Chapter IX: Ambush

Ever slashed something? Ever slashed something through armor? It's hard. It's very, very hard. So hard, in fact, I drop my sword, misjudging how much force is required to penetrate the tough boiled leather. It clatters to the ground, clanging against the stone road. I suppose I expected it to cut right through, like a fine knife through a well-marbled steak. And thanks to this Risen's distinctly un-tender-steak-like armor, I have no weapon. Wonderful. "He can swing a sword," Robin said. "He can slash and dash." You lying bastard. If they weren't busy eviscerating Risen and I trying not to die, I'd throttle them right now.

The Risen whose armor I failed to slice through roars, bringing down its axe. I don't have time to react. Luckily, Risen don't seem to be the most accurate buggers around, and he misses, though only just. I find myself scrambling backwards, hiding behind my shield as I try to figure out how to retrieve my sword without getting a limb lopped off. The next blow bites into the wood of my shield. Sheer force and power buckle my knees. Christ, this guy hits like a heavyweight champion.

As he wrenches the axe back for another strike, my arm and shield go with it. I'm nearly lifted off the ground, standing on my tip toes. The Risen shakes his arm in a violent attempt to dislodge my shield and me from his axe. He stops for moment, fixing me with an empty glare. Red eyes bore into mine, seeing everything and nothing at once. Fear rises, a clammy chill that saps my willpower. The Risen uses his other hand to bring rotting, fetid fingers to my neck. I can hear his low, guttural sounds as his grip tightens, constricting my windpipe. Struggling and kicking, I try to break free. It's no use. He's far stronger. I'm just flailing at this point.

And then there's a lance coming out the side of his head.

A few seconds and the Risen dissipates into mist. I fall to the ground, coughing and spluttering and heaving for air. Above me Freya pulls the reins on her horse, keeping the steed steady. Her gaze is full of fury and fire, alight with the rage of battle. I've seen Freya fight before, but I don't think I realized her… intensity until now. She exudes an aura of courage, of ferocity.

Freya waves her lance. "Retreat into the woods, Michael!" she shouts. "It's time to go!"

I look around. She's right. The ambush was a success. Just as Robin said, the Risen numbers are down by about half. They were caught completely by surprise. The other Shepherds pull back, Virginie firing arrows while Robin and Miro cast jets of lightning and flame. Risen warriors begin giving chase, their formation thinning. Everything is exactly as Robin planned.

But I didn't do anything. I did less than nothing. I dropped my sword and nearly died. I'm just as incompetent as I thought I'd be. Watching the Shepherds, seeing how Freya and Chrom and Robin and all the rest handle themselves, I want to prove myself. It's stupid. It's reckless. It's insane. Yet, I swallow my terror and let adrenaline guide me as I grab my sword and lunge at the nearest Risen.

I know as soon as I make the move that it's a mistake. Robin specifically told me not to do something like this. There's no excuse. It's a moment of pure weakness I'll regret forever. It's simple insecurity, a foolish desire to show the Shepherds—and myself—that I belong here with them. Above all, it's anger that I needed saving.

My target deflects my clumsy attack almost nonchalantly. I barely even aimed, after all. By some miracle, the Risen's counter doesn't kill me. The lumbering, decaying monster buries its wickedly curved blade into my left shoulder. Blood splashes my clothes and paints the creature's face. My whole arm goes numb. Limp fingers let my sword slip. The Risen's blade makes a nauseating sound—wet and slick and fleshy—as it's removed. A patched boot pushes me down. This is the end. The final moment.

I don't want to die.

"Damnit! Michael!" I hear Freya's voice, but all I see are those cold red eyes. The Risen prepares to finish me. I'm paralyzed by the realest fear I've ever felt. There are no words to describe the feeling.

A flash of blue and silver followed by long chestnut hair crashes into the Risen. Freya and her horse. The monster is knocked off balance but recovers quickly, collecting itself with an unnatural cracking of joints. Freya turns her horse to make another pass. This time, however, the Risen is ready. Sidestepping in a bizarre, jerking maneuver, it manages to grasp Freya's boot and rip her from her stirrups. The knight grunts, landing hard. Her heavy armor works against her, giving Freya difficulty as she tries to rise. At this close range, Freya's lance is ineffective—the Risen is already well past its tip. She drops the polearm, drawing a short sword from her belt.

I shift a little, trying to crawl towards Freya, but the pain is too much. By now the Shepherds have reached the forest edge, and Risen are fast closing in on Freya and me. Over my good shoulder, I see Chrom standing several yards away, near the trees. She's watching in horror as the scene before her unfolds. Soon, Chrom snaps out of her momentary daze and begins rushing our direction, followed closely by Liston, Robin, and Vaiva.

Looking back at Freya, my eyes widen. She still isn't on her feet, instead parrying strikes while sliding backwards. The Risen unleashes a relentless assault, leaving Freya no room for error. She can't keep this up, not in her present position. It's only a matter of time—

One thrust.

That's how quick it is. The Risen's sword finds Freya's throat, stabbing deep.

"NO!" Chrom screams, arriving seconds too late. Robin and Vaiva make quick work of the Risen swordsman, but the damage is done. The blood leaking from my own wound feels insignificant now. A scarlet pool spreads out around Freya's head as her hands clutch at the gash on her neck. Horrible, haunting gurgling is the only noise she makes.

"Move, move! Give me space!" Liston cries. He kneels beside Freya, pressing the healing staff against her throat. Risen swarm toward us, forcing Robin and Vaiva to hold them off. Chrom joins the melee as well, swinging Falchion like a madwoman.

Robin shoots a thunderbolt before glancing back at Liston. "We need to head to cover! Can you move her?"

Liston doesn't look up to respond. "I'm not done! The wound… the wound is severe. I-I don't… Just please, give me more time!"

Robin shakes their head. "There is no time!" They turn to Vaiva and Chrom. "Vaiva, help me move Freya back to the forest. Chrom, you grab Michael!" Robin disengages and dashes over to Freya. Chrom and Vaiva have no choice but to follow Robin's orders.

Chrom takes me underneath both armpits and hauls me up. Intense pain radiates throughout my upper body. A wave of lightheadedness causes me to teeter. I must have lost more blood than I thought. Chrom practically drags me toward the forest, supporting most of my weight. I can't tear my eyes away from Freya. Liston desperately works with the staff as Robin and Vaiva carry Freya's slack form.

All the Risen are now focused on us. Though my awareness rapidly deteriorates, I estimate maybe fifteen or twenty remain. As we make our escape, I notice motion across the road. An arrow lodges in the back of a Risen's skull, followed closely by a fireball taking out two more. Sullivan, Stana, and Sumner ride in unison, Sumner's pegasus gliding just above the horses. The three of them slam into the Risen flank, immediately felling several. Kelda charges in a few seconds later, moving as fast as her bulky armor allows. The swift and brutal offensive, with ranged support from Virginie and Miro, proves decisive. Already crippled from the first ambush, the Risen crumble. Stana spears the last of them as Chrom lies me down in the grass.

The battle is won, but there's no celebration. Silence hangs in the air while Liston pours all his healing ability into treating Freya. I don't even care that no one is paying attention to me or the injury I received. The Shepherds gather around Liston and Freya, solemn faces rigid. Chrom's jaw clinches so tightly I can almost hear her teeth grinding.

It's my fault.

I repeat that over and over to myself, consciousness fading.

Freya, I'm so sorry.

I close my eyes and fall into the darkness.

When I awake, I'm alone inside a tent. From outside flickering orange firelight dances on the tent walls. I throw off the blanket draped over me, surveying my bare chest. My shoulder seems healed, but—like my abdomen—there's a scar and throbbing pain. Hopefully, I don't start making a habit of waking up like this.

I search the tent for a shirt, avoiding moving my shoulder too much. There's a folded tunic to my right, clean and absent any rips. Grimacing, I pull it over my head. The fabric is a bit itchy, but I can hardly complain.

The only thing on my mind is Freya. I went unconscious before knowing her fate. Did she survive? Did… Did… I don't want to think about the alternative. My stomach flips and flops in a queasy torrent. This isn't like the game where if a character dies you can just restart. Reality has no casual mode.

Freya is a human being. With emotions and desires and hopes and dreams. And I did this to her. It doesn't matter that we don't get along. It doesn't matter that she can't trust me. It doesn't matter. Period. All that matters is that this is my doing. If… If she died… She died protecting me. What a fucking worthless way to die. I'm scum. I acted exactly the way I wasn't supposed to. And why? To feel better about myself? What a joke.

I push open the tent flap, poking my head outside. Only one person sits at the fire: Robin. I don't hesitate before walking towards them—I have to know. Robin hears my approach, meeting my eyes with an impregnable stare. I stop in front of them, standing with my fists balled.

"Freya… Is… Is she…" I can't finish the sentence.

Robin sighs. "She's alive. Barely."

Relief. I'm overloaded with it. And then shame. So much shame. "Can… Can I see her?"

"Do you think she'd want you to?" Robin asks, frowning. "Besides, she's not awake yet."

My fingernails dig into my palms. "I have to apologize. It's my fault this happened."

"You're right."

"What?"

Robin adjusts their coat and fixes me an even look. "You're right," they repeat. "It is your fault."

Somehow, hearing it from Robin makes everything worse. It cuts in a way that Risen's sword never could. I can't reply. I just stand there lamely, arms dangling.

"You disobeyed my orders. You put the entire party at risk. You didn't think about anyone but yourself. And someone almost died for it." Robin pauses, the even expression morphing into anger, disgust. "These people have taken us in, given us a home, Michael. Look how you've repaid them."

I hang my head, unable to bear Robin's gaze any longer. "What am I supposed to do? How do I fix it?"

"I don't know, Michael." Robin runs a hand through their hair. "I don't know."

Defeated, I sit beside Robin, cradling my face in my hands. "I fucked up, Robin. I really fucked up," I say, feeling tears burn my eyes. "I'm a piece of shit."

"I don't know how you can make things right," Robin begins, staring into fire, watching it lick the air. "But I do know feeling sorry for yourself isn't the answer. Because you won't receive any sympathy. Not from me. Not from anyone. You want to fix things? Figure it out on your own."

We sit in silence for a long time, an oppressive quiet leaving me no reprieve from my thoughts. Self-hatred and pity is all I have. Robin wasn't wrong—this kind of thinking won't solve the situation. But I can't help it. It's a vicious cycle.

"Why are you here, Michael?"

The question jars me. I don't reply for a while, mulling over the words. "Because I have nowhere else to be."

"Wrong answer." Robin glares at me. "I'm here because I know I can make a difference. I'm here because I care about the Shepherds. I don't need to have known them long to feel this way. They… For someone like me, who doesn't have any memories, they're family."

I scowl. "Are you saying my reason for being here isn't good enough?"

Robin stands. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

I stand as well. "So, you think I don't care about the Shepherds?" My voice tightens.

The tactician regards me carefully. "I didn't say that. But do you care about them, about anyone, more than yourself?" Robin shakes their head and turns away. "I'm going to bed. It's been a long day. You should sleep too."

Robin leaves without another word. The weight, the implication, of what they said withers me. It's true. From the moment I arrived here, I've thought of nothing except myself. Everything I've done, every action I've taken—even saving Chrom's life, Agatha's life—I did for my own gain. Chrom told me that I became a Shepherd when I went into the fire after her. No, I didn't. I was just a guy too afraid to lose his meal ticket. And these feelings I have for her? Those are selfish too. Possessive. Scared. And Agatha? I didn't want to feel guilty later. I forced my way into the Shepherds because I felt entitled to be one. Robin never asked to be a Shepherd. They accepted the responsibility and understood intuitively the ramifications. Me? I just wanted to play at being a person I've never been.

Can I become that person? I have no idea. I have no idea how to be selfless or strong or brave or willing to sacrifice my own desires. I'm not sure it's even possible. But I want to. I want to change. I want to be a better man. Maybe that's why I'm here in this world. On Earth I never needed to be anything else.

The change starts with me taking ownership of my mistakes. Not to blame myself but to grow. Learn. To accept. I need to face Freya. Face Chrom. Whatever they say, whatever they want me to do, I will. Even if it means leaving the Shepherds. I'm done being an idiot. It's time to do things for the right reasons. I owe them that.

Pacing around the camp, I search for Freya's tent. I doubt she's in any state to speak, but I want to see the consequences of my actions. This isn't about forgiveness. It's about knowing just how much what I do affects others. After peeking inside a few tents, I find Freya. As Robin said, she's not awake. The gentle rise and fall of her chest reassures me that she's alive. Chrom sits beside her, cross-legged, neck bent low. Looks like she fell asleep in the position. I'm struck with the realization that Freya is likely Chrom's closest friend, a person she's known her entire life. I almost took that away.

As I step into the tent, Chrom jolts, blearily lifting her head. She rubs her eyes, turning my direction. Recognizing it's me, I expect her to get angry, to curse at me. She doesn't. Chrom merely wipes Freya's forehead with a damp cloth and tucks her blanket under her sides. She ignores me as I stand over the pair. My gaze drifts to Freya's throat. An ugly scar, long and misshapen mars her neck. Permanent, I'm sure. Liston must have given it everything he had just to ensure she lived.

"I'm sorry," I say flatly.

Chrom's response comes as a cold whisper. "Apologize to Freya, not me."

I bite my lip. "I will when she wakes up. But for now, I'm telling you."

"I don't need your apology. I don't want it."

My heel digs into the ground. "I'm not asking you to accept it. I'm not asking for forgiveness. I don't deserve that. I just want you to know I'm sorry."

Her eyes seem dull and drained. "Nothing you can say will change what happened."

"I know that. I also know that I have no right to call myself a Shepherd." I study Chrom's reaction.

She brushes Freya's cheek with her fingers. "Freya needs rest," Chrom says, opting to disregard my statement.

I seize the opportunity to offer what little I can. "Let me stay with her. You need rest." My voice breaks. "Chrom… I… I want to do the right thing."

Chrom's hand trembles as she clutches Freya's blanket. "Then how… how could you let this happen? Why did you go after that Risen? You know you can't fight. So, why, Michael? Why?" Tears fall into her lap.

"Because I'm selfish." I steel myself to go on. "I was more concerned with my own pride than accepting my shortcomings. You see, to me, it was just a means of satisfying my ego. And Freya paid for it. All of you did. But, Chrom, I can't be that person anymore. Not here. You all are too important."

She listens, lips wavering. "Michael," she says hoarsely. "I was terrified. For Freya. For you. Do you understand that?"

I nod stiffly. "I do now."

The two of us lock eyes. Chrom's brim with a swirling menagerie of emotions, the void from earlier lost. Anger. Fear. Confusion. Hurt. Disappointment. Sorrow. Her eyes tell everything she's feeling. Chrom is so honest, so straightforward and earnest. I can't let her down again.

"I told you… to retreat."

Chrom and I both look down at Freya. The knight props herself on her elbows, wincing. Chrom immediately starts fretting, placing her hands on Freya's shoulders. "Stay still! You don't have your strength back yet," Chrom says.

Freya shrugs off Chrom, groaning. "Michael." Freya's voice is scratchy, like someone who hasn't had water for a couple days. "You complete… utter… moron."

"I know," I agree. "I have no excuse."

Freya's mouth forms a thin line. "Milady," she croaks. "I request some time alone with this… with Michael."

Chrom glances between Freya and me, clearly debating if that's wise. "Are you sure?" she asks Freya.

"Positive." Freya's leer pierces to my core.

Exhaling, Chrom relents. "I'll be right outside." Soon, it's just Freya, myself, and the tension in the atmosphere.

I speak first. "Freya, I—"

"Silence."

I clam up instantly. She continues. "When I was a young girl, I often took walks in the forest outside my village. One day… One day, I ventured perhaps too far, and a mountain wolf set upon me. I lay on the ground for many hours before a villager found me. Such grievous wounds made it unlikely I would survive. However, I recovered. Though, I have never forgotten what it feels like to believe death has come."

Of course. The wolf. Frederick—Freya—talks about it in a support conversation.

Freya never breaks eye contact. "When that foul abomination thrust its blade into my neck, I felt that sensation once again. I always believed I would die in the service of milady and lord, protecting them from harm. I would be content to die such a death. Never did I imagine to die saving some fool from his own stupidity."

The speech destroys me. I say the only thing I can. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Do you know what the last thing to go through my mind was?" Freya asks. "I hope he turns into someone worth dying for. That's what I thought."

I drop to my knees, entirely dismantled. She didn't die, but I'm alive because of her nevertheless. "Then why did you risk your life for me?" I almost don't want the answer.

"It's what a knight does," she says plainly. "And…. I was indebted to you for reviving milady."

My fists shake. "Freya. Nothing justifies what I did. What I forced you into. If… If you want me to leave the Shepherds, just say the word. I'll go."

Deep brown eyes sweep over me. "No."

I blink, surprised. "You don't want me to leave?"

Freya touches her new scar, tracing the lines. "Nothing would please me more. But I don't decide who stays and who goes. And I know milady won't cast you out."

"Thank you. For saving my life. I didn't deserve it. From now on, I will do everything in my power to change. To become someone you can respect," I vow, determined to move forward as a new man. Or at least trying to be one.

She wheezes, a breathy sound. "We shall see." Her eyes harden. "Now, get out of my sight.

Freya doesn't need to tell me twice. I've overstayed my welcome. With a dip of the head, I make my exit. I catch Chrom with her ear pressed against the tent. She jumps back. Her expression tells me she heard every word. We don't speak. There's no need. I trudge across the campground, knowing I have a long road ahead.

After the events of the day, I won't be able to sleep. Too much going on upstairs. I walk to the edge of the camp, straining my eyes against the dark to see where we are in relation to the road. The group must have found a clearing somewhere in the woods, since all I see are the shadowed figures of trees. Absently, I wonder what became of my sword and shield. One of the Shepherds probably collected them. I suppose the gambeson is ruined. Oh well. It's not like I'll be fighting in any battles soon.

I think back to the training sword I busted. I'm supposed to be making those, aren't I? I promised Freya. I'm not a fighter, and I don't know when I'll be one. But I can contribute the right way. The way I said I would. That sword was two basic parts: a faux blade connected by a dowel to a hilt and handle. Some kind of medieval adhesive held it in place. Miro can likely get me some. The rest is basic whittling. I just need the wood and tools. Easy.

Resolved, I raise my eyes to the sky. Obviously, I don't recognize any stars. It's whole different universe out there. But it's where I am. Where I'll be from now on. I have so much to learn. This isn't a game, and it's not some fairy tale adventure. My choices and my actions matter more than ever before.

Under this new set of stars, I must forge a new life, a worthy life.

Author's Note: Whew! I have to say, that was the most difficult chapter to write so far. But I also think it's the best one I've written. Michael reached a major turning point. He's got to grow up. I hope all of you are ready to go with him on this long, long journey! And just in case anyone was wondering, the inspiration for Robin's battle tactics in this chapter (before Mike screwed it up) comes from the Battle of Teutoburg Forest fought in 9 CE between the Romans and an alliance of Germanic tribes. The Germanic commander, Arminius (German name "Hermann"), defeated a far numerically superior Roman force by ambushing them as the legion made its way down a narrow forest path.

I'd like to thank all my readers for their support and encouragement. You make writing this story so much more rewarding. Every follow, favorite, and review is a blessing. Nagaspeed, my friends.

Also, if you haven't already, please give Birth and Re-Death by ThreeDollarBratwurst a read. It's an excellent fic and one of the most refreshing FEA SIs in ages!

Clutchvm- I missed it too! It's great to be back, and I appreciate your support more than ever! As for Michael's "class," I suppose right now it's "scrub." XD But don't worry. He'll continue to develop.

Yexius- I'm glad I've hooked you! Oh, you can expect more Robin shenanigans to come. They won't give up their gender so easily.

Shippersaurus- Wow, I'm really flattered you made an account just for that. Kind of makes my day, actually. As for the timeline… Well, stay tuned to find out!

Darpy- Thank you so much! There's more to come!