Paralogue 5: Reunion
Robin didn't like answering stupid questions. He doesn't know a single person who can withstand the near-constant stream of useless questions that a small child will produce. Not even Libra, the eternally-calm priest could keep his cool…some of the time. Libra is actually quite good with children, so long as he's had a good night's sleep. Sleep deprivation is no joke; it will turn the best of people into the worst of people.
So then, it is only natural that Robin would get angry if someone who has the heart of a child has decided to ask him as many as humanly possible. Which…unfortunately, is quite a lot.
"Sir Robin…where are we going…?" The red-headed son of Anna and Gregor asks again, for the fifth time.
"You'll see once we get there," Robin mutters. Alann, despite being in his early twenties, still acts like a child sometimes.
"I still don't understand. You seemed to have a very thought out plan before you met up with Lady Daraen…and now we're all marching through Plegia together? I'm…slightly confused."
"Of course you'll be. I haven't explained anything yet," Robin grumbles. "You'll understand once we get there."
"Robin, where exactly are you taking us…?" Jeralt asks while pointing at the dry and hilly Plegian countryside. "There's nothing here."
Byleth has to agree with her father. This place is just as desolate as the Red Canyon. The largest native life form around are tall bushes that barely reach her height. If she was lucky, she could spot a small dryland lizard scurry from one shadow to another, running as quickly as its little lizard legs could carry it to not have to contend with the baking heat of the sun.
Speaking of the baking heat of the dryland sun, that sun was beaming down heavily onto the small group of five. Robin, Daraen, and Jeralt seem fine, with the former two seemingly thriving in the dryland heat. Meanwhile, Byleth has more in common with a wilted flower and Alann is on his third water skin after drinking the first two just getting from the small fishing village a couple of kilometres back where they docked to here…which took all of two hours.
"That's…part of the reason why we are out here, Sir Gerald."
"Jeralt, Daraen, Jeralt."
"G—Garalt."
"Dze-Ralt, Daraen, not Gerald."
"J—Jerald."
"Eh, that's close enough." Robin sighs, seemingly giving up on his younger sister's terrible pronunciation of the old knight's name. "But Daraen's right. The place we're trying to get to is remote, and that's the only way for it to have survive."
"That seems…oddly specific," Alann huffs, gulping down another mouthful of water. "Argh! Can we please do something to get my mind off this heat!? How did any of you survive in this kind of weather?"
"For one, you shouldn't have worn Tellian clothes here. I told you to change…but you didn't. Now you're suffering the consequences," Robin snorts. "But sure, what do you want to talk about?"
"I…I don't know…uh…well, how are you two siblings…?"
Robin turns around and stares as the red-headed merchant.
"What do you mean by that, Alann…?"
"W—Well, you two look nothing alike!"
Robin and Daraen exchange a confused look before both staring at Alann with a confused expression.
"What are you talking about, Alann…?"
"Robin and I look rather alike, no?"
Alann looks between the two with an every-increasing look of disbelief.
"That's such a wrong statement that I don't even know where to begin! Uh…your hair! Sir Robin, yours is white, and Lady Daraen's is blue!"
Robin blinks and sighs.
"Alann, my hair is supposed to be blue. My mother's hair is blue. Blue is its natural colour. The fact that I had the soul of a Fell Dragon stuck inside of me kind of messed that up."
"O—Oh."
"Can you imagine Robin with blue hair?"
"Honestly…no…"
"Pfft…" Daraen chuckles. "He looks very good with blue hair."
"I know what incident you're talking about, Daraen. I thought we would not talk about it," Robin mutters.
"Enough of that," Jeralt shakes his head. "We're going to burn up if we don't keep moving."
"That's a fair point. Why did you stop us, Daraen?"
"I—Robin!"
That night, the small group made camp in a small depression in the ground some ways off of the small dirt road that snaked its way through the drylands. Byleth didn't understand why the decision was made, but Robin, Daraen, and Jeralt all told her that it was important to do this, so she didn't question it. She's never had to survive for extended periods of time in the desert, so she wouldn't know why this was necessary.
As with any campsite, they would need a multitude of materials to be able to survive the night with any semblance of comfort. Food, Water, Fire, and Shelter are the top three things to find and gather in any kind of survival situation, even if it was only for a short two-day trip.
Water, quite ironically, was the easiest to get. Ice Magic worked just as well in a dryland as it did in any other kind of land, and Robin was able to create a massive spike of ice that jutted out from the dusty soil. Scraping off large chunks of said ice spike and letting it melt in a cup sated everyone's thirst quite readily.
Food wasn't much harder to get a hold of. Despite claiming that they were not desert people, Robin and Daraen were both able to find food in this desolate land incredibly quickly. After around half an hour of searching, Robin managed to find a multitude of dryland lizards, moles, rodents, and even a Secretary Bird. Daraen wasn't as successful as her brother, but she still returned with a couple of cactus fruits and a dove she managed to blast out of the air. In contrast, the other three managed a single scrawny rat between the three of them.
Dinner wasn't very grand, but it wasn't lacking in diversity or quantity, so nobody complained.
Well, there was a slight problem concerning the food, and that was actually cooking it. See, fire, or another source of heat, is usually needed to make a meal. Starting a fire, ironically enough, was simple. Four out of the five people present knew some kind of fire spell. Keeping that fire running, however, was quite tricky. Daraen had to make multiple trips to the surrounding area to find more dry burnable fuel for Robin to burn. After the meal was made, Robin decided to go out into the wilderness to find enough fuel for the night.
Shelter, once again, was another issue. It gets incredibly cold in any climate without sufficient vegetation to retain heat from the day, and this is doubly tricky with fast winds sweeping across the dryland at night. After a while of shivering in a pit, Daraen decided to go out to find a better spot for them to be.
This left the three least experienced travellers in a pit together, without much direction.
An act of trust by the siblings, or a terrible oversight by two usually incredibly competent people. Byleth isn't sure which one it is.
They've sat in silence for a while. Jeralt and Byleth herself aren't the talkative type, and Alann seems like that kind of person but…
Well…
When Byleth and Jeralt are staring at you, it's kind of hard to say anything at all.
"Um…" He finally finds the nerve to speak up. "Your daughter…ah…doesn't speak much, doesn't she?"
"Mmmm…what are you getting at…?"
"U—Uh, nothing! I'm just trying to start a conversation!"
"Well—"
"It's fine," Byleth shakes her head.
Alann waits for her to continue talking but Byleth returns to being the silent and stoic woman that she usually is.
"C—Can I ask some…um…questions?"
"Sure." Byleth says in a monotone voice.
"A—Alright. Um…so…why do you only talk to Robin…?"
"Hmmm?"
"W—Well, I've noticed that you only talk a lot around Robin." Alann explains his question. "Do you…feel comfortable around him…or is there some other reason?"
Byleth frowns and tilts her head in confusion.
"Jeralt…do I…?"
"Yeah, I've noticed it too. Also, would it kill you to at least call me 'father'? I know 'dad' is a bit much to ask for, but…" Jeralt sighs.
"Why? You are Jeralt."
TThe knight gestures towards Alann with an exasperated expression on his face.
"This is the kind of person Byleth is, unfortunately. She's sort of always been like this. Though…it was worse in the past."
"Robin helped me speak," Byleth nods in agreement.
"Was she…mute?"
"Pfft. For all intents and purposes, yeah. She could speak, she just…didn't." Jeralt's expression suddenly hardens. "Alann. Shut up for a moment."
"H—Huh? Wait, why—"
Alann's questions are cut off suddenly as Byleth leaps over and covers the young man's mouth.
[Did you hear that too?] Jeralt signs to his daughter as he turns and peers out of the rim of the depression, scanning the dark dryland landscape for the producer of the quiet sounds he heard earlier.
[Affirm. Sounded like a person. Agree?] Byleth signs back. She does so with only one hand, which limits the words she can use, due to her left hand still covering an incredibly confused Alann's mouth.
[Affirm. They're quiet. Be careful. Don't know direction or speed. No visuals.] Jeralt replies, the last motion made being a quick motion to block his eyes, signalling a lack of visual confirmation of a target.
[Affirm. Request: release A-L-A. Respond to request. More lookout.] Byleth nods. She glares at Alann, who seems to understand that he needs to keep quiet.
[Request granted. South-by-Southeast. 1-6-9 degrees.] Jeralt squints his eyes as the dark makes it difficult to see anything out in the murk.
At the same time, the fire that they've started, if pitiful, still brightly illuminates them against the backdrop of the night sky. Not a great position, all told.
Byleth lets go of Alann's mouth. The redhead takes a couple of deep breaths before lying down on the side of the depression.
[I can't see anything either.] Byleth sign, with a slightly annoyed face. [Sure of this vector?]
[Positive. Steps.] Jeralt frowns.
Not a moment later, a set of crunching noises can be heard from the direction that Jeralt pointed to before. Alann, finally realising exactly what is going on, whimpers quietly before covering his mouth after Byleth gives him another glare.
[Footsteps. Human. Light. Wary.] Byleth signs back. [Should I move ahead?]
[Don't. More safe here. Stay alert.]
[Affirm]
Byleth and Jeralt stare off into the murk quietly, straining their ears and eyes to try and find anything. After what feels like nearly half an hour of vigilance, the silence of the night calms down the two former mercenaries' nerves enough to return to a more normal state.
"Did…Did it move away…?" Alann whispers quietly as the two soldiers go back to sitting around the fire. "Are we safe now…?"
"We're as safe as we reasonably can be," Jeralt shrugs. "Whoever that was…if it was even a person…doesn't seem to be moving anymore. That's honestly good enough for me. The last sounds we heard were…what, a hundred feet away?"
"Feet…?"
"Unit of measurement. Not much less than a third of a metre," Byleth explains with a shrug. "Fodlani measurement. Old Fodlani measurement."
"Huh…so it….really wasn't that far away, was it?"
"Unfortunately not," Jeralt nods. "Far, far too close for comfort. If we were still in Dagda, I'd be sending out a patrol party already."
"Robin would have already gotten them," Byleth points out.
"That's…also true. We never did have a person this close to us in Dagda, huh?"
"Other than the time you got caught in that trap."
"Let's…not talk about that incident," Jeralt winces. "My leg still hurts sometimes."
"Wait, what time?"
"Jeralt made a mistake. Got ambushed by a couple of skirmishers," Byleth shrugs. "They got his leg. Robin got all of their faces."
"I'd like to point out that I also—nevermind," Jeralt sighs. "Whatever. I'm not going to make myself look better. Got an arrow stuck in my left leg. Did some real damage to my musculature in that area. Put paid to my swordsmanship, not that I was any good at it in the first place,"
"What kind of trap was it—mmmph!?" a cloaked hand suddenly covered Alann's mouth. The poor man only has a split second to give an expression of shock before that hand janks him backwards into the darkness.
Byleth responds first. Not a split second later, a bolt of flame shoots out towards the place where Alann was sitting a fraction of a second ago, though it slams harmlessly against the rock.
Clicking her tongue in annoyance at having lost an enemy so close, Byleth reaches for the Sublime Sword of the Creator and unsheaths it. The relic awakens, igniting with sickly red flames, lines of bright, criss-crossing orange pulsing in a rhythmic beat across its surface. The sound of bone upon metal accompany the weapon's whip-like blade unfurling.
Byleth swings the weapon in a wide arc, hoping to catch whoever that was by sheer chance.
The air lights up with flashes of red light, a cold reminder of the war in Fodlan more than a millenium ago.
However, the ebony blade does not catch any human flesh in its wake.
Instead, on the rim of the depression, from the murk, another blade appeared. A blade far, far older.
A hooded figure, clad in dark purple, illuminated by the light of the campfire at the centre of the pit, holding a blade of black and gold. Flames of crimson-black that seem to suck the light from its surroundings circle the sword like hawks, licking at whatever surrounds them.
Byleth retracts the Sword of the Creator back into its more sword-like form and faces down this mysterious figure. For a terrible moment as these two figures stared at each other, a tension could be tasted from the air.
The hooded figure made the first move, flying forwards with a speed that Byleth just barely reacted to.
Clang.
The sound of metal striking dried bone is heard as the black sword smashes into the Sword of the Creator, barely raised up in time to protect its wielder.
Scrape.
The sound of metal scraping against metal rings out as the Sword of the Creator hooks around the black blade, using the protrusions of the oddly-shaped sword to anchor the black blade down and into a disadvantageous position.
Thud.
The hooded figure backs off, giving Byleth time to breathe. Beads of sweat have already started to form on her forehead. The heat that the black blade gives off is frightening. A bind with such a sword was incredibly taxing on her stamina.
She raises the Sword of the Creator into a high guard. The hooded figure responds with a blast of lightning that Byleth dodges by rolling to the side. The figure charges again, though this time Byleth is more ready.
The Sword of the Creator is unfurled, the jagged point racing across the air at the charging figure. They try to dodge, but a slight flick of the wrist and the blad veers off to one side, snaking to the right and smashing straight into the figure's side.
Their body goes flying and tumbles into the dirt. Byleth retracts her relic, blood glistening at the tip of the blade.
"She's not down," Jeralt mutters, having attempted to join in a moment earlier but backing off upon seeing relics being used. Byleth nods in acknowledgement.
True to his words, the figure stands back up a moment later, seemingly no worse off. They charge once again, closing the distance with frightening speed.
This delicate yet intense dance continued. Byleth had the mid-range advantage, where her immaculate control of the Sword of the Creator and its ability to strike targets from a distance allowed her to keep pressure on the mysterious figure. Meanwhile, the figure's black blade emanated a heat that made it exceedingly difficult to fight during close range, which gave them the advantage in close-in engagements. Both sides' magic was excellent; Byleth would pelt the cloaked figure with bolts of flame while they would return spears of lightning in return.
This led to a sort of cycle. They would start at a long range, pelting each other with spells, until the cloaked figure attempted to rush in. Crossing the mid-range subjected them to the attacks of an extended Sword of the Creator, which could hit and reset the cycle back to the long range, or the figure could close the distance, which would end in a bind and Byleth being scorched before backing off, restarting the cycle.
They fought in this continuous pattern for a while. While at first they may seem equally matched, Byleth had a small advantage. Every time the cloaked figure needed to move closer, they would take unnecessary damage that they had no counter to. In contrast, Byleth was able to engage effectively at all ranges, without much fear of being wrong-footed.
Perhaps realising this, the cloaked figure quickly became aggressive, wanting to stay at a close range and hounding Byleth's heels, not letting her move far away.
Byleth clicks her tongue in annoyance as the cloaked figure forces her forward with a blast of lightning. She's being put in a bad position. She knows this, but can't seem to find a way out of the bad situation. Well, there is a way, but it is quite risky.
The black blade passes a scant few millimetres away from her shoulder in a downward sweep.
Now is not the time for such thoughts! Do or die, now or never!
The Sublime Sword of the Creator in unchained, a scarlet lightning arcing across as the sacred arts of the Crest of Flames is invoked. The crest of Sothis herself is revealed, shining in its full ochre glory.
Rupture the Sky; Reap the Heavens
Sublime Heaven
The sword crackles with immense energy, the blade exploding out with immense force. Black tendrils of energy merge and resist crimson bolts of power, creating a tapestry of black and red as the blade flies through the air.
Byleth had expected the hooded figure to be simply blown away, but instead…
I pray to thee; elevated hero of myth.
Deliver me to the gates of heaven.
Burn my enemies in black flame.
Exalted Mystletainn
A vortex of black flame wraps around the black sword, consuming everything it touches, not even sparing the figure's cloak. In a mighty swing, the vortex is urged forwards, roaring and burning the very air that it touched.
The two great sacred arts collided—
"Wait! Stop!"
Byleth blinks as Robin suddenly appears in front of her—right in the path of the two colliding sacred arts.
It takes him but a moment to assess the situation. Perhaps he wanted to show off, but he stands there, hands outstretched.
"Robin! No—!"
The middle of the depression explodes in a massive cloud of dust, the column of black-brown rising confidently into the air.
When everything starts to settle, Byleth rushes towards the centre of the blast. The Sword of the Creator is quickly rebound and sheathed at her side. She finds him standing up, scorch marks all over his body, but otherwise unharmed.
"Robin! Are you alright!?"
"I'm…ack, I'm fine. It's not the first time you've hit me with that move," He sighs.
Byleth notices the figure standing at the top of the newly-made crater. Their cloak is burned away from the force of her Holy Sword, revealing an older woman with dark-blue hair and amber eyes. She stares intensely at Robin.
Byleth, realising this, reaches for the Sword of the Creator, only to have her hand blocked by Robin.
"There's no need. It's…been a long time, hasn't it…mother…?" He smiles.
"You know, Sir Robin, I think now that I know who your mom is, I think I can understand you a lot better…" Alann sighs as he sits down at the dinner table.
Robin raises his eyebrows but doesn't reply, instead heading towards the kitchen and shaking his head.
Things had gone in a very strange direction after Robin had appeared, to say the least. The quite shocking revelation of his parentage had sent a shockwave through the group.
It had taken a full ten minutes for Byleth to even agree to put the Sword of the Creator down, and Robin's mother took even longer. By the time Robin had managed to calm everyone down enough to sit down and listen to him explain what had happened, Daraen had returned with an extremely disoriented Alann, who promptly fainted upon seeing Robin's mother again, prompting another half-hour or so of trying to get Byleth and Robin's mother to stop trying to gut each other.
Ironically enough, Jeralt was able to be persuasive enough to convince Byleth to do something instead of making things worse. Robin isn't sure why, but he's not complaining about it.
Apparently, Alann had been teleported to a nearby hill, tied up, and just…left there. Daraen was rather annoyed at her brother's heavy-handed delegation of tasks; he tried to break up the fight while Daraen was tasked to find Alann.
After explaining their situation in detail, Robin's mother decided to let them stay at her house for the night. Well, he was going to go there anyway; that was the whole point of the trip. Might as well save some time, Robin thought.
After a short trek, we arrive once more in the present. The house that Robin's mother is using as her abode is quite small, with a small cramped kitchen-dining area and an even smaller sleeping area. Daraen offers to sleep outside, which is vetoed by both Robin and his mother. Robin then tries to volunteer, with a similar effect. In the end, Alann and Jeralt were forced to pitch a tent and sleep with the stars; Robin's mother refused to let Byleth sleep outside, despite their fight earlier.
Right now, however, thoughts of sleep were superseded with the smell of meat and stew.
"Robin dear, could you help me set the table?"
"Done," Robin sniffs. With a wave of his hand, wind magic carries the assorted plates and cutlery to their positions. "You forgot to add the salt, Daraen."
The hapless girl yelps as her brother taps her shoulders with a sigh.
"S—Sorry. I'll fix it right away. You didn't have to scare me like that."
"How did you get through all of Valm if a tap was able to scare you…?"
"H—Hey, that's not my fault! And it's not like you were any better!"
"That, my dear little sister, was what's called—"
"No fighting in the kitchen!
"Yes, mom…"
"Y—Yes!"
Byleth stares at this strange domestic scene before her from her seat at the dinner table with a slight distaste in her mouth. It was weird and reassuring, in equal parts, to see Robin like this. Such a powerful figure…reduced to an adult child and kitchen helper in front of his mother.
Before long, a meal of grilled meat and radish stew is served up.
The meal begins in silence, not because there is nothing to say, but because nobody wants to say anything.
"So…Miss…?" Jeralt is the first to break the silence.
"Morgana. Morgana Salador," The older woman smiles slightly. "And you are…?"
"Jeralt. Jeralt Eisner," The knight replies. "I'm…Byleth's father."
"Hmmm…I see. You friends with my Robin?"
"In a way, I suppose. More…coworkers."
"I'm hurt, Jeralt. Not friends?"
"I owe you my life and trust you more than anyone, but that doesn't mean I don't find you annoying," Jeralt snorts.
"I see," Morgana wipes her lips with a cloth. "More importantly, Robin, you have a lot to explain. It's been…nearly a decade since I last saw you. And even Daraen lost track of you for half of that time!"
"Y—Yeah, I should," Robin sighs. "But mom, I need you to believe everything I tell you. I had a…rather messy decade."
"I will."
"So I got amnesia—"
"Pfft!"
"Mom! It's true! Daraen can back me up," The blue-haired girl nods as Robin struggles to keep his mother from falling over in laughter.
"You—gahahaha! You what!?"
"Lost my memories…"
"Isn't that a convenient excuse. Any—hahaha—anyway, do go on. I'm curious as to what else happened."
"I was taken in by Chrom—yes, that Chrom—and joined his—hold on a minute," Robin's eyes narrow. "Hasn't Daraen told you this already? I distinctly remember you said we had much to discuss about my actions. That implies that you already know what happened."
"Oh, she has. I just wanted to hear it from your mouth. I think it's very hilarious."
"Mom!"
"Alright, alright. I know what kinds of things you went up to with the Prince of Ylisse—now Exalt, I suppose. At least one of you was a kind enough child to send me regular reports."
"I had amnesia! I physically couldn't!"
"Hey Robin, how'd you…lose the amnesia anyway?"
"Hmmm? Oh, I went on some rather effective soul-searching after my death courtesy of Naga," Robin shrugs in response to Daraen's question. "It was…both immensely traumatising and immensely gratifying at the same time."
"I—I see…"
"Hey Robin, you considered getting married yet?"
"Mom, I—"
"You know, that new Regent that we have—I don't keep track of politics very much—but she seems like a smart and good girl. What was her name again…?"
"Mom! That's not—"
"Ah! Right! Morgan! Didn't know that old name was still in use. I know you've always hated it, but you are technically the king of Plegia, you know? I have no idea who the Ylisseans are putting on our throne and who they're waiting for, but you could pull some strings, can't you?"
At this point, Daraen is incredibly close to losing her composure and rolling on the floor laughing. Everyone else sans Robin just looks confused.
"Mother," Robin's voice lowers. "Has Daraen not…told you anything?"
"Huh? Anything about what?"
"Oh, Naga's fluorescent-green titties…"
At this point, Daraen fully loses it and starts howling in laughter.
"Mom…I am married—"
"Oh, that's…why haven't I heard about it?"
"—And Morgan is my daughter."
The table is silent except for the loud laughs of Daraen, who has excused herself to finishing laughing in the bathroom.
"W—what…?"
"It's a bit weird with some time travel shenanigans, but…Morgan's my daughter…and my wife is…uh…The Voice."
"What…this…I…" Morgana blinks for a couple of moments before a shade of righteous rage appears on her face. "Daraen! Why did you not tell me!"
"Sorry, mom!" A muffled voice comes from the bathroom.
"Oh, you little—I praised you!" Morgana rushes off to confront her mischievous daughter.
The table falls silent once more.
"So uh…who's Morgan?" Jeralt asks.
"I just told you. My daughter."
"No no, but who's your daughter in society? Your mother mentioned something about a…Regency?"
"Chrom probably wants to put me on the throne of Plegia…which is understandable, I suppose. But, since I've been gone a while, they put Morgan in charge as a regent."
"Ah. I see—" A knock at the door interrupts Jeralts words.
"I'll get it," Alann gets up.
"Is she why we're here?"
"Sort of. I wanted to introduce you all to my dear mother…and see her again after nearly a decade, but—" Robin is in turn interrupted by Alann screaming at the door.
A group of soldiers suddenly rush into the room, spears clumsy being positioned in the tight room to point towards the group.
"You have been arrested under the orders of Her Excellency, Princess-Regent Morgan Nagathus, with the powers granted to her by the King of Plegia, His Majesty, Robin Nagathus! Do not resist!"
Robin blinks. While he's gotten arrested plenty of times before, this was the first time he's been arrested…by himself.
AN: Hello there! Acardia here!
So sorry that this chapter took so long. I had some really bad writers' block over the past...half year? I think it's been that long since the last chapter of WC;LS was release. No more! Rejoice! New chapter! You all should thank SirTypesALot for getting me out of my stupor. Clapping should be held until after the address, thank you.
Anyway, even if I've gotten my stride back, don't expect any updates...for a month or so. Sorry, BOaS has been sapping my time and soul. To use a tumblr term, I've gotten Writers' Firehose for that story. Sorry...
Anyhow! It's time! Review Reply Time!
Blackplant: Well, yes and now. Idunn sort of counts...but Idunn isn't a fell dragon.
SirTypesALot: Hehehehehe...we are getting close to the rumoured beatdown. Strap in!
Grabacr: Hey! Welcome back! Uh...yeah...still...releasing...hehe...sorry...
Right (I'm running out of transition words. Can you tell?), that's all I have for today. Sorry for the shorter chapter. Well, shorter by BOaS standards. Not for WC;LS standards. That's all for this [insert random duration of time].
Acardia out!