Chapter XXI: The Great Escape

Marth didn't tell me jack shit.

I don't know what I expected. The truth? A clue? Like the arena, he shows up, and I'm so close to remembering something. His presence reminds me that there's information I should know. And then it's gone. I'm in the dark again, head pounding, wondering if any of this is the narrative I used to know.

At least Emmeryn is alive. Small miracles, I guess.

I stand off to the side, my hand on Fury's flank, as she recounts the attempt on her life. Chrom's cheeks are hollow, her lips thin. She wants the assassins dead. Emmeryn places her hand on Chrom's shoulder.

"I understand your anger," the Exalt says, drawing he sister close. "But our people need us. Revenge does not save lives."

Chrom grips Falchion as she would before swinging. "The people who tried to murder you are still here! We can find them. You are still in danger!" She breaks free of Emmeryn's hold.

Emmeryn smiles, gentle even when taxed. "And where do you think Marth is? I believe she returned to the palace so you would not have to."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because she saved my life." They stare at one another for several moments until Chrom deflates. Emmeryn embraces her briefly before nodding at the city walls. "Our people, Chrom. Our first duty is to our people."

"Well said, Your Highness." Robin appears beside them, grim and strained. "I fear we do not have much time, so I must be blunt. Ylisstol is lost. We should focus on saving as many civilians as we can."

Freya strides forward from her place on the other side of Fury, her brows set in the familiar knit of indignation. "You would have us flee? Ignore the Plegian army? You would give them Ylisstol?"

"I would protect Ylisstol. Her people. A city is nothing without people." Robin matches Freya's challenge, glaring with self-assured confidence. Like a tactician. Freya looks to Emmeryn and Chrom, who offer no argument, and then sighs.

"Fine," Freya says, the bitterness of defeat in her words. "I… I agree that we are overrun. Forgive me. What is your strategy, Robin?"

I am mildly surprised at Freya's relatively easy acquiescence. But she's not stupid, after all. We all know we can't win this fight. Doesn't mean she doesn't want to try. It must go against everything she believes in to accept this outcome. Even I, terrified as I am, want to prevent Ylisstol's capture. This city is as close to home as I have here. The Shepherds live here. Agatha lives here.

Agatha.

Oh shit. Agatha. She works at the palace. The palace currently crawling with assassins. No, no, no. Agatha did not survive Southtown just to die like that. I didn't jump out a fucking window just to see her die later.

I jog to Robin, tugging Fury's reins. Details of Robin's plan sail past my ears, a jumble of sentences I'm too keyed up to parse. My hand finds her sleeve. "Robin! Agatha! Agatha is at the palace! I—we—have to save her!"

She pauses, taking a moment to register my fingers curled around her coat. "Michael, Agatha isn't the only person in the city. We have to think about everyone. We have—"

"Fuck that! How can you say that? She was in Southtown with us! She was on that roof with us!" Somewhere inside, I know Robin is only being logical. Thinking like a leader who needs to minimize casualties. But I'm pissed. I remember the Robin who broke down because she was afraid of losing a single Shepherd. Where is that Robin? Where is my friend?

Robins shakes my hand loose. "I know, Michael. I was there. Do you think I want this?" she says. Her white hair reflects firelight, catching it and turning her tresses to flame. "We are Shepherds. We cannot sacrifice all these people for the sake of one life."

It feels wrong, hearing Robin forced to be so pragmatic. I can't be pragmatic. Not about this. "Then I will go alone. I'll take Fury, fly there, and bring Agatha back."

"So I can lose you and Agatha? Absolutely not, Michael."

I move alongside Fury, my nails digging into her saddle. "You can't stop me."

Gauntlet-clad fists yank me sideways. Freya's hardened gaze rakes over me. "Don't be a fool."

"I have to do this, Freya." My voice is more pleading than I thought it could sound.

She studies me, more inscrutable than usual. Freya's emotions mingle on her face, a confounding blend. I don't look away, but she does—back at Robin, Chrom, and Emmeryn. The Exalt watches, more calm than I could ever be. Freya shares something with her, a silent understanding maybe.

Freya turns to me again. She tilts her head so her mouth isn't quite aligned with me, but her eyes are still locked. "I will go with Michael."

What? Freya, who just called me a fool? Freya, who hates unnecessary risks? Offering to help? "But the Exalt is here," I say, slow, puzzled. "Why would you… I don't understand."

Her scoff hits me like a restrained slap. "Do you believe Lady Emmeryn would ever forgive herself should misfortune befall one of her servants? I am acting in the best interest of Her Highness."

I peer around Freya, frowning at Emmeryn. My disbelief falters at her compassionate eyes, her protective disposition. Agatha matters to Emmeryn. Everyone mattes to Emmeryn. Freya only glowers, expectant.

"Are you sure, Freya?" Chrom asks, joining us with a note of apprehension. Robin hovers yards away, obviously only barely containing her objection.

"If not I, who would ensure Michael does not accidentally set himself alight? Or impale himself? Or simply die from sheer ineptitude?" Thanks, Freya, I get the picture. So inspiring.

Chrom dithers, drumming fingers against her thigh. "As soon as you have Agatha, return. That is an order."

Robin, unable to stay in the background any longer, releases a strangled hiss. "As the tactician of the Shepherds, I can't condone this. Freya is our most experienced fighter. As a pegasus rider, Michael is invaluable for search and rescue. We just can't afford this. More importantly, we are wasting time."

"If I may, Robin." Emmeryn glides across the grass, her shift looking more regal than it has any right to be. "I appreciate your concern for the greater good. Truly, I am indebted to you. However, what kind of ruler am I if I remain safe while the very people who work in my home are in terrible danger? To do nothing not only shames me, it shames the principles of Naga upon which I rule. It is not often that I flaunt my authority, but I am, in fact, the Exalt of the Halidom of Ylisse. This is my wish, and it will be done."

There's not much Robin can do in response to that. None of us are in a place to defy the Exalt. And I know Robin will blame herself if Agatha dies anyways. It's who she is. Making life and death decisions and expecting perfect performance from herself even when it's impossible. It was unfair to judge her for doing her job. She's under so much more pressure than I am.

Scrubbing her face between her palms, Robin submits. "Please be careful. Like Chrom said, get Agatha, get out." She glances at Emmeryn. "And do not engage the assassins if you encounter them. If you find other servants in the palace, direct them to a safer location where our main force can assist. We will regroup here."

With that, it's all business. Time is of the essence. I mount Fury, loosening the harness so it can encompass both Freya and myself. She accepts my hand and climbs up, settling in front between the swell and me, the safest way to avoid falling. Like when Miro rode with me during the bandit mission, I'm forced onto the cantle slightly, but given the larger size of pegasus saddles, it's manageable. The real issue will be transporting Agatha. I don't see a way to avoid two trips. Freya will need to stay behind for a few minutes. It makes me nervous. Sumner and Esther would solve the issue, but they're needed with the rest of the Shepherds.

Freya knows this as well as I do. "Do not worry about me," she says as Fury lifts us into the air. "Worry about Agatha."

"I am." Fury rises above the walls, surging ahead. "I am worried about both of you."

"How gallant of you." Freya's sardonic reply is almost lost in the wind.

I scowl. "I'm serious. Fury can't carry all three of us at once. You'll be on your own until Agatha's safe."

Chestnut hair assails my cheeks, and Freya angles towards me. "Should any enemies accost me in the meantime, I shall relish the opportunity to show them they've made a grave mistake."

Of course Freya wants an excuse to kill the assassins. There's nothing Freya cares about more than her charges. She's furious. Furious not just about the Plegian attack but that someone would dare directly target Emmeryn. I know her well enough to guess that at least.

"It's not your fault, you know," I say, yelling to be heard. "None of it is. You have nothing to prove."

Freya stays silent. The whistling gust and clamor of battle provide convenient cause to ignore me. Stubborn, as always. Or I might have overstepped. I can never tell with Freya. But she's here, isn't she? Sitting right here because she volunteered to. Freya talks more with actions than words.

We fly closer to the palace, Fury needing only the tiniest of nudges to steer her path. Which is fortunate, considering Freya's hair obscures most of my vision. In battle, she tends to tie it back or tuck it within her armor. It's kind of incredible that she hasn't cut it. I suppose she likes it. But I can't fucking see.

Transferring the reins into one hand, I gather the bulk of her wayward locks. I feel her startle, jerking her head to leer at me. Questioning eyes glitter, a warning as well. I point to her hair and then her armor and begin stowing it inside her collar. Gingerly. Freya nods, relaxing in the saddle. When I'm done, I pat her arm to say so.

The ensuing awkwardness thankfully lasts only until we arrive at the palace courtyard. Freya dismounts before me, nearly as Fury lands. I choose not to comment on anything that transpired during the journey. Probably wise for all.

Surveying the area, it's strange to think earlier this evening Marth, Gaia, and Pan rescued Emmeryn from certain death here. It's quiet. Well, as quiet as it can be with the city burning and soldiers disemboweling each other in the streets. The Plegian forces must be focused elsewhere. Suits me fine. Rather not be introduced to the assassins, though.

I lead Fury to a more shadowed section, underneath a tree along the walls. It's less than ideal keeping her out of sight outside, but she can fly away if there's trouble. I stroke her muzzle, whispering a promise to return quickly.

"The servants' quarters are in the opposite wing, near the cellars," Freya says, inspecting the row of columns supporting the breezeway connecting two large portions of the palace. "We should look there first."

Sensible, and Freya knows this place. I spent one night in Shepherd's barracks. That's it. Christ, I really was a dumbass planning on going alone. Wandering aimlessly is about all I'd achieve.

"Hey, Freya," I say, selecting a rosebush to address. "Thanks. For coming, I mean. I really couldn't do this on my own."

"Thank me after we've finished." She leans against a pillar, scouting. A kernel of satisfaction weighs cozily in my chest. I'm glad it's Freya. Retrieving Agatha doesn't seem like suicide with her involved. And… well… it's Freya. The person who has taught me most in this world, the one who I owe my life multiple times. The reason I'm carrying this pebble in my satchel.

Resolved, I join her behind the column, and we slink from alcove to alcove, unseen, tethered by a common goal. We enter through an already broken window. Whoever came through before isn't on the other side, but I'd rather not wait for them to return to the scene of the crime. Freya and I communicate with barely audible grunts and a few hand gestures, traveling the hall at her discretion. If Marth really did return here as Emmeryn suspects, it could be nice to have an ally should things go south. But he's not our priority, and fighting assassins isn't either. Stealth is best.

Freya maintains a light foot, more nimble than her armor would suggest. She turns corners with an agile silence, her hand always waving me forward or signaling a stop. I do my best to track our route in case we become separated, but the palace is winding in a way Castle Ferox wasn't. Even if I'd somehow managed to find Agatha in this maze, she'd be the one rescuing me after that.

A hand presses into my chest, Freya's firm touch. "We are close to the servants' quarters," she whispers. "Let us be very cautious."

"There's no sign of the assassins or any Plegian soldiers, at least. That's good."

Freya exhales, the sharpness of it like when I've failed a training exercise. "That is what concerns me. No bodies. No noise. Nothing."

Yeah, that's… actually a really good point. Where is everyone? Gruesome as it may be, shouldn't there be signs of struggle? Or are these assassins the friendliest, non-civilian killing murderers around? Not likely.

On Freya's mark, we dash the final stretch of hall a rough wooden door. Cheaply sanded to avoid splinters and no more. A rusty padlock and chain keep it sealed shut. Vaguely dungeon-y.

"Is this door supposed to be locked?" I ask, examining the iron chain.

"Not like this," Freya answers, stiff and edged. "I'll break the lock. Stand back."

She removes a small hatchet from her belt. I step backwards, allowing Freya the space to go to town if need be. However, only two swift blows, and the padlock is no more. The clanging echoes throughout the empty palace, a wince inducing racket. Freya wrenches the door open, all but pulling me inside.

We both smell it. I see her nose wrinkle, the back of her hand shoot to her nostrils. I do the same. The stench is overpowering, coppery, bile and fluids. It's the pungent scent of death. Not like Risen. Not decaying. This is fresh. My stomach revolts, and I suppress a wretch. There's stairs going down, curving. Whatever is at the bottom… God, I don't want to know.

But we have to keep moving. We take each step one at a time, nearly in tandem. If anyone was nearby, they heard Freya dismantle the lock. They'll come, and we have to be gone or well hidden by then. So, down the stairs. Into this unknown hell.

And it is hell.

Around the bend of the staircase, the sight wobbles me. Physically. I vomit over the side of the railing. Freya goes pale, paler than when she almost died.

Bodies. All of them. The servants. Hacked and mauled, some so damaged they hardly seem human. And blood. So much blood. They were slaughtered here. Rounded up and massacred. Trapped. A few made it to the base of the stairs only die on the first steps. I've seen Risen, seen people die too. Killed Dergus. But this is something else. Something beyond wars and battles. It's barbarism. It's a scene that I know will haunt me forever.

"Animals," I hear Freya say, her boot squelching in a puddle of blood. "The assassins. Animals."

She's right. This isn't the work of human beings, of people capable of empathy. What person could participate in violence so heinous? Could continue slashing at another individual until they looked like this? It has to be hatred. A primal sort, rooted in darkness devoid of all light.

I turn to Freya, and I know I must look broken. "We can't leave them like this. They deserve better."

Freya meets my eyes squarely. "There is not time for a burial. All we can do is promise that they will be avenged." Her fists tremble. "And they will be. I swear it."

My hand finds hers. I squeeze her fist. Hard. She doesn't flinch or squirm. I try to put everything I can into that motion, to tell her with words I cannot utter that I understand. That we saw this together. It's a fleeting moment, just a second or two, my fingers slipping between her knuckles. Freya never makes a sound, but I feel her fingertips brush mine. Then I let go.

"Agatha," I rasp. "I have to search the bodies." The phrase is so disgustingly alien it's as if someone else said it.

I kneel, scanning faces. For a heartbeat, I think I see her braided pigtails. Not her.

Muffled rustling. I look up. A trunk beside one of the beds. Caked in gore, a corpse propped against it. Freya and I draw our swords, approaching from different sides. After seeing the carnage here, I don't know what to expect. Hellspawn, maybe. The trunk's clasps are undone, hanging loose. With a brisk nod to Freya, I throw it open and brandish my blade.

Two figures lie cramped within, cradling each other in a fetal hug. Flecks of blood dot their faces, macabre freckles. A pair of braids.

Agatha. Alive. Clearly traumatized, but alive. And another girl, younger, Donna's age perhaps. They both stare at us, petrified, until Agatha's eyes widen.

"Mike?" she says, low and full of disbelief. Agatha takes in Freya. "And… I don't remember your name."

Relief is all I feel. I latch onto this single bright spot. Agatha is right here, speaking. She survived. On instinct, I reach into the chest and haul her out, feeling in my arms that she's tangible and real. Freya extracts the other person, who doesn't talk and hardly moves.

"I thought you were dead," I say. Agatha stands, albeit unbalanced.

She stares a little vacantly at the bodies strewn about. Agatha witnessed this. Horror—that's what swims in her eyes. "I don't know how I'm not," she croaks. "Beth and I…. hid. When it started. I don't… I can't…."

I grip her shoulders. "You don't have to say anything right now. We need to get out of here."

Freya supports Beth, who seems stuck in a state of shock. "Agreed. Let us make haste."

"Wait," Agatha says, breathing rapidly. "Where are we going? What is happening? Who… did all this?"

"Plegia attacked the city. A group of assassins tried to murder the Exalt. They're the ones who probably..." I trail off, further elaboration unnecessary. "Now, come on. We can't stay."

Agatha listens, or more appropriately simply hears the explanation, and swallows. I allow her to cling to my arm as we ascend to the main level. Freya displays none of the feline stealth she used on the way in, guiding us through the palace with brusque speed. Normally, I'd be worried about slowing Freya down, but Agatha and Beth stumble frequently and hamper our progress. Who knows how long they'd been inside that trunk? Only the largest pools of blood had not dried, so I suspect they were hiding for a few hours. And after what they experienced, I don't believe I would be too steady on my feet either.

To Freya's credit, she never addresses them harshly, just encourages the girls to keep going. If Freya's nerves are anywhere near as frayed as mine, I know it can't be easy. Every corner is a risk, every darkened nook a danger. The closer we get to the courtyard, the more anxious I become. Almost there. Almost to Fury.

Almost, that's the operative word.

At the broken window, our luck runs dry. Three men stand bathed the dim light, men who are definitely not friendly. They wear no uniform or military insignia, faces clad in black scarves. We have no chance to retreat before they see us, a deafening moment of turgid stillness as each group processes the other.

"Well, got some live ones, don't we?" the middle one says, his dagger gleaming. "Suppose we ought to clean up the mess."

Freya places herself in front of Agatha and Beth, adopting her defensive stance. "Michael, I want you to take them and run. I will handle this. Just make sure these two reach safety."

I've defied orders more than a few times. Freya bears the scars of one such instance. It's usually idiotic, possibly fatal, to do so. I learned that in the hardest way. But some orders are wrong. Some orders aren't given because they're smart or tactical or planned. Sometimes, orders are given because a knight named Freya thinks sacrificing herself is the best option. That kind of order is bullshit.

"No fucking way," I growl. "You're coming with us. We both know what could happen if you don't."

She wants to respond—I see how her face contorts, her livid eyes. But the three assassins charge. They know Freya and I are the only ones armed, choosing to target Agatha and Beth. Freya deflects a couple strikes, exploratory stabs designed to test her. I clumsily parry a thrust meant for Beth's waist. If we weren't protecting them, Freya and I together would have at least decent odds. This, though, is not sustainable. Our attackers realize it too, captured in wicked grins and eager footwork.

"Go!" Freya screams. "Go now!"

It's not fair. This decision is not fair. I can't hesitate. Freya occupies their attention long enough for me to grab Agatha and Beth and drag them towards the window. Neither needs prompting to scramble through. I look back at Freya, outnumbered, whirling to dodge or catch blows with her armor.

Climbing outside is probably the hardest thing I've ever done.

I sprint towards Fury, the faithful pegasus right where I left her. She whinnies, distressed, intelligent eyes asking the painful question. Beth and Agatha pant beside me, winded and weak. Three people is too many for Fury, I already knew that. One of them has to wait. I spin, praying to see somewhere safe enough to hide.

Nowhere is safe.

An awful idea surfaces. An awful idea that I need right now. I cup Fury's snout, fingers splaying in her fur. "Fury, this is very important," I say. My pegasus kneads the earth. "These two people need help. They're friends. I know this is tough, but you have to fly them to the Shepherds. Without me."

Fury snorts and stamps the ground. I rub her flank, mumbling comfort. "Please, Fury. For me. Freya is in trouble. Please."

She settles at this, head swiveling to observe Agatha and Beth. The pair watches with uncertainty. I don't blame them. Fury lives up to her name in most respects.

"You have to trust me," I say to Agatha. "Hurry."

She must hear the urgency, because she rushes to Fury. I boost Agatha into the saddle with some coaxing—of both her and the pegasus. Beth follows, more tentative. I strap the harness around them, giving basic instructions to remain still and let Fury do the flying.

"Mike, what about you?" Agatha asks, eyes like saucers.

"Fury will return after you're with the Shepherds. I'll be fine, Agatha." I smile. It's artificial reassurance.

"Thank you." I'm surprised to hear Beth's voice along with Agatha's. My best reply is the same smile. I stroke Fury's mane and tell her to fly. Startled squeaks accompany her liftoff. She soars higher and higher, out of earshot. I don't wait for her to crest the walls before rocketing towards the broken window and Freya.

I feel a morbid solace in the screeching tang of swords. She's fighting. A piece of glass cuts my arm as I hurl myself into the hallway. Two of the men engage Freya, the third motionless on the floor. Dead or unconscious I can't say. Blood weeps from a gash on Freya's cheek, more blood smeared on her armor. Hers? I don't know. I do know she's losing this battle. The fact she felled one of them alone is remarkable. I can't think of a single person in Ylisse who could duel three people at once and last this long other than Freya. She's a fucking badass.

She's also going to die if I don't do something. In the heat of the fight, none of them have noticed me. Freya's barely hanging on, and the two assassins sense the kill. I don't think. I just lunge.

My sword sinks into one of the men's backs. His flesh tears, the blade wedging between ribs. I push the blade further, twisting, his agonized scream a dull bleating in the background. His partner reels, shouting. Freya presses the advantage and disarms him using a maneuver she subjected me to relentlessly during training for Dergus. The man dives for his weapon, but Freya trips him. A beat later and her sword burrows through his neck.

On the end of my own sword, I feel the assassin go limp. Two months ago, I would have let his body fall, my blade buried to the hilt. Tonight, I yank the sword free, my boot leverage on his back. He slumps, dead. Two people I've killed. But I won't see this man in my dreams.

"Michael! What—"

I'm wrapping my arms around her before she can finish. It's tight, clutching, an impulsive act. Freya is warm, warm and breathing and OK. A moments passes, and her hands grasp my back. And then I'm being shoved.

"I told you to go!" she hisses, leaning and favoring her left side. "What are you doing here?! What of Agatha and the other servant girl?"

"I sent them with Fury. They should be fine," I say. Her ire won't dampen my elation. "I couldn't leave you. I just couldn't. And, yeah, you're welcome, by the way."

Freya sags against the wall, wincing. I crouch beside her. "You stupid man," she groans, nursing her elbow. "Why? Now neither of us can escape."

Her insults have all the weight of wind. "What do you mean why? You honestly think I'd let you die? Not a chance in hell. We came here together, we leave here together."

"What if Fury does not return? What then? You wasted the chance I gave you!" Freya's customary scowl punctuates her argument.

"I saved you. You're my friend, Freya. You can say whatever you want, but I wasn't going to lose you to these assholes."

She fixes me with a glare, the glare I know well. I don't look away. Freya's expression melts, the lines around her mouth becoming less harsh, her brows not quite so tightly furrowed. When she shows me this side of herself, I always feel like I'm finally seeing Freya the person rather than Freya the knight. It's a sort of trust, I suppose. Between me and her. I don't dislike it at all, the sensation of vulnerability, of honesty.

Freya adjusts her position to be more upright. "Michael, you have my gratitude," she says quietly. "Please forgive my impudence. I fear that at times I speak to you in an unbecoming manner. I am who I am, and am unlikely to change. But I wish for you to know, without pretense, that I… I care for you also."

My face is red. I know it's fucking red. And I pray to God or Naga or whoever that Freya cannot see it in the low light. Freya's said some shit before. Lots of shit. Jabs. Demeaning comments. The works. Not this. Not this completely unfiltered, not sarcastic, heartfelt… shit. I guess I did save her life? People say strange things after something like that, yeah?

I respond the only way I know how. "This is the part where we agree never to speak of this moment again, right?"

"What moment?" Freya says and folds her arms.

I laugh, slightly wooden. "Yes, of course. Good. Great." Her lips quirk. "Let's get the fuck out of here, Freya."

"Such eloquence." She grimaces as she stands. Her steps are weary, limping, but Freya seems to have received mostly superficial injuries in the skirmish. Nothing rest and a little fussing from Liston won't cure. Assuming we live through the rest of the night. Those three men were part of a larger force. In her current condition, Freya wouldn't win another lopsided fight. We have to stay on the palace grounds for Fury, but the courtyard is far less of a death trap.

Or it would be, if the walls didn't just explode.

The blast sends us outside, the space where the broken window used to be now a fractured hole. Debris clogs the air, dust and shattered stone raining onto the grass. My ears ring. My eyes water. I flail about for Freya, my hand landing on her collarbone. She makes a sound, indecipherable with my hearing reduced to tinnitus. I roll toward her. Seems like we both at least have all our limbs.

As the veil of smoke thins, I see figures running out from the point of impact. A tall man, willowy with tanned skin and a goatee that I can only describe as villainous, heads the group. If I hadn't just been nearly vaporized, I might laugh at this Jafar looking prick. Amid the chaos, he and his men pass by Freya and me, clearly fleeing. An arrow snapped off at the head protrudes from his bicep. Guy looks rough.

His pursuers appear shortly after—Marth and an auburn-haired young woman aiming a bow. She fires, the arrow scoring a hit on the man's thigh. He staggers and falls to one knee.

"This is for my parents, Validar!" the woman bellows, nocking another arrow. My hearing is normalizing, good.

Validar? The name stirs foggy memories, more forgotten information. He's important somehow. But once again, when I try to remember, pain wracks me. The tendrils teasing me fade, and I'm left with nothing. Just a sense that there's more.

The man called Validar sneers, an impressive feat for a dude with two arrows sticking out of him. "Vermin. I have no idea who your parents even were, insect," he says. If 'slithering' had a voice, it would be his. "Though, I suspect I greatly enjoyed their miserable ends."

Charming fellow. Definitely the type who would attempt to assassinate the Exalt. And definitely someone Marth and his friend should be handling. Which they seem to be doing pretty well, all things considered. But I'd prefer it was happening on the other side of the palace.

"You bastard!" The woman releases her next shot, missing Validar's throat by inches. "You took everything from me! My parents were—"

With the dust clearing, she sees Freya and me on the ground. Her voice cracks. Marth follows her gaze, posture rigid. "Phoebe," Marth says. "Don't."

'Phoebe' stares at me, too long, and Validar turns as well. "More of them," he says, loathing evident. "Men, it is the Lord's will that I live to slay Naga's whore. The time has come. Offer your lives in the service of our Master. I must escape."

Several of his band, all wearing similar robes with purple markings, encircle Validar. These people… they're dressed like Robin. The same patterns adorn her coat. What the fuck? I know Robin. I know she's not one of these maniacs. There's an explanation, one I used to remember. Goddammit! Nothing makes sense.

Validar's troops form a wall, shielding him. Behind them, Validar slinks away, hobbling. Piece of shit is using his own followers to protect himself. And they're apparently brainwashed enough to think it's a cause worth dying for. His men raise their weapons aloft, metal already stained with blood. The blood of all those servants. None of these people will spare a second thought butchering us.

Marth hurtles forward, Falchion rending one of them from shoulder to torso. I offer my hand to Freya so she can sit up. "Are you all right? Can you stand?" I ask. Fractals of rubble slide from her hair.

"I am fine. My armor absorbed most of the shock," she says, rotating her arm.

"Then let's go. Fury should be back soon."

Freya looks at Marth and Phoebe. "The man who nearly killed Lady Emmeryn is over there. Tis my duty to stop the foul cur. I shall assist Marth."

Her eyes brim with a challenge. My fist hits the grass. "Are you insane?! You'll assist yourself right into an early grave, Freya. You're not in any shape for that, right now."

As if to prove my point, Freya buckles when she stands. She disguises it well, but I see the pain lancing throughout her body. Any strenuous motion might make her collapse. She's brave, not immortal.

I brace her, using my weight to give Freya a crutch. Fortunately, Marth and Phoebe are kicking ass and providing a respite for Freya. And me, honestly. Only a couple enemies remain. The combination of Phoebe's range and Marth's superior swordplay is a deadly duo. They move like partners who've fought together before, anticipating movements and fluidly synchronizing. When the last man falls, it feels like a foregone conclusion.

But no Validar. He got away. Those robed freaks did exactly as instructed. Fodder for their glorious leader.

"Fuck!" Phoebe tosses her bow onto the ground. "We had him! We were so close!"

The butterfly mask mutes Marth's emotions, but it can't hide his gritted teeth. They were hunting Validar, no doubt about it. What's his significance? Beyond being a homicidal douchebag who wants to kill Emmeryn, I mean. Marth is from the future. Is Phoebe from that same future? What does Validar do? Phoebe was yelling about her parents, I think. He must be responsible for whatever befell them. And more. Much more.

Phoebe glances at Freya and me, her face strangely sheepish as she plucks her bow from the dirt. She bundles near Marth, sharing a hushed exchange. From the gestures between the two, I can't decide what sort of conversation it is. About Validar? About us? Both? Freya shrugs against me, her eyes dull. I wish I could promise that we'll catch Validar, but I won't placate Freya with such a reckless unknown.

Marth and Phoebe finish their little team huddle. "Michael. Freya," Marth says, a belated greeting. "I did not expect to see you again this eve."

"I have a friend who works in the palace. Freya and I came to find her," I explain, allowing an insistent Freya to stand without my aid. "And we did… but… the rest of the servants…."

"Are dead?" Marth supplies flatly. His boot grinds the earth. "Validar's cruelty knows no limits."

No, it does not. Validar may look like a Saturday morning cartoon villain, but he's far from a G rated baddie.

Phoebe takes a step, wiping a swath of matted hair from her face. "Validar is a brutal man. Marth and I, we've seen what he's capable of, too." She abruptly extends her hand. "I'm Phoebe, by the way."

She shakes our hands in turn, grip firm and a tad energetic. "I heard Marth call your name a couple times in the fight," I say. "It's good to be properly introduced."

"Well met, Phoebe. You are a fine marksman from what I saw." Freya points at the bow as she speaks. Yew wood. The grain is unremarkable, but only yew bounces and springs like that.

A wide smile, unrestrained and proud, transforms her face. "Oh, that's, well, I'm not that good," she stammers, scratching her cheek. "But thanks. I appreciate it."

What a weird girl. But hey, I also know a kid who wears a pot on her head and a guy who can't take a piss without swallowing a thesaurus. Awkwardly accepting praise is tame.

Marth coughs pointedly. "Ylisstol is still under attack, and Validar roams free. Freya and Michael, you should return to the Shepherds."

Flapping wings. Fury, and her impeccable timing. The pegasus touches down in a flurry of feathers. I race several yards to meet her, rewarding her arrival with scritches along her mane. She bunts my head and licks my fingers. Bless this creature. Without Fury none of this would have been possible. I'll have to ask Sumner about pegasus treats, because she deserves a lifetime supply.

The others gather around Fury, who preens. "Our ride," Freya says, her palm on Fury's haunch. Her brow knits. "And a note."

Pinned to Fury's small saddlebag and held in place further with leather straps is the note. Freya removes it, unfolding the parchment. It must be a very brief letter, since Freya reads only a few seconds before looking up, eyes flinty. Solemn, she passes it to me.

Agatha and Beth secured. Come quickly. Marius has been captured.

-Robin

I read it three times. It gets worse with each. "I thought Marius was at his family's estate?"

"Themis directly borders Plegian territory," Freya says, her mouth taut. "If the Plegian army marched through the region, tis more than plausible Marius was taken prisoner."

Marth and Phoebe scowl almost in unison. Not surprised reactions, though. Fucking time travel. "I believe this is where we part ways again," Marth says. "Naga watch over you."

Dunno if that's the best way to say good luck, Marth. Naga seems to be doing a pretty crap job of watching over Ylisse. I sigh. It's an endless shitstorm.

"Be careful." Phoebe shifts from foot to foot. I wait for her to say more, but she never does.

Freya and I nod curt goodbyes. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. I hate that expression. It's the reality of the situation. I have no clue what Robin intends to do about Marius. Or how the Shepherds found out. Did the Plegians attempt to use Marius as a bargaining chip? Why? They already sacked the fucking city.

Astride Fury, we depart. Marth and Phoebe shrink and shrink as Fury gathers speed and height. Freya reclines slightly, her head against my shoulder.

"Tis less painful this way," she says.

I just tighten my fists around the reins. Freya, you earned a rest. You earned it a thousand times. This night has been harrowing, and it's not even over yet. We're lucky to be breathing. I'm lucky. I'm lucky Freya is with me, lucky that she cares.

Whatever lies ahead, I want Freya beside me.

Author's Note: Well, that was an adventure! Lots of Mike and Freya in this chapter, and I hope all of you enjoyed it! And the return of Agatha! Not the best circumstances, but it's about time we saw her again. Also Validar. Fuck Validar. I hated him in the game, and I hate him in my story too. Shame that Phoebe didn't hit that throat shot.

Thank you all so much for reading. It's great fun to write this story, and I'm really happy that so many people enjoy and follow it. Updates may be sporadic, but they'll happen! And a big shoutout to ThreeDollarBratwurst and MixedValence, who have been super cool over on the Discord server. There's an invite to the server on my profile page should you want to join. We welcome you!

On to review responses!

Sigmatic- Hopefully this wasn't toooo terrible of a wait! Much better than the last wait haha. I'm really glad you enjoyed the Lucian POV! I don't want to swap POV often, but sometimes it makes for a refreshing change.

Bridd- This is a touchy subject, so I am going to abstain from talking about it here.

Lefthra- I loved writing from Lucian's perspective! Teasing a few things and giving the audience hints is fun for me. This chapter had a bit of that as well haha

Caellach Tiger Eye- It's great to get another review from you! I always appreciate your thoughtful and quality comments. On Lucian, Anri would have been an interesting name choice. Ultimately, I went for the pragmatic option. There's a lot of thematic weight to a name like Anri, but some of those ancient characters may or may not come up in the story down the road. The nature of the genderbend I think will answer a lot of things once it's finally revealed. But I'm really happy you liked the last few chapters! I hope this one followed a similar trend!

Call Brig On Over- Yep! Still alive! And yeah, the Lucian POV was supposed to raise interesting questions about the timeline. I'm happy to see speculation!

PumpkinHeadMan- The vote ended a while back but I'll have you know that Team Freya is an excellent team

HeroBladeRiyet- It's great that the story surprised you! When I wrote the very first chapter, one of the things I wanted to do was poke some fun at how self inserts are traditionally done. But this story was always intended to be meaningful.

DestructionDragon360- Warp powder, the get out of jail free card. Unfortunately, Lucian is now out of the stuff, so no more magic poof. Good thing Phoebe is around now!

Galinstan- Seeing Freya be called canon warmed my heart. I think of all the characters, she's the one I am most proud of from a development standpoint. It's wonderful that this story exceeded your expectations. I've seen stories use genderbending as a gimmick before, and I really wanted to avoid that and do justice do the characters.