Gaius remembered the way Henry looked the next morning, his eyes closed softly against the morning light, his hair ruffled in the thralls of sleep. Gaius remembered reaching out for him, and gently carding his fingers through the strands—tenderly, as though Henry's hair was really snow and would melt at the slightest touch.

Then he stood up from the bedroll, cramped and uncomfortable, fleeting warmth replaced by the morning chill. He got dressed then reached out to the sleeping Henry. "Hey, sleepyhead. Time to go."

Henry groaned, and turned on his side, slender hands reaching for Gaius' vacant pillow and clutching it to his chest. "Don't wanna," he muttered.

Gaius laughed, and reached down to tug at a loose thread in Henry's sleeve. "I know you don't. War council, remember? Maybe it's about Valm. We've been twiddling our thumbs for weeks now."

"Mmm." Henry laid still for another few seconds, then got up with a groan. "Oh, fine. I'm moving."

He grinned. "Good. I'm gonna go check up on the kids. See you in a bit."

"See ya," Henry mumbled sleepily, rubbing at his eyes.

Against his better judgement, Gaius reached over and planted a kiss on the top of Henry's head. "Love you." Then he left before he could see the other's reaction, but he didn't have to be there to know what Henry looked like in the moment.

The quiet squeak—enamored and excited—was enough for him.

.

.

At the war council, there were quite a few people in attendance, but at the helm of it all was Robin themself. They seemed stressed—these days were taking a toll on them, especially—but remained composed as they spoke. Mostly, it was progress about their major goal this entire time: the gathering of resources and any additional soldiers for their siege on Valm. They would have advanced already, had an unexpected force of rebels not slowed their progress.

It was a miracle that they hadn't invaded Ylisse in the meantime, and a greater miracle still that the Shepherds had time to amass more forces as well as resume their usual on-brand shenanigans.

But like all things, their luck must have run out. "We'll catch the Valmese ships on the sea. We have no chance of beating them on land, knowing the strength of their cavalry as it is, so if we head out on the open ocean…"

"Their marine forces are still formidable—more than ours can manage. Do you think it'll be that easy?" Flavia's voice was sharp and proud, a mite too loud for the early morning but far be it from Henry to mention this, even though he really wanted to.

Instead, he simply kept to himself, while Robin went on to say, "Of course not. But if we were to lead the assault with a few speedy ships, filled with our most capable fighters, and if we assume this position—"

"By the Gods," Basilio muttered. "You're but a mad person for thinking this! Yet it still might work!"

"And what if they see us coming from miles away? Then we're sunk in the water with no way out."

"But if we don't, we'll just be dead another way."

"You're willing to bet all our lives on this one singular ambush? What's the guarantee that this even works?"

"I believe in Robin," Chrom said. "Everyone here can attest to their tactical genius. Even if it seems we're on the outs, as long as we persist, the imperials won't see this coming." He glanced from Robin, to Gaius, to his wife Sumia, then nodded. "Our best fighters, plus our fastest marine vessels. We'll take every capable flier, as well. It can be done."

"That's it?" Flavia scoffed. "Oh, you're all mad. But I guess that kind of insane genius is what's gotten us this far. Fine, you'll have my sword."

"Good," Robin muttered. "Thank you for that."

"Does anyone else have any objections?" Chrom asked. When it seemed obvious that no one else had anything else to add, he nodded once, and said, "Robin will finalize our formations. Everyone in this tent will be on that ship, and then some. We'll get our supplies in order—Sumia, you come with me—and everyone else, prepare for our venture out on the sea."

"Yes, dear!" Sumia smiled brightly.

The others were just as amenable, and needless to say, the rest of the meeting went by smoothly. At the very end, however, Robin took a moment to speak with Henry about something—the contents of their conversation teasing Gaius' curiosity more than anything—before they made their way to the assassin, himself. "Gaius?"

"Bubbles?"

"Those children—"

"I would never think of bringing Gwen or Ell with us," Gaius reassured. "If we're on our way to the sea, and our docking point is that harbor in town you mentioned, then I've got a contact in the area. We'll leave the kids with them."

They visibly softened at this information, relieved. "Good. I can't imagine what would happen if they tagged along with us. It's too dangerous for little kids like them."

"I agree. Besides, we've got enough on our plates going out to sea as it is." He sighed, and rubbed at the back of his neck slowly. "You guys have been real lenient of the situation from the start, so. I really appreciate that. No need to overcomplicate this whole thing, as a result."

"Thank you for understanding." Robin glanced from Gaius, to Henry who was across the room, speaking to Sumia and Chrom about something—but what? "Perhaps it is best that you break this news to Henry? I have a feeling that he wants to bring them along."

"Henry would take those kids just about anywhere, to be fair. So, yeah, I'll tell him."

"I appreciate it." Robin extended a hand to Gaius' forearm, and Gaius found the touch familiar enough that he didn't flinch. Instead, he gazed into their eyes, wondering just what about himself that Bubbles took a liking to, all those months ago. They said, "You two have come so far. I'm happy for you both."

"Yeah," he muttered, gaze flickering to the sorcerer in question. "Me too."

.

.

"Henry—"

"No."

"Henry, you're not being reasonable."

"Oh, I'm not being reasonable? We promised to take the kids on and now we're just gonna leave them? On another continent?" Gaius flinched at the harshness of Henry's voice, and the sharp edge of his smile. There was no joy in the expression, however. Just rage. "Do you realize how stupid that sounds?"

"Do you realize there's no possible way we can cross the sea to Valm and keep them safe at the same time?" His eyes narrowed somewhat, the fight in his tone a familiar but dreadful feeling. "I hate to leave them, too, but bringing them when space is limited and the battles will be deadly is just irresponsible of us."

"Then why'd we even bother taking them on in the first place?"

"Henry—"

"Why'd we bother taking care of them when we were just gonna leave them anyway? Don't you think if that was the case, we were better off leaving them as they were?"

"And that is exactly what I wanted to do from the start."

Henry stood agape, speechless, before the anger in him rekindled like a flame. "That—that's heartless! Why would you—"

"Don't get me wrong," Gaius quickly cut in. "It wasn't that I didn't want to care for them at all—it's that I knew I couldn't. That you and I couldn't. And now we're here, facing the consequences of our actions. Leaving them is a cruel thing to do, I agree." A pause, a breath, and then— "But so is leading them to their potential deaths."

"Gaius—"

"Henry." Gaius reached out, one finger firmly tapping the bone jutting out at Henry's wrist, quietly asking permission before wrapping his entire hand around it, fingers curling warmth into Henry's cold skin. "It's for their own good. We already endangered them enough as it is, and the other Shepherds can only keep covering our asses for so long. We gotta do this, for their sakes, at the very least."

"..."

"I'm sorry."

And Henry, stubborn as he was, conceded with a half-choked sob, the rest of it muffled into the cloth of Gaius' chest—his entire body flung into him with desperation. Gaius was thankfully silent as he rubbed circles into Henry's back.

Henry's wordless action, while accompanied by tears, held an unsaid meaning.

Me too.

.

.

Saying goodbye to the kids, in theory, was impossible. Henry hadn't known what it was like to grow up with a normal family, after all, but he suspected that most people still hated farewells as much as he did.

Even so, he knew Gaius' words were true, and there was no conceivable reason to bring Gwen and Ell along in their journey.

But that didn't make it hurt any less.

.

.

"Are you serious?"

Gaius' heart sank. He knew this would be her reaction, but seeing it unfold before him was just as painful as he imagined. "Gwen—"

"You can't just leave us here while you go off to Valm!"

"And we can't possibly take you to Valm, either. The ships will be crowded as it is, and we might not even make it back out." Gaius bent down on his knees to stare at her, eye-level. She turned away from his direct honesty, but he held his ground. "We can't endanger you like that."

"If you leave us alone, it will be just as dangerous." Her cheeks burned with indignation. "I thought you said you wouldn't leave us again. That you'd take care of us."

"I know." He tried to ghost his fingers past her shoulder, but she flung him off. Hurt by her actions, he put it upon himself to maintain a cool facade as he said, "This is us taking care of you. We're just making sure you stay safe. You nearly lost your lives the first time we met, and we're not about to repeat that mistake a second time."

"But—"

"LIsten, Gwen. We're not trying to die, here. We're going out on a mission, and it'll take all we got, but we're gonna do our best to do what we need to do, so that one day, we can come back for you and Ellery, both."

She turned her head slightly, blue eyes brimming with tears. "Do you promise?"

"Swear it. Cross my heart and hope to—"

"Don't say it."

"Cross my heart and all the rest," Gaius corrected himself. "We'll come back for you. Just stick with my contact and you'll be fine. And who knows? If you're lucky enough, by the time we're back, the whole war will be won and we canall go back to peaceful living."

"Peaceful living…"

"Yeah, like, remember school and all that jazz? Well, if things work out, you can have that again. And if I'm still around, being all old and stuff, then I'll take you to see my favorite bakeries in the world."

"Really? Do you really mean that?"

He held out a pinkie finger to her, lips laced in a bright smile. "Really."

She hesitated at first, but then reluctantly reached out, curling their pinky fingers together. Promising each other. "Okay. Fine. I'll be good while you're gone."

"Great. You and Ell stick together, okay? And make sure he doesn't burn anything down."

She flinched. "How? I can't cast magic like Henry, and I'm not fast like you are."

"Be that as it may, you're quick on your feet and smart as hell. You'll figure it out." At her hesitation, he gripped her by the shoulders as gently as possible, but enough to apply a focused force. "You have to. You're the big sister here. Don't let him, or yourself, down."

"I…"

"I know it's a lot to ask of a child," he muttered. "But you have to, for us. For yourselves. Okay?"

The tears fell down her face—tiny diamonds sparkling in the daylight. He wanted to protect those eyes, but he knew that was wishful thinking. Only the Gods knew what awaited them at sea.

"Okay," Gwen finally conceded, wiping her tears (and snot, but Gaius was kind enough to not point it out in the moment) away with her sleeve. "But you and Henry have to come back. You have to. No ifs, ands, and buts about it."

He grinned. "You drive a hard bargain, Gwen, but deal. Now, come on." Gaius rubbed her shoulders and stood to full height. "Let's go eat something. It's still early, and we don't march for another few hours."

"March." Gwen's shoulders slumped, but she held onto Gaius' hand, anyway. "That's a lot of walking, huh?"

"Oh, kiddo." Gaius ran a thumb over her tiny knuckles, laughing sourly at the prospect. "You don't know the half of it."

.

.

"No!"

"Ell—"

"Don't go!"

Henry was ready for the flames. He knew they would form the instant that Ellery's eyes—normally green like the spring—darkened to a bloody color, the tips of his fingers alight with frantic energy. Yet as soon as the embers formed, Henry drew a sigil in the air, and sighed as the flames snuffed into smoke at their core.

Ellery, enraged, clenched his hands into fists, eyes smoldering an odd shade between green and red. "You promised! And now you're going to—"

"Ellery." Henry stepped forward, sweeping down to his knees, his bony hands outstretched and gripping the boy's wrists. His actions elicited a tiny yelp, at which he felt a sliver of guilt for, but remained composed as he said, "I don't want to leave you, either. But Gaius and I think it's better this way. You'll have less chance of getting ouchies, or drowning out in the ocean, or getting stomped on by Valmese horses. Have you ever seen a Clydesdale before? Those things are massive."

Ellery's head spun, unable to decide which fragment of Henry's crazed speech he should follow up on first, but eventually he settled down, heavy breaths quieting down with each second. "...Are you going to come back?"

"Of course!" Henry quickly switched from gripping Ell's wrists to wrapping him in a tight embrace, ignoring his small cries of protest. "I'll come back dead or alive. I'd prefer to be alive because it's warmer for hugs, but hey, ghosts are pretty cool, too!"

"Alive, please." Ellery mumbled into the sheerness of Henry's clothes. "Please?"

"Alive, it is. Just you wait. And, hey, we'll be back sooner than you think! And—wait! I've got an idea, what if I taught you how to use a location spell?"

Ell's eyes brightened, and he looked up at Henry with an expectant gaze. "A spell? Do you mean it?"

"Yeah! I don't know how the spell works just yet, but I can work on it while we're marching to the harbor. Then once I figure it out, I can teach it to you! And you'll be able to keep tabs on us from afar. How's that sound?"

"I dunno. Can I really talk to you while using the spell?"

"Not quite sure yet. I should really figure out a spell that lets you talk to people from a long distance, though. Think of how convenient that would be!" Henry grinned. "But, first things first: locator spell. I'll teach myself how to do it, then I'll teach you how to do it, and while we're gone you can at least get an idea of where we are. Okay?"

After a moment of pondering, Ellery nodded, his dark hair mussed under Henry's affectionate touch. "Okay," he finally agreed. "I'll go tell Gwen."

"Aw, I'm sure Gaius told her the big news already. But on the bright side, you get to march with us to the harbor! That should be fun!"

"March?" Ellery laughed softly. "That...sounds like a lot of walking."

"Oh, trust me." Henry smiled brighter, basking in the glow of Ellery's darkened face. "It is."

.

.

"Tharja!"

"Henry." She gave him a pointed look. "Don't run around screaming like an idiot. Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Oh, totally." He ignored her groans of protest as he placed himself on top of the table, shoving her papers and journals to the side. "This is kinda important though, speaking as one black mage to another."

"Unless you pick up the things you've just dropped, the only thing I'm going to tell you is to f—"

"Oh, whoops! Lemme get that for you." With a simple wave of his hand, Henry levitated the fallen papers and books back to the table's surface. Tharja's anger seemed to quell at the action, but the annoyance never left her face.

She simply leaned back in her chair and huffed, "Well? What do you want?"

"You know that locator spell? The one you use to divine a person's whereabouts in the world?"

"Yes. What of it?"

"Teach it to me."

"Hmph. Is that all?" Her lips curled into a slow, devious smile. If it were any other person, they'd feel the chill of her lethal intentions, but because it was Henry, he matched her manic grin with his own. "For someone that likes to lord his magical capabilities over others, you sure ask for the simplest of things."

"Oh, come on, we both know that when it comes to the divination spells, you've got me beat. Just do me a favor, one Plegian to another."

"So now it's not only our shared profession, but our nationality which you use as leverage for this favor. How original." She rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll help you just this once."

"Wow! Really? And here I was, worried we'd have to enact an epic magic battle to the death to get you to agree!" He reached for her hand and squeezed tightly. "Thanks Tharja!"

"Don't thank me yet," she hissed, retracting her hand from his grasp. But as he knew her, he could tell that only half of her heart was in it. Maybe the recent presence of Noire softened her up. Or maybe it was the various adventures she had with Henry, all those days ago. "You still didn't answer me. Why do you suddenly have an interest in this spell?"

"Oh, that? I wanted to teach it to Ell, so he and Gwen will be less sad when we leave them behind."

Her eyes widened, lips dropping into a frown. "Henry—"

"He knows magic, and really well, too! So why not give him a little project to occupy himself with? It makes sense, right?"

"You should have started off with that." Tharja stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. "If that's all you're going to use the spell for, then I have no problem teaching it to you. However, I am low on the supplies needed for it."

"Well, I'll help you since you're helping me! Whattaya need?"

She smiled. "Dragon scales. They are the main component for the spell. The rest are things I'm sure you have at your disposal already. Ask Nowi for some scales and we can get started."

"Is that all? That's so easy," Henry marveled. Then he hopped off the desk, brushing arms with Tharja as he passed her by. "Manakete scales, coming up! Thanks again, Tharja. I really mean it!"

"Thank me later, by giving me a strand of your hair and half of your dessert at lunch." Her face was serious but her tone was all wrong—Henry dared to guess she was joking.

And his heart felt like it was full to burst because of it.

.

.

"You and Tharja really love to ask me for scales!" Nowi said, eyes gleaming curiously.

Henry nodded. "I know. But it's for a good cause. At least, mine is. Tharja is definitely using you for evil. So, please? Can I have some of your scales?"

"Sure, no problem! I have some lying around, lemme see…"

Henry watched as Nowi rummaged through her belongings for a large mason jar, and noticed stacks of iridescent scales crammed into the tiny space.

However, not all of them were green as spring and twice as vibrant. Some of them were red. "Are those all your scales?"

"Huh?" Nowi blinked as she fished out a few scales from her collection. "Oh, not all of them. Some are Nah's!"

"Oh! The red ones!" He smiled widely. "That's cute!"

"Thanks!" Nowi's cheeks burned brightly. "I'm glad you think so. Nah was so embarrassed for some reason? I can't imagine why!"

"Well, you know." Henry shrugged. "Kids."

"Yeah… I mean, I get it. She's not technically my Nah. I might still not even have a Nah after everything is said and done." She stared down at this glass jar, as though the scales inside were little stars, instead. "So I figured that even if she left me, one day, I'd still have these scales to remember her by."

"Oh." His smile faded somewhat. "Oh." What was he supposed to say to that? Maybe he didn't have to say anything at all. Wasn't it enough that Nowi wanted to keep someone close to her heart for all of time? If the future children were bound to disappear from their parents' side someday, maybe now was really the best time to preserve their memory, in any way that the parents can.

Nowi sighed deeply, and handed Henry a stack of green scales. "Here you go. Is this enough?"

"More than enough. Thanks, Nowi." Henry held the scales delicately in his hands, admiring their shine underneath the light. "You know what? I think I'll keep one of these for myself."

"Huh?" She blinked owlishly. "Why would you do that?"

"Something to remember you by," Henry offered. "You're a good friend. I don't ever want to forget about you, either."

"Oh, Henry!" She threw her arms around him. "You're a good friend, too! Thank you!"

He squeezed her tightly, face buried in her bright green hair. "You're welcome," he muttered. It's nothing, he wanted to say. "It's the least I could do."

.

.

The march wasn't easy. And the harbor town, overrun with Valmese soldiers, wasn't any easier to navigate, either. But through the din of battle and swords clashing, the Shepherds eventually came up on top.

Say'ri, their newest comrade, was also exceptionally talented. Once the Valmese were cleared in the harbor, she was ready to dedicate her blade to the Shepherds' cause.

In the frantic moments before departure, Henry and Gaius felt the Eleventh Hour descend upon them. "Ell, we've been over the spell lots of times. Just keep practicing, okay? Then you'll always know where we are. Do you have the manakete scales?"

"I do," Ell muttered quietly. "I'll work on it. We'll wait for you."

"And Gwen, remember what I said," Gaius cut in. "You and Ell, and no one else. Well, you two plus my contact. You guys keep each other safe. The lockpick?"

"Got it," she said confidently, holding up the black lockpick tool. "I'll keep us safe."

"Good girl." He gazed at the Shepherds, and the last of the supplies being loaded onto the ship, salty blue waters splashing in the distance. "We've got to go soon. See you on the other side."

"You'll come back," Ell breathed out, more of a statement than a question. "You'll come back."

"Of course we will!" Henry beamed. "We're gonna kill a bunch of people, make it to Valm, and come right back to the two of you guys!" Nodding emphatically, he chose to ignore the pointed look Gaius gave him in the moment. "That's a promise!"

"Okay," Gwen murmured. "Then this is goodbye."

"Goodbye," Gaius agreed. "Not farewell."

There was no more time to waste. They talked about this day many times before, and prepared each other for the heartfelt goodbyes. Only, there was nothing heartfelt about this departure, and they could only hope that the two children would be okay with Gaius' contact in the meantime—that Gwen and Ell would truly keep each other safe, especially in the off-chance that Gaius and Henry do not return from their voyage out on the seas.

But the war council had gone smoothly, and the plan had been explained time and again. Any other fighting force would call it crazy—willingly setting one's self up for an ambush, only to turn that around in the midst of cannon fires—but the Shepherds have had their fill of desperation, to the point where the crazy was verging on the edge of genius.

They were confident that a reunion was awaiting them in the future. So they left before the goodbyes and fanfares grew to be too much, turning their backs on the innocent children, on those hopeful gazes bidding for them to return.

They didn't want to think about what would happen, otherwise.