was wondering something."
"Hmmm? Strange of you to be asking the questions. I usually ask you instead."
"Yeah, yeah…" I roll my eyes. "How are you holding up?"
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"You've been thrown into a world without any memories, without any friends that you did not make within the past month or so, and without a support network. Hell, you probably don't know what that means."
Robin frowns at my question.
"Well…I'm doing…fine, I suppose. There isn't much I can complain about. I don't remember what kind of life I lived before Chrom found me in that field. In fact, I would be more worried about you. No, not would be, I am. You lived a life before Chrom found you in that field, right? To find yourself alone, and with all of those memories…I don't know what I would do. I would try to go back, but you…seemed to have accepted your fate."
"It wasn't exactly a happy life," I snort. "I can actually sleep in a bed that doesn't try to kill me every night. That's already a great improvement. The only thing my memories do is anchor me. I know who I am, I know what I want to do, and I know what I can do."
The unspoken part of my sentence probably hurts Robin more than continuously falling off her horse has. Robin looks away from my gaze and down at her saddle for a moment. I wince in sympathetic pain. I…probably shouldn't have said that.
Before I can apologise, however, Robin seems to have recovered. I'm still a bit worried about her, of course, but at least I can work with this.
"That's a fair assessment," Robin sighs. "But that doesn't mean I don't know what I want. If you're wondering how I'm handling my loss of memories…good grief, I say! The life I was living can't possibly be better than the one I'm living now. Seriously, I was in the middle of a field with only a thick coat, this bronze sword, and a tome in my possession. I think my old self would revel in the place I've currently acquired!"
She ends her explanation with a triumphant smile, causing the worries in my heart to retreat back into the darkest corners of my psyche. They'll fester for sure, but at the very least they won't bother me in this conversation.
"That's good for you. At the very least, you don't have to worry about headaches," I chuckle. She probably will, in the future when Grima returns in full force, but for now…she should be fine. Should.
"Headaches? Is that what happened?"
"Huh? Did I not tell you guys?"
"No!? You just said it was 'PTSD' and a 'Nervous Breakdown' and left it at that! If you've been having headaches, you should have told Lissa a long time ago!"
"I did. She was confused; I don't have any physical ailments…" I mutter.
Of course, I didn't tell Lissa that I had any headaches. She found out herself and chewed me out for…I think four hours? Anyway, she couldn't find anything wrong with me; that is because the cause of my headaches is two mental freeloaders in my brain. Not something you can get rid of with ease.
Speaking of my mental freeloaders, I've found a good way to keep them preoccupied. They seem to hate interacting with any of the Shepherds for some reason, which means so long as I stick around them and spend as little time by myself as possible, she'll leave me alone.
Sure, that means they'll manifest in my dreams and start insulting everyone. Sorry, one of them will, the other dude will just stay in a corner doing…I'm not actually sure.
Still, that's the price I pay for trying to maintain my sanity during the day. I can be as insane as I want to be in the safety of my own tent, but not one step outside of it.
"W—Well, don't push yourself too hard, alright?" Robin's worried voice draws me out of my thoughts. "I remember reading about sleep helping ease chronic headaches. Though, I'm not sure how trustable that source is…"
"Hmmm…probably a medical text of some sort, it appears. I'm surprised that you had an interest in medicine. I can loan you a couple of my books if you want to dive into the deep end."
"Really!? Thank you! But uh…what does 'dive into the deep end' mean?"
I blink in surprise before suddenly gaining and then suppressing the urge to slap my forehead. Of course they wouldn't have an idea of what a deep end is, pools haven't been invented yet!
"Right. Pardon, it means to start something challenging or risky. In this case, I am referring to learning challenging medical knowledge and terminology."
"Oh…I understand. Because the deep end of a pond is usually dangerous," Robin nods her head, arriving at the correct conclusion through an incorrect method. "For inexperienced swimmers, it would be risky and challenging to 'dive into the deep end'. Also, for experienced swimmers, 'diving into the deep end' could be a test to see how well their swimming abilities are!"
"Bravo," I clap. "That's…basically what it means. Anyhow, getting back on topic, if you want to borrow any of my books, just ask. I have plenty, and since someone seems to have put a mass translation spell on all of them…well, freely accessible knowledge is always better than not freely accessible knowledge."
"Ooh! Really? T—Then, can I borrow that tactics manual?"
"Huh? The Tacitica?" I blink, surprised. "Why do you want that dinky old thing?"
"Dinky? Not at all!" Robin vehemently denies the outdated nature of a book written in the 10th century. "I only skimmed it the last time I read it, but there was some incredibly insightful stuff in it! If that's what you trained on…well, I want to read it!"
Ok, to be fair, the tactics of this world probably aren't too different from tactics employed in the 9th century, so I guess these instructions would be rather useful.
"I have no need for it, so you can have it if you want," I shrug. "It's in my bag because I liked collecting books as a young man, and that habit hasn't quite dissipated."
"R—Really?"
"Well, not my first edition copy," I chuckle. "But any other ones are fine."
"Wait…you have multiple copies of it!?"
"Uh…yeah?"
"Why?"
"I just told you, didn't I? I liked to collect books as a young lad on a campaign. It just so happened that the Tactica was one of the most common books in a certain ring of hell," I mutter. Wrath. It was Wrath. Seriously, military compendiums were a dime a dozen there. I swear, I have way too much Clausewitz for a sane person to have.
"Huh…do you have any more?"
"Oh yeah, of course. Sun Tsu…though most of his works are probably too simple for you…Maurice, Machiavelli's less famous works…Rivault, though his works primarily concern cannons, Clausewitz and Blücher, of course…" I hum to myself as I count off the military treatises in my collection that I am willing to part with.
"Can I…uh…read them?"
"Sure! You can have copies if you want," I chuckle. "I have more copies of Vom Krieg that I know what to do with."
Robin nods happily as we ride in circles in the stable. Our conversation drags us to many places, but never once back into the deep and uncomfortable topics that I would feel unqualified emotionally to discuss, for which I am grateful for. By the end, Robin has gotten comfortable enough with a fast trot, though the moment all four legs leave the ground is the moment that Robin's butt leaves her saddle. We still need to work on galloping…
All in all, it was a fun and productive time. Enjoyable, relaxing, even. Of course, I cannot act this way forever, and the war will tear me apart…but a man can enjoy what he has now.
Of course, I have no doubts that my flimsy arguments haven't reassured Robin one little bit. I had thought, however, that I could at least sway her away from inquiring deeper for a while yet. Oh, how wrong I was. How wrong I was…
(Lucina)
It's…been a strange couple of days. After I caught up with Uncle Terry and the rest of the Shepherds, I made it my top priority to get to Khantuurbaliq in time for the contest. Thankfully, my experience in the past future allowed me to travel quickly and efficiently. I took a similar path to the one that we had used to get Gules, only modified to end up in Khantuurbaliq rather than Oorleen.
I was pleasantly surprised to find the same passes and paths from my past were still intact and usable if a little out of the way. I could not argue with the speed and efficiency that they brought, even if a couple of dark memories had resurfaced due to being in the same places once again.
The fact that…the tree that Uncle Libra died under was still here…and still alive…I hope that is symbolic and symbolic of something good.
Many times on my journey, I wanted to talk with Uncle Terry. He gave me a device that allowed me to talk with him telepathically, after all. The first time I took it back out after he gave it to me was around a week or so later. I wanted to talk to him so badly. I…I hadn't travelled by myself all too much back in the past future…definitely not for this long. I missed them…my friends, my parents, my parents' friends…my Uncles and Aunts and teachers and…everyone else. I missed Severa's stubborn defiance when Uncle said something that she didn't want to hear. I missed comforting Noire when she had her nightmares. I missed Mark…and the chance I lost. I missed Morgan and her happy and carefree attitude…I missed them. I…just wanted to hear from someone whom I knew…
But! But! I didn't want to interrupt Uncle. He was obviously doing something of great import right now…and I didn't want to disturb whatever it was that he was doing. Yet—Yet—I needed someone to talk to. I'm sorry, I couldn't bear it alone.
I did find a solution in the end. I grabbed something—a log, a rock, whatever it was, it had to be around Uncle's height. I then took the…what did he call it again? Oh right, foe-toe-graph. I took the foe-toe-graph of Uncle Terry that I forced Aunt Lissa to take of him when I was little and adhered it to the rock or log at the height that he would be at when he was sitting down.
Yes, I made a makeshift mannequin of Uncle Terry. Am I going a little crazy? Perhaps.
Anyway, I would then talk to him about everything that had happened. Every question eating me up from the inside, every small doubt, every little thing that I wanted to say.
It started out with the things I've bottled up for the longest time.
"Uncle…why did you not come with us? Did—Did you really need to…need to die? Could you…could you have survived…if you were a bit more happy? I've…heard from Aunt Lissa…that you hadn't been happy for a long time…were we the cause of that? Could I have done better? If I…if I had led them better…would you have stayed? What if we made you happier? Would you have come with us then?"
"Uncle…I don't…I don't feel like I can do…this…whatever this will end up being…what do I do, Uncle? How…How did you always know…what to do? I…I know that I have to…win against Sir Lon'qu. I…I know that…that I have to save Aunt Emmeryn…I know that I must stop Father from being injured…but…but! But! What…how…can I do it? What if I fail? If I fail, will it all be for nought? I…please, can you please tell me what I am to do?"
"Uncle…I saw you the other day. Your younger self, I mean. You said that…that you wouldn't be dead…and yet…he's different. Not in a bad way…just…different. What…what happened, Uncle? When I met him, he looked so happy. So indifferent to it all. Yes, he still had your smug confidence and your inability to stop apologising for the most mundane of accidents. But…he looked so content. He lacked your scowl. I…I don't remember much before Grima…re…turned…but…what…happened? How did the Uncle I know now turn into you? I…I want to know…so I can stop…it…"
Of course, Uncle never answered. How could he? He was dead, and an entire timeline away. I would be more concerned than delighted if he did manage to actually contact me…and then I would hug him until his ribs cracked. Oh, Naga, I miss him.
But…whatever it was about just asking the silent night about my problems…worked. I…slowly became more and more comfortable…I think. At the very least, the nature of my questions changed.
"Uncle, I think I'm getting a little bit rusty. I encountered some Risen earlier today and I didn't manage to take them out as fast as I usually do. Should I slow down to practice? Or should I keep going with all haste? I…I just need to make it to Khantuurbaliq before Father and you do, right? So…can I go and attack some Risen? I need the practice, and I don't think anyone would mind if you all died."
"Uncle, why is it so cold? I don't remember being so cold in the past…er…future? Past future? Future now past? Back then. Yes, back then. I don't remember being so cold back then, even when we were in Ferox in the middle of winter. Ugh…I can't remember what you said about staying warm…we never needed very much, did we? Ha…it was so oppressively hot in the day, and at night, your magical tools would keep us warm. Oh, speaking of magical tools, I still haven't gotten Dawnbringer to talk to me. Haa…"
Sometimes I wouldn't even ask any questions and just stare at his face while I sat there, usually eating something I had hunted a couple of hours before. It was soothing…and I made a habit of it.
Ugh, it's going to be so embarrassing explaining this to him once I'm able to fully join the Shepherds. I'm…going to be able to do that…right?
Anyhow, I didn't know what to do once I found myself in Khantuurbaliq, so I did what Uncle Terence told me to do: point yourself at your destination and stop once you hit something. So, I did exactly that. I stormed into Sir Basilio's camp and demanded a duel with Lon'qu, and to replace him as Sir Basilio's champion.
Of course, I had to beat up a couple of guards along the way, but I only knocked them out. I'm a little proud to say that I've gotten used to switching between using Falchion as a razor-sharp sword and what's basically a glorified club depending on whether or not I want to kill the thing I'm attacking.
Sir Basilio was rather amused with my sudden appearance and challenge, but I had to get past his other warriors first.
That…proved to be easier done than said, unfortunately. When I first arrived here, I had thought myself a slightly below-average swordfighter. Uncle Terry was always my better, able to dance rings around me while I was barely able to see whatever sword was in his hands, much less do anything about them. And Naga help anyone who was on the other end of Dawnbringer.
But now…slow. They were so slow.
Usually, Uncle would see straight through my feints. I would usually feint two to four times before committing to a strike, and even then I would be disappointed as Uncle effortlessly pushed away my blade. Even with Falchion, even with the immense strength granted by the Brand…I could not push through his guard. I had to stay mobile, moving away rather than challenging him in a contest of strength.
Here…however, I find the guard of the warriors that Basilio sent my way to be…brittle and weak. They could not keep up with my feints, to the point where I stopped using them entirely; what use are they when the enemy does not even react to them? I found that bashing their guard until they or their weapons broke to be the most efficient use of my time and energy, even if it only furthered my current rustiness.
It did not take long for me to get through all of the warriors Sir Basilio sent my way. Some decide to switch it up and attack me with polearms. I use my boots to get in close and grab the polearms from their hands. Others try to attack me with magic, only for me to dodge with ease. I was trained to dodge spells with [Minor Magic Missile], your Thunder tome does not scare me. One person even tried to defeat me with a bow. Ha! Sufficed to say, that did not end well. For him.
Finally, I now get to Sir Lon'qu. It's been…almost the entire day. I'm only slightly tired, which is a good sign, but I still down a potion to stave away exhaustion. A…little bit of a waste, but I have plenty. I'm sure Uncle wouldn't mind if I asked him for some, and Laurent has a small little brewery making a dozen or so potions every week.
"So!" Sir Basilio says with his characteristic loud and boisterous voice. "How ya' feelin'? I'll admit, I was impressed by your work with Alexander; not many can get past his guard so quickly. But! You haven't seen Lon'qu yet. That man is so fast that the wind needs to catch up to him!"
I would expect nothing less from Sir Lon'qu. I don't say this out loud, of course, but instead, I give a noncommittal shrug. I can't raise any suspicions.
"Well, you'll be facing him…well, he's already in the arena. Have a good fight."
I nod and head off. Falchion is released from its sheath as I enter the sandy pit once more. Opposite me is Sir Lon'qu, Killing Edge already in hand.
The two of us stare at each other. I have an instinctive urge to shrink away and be somewhere else; Sir Lon'qu had been incredibly strict with both his son and the rest of us before he passed, and that fear is still ingrained in me…
"We start." The Chon'sin man grunts before rushing at me. I blink in surprise.
It's not that I hadn't expected this, but I hadn't thought that Sir Lon'qu hadn't changed that much from my memories.
Metal clashes against metal sparks flying off the place of binding as our two blades clash.
Sir Lon'qu is a blur, moving quickly and avoiding any prolonged engagement. I'm forced into the uncomfortable position of once again leveraging my strength as my main asset; I'm just as fast, but I don't want to compete against Sir Lon'qu in his area of expertise.
Another bind allows me to push the scowling swordsman back a couple of paces, but we're still in a stalemate.
Well, if I can't beat him with swordsmanship…
Remember, the purpose of fighting is to win, not to be wrapped up in a sense of chivalry. Save that for when your life isn't in danger.
Quickly reaching into my pouch, I grab a smokepowder grenade and crack apart its quick activation pin, the small orb quickly being engulfed in a blaze of smoke and heat. I chuck it at Sir Lon'qu as quickly as I can. I don't want to get burned by these things…again.
Sir Lon'qu is engulfed by the smoke but charges out of the artificial mist a moment later. Right as planned…
Swinging Falchion in a wide and undodgeable arc, I manage to nick the man's side, causing him to drop and roll around me. A low cut forces me to take a step back, allowing him to jump forward…
…and crash into me.
I leap back with a yelp, but strangely…Sir Lon'qu still hasn't recovered by the time I get back into a stance.
Instead, he's looking at his hand with a mix of apprehension and shock, his sword hand slack and his blade hanging loosely at his side.
Huh.
I walk over to him, warily at first, but once it's clear that he actually doesn't want to fight back, I lower my blade and raise my brow. Under my mask, of course, but still.
I lift Falchion to poke him, and—
"You! You're a—" Sir Lon'qu suddenly jerks his head up at me, eyes wide with an emotion that I cannot understand.
Poke.
And with a slight touch, the bout is over. I'm not sure who is more confused by the ending to that fight, Sir Basilio, Sir Lon'qu, or myself.
At the very least, I managed to secure myself as the champion for Western Ferox. A less important role, now that I no longer need to prevent Uncle Terry from losing his hand in the ring, but one that is still important nonetheless.
Still…why is Sir Lon'qu looking at me like that?
(Forseti)
I see Grima upon a makeshift throne, a black lump of rock shaped into a most uncomfortable seat for the Fell Dragon to rest upon. He is…well, I am unsure as to his precise location, but I would not be surprised if it was in Plegia. No, it most definitely is in Plegia. Only such a place so utterly consumed by his worship could be able to contain him without the land itself rejecting his presence and withering.
Hmmm…but would it be her now? The Fell Dragon is contained in its avatar, fragile and unwilling as she might be, but still contained nonetheless. Just as I was affected by Lewyn as much as I influenced him, Grima is as affected by its vessel as she is by it. Ugh, I shall refer to Grima with feminine pronouns and possessives from now on. Calling her an 'it' is awfully confusing.
"I never understood the need for gendered pronouns in language," My mental compatriot notes with a chuckle as I ask him about the correct words to be used. Apparently, he has studied linguistics in the past. A…confusing decision, especially for one of our race, but to each their own.
Grima's actions are…erratic. Confusing. Irrational. Not that they were awfully rational, sane, and sensible the first time around, but even more so now than before. She sits on her throne, surrounded by the undead that she has raised in a dead time and brought with her as the walls between timelines were weakened by Naga's past future self. Notably, however, is the number of undead.
There are significantly less than before.
"I wonder why?" Cly Morth snorts sarcastically as I make note of this fact verbally. Ignoring him for the moment, I turn my attention back on the Fell Dragon.
"Incomprehensible…but not unexpected…" The Fell Dragon mutters, black miasma swirling around her, causing a typhoon of mist and magic to form with her at its centre. "I must rest to create more…stronger ones…faster ones…no…"
An ingenious idea pops into her head. I shudder at the thought.
"Yes…" She cackles. "Yes! YES! I understand now! I understand how to crush them!"
The Fell Dragon then enters into a fit of maniacal laughter, her abrasive cries of glee nearly causing me to double over in pain.
She rises off her throne, the hunk of black obsidian quickly being swallowed by the torrential whirlpool of blacky ink that follows the fell dragon around, obscuring my vision of the areas further away from the dark dragon's avatar.
I watch as she moves around. I am unsure as to where she is going, but once in a while, an undead appears, close enough to the eye of the storm to be visible, and then quickly disappears into the murk once more. Eventually, she appears to have arrived at her destination. A stele of grey-blue stone rises some three or so metres, at its base rests the body of a man.
His eyes are half-closed, but one can still see his grey pupils. His head is a mess of golden strands, some stained dark scarlet by his own dried blood. His face is pristine, even in death, and his mouth is curled up into his last, defiant smile.
The same cannot be said for the rest of his body, however. His right arm is missing from the forearm down, a mass of metal and wires that had once connected the remnants of his arm to a wonderfully made prosthetic lay limp, having neither an owner who needed it nor an articulated hand to control. His left arm is in even worse condition, being severed just below the shoulder. A crude implement was once installed there, but it now rests detached and unusable near the man's leg.
He had once worn an immaculate coat of pure white, shielding him from attacks and cold alike. His pants were a charcoal black, his boots a warm grey. Now, they lie in tatters, dark red staining each and every tear. His clothes hide the damage done to his body. Lacerations, some made before his death, the majority made after, crisscross his skin like stars upon the night sky, just far more morbid. Some of these marks are incredibly deep, and one could see the membrane covering his heart from the outside. A massive scorched hole has removed most of his stomach, and the fist-sized gap in his gut is the most likely cause of death.
Upon seeing that the body had fallen over in her absence, Grima growls and grips the dead man's body, shoving him up and pinning his body—that should be rotting but for some infernal reason isn't—against the stone stele with a growl.
"Don't think I'm done with you just yet," Grima makes a guttural sound as she lashes out with a whip made from black miasma, striking the body of the dead man, and desecrating it further. "You…will…be my slave…one of…these days!"
Each word is punctuated by another slash of the dead man's body. Hatred emanates from the Fell Dragon's avatar in waves, and yet the dead man's expression does not change. Of course, it cannot change. He is long dead. And yet…I believe that Grima wishes that it would.
After a few more moments, Grima seems to calm herself as the tendril of darkness is dismissed. In its place, an orb of sanguine red is held in her right hand. Slowly curls of purple magic slowly leak out of the orb and onto the floor.
This magic I know well. Loptous had used similar magic during our fighting in Judgal, and yet…and yet…I can feel that this magic is more potent, stronger, more corrupting than what Loptous had managed to conjure.
A deadlord. She is attempting to turn this corpse into a deadlord.
I can hear my compatriot growl in his corner of this dark world. Not a good sign.
These purple tendrils slowly crawl towards the dead body. Once they reach it, however—
Some sort of magic keeps them from attaching. Oh, sure, they crawl all over the body, healing wounds with a purple ichor, but his flesh…the body's pale flesh…is not corrupted. It remains defiant still, standing as resolute in death as the man had in life.
Grima is patient, letting the spell do its work, but as the seconds drag into minutes drag into hours, she finally snaps. The red orb is discarded, and thrown into the grey stele with such force that a chunk of rock is knocked loose and clatters to the ground, the orb embedded into the stele.
"WHY DO YOU STILL DEFY ME! YOU ARE DEAD! YOUR FRIENDS ARE ALL DEAD! SUBMIT! SUBMIT!" She roars, miasma pooling in a misty cloud at her feet.
Her screams echo into the false night, the only living ears that hear it are mine and Cly Morths…
What worries me more isn't the arrogant attempt to turn a hero of the past future into a slave…but the thought that she may do so with more heroes of the past. I shiver.
After all, what is stopping the Fell Dragon from using that abominable magic to turn a certain former Exalt into a mindless puppet?
Or…even the Hero-King himself…
AN: Hello there! Acardia here! Phew...it's been a hot minute, hasn't it? Yeah, the last update was nearly two months ago. November has decided to fuck me in the ass, so I haven't been able to write too much. However! I have finished this chapter in...what, half a week? I'm getting my touch back! Let's go!
In this chapter, we see more of Terence's mental problems, Robin attempts to ride a horse, Laurent's first POV, Lon'qu accidentally feels up Lucina's chest, and part of Grima's plan is revealed. The Ferox fight is coming up in the next chapter, everyone! The plot is a-moving! Huzzah!
Right, we got a couple of reviews. Let's get to them first.
Gabriel Costa1: Thanks, man. So where can I meet this Gabriel Costa2?
Louie Yang: Waifu? No no, not waifu. Enemy! E-ne-my!
Guest (1): Thanks man! Extra thanks since you wrote great instead of good.
Guest (2): Thanks man!
Wheattus: Hey! New names! Welcome, welcome. We have posca on the right. Enjoy your stay. Right, I should probably add an addendum or something similar in the future for Latin-heavy chapters. As for the levelling system...well, not to spoil anything I have planned, but it shouldn't get problematic until later. Terence is currently level 14, and the EXP needed to get from 14 to fifteen is not something current enemies can give. I do have works on other sites...but I suggest you stay away from them. They are uh— not the best.
That's it for this month? Week? Idk when the next chapter is coming. Stay safe, and happy holidays!
Valete, omnis.
Acardia out!