Sleeping Gods

by BlueBlazeCOMET

Chrom didn't find Robin that fateful day. Instead, he found a charismatic martial battlemage who becomes too closely connected to the Shepherds to keep them safe from his past. His presence inexplicably changes the timeline — for better and for worse. An atypical OC-insert.

13. Chapter 12: A Mangled Reprieve

It was if he was sleeping.

Wrapped in a black linen shroud, the body lay calm in the casket, a stained oak container of the highest calibre, lined with fine, cushioned cotton. He looked calm, his hair pulled back in a familiar manner that was almost too neatly done. He was pale, grey, and had shrunken so badly it was as if Fairen was looking at a life-sized doll. The shroud covered most of the battle damage, the numerous cuts across the chest and stomach that wouldn't heal, the mangled arms that could barely lift an axe by the end, the torn knees that prevented one from standing. There was only a small piece of evidence that the Plegians hit the head: a cut beneath the chin that had stitches. He was discoloured and unmoving, and had left to his final destination.

The breeze blew and Fairen felt a chill. The sky was overcast and the service was held mid-afternoon, the fall sun ineffective against the thick layer of grey clouds. Numbly, Fairen watched a boy with a dirty mop of blond hair sitting at the front row cry openly, squirming in discontent. His brother next to him, likely around two years older with black hair, did his best to stay silent while tears streaked down his cheeks, sniffles passing through. The mom, a stocky woman with messy, shoulder-length hair and a black dress, sat next to the younger and tried to hold his hand, the younger occasionally leaning to hug her and sit in her lap. The dad, a man with a black vest, rested on the other side of the older brother, rubbing his back soothingly. There was a teenage girl in the same row with similar clothing, arms ram-rod straight, grasping the chair sides, legs swinging anxiously as she stared at the blades of grass on the ground. Her gaze kept shooting towards the coffin. Fairen knew these people. He was cursing himself for not being able to remember a single name.

He shook himself out of his stupor. Sitting at the left side of the seating, he rubbed his hands as if they were cold, shoulders tense. The collar of his black long-sleeve shirt felt like it was about to choke him. He would forever owe a debt to Keele for so graciously delivering custom-made clothes whenever he needed in a timely fashion. He knew he was abusing a service and thought the man was a genius with the thread and needle. Regardless, Fairen tried to honour his friend by wearing what he thought was appropriate despite what his friend actually cared about or not. Fairen knew the man in the coffin probably wanted him to smile, laugh, and make fart jokes rather than sit there with a dour, lifeless expression.

He turned to his right. The chairs were packed, but Chrom tried everything in his power to make this a private affair. Normally, the death of one odd axe fighter from a small village in the prairie would not turn heads, even if that man was a Shepherd. But the presence of the prince at what was supposed to be an invite-only event only added curiosity to nobles, nobles who would say or do anything to try and stake a claim that they somehow knew something about the man who died. Fairen found only guards and a handful of castle staff attending, all either wearing black or, if they could not afford black, purple, with women adorning dresses and men long coats and jackets. Fairen chose to forgo a mourning hat. He found it too gaudy, and Keele agreed.

On his side of the seat were several familiar faces. To his direct left was Lon'qu, staring blankly at the chair in front of him in plain clothing, not knowing how to dress in Ylissan culture, his permanent scowl pronounced. Sully was closer to the front in a dress again (although this time Fairen believed it to be more willingly), gritting her teeth in frustration or to perhaps keep the tears in. Maribelle wore a veil and held a handkerchief at the corners of her eyes as she sobbed. Lissa, during a rare occurrence, was the one putting a hand over Maribelle's shoulder, consoling. All the Shepherds were there. Virion sat quietly next to Stahl, Cordelia was trying her best to comfort a grieving Sumia, and Kellam was standing at the back, no one leaving a seat for him, the man somehow squeezing into what was possibly one of the largest black shirts Fairen has seen in a while, which still looked small on him. Miriel, Ricken, and Donnel all were... somewhere. He had lost track.

St. Wrys cemetery, situated at the top of a hill in a graveyard at north side Ylisstol, was well-known to be a common resting place for servants of the royal family, including knights who had fallen in battle. Long, frayed grass stalks stood around countless gravestones that travelled across miles. Fairen knew Chrom had buried his comrades here, and today would not be the last. The man in the coffin, fortunately, would not be buried here, but instead somewhere closer to his home of Aberthford, where Chrom thought he truly deserved to rest. They would have made the trek out as soon as possible but there was just no time. War was on the horizon.

The priest made their way to the stand at the front near the coffin. They were tall but with a thin figure, wearing stark, white robes and had long, pale blond hair trailing down over their shoulders. Although their face was quite feminine, they had a strong chin and was taller than the average woman.

"Greetings, everyone," the priest said, the pitch of their voice ladylike yet masculine. "We have gathered here today to celebrate the life of the one named Vaike, of the Shepherds.

"Vaike was a strong warrior, one who held high honour and esteem in a well-regarded group of warriors known throughout the land. Vaike fought valiantly with his peers-in-arms, and no one could ever doubt the skill and strength he brought to every march. He would spend days training with his friends, never one to tire from honing his skills. He was always ready to lend a hand to those willing to improve themselves, eager to take those under his wing. His pride always proceeded his confidence, to great effect to those that needed positivity. He was a bright light in the dark, a burning flame in the midst of a desert, an endless stomach in the middle of a tavern."

The crowd couldn't help but chuckle.

"Vaike was a child of Naga. There is nothing but admiration for him in Her eyes, for She will always view those who fight for her and her chosen lineage as worthy. Light are our hearts, as we know Vaike represented well the boons of Naga: Strength, honesty, valour, generosity. He is succeeded by his young cousins, and leaves behind his mother and father, as well as two brothers."

There was a beat. Fairen searched the clouds.

"The crown prince, Chrom, has prepared a few words to say. If you would, milord."

The priest stepped down from the podium. Up came Chrom, still wearing a cape, still adorning a sword, but his attire was wholly of dire shades. Dark grey felt, black swords belts, and a dark blue dress shirt covered his upper torso. The man looked tired, but stared onward, strong, behind the speaker's spot, putting on his best face and staring out to the crowd as they asked silent questions, waiting for answers. He hadn't brought a single page with him for his speech. The wind blew.

"I first met Vaike six years ago," Chrom said. His voice was weathered. He cleared his throat. "When I was working in his village as a travelling mercenary. Before the Shepherds, I travelled across the countryside with a handful of knights, working to try and achieve things that would eventually lead to the forming of the Shepherds. I met Vaike at his home village, which was having a stark bandit problem. The man wanted to involve himself in the bandit subjugation. I looked at Vaike, a poor lumberman, someone trying to take care of his numerous younger cousins and feed them properly, and despite his trunk-sized biceps I thought he should steer clear."

Fairen smiled at Chrom's humour.

"He quickly proved me wrong when he defended himself and his home from a sudden bandit attack." Chrom paused, his gaze hardening, shining. "When I formed the Shepherds, Vaike was one of the first people I knew I wanted on our team. He was headstrong, rough, and crass. But he was also courageous, stalwart, and had one hell of an arm. Throughout his service, he's provided the strength and mastery of axe combat, and time and time again he has proven he isn't just some man from a village no one knows. Every time he'd walk into the barracks he'd make the room brighter. He would drag us to pubs to have a hot, meaty meal, and he was my introduction to non-noble food. He would invite us to contests of strength, take losses with grace, and lend a hand in study when he triumphed. In every sense he was the best of us, and I couldn't imagine history books passing on his name.

Fairen felt like crying. Sully couldn't help it in the front. He looked and Lon'qu was closing his eyes in silent prayer.

There was a flash of irrational anger. If he had gotten to the palace sooner, or if he was better at traversing the halls, then maybe he'd met the enemy in time for Vaike to survive. But Fairen's sadness overwhelmed those thoughts. He knew Vaike needed more than his pitiful strength and empty promises.

"Can you let me speak to him?"

He didn't turn, but he knew, beside him, she was there in the air looking over his shoulder. He could feel her presence as his senses reached, holy energy emanating from the church over the hill, the gathering of royal figures as a conduit of signals. Naga was also putting in her own effort to be here too, Fairen realized. She was in her dress, her long hair cascading down the back of her figure, the ends defusing like emerald fire. His surroundings glazed in order to speak to her, but he was aware Chrom had stepped down from the front and someone took his place.

"I'm sorry, but that does not fall under my domain," Naga said, frowning, sorrowful.

"How can I speak to him? Who else do I need to talk to?"

Fairen's lips were still, but he spoke.

"The god of war and death, Duma, is no longer with us," Naga replied. "Without his influence, we have no ability to reach souls who have passed beyond the realm of life."

"The god of death is dead?" Fairen asked. "Isn't that bad?"

"The balance of life and death remains constant, as the goddess of life, Mila, also has ceased to exist for some millennia. I do what I can with my power to ensure that the rest of existence stays in constant flow."

Fairen bit his lip. "So Ylissian Gods are gone that easily, huh?"

Naga bowed her head. "Indeed. Despite our power, it seems that we, too, are vulnerable to the cold edge of oblivion."

"What killed them?" Fairen had to ask.

There was a great amount of regret in Naga. "The madness of Dragons."

---

"Absolutely not."

"But whyyyyy?" Lissa whined, scowling.

Fairen gave Lissa a glance as he walked through the castle courtyard. The grounds were a mess of activity. Over the past handful of days, knights came in and out as well as horse-led carts transporting weapons, charts, armour, and other equipment. The active guard tripled as Phila ordered those off-duty to pull overtime while the Warren Circle made other wartime preparations. Soldiers stomped back and forth to and from the castle barracks. The normally swept clean stone path from the gate in through the courtyard was covered daily in a layer of mud, dirt, and horse muck. Castle servants: maids, butlers, and retainers all rushed about with armfuls of baskets, papers, and brooms. Members of the Shepherds could be seen moving all throughout the castle grounds more than usual, trying to sort everything before they left with the Ylissian army.

"I don't have the time," Fairen said, arms swinging as he strode.

He had his armoured leather jacket over his shoulders, although he wore a simple white shirt that showed to keep himself cool. His jacket pockets were filled with documents; maps, plan outlines, scout reports, and daily supply logs took up almost every inch of space that the insides of the leather had to spare, making Fairen appear humorously bloated. Over his shoulder was an expensive leather satchel that held more paper, all that he could carry to and from his destinations. His feet were sore form all the walking he had done to and from where the Ylissian army was training, his cheap brown boots more for everyday urban activities than hour-long treks.

Lissa threw her arms up. "Of course you have time! Are you seriously telling me you can't spare thirty minutes?"

"Lissa," Fairen began, "I barely have enough time for lunch! I'm eating sandwiches next to Drake giving drills, I'm drawing tactics long enough to miss my bath and a decent bed time, I don't have a single moment to myself!"

"You have time for Miriel," Lissa said, stabbing a finger at her open palm. "I don't see her complaining about your lack of time. I constantly see you two practising on the training grounds! How is that fair?"

"Because we already have an arrangement!" Fairen exclaimed, leaning in. "And you're blowing it out of proportion! We've gone from an hour of practice twice a week to thirty minutes during whenever we have to spare in this god-forsaken scramble!"

"Ok, let me join in too!" Lissa cried. Fairen was starting to feel the stares that the guards and soldiers were giving. "I could learn alongside you! Teach me while you spar! Or in-between rounds!"

"No! Go learn weapon combat or something! Ask Frederick to teach you!"

"Why the heck would I want to use a weapon? I'm a healer! I already know some basics about magic!"

Fairen paused, feeling uncomfortable. It seemed like everyone slowed to watch the drama in action. Even the horses stared. Fairen took Lissa's sleeve and dragged her forward, Lissa begrudgingly following.

"Look," Fairen explained quietly, resuming his pace. "I don't know what's gotten in to you, but I can't teach you. You're have to look somewhere else."

"But why?" Lissa said, matching Fairen's volume. "You've done such a good job teaching Miriel. Why can't you teach me too?"

"It's like…" Fairen trailed off, sighing. "Why do you want to learn magic?"

"I need to be able to defend myself. I can't be relying on you or Chrom or any of the others all the time. If there's an axe-wielding maniac on me I need to be able to take care of myself!"

"So why not learn Ylissian magic?" Fairen strongly whispered, leaning towards Lissa. "You have so many resources available. Why does it have to be my magic?"

"I want to be able to cast without tomes," Lissa explained. There was determination in her eye. "If I can heal with the staff in one hand and cast fireballs and thunder blasts in the other, I'd be able to do so much more!"

"There's nothing wrong with learning skills with tomes." They reached the wall's western entrance, the gate up, guards standing alert at both sides of the arch. Fairen stopped and turned towards her. "But the fact remains that I'm stretched thin as it already is. Even if I add one more thing in my schedule I won't be able to do my job, which is to plan and strategise for the Shepherds. And, if I can't strategise for the Shepherds, then we can't fight the war properly, and I can't let that happen."

Lissa wilted. "Fairen."

"Go learn Ylissian magic," Fairen reiterated. "Or go to Frederick for help. Until then, you need to stay at the rear file so you're not in danger."

"But I'll need to know how to fight if something gets through!"

"If you're really that desperate, then you should ask Miriel," Fairen said dismissively, turning back to the road out of the castle grounds, looking over his shoulder one last time. "She could share her notes with you. Ask her to teach you."

Fairen walked away, forcing himself to stare ahead, knowing Lissa was utterly defeated behind him.

---

"Someone's leaking info."

Fairen leaned on the table. He was in his battle attire in the Warren Circle meeting room beneath the castle. Drake gave him a level look, his arms folded and pressed against his large armour. Sophie had a fist on her cocked hip, but only rose an eyebrow. Trinity twiddled with her fingers, shrunken down, looking around nervously and Arden kept quiet but shifted her gaze around the circular table. Ignius gave an ironic smile at the statement, the glint of the torch light reflecting off his glasses. Emmeryn, Phila, and Frederick all stood in silence, the Exalt staring mutely in sorrow. Chrom kept his hand on the pommel of Falchion, appearing relaxed but actually tense to spring at any moment, his lips a fine line, a foot back so he partially faced Fairen.

The room was dank and murky. Torch oil fell from the metal fixtures against the walls, flames descending leaving motes and ashes that blew out against the cold, wet stone floor. Drips came from the ceiling vents that filtered smoke. Moss grew between the wall and the ground, a barrel of rolled up parchment still sat on one side of the room, and a bookshelf newly added with several reports sat on the other side. The large, table-covering map of Archanea covered the surface, two different coloured flags dotting the roads, marking forts that would be the campaign's major control points. Everyone's focus was on the sole speaker that stood between Chrom and Trinity.

"No doubt about it," Fairen said, continuing. "There was no possible way for the Plegians to have sneaked in without help." He turned from Drake to Ignius. "Was there?"

Trinity pulled out a stack of papers from her apron and adjusted her glasses. "A-According to the post-combat re-report, A large number of the invaders c-came from the kitchen through the eastern cellar. They entered through t-the depot inside several carriages disguised as wine sh-shipments."

"Now how would they have gotten through there, hmm?" Ignius questioned aloud, tapping a finger to his chin.

Drake shook his head, his voice a low growl. "Only the cooks and servants have access to that area."

"That doesn't exactly narrow down the number of suspects," Sophie commented.

"That's not all," Trinity said. Everyone turned to her again and she blinked several times, becoming meek. "I-I mean, there was a fraction of f-forces u-unaccounted for."

"They came from the emergency passage."

Fairen watched the entire room pale except for him. He was thrown for a loop, being left out, and turned to Arden, who glared sharply from beneath her assassins hood. "What?"

Drake seemed to give Arden an alarmed look, but she continued. "There's a secret passage for the Exalt to escape the castle in the event of an invasion or if the castle falls. The problem is that the other invaders infiltrated the castle using that exact passage."

That's not good, Fairen thought. He turned his attention to Chrom, trying to find a way to ask his question without pinning blame. "How come you didn't tell me this earlier?" When we were trying to sneak back into the castle grounds and you had me slide like a snake between a crack in the wall?

From the way Chrom stared back, it was clear he got the message. "I never thought you needed to know. The information's kind of on a need-to-know basis."

"Only a couple of bastards know for sure about the passage," Sophie muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear. She was chewing on her nails. Emmeryn was crestfallen, Phila was appalled despite her attempt to hide her expression, and even Frederick seemed he was struggling to contain himself.

Fairen scoured the table. "Who?"

Arden looked left. Then, she looked right. "Everyone in this room, right now."

There was a beat. Fairen's eyes widened.

"Now including you," Arden said. "Because now you know that there's a hidden passage."

Everyone was peering at each other, unmoving, apprehensive.

Another beat. Fairen rubbed his forehead, frustrated. "Not a single other person in this castle know? Are you sure?"

"For certain. No one knows except us," Arden confirmed. "The Warren Circle knows due to prior policies formed since the prior Exalt's, the current Exalt knows, of course, the Exalt's attendant," Fairen glanced at Phila, "knows so she can inform the Exalt in case of emergency, and Chrom and his attendant know because Chrom's next in line."

Fairen's brows shot up. "Does Lissa know?"

Chrom shook his head. "She gets a break because I'm the buffer between her and the position of Exalt."

He blinked at that. "So how's she supposed to escape in the middle of an emergency?"

"There are other exits more well known by castle staff that she would take," Arden said. "But, that's beside the point."

He agreed, and observe everyone carefully once more. Frederick managed to reign himself in. Phila, too, kept at Emmeryn's side, hands folded in front of her. Sophie was pissed, and Ignius gave a questioning glance. Drake ground his teeth together. Trinity, flustered, looked as if she wanted to cry.

"Well then," Fairen began. "That means we definitely have a traitor in our midst."

The room dropped by several degrees as he let the statement be clear. Everyone froze, not wanting to face the truth.

"But that does not mean we should falter" Fairen stated, trying to gather his thoughts. "The last thing we need is dissent through our ranks because it got out that someone in the Warren Circle is a traitor."

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Of course we're not going to tell our troops that."

"But that also means we cannot mistrust each other." Everyone got a good look at their neighbour at the table and Fairen kept going. "As soon as we start to think about our comrades as the enemy, our operations will fall apart, and then for sure we'll lose the war."

"But we can't possibly fight on the front while a knife's pointed at our backs," Ignius pointed out.

"As you all know, every war has a little bit of espionage," Fairen stated, gesturing to everyone at the table. Drake nodded. "The only difference here is that it's a little closer than normal and we've narrowed down the culprit to a couple of figures very, very quickly. We are not going to go without action. There are measures we can take to prevent information leaking regardless of who is actually who. Continued trust and proper communication are the main points. We will need to place less written orders and instead rely on word-by-ear, speak to each other in groups and not just one-on-one so we have accountability. It's harder to track information when there's no trail."

"No codes," Arden said, cutting in. "Any cipher we make the traitor will know already. No point."

Fairen nodded. "Exactly. We need to keep our cards close and our friends closer. Remember, like I said, the last thing we need is mistrust."

Everyone stood at attention at Fairen's statement, nodding, agreeing.

The rest of the meeting was spent discussing different tactics to defer information leaks. All the while, Fairen would sneak glances at Emmeryn. She silently despaired.

After the meeting, Frederick, Chrom, and Fairen all met in a side room on the first floor of the castle. Frederick was surprised by Fairen's silencing spell, but once Frederick experienced the sheer lack of sound from the moving wind, his saw value in the act.

"I respect your discretion, Chrom, but I need you to run as much as you can by me, even more than you do now. Formation, support, positioning, drills, you name it, tell me if you're going to do it."

"Certainly," Chrom told Fairen. "I have no reason not to."

"Milord," Frederick cut in, "Communication between you two may become slower with additional information. May I suggest an in-between?"

"Exactly what I was going to suggest, Frederick," Fairen said. "If we're in the same room, sure. But otherwise, most of the stuff should go through Frederick. I trust him to remember the information and deliver it accordingly."

Chrom nodded. Then, a pause. "Who do you think it is?"

"Does it matter?" Fairen replied, shrugging. "Like I said, we don't want to be pointing fingers because that'll make it harder to lead a war."

"I'm concerned the traitor will try something else," Chrom said, fingers tensing into a fist.

"I don't think they're going to try anything," Fairen said. Chrom looked at him, looked, before Fairen gave his reasoning. "If they wanted to, there would have been a lead-up to the assassins. Nothing else happened as far as we know."

"What makes you think the culprit won't try again?"

Fairen waved a finger. "If Arden's right, if the culprit was in the room with everyone, then why haven't they tried more? Why have they been in the Warren Circle or attending Warren Circle meetings for years and then suddenly decide to out the Exalt?"

"They've been building trust and relations?" Chrom asked.

"No. Something occurred between parties for mutual occlusion, but nothing more. I think there was a trade of sorts. The traitor wanted something from Plegia and in return they gave Plegia the castle layout for their assassination. Or, the traitor had a debt and paid it back with the attack. Now, with that second happenstance we can't guarantee there won't be another attempt," Fairen said, holding up his hands in surrender. "But, consider the fact that the attack was the traitor's first attempt to do anything in any visual capacity. If they've had interest for a long time, why haven't they tried more in the past? Why hasn't Emm's goblet been poisoned? Hell, for that matter, if they knew about the secret passage why didn't they set a trap in there and then let Emmeryn escape?"

Chrom's pallor became ghost-like.

"No, no, no, I don't need you needlessly worrying about what-ifs," Fairen said. He pointed with his thumb over this shoulder to Frederick. "That's what this guy is for."

"Wary consideration saves lives," Frederick said.

"That's good, and I'm going to need you to keep doing that because you're the best at what you do."

"But of course," Frederick said, giving a small bow.

"The point is, if the traitor had any further motives, they're going to wait, especially since everyone in the Warren Circle's in high alert. We just need to minimize information leaks any way we can and we should be in a better position. Next meeting, I'm going to discuss moving things along. We're going to shove the timetable way up. Wayyy up. We pinch at the war, and suddenly the traitor has no time to inform anyone of anything. The faster we respond to Plegia, the faster we can figure out who exactly wants Emmeryn dead."

"We should make a back-up plan in the meanwhile," Chrom stated. "Perhaps move Emm out of the capital to a more secure location. I don't think Ylisstol is safest for her."

Fairen balked. "Are you kidding me? Do you know what will happen as soon as Emmeryn leaves? The populace will lose faith in the safety of the city! Chrom, they will lose faith in her!"

"I think the people have more trust in the Exalt than you give credit for," Chrom said. Frederick frowned further, nodding in agreement.

"Look at it this way," Fairen said. "If a huge castle can't keep assassins from getting to the Exalt, then what use does an average worker's house have?"

"W-We could delay the announcement of her leaving until after she left," Chrom tried to proclaim. "Then there will be less of a panic."

"Do you think Emmeryn would let you get away with that? Do you think she would agree to being moved, period, just like that? Come on, Chrom, you told me yourself she's a ruler of the people! Already she didn't want someone posing as her double at Plegia Pass, what makes you think she'll be ready to just ditch everyone in the name of safety?"

Chrom leaned on his back foot, holding his head. "You're right. You're completely right. My apologies. Gods, I just don't know what to do."

"I get it, Fairen said. "You want to protect your sister. But we've learned our lesson and are ready to act accordingly. As we planned, we're gonna swap out guard shifts more often, lock down on traffic in and out of castle grounds, and screen better everyone who wants to enter. We have a contingency plan. And, once everything's in place, the traitor is going to have no idea which room the Exalt is in at any given moment, and is going to be choked of information. Right?"

He turned to Frederick. "Your plan was thorough and well put."

"Once again, you have my thanks," Chrom told Fairen, smiling. "Your words put me at great ease."

Fairen turned towards the door. "I appreciate it, but we're not out of the woods yet. There's planning to be done. We have a war to win."

---

Fairen's fingers ran over his head, messing the wild black brush that was his hairdo. He needed a haircut. His hair was getting long, drooping over his forehead and curving around his ears. The top was sticking out everywhere as per usual because he spent no time managing the top of his skull besides an occasional wash. Massaging his forehead, his fingers were coated in grease and dirt, his eyes searching the page before him. His other hand held a recently dipped quill, the parchment on his desk detailing supply reports about which weapons were going to which soldiers. The candlestick was unlit, the natural light of midday soaking through the weaves of the tent, filling the space in beige, etches in the old, weathered stain of the oak table the army lent Fairen. The ink pot was half empty, an accidental trail of ink dotting to and from where his left hand hovered, trying to keep his wrists off the parchment so he didn't stain himself.

More and more paperwork surrounded him, a large stack to his right, all reports and permission documents regarding the Shepherd's tactics and collaboration with the army, him signing his name at the bottom of a page to approve the use of lances for a squadron of knights poised to support Kellam. Chrom informed Fairen normally it would be Trinity handling the mass of documents that the Shepherds needed to fill along with his own signings, but the poor mousy woman had her absolute hands full planning the whole supply line of the entire Ylissian army front as well as manage the more strict anti-spying communication rules between different leaders of the army. She had to approve or disapprove weapons, armour, equipment, food, water, maps, and other miscellaneous items that were or were not essential to the war effort and morale for each and every single army division. The few times Fairen briefly spotted Trinity she did not look like she was having a good time, her hair in a disarray, glasses askew. Despite his dislike for paperwork and his current forced position as tactician, he would not swap places with her ever.

Fairen's leather jacket hung off the back of his chair, stretching the leather with the added weight of the armour plates plus all the documents he had yet to utilize. He could feel the heat of the sun beat down through the tent top. It was a rather large space he was given as the Shepherd's second in command, wooden poles stuck in the ground and supporting the roof of the cloth structure. His station lie near where the army was gathering and training outside the western city walls. The office space, as it were, sat in a line of other tents for other duties and forms of position along a hill overlooking the main training grounds. Barrels of rolled up parchment sat in the corner, and in the other maps and stick flags packed away in charts and boxes, only pulled out if Fairen needed to discuss a specific manoeuvre for Chrom or Drake and they asked for more details. A large sack bag sat near the entrance on a small table, keeping snacks off the ground when Fairen needed a break for his strained, stressing brain.

As Fairen flipped another page, this time regarding Shepherd applications (to which he would send to Chrom as it wasn't his job to approve or disapprove these requests), the tent flap abruptly flew open. Fairen looked up to the flurry of movement to spot a maid in a black dress with a white frock and apron, hair pulled back in a cap. The maid held the tent entrance back to let in Maribelle who strode in with an air of pride and civility, nose held high. Fairen leaned back into his seat, tapping the tip of his quill idly against a piece of paper, arm on one of the rests as he rose an eyebrow. Maribelle's maid followed her in holding a tray with a teacup and pot, and as Maribelle got to Fairen's desk the maid pulled back the chair reserved for Fairen's guests directly across from him. Maribelle smoothed the front of her pink shirt, her perfect blond drill curls bouncing at the movement, then pulled up the midsection and sat on the chair. Fairen watched as the maid placed the platter on the table then proceeded to serve her master a cup of tea. Maribelle took the tea plate that held the cup and had a dainty, quiet sip, her posture and manner a textbook example of prime aristocratic nobility.

"Can I help you, Maribelle?" Fairen finally asked, his eyes flicking from her to her maid.

Maribelle said not a word. She took another sip then placed the teacup and platter down on the table, turning to her maid.

"Thank you, Emma," Maribelle said with a smile. The maid curtsied then swiftly left the premise. Fairen could spot her standing in front of the tent with the way her shadow peeked through the folds of the tent flap. He shifted his weight to lean on his other arm, putting his chin on his fist. Maribelle took another tentative sample of her drink, and his eyebrow raised again.

Several seconds passed.

"I'd appreciate if you got on with it," Fairen tried to amicably offer. "I've got a lot of work to get through."

"Do you enjoy reading, Fairen?" Maribelle suddenly said, eyes closed.

"Yes?" Fairen half asked, half answered.

"I've heard Sumia say you borrowed from her in the past, as well as asked for reading recommendations."

Fairen nodded slowly, confused. "Yes."

"Perhaps, as of late, you have indulged in books of the more informative variety," Maribelle proposed, observing a stack of journals on a second small table at one side of the tent. "I believe that you've been visiting the Magic University, yes? Am I correct to guess that you have been filling your reading time with textbooks?"

"Before around two weeks ago, yes," Fairen responded, gesturing with a flick of his wrist. "Before this mess of a war started."

"Then tell me," Maribelle began. She finally met his gaze. "Do you believe in the strength of teaching? Passing down your knowledge from one individual to another?"

Fairen exhaled hotly, placing his hands on the chair rests and straightening himself, rolling his eyes. "Maribelle."

"Because I find it quite curious that for one who reads as many books as you do and indulges in knowledge consummation you hesitate to teach one such as Lissa," Maribelle finished with a scowl.

Fairen was frowning. "I've already told her no."

"Well it seems as if your answer has upset her greatly," Maribelle said, sneering. "To such an extend that it's begun to bleed into her conversations with other people."

Fairen threw his hands up. "What do you want me to say? Kiss her toes an an apology and immediately set out to create lessons? Write up a teaching plan just for her, and devote time, time that I don't have, to making sure she gets educated on what she exactly wants?"

Maribelle glared. "I do not wish for you to say anything yet. I want you to be aware of your disposition towards her and likewise." She placed a palm on her chest. "Lissa is my best friend. And as her best friend, it falls under my responsibility to seek out wrongs done against her and correct them."

"What are you, her bodyguard?" He snorted. "Her nanny?"

She scowled, looking absolutely cross. "I am her support when it is needed, when other resources closest to her cannot assist her, when Chrom, Frederick, or her Grace cannot be there otherwise. When the other nobles step out of line, when they harass and beguile her, I am the one who corrects their behaviour. I am her correctional force."

Fairen folded his arms, and the words slipped out. "Where were you when they were making fun of her eye?"

He could have sworn her eyes flashed red and the air manifested danger. "Do not speak of things you do not understand. You have no idea, no clue as to what ends I have gone through to make sure those who have spoken ill of the princess have gotten their just desserts."

"Fine," he shrugged, not feeling threatened at all. "Fine."

Maribelle let out a huff. "That is beside the point. I highly suggest you reconsider your decision."

"Alright. Alright!" He slammed his desk. "You want to know why I don't want to teach her? Here's one. Just one of the reasons why: I don't want to enable her to go out there and create violence and death!"

"She is a soldier," Maribelle cleanly stated. "One of the highest honour."

"She's a medic, Maribelle!" Fairen retorted. "No medic needs to be out there killing others! Their job is to save lives, not end them!"

"It's not as if Lissa is any stranger to death. She has been on the Shepherds for two years now, longer than some of us," Maribelle stated, blasé.

Fairen's eyebrows shot straight up. "She's never actually had to kill anyone before! Right?"

"You don't know that for certain."

"Well?" He asked her, gesturing to continue. "You're her best friend. Has she?"

Maribelle sniffed, upturning her nose, only replying after a considerable beat. "No."

"Ok!" He shouted, throwing his hands up again. "So then giving her access to my magic just enables her to start! She'll scar herself!"

The noble woman shook her head. "Doctors and medics within the Ylissian army are given basic weapons training. They are ready to perform the deed if necessary."

"But she didn't join the army, she joined the Shepherds! On her own volition!" He stressfully ran his fingers through his hair. "And she got in because the leader's the damn prince and her brother! She has no training to kill! They are not sent out on the front lines!"

"She will need to be able to defend herself in the case that something goes wrong," Maribelle pointed out. "Which, as I loathe to admit, has happened before."

He was exasperated, staring at the tent ceiling before dragging his gaze back down to Maribelle's judgmental glare, her own arms crossed, one leg over the other. "I already told Lissa to go ask Frederick if she wants self-defence training. He's the perfect person to help her!"

"But not you?"

Fairen put an elbow on the desk and leaned forward, pinching with his left hand. "Cognium magic is a very precise and delicate practice in which the caster must have absolute authority over the forces they control and the maturity to see through their spellcasts. It is not something that fits Lissa very well."

Maribelle scowled. "Are you calling Lissa immature?"

Fairen shrugged. "We are talking about the same person who likes to put animals in other people's belongings."

"And we are speaking about the same woman who has dealt with noble society and politics her entire life. She is not as innocent as you would think," Maribelle said.

"Ok," he said, "how about this then: I don't want to give her an excuse to get herself killed!"

Maribelle threw her arms to her sides, fists shaking in anger. "Lissa is an intelligent, strong-willed young women on the fast track to becoming Head Nurse of Castle Ylissia. Rumours believe it will only take ten years. And on the basis of her work ethic, I think it will take less. Do not delude yourself in believing she cannot make the correct decisions when the time comes."

Fairen let out a harsh sigh, slumping in his seat, rubbing closed eyes.

Maribelle looked down her nose at him. "Lissa explicitly trusts you, although I don't quite understand it. All I've seen you accomplish are, frankly, barbaric skills in combat and a willingness to mindlessly trust whatever someone spouts. I do not see you present an inch of honour or self-respect."

Fairen steepled his fingers and leaned on his desk, glaring over the back of his hands. "Let me ask you a question, Maribelle. Have you ever had to kill someone before?"

It was Maribelle's turn to blink. "No, but I—"

"Could you kill someone if it was a life-or-death situation?"

Maribelle paused to consider. "Y-Yes."

"Could you kill if it was not a life-or-death situation?" Fairen proposed, one brow raised. "Could you kill if it was necessary, or if it was for the betterment of the situation? Or if it was a mercy? Could you take an innocent life? Could you make that judgment?"

"She certainly—"

"I'm not talking about her!" Fairen yelled. "I'm talking about you, personally."

Maribelle said nothing, wrapping one arm around herself and cradling her other, fingers under her chin.

"Every army, Ylissian, Plegian, Feroxian," Fairen began, "is filled with soldiers that are trained to make that decision. To be resolute and kill when they are told to kill, destroy when they are told to destroy," Fairen continued, his voice riding low. "Although the Shepherds are slightly different compared to a normal army, the laws stay the same. Each and every single one of us that makes the decision to kill do so with a hardened will, lest we be killed instead."

Maribelle bit her lip, the thoughts behind her stare flickering left and right.

"I remember my first kill," Fairen said, leaning back, folding hands onto his lap. "It was a teenage girl by the name of Rayla. We had fought in an annual tournament that hosted the pages of the Magician Knights in order to prove our strength and worth. I spoke to her many times before our match. She was a cheerful, glowing girl that could see the light in any situation, no matter how dour it seemed, those nobles forcing us to maim each other."

He stood up, and began to pace around the back of the tent. "She was poised to win the whole tournament. Her raw talent was unmatched. With spells that me and my compatriots struggle to just cast once she could cast with ease and grace. Her magical ability was five times of any of us. But magic wasn't just a gift to her that she flung witlessly. She treasured it, cradled it, and believed that one could create something beautiful, not just as weapons of destruction." He paused, staring at the corner of the room. "I fought her. I fought tooth and nail, because it was either her or I that were to fall that night for the name of that damnable king."

When he turned, he made sure that her eyes met his. "She was two years my senior at fourteen. And I will never forget."

A moment of silence, the ambience of soldiers training and preparing in the distant background. "It's been a long time since, and I've killed a lot more people. Many more. An uncountable amount. But I still recognize the innocence in those undeserving, beneath my hand when I ended them. People who are soldiers following orders. People who are at the wrong place at the wrong time. People who have no choice, who were conscripted or needed the money. People who have no idea what was going on and grabbed a weapon to try and defend what little they had. And people who just had bad luck.

"We are soldiers," Fairen continued, sitting back down. "who must kill because it is our duty or it is the mission. Or, due to the enemy attacking us, due to a life-or-death situation. We are not reapers, we are not judges. We are only human. But, we still must decide."

Maribelle watched carefully. She saw him peer down and blink. He sniffed and leaned forward.

"I don't want to put Lissa in that position," Fairen spoke quietly. "Never, so she never faces those situations or people."

Maribelle reached for her tea, the thoughts in her head rolling. She lifted the cup to her lips before realizing it was likely cold by now, and undesirable. With a click of her tongue, she was bringing the cup back to its platter when Fairen, one hand in his hair leaning over his desk, flicked his other, rolling his wrist. A blue essence flowed from his fingers and faded into the air, then her cup was enveloped in a navy glow. The next thing Maribelle knew she was staring at a steaming, almost fresh cup of tea. She put the cup down and smiled.

"Regardless of whether or not you want to teach her," Maribelle said after sipping, "she will try and find a way to learn how to perform offensive magic, with or without you."

"Good," Fairen said. He turned his head to the side. "Then, she can go ahead and consult the Ylissian court mage. Or the University of Magic."

"I am not speaking of Ylissian tomes," Maribelle clarified, giving Fairen a serious glare, "You inspire her, Fairen. I cannot fathom why, but she is absolutely determined to find a way to cast the magic you possess, and I believe she will try and find a way regardless, if not from you then either from Miriel or some other dubious method."

Fairen glanced at her, then turned away and bit at his inner cheek.

"You are the best teacher for her. You've already taught Miriel admirably as everyone can tell and you are the only one who knows of this specific magic. I would rather not have her experiment by herself with forces she knows not, do you?"

A slap rang across the room as Fairen facepalmed, groaning quietly, dragging his fingers down his cheeks so they stretched the dark circles under his eyes.

"I also wish to point out that Lissa cannot always be safe in every situation," Maribelle said, volume growing. "Even if her role in the Shepherds stays as a healer, you cannot say she will not be attacked, regardless of her position. You have no right denying Lissa the ability to defend herself."

Fairen rolled his eyes. "She can still learn how to swing a sword."

"You want to put Lissa back in her castle and have her stay there like the good princess she is," Maribelle accused.

This was met with silence. Fairen stared at Maribelle from the corner of his eye, fist sinking into his cheek as he leaned on the desk. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, relaxing his sinuses to try and relieve his pounding headache.

"There is one prevailing idea that Chrom has passed on to all of us," Maribelle recounted. "Every Shepherd must stick together. We are but parts of a whole, a group that, despite our differences, despite where we came from or our… upbringing, we all unite to support each other. To be here for one another. If I recall correctly you seem to have issues with that."

Fairen gave her a deadpan glare.

"If you are a Shepherd too, you will understand," she finished. Then, she called for her maid. Emma entered the tent again, grabbing the tea set and platter. Maribelle stood and followed Emma to the tent entrance, Fairen tracking her. Emma opened the tent flap and waited for her mistress to exit.

Before leaving, Maribelle turned to Fairen, the midday light casting over her like a halo. "And do take kindly to my words. It may have already reached Prince Chrom's ears that his little sister is having issues getting the tactician to listen. I do believe you would rather have me speak to you about this matter rather than an angry older brother, hmm?"

The tent flap swung shut, the ends of the fabric sweeping against the ground, and Fairen was alone again. He growled to himself, stewing in thought, grinding his teeth as he shifted his jaw.

---

Fairen got called during the middle of his paperwork to meet with Drake at the outer western fields surrounding Ylisstol. He found Drake in his massive generals armour standing atop a hill overlooking the training grounds. Acres of honeydew grass were flattened and trampled from sparring and drills, vegetation ground down exposing the dirt beneath. Drake squinted as he observed trainees forming pairs and practising spear combat against each other under the watchful eye of a trainer, fields in the distance reflecting the sunlight as gold across a canvas. Each recruits adorned standardized iron armour painted Ylissian shades: sky blue and ivory.

"They're all green, you know," Drake said as Fairen approached, the general's giant hands held behind his back.

"Hmm?" He reached Drake's side.

"New recruits, all of them," Drake said. The wrinkles under his eyes folded, grey stubble jutting out around his large, square jaw, his mouth screwed into a frown. "And two-thirds of them won't see the light of day after first contact."

"That's our jobs, right?" Fairen offered. "Create the best strategy to minimize casualties and keep morale afloat."

Drake snorted. "You sounding like Ignius. Rat dastard doesn't know the first thing about war. He gets to be safe in his hidey-hole university, away from all the blood and mayhem, and fiddle around with his toys and magic."

Fairen said nothing.

"I would do anything," the old man began, "to keep this war from happening, to keep those people down there safe."

Fairen's brow rose, feigning amusement. "Really?"

"Of course," Drake said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, his voice a low timbre. "I don't want to send them out there. Most of them have barely reached adulthood. Some of them are probably a year or two away and managed to sneak their way in. It happened in the last war, fools who'd run away from their families believing in tales of glory and wealth, promises that the last Exalt couldn't keep. Porfidius, the dastard..." Drake sent a rattling, sarcastic laugh. "Kingdom can't have a future if there's no newer generation to lead it."

"Were you apart of the coup?" Fairen asked.

That got Drake's attention, and he turned around. "Now where did you hear about that?"

"Chrom told me."

Drake grunted. "Figures. No, I was not a part of the rebellion. My predecessors were. And don't bother asking any of the others. You'll just piss them off. None of the original Warren Circle remains. They all damned themselves after forming it, either by drink or otherwise. I'm what you'd consider the third generation, a generation after the replacements of the founders took their place, organized everything, and decided they wanted nothing to do with the future of their kingdom. Then, they picked me. Or rather, I volunteered myself. Because I'm one of the few people that doesn't want to see the kingdom come to ruin."

Fairen put his hands on his waist and cocked his hips. "I don't want to see the kingdom come to ruin."

"You know what I mean," Drake growled. He drew his hand into a tight fist. "The other Circle candidates, nobles, dukes, barons, earls, all wanted a spot at the Warren Circle just so they could sit next to Her Grace. They didn't care about the status of the peasants, they didn't care about the bandits or the raiders from the Plegian border. They just want to fill their coffers and look pretty in front of the Exalt. We're lucky Her Grace and Commander Phila are very intelligent woman. Every single one of us at our Circle had at least something to prove, save for that egghead. Even Trinity is worthy, and she fought with us at every turn from the start."

"Trinity?" Fairen repeated curiously.

"Ha!" Drake laughed, "the lady was the only one of us that didn't want the position! She got in because her mother was the supplies boss before her! Regardless of how she felt or what was done, she took it in deep stride. Took a couple of months, but I wouldn't want any other for the position."

Most the time she looks like she's at the edge of a nervous breakdown, Fairen thought to himself. "I can see how you'd think she's better than any mere noble."

"Of course she is!" Drake shouted. "They'd more readily lay down their sword in the face of danger than actually do a damn thing for her Grace! With the way they act, I'm surprised day court gets anything done! Makes me worried about the outcome of the war!"

"You're acting as if we've already lost," Fairen joked, honestly surprised the General was willing to share so much with him.

That got a laugh out of Drake. "Right. We still have to give those damn sand devils what for." He turned back to the training fields and punched a fist into an open hand, the joints of his gauntlets creaking as he ground his knuckles in. "We'd have peace right now if not for those mongrels. We will make sure they rue the day they declared war on us!"

Fairen shook his head at Drake's racial slur.

---

In his left hand were her notes, and in his right were more methodical studies.

To both he stared at quizzically, leaning over Miriel's desk in her office at the university. On one side was a metal paper trey holding a neat stack, and on the other was a rectangular box of wood the perfect size for parchment, currently empty, labelled 'to-do'. The drawer next to his ankle was out, a row of dividers carefully sectioning off different classes of handwritten materials within its contents. He blinked, and shuffled his way to the right, where against the wall was a large wooden cabinet with a waist-level shelf that overtook most of the wall. Each drawer had a label written into a paper note and stuck above the handle, as Fairen noted, tilting his head to read each section. The shelf was kept immaculate, with not a speck of dust in sight, a maple binder box leaning upright against the leftmost side of the furniture filled with more research. Fairen squinted as he read the piece of paper coined 'unknown arcanius contents'. Rolling the drawer open, he peered inside only to find more dividers that further specified what exactly was in each section, further confusing him.

He was in the western wing of the University campus, Miriel's office in a hall reserved for small meetings and new professors. Many experts of the arcane arts visited the university from all over the continent in search of the specialized knowledge Ylisstol propagated. One could argue that Plegia had a higher level of magical talent, the kingdom breeding countless skilled mages albeit of a darker origin. The ancient city of Thabes, the Cradle of Magic, was the birthplace of modern magery as Archanea had known for the past two-thousand years. Despite being ruin and sand now, many scholarly magicians attributed Plegia's mystical success due to Thabes' location within its northern boarders. Regardless, Fairen learned that Miriel's position wasn't that of a professor or associate professor, but of a researcher in residence. According to Ignius, Miriel had suddenly shown up one day profusely demanding to be let into the university under the grounds of learning and providing extreme amounts of arcane knowledge. At first, campus staff realized she had little to offer that wasn't already known, but her penance for research and her work ethic made her an invaluable asset.

And then, Miriel joined the Shepherds a year later in order to fund her research, or so Chrom told him.

He put the stack of papers on the shelf, took a step back to observe the whole of the cabinet, and scratched his head. Then, he faced sideways, eyeing the opposing wall's bookshelf which was filled to the brim with different research materials and textbooks. A heavy sigh left his lips.

Suddenly, he heard a knock on the open door. Peeking in was a boy wearing a perhaps oversized green mage's hat dressed in matching robes. His eyes were still wide with youth, a spatter of brown hair sticking out beneath the hat' over his forehead.

"Oh, hello," Fairen said, hands on his hips.

"Oops! Sorry!" The boy jumped, shrinking back. "I thought Miriel was here."

"It's ok," Fairen said, approaching softly. He waved the boy in. "I'm just here on an errand, don't mean to disturb you from what you need to do."

The boy bit the corner of his lip then moved into the room. Fairen spotted him clutching a book on the basics of fire magic between his two hands, pressing the hardcover into his chest. "Do you happen to know where Miriel is?"

Fairen sighed again, shaking his head. "I was just training with her ten minutes ago in the courtyard. But I have no idea where she went after. I think she had important business with the faculty, but I'm not sure."

"Oh," the boy stated. "Ok."

He turned to leave when Fairen tore his attention away from the cabinet, something scratching at the back of his brain.

"Hey," he said to the boy, grabbing his attention before he truly exited. "I didn't catch your name. What was it, again?"

"It's Ricken, sir," Ricken stated modestly.

"Oh!" Fairen exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up. "So you're Ricken! It's nice to finally meet you!"

Ricken looked surprised at the hand Fairen offered to him. He took the opposing palm gingerly, wincing as Fairen's strong grip overtook his fingers. "A-And you must be Fairen."

"You got it right," Fairen said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Man, I can't believe I've been going here for so long and haven't seen an inch of you anywhere."

"Sometimes I'd catch you and Miriel training," Ricken stated, taking his hand back. "But I didn't say anything because I didn't want to interrupt."

"I've been wanting to meet the man who saved Maribelle! Without you, my plans at Plegia Pass would have gone kaput!"

Bashfully, Ricken picked at the back of his neck, somewhat understanding Fairen's odd turn of phrase. "Ah, i-it wasn't such a big deal. I was just doing what I had to do. I got lucky, honest."

"Nah, don't sell yourself short. It takes guts to go out on a rescue mission solo and skill to hold off the enemy as long as you did."

The boy was blushing. "Chrom didn't appreciate it."

"He doesn't know what he's talking about," Fairen said, waving it off. "I've been scolded by the big man for a lot of ridiculous things. But I know he's just expressing how he cares about me. Which means he cares about you. He's saying you shouldn't have risked your neck alone like that. We're all just glad you got home alright."

Ricken turned his gaze to the floor, scratching the front of his boot into the carpet. "Ok."

Fairen gave him an affirmative nod, then went back to his task. Ricken eyeballed him curiously as Fairen went over the labels one more time.

"What are you doing?" Ricken asked.

"Gah," Fairen enunciated, shrugging exasperatedly. "Miriel gave me her notes to put in her office, but I have no idea where she keeps them!" He gestured to the cabinet. "She's organized, for sure, but it's like she's too organized. Too precise. I can't tell where to put anything!"

Ricken tapped a finger on his chin for a moment. "You might have been able to leave her notes on her desk."

"I—" he began, before stopping short, then turning towards the desk. Then, he turned back towards Ricken, then to the papers next to his hands, then back to the desk.

"Shush," Fairen hushed, folding his arms, and Ricken giggled. Fairen took the papers then placed them on the wood cabinet and sighed, planting his fists on his hips.

"I can help," Ricken offered. "I put away Miriel's notes all the time."

"Please," Fairen responded, stepping out of the way so Ricken could access the documents. The young mage in training took a glance at the papers' contents then leaned towards the right end of the cabinet, searching the labels until he pulled out a drawer near his feet.

"Here we go," he said, shuffling through the dividers and depositing the papers accordingly. Fairen took a look at the dividers, one reading 'cognium', another reading 'theory'. Several others were marked with specific studies on his land's magic, all of which he covered in his lessons with Miriel or from the notes he supplied her with.

"That easy, huh?" Fairen asked, giving Ricken a look. "How did you know exactly where to put them?"

"Ah," Ricken said. He hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I may have read through a couple."

"Notes she took after our lessons?" Fairen asked.

Ricken nodded sheepishly.

"Have you tried anything?" Fairen said urgently, grabbing Ricken by the shoulders. Ricken froze, wide-eyed. "Any spells? Cantrips? Ignitions?"

"N-n-no, sir!" Ricken stammered, "I only read! I didn't cast!"

Fairen walked away, holding his hand to his forehead. "By gods. Thank the moon."

Suddenly, Fairen drew in a sharp breath and pointed an accusatory finger. "You must swear to me to never try anything you have read or share it with anyone else!"

"I-I understand!" Ricken shouted, stock still.

"Do you!?"

"I understand, I understand!" he repeated, nodding his head, the ends of his hat flapping about. "I won't ever try anything and I won't share what I've read!"

Fairen took a step back, letting a beat pass. "Good. Not until someone at least agrees to teach you how to perform the basics. Wouldn't want you getting hurt." He wandered behind Miriel's desk. "That teacher won't be me, by the way, so don't ask."

Ricken raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because!" Fairen said, slamming a fist. "I've gotten enough requests from people wanting to know how it works and I just don't have the time!"

Ricken studied Fairen's furious expression. Fairen was afraid to meet his eyes, screwing his lips into a pout and staring at the bookshelf, scowling but vision unfocused.

Then, Ricken nodded. "It's ok. I never really wanted to learn anyway."

Fairen went to respond only to do a double-take. "You what?"

"I'm not really looking to learn how to perform your land's magic?" Ricken said, shrugging, holding his fire tome near. "It's enough to try and perfect my wind spells. I don't need to add on a completely new kind of magic."

Fairen scoffed, open-mouth smiling, blinking at Ricken. He bent over, then turned around dramatically, striding away with a back so straight it curved. He looked at Ricken again, just to make sure he wasn't witnessing some grand theatre production.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah," Ricken said. "Why?"

Fairen scoffed again, this time only slumping forward, clutching at his forehead. "I just thought you were going to ask me how to do it. I've been hounded by Lissa over the past couple of days to teach her and I don't want to and it's coming to bite me in the ass for reasons completely asinine. What's worse is that Miriel is reaching the end of her studies and she's begging me to teach her extended magicks such as Adrenis and the illusion school, and I can't do that."

Ricken furrowed his brows. "Why not?"

Fairen let a beat pass before raising his arms as he went into lecture mode. "The basis of Adrenis comes from a very different culture. It originated from the western elves of the Zypherian forest from my land, and the mentality behind Adrenis was formed, moulded by their beliefs and view of the world. I am not in the proper position to be teaching such a subject." His eyes flashed at Ricken. "I was lucky to be taught in the first place."

He paced over to the other side of the room, hands clasped behind his back. "And Illusion is a very dangerous school of magic. The only reason it's included within the magic curriculum is because it stimulates discussions of important theories and concepts, but otherwise it's left to the master class, and only a small portion of it." Suddenly, he turned to Ricken and pointed an offending finger. "Not a single mage worth their salt will cover Illusion at any significant depth."

Ricken's gaze flicked across the room. Cool air pressed against the minute amount of sweat on the back of the boy's neck. "What makes Illusion so bad?"

Fairen gave a rather cross look, eyebrows raised. Ricken honestly prepared himself in case of an unbound fury.

"Illusion is the magic of mind-altering afflictions. They're spells that directly influence the affected target's, plural or otherwise, ability to perceive what's around them. To perform Illusion is to poison their central concept of presence, disrupt their belief that they are here and that the things around them are, in fact, real, and not some misshapen trick of light. Once one is affected by the cast of an illusion spell, they are unable to tell the truth within their own means. But, unlike most status condition spells and effects, there is no reversion to a previous state. If a spellcaster twists a target's brain thus affecting their perception, that brain stays changed. Forever."

Ricken gulped. Fairen walked to one of the offices' closed curtains, tracing the edge of the fabric with the back of his hand. "Only the lightest of Illusion spells are able to affect others without repercussion. That's how I can talk to you and you're able to understand my words as if they're in a familiar language." Ricken blinked at that, but Fairen carried on. "Once a caster goes into the medium-level spells and beyond, they threaten severe compromise of their target's cognizance. And high level spells tend to leave their victims in a vegetative state."

Fairen turned back to Ricken, and suddenly the light in the room from the closed windows cast a dark shadow over Fairen's visage, giving him a sinister glare. "So, you can see why I'm not exactly eager to teach Miriel such a skill set."

Fairen waited for Ricken to leave. He bore his eyes into Ricken's, as if such an act would save face for his horrifying description of just what his kind of magic to do to people beyond the physical.

"Wow, you sure know a lot about magic."

Fairen blinked. He had to shake himself out of the shock at Ricken's statement. "I sure do. I'm the head researcher of my learning institution."

"That makes a lot of sense!" Ricken said, beaming. "No wonder you and Miriel get together so well! You sounded almost just like her."

"Err, well," Fairen began awkwardly. He wasn't sure if that was exactly the compliment it was meant to be considering Miriel's, put lightly, extensive lexicon.

"That's the kind of position I'd like to have one day," Ricken told eagerly. "To be court mage of the Ylissian royal family, or Archmage of the university."

"Well, Ricken, you seem to have as much passion for the craft as I do."

Ricken nodded. "I love magic! I really do! But I've only scratched the surface of what magic can achieve. I know that if I advance my studies and improve my skill, I'll reach a level where I can discover even greater secrets!" Determined, he stepped forward. "That's why I'm not asking you to teach me. I need to master one type first before I can pursue another."

Fairen searched Ricken's face. He really looked. Then, he nodded, and gave a smile. "With an attitude like that, you'll definitely go far."

Ricken beamed. "I appreciate the confidence!"

Fairen thought about the boy's inspirational initiative and youthful drive. He figured Ricken was even younger than Donnel. "You really didn't try anything with those study notes, did you?"

Ricken shook his head resolutely. "No, sir!"

Fairen approached the mage, abruptly grabbing his wrist and holding his gloved hand towards him. Ricken held his tome closer, and before he could ask what was happening in protest he felt a prick of power that lanced up and down his arm, directly connecting with the core of his being. There was a flicker of light and a flame lit over Ricken's palm, dancing gleefully, the fire a deep violet hue.

"Interesting," Fairen said, raising one brow.

"I-I-I didn't know I could do that, I swear!" Ricken pleaded.

Fairen laughed. "Wasn't your fault. That was all me. I just pumped your Cognium muscle." He let go of Ricken's wrist and the flame disappeared. "Not like you could do anything with that without proper training."

Ricken gave Fairen a thoughtful look. "Does this mean you are going to teach Lissa and Miriel what they want to know?"

"Not necessarily," Fairen replied, gears turning. "But I have a couple of ideas."

---

The evening sun hit the hard cobblestone, casting an orange glare from the angle on the horizon. The light was hot but as Fairen listened to his boots hitting the road he saw hints of his breath form against the tip of his lips. The street was cast in a soft gold in the late afternoon. There was barely any foot traffic around, save the odd citizen striding quickly around a corner. The wind picked up and buffered Fairen's leather jacket, protecting him from its sudden harsh bite. He wasn't wearing his usual armour, instead adorning a brown undershirt and thick cotton pants. His hair whipped around in the breeze, and he stuffed his hands in his pants pockets, thinking. The Ylisstol market was barren as Fairen crossed, stalls empty of people or produce. He reached the end of the block and went north, heading towards the castle for a good night's rest. He was supposed to have left by five o'clock, but meetings with Drake took long enough for the sun to set.

A woman with a cotton hat and brown frock brushed by, almost bumping into him. The two exchanged a glance as the woman swivelled to look back, the bottom of her dress swaying, only for her eyes to go wide before she turned away and increased her pace. Fairen stared for a brief moment. Times got tougher for the public during wartime. The battles hadn't actually started, but already Ylisstol felt strain on their way of life. There was a larger demand to feed a growing number of recruits, which meant the army bought out food stock and supply, which meant prices increased for meat, cheese, and bread, which became an impossible situation for those barely scraping by. Not all reacted positively to the army's enlarged presence. Many would watch with timid, fearful gazes as lines upon lines of soldiers marched through the city each day, wondering who they are and where they came from, wondering when they'd leave, wondering when the war will end when it had barely begun. Many citizens with trauma from the previous war hid themselves away.

He was halfway through the exchange district when he was tackled mid-stride, receiving a weight against his torso.

"Please!" a voice creaking with age said. Fairen met face-to-face with an old man, hunched over, grasping at Fairen's leather jacket for balance. The old man wore ratty hooded robes with an aged rope belt around his waist, a bearded face peeking from beneath the hood. "Please young sir, you have to help me! My daughter was captured by a gaggle of ruffians!"

"Whoa," Fairen began. "Calm down. Your daughter?"

"Yes, yes!" He turned away and pointed. "We were walking by and she got pulled down that alley! You have to save her!"

One look at the narrow alley entrance and Fairen already had a bad feeling.

He took another look at the old man, who beckoned for him once more. The man was dirty, and his breath was rotten. Definitely was a beggar down on his luck, not a bandit or gang member. Fairen's heart reached out to the old man, sympathizing.

"Stay behind me," Fairen instructed, walking swiftly into the alleyway.

Three-story-tall walls surrounded them. The late-afternoon sun hung harshly, the buildings casting a deep shadow over the dilapidated cobblestone road. The stones were old, worn, and forgotten, hardly in a condition to serve a travelling cart without ruining its wheels or spokes. Dust hung in the corners and between bricks, where rats scurried, rummaging for plants, discarded goods, and dead animals. A low, sour smell hung in the air. Fairen moved carefully but not without haste, the old man scuffling behind, their steps echoing across the linear expanse.

"S-She's this way," the old man rasped quietly. "I'm sure of it."

Fairen glanced back. A snivelling, cowering old man he saw, or at least the imprint of one. Fairen caught the man's gaze before refocusing.

The old man pointed and they turned a corner. Fairen found himself in a deeper alley where stacks of crates blocked the exit to the main street. Two steps forward and a bead of sweat rolled down the back of Fairen's neck, his stomach twisting. The length of the alley seemed to stretch, extending out and out until it felt like the stretch of a mile.

The figure of a falling shadow dropped behind him. His senses flared in alarm.

Desperately, he dove forward, then righted himself only to find a longsword flung at his face. He ducked at the last second, the blade grazing the top of his head before heading into an overhead swing that Fairen re-directed with the length of his jacket forearm. The sleeve tore and the metal plate hidden inside felt out to a clatter.

The identity of his opponent was partially hidden by a hooded brown cloak, but Fairen couldn't mistake the familiar blue mask and hair behind it. Fairen threw himself against the wall to avoid a stab, backing up drastically, feet almost hovering over the stonework. The swordsman, "Marth", was about to throw an upward vertical slice when Fairen got close to throw a jab. He barely missed, Marth hopping back with a startled gasp. He pressed his advantage, taking two steps forward to throw a one-two combo, both dodged, before lashing out with his foot. The strike connected against Marth's side, Marth letting out a grunt, before swinging with a counter-attack.

The edge barely missed Fairen as he evaded. He absently noted the blade was heavily dulled, practically to the point where it wouldn't cut. It was basically a giant metal club in the shape of a sword. Marth spun back, creating some space, before leaping up into the air and entering a forward flip, sending momentum downward and the tip of her sword with it.

He moved without thought, dashing under the blow to come just beneath, sending a leaping Adrenis-powered uppercut. The strike sent her off-course, taking her by surprise as she landed in a dishevelled heap behind Fairen. She came up staggered and scraped, leaning against the ally wall for balance, one hand holding her chin, teeth clenched. Something very familiar reached Fairen. He saw that move before. At first, he remembered Marth performed it when she fought against Chrom at the Colossus. But then, after sparring with Chrom enough times, Fairen realized Chrom did the exact same move too. Same form, same technique. And the blue hair was familiar too.

Fairen briefly considered the fact that neither Chrom, nor Lissa, nor Emmeryn ever indicated there was a fourth royal family member when he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head. His arms and legs fell like lead, and his vision violently twisted, reality falling in vibrating echoes. He managed to rotate as he fell, getting a glimpse behind him. The old man stood, relaxing from a striking posture, a loose grey brick falling from his grasp. His expression and countenance could not be further from the aged, begging peasant asking him to save his daughter. Instead, Fairen saw the scowl of a hardened, resolute veteran.

Fairen's cheek hit the ground and he knew no more.

---

He woke up to an awful, throbbing headache. Consciousness crawled back, inching along as he peeled his eyes open only to find darkness. The world spun as he sat in silence, shifting his arms. He found his hands bound behind along with his legs beneath, and he was sitting in a chair. He turned his head on a swivel, fighting the inherent dizziness that came, his nose breathing all too loud in his ears as he felt his hot air pool, indicating a mesh sack covering his head. The fibres failed to let in anything fresh, granting him a suffocating sensation.

The back of his head wreaked havoc on his senses, pain coursing through his skull along with the beat of his heart. He winced and grit his teeth, head hanging low, trying to puzzle what was going on through the haze of anger and confusion he felt.

"You're finally awake," a voice said, a voice he recognized. He froze. Steps approached him from the far side of the room.

It was Marth, Fairen realized. Marth and her terribly, terribly fake guy's voice she gave to try and disguise herself. Fairen would have barked out a laugh at her foolishness if it weren't for his predicament.

"I want to make this quick," Marth said, Fairen guessing she was right in front of him. "We've been looking for a person of immediate importance over the past couple of months. Someone key to our mission."

Despite everything, Fairen scoffed, rolling his eyes, knowing the motion of twisting his shoulders would tip his captors off on his belligerence. "And you think I have something to do with this person?"

"Yes," Marth replied. She began pacing. "During the time this person was supposed to appear, the kingdom has undergone a large upheaval. Cursed bodies appearing in droves, bandits coming out of the woods raiding and pillaging, and Plegia declaring war."

Fairen blinked. "Ha! And you think I have to do with any of that?"

Marth's words had an undertone of a growl. "It's obvious. As soon as our person was supposed to appear and capture the interest of the Shepherds, you appear instead and that person is nowhere to be seen. No signs, no clues, nothing. So."

He could tell she was leaning in. Close. "The sooner you answer us truthfully the sooner we can release you. Where is Robin?"

Fairen wasn't going to hold his breath. For all he knew, he could answer however he wanted and they would still get rid of him. Not knowing the answer wasn't going to help him escape. Taking deep breaths to focus, he pushed those thoughts aside.

"I don't know who that is," Fairen said.

"Liar!" Marth shouted, having quickly lost control. She kicked the chair leg and Fairen gasped as his body jerked. "We know your lies and we can figure out your secrets! So tell us!"

Fairen shrugged harmlessly. "Can't help you. Don't know who the girl is."

He could practically hear the sneer coming off of her. "Don't play dumb. I'll ask you again. Where is he?!" she yelled, this time getting up in Fairen's face. He winced away from her, her volume stinging.

"It would probably help if I didn't have this bag over my head," Fairen commented.

"Answer the question!"

Then, she slammed her fist into his stomach. Pain erupted in his torso, and he forcibly bent forward, wheezing.

"Where is he?!" she asked again, her voice echoing throughout whatever room they were in.

"As I said," Fairen replied, fighting through soreness. "I have zero clue."

She slugged him again in the exact same spot.

"Urgh, you know," he managed to croak after sucking in a breath. "This would be a lot easier if you made a missing persons report to the city guard."

For that, he got a smack to the face. A hard one. His head jerked. Spittle flew out and splattered against the mesh bag. He mentally cursed; the blow set off his vertigo again, and he was seeing stars.

She asked the same question once more. He could feel her apprehension when his breathing became a wheeze that rolled into laughter. Despite the pain, he was able to guffaw at the entire situation.

"You," he said, between gasps, "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" His lips twisted in a grin. "Yo-Your interrogation! Ha, it's so shi-tty! Ha ha!"

That made her rage, he calculated accurately. He learned how much so after she grabbed under his shoulders and pulled him out of his seat enough to knee him in the stomach. His lungs hitched. Then, she dropped him back into the chair and hooked him across the chin. Twice. The second hit dumped him out, wood clattering behind him, the echo of oak legs reverberating against his head as he landed harshly against cold stone. He managed to only bump his cheek against the floor rather than rattle his brain with a poor landing. Unfortunately, his neck was still sore, his belly felt like it had all kinds of bruises, and his headache increased threefold. He shifted, and without thinking struggled with the rope behind his back that kept his hands in check.

He felt the collar of his shirt tug, and then a wave of nausea hit him as his sense of balance left the planet when Marth managed to lift him again. Absently, he was impressed with how much strength the girl had if she was able to pick his sorry weighted ass off the ground like that. He knew she pulled him up to her face as he felt the cloth of his shirt strain against the base of his neck.

"Last chance." She growled between grit teeth. "Where. Is. Robin."

"Enough, Marth," a second person rang from somewhere behind his torturer. It was an old man, and Fairen could guess which one. "That's enough."

Fairen heard Marth's harsh breathing as she paused, him hanging from her fists. After a beat, she let go, leaving him to the mercy of gravity. He managed to get his legs beneath him, preventing him from flopping on the ground helplessly but instead becoming a spring as the tension in his knees bound back slightly. He sat uncomfortably, lower joints protesting, and he couldn't help but groan.

Marth took a step back, the heels of her boots clicking against the stone. Then, the old man spoke again. "And take the bag off. We won't get far with it on."

"What?" Fairen heard Marth cry. "But Merric, he…"

Fairen waited patiently. There was some sort of nonverbal agreement, because after the short ensuing silence Marth grabbed the bag over his head. She also grabbed his hair, so when she tugged Fairen strained as the skin against his skull lit aflame. She adjusted her grip and threw the cover off.

They were in a small, secluded room. The walls were cheap, made of mud and river rocks, the only windows little slits near the ceiling letting sunbeams in, highlighting motes of floating dust. The floor was only partially stone, cracks filled with dirt. He sat at one side of the room, chair lying on its side behind him. Standing in front was Marth adorning her blue outfit and boots as well as her signature mask. The brown cloak was missing. Even with the mask obscuring her face he could feel her scowl of frustration behind the eye openings, her normally tidy hair looking dishevelled and astray.

Behind her towards the back were a stack of old crates next to an empty doorway. Leaning on one of the crates was the old man from before, same thin beard and eyes and all. This time he adorned a sage's hat, matching high-ranking robes adorning his limbs and torso. He was giving Fairen a sideways look, glaring through square glasses, arms folded. There was an aura of power and experience surrounding the man from his posture. Weathered wrinkles beneath his gaze told of countless battles and prospering victories. A large gash of a scar faded red went from the upper-left corner of his face down, cutting into the wisps of white beard near his sharp jawline.

He stood up and stepped forward. A critical examination swept across Fairen's figure from the man's stare, and Fairen could feel the layers of detail that the old man, Merric, tried to peel away with nothing but a honed perception. There was intelligence behind those eyes, Fairen thought, and the stereotype between studied people and their glasses, for this case, wasn't a farce.

"It's clear that you truly have no idea what we are talking about," Merric said, voice sharp like worn stones on a lake-torn shore. Fairen felt a pitcher of relief well which quickly poured out at Merric's next words. "But we still have questions, and you still need to answer."

"Well, not that I wasn't willing to answer before," Fairen said, mumbling his words due to his sore jaw. "But now that I can see, well, I'm very thankful. Maybe untying me for further cooperation would be next?"

Fairen had the distinct feeling Marth wanted to strangle him. Merric simply raised an eyebrow.

"I had to try." He shrugged.

"We are pursuing a man with white hair," Merric said. "He is around six feet tall, around here," he held a hand up to his shoulder, "with a large, dark overcoat that is of Grimleal design. He has brown eyes, a pale pallor, thin face, handsome features, and has a strange mark on his right hand. Have you heard of such a man?"

Fairen blinked, recalling. "Not anyone with white hair. I don't think I've seen anyone with white hair anywhere."

"We need not explain much," Marth said, ignoring Fairen and turning to Merric. "The scum should already have an idea."

"I doooon't," Fairen replied in a sing-song voice.

"Patience, Marth," Merric said, laying a placating hand. "Simply listen."

He turned to Fairen, expression grim. "Regardless of if you are speaking honestly or not, it is absolutely imperative we find this man. If he is not found and left along long enough to wander and pursue his own machinations the world will end with the resurrection of the Fell Dragon."

Fairen's fake look of shock was only slightly delayed for two reasons: one, he had to process Merric's words and two, he had to recall to actually seem surprised. Because, he already knew.

"What say you?" the old man asked.

Fairen shook his head almost disrespectfully but trying to hold himself back. "I still have no idea. Frankly, I have bigger fish to fry than finding one man right now."

Marth stomped her foot in a very immature an unladylike fashion. "What could possibly matter more than preventing the end times?"

Fairen gave her a dry look. "If you know everything about me as you say or imply to say you know that I have a war to lead. In fact, let me state it again: Ylisse is at war. And I'm one of the main tacticians. The tactician of the Shepherds. And eventually Chrom is going to notice his right hand man is missing, and the longer I'm kept here the more resources he is going to pull in order to track down the kidnappers who took away one of his key pieces."

He let that sink in. Then, he turned to Merric. "Which is both of you."

Marth and Merric stewed in thought. Then, the former nervously paced around the room. "We are getting nowhere. Look, how did you meet Chrom?"

"I met him on the road a mile south of Southtown at the side of the road."

"And how did you come to be there?"

"Teleportation accident."

Marth stared. "What do you mean?"

Fairen sighed begrudgingly. "I'm the head researcher of the place of arcane learning for my kingdom. I was out on an expedition to perform an experiment regarding portals and there was an accident."

"Portals?" Marth gave Merric a confused look.

"Are you speaking of warp magic?" Merric asked.

"In a sense," Fairen stated, recalling what little he had read of the rare and elusive Warp staffs and the magic orbs that power them from archives in Ylisse's University of Magic. "It was less about teleporting from an innate casted source and more from set runes and equations. We were trying to use ancient teleportation sites we'd recently discovered and excavated. We managed to activate the portal but it became unstable and I ended up approaching the portal core in order to cast a reversal. I think I ended up saving my colleagues, but the portal sealed with me and knocked me out in the process."

Merric bit the inside of his cheek. Meanwhile, Marth didn't bother pretending to know what he was speaking of.

"That doesn't sound like any kind of magic I've ever heard of," Merric said. "Where is your kingdom? What's its name?"

"Alimaris," Fairen replied. "And at first I couldn't find it on any of your maps, but I figured it's off continent. From what I could tell, it was somewhere west off the coast of Valm."

Merric's eyes widened. "But that's where the Sea of Ghosts lies. No one has crossed that trap in ages."

"West off the coast of Valm?" Marth asked. "What's he talking about?"

"There is a great mist that lies far, far west," Merric began. "Past Archenea and to Valm and even further. Sailors have named it the Sea of Ghosts, as those who enter the mist never return. The fog contains a grand storm that has spanned countless centuries, dating back even before Ylisse formed from the ruins of Aurelius and the kingdom of Archenea. It separates us between Valm and the forgotten continent Thracia."

"Thracia…" Marth muttered. "That sounds familiar."

"Yes, you may recall it from one of the countless tales of age-old heroes you are so attached to," Merric said, blasé, an amused smirk on his face.

"Hmph," Marth sounded, folding her arms. "Perhaps better old tales from yore than those boring, stuffy textbooks your hole yourself with all day."

"Knowledge is power, Marth," Merric said, pointing a finger at where his brain would be.

Fairen stared. He did not figure such a pleasant and chummy interaction would occur between any old bandits. From Marth's apparel and weaponry, he already concluded that Marth had at least come off from a well-off background. They did not seem to be mercenaries either. They lacked the gruff edge bounty hunters commonly adorned. Fairen's best guess was that Marth came from nobles, one deeply interested in the Shepherd's ongoings for the sake of finding this 'Robin'. It was hard for Fairen, however, to conceptualize that he was somehow at fault for their missing person.

"T-That's besides the point," Marth stuttered, turning back to Fairen. "We've gone off track. I find it hard to believe you hail from a land not heard from in millennia, and even harder to believe that some sort of vague magical mishap placed you in the exact space and time in which we are looking for our man."

Fairen shrugged. "Hey. Stranger things have happened. In fact, we've have had our own troubles with that mist. I did not know there was a way past it until four months ago."

"What was your intent for the experiments?" inquired Merric.

"We were trying to find a way to achieve intra-continental travel. Our forms of travel are limited by horseback and ships. Pegasi are nearly extinct. Warp magic is only the stuff of ancient texts that vaguely describe what happens and not where we can find actual spells or make our own. After discovering sites of power build by our ancestors, to put it simply, we were attempting to reactivate their spells to our benefit." Fairen grumbled to himself after. "Obviously we were not prepared enough."

"Have you made any contact with your colleagues?" Merric said.

"No! But I sure hope if they try to find me they don't make the same mistake I did!" Fairen exclaimed. "I don't want to have jumped into that stupid portal only for Leif or Randall to jump into a second one and end up somewhere even stranger!"

Marth and Merric traded glances. Then, Marth gave a serious look at Fairen.

"Your clothes when we first met was quite… interesting," Marth said. "Does a head researcher truly wear old leather coats and heavy boots?"

Fairen smiled as if he was speaking to a small child. "The experiment took place in the ruins of a desert."

"I cannot imagine how a leather jacket would shield you from that heat."

"There were enchantments in that jacket," Fairen said. "That not only protected me from heat, but also kept me warm from cold and would prevent a variety of damage. My only regret with my new coat is that I've been unable to gather the resources to put those same enchantments on it."

Marth did not look like she was buying it.

"It was a tough neighbourhood," Fairen said, shrugging. "No telling when bandits would come."

"Just so we are clear," Merric cut in. "You have had nothing to do with a man named 'Robin' or anyone described as such?"

Fairen sighed tiredly. "I don't know what else to tell you. Once again, I have no knowledge of Robin or whoever you're trying to find. I have no business as to what you're pursuing. And, I don't think I need to tell you that you're just wasting your fucking time bumbling around with questions."

The sharp twang of a blade sharpening as it drew rang through the room, Marth pulling her sword in one swift motion. This time, it was the mysterious blade that matched the appearance of Chrom's sword and not the sub-par, generic iron club used earlier. The blade glinted in the light filtering in from the room's ceiling. She pointed it at Fairen, the tip inches away. He stared at it going cross-eyed as he focused on how the edge was impeccably narrow.

"You don't get it," Marth stated, voice low. "The fate of the world rests on finding that one man. This isn't a matter of banditry or war. If Robin isn't found, It won't just be Ylisse that falls. Every single major nation, Plegia, Tairys, Regna Ferox, and the whole continent of Valm will perish. Your kingdom, if you speak truthfully, will fall. No mist can block the terror of the Fell Dragon. No amount of your foolish bravado or snakish speech will save you."

"Marth," Merric called out once again in warning.

Fairen defiantly matched Marth's gaze. Gritting his teeth into a furious smile, he turned his head away, almost intentionally grazing his cheek on the tip of the sword.

"I believe," Merric began, walking to Marth and putting a gnarled hand on her shoulder, "that we need to take drastic measures. It is clear our captive doesn't understand the true extend of our dire strait."

"What do you propose?" Marth asked.

There was a beat as Merric gave Marth a hardened look. "We need to tell him."

There was a moment where Marth processed those words, then her mouth gaped and she took a step back. "Are you crazy?"

"We need to trust him," Merric stated, more confident than ever. "I am certain that if we provided sufficient information we would persuade him to attend to our forgone conclusion."

"There is very little to convince me this man is not lying!" Marth exclaimed, sword away but finger pointing accusingly at him.

Merric reached into his robes and Fairen's breath hitched. He pulled out a small bottle containing a clear liquid with a slight rainbow sheen, cork stopper over top. "I have this."

Marth took one look at the potion and nodded. Finally, true apprehension filled Fairen's being.

Without hesitation, Merric strode towards Fairen, uncorking the stopper. Fairen shifted in place, glaring at the bottle worryingly. Unceremoniously, Merric poured the contents over Fairen's being. Fairen winced, closing his eyes and feeling the liquid make contact with his clothes and hair. Letting off a shiver, he realized whatever the liquid was it immediately evaporated upon making contact, leaving a freezing, slightly numbing sensation. His vision filled with a mixture of dark blue and white.

"What the hell?" Fairen muttered. Unbeknownst to him, Merric and Marth were staring at a visualized aura emanating from Fairen.

"What is that?" Marth asked, interested.

"I do not know," Merric responded, folding his arms. "But it's certainly not Grima's influence. And you likely know that silver light all too well, Marth."

"Naga's blessing…" Marth muttered in awe.

Fairen blinked. YES! Yes, thank you, you beautiful, secluded hermit! Thank you! Fairen cried inside his head. Thin indigo smoke with weaving yellow spirals obscured his vision from his captors, yet he gave an unnoticeable smile.

"Hopefully this proves sufficient to belay your worries, Marth?" Merric gave the woman a level look. "...Lucina?"

Lucina turned to Merric, then to Fairen, then back. "As you wish, Laurent."

The haze obscuring Fairen's vision faded almost at once. He craned his neck upward, his body tired and sore from sitting uncomfortably for the past couple of minutes. Lucina took a step forward, standing over him. He could feel her gaze judge every aspect of his being. Her mouth was drawn to a thin line before she reached up, grabbed the front of her mask, and peeled off the metal.

Immediately, blue bangs held back by the mask's wings fell across her forehead, framing and completing the young woman's features. It would have been surprising how effective it was to disguise one's identity simply by hiding the eyes if Fairen hadn't been aware already. But Marth's, now dubbed Lucina, face was the definition of grace and feminine guile. Her slender nose sloped down to a natural point, her cheeks were thin but sharp, and long lashes guarded the deep blue pools that sat within her lids. Suddenly, oddly, Fairen was again hit was the sensation of déjà vu.

Instead of showing unease, he gasped in a very fake fashion. "My goodness! I could have never guessed you were a woman!"

The corners of Lucina's lips pulled down, and now Fairen felt as if he was facing a slightly different version of Frederick's silent disapproval.

"My disguise was fine," Lucina simply said. "No one else can figure out my true identity. Not even the prince."

"Yeah, because Chrom's a dunderhead." Fairen rolled his eyes. "In fact, most of the royal family's a bit silly. You even got Lissa going. She thinks you're some kind of handsome bachelor!"

Amusingly, Fairen caught the beginnings of a blush before Lucina turned away. After swallowing her embarrassment, Lucina matched Fairen with a glare.

"This is no time for jokes. Look closer."

She leaned forward. At first, Fairen thought this was a strange attempt to flutter her eyelashes at him. But then it was made clear what she wanted. Between the contours of her hairstyle, Lucina's elegant pupils stared directly back into Fairen's, challenging him. He squinted, searching.

Then, his mouth dropped open. "No fucking way."

"Indeed," Lucina said, leaning back and standing straight. There was an outline in her left eye of dove wings cradling a teardrop. Suddenly, he understood where all of her confidence and courage came from.

"My name is Lucina Iris Ylissia," Lucina declared. "I come from the year 2428, twenty-three years from now. In my time, the Fell Dragon Grima has conquered the world and lain waste to the land. The sky is black with His smoke and the people rise as His undead thralls, slaves forever bound to the demon wyrm."

Out of everything he expected, this was not it.

"With the help of the Divine Dragon of my era, me and ten of my friends travelled back in time to save Ylisse from a terrible fate. I challenge fate, Fairen of the Shepherds, to take back the future from the Fell Dragon and his corrupted forces of misery and evil."

To him, it was almost ironic.

"Once again," Lucina continued, her fierce gaze dropping for the moment. "We ask for your assistance. This, behind me, is Laurent, one of the ten who travelled with me." Laurent gave Lucina a nod. "We seek the man named Robin, the Fell Vessel that becomes the host body of Grima. We aim to kill him before he can do so, preventing my future and all things terrible that comes with it."

Fairen swapped his attention back and forth between the two. "Wait a second, wait a second. How do you know all of this?"

"We're from the future," Lucina states as if the answer was obvious.

"But how do you know this guy becomes Grima specifically?"

Laurent pulled a weathered book from within his robes. The cover was brown, marred with age and use. "I've recorded it in this log. What he looks like, every location he's been to, every battle he's co-lead, every restaurant in Ylisstol that he's partaken in. Well, at least, the restaurants I could decipher. Robin, as an individual, is suspiciously protected by the annals of history, likely due to Grima erasing all that he could about his past during his reign. Most documents cannot recount who he was save for his actions in the Shepherds. But every inch and iota of information I could find of the man during my research was saved in these pages. And, above all else, there is one thing for certain."

"He killed my father," Lucina said, words dripping with malice. "And became the Fell Dragon."

Fairen's mouth was dry. His mind raced, trying to read between the lines. "Your father... Chrom?"

The young woman mutely nodded. "Yes. It happened shortly after Robin turned. The after-battle analysis proved it."

Fairen had no words left.

"I am the future Exalt of Ylisse," Lucina stated. "And last of the royal family."

---

Fairen had too much to think about.

The glass mug in his hand, filled with a Ylissian brew, tasted like sod. He only stared blankly at the tabletop trying to look relaxed while everyone else relished beside him at the tavern.

He barely had enough time to clean up before the event. The Healing Quarter of Castle Ylissia was in a tizzy after their resident tactician had arrived with a variety of injuries. After his meeting with Lucina and Laurent, he emerged from the squat house in a poor, dusty neighbourhood on the outskirts of the city. The walk to the castle was anything but pleasant, and Fairen had to work to hide his appearance to the guards and evade anyone who was familiar with him lest he trigger a panic. He had a harder time calming the clerics and nurses at the castle. They diagnosed him with fractured ribs, internal bleeding, and a concussion, and almost couldn't believe he trudged the six-and-a-half kilometers to the castle in his condition. Fairen had to use his authority as tactician to make sure his treatment wasn't leaked to the rest of the Shepherds or castle staff, especially not to Lissa, who would ground him in the confines of a quarter bed until the day of march, which was not an option by this point.

After some applications of the remedy known as concoction and mending magic, Fairen was only left with mildly discoloured skin at the location of his injuries and a headache he was remedying with two fingers rubbing at his temple. He then rushed to Keele's to drop off his damaged coat, the right sleeve torn open at the wrist and further unravelling down the length of the arm. Lucina had given him back his belongings after, to which there was an awkward silence when Fairen shot his most evil glare due to the consequences of her prior hostility. She had no medical supplies with her and could only apologize. Explaining how the coat got damaged to Keele was a nigh impossible task. He couldn't blame it on getting caught on something, as the coat make was of too high quality for a simple tear and the cut was too straight for something jagged to rip it. He couldn't blame it on training, because training weapons didn't fit the destruction profile either. He ended up telling a half-truth: that he got jumped by a thief and the resulting scuffle caused a shiv jammed up his coat sleeve. Keele gave him the side-eye, partially because if Fairen was telling the truth then he should keep himself out of danger and partially if he was lying then he was doing himself a disservice. But Keele guaranteed Fairen his favourite coat would at least be fixed before final march.

Lucina had gone over the rest of the details about her future and time travel after revealing her identity. She told him that the rest of her friends went missing after they all jumped into the portal to the past. She landed in the flaming forest where the Shepherds first encountered the Risen, as Fairen recalled. Laurent was only able to meet up because he landed in a Plegian desert near the border that he was familiar with and made his way to Ylisstol. The other children, she could not say.

She described trying to keep the timeline largely intact by interacting little with her surroundings. This brought a large amount of sympathy out of Fairen, but he did not voice it. She wanted to be able to warn Chrom and prepare the Shepherds for incoming events, but she could only guess as how to do it, only sharing that small warning she had when they first met. She told Fairen her involvement at the Colossus was a necessity because otherwise Chrom would have fought Lon'qu instead who would have delivered a debilitating strike to his shoulder, affecting many future encounters to come.

"Then what about that mage?" Fairen asked, unable to keep the harshness out of his tone.

Lucina shook her head, wincing. "That wasn't intentional. I was not in control of who was in my squad, only that I was supposed to be the head of it. They planned behind my back."

He couldn't help but think Lissa wouldn't have suffered if Lucina was more proactive. But, he disregarded those musings as pointless, petty, and unfair.

Lucina's intervention at Emmeryn's assassination was another attempt to create positive change. In her time, Emmeryn would fall that night, and Chrom would use her demise to fuel a rage-filled, costly campaign, one not as bloody as her grandfather's but one that still left a dark mark on her father's soul and legacy. She was very grateful of her success, although admitted they were not without loss, Fairen feeling a pang deep in his chest. She reiterated that the event had not let her guard down and she was determined and dedicated to see the future change through and through.

And then, they discussed their current mission now that Fairen was on their side. The most immediate goal was still evident: win the war, which was Fairen's objective all along, one that he would stick to. However, it was clear that at some point Fairen swapped places with Robin. Reports between Lucina's time regarding the Shepherds' tactician and Fairen's presence matched. But that only left the quandary of where Robin had gone and who or what moved him. Seeing as Fairen still insisted he had no recollection of ever meeting such a man, there was only the conclusion that an outside party managed to relocate Robin and put Fairen in his place. Lucina froze and paled at the implication.

That only left more questions for Fairen. Lucina wasn't completely trusting because of the notion that teleport shenanigans matched perfectly with Robin's disappearance. But, that got Fairen wondering what kind of presence would have had the power to move him to Robin's location in the first place. He thought about who would have the foresight to know where Fairen was going to appear and have the power to move him and Robin all at once.

Laurent agreed to spend most of his time locating the current whereabouts of Robin as he had been. He was already working in the shadows, he stated, and Fairen forced himself to trust that the old man knew what he was doing. Lucina confirmed she would continue her actions as well: giving a push or nudge here or there in the right direction, observe how the timeline changes, and react accordingly. Fairen thought Lucina wouldn't be able to hide from her father forever. It was a foregone conclusion that her close proximity to the Shepherds along with her desire to save them would eventually end in confrontation. Fairen also detected the reverence she held for her father, one he'd seen in proud children before. If her involvement with the Shepherds wouldn't reveal her, then he was certain a simple mistake would.

There was one last thing before Fairen left. Lucina asked him to not reveal anything to her father, the rest of the Shepherds, the Warren Circle, anyone. Laurent felt secure in telling him all their secrets due to his missing presence in their timeline. Fairen disagreed, and would have argued with the two into the evening if not for his injuries and exhaustion. He thought involving the Shepherds would be a large step in creating an advantage in their favour. Every single Shepherd was important in the grand scheme of things, so telling them would do nothing but help. Lucina proposed the more they told the less of an advantage their future knowledge held. That made little sense to Fairen, as his presence in the timeline replacing Robin already screwed up their ability to predict future events. All three agreed to leave the topic for a later discussion, but Fairen swore that he was not done with the matter.

The stakes could not be higher. Ylisse could not fall, and the Shepherds must not falter.

It was a lot to think about.

Although Fairen was able to focus on his thoughts, his environment did not help the matter. The Golden Bowl was certainly one of the nicer taverns in Ylisstol. It had a homely feel, a place where one could settle after a long winter day and warm in front of the fireplace. The building was entirely of lumber wood, thick layered planks making up the floors and walls. The entrance led to a host of tables as round as their stools. Booths lined the ends of the room, their benches weathered and well worn. The bar sat at the back. There was a line of hanging meats behind the counter, barrels of dried vegetables in the corner. To the left was a range, and further back was a room that Fairen could only assume was the kitchen. A staircase near the entrance led to the second floor where there were more tables on a balcony running around the sides of the room looking down. The walls were painted green, the sheen of viridian relatively fresh. Several framed paintings of the surrounding countryside hung at head height on the main floor.

The room was filled with activity. Almost every bench, chair, and stool had someone in it. Shouts, laughter, and cries of jubilation assaulted Fairen's ears. The Shepherds had practically rented out the place, courtesy of the prince, but Chrom invited any soldiers of the army who fancied to come along with them. Cue a mass of fifty or so lancers and swordsmen marching to the Golden Bowl, sending the bartender, waiters and waitresses, and the owner to panic. It was almost a frenzy the way the women and men of Ylisse's finest attacked the establishment, demanding drink and food and then even more drink, drawing several barrels dry as their thirst refused to sate. Soldiers bumped shoulders with mugs held high, yellow liquid and foam sloshing over the rim as glass contents spilled onto their belongings, the table, the panelled floor. Men, adorning casual wear, had their beards stained with the stench of barley as wide smiles broke out between tales of bravery, bravado, and foolishness. Women, in dresses and pants with the typical long boots, ribbed men for their lack of grace and splendour, but they themselves giggled and shared fondness for their own stories of glory.

Fairen looked to the left then right, his fingers tapping in sequence against his own glass. Someone bumped into his chair, jostling, and Fairen turned and gave the best smile he could muster, which was awkward at best, at the passing pegasus knight who was trying to carry seven mugs at once. He mused these soldiers were doing everything they could to prepare for the promise of upcoming battle and slaughter.

"Hey," Stahl said. Fairen jumped, suddenly finding the wayward cavalier knight sitting in the seat across from him, wondering when he got there. "Chrom's been asking for you. Everything alright?"

Fairen tried to smile again. He originally planned to sit in the darkest corner he could find so he could have some time to himself only to find, once he arrived thirty minutes late, that Kellam already took his seat. Instead, he managed to take a crappy half-circle table no one else wanted to sit at.

"I'm fine," Fairen said, trying to speak over the cacophony of voices.

"Why don't you come sit with us?" Stahl pointed over the crowd to where Chrom, Sully, Virion, and some other army workers sat at a stall near the other end of the room. "We have room."

"I'll join you guys in a moment," Fairen said.

Stahl gave him a nod, got up, and walked away. Fairen had no doubt that Stahl was aware he was avoiding all of them at the moment. In fact, Fairen knew all the others knew. But he could not muster the energy to act a facade, as if everything was ok, or to make an excuse to leave the gathering early. The only reason he was not with them currently was because he lost track of Lissa, and in turn Lissa lost track of him. He didn't think he could deal with her energy for this one instance, this one night.

His gaze lingered on Stahl as he went back to his table. His appearance unnerved Fairen.

Two weeks ago it would have been Vaike trying to convince him to sit with them.

Fairen bit the inside of his lip. He had read about Falchion, the legendary blade that the First Exalt used against the Fell Dragon and how it got passed on through generations of the Ylissian royal family. Thus, Lucina's sword was the exact same one Chrom used. Once he was aware, he could detected Naga's presence in Chrom's lavish scabbard. But, he could scarcely feel anything from the dragon tooth that hung from Lucina's hip. If Lucina came from a broken time, Fairen contemplated, then it was possible she no longer had the power to seal evil. If Naga did not have the strength to repel Grima in the future, then it was possible that Lucina's sword no longer had proper divine prominence either.

He was glad the Princess had Laurent to lean and rely on. It seemed the old man had wisdom and experience in spades, and could at least give Lucina opportunities of repose to recover and regain her energy. Lucina seemed fatalistic to Fairen, and quick to assume the worst. It would be all too easy for a lesser being without support to succumb to the pressure of knowledge on the future world. It told of Lucina's inner strength and how dedicated to her cause she was.

"Hear, Hear!" Frederick called out, standing on a chair near the bar still wearing his blue armour (the only one still wearing armour, in fact), his voice loud and low to carry better across the room. He tapped against an empty mug with a spoon, garnering everyone's attention after several seconds. Fairen looked to spot Chrom standing nearby. "The Prince wishes to speak!"

Frederick calmly climbed down from atop the chair.

"Thank you, Frederick," Chrom said, albeit not as loud as he could have. Fairen snorted. He could see Chrom's embarrassment as clear as day.

Chrom cleared his throat and lifted his chin before speaking to the room proper. "Thank you all for joining us today. As you all know, this was originally a Shepherd outing, but we all wished to share our joys with those who were willing."

There was a cry of cheers from the crowd.

"In three days hence, the Ylissian army will march from Ylisstol out Northwest towards the Plegian border," Chrom announced. "As Plegians have declared war on us, we will respond in kind and set forth to right the errors of our neighbours. We march not only for Naga, but for the glory of the Ylissian people!"

More cheering from the mass at large. Fairen spotted Sumia throw up her hands, holding a mostly empty mug, flushing a deep red.

"I will not lie," Chrom continued, his words changing the energy and basis of his speech. "We have a potentially hefty and long campaign ahead of us. But, I believe, with strength and fortitude, with our Ylissian spirit and ardour, we will end this war swiftly and efficiently!"

Everyone clapped and cheered. Fairen nodded, his arms folded. Despite his apparent nervousness at being a leader, Fairen saw Chrom to be a decent public speaker.

"I have no doubts that all of you, every man and woman, every knight and myrmidon, every soldier and mage, will perform admirably with honour. I strongly believe that the might and knowledge and talent of every single individual here will crush whatever Plegia sends us. They will regret the day that the Mad King declared war!"

The responding roar was deafening. Fairen winced but kept himself from covering his ears as the soldiers yelled in agreement. He felt bad for Panne, who held shut the top of her head as Gaius wrapped an arm around one shoulder, a fist in the air. It was, at first, a strange proposition that Chrom had managed to recruit one of the Plegians to their side during the middle of the castle raid, but reportedly, the prince used sugar of all things as a crux to induce a change of heart. Gaius himself said he was in it for the money and not to kill the Exalt, and that it was a much more secure business venture when he could get the contents of the castle coffers directly from them if he just did a little bit of wetwork. Fairen had his doubts, but he wasn't one to judge terribly, and hadn't gotten a great opportunity to hear more of the story straight from the source.

He had no idea how Gaius managed to convince Panne to come, someone Fairen found to be highly secular after she, too, joined the Shepherds. But, Fairen was not going to ponder the social miracle. He clapped politely, knowing that no one would hear him but still feeling like he was participating at some level.

"So please," Chrom said, his speech winding down. "Sisters and brothers in arms, take this night to relax. Take the next couple hours to feel everything that life has to offer. Because in three days, we march. In three days beyond, we take victory!"

This time, Fairen did have to cover his ears.

After the cheering had died down, Fairen got up as he watched Chrom try to make his way back to the Shepherds' table. Fairen got there first, as Chrom was swamped with soldiers bumping elbows trying to give thanks to Chrom's strength and motivation. Fairen watched Frederick hover over the crowd with a critical eye, scaring off some from ultimately approaching, which Chrom tried his best to placate without disrespecting anyone, only wanting to be back with his friends.

"Some speech, huh? Gaius said, taking a sip of his mug once Fairen reached the booth. Fairen examined the contents and found it to be a darker shade then the other mugs, heavily suspecting it was root beer.

"It was pretty good," Fairen responded.

Chrom finally reached the group, harmlessly shrugging off the hand of someone trying to get his attention, thanking the soldiers behind him as they had a toast to Naga and the Ylissian royal family.

"Captain!" Sully shouted, leaning back, slouching with a wave. "Nice speech!"

"It was as if a field of Ylissian daisies bloomed on a whisper of wind," Virion added, giving Chrom a bow.

The rest of the crew gave their own congratulations, Sumia stammering as the alcohol got to her.

"Thanks, everyone," Chrom said, his smile genuine. "I'm just glad that I was able to get everyone's attention. Like I said, We've got a long road ahead of us and I want people to enjoy the moment while they can."

"For sure, Chrom," Sully muttered, taking a sip from her mug.

Fairen did not recognize the moment where time got by him. One moment the Shepherds were all talking about Chrom's speech and the next everyone was scattered around the tavern. Fairen watched as the servers scrambled about carrying platters of drink, swaying as they manoeuvred while trying not to bump into anyone. Much swill was spilt that night.

At one moment, Fairen was with Stahl, who was sitting with fellow cavaliers who just so happened to be the same people who attended Stahl's game nights. Then minutes later, Fairen was with Virion, who then proceeded to serenade him with advice about high quality wine, the pleasures of hunting for game, and women. He watched Sully take up a table with a bunch of burly soldiers and arm wrestle – winning every single one. He spotted Lon'qu in a corner of the second floor trying to look inconspicuous as waitresses walked past. Kellam was still in his corner where he stole Fairen's spot (to which Fairen grumbled at).

"Why don't you join the rest of us?" Fairen asked him. Really, he just wanted the table.

"It's the only spot I fit at," Kellam responded, to which Fairen verified as true. Despite his lack of armour, Kellam was still a massive man.

He spotted Gaius near the entrance trying to coax Panne to stay just a little bit longer. Sumia drunk a little more than she could handle, and at the behest of several soldiers eyeing her she broke out into wavering, slightly off-tune song, to which Cordelia tried her best to perform damage control. He spotted Lissa with Maribelle tittering away in some corner next to a gaggle of Pegasus knights. Chrom once again humoured the masses of Ylissian soldiers enamoured with him at a booth, Frederick not to far behind watching everything with a stern expression having not touched a single drink the entire time.

"For the record," Fairen stated, nursing an ale, reaching Chrom after everyone was done bothering him. Chrom held a single, partially-consumed mug himself but looked sober. "I still don't think it's a good idea to get everyone drunk this close to march."

"Everyone should have an opportunity to enjoy themselves before they are sent to war," Chrom said almost solemnly. "Including you. Cut it out and enjoy yourself."

Fairen looked over his shoulder. He counted one table where he sat and left a mug empty. Then, he turned to the booth where the Shepherds were initially, recalling the two empty glasses he left there. Then he thought about a fourth he left on the bar counter, and three more upstairs when he spotted Lon'qu hiding.

"Alright, Chrom," he muttered, taking a sip, feeling nothing at all.

As the night wore on, it became more and more clear who could manage their drink. The men generally held their liquor better due to their overall larger size, but there were some women who drank their squadmates under the table. The pegasus knights got sloshed an hour and a half before it hit everyone else. Then, it was the cavaliers, then the axe warriors. The armour knights got dizzy last, although those who chose not to overdrink stood above everyone. Chrom never reached that point, managing himself nicely, stopping around a mug and a half. Meanwhile, Sumia got escorted back to the Shepherds' barracks sooner than later after falling asleep around her third. Fairen was impressed with Gaius if only for the reason that the man decided to stick to a strictly sugar-based vice.

It was after midnight, and less than half of the bar left already. Most were either too tired and drunk to be rowdy anymore, asleep, or in the process of leaving. The bartender behind the counter and the waiters and waitresses all looked relieved at the fact, their forms drooping with fatigue as they went around serving the last trickle of orders. Fairen started to make his way across the room, his hands empty, stomach full, not wanting to consume another drop. He spotted Stahl in a booth with his fellow gamers and was wondering if he had a set of playing cards to combat Fairen's boredom.

He was sliding a chair back under the table when someone bumped him from behind. He turned to see a yellow figure intentionally lean against him, pressing into his chest. A girly giggle escaped the form and Fairen found himself staring at a crown of familiar blond strands.

"Faiiirennn," Lissa drawed out, peering up and putting her weight on him.

"Hi, er, Lissa," Fairen said awkwardly, his hands up, foot back, eyes wide.

"I ne-need your helllp," Lissa asked, slurring. "As grand Princess of Ylisssse, I demand that you hi-help me."

Fairen blinked, rapidly searching the background. "Help you with what?"

"Help me walk straight," she answered, letting out a giggle again. Her face was completely flushed and her eyes were glazed over.

Hesitantly, Fairen tried stabilizing her by grabbing her shoulders, keeping her at arm's length. He spotted Maribelle in a booth with her face and arms planted on the table surface, gone from the world. He cursed inwardly.

Suddenly, Lissa latched onto his shirt and pressed her nose against it, deeply inhaling then letting out a satisfied mewl. Fairen took another step back, his passenger following, and craned over his shoulder to look behind, praying that Chrom wasn't watching.

"Fairen," Lissa whispered, suddenly sounding very vulnerable. Fairen turned to face her.

"Yes, Lissa?"

She was staring, lidded, into his eyes, stars glittering in marigold. The pewter dragon with jade hung against her chest. "You're really hot, you know that?"

"Whoa-ho-ho! Ok!" Fairen cried out, lightly pushing her away much to her dismay. "Looks like someone's had a bit too much to drink! How many have you had?"

"Mmm, ask Sssully," Lissa managed to answer.

Fairen looked towards the bar counter to where he'd last seen her. He caught her laughing loudly at some joke one of the soldiers made, the others around them either passed out or in the process of.

He gently grabbed Lissa's wrists and shifted towards the entrance. "Alright. Frederick. Frederick! Where are you? Frederick!" He waved at the man to get his attention. "Yes, I need you to get someone to get Lissa home! Maybe, umm," Fairen said, noticing the general state of the Shepherds, "maybe a spare guard you have outside. Get someone to take her home. What? No, it can't be me. No. No! Get someone else to do it, and make sure she's taken care of!"

---

It was way too late, he decided. Everyone had gone home eventually, either by their own volition or by the Golden Bowl's owner hauling them out personally and dumping a bucket over their head. Out of the Shepherds, Chrom was the last to leave, staying behind to help clean the remaining mess and making sure the establishment was properly compensated, Frederick staying with him. Sully and Stahl went back to the cavalier barracks instead, Virion disappeared somewhere quietly, and a butler eventually managed to grab Maribelle and escort her to a family-owned estate. Everyone else was either safe in their bed at the Shepherd's barracks or somewhere where the could take shelter from the late fall elements.

Fairen sat in a chair in his room, contemplating. His body was tired, but his mind was annoyingly awake. Anxiety laced his blood as he thought about waking early in the morning to deal with last-minute details about the war march as well as finalizing his strategy plans. Dreading the fact that he would get very little sleep, he got up and made his way to the window. He gazed out the glass pane up to Castle Ylissia, candle lights lit in the upstairs corridors, guards patrolling the ground level with torches. The towers of the grand fortress spiralled up into the open night sky, the outline of the sharp roofs grazing twinkling stars. The moon, blue glowing pale with reflecting sunlight, hung low and large in the atmosphere, as if gazing, watching. It was a giant above the clouds, a guardian of love and spirit.

He could feel dark circles tug at the bottom of his eyelids. Lissa's voice rang in his head over and over again, her words circling his ears.

"You're really hot, you know that?"

Even now, he could hear her as clearly as when she said it. Grimly, he took a hold of the necklace hanging around his neck. The silver chain clinked and clattered and shone. The mercurial ruby sat within its cradle of platinum, the strong energies of ancient enchantments holding the jewellery together now as it had done for centuries before, no sign of wear on the metal. The pendant was a swirling master craft with its glittering gem that stared back at Fairen with intensity. It couldn't have been more than half a pound, but Fairen felt that weight against his open palm as both hands gingerly supported the object, the sheen reflecting moonlight from the window. There was power in the craft, power that Fairen could not determine the origins from, nor the purpose. In his mind, all that was left was a reminder of what it would take to achieve happiness.

He looked up once again out to the courtyard and open night sky. The chain threatened to bring him to his knees. His mind flashed to Lissa once more, and his forehead repeatedly met the cool stone of the windowsill, hoping the ensuing headache would bring him closer to dreamland.

---

AN: Longest chapter, like I said. And did you know I've been waiting to write the Lucina meeting scene for 2 years now? Seriously, that's why I wrote most of this chapter first before the last one. I couldn't wait.

Not a lot of action here, but I'm not the kind of author to worry about that sort of thing. Not worried about the exposition either. I'm keeping things interesting.

The last scene written was the funeral and the Warren Council meeting. I wrote those, like, 2 months after everything else. Almost feels uninspired. I hope the writing quality didn't drop on those 2. The funeral was kind of hard to get, I had to do extra research on how people from medieval times dressed for funerals. I think it came out alright.

I was tempted to split this chapter into two parts and release them separately. Heaven knows the chapter's long enough for it. But I think it's a better experience to take everything in all at once. The portion involving Lucina definitely needs to be read all in one go. You might notice some of the chapter feels a bit split up. I was trying to pace the chapter so that Fairen's conflict with Lissa learning magic was split up in order to create a sense of time passing rather than the problem resolving soon after being introduced. Overall, a lot of this chapter are just small scenes pasted together. That's how the chapter ended up.

We're in the last third of the "story" now. A couple of things for me to do still: Complete the last of the story outline (I got some ideas written down but not the usual nitty-gritty details I need to hang on to or else I forget shit), write the story outline for the post-war arc (you'll see), go back and fix some of the previous chapters (continuity errors UGH) and work on some other stuff that I've been meaning to write. I would love to write for a living, or at least make some income out of it like some fanfiction writers I've seen. Hell, I would love to do it writing non-fanfiction! But to get there I actually have to start writing more than one thing, which is why I'm going to try and branch out a little. Unfortunately, this means the next chapter might be a ways away. Thank you all for your continued support and understanding. I truly hope to complete this project and create something any Fire Emblem fan can enjoy.

I made a writing blog for this story years ago when I first started writing it. I abandoned it after realizing no one was reading my work, but I will try and start it up again now that I'm getting feedback and some good numbers. I'll be posting chapter rough draft previews, thoughts on the writing process of Sleeping Gods, and my own personal musing about the techniques of writing. Also, any author's notes associate with a chapter after I've removed it I will be reposting on the blog for history sake. You can find it by Googling "bbcomet-blog tumblr".

Apparently, authors are supposed to respond to comments in the main body of the chapter, or something? I used to write on fimfiction way back, so this method of comment-responding is odd to me. Still, I will try it out here:

~COMMENT RESPONSES~

Blast Ketchup: Fairen's certainly got his work cut out for him. Plegia and those darn, pesky bandits aren't gonna make it easy. And yeah, I miscoloured Aversa's hair. Gonna go back and fix it at some point. Good news is I recently bought a copy of the Art of Awakening, so I shouldn't mess up character description anymore (hopefully). Thank you for your kind words!

Grimmideals: I am setting up multiple potential ship pairings (not intentionally, mind you), so goooo wild! Ship to your heart's content! I have an idea for an omake about that, actually. And I'm glad Fairen's interactions with Lissa are paying off. I am a sucker for sweet, sappy romance.

Once again, thank you for reading. I haven't been responding to comments, but I will start doing that now. I will still remove author's notes at the end of chapters once a new chapter is released, but like I've wrote, I'll archive them on my blog as linked above.

Stay tuned.

---

LEVEL UP! (No fighting, but a lot of stuff happens so consider it XP from events)

Fairen

Class: Tactician

Level: 3 + 1 = 4

HP: 27

STR: 13

MAG: 12 + 1 = 13

SKL: 13

SPD: 13 + 1 = 14

LCK: 6

DEF: 9 + 1 = 10

RES: 9 + 1 = 10

MOV: 5

Level-Up Quote: By the moon! I'm so bloody busy!

WEAP Level:

Lance = C

Tome = E

Skills Equipped:

Teamwork: Doubles stats given and received when paired up.

NEW! Cognium and Adrenis: Gain access to non-tome magical arts (retroactive).