Chapter XIII: The Land of Khans
I spend the two-day march from the Longfort to the capital of Regna Ferox trying to understand my memory loss. Or I guess block is more accurate? Both? In some cases, the information is there, just inaccessible and isolated, like I'm walking towards an oasis that never gets any closer no matter how far I go. In others there's gaps in my recollection, swathes of the game's plot I know are missing because what's left makes no logical sense. Key events are still there. The Plegian War. Grima's the big baddie. Walhart conquering Valm. Lucina being Chrom's daughter (or son in this case). The Awakening ritual. But links are gone. Why does Ylisse go to war with Plegia? When does Lucina tell Chrom about their relationship? And Grima. There's something huge. Something vital. I think Robin's involved? But… not Robin? God. All I remember is Grima being a big ugly ass dragon brought back by the Grimleal. Not the how. Lucina goes back in time to stop Grima, and that's all I got.
I can't even be sure about some things. What if I've forgotten I forgot in the first place? Sumner and Kelda come to mind. If not for that pegasus on the road, I'd never have realized anything was amiss. How long has this affected me? Attempting to pry deeper, to remember, causes more headaches and makes it impossible to continue.
The whole situation disturbs me. It gets worse, though. Worse and more confusing. If I think about other Fire Emblem games, like Shadow Dragon or Gaiden, I can't remember diddly fuck all. From Shadow Dragon, there's Marth, Caeda, and that asshole Medeus. That's it. Gaiden? Two names: Alm and Celica. Real fucking useful. The same is true for Genealogy of the Holy War and Thracia 776. From those games, I remember the continent, Jugdral, and that Genealogy has two generations of characters, like Awakening. Nothing else. It's as if I basically never played the games at all. However, all the other Fire Emblem games I have no issues whatsoever remembering. Seems like the issue is only with games taking place on this world. Well, at least I think Jugdral is on this planet? It's more of an instinct rather than knowledge I distinctly possess.
So, all this leaves a pretty important question:
What the hell?
I wish I could confide in one of the Shepherds, seek answers. Even if I learn nothing, at least I wouldn't be dealing with my own brain betraying me by myself. But they can't know. For one, Freya would see to it that I never spend another second with the Shepherds. One amnesiac is enough. Two? No chance. Especially when Robin is a hundred times the combatant I am. Not to mention the simply delightful conversation about Earth and video games and "Oh, hey, Chrom, by the way you're totally a man in the story I know!" What a clusterfuck. I've already lied about my origin anyways. I crossed the point of no return.
Maybe Lucina—or Lucius or Lucian or whatever his name is—can offer an explanation. Is it safe to ask him, though? He might assume I'm some rando from the future too. Or he might think I'm a threat to Chrom and just kill me on the spot. Wait. There's no future me he knows, right? Would that even be possible? I fell into this timeline. But isn't this timeline technically the same timeline just different (setting aside the screwed up shit that's already happened) because Lucina and the other kids show up? So, what if I showed up in the other timeline and this version of me is just the one I happen to be experiencing? Ugh. Time travel sucks.
I need a break.
Up ahead, Raimi walks beside Chrom step for step. She's shed her bulwark-esque suit of armor in favor of lighter mail and a heavy cloak to ward off the Feroxi chill. Without the steel plate, Raimi is an unexpectedly thin woman. She's tall, yes, but nowhere near as robust as the Shepherd's own lady knight, Kelda. Her resulting figure combines willowy elegance and wiry strength. Never judge a woman by her armor, I suppose.
She and Chrom lead us along the road, a high mountain pass that for several hours now has allowed us to look down upon the capital of Regna Ferox resting in the valley below. Urbos Magni, "The Grand City" in the old Feroxi tongue, or so Miro says. After listening to the mage teach Robin a few Feroxi words, I realize the language bears remarkable similarities to Latin. Or at least seems to, since I don't speak Latin. I'm briefly worried about a language barrier until Miro says all but the northernmost settlements speak Ylissean, AKA English. The fact everyone here speaks English both comforts and puzzles me. I mean, English has no business being on an entirely different planet. The best I come up with is that it's one of the languages the game is published in, so it's reflected here. Crappy rationale, but I've also seen people shoot fucking lightning out their hands, so who knows?
The topic stirs unease in my gut, and I busy myself observing Urbos Magni. Unlike Ylisstol, the Feroxi capital sprawls in ramshackle chaos. Walls encase the city center, but apparently the population decided to flip the bird to safety and build their homes wherever the hell they wanted. Buildings litter the hills around the walls, expanding like resilient plants stemming from granite. Steeply sloped roofs dot the land in unfathomable patterns. Against the snow, it's as if the Feroxi people defied nature herself to claim this country.
What I can only assume is the Arena Ferox dominates the city. Our descent through the mountains brings us ever closer to its splendor. When I was thirteen, my dad won a trip to Europe at his accounting firm. My family traveled from London to Paris to Berlin to Prague, and finally, to Rome. I saw the Colosseum, still mighty in its crumbling grandeur. The Arena Ferox is that relic of antiquity brought roaring to life. No modern stadium rivals the awe, the wonderment, this structure inspires. While sports complexes of my world stand as commercial, dispassionate pillars of rebar and concrete, fans within providing the only source of zeal, the Arena Ferox itself permeates the surrounding air with vibrancy and indomitable spirit. The grey—almost silver from shining inlaid minerals—walls rise imposingly, decorative statues carved along the sides. Each appears to be a warrior, maybe a famous Khan of old. From somewhere inside, controlled fire burns, illuminating the entire Arena as a flaming wreath. It's mesmerizing.
"Stupendous. An effulgent sight. Perhaps this is the zenith of Feroxi architectural extravagance."
I turn and see Miro studying the city, expression emotionless save a tiny tilt of the brows. He grips the brim of his wizard hat to prevent the wind carrying it away. I'm not positive he's speaking to me instead of thinking aloud, but I'm curious enough about the buildings to reply.
"Do you know much about Feroxi architecture, Miro?"
He squints at the Arena. "Fascinating. What manner of stone scintillates in such a fashion? Is there a quarry nearby? To import a multitudinous quantity seems highly improbable."
I stick a hand into his field of vision. "Uh. Hello?"
Miro startles, like someone threw cold water on his face. Realizing my presence, he pushes up his glasses. "Ah, Michael. Do you require something?"
Guess he was just talking to himself. Figures. "I asked if you knew anything about the way Regna Ferox builds things," I say, almost regretting asking. "You made a comment about it, and I thought you were talking to me." This isn't weird. Not at all.
"I see." Miro thinks for a moment before lifting a finger. "Oh. You mistook the combination of our physical proximity and my ruminations as an invitation to converse."
Well, that's one way to put it. "Sure. Yes. That," I agree, feigning a smile. "But, my question?"
He reaches into a satchel hanging by his side. How I failed to notice its enormous, bulging size is beyond me. The most superfluous packer indeed. Miro retrieves a volume from its cavernous depths. The History of Constructs: A Study of Architecture from Archanea to Ylisse, 17th Edition. Oh my.
Miro leafs through the book's considerable girth. "Ahem," he begins, finding the page he wanted. "Following the Schism, the Ylissean continent experienced marked advancement. Civilizations prospered, not least of all Regna Ferox. Once a mere conglomerate of tribal confederations, its barbarian founders devised a system of dual leadership. The newfound order invigorated production and—"
"You know, maybe just paraphrase?" I suggest, experiencing flashbacks of bland college lectures.
The mage stops, stowing the textbook back into his satchel. "As you wish. A layman summary then. The Feroxi are a pugnacious people invested in opulent displays of strength. Their architecture reflects a grandiose commitment to tangible testaments of said prowess. As the idiom goes, 'the bigger, the better.' I presume you found this satisfactory?" Miro gazes at me neutrally.
"So," I venture, deciphering his words, "basically they make things big and flashy because it looks tough?"
He nods. "Affirmative. Therefore, it is hardly astonishing that a venue dedicated to the exhibition of combat should be their most impressive. Now, the methodology of its creation, that is most intriguing. Worthy of further investigation." Miro eyes the Arena in predatory interest.
"Yeah, sounds like a lot of fun. Thanks for the info," I say, already plotting my escape. I like Miro—if a bit cautious around him—but listening to him is like being trapped in front of the Encyclopedia Britannica with your eyelids stapled open.
"You are welcome, Michael. It is ever my prerogative to enlighten the ignorant." The mage smiles, or at least what I think is supposed to be a smile.
Bud, you may be a genius, but you sure need a lesson in social skills.
We lapse into silence as Miro trains his observant stare on the Arena. Wordy or not, it was a soothing respite from darker thoughts. I can't say the same for the remainder of the trip. Even as Raimi guides us through Urbos Magni's inner gates, I'm fraught with unsavory ideas about my memory loss. I entertain everything from "hit my head" to "dark magic hex." Except I never hit my head. And who'd want to hex me? At the rate I'm going, I'll die some hilariously pitiful death before I'm anyone worth cursing. I sigh in frustration.
"This," I hear Vaiva shout, "is my kinda city!"
Virginie looks about beside her, ogling a muscular man. "I must confess, the men do possess a certain noble savagery."
Vaiva snorts. "I ain't talkin' 'bout the men, ya frilly dolt. I'm talkin' 'bout THAT!"
I follow Vaiva's outstretched arm to the object of her captivation. A lopsided, rickety wooden building squats between two much more stable brick ones. People stumble around the establishment, each person showing various signs of intoxication. Some can barely walk while others are still in the "hold my beer" phase. One man leans out a second-floor window singing a bawdy tune about "sweet Colette" and her famous bosom. I see men and women dancing inside, the whistling notes of a woodwind propelling their choreography. Merriment abounds. I'd call it a bar or tavern, but neither term fits.
"Ha!" Raimi stands beside Vaiva, hands on her hips. "Never seen a Feroxi vocatum before? Quite a riot!"
"That's what it's called? A vocatum?" Robin asks, looking apprehensive.
A half-naked man swaggers past Freya, winking. Her scowl makes him reconsider his life choices, and the man flees. And I thought she glared at me like I'm filth. "A den of degenerates, more like," the knight says, her usual tact soured.
Raimi laughs, apparently unoffended. "After the last two days, I expect no less from Princess Chrom's loyal retainer," she chortles. "Though, I suspect some time in the vocatum might buy you a sense of humor." Ever since her defeat at the Longfort, Raimi has grown increasingly informal. Much to Freya's distaste.
"Highly doubtful." Freya locks her jaw while Raimi belts out another round of laughter.
Chrom offers her friend a sympathetic glance. This must be torture for a stickler like Freya. The "vocatum," really the boisterous and crass manner of Regna Ferox altogether, runs against her entire sense of decency. I shudder to think how Marius might react here.
We continue weaving throughout Urbos Magni's zigzagging streets, the thick of the city every bit as chaotic as the view from the mountains. If not for Raimi, our party would have gotten lost a long time ago. Not only is the Feroxi capital larger than Ylisstol, but its energy clouds the mind and entices you towards narrow alleys and shrouded nooks. The basic awareness training I've been doing with Freya doesn't help. There's so much happening I can barely process all the stimuli—children darting underfoot, street merchants advertising dubious potions, people tossing coins at musicians, indiscriminate brawling. Urbos Magni is the beating heart of vitality itself.
Finally, we enter a plaza. Across its breadth is an intimidating castle, jagged spires jutting from the main body like skyward swords. Golden dragons guard the entrance, sculpted with painstaking attention to detail. The castle's crowning feature, however, is the crimson dome capping the center. Obsidian streaks spiral down the bulb, glossy and opaque. Atop the dome stands a lone warrior, frozen as a marble watchman.
"Castle Ferox," Raimi states, walking forward while the rest of us stare. "Follow me. I'll take you inside."
Raimi leads the way, castle guards saluting as she passes. I don't know what her official rank is, but she's probably fairly high up the totem pole. Not just anyone can waltz into the castle and gain an audience with the Khan, on behalf of royalty or not. However she earned her position, it definitely wasn't because of her intelligence. Odds are she pummeled somebody into a pulpy mush.
Inside Castle Ferox, Raimi ushers us into a large chamber not far from the entrance. Judging from the square footage alone, this room is most likely for the Khan to address subjects. I'd say it's the throne room but for the fact there's no throne. No furniture adorns the space, just a barren, polished onyx floor. Instead of paintings or tapestries, weapons of all kinds hang from gilded burgundy walls. Most are clearly ceremonial, but a few look as if they could be pulled off and used in battle.
"Princess Chrom, allow me to summon the Khan," Raimi says. Chrom dips her head and Raimi disappears through a double door to the right.
The Shepherds pace the room as we wait for the Khan. Vaiva appraises a long axe, the kind a Viking berserker might wield. "Get a load of this," she says, nose practically touching the blade. "I wanna see one of them rotten freaks take on Teach with this in my hands."
"Is fighting all you think about, Vaiva?" Liston asks, staring at the axe over her shoulder. "You'd just lose it anyways."
Vaiva clucks her tongue. "Ya don't get a reputation like mine by knittin' scarves, squirt."
"A reputation for what? Being a damn fool?" Sullivan leans against the wall by the axe, smirking.
The blonde warrior makes an indignant face and raises a fist, but Freya strides over to intervene. "Need I remind you that we are guests, and this is the Khan's place of residence, not some dingy hovel? Do show some respect. You're Shepherds, not children. Naga preserve us if you two are supposed to be Ylisse's finest."
Sullivan and Vaiva grumble, but neither dares challenge Freya when her tone could slice steel. Always serious, always no-nonsense—that's Freya. I don't think I've ever even heard her laugh. The knight stalks away, sending the pair a parting scathing leer. I frown. Freya's stern, yes, but not cruel or hateful. Her attitude is different. Angry, maybe. Is being in Regna Ferox so unpleasant? Vaiva and Sullivan can be rowdy, but they didn't do anything worthy of so harsh a reprimand.
I look over to where Robin and Chrom stand. The tactician's in the middle of describing what sort of person they expect the Khan to be. "A mighty warrior ruler, eh? A giant man, thick arms and corded muscles. As tall a tree and as broad too! I can't forget his hairy chest either!" Robin chuckles, pleased with their description. Is that what Robin says in the game? Like so many other things recently, I can't remember.
"Am I now? By all means, go on!"
A short man, perhaps Virginie's height, arrives with Raimi at his side. Curly blond hair reaches just below his ears, the color startling against tan skin. Maroon and white armor covers his midsection while a cross between a pauldron and shield protects his left arm. He carries a sword nearly longer than himself propped on one shoulder. Again, a name escapes me. I know he should be a woman though.
Chrom and Robin hastily turn, the latter seeming quite embarrassed. "You're… Er, I mean… The Khan, I presume?" Chrom sputters, regaining her poise at the end.
"Expecting someone else? Maybe someone hairier or more tree-like?" the man asks, wearing a good-natured grin. "But yes, I'm one of them. The East-Khan. My name is Flavius. You're welcome in Regna Ferox, Princess Chrom, regardless of any trouble you had at the border." He gives Raimi a glance, who manages an ashamed fidget.
Robin bows so low they're almost bent ninety degrees. "Please excuse my earlier comments, Khan Flavius!" Hearing the name a second time, it comes to me. Flavia. That's who this is.
Flavius slaps Robin on the back. "I'll have none of that! Here in Ferox, we appreciate honest and plain speech." The Khan's brows knit as Robin straightens and rubs their back. "And for a dose of Feroxi bluntness… the hell are you?"
"I don't quite understand," Robin says, tilting their head.
The Khan sighs. "Man or woman. Which are you?"
The tactician brightens. It has been a while since Robin's gotten the opportunity. "People do tend to seem confused about that. Is it not obvious?"
"Would I be asking if it was?!"
Robin smiles mischievously. "I suppose not… Let me put it like this: I'm very fond of flowers, but I also enjoy a good scary story. Does that help?"
Chrom steps forward. "Your Grace, Robin's gender is a mystery even to us," the princess explains. "And we've tried finding out several times." There's a collective groan from the Shepherds.
"This Robin here is a tricky one, then," Flavius says, seeming to accept the impossibility of a genuine answer. "But on to your reason for seeing me. Raimi tells me Ylisse seeks aid against a new threat. 'Risen', I believe you call them?"
"Correct. Undead monsters that look like men. I assure you there's nothing human about them, though." Chrom digs her thumbnail into Falchion, disdain for the Risen evident.
Flavius shakes his head. "Is it not enough to have Plegian bandits impersonating Ylisseans at the border? Unholy creatures as well?" The Khan grips his sword. "However, regrettably, I can't grant the troops you require. I lack the authority."
"Forgive me, but aren't you the Khan? What authority could you possibly lack?"
"I am one of the Khans. Every few years, the East-Khan and West-Khan hold a tournament to determine who acquires total sovereignty over all Regna Ferox. I lost the last tournament, so I cannot forge an alliance or offer assistance." He growls the words. It's easy to tell this is a sore spot for Flavius.
The Shepherds share anxious looks. No one wants to return to Ylisse empty-handed. Without Regna Ferox, the Risen and Plegia's constant raids leave Ylisse weak and vulnerable.
Chrom's shoulders droop. "Then we're to receive nothing?"
"If you give up now, yes. But the next tournament is upon us, and I am in need of champions." Flavius studies our party, an optimistic sheen in his eyes.
"What part do we play in that?" Chrom asks.
Flavius is eager to inform. "Raimi reports that your 'Shepherds' are rather skilled. If you represent me in the upcoming tournament, I believe we can win. I'll become Khan Regent and grant your alliance. What say you?"
The princess swivels slightly to view us. We have no choice. Ylisse has no choice. Chrom faces Flavius again. "If this is the only way, then we will take up steel in your name. My people depend on it."
The Khan thrusts his arm toward Chrom. They clasp wrists, Flavius smiling. "I like you, Princess Chrom! This will be a tournament for the ages!"
Flavius offers to show Chrom the Arena, to which Freya insists on accompanying, leaving Raimi to escort those of us remaining to the castle's guest wing. Regna Ferox must value visitors because they've spared no expense in lavishly sprucing up the place. Or maybe we're just in the special VIP section? Chrom and Liston are Ylissean royals after all. At any rate, the hallways alone contain more gold and silver than I've seen in my lifetime. Seriously, does every window need a sill made of solid gold? I suppose in Regna Ferox they do.
My quarters doesn't disappoint either. Elaborately designed rugs rest atop a lacquered wood floor. Mahogany? God, that grain is incredible. And it's so smooth it feels like glass. OK, someone's going to tell me how they made this. Regna Ferox, do you have the Holy Grail known as sandpaper? And sealer? I salivate a bit.
When I'm able to stop drooling over the floor, I take in the rest of the room. Fancy wardrobe, armoire thing? Check. Epic view of the city? Check. Horrifying wolf head on the wall? Check. Ridiculously huge bed with four posts and a curtain? Check. Even the best hotel I stayed in on Earth can't compete with this room. Of course, that was a European version of a Holiday Inn, but still. If this is my sleeping area, I can only imagine what Chrom's must look like.
I unlace my boots and flop spread eagle on the bed. Sorry, Tempur-Pedic, you lose. What's inside this mattress? Clouds and happiness? I snuggle into the blankets and let the soft plushiness envelop me. I don't realize how tired I am until I'm already dozing off. My muscles ache. My bones ache. My mind aches. Everything aches. And this bed is the remedy. I drift in a half-asleep state for some time before a series of pounding knocks sounds from my door. Moaning, I peel myself off the bed and trudge toward the noise.
Freya stands in the hall with her trademark glower. "Can I help you?" I ask hesitantly.
"I've come to collect you for training." She taps her foot.
Just when I'm getting comfy too. "Now?"
"If you have time to be idle, you have time to train," she says, already walking. "Move. We have work to do."
I should have known better than to think she'd let me relax. She doesn't even understand the concept. Freya leads me down a few flights of stairs, eventually landing us in a rectangular gymnasium of sorts. Training weapon racks line a wall, and several strange contraptions lie about. Medieval exercise machines? One seems like it might involve pulling a rope to lift a basket of stones. Another is a weighted wheel along a vaulted tract with planks attached to place one's feet. Never skip leg day, right?
"Khan Flavius has been gracious enough to lend us his training room. Don't break anything," Freya warns sharply.
I promise to be careful, and the session begins. Freya puts me through the usual routine—armored running, pushups, crunches, demonic repetitions of squats while she occasionally "tests my balance" by kicking the back of my knee. I sense that something's wrong, though, like when she went off on Sullivan and Vaiva. Freya's never shy with her criticism, but it's always about my performance, my failures, not me specifically. This time, she's personal.
"You're worthless! You're a waste of time!" she snarls, vitriol dripping. "You aren't fit to be a Shepherd! Why are you stopping? GET UP!"
I rein in the growing rage, harnessing it to continue. I won't allow her to win. If she's hoping to break me, it'll take more than this. Freya slings insult after insult. To be honest, it hurts. I do my best to ignore the nastiest ones, focusing on the drills instead. At last, I complete Freya's regimen, falling to the floor, hair matted against my forehead. Warmup, my ass. But it's easier than it used to be. Kind of.
Freya looms over me. "That was completely UNACCEPTABLE!" she howls. "Again! Do it all again!"
I roll my head so I can look up at her with my cheek pressed to the floor. "What?" I rasp, trying not to choke on my disbelief.
She leans in. "I said," Freya hisses, "do it again."
Yeah, this isn't the Freya I know. She may hate me, but she's not unfair. I right myself, matching her glare. "No," I say in defiance.
Her eyes flare. "Are you disobeying me?" she seethes, knuckles white from how tightly she clenches her fists. "You're a disgrace to yourself and everyone around you."
Springing to my feet, I shove my face close to hers. "What the hell is your problem? You've been acting like this all day." Longer than that actually. Since the Longfort, her mood has only gotten fouler.
Freya pushes me backwards. "You. You're the problem." Her face contorts in unbridled fury. "Why is it you? Do the gods mock me?"
My own anger diffuses, reforming as confusion. "What are you—"
"Twice!" Freya yells. "Twice you've been there for milady when I could not! I was unable to protect her… It is my duty to serve her with every ounce of my being. But I have failed. I failed as a knight and as milady's guardian."
Oh. She's mad at herself. Freya's simply taking it out on me. She was grateful after the fire, but I guess she's been bottling this up inside. I never considered how much turmoil she felt being out of control. And at the Longfort, I was the one who tackled Raimi. Me. The person who Freya nearly died saving from his own idiocy. I'd be angry too.
But shit. What do I say? I'm probably the last person she wants around. "Freya, you didn't fail," I say slowly. "I just happened to be there, and you know…" This is going poorly.
"Save your pity," she spits, tromping past. "This lesson is over."
I sidestep to block her path. "Hey, wait! You don't get to say that stuff and then just walk away." Deciding to risk it, I place a hand softly on her shoulder.
She shirks my hand. "Do not touch me." Her eyes are molten bitterness. "Remove yourself or I shall do it for you."
I hold my ground, bracing for whatever happens next. "I won't. I'm not your enemy. Look, I know how you feel about me. I want to help, though. I understand—"
"You do not understand anything," she says icily, brushing me aside. I don't resist. Freya exits the room, simmering anguish left in her wake.
Goddammit. I made things worse. But what else could I do? Freya the Unflappable is doubting her capability as an adequate protector. I'll never be even half the Shepherd she is, so surely she recognizes I'm no reason to feel that way? Well, obviously not. Thinking about it stirs a boiling pot of irritation. Stupid Freya. If she wants to wallow in her woe-is-me bullshit, fine. Whatever. See if I care.
An awful idea pops into my mind. The vocatum. Fuck this. I'm getting hammered.
Collecting an entourage to tear up Urbos Magni with proves fairly effortless. Vaiva and Sullivan readily agree, and Sumner and Stana relent after some quality peer pressure. Virginie can't pass up all the inebriated men, so she joins as well. We catch Chrom, Liston, and Robin on the way out of the castle, bringing our number to nine. Only Miro, Kelda (who we can't find), and Freya don't partake in the festivities. Miro because he's holed up researching God only knows what, and Freya because, well…
Anyways, it's plenty of people for a lively outing. We arrive at the vocatum just as the sun is slipping below the horizon. Compared to earlier, somehow more people have crammed into the space. Tangled masses of sweaty bodies jostle us around while the heady odor of alcohol circulates the air. Vaiva secures our group a table by relocating a few unconscious drunks to the floor. A waitress wearing a black dress and white apron takes our orders. She sends Sullivan a fetching smile as she disappears into the kitchen, to which the knight coughs and picks at a loose thread on his tunic.
All the dancing and music makes it difficult to hear, but we talk over the ruckus. "What did the Vaiva say, eh? Ain't this somethin' else? Ylisse could learn a thing or two from the Feroxi." The warrior smacks a palm on the table. "C'mon! Where're the drinks?!"
"Vaiva, we just ordered," Sumner says, flinching as an oafish man nearly hip checks him.
"Yeah but Teach is parched. And that won't do!"
Fortunately for "Teach," she doesn't wait long. Our waitress delivers the drinks, impressively carrying everyone's in one trip. I guzzle the contents of my mug. The ale tastes full and frothy, a citrusy tang at the end. Damn good. A flavor more than fit to help me forget all about Freya. Soon, I'm draining my fourth of the night, feeling a light buzz.
"Might want to breathe, Michael." Chrom sits beside me, watching me empty the tankard. Her own is mostly full. I don't know if it's her first or not. I've been so occupied drinking that I didn't notice the Shepherds settle into amiable pockets of activity. Sumner and Stana discuss the best recipe for a "chitterberry" pie, the latter clearly intent on eating one. Robin, Liston, and Virginie play some kind of guessing game. The tactician repeatedly blurts wrong answers and accuses Liston of giving bad clues—which he is. How is "sometimes brown" a viable hint for "donkey?" Sullivan and Vaiva bicker over whether a lance or axe is better. Plot twist: they're arguing about themselves.
Then there's Chrom. And me. "I am breathing," I reply. "Breathing this sweet, sweet juice."
Chrom rests her elbows on the table. "Pace yourself. You'll get sick."
"Don't tell me how to drink," I retort, waving at the waitress and pointing to my cup for a refill. She obliges, pouring amber fluid from a pitcher. "Ah, this stuff is great." I gulp a swig.
"OK. Out with it." Chrom straddles the bench, facing me. "What's wrong?"
I glare at the foamy bubbles topping my drink. "Nothing," I mutter.
"Nice try. Tell me."
"I don't wanna talk about it."
"Well, I do."
We hold gazes for a tense moment before I sigh. She's not going to stop pestering me, is she? "It's Freya."
Chrom looks surprised. "Freya?" she echoes. "What about her?"
"She went off on me in training today. Said she failed you as a guardian because I was there for you and she wasn't." I squeeze my tankard. "I even tried to be supportive! But noooo, she has to be all shitty about it."
"So, drinking yourself into a stupor is how you're coping?" Chrom snatches my cup. I swipe for it, but she keeps the drink out of reach.
"Give that back!" I protest. "I can make my own poor decisions."
She dumps the ale onto the floor, chucking the mug away. "No." Chrom frowns. "Pull yourself together. I'll talk to Freya. She's more sensitive than she looks. But Michael… when something doesn't go your way, will this always be your response? Freya's issues are her own, but your reaction is on you."
"Heya, girlie! I see yer hangin' on these men. Why don't I show yous a real man?" Chrom and I turn to see a stocky man, slicked back hair and bronze armor, clutching Virginie's wrist. The archer struggles, but his grip is firm. In the Shepherds, we know Virginie and her flamboyant behavior is just a quirk, an ultimately innocent flightiness. Other people, though? They might think she's something she's not. Doesn't matter. No one has the right to grab her like that.
I look at Chrom. "You want a better reaction? How's this?" Possibly emboldened by the booze, I stomp toward the sleazeball. "Hey, you gaping asshole, she doesn't want anything to do with you."
Her wrist slides from his grip as he eyes me. "Who the fuck are yous?" He puffs out his chest, sneering.
"I'm her friend. And I'm kindly asking you to fuck off." Farther away, this dude seemed smaller.
The man curls his lip. "Yous know who I am, boy? I'm Dergus the Wyvernblooded of Clan Talgar. Watch yerself."
I'm in too deep now. "I don't care if you're Dick McShitForBrains of Clan Fuckface. You and your clan can fuck off."
He wrinkles his nose and cracks his neck. Never dropping eye contact, he unfastens the straps of his vambrace and lobs it at my feet. "Pick it up," he says, gravelly and murderous.
"Don't, Michael. He's challenging you to a duel." Chrom whispers, having come up behind me. She pulls my shirt. "Let's leave."
Maybe it's the alcohol. Maybe it's the Freya debacle. Maybe it's that this guy is a total dirtbag. Maybe I'm just a dumbass. But I lean down and grasp the vambrace. Dergus grins maniacally, revealing several gold teeth.
I accepted a duel.
Aw, shit.
Author's Note: Oh, Mike… You and alcohol are not a good combination. Things were looking up for you, too. Shame on you, Mike. Shame on you. This chapter is a lot different from the last one. After all that action, I really wanted to invest in worldbuilding to breathe some life into the setting. Also, gotta have more character drama!
I have to say, the response to the last chapter blew me away. So many reviews! So many follows! Favorites too! Of course, I owe this is no small part to ThreeDollarBratwurst's shoutout to me in the author's note of Birth and Re-Death (which you all should read!). So, thank you TDB! You rock. And thanks for looking over this chapter as well. I appreciate all your help!
To all my wonderful readers, we reached 100 followers. I'm so moved and overjoyed that people are finding my story worth reading. The recent traction this fic has gained has me so excited for the future! I have big plans in store, and I'm thrilled to have you all along for the ride!
Scorin- I'm glad that the story is only improving with time. Those early chapters had me ironing out some kinks, but I'm really feeling it now! And I must confess, I greatly enjoy writing Mike and Freya's scenes. So much conflict!
Geust- Ah, well, I would have loved to have you help out, but I'm afraid I never received a PM from you. I do hope all is well and that you keep enjoying the story!
Yexius- A pegasus knight, huh? Well the animals do seem to love him. Who knows what may happen?
Caellach Tiger Eye- As we've discussed in our PMs, I love your feedback and eagerly await all your reviews. You have a gift for breaking down the elements in a chapter and outlining how it contributes to the greater whole. Hopefully, this chapter provides more material to do the same!
Serendipitous- Hurray for another year of school completed! Congratulations! :) As for Virginie, I'm pleased you mentioned it being ironic how men respond to her, since I tried to show how differently people treat men and women doing the same things at the end of this chapter. Now, someone drawing the characters? That's actually my dream. Fanart of this fic might cause my heart to explode.
Cyberchao X- Holy turtle snacks, you reviewed a bunch! Thank you so, so much! I'm giddy that you like this story enough to do that. That means an awful lot to me.
ThreeDollarBratwurst- I think you know I appreciate what you've done. When you told me you were reading this, I lit up. I still feel goofy about it haha
Shizu23- If I wanted to avoid one thing in writing this, it was making sure Mike didn't become a Gary Stu. Your kind words are wonderful to hear. And while that wasn't a direct reference to Gamer of Fate, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thinking about Gamer stories when I wrote that.
RequiemAnon- Bless you for your consistent reviews! I, too, believe Stana made the whole chapter better. I think Mike really needed to hear that.