Cycle

by RoseWarden

Robin is a young woman who bakes cakes during the day, sleeps at night, and drinks on weekends. She does not wage wars, fight demons, or solve dating issues. Yet, somehow by divine mistake, she's found herself doing just that. Clearly, someone has her confused with another Robin...

59. Interlude 6

Disclaimer – I don't own Fire Emblem. All of its properties belong to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems.

A/N: Hey everyone. I posted two new chapters at once. So make sure to read chapter 58 before this one! Enjoy the bonus chapter, and thanks for all your support!

---

Interlude 6

"Prince Chrom."

The firm utterance of my name pulls me back from the brink of my thoughts. I rub the back of my hand across my face and straighten from where I stand over our maps. Phila is the boundary between Emm and I. Her inquiry is polite, but I see a troubled concern in her eyes. This is not the first time I've drifted since this morning's affairs began. All I can offer is a thankful smile to have been spared potential disrespect on account of our allies.

Focusing has been... hard as of late.

I am not the only one suffering fatigue. The war councils continue as scheduled, though its participants grow more haggard with each passing day, myself included. After consecutive victories on both trade roads and the pass, we have relocated back to our base camp for further discussions on our advancements into Plegia. Aside from the security concerns, it was a joint hope that a change of scenery would help freshen our spirits. I cannot say for the others, but I am no more at ease here than I was on the front.

Gods take me, I cannot even remember what we were speaking of previously, let alone what was on my mind to drift off like so.

I press the tips of my fingers to my forehead and massage the sweat drenched skin in hopes to ignite some recognition. Between this late season heatwave and the lack of sleep, I doubt I could pay attention to Naga herself should she descend from the heavens.

Philas's gaze leaps ahead along with my own to the snap of pressure against wood. Khan Flavia's open palm comes down with a resounding thump on the war table. The tremors that follow cause the standing pieces of her army to scatter. "You're telling me that old oaf is still sailing his bronzed buttocks around the western coast while we get our hands dirty?" She utters under her breath, shaking her head to and fro. "Maybe age is finally catching up to his bones that he would rather sail on his pretty ships than fight with the soil of the earth between his toes."

The West Khan's envoy, a woman by the name of Olivia, stands opposite her master's contemporary. The growing color on her cheeks deepens to shades darker than her rose-colored hair. The young woman waves both arms before her in protest of the accusation. "I-it isn't like that! I promise, Lord Basilio is simply erring on the side of caution." She takes in a breath that's almost too large for her thin frame to hold. The color does not regress, but it allows her nerves to calm. Her once trembling hands move more confident among the pieces of our joint navies. "Our smaller galleys have been sailing the coast to monitor Plegia's navy. There's a suspicious set of vessels floating about, ones we are watching closely. They refuse to engage the main navy and stay solitary in their own paths. Though clearly Plegian owned, they lack flags corresponding to the hierarchy their captains share."

Flavia picks up the iron mold of a merchant ship from its place in Plegia's foremost dockyard. She rolls the piece between her fingers while in thought. "It may be that Plegia is using their merchant barges to disguise their scouting of the waters."

"Lord Basilio's navy is the strongest on our continent, even if it is not the largest," Phila states beside me. "As a general of Plegia, I would seek caution in approaching him."

"Plegia knows well of Khan Basilio's navy. Gregor hear General Pictus fears it much as he would fabled krakken. Shipwrights were stripping older vessels for construction of faster designs much like Valm has." Of those present, none would know such truths better than one of their own. Since accepting our contractual offer, Gregor has divulged all the knowledge he could offer in regards to his former patron's inner workings. He has been an invaluable counsel at many of our meetings. His eagerness to aid our cause is matched only by his desire to see proper retaliation taken after the mistreatment of Nowi and himself among their ranks.

"Is that something we should worry about?" Phila asks of him. "Valmese designs are unknown to me."

"Gregor is no man of sea, but Gregor knows little things. First job as pirate began with conquest aboard ship targeting Valmese cutter carrying military supplies." Gregor places a broad finger around a singular naval piece on the board and draws a circular motion about it. "Tiny boat ran circles round pirate galley. Made us very dizzy. Angry sailors blew many holes in big ship sinking it quickly. So ended Gregor's brief stint as salty marauder."

Phila eyes his movement with suspicion. "Plegia's trade connections are far stronger than we gave them credit for. To have enough trust in their contracts as to trade architectural plans with the likes of Valm is surprising."

"They are employing the plans with much haste." Olivia says, stepping in next to Gregor. The taller man flashes her a smile befitting to acquaintances, a gesture she shyly returns before addressing the map once more. "We've counted four in operation around the capital waters. There was another spotted in the deep ocean around Altea, but they fled our approach before we could trace it properly."

Eldaran, General Eldaran that is for the moment, presses forth Basilio's tokens with one hand to close the distance between the Plegian forces and ours. The sincerity in his tone is uncharacteristic of the charismatic philanderer I know. "Khan Flavia, it seems to me that our naval affairs may require a swifter response than we hoped for. A blockade of their outgoing merchant vessels will prove ineffective if they can outrun our own."

Flavia brushes the navy aside in disgust of the news. "I'm just shocked somebody fed Valmese plans to the Plegians at all. That salty cod has tried setting up trade lines in the past with various countries. He's never gotten a polite response back from anyone. The king and queen of the actual country of Valm are a private pair. The Chon'sin dynasts have been in a state of civil war since their emperor was killed. Even the smallest independent realms are silent."

A flash of blue from the corner of my eye signals Virion's departure from the shadows. He extends a hand forward in Flavia's favor, the look and tone of a well-practiced courtier playing his role. "With good reason, most beauteous Khan. The namesake of this prestigious continent, Valm itself, has embroiled the current state of affairs into much chaos. Their warmongering has the entire continent on alert after the seizing of both the League of Celicas and the northern Chon'sin dynasts. Trade is...the least of their worries."

Eldaran leans on his hip against the table appearing as disturbed as the rest of us. "Begs the question of what Plegia has that makes them look so profitable."

"Or what they may have already shared," Virion nods.

Flavia throws up both hands to a tired shrug. "Well, apart from that impending disaster, what else does Basilio have for us, Olivia?"

"Lord Basilio has sent me with the records of the ships seized so far and what he will be sending to you," Olivia says. She approaches a satchel lying at the end of the table. Reaching within, she pulls forth a collection of papers rolled with the West Khan's seal. Amongst the leaders, I stand closest to her. She makes to present the papers, only to halt her movements. She remains frozen and only stutters upon eye contact with me. "I..."

This is nothing new, though my disappointment still grows. Carrying the title of nobility often causes interactions with others to be...more awkward than not. Something about such a prestigious heritage causes others to look upon me as if I were less human and more divine. One glance upon Olivia's face confirms as much. What else would cause her hands to shake so, or her face to glow? I best say something before she forgets to breathe as well.

I cross the remaining distance and place my hands upon the bundle, careful to avoid any contact with her. "Thank you, Olivia. You can assure Khan Basilio his efforts so far are appreciated." I attempt to relieve Olivia of the parchments, but her grip does not relent. I try once more. Then, again.

"Olivia," Gregor calls out from behind her. The woman startles and looks to him. She blinks in a rapid fashion, words mumbled together in frustration. She releases Basilio's work and draws her hands up, wringing them together against her chest. She presses a cheek to her shoulder and shies away. "Y-yes. I'm sorry about that."

Before I can attempt to calm her, Olivia darts away to seek refuge in Gregor's shadow. He welcomes her with a familiarity that allows her to ease her spirits. Thinking it best to leave things as is, I retreat to my sister's side and offer her the list of spoils.

Emmeryn unties the bindings and opens just the first. Her mouth parts in surprise, eyes darting over the list he provides. "An impressive string of victories. Khan Basilio lives up to his reputation, it seems," she says in wonder.

Flavia beckons for the paper, to which Emmeryn hands over. "Don't tell him that. You'll inflate his ego so much his head will burst from the pressure." The Khan inspects his work, then tosses the paper on the table. An annoyed sigh escapes her. "He did alright, though."

Raimi receives the rest of the inventory from me and fans it across the table for all to see. It is not just provisions Basilio seized, but ships of equipment and luxury imports. A vast collection of goods that will either aid our efforts or degrade the spirits of Plegia's populace for having a lack thereof.

General Raimi's tone never truly escalates beyond the monotone of her all-business nature. However, in a rare moment, that fades to something almost...pleased when looking over the wares. "There's several shipments of weaponry the infantry will find valuable. It is getting harder to provide replacement weapons the further out we push our lines."

Eldaran leans in so he and Raimi touch shoulders. She recoils, all levity gone in her scathing glare. "Indeed, the armory is lighter in the western front according to our reports. What we have here would be a boon to our people." Raimi appears ready to snap him in two after the sly wink he slips in. "Enough to share between both forces. A good way to foster deeper relations, eh General?"

"Of course." Her reply is stiff and curt. Raimi carries herself with discipline here, though I doubt her reaction would be so reserved elsewhere, say the training field.

"Ah, to be ignorant and young again." Virion catches my eye and shares a mournful sigh. "While there is thrill in the temptation, he will soon learn that such attentions are futile and better spent elsewhere. A woman must want to be pursued, or it is a waste of one's time. Our Kellam is a fortunate man to be so wanted by his lover."

Perhaps my thoughts are too easy to read, for Virion laughs at my expression. "I am aware that this sounds hypocritical, but let it be known that Virion is not one to break a happy marriage. Will I offer comforts to an ailing heart in a loveless marriage? Of course! But, a prosperous relationship? No. Such is below a man of my standards. I am a paramour of many, this is true. But, I am no libertine. I have standards."

"Perhaps you and Eldaran should have a word then," I say mostly in jest.

"Oh, we have." Virion carries a thin smile, shaking his head. "Eldaran is an eager one, but selfish in the act. He is but an amateur in such refined arts. He will not amount to much in his years from what I have seen."

"You..." I trail off, unsure whether I wish to broach the topic further. Virion chuckles and waves his hand over the board to offer an end to the conversation. Perhaps it is best I don't question this. I can feel a familiar burn creeping up my neck. "Never mind."

Emmeryn presses Basilio's reports to the center of the table. "Khan Flavia, may I request the presence of your general tonight? I would like to have General Raimi and General Eldaran draft out inventory reports for our respective quartermasters."

"If that's what you wish," Flavia replies without much thought. A jealous burn still lingers in her eyes over her fellow Khan's luck in naval combat.

Eldaran appears smug at the suggestion. "Can't think of spending my night with lovelier company."

The other general takes in a great breath of air, holding tight to it. Raimi eventually lets it go along with anything she might have said in haste.

Flavia pulls the reports together and stacks them into a pile before setting them aside. "Olivia, when can we expect the goods to arrive?"

Olivia is but a shade behind Gregor. The man has to raise his arm to allow her head to peer around him. "They'll arrive in Southport by the next waning of the moon."

"A refreshed larder would be a heartening thing for the troops. We are at the furthest borders. The diseased lands have offered little reprieve for morale or strength," Phila nods, thoughtful over the prospect of her pegasi corps returning to full spirits.

"To think these lands were once so bountiful, carpeted in ancient forests and fertile deltas," Emmeryn murmurs to herself.

Eldaran presses off the table and wipes his hands together as if to shake off the meeting itself from his skin. "Well, on a note of finality, may I suggest wrapping up our little council meeting? I think we've seen everything we've needed to. Navy's still in position, scouts still spying, and the capital grows ever closer."

Emmeryn's sight drifts to Flavia. "Do you have anything else to speak of, Khan Flavia?"

Flavia picks a marker off the table. "Not of the moment. Once my rangers get back from the joint borders around Mount Carron, I'll have more to offer." She throws the piece once in the air and catches it. With the flick of her wrist, she snaps the piece down over the bogs of Lake Thyber. "The reports the prince had to offer have shown a need to look into some further sites, namely these parts. Grimleal have been spotted in and around the bogs of Darkwater, but never reappear after venturing in."

Emmeryn's eyes narrow, darting to me. "Darkwater? Indeed." Our father's involvement in the last war at that site left a poor reputation on our family for his brutality. The prospect of having to venture any sort of expedition there is...not one we look forward to.

Flavia puts a hand on Raimi's shoulder and nods. "Get your men back to me on that when you do report something, General. Grimleal are bad, and a nosy one even worse."

"My Khan," Raimi states with a bow of her head.

"Emm?" I look to my own sister for her approval. Gods, does she look ready to collapse where she stands. It's no wonder Frederick has been beside himself with her care lately.

Emmeryn removes her gaze from where it lays fixed on Darkwater's boundaries. Her parting smile is not as warm as it could be and never manages to reach the rest of her features. "That is all we have to offer as well. I'll consider this meeting adjourned."

Emmeryn places a light touch to my arm, a sign to linger until she is finished. I know of a few affairs she still had to discuss with Eldaran and Phila. I let her join them, noting from behind how frail she continues to look. We've all come to appear a little more haggard thanks to our rationed meals, but no change appears as drastic as my sister's. I will have to ask Frederick to increase her portion sizes, even if it were to come from my own plate. I can survive on less, but Ylisse needs her Exalt.

Virion's airy chuckle is a distant sound between my thoughts. The man takes to gathering up copied notes of today's orders for my own perusing later. "A heartening state of affairs. Events appear to be going swimmingly, would you not say?"

My response is little more than a hum of agreement. Whatever clarity I had from before starts to fade into a feather-touched haze that absorbs all lucidity. I am fatigued from it all. The war. The stress. To think, I was once foolish enough to pray to Naga for more than bandit encounters to liven up my days. I would give all my earthly treasures to go back to a time of relative peace.

Perhaps seeing the state I am in, Virion attempts to heighten my spirits with some sort of good news. "Come, come, my princely captain. I have something for you!" He approaches the back of the war tent and retrieves a book in one hand and sets of scrolls under the other. Virion rejoins my side and places it all out for me to see. "Voila! Every battle plan for the southern expansion fined tuned and edited to your liking. All within record time, I may add."

I don't even see the plans, my vision solely focused on the tactics planner nearby. My hands move by themselves, quick to close around the familiar worn cover. The title is barren, as is the spine. It is a hand-crafted journal spun and bound by its owner. Every page and diagram lined with the insights Virion and I have been using this past month to plan our next steps into Plegia. I've memorized it front to back.

Virion bows before me with his teeth flashing. "Now, now, no need to offer praise for such quick work on my behalf. The great mind of Virion is merely working its natural wonders. I have, er, how should I say it? I have minimized my natural inclinations toward battle strategy and replaced them with similar methods befitting..." My silence may come across as insulting, and I have no intention of that being the case. However, I cannot seem to find proper words yet until the book is fully in my grasp. Virion observes my actions with a sharp recognition as he stumbles through the rest of his egocentric banter. I do not miss the way his tone softens. "….more familiar maneuvers."

"I-" The thickened lump in my throat is near unbearable. I swallow it, forcing out a ragged breath of air. "Thank you."

Virion falls back into his old ways, offering a second bow that goes deeper than the last. "But of course! It is the least I can do. Let it not be said that Virion strives to please!"

I am already tucking away the tactics planner, my question merely out of courtesy. "Do you still have need of this?"

Virion considers saying something, but chooses against it. He withdraws the hand he has outstretched to accent his colorful speech. "I suppose not, at least for the moment. I have adapted what I could to the plans here. Perhaps in the future though, I will return to its pages for inspiration. There is a fine amount of detailing in the geography that will prove most useful come our march upon the capital itself."

"Then, I'll hold onto it until you need it." I press a hand over the indentation it leaves in the carrying satchel I wear at my belt. Strange as it is to admit, it brings me some sense of peace to have it back in my possession.

"Of course." Virion waves over the plans and gives the topmost a dainty pat with his gloved hand. "Will you and I remain behind to discuss more of our future, or shall I let you pursue more pressing matters?"

I pick up the first of the scrolls and turn it over in my hand. "I think it best if I retire for the eve. It's been a long day and I have other matters to handle."

Virion plucks the scroll from my grasp and gathers the whole lot. He attempts to secure them all with twine. "Fair enough, good prince. I shall collect our plans on your behalf so that you may be on your merry way to brighter dreams."

I catch a wayward scroll that falls from the rest and stop its descent over the table's edge. "Virion, you don't have to. It is not your obligation."

Virion takes the scroll from my outstretched hand and tidies up the bundle before securing it once more underarm. "Alas, it must be. As interim tactician, all such duties fall upon my frame. But, fear not! For I am a man of great spirit and of stalwart shoulders. Allow me to ease the burdens of your leadership even a modicum."

"I appreciate the sacrifice,Virion, even if there may be more behind it than altruism sometimes." I watch his eyes move from me to the sounds of a woman's voice to our left. Beyond, near the tent's entrance, the West Khan's envoy is caught up in a conversation with Gregor. It is not the first, nor I bet the last time, that Virion's attentions have been swayed to her. He is assuredly guilty of spending the last two nights in the war tent with me, among other places, that she has conveniently inhabited at the same time.

"Good strategists usually have an alternative goal behind every maneuver they make." He laughs heartily at having been caught. Virion shakes his head once so that his hair falls back over his shoulder and out of his face. He raises both brows and drops his voice to husky low, "Can you not blame me, your Highness? Khan Basilio's ward is quite a sight to behold, and capable in her own right. An enticing woman to be sure. She is a dancer, I hear. A gifted one at that. Her songs can soothe a rabid beast and quell a raging storm."

I have nothing to add to the fact. Instead, my thoughts wander to Maribelle's blushing face as she raved at our dinners on and on about our mysterious Rosannese archer and his refined palette. How he was dignified, and cultured, and a long list of other promising features she found in him. Given Virion has not looked once at Maribelle in the same way he has Olivia, I do not think she has much hopes in securing whatever future she may see herself having with him.

Hearing my name uttered, I shake the thoughts and ask Virion to repeat himself. He looks at me in surprise. "I asked if you have spared Olivia a word, Prince Chrom. She appears quite taken with you."

Now it is my turn to be taken back in surprise. My face turns back and forth between the two. I try to recall anything that may have signaled interest on her part, but we've barely shared words. What little we have amounted to nothing but embarrassment for both parties. Our initial conversation ended in an awkward silence and her running from me with near tears in her eyes. I would love to maintain some form of connection with her given that she is an important line of communication between Khan Basilio and I, but I seem to scare her more than entice.

"Say no more. The silence is enough for me. One man's loss is another man's gain, they say." Virion's good humor falls into an interested attentiveness. He folds away the battle plans into his own personal satchel and then presses his hands together in thought "Oh, what I surprise. I was not expecting him."

I look over to Gregor and Olivia only to see a new body among them. From behind, the dark hair and exotic sash mean it could be none other than one man. A Chon'sin bodyguard who happens to be without the one he chaperones. Perhaps it is irrational of me to feel this brief spike of fear. We are nestled in the very heart of camp protected by two armies and wards of the highest caliber. Still, I find myself walking briskly toward the man just to ease my curiosity, and my heart.

"Lon'qu?"

Olivia takes a step back at my sudden approach and ducks behind one of Gregor's arms. Lon'qu remains passive, not a flicker of emotion on his face as I arrive before him. "Prince Chrom," he says in the same tired fashion I've come to know him for.

"Where is Lissa?" I have the strange sensation that this scene has played out before between us. As if I am repeating my own actions precisely from a past memory. Perhaps it has? Gods know Lissa is as mischievous as they come. She's wandered off into one too many schemes for me not to be suspicious of when she is not where she should.

Lon'qu unhooks a thumb from where it rests in his sash and throws a gesture back over his shoulder. "Your steward released me temporarily from my duties that I may come." His narrow eyes close even further upon squinting at Olivia. "I wished to...impart a greeting."

"Ah, I see." I finally release the breath I had been holding. Lissa is with Frederick. Good. Feeling sheepish now, I find myself rubbing the back of my neck from the embarrassment. "I should have realized you would attempt to make contact with Olivia. You work for the same liege, after all."

"We all do," Olivia ducks her head away, hiding her cheeks behind both her hands. Her gaze jumps from Gregor to Lon'qu, the latter who clears his throat and shies away in turn. "Or did, at one point. I grew up with Gregor and Lon'qu under Lord Basilio's roof. They are as close as family."

"Pretty Olivia is know far and wide over West Ferox. I was lowly grunt when Basilio brought her in. Olivia was but little blossom..." Gregor's smile is wide. He open one arm and pulls the woman close to him in a one-armed embrace. The other pats her over the head. "...and still is! But is beautiful flower when she chooses to shine."

"Gregor, you're making me blush!" Olivia squirms out from under his arm and backs away from him.

Lon'qu does his best to remain where he stands even as Olivia's steps take her too close for his comfort. I half-expect the man to run away or faint. The color drains from Lon'qu as usual and his whole form locks up, but he does remain in place. Lon'qu presses his eyes shut and speaks stiffly from the corner of his mouth. "I just wished to make sure the journey was safe one. I'll be taking my leave then."

He turns, still stiff as the dead. Olivia reaches out to stop him, but grabs her hand back as soon as it raises. "Lon'qu wait! At least let me walk back with you. We haven't spoken in so long. I want to know about all your adventures here!"

"You are free to do as you like, Lon'qu. I'm sure Frederick can handle my sister for a few hours," I say. The man has been away from his home for months. I find it only fair after such good service that he be afforded some rest among his own.

Olivia swallows her stutters and manages to hold eye contact with me, though her body trembles as she does so. "Thank you, your Highness. Would you...would you care to join us as well?" Her eyes widen, perhaps realizing for the first time that another stands at my side. "And your friend...?"

"Lord Virion, madame. Poet, artist, and connoisseur of all things." Virion sweeps in between us and bows down at the same time he picks up her right hand. The kiss he offers it is chaste, but the wink he imparts upon her is anything but. "The pleasure is all mine."

"Virion." Lon'qu's hand comes to rest on Virion's arm. It clenches hard, drawing deep into the silk of his sleeve. The glare Virion receives is less than friendly, and the warning is very clear in Lon'qu's voice.

"Oh ho! The lady's honor is more closely guarded than I anticipated. I am colored with envy over the attentions you gather, my dear." Lon'qu's hold does not relent until Virion releases Olivia. Virion folds his arms inward and rubs over the pained area. "My apologies if you inferred any ill intent on my behalf. My thoughts stray far from the more villainous pursuits. I am truly most interested in Feroxi gossip, nothing more."

Gregor steps in front of Olivia and eclipses her entirely. Nothing about his demeanor appears as threatening as Lon'qu's, but I do feel as thought the man also harbors some protective measures of his own against Virion's amorous reputation. "Gregor will happily take Virion along. He is most fashionable lord around camp! You can tell Gregor more about how to turn place settings into trendy fashions."

Virion moans into his hand appearing green with disgust over the misuse of his cravat. "For the last time, my good fellow. Cravats are not napkins, nor handkerchiefs, nor tissue." He sighs through his nose and regains his bearings. "That being said, where shall the young envoy be looking for escort this day?"

Olivia twists the material of her silken shawl between two tightly wound fists. Her eyes dart nervously over the three men volunteering to follow her about. "I-I was just on my way back to the edge of camp."

That catches me off guard, and I voice my concerns to her. "The edge of camp? Have you been quartered with the Feroxi soldiers."

She tilts her head to the side in confusion. She pulls at one of the braids that hangs loose around her face."Well, yes?"

Did our people truly settle the West Khan's ambassador in the common grounds? What an embarrassment on behalf of my house! We're lucky that Olivia is so kind she has not taken offense to the matter. I can just hope that rectifying this now will save her from mentioning it to Basilio later. "Please accept my apologies then, Lady Olivia. The Khan's personal envoy deserves more respect than that. I will have proper accommodations in place by the eve. A messenger will come receive you when they're ready."

Olivia's cheeks go rosy again, and she waves both hands before her in erratic motions to desist. "Oh gosh, it's no bother. There's no need to offer such special treatment. Please. Really!"

Gregor pulls in Lon'qu to his side and slings an arm over his shoulder, causing the other man to scowl deeply. "Ah, come now! Olivia will be much closer. Then, Old Gregor and friend will be happy to catch up with you over frothy drinks and much merry-making!"

Lon'qu grits out his own reasoning through clenched teeth as he fights for his freedom under Gregor's arm. "It would be safest for you among us."

"I would love to have a longer conversation again. I'm still surprised to see you here. It's been so long since you stayed in Lord Basilio's court, Gregor." Olivia suppresses her urge to giggle while watching Lon'qu struggle to free himself. "I have missed you too, Lon'qu. The long house feels much safer when you are beside our Khan."

"I would hate to keep old friends apart after so long. I do recall seeing Gregor and yourself together several times already," I say recalling the way our hired-hand bounded up to greet Olivia after word of her arrival spread. It does my heart good to see such companionship. Reunions such as this are a balm on the horrors of this war that plague me daily. I know that some of my Shepherds are farther from home than others. Having a few acquaintances around to remind them of what they fight for is not an opportunity I can afford to waste. Morale is just an important as their skill sets. I would have both as high as possible with the impending battles we have yet to face.

"Is biggest of camps, but smallest of worlds. Gregor is making sure to keep eye out on Olivia, that is all! Is good to see familiar faces again. We may travel far, but," Gregor pauses to beat a fist against his chest, "hearts remain together in Regna Ferox!"

"Yes it is," Olivia states as she backs away from the broad swing Gregor makes when he raises him arm. She unconscionably stumbles across Lon'qu's path after he had just pulled away. Her eyes go wide and Olivia's whole form twists to avoid him. Her footwork is impressive in the way she is able to spin and dart in one dexterous skip away from him. The way her arms move and the natural flow of her shawl around her gives her the distinct profile of a dancer, just a Virion says. I find my appraisal of her skills slipping into raw fascination with just the grace of her movements. It's no more than three or four steps of movement, but she performs it with such distinction. I find my eyes drawn to the smooth arch of her back as it twists and shapes with the rest of her hips and-

Oh gods, I'm gaping at her like some sloven wretch! I pinch my eyes shut and shake my head in embarrassment over my actions.

"O-oh my! I'm so, so sorry Lon'qu!" I hear Olivia babble before me.

Lon'qu's struggles to breath after throwing himself out of the way in a less than dignified fashion. His response is little more than a long wheeze. "It was unavoidable."

Virion claps me on the shoulder, the mirthful gleam in his eye almost teasing upon noticing my face. I can feel my ears burning, and it causes me to scowl under my breath at the other man. "Do not say anything."

He presses a hand to his heart as if struck by an unseen arrow. "You wound me, your Highness. All I wished to say is that this is such a beautiful thing to see in the midst of war. Three wandering souls joined together in camaraderie for a common cause. These are the moments epics are spun from."

To spare myself further embarrassment, I duck my head in shame and turn away from the group. Thankfully, I see my sister waiting by herself at the other end of the table. When we make eye contact, she smiles and beckons me over. Sweet Naga, you saved me with your deliverance! "Virion, I must depart. I see my sister is done with her affairs. I shouldn't leave her waiting."

"Alas, parting is of the sweetest sorrows. I shall remain, if you do not mind. Strengthen our diplomatic relations, if you will?"

I suppress the sigh. "As you wish, Virion."

I leave with brief words of parting for the others, avoiding Olivia's eyesight in doing so. Is there not one meeting we can have without it ending so strangely? Perhaps next time. I depart quickly and clear my head for the conversation ahead.

Aside from those who I leave behind, the war room remains occupied by a sole inhabitant, that being none other that my elder sister. Before any words could pass from me, Emmeryn lifts her head from the table, her dull eyes focusing on me with a clarity she was lacking earlier. A smile I had been sorely missing graces her features. "Chrom!"

"Emmeryn? What was it you needed me for?" I step to her side, taking the outstretched hand she holds toward me and squeeze it in greeting. My sister can barely return the gesture. Emmeryn, once so full of sunshine and life, grows more delicate by the day.

"Chrom, would you walk with me?"

"Of course, Emm." I should have expected this. It is a ritual we've fallen into as of late. I offer Emmeryn the whole of my arm for support as we walk. She gladly does, pulling close until we walk shoulder to shoulder. It's a familiar path we take. One that has developed over the course of these last months. Support is hard to come by as Exalt, and trust even more. Emmeryn already bares the bulk of our people's hopes. She carries the burden with no desire to allow others to shoulder it. And, selfless as my sister may be, she is still human. It took enough cajoling on both Frederick and I's part to allow her to extend that responsibility even a fraction of its weight to us. I am one of the few individuals Emmeryn can count on in these troubled times of ours. Grimleal take me if I fail to do so for her.

Her grip on my arm is tighter than past days. It belies a renewed strength that gladdens my heart. Even still, it's always proven better to ask than assume. I speak low enough for the exchange to remain between just us. "How are you holding up?"

Emmeryn stands tall and she is able to meet my gaze at an equal level. There's an attempt at humor in her words, but the dullness behind her eyes tarnishes the effect. "Oh, I am fairing as well as can be expected."

We walk through the inner barricade set around the private tents of our quarters. We pass the familiar faces of those who have spent decades serving our family. Each staff member of our house halts their chosen activity to present the appropriate stance of respect for their Exalt. The action is a pattern that has repeated time and time again. I've come to simply expect it, even after telling the servants and guards to desist.

Emmeryn always bore more patience than I. She will offer each greeting with a smile or wave of her own. The reaction is fluid between exchanges. She can continue our conversation even as she remains turned from me to address the huddled servants around the laundry tubs. "I meditated at Naga's alter for guidance last eve, as the grand priest suggested. For guidance and clarity in pursuing our battles."

A jab of guilt buries into my chest. I lift my gaze to the sky in a silent prayer to Naga for forgiveness in slacking on my own duties to her. I'll have to make time between afternoon drills and supper to stop by Naga's shrine.

A sharp crack comes from underfoot. Emmeryn pulls back tightly on my arm and forces me to stop. She lifts her right shoe from the dust and watches brittle flakes of white fall from the slipper's bottom. Beneath her is the cracked skull of a creature. I hear her gasp of fright and react on instinct.

I kneel quickly and balance on my heels. With a little work to loosen the sand around the base, I manage to pull the skull loose. One cracked horn remains on this ram's skull. Its twin is long gone, lost to the sands. I get my fist under the empty dome and lift it for my sister to see. "These are animal bones, Emm. Nothing to fear."

Emmeryn releases her tightly clasped hands from where they lay against her chest. Even when most of us remain flushed or burnt from the sun above, my sister continues to carry an almost sickly pallor. She stares long at the bleached skull in my grasp. "That is not always the case."

She refers to the signs of death we find on daily basis. Man and beast alike cover these diseased lands. The protruding skeletons will exist for a sparse moment before the sands blow over and cover them again. It's put our soldiers on edge more than once. What is a mirage and the other a Risen? I fear that our false alarms will be a regular affair.

Emmeryn takes a wide step around the bones of the ram. I drop the remains from my own hand and brush off the remnants clinging to my skin. Emmeryn looks out far over the horizon. The sky is as wide and open as the plains back home. While I would revel in the blues skies of Ylisse, Plegian days become an increasing burden. The sun burns savagely upon these lands. A day without cloud cover is an ill-tempered one. Heat and hydration our the worst of our troubles here.

Emmeryn uses her hand to shade her gaze from the noon light. Ahead of us stretches one of the largest patches of dead earth we have encountered in Plegia. One might as well say we walk through salt instead of sand. Nothing grows for miles. The sole river feeding water to this region has already sickened the troops once.

"These lands frighten me, Chrom. There is a sickness in the earth. In the air." Emmeryn narrows her gaze to a thin line. I suspect it more so from unease than the inability to see. "It should not be."

"Grima's foul corpse settled across these lands. Whatever blood flowed through the dragon's veins did this," I say. Formerly known as Dolhr, this region of the country was once famed for its ancient forests. The valleys it fed into were rich in fertile soil that produced grains Ylisse would have been envious of. But upon the fall of Grima's blood over the land, the life of the land itself was sapped away. Large scale deserts stand like pock marks over the diseased skin of the land. Plegian life is found strung together in the remaining slates of healthy lands still left.

Dwarfing the horizon is a grouping of bones all belonging to Grima's corpse. This collection is one of many identical sets crossing Plegia. We entered the country at one exposed heel. Now, we camp in the shadow of a pelvis. To know most of Grima's body lays sprawled before us is a grim reminder of the darker days Archanea has seen.

I hold my hand before me and rub my fingers together. Even with the friction of my glove's material between them, I can feel the phantom chill of those bones. Vaike's initial goading was enough to push me forth on such a ridiculous dare, but I admit to failing against my own curiosity as well. Pressing my touch to the exposed base of one of those bones brought on a feeling I cannot describe. A shock of malice that I felt shoot through the pads of my fingers and into the very core of my heart. I swear that an echo followed behind me the entire day. Unintelligible whispers that were only dispelled by the evening's mass and a good night's sleep. I didn't dream that night, but I woke restless in a way I prefer not to feel again.

"That is what I mean. Even dragons shed blood as mortals do. What sort of being carries a blood that destroys the very land it touches down on?" Emmeryn steps toward the remains of an old tree. The trunk has warped itself into a spiral with its barren branches clawing for the sky. When she touches the ash colored bark, the piece crumbles under the weight of her palm. "This is... unnatural."

Emmeryn beckons me on. We fall in step and angle our walk to the largest of the tents pitched in the central expanse. "The more we travel into these lands, the more I see why our father chose to fight the Grimleal."

"Emm?"

She turns her face to me and offers a smile than eases my spirit. "I also see why he erred gravely in doing so. He feared the Grimleal, and for good reasons. Yet, how many Plegian villages have we passed through that have churches dedicated to Grima? Were we ever met with hordes of rabid worshipers wishing to maim and torture us in their god's name?

They hide from us, Chrom. These people are no more slaves to the Grimleal than they are the crown. The common folk of this nation only follow from fear, not piety. And all we do is bring more tragedy to them."

"War is about tragedy, Emmeryn. There's nothing glorious about it. But, what of our people who also suffer? If we let this drag on, Gangrel's madness will continue to consume our lands until both countries fall." It sickens my heart to describe our situation as thus, but I cannot lie. Emmeryn sees the truths as easily I can explain them. These are not like that tales our mother would read to us. Every last one of our soldiers that has been lost is no longer a faceless statistic on the pages of a book. We know them, and they haunt us in our dreams. It must end somehow. "This is a war of preservation. We must protect ourselves. If we persist and get to Gangrel's stronghold...if we dispose of him- "

"The Grimleal will put another in his place." Emmeryn interjects. She remains fixed on the horizon, each step as heavy as the burden she carries. "The cycle will continue, just as it always has."

I cannot bring myself to look on her face. I fear that if I should see any ounce of defeat upon it, then my convictions will crumble. Emmeryn's grip digs tightly into my skin drawing a wince of pain to my face. "We seemed doomed to suffer no matter what happens." Her voice cracks in emotion until it breaks into a whisper. "But, I cannot allow my people to suffer."

We spend the short distance left in silence. Her personal tent is guarded by ten of our best at all times. It offers little for privacy, but I cannot let my sister go without something said between us. Before she slips away, I catch the remaining hand upon my arm and press my own over it. Emmeryn's surprise is replaced by the faint hints of a bemused smile. She recognizes the same determined grin I've used on her for all of our worst moments over the years.

"Emmeryn, it's going to be alright," I tell her.

Emmeryn's laughter has always been my favorite part of her. It's what I remember best about her. I have missed it sorely these last weeks, and hearing the tiniest of ones escape from her is a greater reward than I could ever ask for. "You say that so easily, Chrom. Continue to believe such, I beg that of you." Emmeryn's smile falters, then slips away. Still, the fondness we share does not lessen from her gaze. She approaches me and fusses with the creases along the shoulder line of my cape. It's a habit from childhood she never truly lost. "Look at you. It seems like just yesterday you were a boy in my shadow. You've grown so bright. Even if I wished differently for you, you've become a leader and the finest of men."

"Emmeryn, this is the path I chose to walk in order to protect our people. And, it's because of you that I have become the warrior I dreamed of as a boy. Your guidance shaped the path I followed."

"Yet I fear I am now guiding you down a less favorable one," she sighs into the air. Emmeryn shifts her grasp from my shoulders up until they cradle the sides of my face. Her voice falters in the softest of whispers. "The light in your eyes is beginning to darken. Your smile is not so convincing as it once was, Chrom."

Emmeryn gently bows my head and leans on her toes so that she may press a kiss to my forehead. She brings with her the familiar scent of roses and lilacs from the garden in the royal chambers. It creates a ravenous craving for home I haven't felt in so long. She rests her forehead against mine and whispers between us in a desperate plea. "Do not let your fire burn out, dearest heart."

"Emmeryn?" I say in alarm. The smooth cloth of her sleeves slip away from me. My sister is quick to leave. I break away from the notion of pursuit. Her retreat is one of purpose. I suspect that whatever emotions quell within her beg for release in private. Instead, I find myself watching the entrance of her tent for some time. Thoughts swirl, but I have no means to sort them as they are. I'm unsure how long I stand there in my daze. My attentions are so lost I do not hear the sound of footsteps approaching me.

"She's doing well," someone says behind me, causing me to startle. I turn and find a familiar face.

"Joyce?" Without the prying eyes of Court, we are free to dispense with formalities. Joyce does not hesitate to offer an embrace of greeting. I hold her out at arm's length afterward and check her for the signs of battle she left her skirmish with. "What brings you here? Should you be out of bed so soon?"

"I think a bruised rib is hardly a deterrent for me to rejoin the living given how some suffered in that last battle of mine. Though," Joyce presses both hands to the flat of her stomach, "this little one will certainly do so if the clerics have any say in it."

"A surprise for us all," I say. A swell of excitement rises in my chest and I cannot help but smile at our first bit of good news in all this madness. "Congratulations again. The prospect of our family growing into a new generation is certainly something."

Joyce does not appear as moved as I am by the news, instead scowling a bit as she peers back toward the clerics' tent. "You may congratulate me now, but wait for the sickness to truly take hold. I have been hearing of the wonders of pregnancy from the midwife and, I dare say, I could have waited longer on the babe. I was hoping to expand our family, but not as soon as this!"

Speaking of the clerics, I notice a peculiar bundle in her hands wrapped in the brown basket our healers use to carry medicinal remedies. "What do you have there? Something for your symptoms?"

"Scullyweed. You might know it better as Virgin's Veil?" She pulls back the cloth from around the fragile stems of a red flowering herb. The smell is not one I'm familiar to, fresh and almost like mint. "It's for Emmeryn. That friend of yours, the Taguel? She hunted it down for a few of us ladies. I'm bringing some for your sister. Naga knows I have no use of it right now."

My thoughts linger over the different varieties of tea and herbal remedies I've encountered, but none match this particular sort. I shake my head at the unfamiliarity of it. "I've never heard of it. What is it for? A sleep aid?"

"No. It made to prev-" My cousin laughs. It's light and airy, much as my own mother's had been. "You know, I would not worry about it."

I let the issue pass, more pressing matters on my mind. "How is Thomm? I don't just mean the pregnancy, but from the battle? With a broken arm and his wits out of sorts, he has not been looking at his best these days."

My cousin pulls at the tips of her golden braid with a huff of agitation, now free to settle over her shoulder since leaving battle. "I love Thomm, Naga bless his soul, but he's scared out of his bloomers. I know he joined the guard for my sake, but he never expected to see Risen. I think he'll be glad once we have this child. He'll have an excuse to stay at the manor and run the upkeep of our lands."

"He always was better at arithmacy than swords. Better than I, anyhow," I say in remembrance of the classes we all once shared. Most of the dukes and duchesses had their children accompany them to Court at one time or another. In those days of residence, they would take up their lessons with Emmeryn, Lissa, and I. It's where most of our long standing friends met, including our cousin and her recently wedded spouse.

Joyce shifts her basket from one arm to the other. Her attention falls on the tents behind me, and her voice softens. "But, listen to me blather. That's not what I came for. I saw you walking with our dear Exalt. How is Emmeryn fairing? She has a wall up whenever I try to speak to her."

If I had any hopes of deceiving her, those are dashed as my face falls. A somber weight too heavy to lift does not allow the joy to remain on my face. But, my cousin is family and a dear friend to my sister. It is no use trying to hide the truth from her. "Nothing has changed, Joyce. I worry for her."

Joyce's grip slackens and the basket she holds falls against her knees. The hurt she carries is one we all share. "All we can is continue to support her. I cannot force her to talk to me, though I wish she would as she once did. Once upon a time, Phila, Emmeryn, and I could tell each other anything."

"These are dark times, Joyce. Emmeryn carries a weight on her shoulders she feels only the Exalt can bare."

"It's a foolish notion, I say," my cousin frowns.

Before she can say more, several bird calls interfere overhead. It's a familiar sight by now. The comings and going of Henry's crows are as typical as our own messenger doves, though their calls are far less pleasing to the ear. The four crows split off with two flying towards the inner network of tents. The others spiral down in a glide until they settle next to the large campfire erected around the living space of my Shepherds. Their master is seated before the fire among Ricken, Nowi, and a young man they've recently taken a fondness to. Donnel, I believe? The arrival of Henry's pets is marked with colorful laughter and lively conversation.

"That reminds me of happier times," Joyce says. I look to her, seeing her eyes unfocused and deep in thought of the past. "Do you remember my wedding last summer? I wish we could go back to that. Crisp midsummer's night. Bonfires crackling and laughter abound. The stars were shining so brightly."

I close my eyes and let the experience take hold. Gods, it feels like ages ago. We had barely conceived the first drafts of a trade proposal to Regna Ferox. The fields were still thick with growth, unaware of the early frost that would take a third of our crops that fall. Nistel, one of many abandoned villages due to the Risen, was still a bustling community graced with the luck of my cousin's wedding. The colors of both my mother and Thomm's family ran between all the houses, a line of draping that crossed and slowly intertwined until coming together over the chapel's entrance. We imported roses from the royal gardens while the villagers donated armfuls of wildflowers in tribute to the wedding. The sun had been warm and the night calm. A perfect day for the event. Perhaps too perfect given how long and loud we had celebrated under the moon's eye.

"Eldaran enjoyed himself a little too much and ended up falling asleep during the dessert course." The memories stir up laughter from deep in my chest. "He fell right into Widow Cavendish's lap."

The basket slips to the crease of Joyce's elbow as she raises both hands to hide her giggle behind. "Gods' graces, we couldn't let him forget for weeks after. Widow Cavendish didn't seem to mind." Joyce fans herself, cheeks blustering red from the efforts of her laughter. "Oh! And Lissa got stuck in the Thrasher tree attempting to catch stardust."

"We effectively banned that Valmese vintage from all our storage afterward. Frederick had scratches for days trying to untangle her from the brambles," I finish, and we laugh together. It's a peculiar thing to hear. Have I gone for so long without hearing my voice in such a state of mirth?

As our joint laughter settles and Joyce begins to calm down, she turns her concerns to me. "Speaking of, how are you two doing? Lissa has been so busy with the medical ward and you at war councils. I hardly see you." She leans toward me, a mischievous smirk playing at her lips. "Is Lissa still enthralled with that exotic bodyguard of hers?"

What in...I press my palm against my forehead, shaking it lightly in denial. "Lon'qu? Not this again. I would hardly say she's- "

"Chrom." Joyce slaps her hands together with each following utterance of my name until she is sure I'm thoroughly annoyed with her. "Lissa is deeply infatuated with him. Please accept that fact and move on."

Move on? That's... She wants me to accept my younger sister is at the age that she understands romance and all that goes with it?

…...

That is...she is of that age by all accounts. She became a grown woman by our society's standards on her sixteenth year. But, that doesn't mean...that is- Gods take me. Is Lissa truly that old? My heart does not want to believe it, even if I must.

"Lon'qu is a good man. Possibly my best sword hand in the Shepherds. He's an honorable sort and I can trust him alone with Lissa if need be," I find myself saying. I drag my hand through my hair, my gaze off in a direction so she cannot see the guilt in them. It is no confession, but an honest appraisal of his character. Joyce may take of it what she will.

Joyce rests her hand on her hips and drops her head from side to side. "That's high praise from you." She raises it and throws a sly wink at me. "It's certainly got the Court talking. You three are very keen on breaking tradition."

I blink once in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Joyce takes both hands behind her, the basket she carries resting at her lower back. She circles around me like one of the noble's vulture-like daughters starved for gossip to feed upon. "Cavorting with commoners? Frederick is from a good family and a proper knight, but not nobility. Lon'qu is just a borrowed warrior not even from our lands."

"Why am I being brought into this?" I say.

She opens her mouth to speak, then closes it abruptly. A mix of emotions passes over her face, ending in a saddened frown that sets her mouth in a thin line."Never mind." She perks up then, pointing over my shoulder before waving her free hand. "Oh look, a busybody healer and her guard coming to collect me."

The rapid patter of boots draws in close until a blur of yellow and white lace dashes between us. Lissa throws a finger in our cousin's face, shouting in an angered whine. "Joyce! What are you doing out here?"

Frederick appears behind my sister, a familiar sight of relief. He dips his head once in greeting. "Milord."

"You are supposed to be on- oh hi Chrom- bed rest for the next week while we evaluate your condition! We don't even know how far along you are!" Lissa continues to berate our cousin, affording me a small greeting between rants. It's bewildering to see how far along she has come since this war began. Her healing abilities have enhanced considerably, though her bedside manner is a bit lacking. Still, her forceful voice does not hamper the care and good intent behind it. Lissa is truly growing into her own.

I am unsure how much longer I can deny the notion that she is no longer the child I wished her to be.

Lissa stamps her boot heel into the ground, picking up dust. "Ugh, I can't believe you! Just after you had that dizzy spell, you go right out and start walking again!" She tugs at the basket Joyce holds and frees it from the loose grasp Joyce has on it. "And what did you take? This better not be pickled wyvern livers or any of those other weird cravings you had."

"No, they are for Emmeryn. I was asked to bring them to her. I thought it a good excuse to see her," Joyce explains.

"You didn't need an excuse! You could have just asked me." Lissa pulls back the cloth and takes one look at it before her face goes red. She wrinkles her nose, then throws the basket at Frederick. "You take that, Frederick."

Frederick barely has a moment to think before his reflexes take hold. He tucks the basket under one arm without a word or spared glance at it. "Is her Grace available even to visit? I presume the war council is over given milord's appearance, but her obligations often reach long into the day."

"Have no fear, Frederick. My sister is free of her burdens for the day," I say in an attempt to lay ease upon my old friend. "Emmeryn has returned to her tents for a time. I cannot say how long she plans to remain, but you can find her resting. A visit from familiar faces may do her well."

"I see. Very good, milord." His response is simple, but his actions betray the feeling he holds inside. Perhaps it is because I spent my years with the man to know his expressions so easily well others cannot. I see the weight of his concerns melting away in the way the rigid line of his shoulders slackens and the hard clench of his jaw relaxes to almost a smile. His eyes flicker but once to my sister's tents before focusing back onto the environment around us. Frederick the Wary, always a careful man, is not so impossible to understand. Truthfully, I am thankful his stoic nature is not so severe as to deny himself human emotions. He is our house's loyal steward, but he also like a brother to me. I would not see him lost to his duties, unable to enjoy the life Naga has blessed him with.

"Is that where you were heading, Chrom? We'll join you if you like." Brushing off her smock, Lissa rises again and leans on her toes until she look our cousin in the eye. "Someone, namely me, is supposed to be watching our expecting cousin."

"Actually," I drawl, peering off to the side. Lissa and Frederick watch me with curiosity, waiting for what I say next. "I was going to return and finish off a few lingering plans I had left unfinished this morning. I'd like to get them appraised by Virion before tomorrow's end."

Frederick scrutinizes my form with a sweep from head to toe. The prognosis must not be good considering the disapproval that darkens his face. "Milord, you have been in meetings from the sun's rising. You did not even bother to take your breakfast."

Lissa walks up to me with both hands resting on her hips. She raises one and pokes me in the middle of the forehead with enough force to make me flinch back. "Uh, yeah, that's kind of important. Not only did we miss you at breakfast, but you're denying yourself proper sustenance. I've already got enough to worry about. I don't need to be nursing you back to health from exhaustion."

She goes to poke me again, but I catch her wrist and duck away from her. "Lis, I'm fine. I'll survive one day without a morning meal. I promise I'll be there tomorrow."

"Hey!" she pouts as I back away from her. "I'm not through with you yet!"

"Go see Emmeryn. I'm sure she misses you!" I call back as I turn away from her. I wave over my shoulder, eliciting a shrill whine from my younger sister.

"Oooo! Just you wait, Chrom! I'll remember that! If I don't see you tomorrow, I'm personally going to tie you down and stuff you full of porridge, you hear me?"

I'll hold you to that, Lis.

As much as I would love to join my family, I think it best if Emmeryn spends time with someone whose face does not remind her of war and endless meetings. Besides, my heart would only be half in it. I just need some time alone to collect my thoughts.

Our base camp is always in motion. The trek to my tent is fraught with activity. Guards patrolling, squires running errands, workers sorting our supplies...Life continues as normal even in the middle of this war we face. My short walk is met with hails of greeting from all sides, ones I force myself to return in kind. Truth be told, I am more than grateful to duck under the covers of my tent and embrace its solitude.

It's a humble space lacking the refinements Emmeryn possesses. The sacrifice was one made by choice. With as often as I'm forced to move from site to site, it's more practical to assemble only the basics in my quarters. And, in all fairness, I would rather live as my Shepherds do than bask in unnecessary luxury. I may be a prince, but I am their captain foremost. One Shepherd should not be afforded better amenities than another when I preach equality among us all.

I shrug off the finer components of my regalia and set Falchion aside , though it remains in arms reach. The weight off my shoulders is more than welcome. Pomp is all fine if one desires it, but I would take a peasant's tunic over a king's mantle any day.

I approach the makings of my "desk," an arrangement of unused crates and a spare chair from the mages' enclosure. The mismatched trio of boxes is littered with a week's worth of clutter I haven't the efforts to sort through. The width of my candle is already burnt two-thirds of the way from long nights awake. Further proof can be found in the numerous ink trails that line and blot the wooden boards where my hand slipped from papers as I slumbered.

There is always something to accomplish. My attention is needed one task after another. If one had told me of the detailed management that went into the preservation of holding together an army, I would have thought it an exaggeration. I would say it's no different than running the daily affairs of our kingdom. I was very wrong in my logic.

Fresh deliveries of paper requiring my approval are stacked in a neat line along the shortest crate. Frederick must have been here. He has tried to keep it organized for me in his spare time, but Emmeryn requires more of his time lately. What little he has done is appreciated, though irrelevant at this point. I deeply wish my friend would simply rest in his time off, not arrange more chores for himself.

I pull the chair away from the workplace, turning it about so I can rest my arms over the back rest. The piece lacks any comforts, all wood and carved straight from the hands of a simple man. Still, it relieves the burden of the day's weight off my back as I sink into it.

The area remains as it was when I left it this morning. A fraying, yellow map sprawled across the central space is marked neat with our war's progress. The loss of the pass forced Gangrel to pull back his front line and regroup. In his absence, territory has been easy to claim. We've doubled our hold over the eastern territory in little time, although most of it is but a sliver of use to the king. To a madman like he, I doubt the farming villages scattered over a few strips of fertile land in these wastes matters.

I draw my arm over to three colored tiles and place them over our freshly seized domains. "Three more villages to surrender," I find myself speaking a loud.

Looking at the map, our fortunes have turned since the start of this damnable war. Plegia's possession of our country's western lands through to Ylisstol was at its worst. It was a short occupation, defined by slash and burn tactics across the countryside. Gangrel has made it clear this is not a war of occupation as the Grimleal would like, but one of revenge. What damage he causes is meant to last and scar years after this ends, regardless of the victor. I daresay fortunes would have been against us without our Feroxi allies.

Gangrel perhaps did not expect the "wild khans" of the north would share sympathy with their neighbors. Ylisse does carry a long history of isolation from is neighbors. Emmeryn's dealing with Khans Basilio and Flavia ended at a fortuitous time. I did not expect to test our bonds of allegiance so soon, not that our battle loving neighbors had much to complain of. They have had there own issues with Plegia for years, and this proved the perfect time for them to strike.

I gaze over the map at each point of interest. The steel head of a pegasus knight sits a top the lake town of Darkwater. There some of my Shepherds are scouting with Viola's pegasus unit.

"Cordelia and Sumia should be back soon," I speak again as if expecting an answer off the wind.

They will be carrying logistics of the region. Populace and the like. Eier Lake is the largest freshwater source Plegia owns. It provides a stable supply of food to the inland. Possessing it would reduce rations to Plegia's army tenfold. And of course, there are the investigations into the Grimleal sightings. In order to get there, we'll have to siege the three primary forts holding the region. More mountains to climb before our objectives can be realized.

So much to do and so little time to bargain with. I'm already on a short timetable with this foolish assembly coming within the month. Just remembering the gall of which some of these nobles have addressed Emmeryn with is mind numbing. We are fighting this war while most of our retainers remain safe within the walls of our eastern sanctuary towns. Yet, they still wish to hold audience with Emmeryn to air out their woes. They're holding much needed financial contributions hostage to play their petty dealings in Court!

And yet, our hands our tied. Without the backings of our nobles, what little Ylisse can scrounge together to fund this war will dry up to nothing. If any of these nobles faced a day of what our people fight on battlefields, they would be singing a different tune.

We are fortunate that Sully's lands extend to the reaches of our border with Plegia. Emmeryn would rather not stray far from the front lines. Sully's uncle, Thibault, holds his seat in the stronghold of Arcos not a week's journey from our main base of operations in Plegia. He volunteered readily at Emmeryn's behest to allow a meeting to take place there.

The whole thing is preposterous, but our retainers need encouragement. They wish to know their donated resources are going toward a purpose that is not a lost cause. Truth be told, many of our nobility did not wish to push into Plegia. With Ylisstol secured and the Exalt safe, they felt no need to fight back against our neighbors. Some accused this as warmongering and that our self-defense was enough. It was only when the church backed Emmeryn and declared that Plegia had declared holy war on Naga and her teachings that the dukes and duchesses begrudgingly gave in. Now we must pander to their insecurities with status reports to preen their egos of a job well done on behalf of their contributions.

Emmeryn is the only one who had plans to depart, but I have my own interests to pursue in following her. This is mostly impart to documents Maribelle discovered in Ironhold. She provided me letters of suspect found among the paperwork of a Plegian captain stationed there before we reclaimed it. There was correspondence found between nobles and members of the clergy that no Plegian had business having. I had fears that Plegia's influence ran deeper than we thought in our lands, but not so deep as to pierce its very heart. I've had contact with Guard Captain Nethys in Ylisstol. As soon as the nobility take their leave, she'll be conducting investigations that could further condemn those named in these documents. I have fears of what I may find considering how they could effect those closest to me.

I have not told him yet, but Ricken's mother, Duchess Rona, was a name that came up often in supply trades with Plegia. With her family lands plagued by debt, it would not be hard to guess that Rona has been tempted by outside influences in order to reclaim her wealth and power. With all the sacrifices Ricken has endured to restore his family's good name, I haven't found it in myself to tell him of what his mother might be involved in.

The thought of sharing a space with traitors masquerading as our loyal retainers angers me. If Nethys confirms any of my suspicions during my time in Arcos, I may have to call upon Thibault to imprison our own people. Emmeryn always joked that the Court was a battlefield of its own. I suspect that my time in Arcos is going to be just that. I'm prepared for anything at this point, though having a clearer idea would help quell my fears of the unknown. Nothing fills me with more dread than knowing Emmeryn is going to be amongst those suspected of treachery. My sister has come close to death twice now in such a short time. She only lives because of the sacrifices of others. Her own guard wiped and I-

…...

I-

I bury my face into my arms and take one long breath after another.

It always comes back around this. How many times have my thoughts spiraled back into this familiar place? It's as though all things funnel into this single sense of overwhelming regret I cannot shake. It is a weight I haven't felt since my earliest days as a leader, but it is thrice the pain. My fingers curl deep into my palms. Even then I cannot help the feeling of my bones breaking apart one by one in my chest. I would rather take the void of feeling I stumbled through in the first days after the battle of the pass than endure what I do now.

The tactics planner hangs like a boulder at my side. I pull it free and stare at it with one eye open. A single thing that can give me both grief and strength all at once. I reach out and place it on the crate next to the journal I found it with. They're all that I carry, the rest of the belongings they should be with locked and stored in the travel chest currently held in the supply tent of the Shepherds. It's only a temporary arrangement. I needed the plans and promised myself to return them after a week because I had been so sure...And then that promise extended to the next, and the next, and-

"You promised me." My own voice sounds foreign to me. Hollowed out to a core and anything but human. It might as well be a Risen speaking.

A hot gust of desert wind blows over the encampment. My tent shivers from the force and protects me from the worst of it, but the flaps blow apart just enough to let in a sliver of a breeze. The ill wind whistles like laughter, taunting me over the small details that haunt me. I can hear the mocking of my own voice masquerading as her own. The breeze flows up my back like the tiny pinpricks of a finger dancing until it reaches the back of my neck. A ghost of my imagination made in her own image.

"You made me promise I wouldn't do anything silly on your behalf. You never said anything about the Exalt," that specter of guilt whispers to me.

My palm balls up into a fist and strikes the side of the crate, remaining in place as the swell of pain brings release to all that remains pent up inside. My chest rolls in and out of great heaves of air. These emotions consistently well up to point of needing release. It's unhealthy of me to carry this burden alone, but I cannot speak to anyone of it. To even air my thoughts would make the fears a valid reality, and I can't accept that.

I rise abruptly from my chair, almost kicking it across the room in my haste. Is it not fair that I carry this guilt? Things would not even be like this if I had not been so stubborn in my ways. She wanted to join the infiltration team that was breaching the fort. She had already helped set forth our plans. Our strategies were sound. She had done her part and now wanted to fight with the rest of the Shepherds.

I was so foolish. I thought that maybe...That is...I...

Reason fails me as the memory plays back fresh and raw as if it were from yesterday.

---

"What do you mean you want me to stay at base camp?" Robin puts her planner down. Her eyes are wide in disbelief. I can see her muscles tense as she rises. She's going to fight me on this, and just once I wish she would listen.

"Robin, please- "

She moves around the table and tilts her head only a little to match my eyesight. I can see that tell-tale defiance of hers blazing in them so bright I could swear they were glowing. It's but a trick of the candlelight, I know, but it turns them the color of golden flames."Chrom, you need every able body with you to take on that fort and get to the gatehouse. You've already left Frederick, Panne, and Libra with Emmeryn for security. Now, Henry is with Emmeryn by her own request!"

I hate when she gets like this. It's hard to argue with her. Not because she has upper hand in our disagreements. I just find it hard to. I have no heart to trade words with her like this, but my mind is set on the matter.

I reach out and place both of my hands on her shoulders hoping to instill some form of means to calm her. There's a new found intimacy in our friendship that makes it easier for me to share these casual exchanges. Robin has never faltered on such aspects, but I gather that is part of her upbringing as a commoner. Or, perhaps that it is just part of who she is in that she is able to see so easily past station and culture to embrace who she befriends wholly and unconditionally.

"Robin." I utter her name more firmly. I can already see she has more to argue, but I would rather have a chance to say my piece first. "I understand where you're coming from and you're correct. But, I need you at camp more than anywhere else."

She narrows her eyes at me. As soon as Robin steps back from me and crosses her arms, I know I'm in for it. I exhale through my nose and massage the bridge of it. This is not what I had hoped for, even if I expected it.

"What for?" Her accusation is a knife to my chest, the sharp sting of it as biting as it comes.

I walk around the war table we have both been pouring over for hours. Crumpled plans and empty dinner plates led to these strategies we plan to enact tomorrow. The pieces are all where they need to be, and I pass over one after another having memorized their movements by heart. A hand eventually comes to fall over a discarded piece fashioned like man with a dragon's head. I raise it to display for us both. "We know there is the potential for Grimleal interference in battle. They are a slippery lot, an you know this. Our plans can go well as can be, but we cannot predict everything. With your map, I would rather have you surveying the overall tides of battle for any such trickery the Grimleal could pull. We're already wary of reinforcements coming from the north. If such a thing were to occur, you would be able to see their advance and warn us appropriately."

She walks over, footsteps heavy. Robin presses both hands to the table and leans across from me. She mulls over the scene for a moment before picking up the pegasus that hovers over the skies of the fortress. Robin waves it at me, her voice a prickled barb of reason that threatens all my logic. "Any reason that none of our aerial units could do the same? From their vantage point, they can see all the way up the narrow pass. They'll be able to see advancing units for miles. We've already prepped Phila on our concerns. The knights will be vigilant for any activity regarding the north."

Well, that's one reason down. If that won't be enough for her, then perhaps empathy will. I set aside the piece in my hand. What I say does come from the bottom of my heart."I also need people I trust at my sister's side."

Robin hesitates to argue with a point she knows is nothing but the truth from me. Still, her obstinence wins, even if she takes the argument with a softer angle. "I understand that we have concerns about the Shepherds meeting Grimleal in the fort, or that they could surprise us from the north. But, who is honestly going to strike our base? We have it situated straight south. Only our lands expand that way, and Plegia is all but gone from our territory. The mountains offer a natural shield in the way they slope so there is no fear of enemies in the crags themselves We've got a fortress, two armies, and an aerial corps between Emmeryn and any enemies." She pauses, before placing a palm on her chest. "We planned it that way. Remember? You and I?"

My head falls, eyes closed tight. "I do."

Robin laughs under her breath. She turns her back to me and rest on the table's edge, drawing a hand back through her bangs."You just don't want me on the front line."

"That's not true." I flinch outwardly. That is the reason, but...

"Chrom, don't bullsh-" Robin bites her tongue. "Are you serious about this?"

"Don't make me break rank here. Please." I would do anything else but that. It would the last resort to muster against her. I pray deep down that she can hear how tired I am. That for once, just once, she can trust me on this without explanations.

To my surprise, she does.

"Fine. Fine." My head snaps up, shock as plain as day written all over it. She shrugs still staring away from me. "Whatever you say, Chrom."

The shock fades away and the warmth of gratitude takes hold. "Thank you."

She looks back over her shoulder, expression unreadable in the dark. I try to summon a smile hoping it would relieve the tension. Robin only sighs and turns back to assess the board again doing her best to avoid any sight of me. No part of me wishes for us to part ways in such a manner, even if it's my own fault for asking this of her.

"Robin?" The hand she uses to trace the length of a river pauses. At least I have her attention, even if I cannot find myself to look her in the eye. Instead I busy myself by rearranging a few markers on the board. "Can you please trust me on this decision? I'm asking you to do this because I think it's best. Capturing this pass is of the highest priorities."

Robin scoffs into the open air. "Yeah, but protecting you is MY priority."

My heart skips its next beat.

The markers drop from my hand piece by piece as my grip slackens on them. My eyes dart up and meet hers. Robin's are wide with a sort of realization that comes to you in the most unexpected of fashions. Her own actions remain frozen as they are, as if time stopped for us both. The rawness of her objection leaves a jagged space of silence between us.

My pulse returns, throbbing loud and hard in my veins. My mind is searching for an explanation to her words in a way I cannot explain. It's a simple enough statement. I've heard it countless times before from others who have sworn loyalty to me, whether by house or my own battalion. With Robin, it's different. My curiosity hungers with a desperation for something else. Something more.

Robin mutters a curse under her breath. "Sorry." She backs away from the table with the haste of retreat, mumbling all the way. "I...I forgot my quill. Excuse me."

She disappears out of the tent without looking back leaving me alone and lost for words. My eyes drift to the side where a stack of freshly ordered writing quills lay ready for use.

---

Robin never came back that night. At morning's light, she avoided breakfast as well. The last time I saw her was my departure from Emmeryn's side before the battle's start. A part of her was still in poor spirits for having to stay behind, but she afforded me a parting smile all the same. It left an imprint on me for some reason. That small gesture was something I held onto. I was looking forward to seeing it after our victory.

Until...until she wasn't there. The space beside Emmeryn was empty when I reached her. Then, three days later, scouts carried back the torn remnants of her coat. It sparked hope that perhaps having survived that far out, she would turn up somewhere. But in one month?

Nothing.

I lied to her. I did mean to keep her off the front line. If Grimleal were about, I was not going to risk Ylisstol all over again. There was more to that kidnapping than was let on. I think this because in Ironhold I could...I would swear on my departed mother's grave that the Risen in that tower was going to take Robin. It was not poised to attack. It was reaching out for her. The Risen wanted to grab her. It would have carried her down that tower and away if given the chance.

It's not just that incident. My suspicions that Robin had peaked some interest in the Grimleal goes further than that. Twice now, she's been the target of some bizarre curse at the hands of Grimleal. One of which reacted in a terrifying manner to that mark on her hand. That strange brand she carries. It bears Grima's influence in every way. To add fuel to the flame, the coat she was found in carries damning properties all of its own. And her past...So much of it remains a mystery that I cannot understand. The actions of her mother are strange in my eyes. While seeming to be a decent and honorable woman, it feels wrong that she never divulged vital information to her own daughter regarding her family. Robin's mother was so secretive that she even withheld the identity of Robin's own father. Incomprehensible in my eyes.

Robin described her lifestyle as migratory, never settling in one place for long. Not until her mother's death anyway. There are vital pieces of her history cut away, and it could be said that her mother continued to flee from it.

I feel as though there is more that Robin has yet to divulge. I've come to call her friend and confidant in our time together. Perhaps she is closest to me among all others if I were honest. So why is it that I feel as though I do not know her at all? That a wall as thick as steel is wedged between us. Robin has all the power to raise it, but she refuses to. I think it's because she remembered something. As it slowly came back to her, she's recalled parts of her past she is unable to bring up for reasons I have yet to guess.

It raises a fine question posed to me numerous times. Is it possible to trust someone without truly knowing them?

I know what any right-minded person would say. Something along the likes of the many warnings Frederick issued to me in our earliest times with her. I would be inclined to believe them. Even now, after so many things refuse to add up properly, I would think that some part of me would hold her actions suspect.

Then, I found her journal.

Naga may strike me down if I'm lying over the fact it was an honest accident. I would not even call it a journal. More a collection of Robin's thoughts and plans for the future. Not her own future, but the Shepherds. I located it while searching for her tactics planner. I was ready to set it aside after noticing the first page was more of casual scribblings, but I could not help to stop and admire the work of her art.

It was a cake, though unlike anything we have Ylisse. The creation was a tiered monstrosity of layers with a recipe inscribed down to the last grains of sugar used. It was more than an after meal specialty; it was my elder sister's wedding cake. A gift Robin hoped to make for an event of her own imagination. The amount of personal details she had in describing its decorations was surprisingly accurate. A perfect blending of the two personalities that would become one upon such a marriage taking place.

In the margins, Robin's personality shined brightest. There were the little comments and small doodles of art she must have scrawled in her down time. Everything from a comment on a tea she liked to memorizing lyrics of a poem Virion recited to her. I could read each line in my head, but it was in her voice. It was as though...Robin was back with me again.

Against my better judgment, I turned the page. Then another. I kept reading.

Whole sets of pages were dedicated to each member of the Shepherds. Every entry transcribed with ways to boost their morale or activities to best enhance their natural talents. Robin had closely made observations and remarks about how to keep each of the Shepherds at the best condition they could be. Not just for the present, but the future.

Apparently, without my knowing, Robin had been doing her best to secure futures for her comrades. She made notes of their dreams and desires from conversations they had, followed by ways to help achieve that. There was several lengthy pages of arcane testing that left my head spinning, but was an experiment on water magic aimed to help restore the reputation of Miriel and her mother while securing prestige for Ricken. Libra described his desires to open an orphanage, to which Robin had been collecting information from differing lords on patronage and lands for sale. Sumia and Stahl had a page with just one long set of hearts ending in pie recipes and some field drawings of flowers. I'm not quite sure what that means, but it must be important.

I'll admit that my own curiosity took me to flipping pages until I found my own entry. I couldn't imagine what Robin had in mind. The only things I wished for had already come true. Working in my sister's name and seeing to the people of Ylisse are what I wanted. When I finally did come across a page with my name on it, there was only one line written underneath it:

"Protect the royal family at all costs."

I wanted to rip that page out and feed it to the flames of Naga's alter. The irony of such a statement was never heavier.

This all comes back around to whether or not I could trust someone without knowing them. The answer comes from finding this journal. Not once in any of those pages was there an entry dedicated to Robin's own ambitions. Easy enough to dismiss unless you know her as I do. The proof is already there. Robin's desires, her beliefs of the future are in plain sight, for the journal itself is her dreams.

Her happiness is the entirety of the Shepherds.

For me, Robin's history and past choices are irrelevant. How could I come to suspect a person whose own goals for living revolve around the people she serves as friend and consul to? This only makes my desires to help her even stronger. Frederick once commented that she had become the heart of the Shepherds. So, would it not be my duty as captain to protect such an invaluable piece of our company?

Gods, I had been trying to do that. With my fears of her ties to the Grimleal, I've been consulting different books and studies about our sister nation and the Grimleal religion. I have even taken to my father's journals for hopes of something. As hard as it is to read through his descending madness, my father was a man of religion before he was one of war. His insights into the Grimleal would go further than most.

I have tried to speak with Robin over such matters, but most conversations failed to produce any leads. In fact, all it has done is provide nothing but more worries for her. I will never forget the look she gave me when I suggested her mother may have been hiding something for her. The sheer horror of potential betrayal from the only family she had created a crippling guilt in my stomach I never wished to induce on her again. And yet, my fears once again took hold of me and urged me to keep her off the front lines of battle.

Now, Robin is gone. Whisked away by the very things I feared for her.

I collapse into the chair behind me once more, utterly spent. When these emotions play over my mind, the toll is exhausting afterward. I rest my forehead against my arms and slow my breaths until they return to normal. Every day that goes by brings me closer to the moment when this guilt becomes a permanent stain on my heart. I have yet to accept what everyone around me has or is beginning to. I open my eyes every morning and ask Naga for just one more day to hold onto this feeble hope of mine.

"You promised me, Robin. You better keep your damn word, you hear?" I whisper into the air.

Of course no one answers.

I remain as I am for the longest time. I take solace in the emptiness the moment, letting my mind fall into an abscess of nothing. I am...tired. I refuse to sleep though. That invites dreams which I am in no mood to wake up from. The shadows run and stretch along the ground as the sun's descent grows closer to the horizon. Aside from a change in positions, I hardly move at all in my state.

I suppose it's no surprise when I hear someone approaching. If I have skipped dinner, Lissa probably sent someone to find me. I hear the tent flaps behind me open allowing a figure to walk through. They startle in realization when it becomes obvious they are not alone. "Chrom?"

"Marth?" The sound of her voice is unmistakable. My guess is further confirmed when the bundle of scrolls obscuring her face is moved aside. I suppose the way I startled her means she did not come to retrieve me. I never am in my quarters this time of day, so her surprise is expected. "...Why are you here?"

My sister fumbles with the scrolls as they begin to slip apart in her arms. "I was returning these scrolls on Virion's request. We passed ways and he appeared to be in a hurry to meet someone, so I offered my aid. Diplomatic engagements, I believe he said."

"He would call it that, though I'm not sure the diplomat in question would," I say. "Do you need help?"

Her narrowed gaze peaks at me from over the top of the scrolls. "It's parchment."

Ah, fair point.

Marth opens her arms and lets the scrolls drop over my workspace. She breathes in relief and wipes the back her hand across her forehead. She peers at me from under her bangs, brows raised in surprise. "I am amazed to see you here. It seems too early to settle in for the likes of yourself."

I don't have a true answer for her that I'm willing to admit to, so I merely wave a tired hand over the stacks of papers. Marth picks up the closest and looks it over. "I have no duties left this afternoon. I can offer my assistance if you would like it?"

"No, Marth. I- I'm fine." I hesitate as a part of me is wishing to simply talk to another soul and forget about my burdens for awhile. Just enough to forget she's missing.

Marth tilts her head in thought, and her eyes look deeply upon me as if seeing right through. "I see. Would it be improper to say that last statement was hardly believable?"

I cringe visibly as if freshly struck in the jaw. "Am I that obvious?"

"Truthfully?" Marth's smile is a kind one, even if she appears to be teasing me. "Very much so."

"I'm just wondering whether I look and feel the part of a fool, that's all." I thread my fingers through the hair at base of my neck, pulling in a nervous habit of mine. I have no qualms about sharing vulnerable moments with my family, but this is a personal wound that is buried too deep. "Believing in something that's seemingly impossible."

"I've come to find there's no shame in believing the impossible. I have long hoped to feel the embrace of being a family again after I was left alone. And, here I am..." There's a glimmer in Marth that shows through to a rare moment of vulnerability. It allows her to look more her age and not the stoic she usually is. She twists her fingers together and her voice drops to a whisper so low I nearly miss her final words. "...With you."

Marth is the more solitary of the two twins we've come to know. Glimpsing moments of her true self is like catching hints of blue sky in a thunderstorm. It's clear that these two have been through much. It would not be easy for any to know they are a king's illegitimate progeny. Then, to lose their mother who was the sole protection they had is... I learned to cherish these moments when Marth can express such trust in me.

It was strange at first encountering these two who proved truth to wild rumors of my father's infidelity. We could easily have blamed them for the backlash that followed. There are still those criticizing us for excepting them into our household. Most children sired out of wedlock return to stir trouble, namely for birthright.

All Marth and Chris asked of us was the ability to call us family. Perhaps because we lost our own parents so young and had naught but each other for support, we found we could not turn the twins away. They assimilated so quickly into our lives, it was as if they had always belonged. That is proof enough for me that we made the right decision.

Though I'm tired and worn down, it doesn't stop me from offering what little support I can for her. "Blood is blood, Marth. Even though nobility, we as humans could never turn you away." Even now, she still looks at me in surprise over the thought she can still be accepted so easily. "Chris and yourself both carry the blood of Naga as strong as any of us. I doubt she would find you any less worthy of her gift just because of your births."

"No, I suppose not." Marth frowns to herself, still avoiding my gaze. "It still has caused you trouble."

"Nothing we couldn't have predicted. The Ylissean line has always been an unorthodox one. We are aware what accepting you into the household can mean, especially to the courtiers. But, Emmeryn aims to legitimize you anyway. Who am I to argue with our Exalt's wisdom?" I explain to her, not adding that Lissa and I fully supported the same decision.

Marth turns her back to me and takes a few steps towards the entrance of my tent. Her whole form is tense, or better to say guarded. "That will not happen. Chris and I do not want to be recognized in the line of royal succession."

"It's hard to swear on the future, Marth. No one can predict what lies before us. Even Naga. She may sense possibilities and attempt to sway potential into action, but she can't assure it." Marth and Chris have assured us of their denial to legitimacy time and time again. It is enough for my sisters and I, but not for our more scrutinizing loyalists. It will take time for our new additions to prove themselves in the eyes of others, but I am confident it will one day happen. My other sisters and I plan to stand behind the twins as they adjust to their new lives, something I hope Marth understands. "Regardless of that, whatever you choose, you're welcome here."

A tired smile grows on Marth, one Emmeryn says is the same as my own and that of our father's. "One would think you tire of gaining sisters."

There is just enough effort in me left to spare her a chuckle. "I think it stranger to have a brother. At least I know what to do with you."

"I think most find it difficult to handle Chris," she laughs quietly.

I sit up in my chair and pull the length of Falchion's scabbard in my grasp. Even through the protective casing I can feel the sword's magic hum to life in my possession. This sword is the greatest honor I could carry as a member of the royal bloodline. I twist it around and remember Chris' starry gaze upon holding it the first time. "It is nice to have someone to speak weaponry and tactics with, and even easier to spar with someone as enthusiastic as myself. Though, Chris has taken a clear shining to Lissa, and she to him. I may have lost my status as the favorite brother."

In the opposite fashion of her twin, Marth has approached her new life with extreme caution. She analyzes every step and thinks before she speaks. There is nothing unpleasant in the way she interacts with others, but it also never feels...natural. Her responses are too perfect, too guarded.

In a way, she's very much like a tactician I know. That same individual is the only one who seems capable of allowing Marth to open up. It may be because of their shared past. Marth and Robin speak so freely to each other it has caused me some jealousy, loathe as I am to admit. I should be happy they can depend on one another, but I wish I could also prove to be one they can rely on.

"Tell me Marth," I find myself asking, "are you comfortable with us?"

Marth watches me with eyes as deep as the mystery around her. "I am happy."

Again, a bland response meant to appease. Am I to just accept defeat on this topic? I settle back into my chair hoping my disappointment isn't obvious. "You are a woman of few words."

Marth picks at a lose thread on her sleeve, avoiding my gaze. "I've simply mastered saying what must be said in the most efficient way. Practicality is something I grew into, as Chris grew into theatrics to express himself."

"I come to see it as more guarded than practical," I find myself pleading with her. "You aren't alone anymore. As family, you're free to speak as you like with us."

Marth affords a small smile meant to comfort me. "Perhaps I shall break the habit one day. Being alone for so long, one forgets the dynamics of a family. This is the closest I've been in such a long time."

"That's how it shall stay." Struggling to reclaim a decent mood for us both, I find it an ample time to needle her with a point she's grown quite a embarrassed of. "You are with real family now, no need for pretend, either."

She can hear the shift in my voice and narrows her gaze at the jest. "You continue to tease me about that."

The persona she used in the Feroxi arena is a point I do not let her forget about. Initially surprised by the appearance of her sword, Marth has come to tell me the piece was a replica from what she remembered. Our father would show her Falchion during his secret visits to her mother. The sword left an impression on her, and she had the imitation crafted to feel closer to her stage disguise. Marth claims the act was born of childish adoration, and she gets quite embarrassed having been caught as she was masquerading as her namesake.

"I find it charming you adopted our ancestor as your arena persona. I still can't believe how close the likeness of your sword was to the real Falchion. The forgery was a good enough copy to fool me," I say remembering that exact moment. I could have sworn to have seen the same holy light within it as my own, though it was probably a trick of the torchlight.

Marth turns her face away, hiding it behind strained words." 'twas a prop sword. Nothing more. Completely lackluster compared to the true form, and missing many details."

"Still, a shame you left it in Regna Ferox. " I turn the hilt of Falchion toward her in offering. A part of me is curious to see if she is considered worthy in Falchion's spirit. "The offer still stands should you like to try the real thing."

Marth extends a hand, fingers outstretched toward it. Before her touch could grace it, she pulls her hand back as if burned. She gathers her hands together and hides them behind her back. "Another time." She hesitates, then her eyes widen. She pats at the pouch at her side and chastises herself under her breath.

"Is something wrong?" I withdraw the weapon and set it aside once more.

"Yes, I-" Marth opens the pouch and pulls a roll of parchment from it. She unfolds it crease by crease. "I actually came with other motives in mind." She holds the piece out to me, much to my surprise. "This is for you. It came by on one of Henry's crows. It was trying to push through your tent flap when I pulled the message from its beak. The rune on it is the first one of your name, so I presume it's for you."

I take it from her. The scroll is off in color and stained a strange color in parts. I try to unroll it and a string of something wet clings to my hand. It smells terrible.

Marth flinches. "It came by the dead one."

I swipe my hand and the slime drops to the dirt. I rub the back of it against my shirt while fumbling to open the shredded piece of manuscript.

---

Hey boss!

It's your head baker here. I've got the delivery primed and set for the wedding. We've got thirty-five nutbread loaves and one hundred and thirty five egg tarts ready to go. I'll be seeing you there, right? I should be arriving in three days myself. Don't be late! You're going to owe me a big raise after this one.

- Sparrow

---

I read it once. Twice. Thrice. My fingers threaten to tear through the parchment with how tight I grip it.

Gods preserve me. It... couldn't...But this is...

"Naga's grace, don't you fail me!" I hear my voice shake as I leap from my chair. The note falls from my lap and lands before Marth. I barely pay heed to it, too busy rushing to the area I use as desk space. I push books and papers out of the way letting them scatter in piles around my feet.

"Chrom?" Marth is watching me as if I may faint any moment. She need not fear as that's the furthest thing I could do now. I hear her pick up the scrap. She takes the moment to read it over, and her confusion is obvious given the nature of it. "You received a delivery order?"

My hands shake as fingers scrabble over compass lines. "It's code. We developed a private means of communication in case any were intercepted by unfriendly eyes."

"Code?" Marth steps up to my side watching as I trace the map. "We?"

"It's coordinates. Nutbread is north. Egg tarts are for the east." I am aware how fast I must be speaking. It must sound like gibberish to Marth. My thoughts are moving too fast for my tongue to catch up. "What I mean is that the numbers are set to degrees of latitude and longitude."

"Signed...Sparrow? And who is that?" Marth leans in next to my shoulder and watches as those coordinates come together at a destination point.

"Arcos?" It's no farce. It's an actual city. One I did not expect to see for another few weeks. How in the name of the gods did she end up there? Does it matter though? Questions for later. Right now, I just cannot believe she... She's...

The map begins to darken as a droplet of water falls on it, followed by another. I raise a hand to my face and feel the texture of my glove grow wet. Tears?

I reach blindly for the chair behind me. My grip over the backrest is tighter than a deadman's. I cling to it in support as I stumble back. I bring my hands to my face and bury it between them. The release is a great relief to my soul. Tears I refused to share for fear of acknowledging the truth have been long denied. Now, I can let this burden free, but in happiness.

"Chrom?" Marth attempts again for information, even shaking my arm to wake me from this daze.

"It's Robin," I finally manage to look at her. I still cannot believe the words coming from my mouth. "She's alive."

"Sparrow is..." Marth's grip on me tightens in order to support herself. The light of realization hits her, causing Marth to shake her head and utter it in a knowing whisper, "a bird."

"For all her creativity, Robin was never very inventive when trying to be deceptive herself."

Marth stares at me for the longest time attempting to digest this information. Her voice cracks in emotion. "Surely you jest."

"Would I ever dare to make light of something like this?" I ask her.

"No," Marth whispers behind both her hands. Her voice into soft laughter. "You wouldn't. Not about her...Never..."

It is her turn to shed tears. I've never seen Marth display such emotion before, but this is monumental enough for us both that such feelings can be afforded. She hides her face, but the way her shoulders shake displays the weight of her own relief being set free.

I look on Arcos and my heart wishes to swell and break free of my chest. I press my hand over the one Marth has placed on my forearm and give it a squeeze. "Marth? How do you fancy a trip to Arcos earlier than planned?"

For the first time, my sister smiles with a luminosity that does not deny it coming from her true self. "When shall we leave?"

---

A/N: This chapter broke my feels :' )

You know what else broke my feels? 1,000 followers. You guys are awesome. I don't even know what to say. Thank you for all the years of support and helpful advice. Couldn't be here without you!