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...

62. Chapter 62

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

Chapter 62

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" -and then I said, crass? More like axe!" False laughter engulfs the tiny circle of nobles around me. The airy sound dims into suppressed chuckles of uncertainty over the punchline of my 'joke,' especially when my tone drops to a sinister low highlighted by my gleaming smirk. "Then I actually showed him my axe, blood and gore dripping down the edge of it."

And, just like that, every faltering smile drops. I know I've lost my audience, and I couldn't be more happy to do so. Some avert their eyes or hide their discomfort behind a raised hand. The man closest to me shuffles in place and smooths out the back of his waistcoat, lips pressed almost white together. "I...see," the noble pauses, looking for an escape route as he speaks. "That is a colorful tale, Ambassador."

"Shall I describe what I did next?" I drawl letting the idea that my fantastically gory war story, absolutely bogus in nature, could get even more ludicrous than already described. Call me perverse, but there's something very gratifying about making these prissy aristocrats sweat. They blink and clear their throats at a loss as to what to say next. A few minuscule grumbles follow. Some resort to sipping and nibbling at hor d'oeuvres to keep their face occupied with not answering.

Finally one woman is compelled to bow her head in Emmeryn's direction as her partner pulls discreetly at her cloak. "Excuse us, your Grace, but I do need to catch up with my brother. It is the first we have seen of him in so long, you see."

Suddenly, the one excuse is enough to give everyone else the same chance of exit. The crowd of revelers disperse quickly with Emmeryn's blessing. That leaves the remainder of us to watch them leave in silence. A much needed break for me, who has spent the last few hours mingling among the crowd while covertly snooping for clues. So far I've encountered nothing. The guards don't talk, none of the Ylissean nobles appear associated with Thibault's scheme, and the other Shepherds are too preoccupied in their own investigations to help. Not a great start to the evening.

I let out a long breath and sag against the wall of the ballroom, the cool stone doing wonders for the heat that this heavy costume holds over me. My Feroxi accent slips into my natural one. "All this small talk is so exhausting. Is this really what's expected of diplomats?"

"You are doing a poor job at this." A series of airy giggles float through the air behind me. I turn, Joyce greeting me with the extended edge of the glass in her hand. The last of the violet liquid inside sloshing over the edge and splatting over the stone floor. Her laughter is exaggerated by the wide smile she wears, the only part of her face exposed under the opal rabbit mask she wears. The base of each ear remains stiffened up to the middle, allowing the velvet soft material at the top to flop about with the movements of her head. The same fur upon it adorns the hem of the cloak around her shoulders. Frustrated with the disaster of her earlier garment, Joyce's dress shade is at odds with the guise of her snow hare. She bears the error with her head held high, even though the disappointment has left an obvious sting to her pride.

The weight of the fur reminds me of the edge of my own costume, forcing me to roll my shoulders in an attempt to sway the cloth into a more comfortable position. "I'm doing it on purpose," I say, squinting in defiance at her disbelieving smirk, "I want people to not search me out tonight."

"I don't believe that will be a problem. I suppose so long as one of the Feroxi ambassadors carries proper diplomacy, future relations won't be completely broken down." Her husband says. Thomm stands at her arm, his right arm linked through hers so they appear fused at the hip. If it were my world, he would probably have taken the role of a tortoise. Here, the fable is a bit different. The rabbit learns her lesson in a parable that pairs her off with a brown chicken. It extols the virtues of bravery and quick thinking over fear and cowardice. Thomm's long coat is stitched from collar to cuff in brown, downy feathers. A few even stick out from beneath his long, pale hair. They rustle together with every shift of his body gathering constant looks of annoyance from underneath the pointed beak of his gold and brown speckled mask.

Emmeryn takes another sip of water from her own glass, peering at us over the rim. " 'twas the only role that would allow you to move unhindered through the ranks. I honor my foreign dignitaries, thus, none would dare speak against you."

Joyce looks me over again. "I think an earth dragon works just fine for you. Only a Feroxi would dare to show up with something this dark and smoldering."

Thomm joins her, his nose wrinkling under the shadow of the beak. "I would have chosen a different option if there had been a choice. Do they even revere dragons in Regna Ferox?"

Joyce deposits her now empty glass on the edge of a tray a server carries while passing by. She places a free hand on his arm and tightens her grip on him, allowing her to slide closer and rest her cheek on his shoulder. "More for sport, dear heart. Nothing can scare our allies. Their spirits are indomitable."

"That is what I mean. Should we not have found something more culturally relevant to a Feroxi ambassador?"

Thomm recoils when Joyce reaches up and pushes the tip of his mask further down with the point of her finger. "You worry too much, love."

I look down at the sturdy black cloth of my outer garments and twist my sleeves in the light to catch the glitter of the fraying gold lining. "Maybe I do stand out too much?"

"There is no shame in the admiration of others." A light touch falls on my shoulder. I find Emmeryn's eyes, now like a dusk indigo under the dark interior of her mask, shining in the same amusement her lips carry. "You may come to appreciate the interest it may garner from others." She speaks no more after that, letting the weight of her silence carry over me with an obvious hidden meaning. One I don't care to think too heavily about right now.

"She's right, I think you look marvelously mysterious. Had you the right temperament, you would have all the eligible courtiers fawning over you. Besides," Joyce's smile retracts, a slip of ire poisoning her temperament, "at least your ensemble matches."

"Joyce. We were over this already..." Thomm sighs into the sky, the roll of his eyes nearly dislodging them from their sockets.

The woman's head falls, shoulders sagging forward until her cloak engulfs her whole body. "I know, but just the thought of how I may be ridiculed by our contemporaries while we stand here just makes me ill." She pauses her shoulders jerking once. Joyce's right hand flies up to her mouth and she dislodges herself from Thomm in a clumsy way. "No, wait, that's actually me," she mumbles behind her palm. "I'm getting dizzy again."

"Your Grace, ah-" Thomm scrambles over to Joyce and drapes his arms around her. He gives her cousin a slight nod of the head toward the front doors of the ballroom. "Forgive us. We'll be a moment."

"Please," Emmeryn nods. She puts her own glass aside and steps back to let the couple pass. Both hands settles over each other on her abdomen, a mournful lament escaping. "My poor cousin. How I wish her first could be easier. "

"Honestly, the longer this goes on, the sicker I feel. I'm not talking about the socializing either." My head hangs, chin nearly touching my chest. The eye holes limit my vision to the legs of those around me. They dance and mingle with no cares in the world. Very few souls know what is being planned here, and the time to stop it grows shorter with every moment. I'm not the only one. The other Shepherds have voiced their own sense of queasiness over the course of the night. The weight of tonight's failure is greater than any battle before. This isn't just a bout of soldier versus soldier. Innocents, and some literally far from that title but nonetheless deserving, are at risk here. Emmeryn is boxed in and will no doubt have to fight her way out if the Count succeeds in taking action.

"How are you feeling about all this?" I find myself asking.

A soft huff of air escapes Emmeryn. She reaches for the staff resting against the wall behind her. The Exalt's weapon it currently locked with an offensive stone at its focus, though a untrained eye wouldn't know. She rests the symbol of her power against the crook of her arm, raising a finger to tap lightly against the numerous rings of enchanted stones hanging along the greater loop. "My fears are as well founded as yours. There are many innocents here. Should their blood flow when I am the target I- " Emmeryn bites her lips, eyes closed in a grimace of pain. "I will not see that happen," she whispers with fierce determination.

My palms curl into fists and press against the wall. The heavy bulk of the coat I wear hides the tome clasped along my belt at the small of my back. Along with my "decorative sword," I carry these weapons with an oath to protect the Exalt's wishes. That's a responsibility I won't fail in, tonight or any other. "We won't allow it. You can trust the Shepherds on that."

"Your skills I have no doubt of." Emmeryn holds the golden staff in a close embrace and turns her gaze on the host of this party. "It is the Count, and other nobility like him, that forces the strength of my trust to waver. Who is it I must protect, and who is it I must turn my judgment as Exalt upon? Maribelle presented me the list of correspondences she found in Ironhold. That divulged all of Plegia's connections, or so we thought. How many more are like Thibault, unknown to us and still plotting?"

"On the bright side, you shouldn't have to worry about watching your back." I push away from the wall and join her, one arm resting over the top of my sword and the other pointing to the menacing wall of armor standing just out of earshot. It's impossible to see any reading on Frederick's face from this lighting, but I have no doubt he sees me gesturing toward him. "So long as that man is around, I doubt anyone is getting close to you."

Emmeryn's body releases a fond exhale. "It has been like that since childhood, even before feelings ever blossomed." One of Thibault's staff walks between us, extending an offering of refreshment to Emmeryn, but she waves them away. "Always his duty before his own needs."

I reaffirm her observation with a slow nod of my own appreciation. "He's far from reckless. Not like some idiots around here."

Emmeryn catches the jab of self-depreciation and stifles a laugh when I raise my eyebrows in emphasis. She sneaks one final longing glimpse of Frederick before tearing away her attention to the attention of two passing nobility. "That does not stop me from worrying for him," she murmurs. Emmeryn smiles, mostly to herself, then presses down the wrinkles gathering around her dress. She straightens her back, bearing the proud stature of an Exalt. Ylisse's holy ruler hides her emotions well behind the calm veneer of a leader, but a mortal heart still beats beneath it. If I can manage to get her through this cycle, Ylisse will only flourish for it.

A twinge in my stomach pulls the muscles together in a dull pain. The dryness in my mouth is exacerbated by the recognition of hunger, reminding me of the human needs I've been neglecting. While we were given the benefit of indulging in the Count's delicacies for sake of keeping appearances, drinking and eating in excess were forbidden. The Shepherds are on a mission, after all. It would be disastrous if a fatal mistake were to occur because someone imbibed too much. Up to this point, I have been abstaining totally. My investigations have turned up nothing. In fact, things are going too smoothly. The Count's actions are as transparent as can be. The man acts with no fear. I even watch one of the servers approach the Count's guard on the far wall with a steaming tray of fresh food. The man abandons his vigil and wiggles two sets of greedy fingers into the variety of goods. Is Thibault really that arrogant?

Another stab of hunger reminds me of my own needs causing me to look for the nearest tray in sight. Surely one or two nibbles will help. I search over the swell of costumed bodies for any of the crimson garbed staff in Thibault's employ. Skipping over the old and young, gaudy and simplistic, I finally discover a woman carrying a meat and cheese duo nearby. My taste buds twitch in anticipation of swallowing something besides baseless compliments.

I'm two steps forward when another woman steps up to the server. The nature of her outfit is surprising, a modest full gown of deep blue and accompanying black corset. The gown material is made of wool and the leather corset is plain with flowers stitched into it. Her mask is of simple bark, shaved smooth and carved to the design of a ram, though no colors touch it. She appears more like a peasant, and I have to wonder what fable she may be reflecting. My thoughts are quick to shift to annoyance, however, when I see her begin to juggle multiple helpings in her hands. I have half a mind to steal multiple shares of my own from her greedy appetite when a man steps up to help her. He wears the blue long coat and silver pauldrons of a lieutenant, and the smooth cape hanging off his shoulder bears the emblem of the guard of Ylisstol. My advance halts, eyes moving to where his featureless mask hangs by one ribbon over his ear. I would know that russet curly hair and freckled skin anywhere. Surely that couldn't be...

The two leave and the woman's pale gold hair shines in a bun at her neck. Well, color my jimmies! That's Markus and Ginette! I found them after all! Time to make some magic happen. If anything good is going to come of my actions, it might as well be to get Ginette the recognition she deserves!

Filled with excitement, I pull a clumsy about-face and latch on to Emmeryn's arm. She stares in surprise at the sudden grasp, but relaxes when she sees it's just me breaking decorum. I thrust my thumb over my shoulder and almost wheeze in my haste to talk. "Over there! That's the woman I was talking about. My friend from Southtown."

Emmeryn's left eyebrow makes a slight rise over the other, her attentions peaked. She peers over my shoulder into the crowd. "Is she?"

Lucina has already given me a history of Ginette, a capable administrator who reformed several problems in Ylisstol's infrastructure during her short reign as queen. I think, or rather I know, that won't be her fate this time around. I have been sharing many letters with her over the last months. I'm aware of her growing role in Southtown. The people look up to her. They come to Ginette, not the actual mayor for advice. While he has assumed control over the whole territory during the war, he tends to hide at the capitol drinking with the upper class. He ignores the problems of his lands and takes the credit of her successes as his own. His bogus negligence is the reason he and his own son are at odds, even forcing Markus to leave and serve as a guard in the city as opposed to assuming future leadership of Southtown.

Widowed and alone to raise a child, Ginette's driven ambition to survive drew others to her. She's flourished in her talents, though she now uses them for the Southern region instead of the capitol. And if the letters are anything to go by, her heart belongs there...and with someone else. She hasn't quite admitted it yet, but there's been a shift in her attitude toward Markus. Between their decades of friendship and role he's fallen into as a father figure for her son, her attractions are growing apparent.

I'm happy Ginette has found her place in life. I feel like I should take some responsibility in bettering her station. She doesn't know what life she could have led, but I do. Her potential shouldn't be wasted just because circumstances changed her lot in life. She might not become a queen, but she will have her son and I'll see to it she gets as close to a comfortable life as she once had. Maybe, like before, she'll remarry and have a daughter in this new one.

"Think you might be able to talk to her?" I ask Emmeryn, hoping that she can meet the true reason behind Southtown's explosion in commerce. "Ginette's a smart lady. I think she could do immense good for the economy. Everything that's come through Southtown is from her. Her talents are hidden just because she happens to be a lower class."

Emmeryn falls into thought, as if weighing the pros and cons of my suggestion. Her fingers tap against the white of her sleeves to no set rhythm. "Though I remain watchful for deception, I must continue to keep my own appearances up. Diplomacy is only natural for an Exalt." She smiles, the show only playful in nature when she sees my enthusiasm faltering. "I would be honored to meet her. Your recommendation is enough for me, and I do keep my promises. The duke that holds governance over Southtown has made mention of her by name as well. A shame, or a blessing in disguise, that he could not appear tonight due to illness. His replacement is...a different sort."

"You mean he's distasteful? Arrogant?" I reply, earning a flicker of amusement that grows with the increasing list of adjectives I offer.

"I said none of those thing describing the mayor of Southtown," Emmeryn remarks, passing by me.

Markus is mid-bite through his cheese before his eyes grow wide. He remains frozen despite Ginette continuing their conversation, no doubt to see if his eyes are deceiving him. When Emmeryn continues her path toward them, he swallows his bite with a pained expression. He chokes through and grasps Ginette's chin to force her to look in his direction. Seeing the Exalt herself nearly causes Ginette to drop her plate.

I babble something silly to Emmeryn between us about "not regretting this" and "you'll like her," but I barely hear myself over the exuberance overwhelming my brain. Finally, I can try and make something good happen from all the changes I've caused!

...Except somebody is already making to intercept our path. A well groomed gentleman of middling age and silver tinted bark brown hair slides in. His beard and mustache are oily and curled to high fashion, matching the fur lined doublet and golden under tunic he wears. He exudes wealth and stature all the way to his silken hose and gem lined ivory mask. I can't tell what he masquerades as underneath the gaudy display of finery crowding his decadent disguise.

Ginette immediately bows her head and assumes a meek pose of subservience to the newcomer. Markus, however, can't help hiding the severe cut of his glower.

Emmeryn and I wait side by side as the man sashays in with every dramatic swing of his gold and silver walking stick. I lean in to Emmeryn's ear and whisper, "Let me guess, this pompous windbag is the mayor."

Emmeryn's eyes move between Markus and the older man. "Indeed. Ganne has served this position his whole life, to a variety of opinions at his success."

I can't stop the derisive snort from bursting out of me. My teeth grind together in frustration. "Her boss. Of course. No doubt he sensed another opportunity to take credit for other people's work. He's been sabotaging her success and reaping it as his own."

"I am well aware of his reputation," she replies with no hint of malice or admiration. I envy her ability to exude impartiality to all she speaks to, regardless of her feelings.

"Dearest Exalt! I happen to notice you coming my way!" The mayor fawns, throwing himself in front of us. He snaps to attention, broadening his shoulders to wall off the two figures behind him. The crooked angles of his teeth make his smile of greeting only creepier.

"Mayor Ganne," Emmeryn greets in a lukewarm temperature that matches the water-thin press of her lips. "It is always a pleasure."

"Isn't it?" he beams, plucking a handkerchief from his sleeve. He dabs at his neck, letting the crowd observe the flash of tiny diamonds sewn into the hem before tucking it away again. Usually, to assert one's own stature, someone would offer a compliment and mimic the action with a display of their own wealth. A flash of an imported Chon'sin fan or some-such. Personally, I have got a shiny sword I could show off. Cut that mustache right to the root...

Emmeryn is not expected to bow to Ganne in customary greeting. She tips her chin in acknowledgment, but that's all. The mayor, in return, makes a grand bow from the waist, going so low his fingers swipe the floor in the grand arc he performs. "You look as lovely as the divine dragon herself. It is apparent that you carry the grace of our hallowed lady with each year that passes."

"You are too kind, Mayor," Emmeryn says taking a step back when he moves to kiss her hand. She busies both hands around her back, the rejection a gentle reminder of his place.

Undeterred, I feel my skin crawl when his eyes fall on me. His moss green eyes widen with the anticipation of new schemes upon seeing my face, and unclaimed Feroxi profit. At least, that's what I can guess based on Ginette's descriptions of his avarice.

"And you, my Lady. I would hate to be rude. You must introduce yourself," Ganne says to me. Markus takes the initiative to finally interject on his father's interruption. He grips the man hard in the arm and whispers something in his father's ear, only to be shaken off with a harsh rebuke. "Not now, boy."

Ginette steps up wrangles Markus away with quiet words before he does something he regrets, hiding them further in the crowd.

"Ambassador Freya of Starfall," Emmeryn gestures over me, "I would introduce you to the mayor of Southtown and acting ambassador of the dukedom of Aldridge, Ganne."

"Indeed." My blunt acceptance of the fact is all I can muster in the face of another noble I just don't want to deal with.

"Ah, one of the two Feroxi representatives! Enchanted! It is always in my interests to expand the friendly hand of Southtown." He bows forward again, the extent of his grandeur only half of what he gave to Emmeryn. Before I can get a word in, his mouth is already running with all the ideas he has swimming about in that perfectly manicured face of his. "Will you be extending your stay beyond Arcos? There is word that the Khans will be sending an ambassador to reside in a permanent embassy at the capitol. If so, it would be my pleasure to take you through a tour of the countryside. Southtown is a prize like no other."

"I've been made aware of Southtown's reputation," I grit out through sheer determination alone, words as stiff as the slicked back recession of oiled hair he carries.

The fact that a foreign diplomat knows of his town leaves him blind to the negative aura rolling off of me. It only entices him more. Ganne leans forward on his cane and turns his nose up with the haughty grin of victory. He must already be calculating the trade numbers in his head. "I have plenty more to share, I assure you."

"As much as I look forward to the many tales you have to share, I must interrupt you," Emmeryn says, stepping between us with a light push of her hands. She doesn't even glance at the mayor, eyes pressed ahead. "I beg pardon Ganne, but I was attempting to reach out to the woman behind you. I was looking to hear of Southtown's recovery and progress of the harvest. Duke Richard has spoken very highly of your aid. Enough so to point out I should speak with her during our gathering in Arcos."

"He has?" Ganne sputters. Gathering his composure, he sucks in his gut and puffs out his chest. "Ah, yes well, she is my associate. A product of my own discerning eye. Her talents were noticed, and I scooped her out of that little farmer's hut she owned. A true gem developed from a rough stone."

Emmeryn continues on, ignoring him and causing the bulk of his waistline to fall along with his ego. The Exalt presses her hands together in delight, eyes warm upon the recognition the Markus. "Why Ganne, that is your son, is it not?"

Markus' head snaps in her direction, the fierce scowl crumbling into a stupor. His bow is simple, and he keep his eyes averted to the ground. "You know me?" his voice trembles.

"I remember all the faces of Ylisse's heroes." For a moment, I am drawn back to the courtyard in Ylisstol. Markus is standing with me among the crowd of bodies, red-faced in delight as he turns the medal of valor awarded to him between his fingers. He was one of many that day awarded in recognition, no doubt a blur of faces passing before Emmeryn as she handed each one out. That she could remember them all...Even I'm shocked.

Emmeryn beckons for him to rise. "The captain of Ylisstol's guard promoted you with high words of praise. She has shared many stories about the son of Southtown and his altruism to the poor."

"Captain- Captain Nethys said something nice? About me?" Markus' eyes dart to Ginette in surprise, though she can only beam at him in pride. "I- I have no words, your Grace."

Ganne is vibrating with pent up jealousy beside me. His walking stick slams against the floor with each step until he is beside his son. Using the knob-like handle at its height, Ganne jabs the blunt end of it into Markus' back causing him to jerk into a rigid line from the impact. "Pick up your jaw, boy. You're making a fool of yourself in front of the Exalt." Side-stepping to block Markus from view, Southtown's mayor delivers a cloyingly sweet pandering of words befitting a politician. "Southtown breeds great talent, your Grace. My stock comes from a long line of mayors unbroken from the time of your great ancestor, the sixth Exalt. It is only expected to see him rise to greatness."

"Then it should only be expected to see the same of your son, Mayor." Ginette's gentle voice wafts unassuming among us, her self neatly blended with the crowd of revelers around us. Despite not belonging to this world, my friend carries herself with a respectable poise that could rival a noble's. She carries her head high, but presents herself with a quiet dignity that would not threaten the worth of another. Coupled with the shrewd mind I know her to carry, she wields a formidable set of weapons for an office of leadership.

I can't help but wonder if this is but a taste of what could have been. A sliver of the woman who could have been a queen. A leader. A diplomat. A role model. And...a partner.

The taste that follows is bitter, as I realize she is far more suited for this life than I am.

"Thank you, Ginette, for that insight," Ganne brushes her off with a derisive wave of his hand. Mumbling under his breath, he adds, "It could be there if he ever dug in deep enough to find it."

I feel my blood pressure start to rise. I have been biting my tongue this whole time, but I came here with clear intentions. I am not going to let this man ruin this. I see a server walking by and kick my heel out. The man stumbles and throws his hands about loosening a storm of fruit, meat, and cheese over the mayor. Ganne throws his cape up to protect the rest of his suit. Juices stain the rich fabric in large streaks. He stumbles back trying to avoid any further morsels from rolling over him. His feet clomp about in a struggle to regain his balance. Claiming his spot, I nod in Ginette's direction, earning a shared look of confusion from both Markus and her as I beckon her forward.

"Take care of your father," I whisper to Markus.

"E-excuse me?" he stutters. I nod my chin back over my shoulder toward Ganne. Markus may be baffled, but he understands I'm giving the Exalt a chance to speak with Ginette. He blinks once, nods, then stalks off behind us. There's a ruffling of clothing and harsh words between the server and Ganne, nothing that overtakes us.

Ginette's hands ring together over the material of her sleeve, twisting it full of fresh creases. Her eyes are owl-like under her mask, the awe of the Exalt's presence leaving a tremble in her voice. "Your Grace wishes to speak with me?"

" 'twas my original intent," Emmeryn says lightly, the smile she offers the other woman meant to ease her fears. "Our introduction was arranged with great enthusiasm. One that I admit to having equal interest in. Duke Richard made note of your successes, as well as a similar mutual party."

"I see. I am honored and, well, very thankful for that," Ginette says, a small laugh crackling up from her. She glances to the side and shyly brushes back her hair behind one ear. "Though, truthfully, I am at a loss at what to say."

"Just tell the Exalt how you solved the yeatle bug infestation with that ingenious little compost you made based off the old Altean folktale you know. That's a great start," I tell her.

"I- How did you know that?" Ginette asks, bewildered over my knowledge.

"If I may?" I say, looking to Emmeryn for approval to reveal my game. She nods, causing my smile to grow. Raising my mask quickly, I expose my face just for Ginette to see. Her eyelids flutter and her mouth opens in a cry of recognition, causing me to quickly drop my mask and raise my finger to my lips in a gesture for silence. Ginette cover her face with one hand and nods with haste.

"Stimulating as this conversation may be, I do have other matters to attend to. I think the Exalt will gain far more from you than I will. A talented woman like you has much to offer," I tell her.

Maybe it's the lighting, but Ginette has lost the color in her face. First she meets the prince of the realm, and now the Exalt? I can't imagine what must be going through her mind. "I...I don't have words at the moment. I am so sorry. You have my deepest gratitude," she curtsies low, peering up at me from under her mask with the smallest smile, "Ambassador."

"She has earned my gratitude as well, and perhaps more if the night goes quietly." Emmeryn stares over the crowd, the weight her knowledge heavy upon her. It's the same burden we all bear. One I need to get back to.

Disappointed, but satisfied, with my role in this little affair, I extract myself from the conversation with a small bow. "While I must bid you a good eve for now," I turn, throwing a wink at Ginette, "I'm sure we'll meet again before the festivities end."

"Good luck to you, Ambassador," Emmeryn answers, the sincerity in her farewell more grave than the festivities warrant. Ginette watches me leave, the joy of reunion replaced by worry on her face. I don't know if word of my disappearance reached mainland Ylisse, but I'm sure she has concerns even without that knowledge. I would love nothing more than to catch up with her again after these months away, but her safety, and all the others for that matter, are in my hands tonight. Just letting her know I'm here looking out for her is enough.

My exit is not final, however, in that I pause briefly to watch Markus and his father part ways with utter venom in both their eyes. He has somehow convinced that annoying gnat that his presence is not needed which gives me the moment I need.

"Blessed three, Father! What more do you- Ambassador!" Markus exclaims in horror at my approach. He salutes me out of respect and snap to attention. "Is there something I can do for you?"

He recoils in surprise at my bold approach. Grabbing him by the arm, I sweep him into a nook between the wall and window. He starts to sputter in protest about reputation and some-such, but I don't have time for that. Dropping my accent, I shake him once to cut off his ramblings. "Markus, shut up a moment will you."

Between the lack of decorum and the familiarity of my voice, the guardsman freezes at my command. He lifts his mask, squinting at me. After a thorough scrutiny, he peers closer. "Do I know you?"

Making sure no one is watching us, I pick my mask up for the second time this evening. "Just an old friend."

"By the ninth hell!" Markus gasps in shock. He clasps a hand over my arm and laughs softly in disbelief. "Rumors from the main line is you went missing. Dead even. No one knew where the mysterious tactician of the Shepherds went." His laughter stops and he grows sober, his eyes darting about the room. "Wait, why are you masquerading as someone else?"

"Long story. Look, I couldn't let you to wander around without saying anything," I say. "Markus, you need to stay vigilant tonight. Stick to Ginette as much as possible. There's- "

"Traitors about?" Markus answers calmly. He smirks a little over my turn in reacting to the shock of his knowledge. He reaches up and taps the crest of the city guard clipped to his cape. "Captain Nethys got word out to me just as I left that we had a list of potential villains in our own populace. I've been assigned to tail two of the church's Archons in attendance. Apparently your captain, the prince, recovered a whole list of traitors. I was set to apprehend the two at his orders."

I clap a hand over his shoulder and squeeze it. "Sorry to tell you this, but things could be a lot worse than that. I'm working on making sure that doesn't happen, but who knows."

"Gods' blood," he swears under his breath. Markus looks over his shoulder toward Ginette and Emmeryn, "What are the orders then?"

"There aren't any for you. Just do what you've been doing," I tell him. "General Eldaran is already on stand by. Act like every other guest tonight! Just, safer. Not suspicious! Vigilant, but not paranoid. Got it?"

"Riiiight," he frowns. Sighing, he leans back on one heel and throws his hands up in a shrug. "Wouldn't be the first time plans fell through. Nothing ever goes easy."

"You can say that I again," I mutter in agreement.

Markus runs a hand through his hair, breathing out again. "Thank you for telling me."

"Thank me after this is over and we're all chatting with a nice mug over an open fire. Stay safe tonight and protect each other." I pause, swallowing hard. "I was already too late to save Tomas' father that day in Southtown. I'm not going to leave him an orphan after losing his mother as well."

Markus once again salutes with the full poise and demeanor of a lieutenant. "On my honor of the guard, that will not happen."

We part ways, though my body feels lighter in doing so. At least my conscience will weigh easier on me tonight knowing those two had proper warning. We walk together a short distance, separating upon reaching Emmeryn and Ginette. Markus takes up his vigil behind Ginette, resting a hand in comfort on her shoulder when he comes up from behind. She offers him a smile in greeting and pulls him into the conversation. Intrigued by the Exalt's rapt attentions on this unknown woman, a small crowd of nobles have gathered around her making her quite the star. Thankfully, Ganne is no where to be seen.

One figure stands out from the crowd, standing over the rest by nearly a head. A fellow Shepherd I haven't seen in a very long time. My heart stalls in my chest, a tug of anxious doubt turning my insides to ice. I still haven't got a clear idea of what Frederick may be feeling in regards to my return. I mean, logic would say he should be relieved or grateful, but another part of me doubts. Is he mad at my reckless actions that day? Disappointed in my blatant failure as a tactician to prevent the attack on our base? Could he forgive me for letting danger get so close to Emmeryn?

I hesitate now as much as I did before. I could blame Frederick for not coming to see me as the others did, but I'm just at fault for not seeking him out. Meeting him again...sort of scared me. Not in the way of horror. God no! It's hard to explain.

I look up to Frederick. I want to be the type of person he is. Brave. Loyal. Insurmountable in his duties. He has invested so much time and effort into helping me adapt to this new life I lead. The only thing I want to do is repay that in full by being successful. I want him to know I was listening, that I was worth all the headaches and sass. I respect him so, so much and I...I don't want to be his only failure.

I should- I need to talk to him. Even if for a few moments.

I exhale deeply, like my very soul is leaving my mortal body. With a one heavy step forward, I weave through the crowd to the knight.

Frederick stands tall and proud, a silent protector just out of earshot from his lady. Two hands rest clasped together against the small of his back, his rigid form seemingly melded to the floor. He makes no physical acknowledgment as I step up beside him, ignoring me until I make my intents know with an obvious cough into the back of my fist. Only the whites of his eyes flicker once to me from beneath his mask before darting forward again.

"Hello there," I chirp, the artificial levity of my greeting earning a mental cringe.

"I beg pardon, but I am unable to converse proper tonight. I am on duty this eve," he tells me, no room for dissuasion present in the clear disinterest he radiates. I guess no one told him what costume I would be in tonight.

Clearly my throat, I shift uneasily. Trying to humor the situation, I copy his stance in a clear mockery of his stoic presentation. His jawline clenches, but he says nothing more. So, I just lay it out there. "You, uh, don't even have a moment to spare one of the Feroxi ambassadors? I doubt Khan Flavia would appreciate her envoy being treated with such a lack of hospitality."

"Khan- " Frederick's voice drops out mid-sentence. He sucks in air through his nose, the rapid inhale the only hint of his surprise.

I chuckle, despite the pounding of my heart, and drop the Feroxi accent once again. "I suppose I can't blame you. Most everyone here is just full of useless chatter, or maybe it's just me."

"There is only one here the nobility desire to speak with. 'tis not I," the knight utters.

I cross my arms and lean back on one heel, appraising the bold advances several younger counts and dukes are making as they share small talk with the Exalt in her growing circle. With me gone, it seems the throngs of nobility are flocking to her side once more. The Exalt's smile is polite and her eyes empty with each exchange she makes. Emmeryn is not interested in the men around her. Only when she is given a moment's break from her current guest's attention does her eyes drift over to Frederick. Her face glows in radiance, a grin plumping her cheeks with the most innocent adoration. Her knight's armor barely rustles as his body straightens to an even taller height. Frederick's throat catches, Adam's apple bobbing in a moment of emotion. He quickly raises a fist and sputters into the back of it, trying to reclaim his composure.

"It is not fun to be popular tonight, let me tell you. I should have picked a better disguise. Everyone wants a piece of the Feroxi ambassador in hopes of arranging something with her Khan. I scared off the first two waves of inquisitive revelers by discussing the various torture techniques the Feroxi use to extract information from prisoners." I hide a growing smile behind the back of my hand, my voice dipping in bemusement. "Or do for fun when particularly annoyed by someone."

A short gust of air rumbles out of Frederick, somewhere between a snort of disbelief and a knowing chuckle. "I doubt the Khans would appreciate such lies being spread."

The air gets a bit clearer between us, the ice shattering and alleviating some, but not all, of the nerves I previously carried. Rapping my knuckles against the metal of his vambrace, I tip my mask to the side and offer a hesitant grin. "Been a long time, Frederick."

Frederick turns his masked face down to me. He raises a hand and pulls his own disguise away enough for one eye to freely take me in. And, Naga take my soul, the barest hint of a smile tugs at the set lines of his mouth. It deepens the thin cut of a scar along his lower jaw I didn't see him carry before the last battle. "Here I had been enjoying the peace and quiet. Alas."

I laugh softly, lowering my mask back in place. The jagged shards in my chest begin to melt, the flood of relief a tickling sensation akin to bubbles. I blink away the water gathering at the corner of my eyes. "You know you missed this sparkling wit of mine."

"Perhaps," Frederick responds, fitting his own mask securely over his features. "Perhaps not." The eye holes deepen his brown eyes to almost black as they sweep up and down my form. "It seems Maribelle's tailor can work miracles after all."

"Hey now!" I retort with an indignant circling of my eyes. I should be mad at that comment, but even I can't refute it. In the end, that crazy seamstress managed to turn a rusty nail into shining silver. I've never looked so fancy before. I run a hand absently through the shortened bob I now tote, the front gathered up and tied at the back of my head while the rest hangs lose around my neck.

He dips his head in acknowledgment. There is no judgment or critique, only a raw truth of emotion from the typically stoic man. "In sincerity, it heartens my soul to see you hale and fit, Robin. Your presence, or lack thereof, was a burden of concern for us all. The Shepherds were not the same without you." Frederick watches, expectant for an answer. One that I struggle to answer.

"I, uh, yeah. Thank you." My face burns in embarrassment, the rush of gratitude I feel pulling the skin tight around my mouth in a massive grin. I'm glad for my mask or I would never have heard the end of it from Frederick. His acknowledgment is humbling, and I end up garbling out something far more meaningful that the humor I'm used too. "There wasn't a day on my own that I wasn't thinking of you or the Shepherds. Nothing could have brought me more joy than our reunion."

Frederick hums in thought, his voice questioning. "Is that so?"

Even if it's a risk to my cover, I can't help but give his amour a playful elbow, a cheesy grin plastered on my face as I look up to him. Frederick takes the blow with a dull thud to the side, shaking his head to a low set of chuckles. Feeling like all is right in the world once more, I feel my heart return to a normal beat. My pulse stabilizes, leaving me to bask in the comfort of a familiarity I longed for. I settle into a stance of comfort beside him and watch ahead to the Exalt's adoring circle of fans.

"I would say you look good too," I gesture to the Exalt, "but the truth is, she looks better than all of us."

Frederick's eyes close, an exhale brushing past his lips in his absolute fondness for Emmeryn. "Her Grace bears a natural poise developed over a lifetime of practice and discipline. I doubt there is any that could compare."

"In your humble opinion?" I ask him.

"It is not an opinion. It is a fact."

"Your loyalty is endearing, Frederick." I step back and bite down on the tip of my thumb, looking over the two of them. "You two really are something amazing," I murmur.

Frederick and I move aside as two men pass, their arms locked firmly around each other as they go to join the beckoning revelry of acquaintances nearby. The young couple are greeted by the cheers of their friends, one stealing two glasses of wine from a nearby server to thrust into the newcomers' hands. I can't hear the joke that is issued, but the group bursts into laughter, hands clapping on each other's backs and others leaning on their neighbor through fits of giggles.

Perhaps the similarity in their reunion reminds Frederick of our own, as his tone softens considerably. "I apologize for not coming to see you upon your arrival. I was busy with matters, as you can see now."

"The man of honor himself," I laugh. I extend both hands down and over my body. "I'm still whole, as you can see. Seems paying attention to your survival instructions helped out after all."

"Indeed." Frederick leans over and tilts his head to better speak in my ear. My smile flees in haste from the sharp chastising that follows. "If we were not in public I would have you strung up by your thumbs and your ears boxed until they burn raw." My left eye pinches shut and I shrink away from the Frederick's all too familiar disciplinarian tirade. The anger fades, the intensity fueled by the same concern a parent wields, a fragile mixture of concern and frustration. "You are a great fool, Robin. Your heart is admirable, but the reckless disregard for your own life will cause more damage than you can imagine. I thought you to have more sense than the way you blindly threw yourself into harm's way."

"I didn't have much time to react," I turn on him, "What would you have done?"

Frederick exhales, gathering up his emotions until his total composure is regained. He adjusts his cloak back over both shoulders before returning his hands behind his back. "For one suggestion, I would have thrown us to the ground out of the Risen's trajectory."

"Oh," I wince, using my hands to work out the motions in the air before me. I could have gone underneath...instead of...in front of... "Yeah, I guess that could have worked."

Why didn't I do that? It makes more sense? What possessed me to act that recklessly? I still don't really know what happened. Just that I had to.

A weight falls on my shoulder, surprising me. It is a friendly gesture, the hard metal of the finger joints pressing into my skin through my coat. I follow the gauntlet on my shoulder up the arm and into Frederick's face. His gaze still remains on Emmeryn, his other hand curled into a fist behind his lower back.

"A word of advice from a man who protects the three most important figures of our country." His eyes divert to mine, my reflection in them showing a woman rendered speechless by his action. "My life is always prepared to be given for their own, but only once can it be done. I may save them in that moment, but danger will always follow those of prestige such as the royal family. My sacrifice will mean little if they die the next time." His left hand slips from behind his back and falls to the scabbard at his waist, gripping around the hilt of the sword resting within. "Only I can rely on myself to ensure their safety. Thus, I protect them wisely. My life is equally precious as I am the only shield to guard them. I continue my maintenance, my repairs, my upgrades, that I may last forever and never reach the point where I must break a final time to save them. I am a tool to stand the test of time, not to buckle and be cast aside like a cheap smith's project." His eyes find mine, and the grip on my shoulder tightens. "Do you understand?"

I've valued everything Frederick has taught me. From bruises to dinner etiquette, I've been content to think he's taught me the very best. But, in this moment, I feel like he's given me the most important lesson of all. The simplest one to teach, and the hardest to uphold. Sure, a sacrifice is well and noble, but utterly useless in the end if it still costs more than that single life. It makes absolute, perfect sense! So...so why do I keep doing it?

"I- I understand," I whisper.

"Good." Frederick's thumb digs into a fleshy area of skin, adding punctuation to his threat as he growls, "Then live by that. For should you fall, Naga herself will have to hold me back from ripping your soul out of the heavens that I may deliver a proper thrashing to you."

He releases his hold on me, letting me go to a long string of "ows." I rub at the area massaging away the dull sting. Once it fades, I can't help running through the conversation again my head. I release my shoulder and rest both hands on my hips. I chuckle, shaking my head fondly. "We've come a long way, haven't we, Frederick?"

"Yes," he replies after a moment of thought, amused in his own wonder of the statement, "we truly have."

"I'm proud to see you here now." I press my hand over my eyes to shade them from the imaginary sun, imagining a crowd of ants beneath me. "So now that things are getting official, how's it feel to stand with Emmeryn and look down on all those people who snubbed you?"

"Her Grace will rule as she always has. Courtly affairs will be no concern of mine." Frederick's attention diverts to the crowd where one noble gets too comfy with Emmeryn, sidling up right to her hip. His body grows tense, hand on his weapon. If there was a real threat, Frederick wouldn't even be standing here. His reaction is more for her own privacy and the noble's lack of respect for such, though she handles the situation on her own with a gentle rebuff of her staff to the man's heel. Frederick's muscles uncoil, but the the activity reminds him of his duties. "My role will be to assume control of the army. I shall continue to be her shield, though on a much larger field."

"You're going to be general?" I gape. "When did this happen?"

"Eldaran has been attempting to rid himself of the responsibility since the start of this year. He will continue with his duties for a time still, then I shall assume his role of leadership."

I am not surprised by that. Eldaran performs his job admirably, but it was never his goal in life. Eldaran is more interested simply being what he is, a young man. He's a jovial carouser who wants to live in the moment. Obligation to duty and friendship puts him in the position he has, but the arguments he has with Phila grow worse as the war rages on. He never wanted to take life, but rather celebrate it. This is probably best for both parties. Eldaran can finally be free, and Frederick can be right at Emmeryn's side. One thing bothers me though.

"Doesn't the military branch of the realm always to fall to the next royal sibling?" I ask him.

"Traditionally, you are correct. However, as you have come to see, this generation is not one to follow the roles of their ancestors. The prince is to continue commanding the Shepherds as an elite force working directly under the Exalt's hand. Her Grace intends to utilize the Shepherds as both ambassadors and protectors, heralding her benevolence and Naga's peace to all corners of our fair country."

I scuff the heel of my boot against the floor, thinking about the outcomes that could now happen. "I assume that means Lissa isn't planning on succeeding the current High Priest of Naga's sect in Ylisstol?"

"The princess' future remains to be seen."

I clap my hands quietly together and bow my head towards him. "Congratulations on the promotion, Frederick. You'll be wonderful. I can't think of anyone more qualified."

After a long pause, Frederick tilts his head in surprise. "That is all?" I stare quizzically at him, warranting further explanation. "I was expecting a quip befitting your usual glib nature."

I gasp in mock surprise. "Frederick! Even I know when a bit of decorum is due. I was trained by the best, after all."

Frederick indulges the humor, but the warmth quickly fades. His gaze grows hazy, unfocused on the larger picture before him. "My current position among the Shepherds will someday be empty, and another worthy must take my place."

"That's doesn't sound ominous at all," I say in concern.

"I do not say this with any means of fatality. I speak only of what is to come. Milord will need someone at his side. With my path set as it is, I will not be able to do this. And the princess," Frederick pauses here. He exhales in fondness. "She is a willful, headstrong young woman. She will carve her own path someday. I do not believe it will be at her brother's side, but of her own accord."

"Funny thing to say," I ponder out loud. "Emmeryn mentioned something similar yesterday."

"We tend to be of one mind when it comes to matters concerning her younger siblings. In this instance, it was not a hard decision to come by on both our parts," Frederick moves his mask away so he can look unhindered into my eyes. The intensity takes me back in surprise. "You are not beholden to anything. Such matters are for the future. Do not take my comments as an order. Merely an observation." He hesitates, then adds, "and a blessing."

"Thank you?" I fumble out in response, confused about everything until the last part sinks in. I mean really starts to make sense. It takes every bit of willpower not to yell, though I still end up rasping out a panicked, "Wait...what?"

"A mindful thought for the future, my friend." Frederick secures his mask. A figure closes in quickly on us from the left forcing him back into his stiff persona. He adds quickly in conclusion to our conversation. "Follow your path and trust in Naga's light to guide you."

I blink wildly, hinging my jaw shut for fear it may go slack. Did he just...

"Freya!"

My name echoes off the walls, the shrill greeting causing heads to turn. A blur of yellow and white lace slices through the crowd. Lissa emerges from it, the edges of her dressed bunched up and hoisted in an unladylike manner while she runs. The sight of a familiar faces makes me exhale in relief.

"Princess Lissa, what a surprise!" I say in amusement as she skids on her heels to a stop before me.

"Oooooh hi, Frederick! You don't mind me cutting in, do you?" Lissa babbles, realizing she's caught us in the middle of a conversation.

Frederick bows his head in greeting, but mostly to hide the quirk of his mouth in amusement over her antics. "It is no trouble. I believe our conversation has concluded regardless of your appearance."

"Is it bad news?" she whispers, looking between us.

"No. Nothing has changed, unfortunately," I frown, casting a glance over the room.

Lissa sighs in relief, her shoulders dropping. Her mood is quick to change, the concern giving way to her previous spirited manner. Lissa's arms struggle to remain at her sides, causing her to bounce back and forth off both feet in annoyance. "Well now that I know I have a minute, I've been dying to see you! I would give you a hug, but we're not supposed to know each other," she pouts. "I'll save it and so many more for later. You can't escape the weeks worth I owe you after disappearing like that!"

Her excitement only grows as she darts around me, picking up my cloak and holding out the edges so the golden threads catch in the light. "Holy wow! Emmeryn was right about your costume. You look so pretty! And dashing! Has my brother seen you yet?"

"Thanks," I say while extracting myself from her grasp. Frederick lets out a little snort, turning swiftly away to watch the Exalt once more. Mostly, I think he does it just to avoid the stink eye I throw him. Deftly ignoring that last comment, I gesture to the far wall and away from the crowd. "Shouldn't we talk somewhere more private?"

"Oh! Right! Come on, this way!" she says, grabbing me by the hand. Despite all her dress layers, Lissa glides flawless across the floor while I stumble after her like a newborn foal. Her speed is dizzying as she zigzags between bodies.

"Look who I found!" she sings out, waving to a pair of familiar faces. "The Ambassador!"

Owain lets out a great "Aha!" and leaps up to his feet, cloak whirling around him. The dramatic effect is lessened by the comedic slap it delivers to Lucina's face behind him. Oblivious to her predicament, her cousin crows out a loud greeting. "A most joyous evening to you, brave heroine!"

Lucina fights with the material, brushing it away from her with both hands. The outcome leaves her with static shock clinging to the right side of her head. She claws through her hair trying to tame it, all while backing away from her chair. Lucina repeats the act several times before giving up.

"How is everyone doing so far?" I ask upon reaching close speaking range.

"Other than enduring the typical deluge of idle chatter, nothing is out of sorts," Lucina answers. She flushes out her own cape and adjusts any loose articles of clothing from her hasty retreat. She casts me a side glance, but quickly looks away in embarrassment.

"The other Shepherds have said the same so far. Not a lick of activity to see. It's been right boring around here!" Lissa huffs. She stomps over to the chair beside Owain and throws herself into it. She crosses both arms and sinks deep into it with a hefty groan. The tips of both her boots tap together with the back and forth motion of her ankles. "I can't believe we haven't encountered anything yet. Not one suspicious clue to work with!"

Owain captures his chin with one hand, and stalks to and fro. His forehead creases together in deep thought. "A most troubling mystery we have on our hands. Nary a hair seems to be out of place. The festivities carry out as if nothing is amiss, despite the dark machinations of treachery brewing beneath our heels."

"Maybe it's just me, but I think everybody here is having waaaay too much fun," Lissa adds throwing both arms out over her head in disbelief. "I thought this was supposed to be about the war! We're celebrating like it's the New Year! At this rate, they'll be drunk by midnight. Absolute dunderheads, the whole lot of them!"

"If they do not end up dead first." Lucina's grim response doesn't help the situation, causing Lissa to go from a groan to a drawn out whine.

"Hey! Anyone tell you guys you look great tonight! One beautiful butterfly and two big ol' bumblebees." I step in, trying to bring back some levity. I pull at one of the decorative antenna on Lucina's headband, causing her to flush and glower at me.

Lissa sits up in her chair and points at Owain. "We're lucky we managed to get these costumes together. Chris wanted us to be a bat and a cat. I said that sounds way too close to the spooky stuff of Spirit's Eve!"

I choke. My eyes dart to Owain, his starry-eyed expression just eager to explain. "I took inspiration from the heroes of justice you told me of from your own country's history." He grabs the edges of his cape and pulls them around his face. He stalks around us, appearing over Lucina's shoulder. Lowering his voice, to a raspy gravel, he declares, "I was to be Bruce of House Wayne, the masked vigilante cloaked in the shadow of bats."

Lissa sits up, her hands disappearing in the gauzy folds on her skirts. "I was supposed to be a cat lady." One fist raises into the air and shakes. "I'm not going to be some old biddy up to her knees in kittens."

Owain breaks character and staggers forward with a whine that sounds very similar to the one his mother had not so long ago. "That was just her disguise! She was young and nimble! No one could catch the most famous thief in history!"

"Bumblebees are cuter, Chris. We'll go as bat maniac and cat crone later for the holidays," Lissa argues with him.

Owain, you precious soul! I am so proud of you! Only you have appreciated and embraced the treasures of my home world with such gusto. It almost brings a tear to my eye.

"You know Bruce's page is named Robin, right?" I say under my breath to Lucina, causing her face to shrivel up in disappointment with me. "I would have gone with it."

"Please don't encourage this," Lucina's whisper is a frantic one as she pulls on my sleeve. "He mentioned something to me about dressing up as a woman clothed only in..." She shutters at the great scandal of her thoughts, "...flowers."

I withhold the urge to tell her about a certain jester like character knowing it wouldn't earn me any extra favor with her. "I wouldn't worry about it. Lon'qu is more likely to get wrangled up in any similar shenanigans than you are. Speaking of," I say, voicing a question that has been nagging me, "where is Lon'qu? I thought I would see him tonight."

Lissa's face sours, but she buries it under her usual sunny disposition. "I'm allowed one guest. Having two on my arm would look bad. We agreed that Chris and Marth were far more important to introduce tonight."

Owain and Lucina share a pained look. The latter avoids Lissa's gaze, her voice faltering. "That was not something that you needed to do. The act may garner more negativity than positive from such a declaration," Lucina says.

Lissa reaches out and links each arm through the kids to draw them in closer. She looks up at each one with a determined grin. "Yes, we did. You're family too. The nobility need to just accept it. You're here to stay whether they like it or not. Besides, Lon'qu will serve better outside if we actually have to...you know..."

"Maybe," I start. "He is a versatile- "

"Also, I think we need some time apart," Lissa blurts out loud, growing red in the cheeks.

"What?" Owain and I both startle in unison.

Lissa drops her arms and walks away with her back to us. She approaches the windows and looks out into the courtyard beyond. "We're always together. I get he's my bodyguard and all, but I need a bit of space. He's always hovering about," she explains, as if trying to convince herself of something. "Sometimes a girl just wants her privacy when she talks with friends. He doesn't need to know everything I think."

Owain takes a step forward, reaching partly out to her. "Surely he will resume his duties when this is over?"

Lissa's chin falls to her chest. Her shoulders rise and fall limply. "I dunno, maybe. He's gotten real attached to his old friends, and they have him thinking about Regna Ferox again. He's always with Olivia and Gregor now. I think he misses it."

Owain starts to say something, but he chokes up. The sound catches Lissa's attention, her own sad expression much like his own. "Aw, what's with the look, Chris? It's not like your training has to stop. Lon'qu is still a Shepherd, for now. He'll be around. Besides, I think he likes it when you two practice together. He looks more at peace with you then whenever he's with me."

Owain's eyes dart over to Lucina, a slight tremble in his voice. "But...but that's not right."

"What isn't?" Lissa asks.

Lucina rushes up behind Owain, placing a hand on his back while taking his hand with her free one. She gives it a squeeze, a silent plea for him to settle down. He closes his mouth and looks away allowing for her to speak on his behalf. "I believe Chris's inner romantic is coming out again. Given your infatuation with Lon'qu, I think Chris was hoping you'd find happiness in the fairy tale style partnership you have."

"I am! I mean, I was." Lissa bites down on her lip, reminiscing over memories. "Maribelle is right about some things. I mean, to start with, he's not easy to talk to. I do most of it. One-sided conversations are so hard to deal with. Additionally, what is there to talk about? The only thing I know he likes are swords!" Her rant starts to build steam, a fire building in her belly. "Plus, he's still got this aversion to physical contact. That's...really hard for me. I like hugs and holding hands and stuff. Iiiiiif anything happened, what are we going to do? Stare longingly into each other's eyes, unable to do anything." Lissa pushes her mask off her face and wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. "Maybe Maribelle's right and I shouldn't waste my time... pining away. I'm gonna get married someday and live a life of adventure and love!" She blinks rapidly, her voice now growing calm. "That's...not what Lon'qu is about."

And cue the panic. Lissa almost falls over as Owain and I pounce on her. "Is Maribelle a good source for love advice?" I say. "First off, she's trying to court a man over a decade older than her. That's a bigger gap than Lon'qu and yourself. Secondly, Virion has a love of drama, passionate romancing, and controlled debauchery. Does that sound like a fit for her?"

"And what is this about you lacking similar interests? There's so many! You both like apple pie," Owain interjects. He racks his brain for more examples, struggling in his anxiety. "And- and sunny days!"

Lissa stares down at her hands as she continues to turn her mask over from front to back. "Why don't we just say I'll think about it and focus on the the more important stuff right now?" Her voice cracks at the very end, and her eyes start to water once more. Suppressing a hiccup, Lissa excuses herself.

"I'll go check on her," Lucina volunteers, leaving us behind.

I gawk, speechless at Lissa's retreat. When in the hells did this happen? This can't be a problem, can it? I mean, this is something they'll get over, yeah?

…...

I... I just don't think I can handle anything else going wrong right now.

"I'm sure it will be fine, Owain," I tell the young man, though I sound more like I'm trying to convince myself.

"Perhaps." Owain hugs his arms tight to his chest. The look he wears is alien to his usual demeanor. That larger-than-life persona is gone, leaving behind nothing but the troubled orphan Owain has been doing his best to hide. "Perhaps not. Things do not appear to be going as planned. I'm growing concerned."

"Why would you be?" I ask, wary of what I say from now on.

"There are many things going different from the history we know. Most are good, such as my Aunt Emmeryn surviving. This war is not going at all as we know, though. Most important is the direct ties to our own existence!" Owain admits. "My parents are not the only ones to be exhibiting problems. I have deep concerns for Lucina, as well as my uncle and other aunt."

My face goes blank.

F.U.C.K.

Owain turns to the crowd. He finds where both Emmeryn and Ginette stand, talking together beside Frederick while the hungry nobles circle around them for a sliver of recognition to snatch up. Owain frowns. "I did not know her. Queen Ginette passed before my birth. I know her by name only. My own mother spoke of her. But, of what I've seen, Uncle Chrom has no ties at all with her. She is not even the mayor of Southtown!" He shutters, eyes squinting in fear. "Lucina's very existence could be in peril."

Oh hells, oh hells, oh hells, oh hells...

It's a struggle to keep my voice in control. I clear my throat several times before finding the strength to speak. "This timeline has only just begun, Owain. We'll figure it out."

"Will we?" someone questions behind us. Nah steps out from behind the support column that hides her. She taps her left ear, causing it to twitch. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help but listen in to your conversation."

"Nah," Owain trails off in regret, but she just shakes her head.

"Owain, you're right. Nothing is happening like our parents explained to us. This war is not progressing in the same set of battles we know. Both of Regna Ferox's Khans should be here. None of our parents are courting each other." Nah takes a big breath and thrusts a finger in the direction that Emmeryn stands. "She is still alive."

Owain flinches, dropping is face even lower to hide it. I place a hand on his shoulder, only to feel the small shudders in his body.

Nah circles around the column, her gloved fingers dipping in and out of the grooves carved over the surface. Her costume, a long, green dress of vines and flowers like that of a wood sprite, flows along the ground behind her. The flowers stitched into the material still carry a hint of the mountain wilds, the natural perfume a relief to the scent of spilled wine and human body heat around us. She pulls down the hood of her cloak, the leaves on it shimmering as the green threads catch the light of a nearby sconce.

"We came to the past with a path set before us. All we had to do was follow events to a point, investigating when Grima was supposed to get resurrected." She looks over her shoulder to the ballroom floor, her bitter remark ringing in my ears. "Lucina didn't talk to us about altering history like this."

"We saved my aunt," Owain reminds her, what little strength he has pushing up in resistance to her frustrations.

Nah's body stiffens. She drops her hands, burying both deep into the outer pockets sewn into the cloak. Her hair forms a verdant curtain of braided daisies around her face. "That is...wonderful, Owain. I am glad we did it, but there are so many questions I have. We interrupted the events of a whole timeline. You heard what Laurent warned us of. All our actions have consequences. What if we erased ourselves from history? You see it for yourself! Lucina's parents aren't even acquainted. Yours are drifting apart." Nah falls deeper into the folds of her cloak, her outer lip pouting out. "My own mother thinks she's in love with that childish thief! All because he sneaks her candy."

"Nowi likes Gaius?" I blurt out loud, earning a scowl from the manakete. "If it's not him, who is it supposed to be?"

"It doesn't matter," she grumbles, folding her arms over her chest and turning her back to me.

"It's Lord Ricken," Owain blurts out.

Nah wheels around and stamps her heel hard into the ground. "Owain!"

Well, I guess that's that. I mean, I shouldn't be surprised. Despite her age, Nowi tends to seek companionship with the younger Shepherds, Gregor being the only exception. With Ricken's burgeoning crush on her, I suppose it is only natural they would have eventually wound up together. Hoping to ease her fears, I relay as much to the younger girl. "Nah, if it makes you feel better, your father already likes your mother. He's just too scared to say anything."

Nah continues to pout, glaring at me from the corner of her eyes. "How would you know?" she squints in defiance at me.

I can't help smirking at her, earning a deep glower that causes the dragon fire in her eyes to flair. Her face crinkles in confusion as I gently turn her by the shoulders and point over to Nowi's fawning admirers. "Why not watch him and see?"

Nowi, dressed exactly as Nah down to the last petal, continues to remain oblivious to the sulking shadow of a boy watching her from behind a column nearby. The circle around Nowi is wound tightly, so when a couple finally leaves, Ricken startles. He leaps from the dark and fixes the bear cloak over his shoulder before puffing out his chest. He makes two strides forward before a taller man wearing the sash of the clergy cuts in front of him. The priest fills the gap and closes it from Ricken, causing the boy to gape in shock.

"Oh gods, that is so pathetic," she cringes, burying her face in her hands. "I will never understand how they got together."

Owain joins us at Nah's other side. He places a hand on her head and ruffles her hair about, drawing up loose bits from the braids coiled up around her head. "See Nah, there's hope yet."

"Please don't touch me," she complains, knocking away his hand so she can pat down her hair.

"A hero such as I should not doubt in our path. We shall be fine. We've trusted my cousin this far, and look where we are! We're saving our future! Things will work out." His smile falters. "They have to."

"They will," I reaffirm, drawing both their gazes. "I promise I'll do whatever it takes to make your future a better one."

"Thank you, Robin," Owain says, wiping at the corner of one eye.

Unlike her companion, Nah does not appear as inspired. She watches her future parents a moment longer, before saying, "May I ask something, Robin?" She doesn't even wait for my response, her eyes turning on me. "Why did Lucina break our disguise just for you? Why are you the sole adult to know who we are when any of our parents would have been better?"

My throat catches. I feel a fever-like panic begin to settle in, making the large hall seem infinitely smaller. My brain races with a dozen thoughts, unable to pick just one even as my mouth hangs open in an answer of silence.

Footsteps approach from behind me. Lucina's voice calls out in sudden confusion. "Nah? Where have you been? I thought you to be with your mother?"

Nah watches as Lucina comes to stand beside me. The girl stands nearly shoulder to shoulder with me, the air of comfort and familiarity Lucina carries evident. I catch the way Nah's eyes narrow just enough at the sight. Her ears twitch briefly, and she plasters on a smile. "Oh, hello. Lucina. I just came over to ask Owain to help me with something."

Owain looks down at her, poking a finger to the center of his chest. "Whatever for? You never -"

Nah grabs him by the collar of his cape and drags him around toward the opposite direction. "Never mind that. We're going to find my father." Owain's sputtering protests disappear into the crowd as Nah stalks off, but not without glancing one more time over her shoulder at us. I suppress the uneasy feeling in my stomach.

"That was," Lucina pauses in thought before concluding, "very strange."

"I think everyone is out of sorts tonight. Anyway, how is Lissa?" I say in haste to change the subject.

Lucina folds one arm over the other, frowning. "She is staring blankly out a window in the corner of the ballroom."

"Oh."

Lucina's mask overshadows her face as she lowers it, her voice barely audible that I have to strain to hear her. "In all my time with her, I never thought she had doubts about her relationship with my uncle. They always seemed so close. By Naga's greatest of miracles they ended up together, but their love was profound. I would never have guessed..."

Her shoulders draw in, pulling her cape around her like a protective shell. "Do you believe it an effect of our intervention? That we've been changing fate again?" Lucina's voice cracks under pressure. "Owain, if he- He cannot dis-..."

"I- I don't-" I trail off, unsure what to save further. I stand there, helpless to offer an answer. My fingers twitch against the empty air as if hoping to grasp some source of comfort from divine providence.

Nothing comes.

Lucina lets in a sudden, deep breath. She straightens her back and shoulders shaking off the metaphorical weight upon her. "I cannot worry about this right now. There is too much at stake. Tonight we have a mission to fulfill. One we are no more close to completing than when we began."

I want to say I'm proud of her. That I can pat her on the back and congratulate her for holding her chin high. Compliment that soul of steel that keeps her moving through every doubt and setback. But...Why does it feel like she's throwing away her last shreds of humanity each time she does so?

I turn away, threading a hand through my hair. I hope she didn't catch that look of concern. It takes everything to force my words out. "It makes no sense. Thibault escorts us to an unfortified room with access to several exits and an open layout that would alert us to any incoming danger. If he was seeking maxeimum damages in his ruse, this would not be the ideal way to go about it."

"I think it odd that he finds it appropriate to dine with the captain of his keep," she says.

Now I can't help but face her. "What?" I exclaim to loudly for my liking.

A few eyes turn to us, but drift away when they realize there's no drama to partake in. Then, Lucina explains. "The man behind all of tonight's operations is not in his quarters overseeing security measures. Instead, he mingles with the aristocracy. I had the distinct displeasure of running into him earlier."

I make a sound in the back of throat and roll my eyes. "Sound to me like Thibault is disgustingly overconfident in his success tonight. Whatever that is."

"Have you been watching the movement of the guards?" Lucina says to me.

I dip my head toward the space between a support pillar and wall. There are less people here than in the center, and they all have their backs to us. I withdraw a book from the inner pocket of my coat, aptly titled Archanean Etiquette. In actuality, my map is folded neatly inside. Flipping open to the bookmark, I arrange the paperwork to open as best I can while remaining hidden.

There's something immensely satisfying about seeing the familiar ink lines bleed across the surface. I missed my old partner. Getting this back in my hands felt like a piece of home came back to me.

Lucina draws up to my side, peering down as if I were showing her a passage in the book's pages. The blueprints currently cover the first floor plans. I point out to the ballroom we inhabit, a dizzying array of blue specks. In its ocean blue, ominous red warns us of the traitors in our midst.

I outline the halls around and trace it back to the main hall. The few lone sentinels roaming the keep passages from before move with even less energy than I remember. Two have stopped completely, no doubt lounging away in the crooks they found.

I explain my earlier observations, and how little they've changed to Lucina. "No one has come any closer," I conclude, frustration tightening my jaw. "There's nothing overly out of the norm. Sully even double checked with those at the doors and all the orders given are continuing as normal."

Lucina squints at the map, her silence heavy with concentration. She draws a finger north of us, over the private wing of the keep. She lets the tip hover over the faint edge of a large room mostly off sight of the paper. "Do you see that there? Flickers of color in the barrack's mess hall. Can you explore that closer?"

"Sure, though it's probably just the few servants I saw working in the kitch- Oh shit." My eyes widen. I draw in a closer view on the map. The formerly empty space is crawling with buzzing spots of red.

"Those are not servants," Lucina states matter-of-factually.

"The hells..." my voice utters in surprise. That was not like than a half hour ago! "That's the first real development all night."

"We need to investigate this at once," Lucina says, eyeing the hall doors with body poised to spring into action. Before she can make a bold move, I put a hand on her shoulder and pull her back.

"I will investigate," I say, with extra emphasis on it being myself. Alone. "I've been ostracizing myself on purpose for such a reason. Ambassador Freya is already an unknown name, and just as forgettable a presence. If anyone can sneak away for an hour without being sought after, it's the disagreeable, uncultured nobody from foreign lands."

She looks me up from head to toe, a single eyebrow raising over the edge of her mask. "Dare I ask?" Lucina exasperates.

I answer her with a smug grin, earning a hefty sigh. I fold the map back up and snap the book shut, tucking it snugly away into my coat. I look about the hall, but there's not a clear time piece to observe, even a candle, to show how long we've been here. "I think we still have time until the Count's 'big surprise,' as Xian'li quoted. Thibault is having dinner served in some trendy new fashion of forgoing a sit down meal for finger foods. This will make disappearing even easier with everyone dancing and socializing about the floor."

I rest the back of each hand on the matching hip and sigh. Looking about the crowd, I can't help but envy the crowd's ability to celebrate. They're utterly oblivious to how close they may come to their own demise tonight. Just once, I would like to let go and enjoy a carefree evening like this. "General Eldaran can't take action properly if we can't get him and the troops outside these walls this news. Storming that main hall will just set up a slaughter if it's packed full of Plegians." My eyes squeeze shut. "If this is the start of Thibault's plan, then I need to go forward with the investigation."

A light touch to my arm forces me to open my gaze. What I can see of Lucina's face is grim. "I would go with you if I could."

"I know." I shrug off her hand, trying to avoid anyone catching such an intimate gesture between what would otherwise be two total strangers. It fills me with guilt, but by forcing myself to take a step back, it makes my departure only a bit more easy. Even though we remain in the same building together, I feel like I'm taking another month long journey.

"Robin, I- " Lucina's voice catches. Our eyes lock and my breath suspends in anticipation of what she might say. The moments pass. She bites down on the corner of one lip, fighting a myriad of thoughts that flash over her expression like a kaleidoscope. Slowly, she exhales. She withdraws into herself and draws both hands to a tightly clasped embrace over her stomach. The length of her cloak swallows her up, making her appear as thin as a willow branch. "...Be careful," she utters plainly, avoiding eye contact any further.

I can't even muster a bit of snark to lighten the mood. All I can do is nod and step back into the crowd, letting the rush of colors wash her away as the current of festivities push me along. I pass almost unseen through the bodies around me. Apart from a few curious glances and one member of the cartography guild making small talk, I remain unhindered in my pursuit of tonight's key players. I find the keep's steward first. Xian'li is the center of attention in a small trio of noble women dressed in a borderline scandalous take of the three famous pegasus sisters of Marth's era. One would think pants were outlawed the way these people interpret the costumes of their heroes of lore. No pegasus rider in her right mind would go into battle without some form of clothing protecting her shins and thighs. The chaffing from that saddle would be horrendous!

It doesn't take long to make myself obvious to the man. He catches sight of me right away and excuses himself from the group. The colorful wings of Xian'li bounce closer, approaching with a vigor in his step that causes the loose ends of his sash and sleeves to trail behind him. His costume only conceals the upper portion of his face, revealing the splotches of red all over his skin from the constant state of activity he has endured tonight.

"Ambassador, there you are! You have been difficult to pinpoint tonight. Your reputation proceeds you. Though most seem to know your name, none care to direct me toward where you disappear to," he exclaims with a glance around the room, followed by very knowing smiling.

I steeple my finger together and chuckle darkly, my voice a mocking hiss of dastardly pleasure. "All according to plan." This causes the man to let out a breathy chuckle. Loathe as I am to do away with the playful banter, I'm forced to move right into the seriousness of the situation. The glow of humor fades between us, leaving whispers to be shared in its length. "Xian'li, I hate to get straight to business, but I have to ask. Have you learned of anything new since we parted ways last night? I know we haven't had a chance to properly talk today," I murmur between us.

"As a matter of fact, it has. It is why I have keeping an eye out for you. The prince knows, but you should as well." Xian'li's visage remains passive. His voice however, is far from such. "The Count requested a changing of all guards along the entrances to those of his personal entourage. He has never altered my plans without telling me," he whispers back. "More importantly, he relieved me of my total duties tonight."

"You're no longer in control of the festivities?" I close my eyes and bite back a groan. Xian'li was supposed to be our eyes and ears in this party. Everyone and everything, from servants to food, would have passed by his approval. If there were any strange happenings, anything out of place, he would have been the first to know.

Xian'li sounds even more disturbed than I. "Everything proceeded as normal up through last night. I had even walked the kitchen with the head chef to ensure our feast was prepped for the next day's affairs. However, that changed this morning during the breakfast hour. Count Thibault kindly informed me that I was to be relieved of any stress in the name of the holiday and enjoy myself. The captain of the guard was to take control of security from here out, as was a new chef to dictate his own menu. Apparently, decorating the hall and sending the invitations was enough work for me."

"And the staff?" I ask him, watching the figures darting around us with new suspicion. Now, unlike before, I find myself watching the waistlines of their belts for hidden weaponry.

"A chamberlain I have never seen before is dictating orders. He has made changes to staffing and scheduling all over the keep," Xian'li answers me. "The Count has oft proclaimed I rest my brow on ordained celebrations as this, though he never persisted if I refused. This is the first time he has ordered me to step down for the evening. All I was expected to do is greet the guests and entertain them." A frown set on his face, causing his throat to constrict. He grows quiet.

"You don't think Thibault is suspicious of our plan, do you? That he intentionally took you off because he knows you're working against him?" I watch Xian'li glaze over, his continued silence causing me concern. "Xian'li?"

"I'm sorry. I just keep being reminded that I am now performing the role his son had." His sight falls to the ground. "Never mind that. As for your question, I don't believe so. If he thought me of betrayal, I doubt I would be standing alive here this moment."

I'm aware that Xian'li has always spoken of the Count with fondness. Even in the worst conversations, there was concern and fear for Thibault. There is a history buried deep here I'm not privy to. It's terrifying to know that someone is going to be hurting at the end of this night. What Thibault has done is all his own doing, but the ramifications of it will destroy more than just his reputation. It's those like Xian'li, victims in this war, who my heart grieves most for.

I bite the corner of my lip, the heel of my boot twisting against the floor in agitation. "I just discovered something myself. There's a large congregation of guards at the mess hall. Is this a usual dining time for your people?"

Xian'li shakes his head, causing his mask to slip further down his face. "No. In fact, I would have forbidden it. The push of food to support two large rooms full of hungering bodies would be stressful on the staff. Besides that point, the Count is very strict in keeping discipline among his guard. They all eat at his designated time periods. He would never waver."

"Tell that to guards around here," I grumble, remembering the one guard from earlier shoveling a whole tray of bites in maw.

Xian'li picks at the edge of his glove, pulling down and readjusting the fabric in repetitive motions. "I do not understand why he has relaxeed his standards, especially if there is something afoot. If anything, the Count would be even more vigilant. His pride would not allow such a slipshod execution as this."

"I need to get this information to the prince and investigate. Preferably with my fellow ambassador. Where can I find them?" I say.

"Where they have been all night long." Xian'li turns just enough to point over his shoulder, the broad spans of his sleeve fluttering lightly over the air as if a curtain has been pulled aside. "Beside the Count."

My sight drifts toward the front of the hall where the largest crowd, outside of Emmeryn's, is gathered. No doubt the host in question is there. But looking now, I can't help but see a very interesting divide in people gathered. Almost two-thirds of them are women, fashionable young ones at that. They huddle together strategically in one specific area, their backs pressed against those of the mixture of men and women double their age on the opposite end. I suck in air between my teeth, wincing at the thought of all that fawning adoration.

"If there is someone who could sense a disturbance tonight, I'm sure Count Thibault believes the prince would uncover it. He has done everything he can to keep both the Exalt and her brother busy with an endless stream of dignitaries and courtiers to mingle with," Xian'li continues on.

"A smart man," I mutter. I press a hand to myself, adjusting my register to imitate my disguised persona. "How hard will it be, dear steward, to arrange a meeting between Count Thibault and the Eastern Feroxi ambassador?"

"That," he answers, rueful and tired, "is the only thing I have power over tonight."

He beckons me to follow. We fight our way through the crowd, nobles continuing to spot the white marble floor with wild splotches of colorful costumes and spilled beverages. I try not to focus in on any conversation I pass by. Every bat of an eye or play on witty banter makes me want to analyze whether it is genuine gossip or a thinly veiled threat.

With the group now in sight, my companion pauses ahead and turns to me. "To keep appearances, indulge the nobility in a bit of small talk before you attempt to pull the prince away. The Court follows strict protocol. You will appear less suspicious in Count Thibault's eyes if you follow the traditions, no matter how irreverent and impractical it may seem to a Feroxi."

I click my tongue and scowl. "Easy for you to say."

A flicker of amusement passes over his face before he draws on a new facade, the same one most of the attendees wear. A welcoming smile and a voice oozing with false promises of interest. Xian'li hails the circle, allowing it to part at the command of someone from inside. I follow him into eye of the storm. Old and young faces stand with Thibault trying to play best entertainer. Some choose to flirt while others jeer. Conversations play nice or run cold. Gossip flows as freely as the wine that continues to pour into every hand here. This game plays all hours of the Court. A consistent struggle for dominance in a society built upon a hierarchy of power. Information is just as valuable as the money in one's vault. Anyone can buy their way into the upper-class, but the smartest control total power with a healthy net of favors and deceit in their back pocket. Or, so I've come to understand in my time among them. I can see just from first impressions that the Count is part of the latter.

Thibault is a surprisingly unassuming man. No aspect of his features belies greatness or beauty. Conversely, he is not ugly or displeasing to the eye. All in all, Thibault is a fairly average man. There is a hint of shared family resemblance with Sully, now that I stand this close. As I observed before, the fire red hair of her family line runs strongly between the layers fading with age. His is groomed well, his mustache and slicked back hair expertly cut and crafted into place. More than anything, they share the same nose and brown eyes. Aside from that, Thibault is far from anything like Sully. Perhaps it's because my job deals with details, but I can see a like mind in the way Thibault acts.

See, while the group remains ever animated in their conversations, Thibault rarely speaks more than he needs to. He watches. Listens. His face is a placid lake, undisturbed by the storm of words surging around him. Occasionally, his thin upper lip rises to reveal a row of teeth in a smile of acknowledgment, but it fades fast. The truth of his mind is seen in his eyes. They dart about like snakes, hiding in the low bush of his eyebrows. While engaged within a conversation, his pupils never focus on one individual. Partway through, they skip to another bit of interest, one after another. I can practically see them dilate, whatever tidbit of information he hears slowly absorbing deep into their depths. His mind is always working, moving pieces together where they benefit him most.

Thibault is a natural schemer.

The only moment his facade breaks is the moment his attention settles on Xian'li. Something akin to real emotion ignites in the older man. He reaches out with open arms and steps forward, startling the figures on both his sides. The curled edges of his mustache follow the same twist of his lips in greeting. "Ah, Xian'li. You have disappeared for some time. I was beginning to wonder who might have swept you away."

"I was just performing my duties as a good host should. I believe I have been neglectful in associating you with all our prestigious guests tonight. I sought to rectify that." Xian'li bows in courtesy to the Count, no hint of his impending betrayal apparent on his face. He steps to the side to present me to Thibault. "With great esteem, it would be my honor to announce the arrival of Ambassador Freya of Starfall, envoy of the reigning East Khan."

"Count Thibault. I apologize for the late introduction. Before I could join my fellow envoy, the Exalt had called upon me." The skin of my cheeks practically cracks under the forced smile of greeting I offer. I'm quick to bow, grateful to turn my face downward as the illusion shatters into disgust. A gnawing, curling sensation builds in my stomach that churns up a loathsome taste on my tongue. It reminds me of something, memories most foul. Mine? Robin's? I don't know. But the longer I parade around like a dressed up doll, forced to play a role that isn't me, the worse this feeling gets. "I think it's only proper I offer my gratitude for hosting this event tonight."

It's unsurprising Thibault hides under the guise of a fox. Even in this world, there is a shared notion that the animal is associated with trickery and sly wit. The ivory of his mask his dabbed a rust-red hue, silver paint working out the defining lines of the fox's snout, slanted eyes, and protruding ears. His eyes search me up and down, his composure as passive as the airs he speaks with. "Lady Freya. The pleasure is certainly mine." He steps forward and offers out a hand in greeting, the silken russet gloves matching similar stitching I saw in Xian'li's workshop. I extend my own palm and rest it lightly on the top of his, recalling the numerous practices in etiquette Maribelle and Frederick forced on me. Being strangers, there is no kiss to be had as medieval fiction likes to portray in my world. The older crowd of Ylisse's nobility practice more chaste affairs, and a welcoming reception to any unmarried woman has the greeter extend the hand to heart level and bow the head. He imitates the routine with smooth perfection, following up with a polite flash of his white teeth. "How has your evening been?"

The pulse in my wrist twitches. I withhold myself from yanking my hand back, letting it instead fall naturally back to my side once he loosens his grasp. "Pleasant enough. You are an accommodating host. Though, might I suggest a tourney or so on future occasions? We find a good battle before we sup to really rouse the spirits."

My suggestion is meant to be playful, and I see a few of the revelers around us nod or chuckle lightly in agreement. For these types of affairs, tourneys are common place. The war has made that otherwise impossible with most houses donating their knights to the battlefield.

One woman cups her palm against the ear of her partner and leans in, whispering. The action does little for her privacy, or perhaps she wanted to be heard, from the smug side-eye she throws. "I hear the Feroxi do love blood as much as their alcohol."

Look, I'm not even really Feroxi and I feel insulted. All the same, I pretend not hear. I can feel little miss Duchess of Themis breathing down my neck. Keep your appearances Robin, stay calm...

I throw a quick search around the group and see nothing of Chrom. Disappointed, I breathe out and continue my game. "It is good to finally meet the man who arranged such an affair for us. The East Khan and I have been looking forward to associating with the powers that fund our joint war."

Thibault opens an arm over the crowd around us, the staff he carries in the other hand coming down on the tile with a firm thud. "That you shall. The whole of our nobility has come out to celebrate tonight. As you know, tomorrow the Assembly will meet to discuss the future of this country. There is much to be said to the Exalt. Matters continue whilst her Grace wages her war. The home front cannot be ignored. I am sure you will see first hand how complicated," his mustache twitches up in an effect that is both sneer and smile at the same time, "and efficient our people can be when they wish to be heard."

I nod in approval, earning a pleased hum from the Count. "Khan Flavia often opens her hall's doors in the morning for all to air out their grievances. Though we do so three times a week, it never seems to stem the tide of those who need aid. War cannot change that, only add more to the concerns at hand."

" 'tis true. There never seems to be an end to the needs of others. Even here, these workers who serve my mines are in constant arms for something or another." Thibault moves his staff before him, both hands now resting over the obsidian orb on its end. He looks out the window, wrinkles forming like a spiderweb over his skin. "It seems for every one man truly needing aid, three more show up seeking similar alms. Every man is out for something, though I do not believe you naïve to this fact, dear Ambassador. A man will lie through his teeth should he believe he can take what is desired."

I say nothing. Oh, irony. How you strike true.

"Oh, enough of such talk, Thibault," a woman at his side gushes with a disinterested wave of the hand. She lowers the fan before her, eyes glittering. "Ambassador, you must tell me of your leader in the East. Does she run it run any way similar to the West?"

"I can answer that easily, my Lady," a new voice chimes out.

Bodies part as someone emerges from the back. All eyes draw on the newcomer, a feat that would be hard to ignore. Even having met her before, Olivia's beauty is hard to ignore. She still manages to make even my breath hitch. Garbed in a nautical theme suiting the Khan, Olivia is attired as one of Basilio's favorites. The dress she wears is slim and parted up the sides for ease of movement. The cloth is pure white, hand painted along her back with spots of brown and black in different sizes. The sleeves open out and move with arm movements to imitate flowing through water. Her mask, that of narwhal, is also pure white. The color effect compliments her blush pink hair reminding me of peony. There's little to the mask itself, nothing more than a smooth, domed curvature hiding her upper face. The true point of art is in the horn carved from the base. It isn't long, for safety, but it is plated in gold and grooved in a perfect spiraling pattern.

Thibault gestures her forward, grooming out the underside of his mustache in thought. "Ah, Lady Olivia. What fortuitous timing. Your contemporary just arrived."

Olivia approaches me swiftly, gathering up both my hands and clasping them in her own with familiarity. The warmth in her greeting is so genuine, I almost believe we've been allies for years. "Freya! It has been lonely without you tonight. I am glad to see your face! I haven't seen you since both our Khans parted ways before marching to war."

I squeeze her hands in response, grinning proudly. "I'm sure you have been doing just fine without my presence, Olivia. There is not a soul I've met who has yet to be charmed by you." Leaning in until I know only she can hear, I add, "You and I need to leave."

Olivia acknowledges me with a tilt of her chin. Falling into character, she laughs, patting my chest playfully. "Always with a kind thing to say. You hide your heart well under your armor." I notice from the corner of my eye that many of the men here are enraptured with Olivia's presence, enough to cause one jealous lover to swat her beau in the side. Olivia remains oblivious and turns back to our host. "But to answer your question, Lady Turnpike, both Khans are equal in their temperaments. Khan Flavia is no more soft than my Khan is hard. She is just as well known for the relentless drills she pushes her men to as she is in the charity given to build schools to educate her people's children. She is bringing enlightenment to the frontier, while also cultivating the forgotten scraps of culture the Feroxi once had."

Thank Naga for Olivia, because she answered that far better than I could. "I agree. The opposite can be said of the West. Khan Basilio is known to hold more festivities and carry a greater smile, but he did not win his seat of power on kindness alone," I add to her explanation.

The man beside Lady Turnpike, I'm guessing her husband, drums his fingers over the large girth of his stomach. "Yes, a marauder I heard. Some once even called him a regular sea scalawag. Basilio of the Four Winds, on account of the four captains who sailed with him."

Several guests feign shock, gasping behind their fans. I hear one whimper, "The tales I heard of him are quite gruesome."

Olivia's skin turns three shades darker than her hair, her composure tightening her body into a rigid wire. "Th-that's not- I mean, they're not all true. He is a good, kind man. But, he will fight if he must."

Thibault soaks in her form. It's all so subtle, the way his fingers rub together over the staff and how he leans over her, almost predatory in his stance. "Yes, and fight he did. All the way up the coastline until he burned down the golden gates of Courser's Harbor and took the seat of power himself." It's a general statement, spoken as plain as any fact in history. But the way he phrases it paints a far different picture than the truth behind Basilio's actions. He plays the words against Olivia and I, letting the Ylisseans around him fall farther under the impression of Feroxi barbarism.

"He was stopping the slave trade," Olivia protests, her polite counter not enough to sway those present.

A young man to my left finishes taking a long drink before handing off his wine flute to a passing servant. He wipes away the excess with his sleeve and shows off an eager grin. "The East Khan's methods were just as noteworthy, I heard. Daughter of a famous mercenary that killed her own father for control. My mother served in a regiment on the border and claims there is an old tradition there where warriors bathe in the blood of their victims to empower themselves with the talents of their slain enemies."

Well! Now that the offense is made and the door opened, I can't help but remark. I'm almost gleeful in my rebuttal. "Of course it is! And for the men, she also removes their..." I trail off, pointing down south toward his trousers. The noble take an involuntary step back, clenching his thighs tighter together as I continue. I feel like a storyteller reaching the climaxe of a horror story with the way several eyes widen aghast over my account. "She wears them around her neck to invoke virility, a charm she's made use of. See, Khan Flavia has taken many of her slain enemies' sons and daughters into her household. A right big harem it is. No one, not even I, know the true father of any of her children."

"I-" he stutters out, "I thought the Khan has no heir."

"That's right!" Heads whip around in confusion, staring at their partners before returning to me. I shrug, mocking them with a sharp tug of the lips. "What? I thought we were having a game to see who could come up with the most baseless gossip?"

That ruffles a few feathers. Apparently the nobles don't like getting caught playing games. Sensing discourse, Xian'li shuffles between the parties, arms apart to signal a separation before things devolve further. "Please, I'm sure -"

Thibault thrusts his staff out, the end of it running along Xian'li's chest to halt his advance. He casts a wordless glance at the younger man, causing the steward to bow and step back. "Of course, Ambassador, I was just making an observation to history, nothing more," Thibault says, bowing to Olivia and I in deference. "The Khans have been an integral ally in our fight against the West. I would show nothing but respect for them. I follow the will of the Exalt, just as she follows the will of Naga."

What a blowhard. The sad thing is, he speaks so sincerely that I could never call him out without the other nobles around us looking at me like I'm the bad guy. To them, he speaks nothing but honey and milk. No wonder the other haven't got a word out of the man. He could trap you easily with words and turn it around on you in seconds. A spider's disguise would have been just as appropriate for him tonight.

The woman from earlier, Turnpike, snaps her fan shut, cutting through the tension. She raps it against the side the glass in her other hand and raises it for all to see. She clears her throat and announces loudly, "Are these imports, Thibault? I don't remember ordering any of this for our reserves tonight. The bottles presented to me earlier are foreign."

Murmurs of agreement flutter around us as various other nobles appraise the Count's tastes and share their awe over the wine. Thibault basks in the pandering a few moments more before answering. "It is one of the finest vintages created, straight from fruit nurtured in the valley of Leur."

"Fraise Rouge, correct?" Everyone looks over to Olivia, causing her to shrink back slightly. She pulls several times over one of the few loose braids she has hanging over her shoulder. "I saw them as well, earlier on. That is produced only in the duchy Lebonne, if I remember right."

"Yes, though it has since been annexed to Valm," Thibault says, eyeing her with new interest.

Lady Turnpike's husband slaps the back of his hand against Thibault's arm, leaning in until they are shoulder to shoulder. "A shame we haven't been able to import anymore shipments since the war in Valm started. How in the world did you get such a store for tonight, Thibault?"

"I have my connections," Thibault answers. When the other man moves away, the Count reaches into his coat and pulls out a handkerchief. He uses it to wipe off his sleeve, now full of crumbs left over from the prior contact. He side-eyes Olivia, showing much more attention this time when speaking to her. "I must say I am pleasantly surprised, Ambassador. I did not take you as a connoisseur of such delights. I would not think that one of such a delicate disposition as yourself has partaken in such activities to gather such familiarity."

"Khan Basilio is well known for his love of hosting grand events. We often order from all over the known world." Olivia startles, hastily brushing back loose strands a hair while averting her gaze. "Not that I drink in excess! Oh no! On the contrary, I'm simply run the orders for him."

"You have a sharp mind then, to remember such," Thibault says.

Coming to my fellow envoy's aid, I muster up all the praise about her I can remember from Eldaran and Phila's reports. "Khan Basilio has spoken highly of Olivia's talents. She is often at his side. When the Shepherds found victory at the Khans' great duel earlier this year, it was her efforts that brought the victory feast together. She is both a master administrator, and an unprecedented negotiator."

"The Western Khan was right to leave such negotiations in the hands of a charming individual as this." Thibault holds a hand out to Xian'li and crooks his fingers in invitation, causing him to step forward.

"You would get along splendidly with my Xian'li here. He has quite the knack for such matters."

"My Lord, I..." Xian'li trails off, his eyes widening at the look of pure fondness Thibault offers him. This causes the Chon'sin to look away in haste, his feelings muddling between duty to his employer and his family. "I would love to speak with you, Ambassador. I feel there is much we could learn from each other."

A harsh bark of laughter interrupts the scene. Behind us, an armored man leans against the wall. He picks through the front of his teeth with an animal bone before flicking the piece to the floor between us. He pushes it away with his foot, each stomp of his boot loud and obnoxious. His cape bears the Count's crest, and his fittings are the same as those worn by other Ylissean officers. However, no part of him strikes me as carrying the same disciplined training I've come to see in those drilled on these lands. He is openly mocking of the crowd, staring down the bridge of his nose at the Count and his steward before swaggering over to Olivia. He bends down until their heights match, taking in her image before throwing a look over his shoulder. "I don't think this one's skills are suited for you, Xian'li. I've heard about the charming ambassador the West Khan uses. I think her skills of negotiation wouldn't suit your," he looks over his shoulder at Xian'li with an ugly smirk, "tastes, if you catch my meaning."

"W-what?" Xian'li gapes at the clear offense, as does Olivia. The crowd bristles over the jab, holding their breaths in anticipation of what could happen next. As if I plan to let anything happen that could wet their appetite.

I take a bold step forward, holding the guard's gaze in challenge. My words aren't for him, however. "Count Thibault. I think the captain of your guard needs to work on his social skills more than your steward."

"Captain." Thibault's voice booms with iron and steel. The remark wasn't meant to incite him, but it's been made clear to me how deeply the man respects Xian'li. An offense to his steward is a direct offense to the count. Thibault catches the material of the guard's sleeve. His fist clenches tight enough to pull at the seams along the doublet. The rounded end of his staff strikes into the center of the other man's abdomen, pressing hard. "Why don't you find another drink? I think your mouth will find best use there than in conversation here."

The guard slips backward, surprised at the power Thibault has in one arm to throw him back. The Count squares back his shoulders and stands tall before his circle. A vein in his neck twitches. "That is a veiled means of stating that you are dismissed, Captain."

Glaring with contempt, the captain pulls down the front of his clothes with a jerk. He flushes out his cape and swings about on his heels, boots stomping with excess over the tiles. An unfortunate servant crosses paths with him and takes the full brunt of his retreat, spilling finger foods everywhere.

"Lord Thibault?" Xian'li calls out.

Thibault looks over his shoulder at the silent crowd, all processing the fierce confrontation. His nose twinges, causing his mustache to go crooked. Thibault sniffs, regaining his airs. "Apologies, my friends. The man I hired for my keep's security has turned out to be a rather crass individual. I will be replacing him once these affairs end. I do not see his tenure here lasting long, given our..." His scowl deepens, "...differences."

Lord Turnpike takes a swig of liquid courage and ventures to break the silence. "I must say, your whole staff seems to be made of different faces lately, Thibault. I rather enjoyed see old Haster at the gate every visit," Lord Turnpike says.

Thibault doesn't miss a beat in responding. "All on the field, I'm afraid. The Exalt's war is a just one and, like you Rubert, it requires my finest personnel." Staying on the topic, yet diverting attention from himself, I find myself the subject Thibault needs. "Speaking of different faces, Ambassador Freya, you are a late arrival to our Court. I expected the Khan to appear herself, given she personally responded to the invitation. Why the last minute change?"

In truth, Flavia's envoy is sitting pretty in one of the guest wings right now enjoying the time off as I masquerade in her place. While that is the biggest lie I carry, the rest of what I say is truth. "With Ylisse's Exalt attending and the West Khan still on the seas, it was only fair one of the Alliance leaders remained behind to head our troops. After all, you would not take a coachman from his seat and let the horses lead themselves blindly, would you?"

"An appropriate example. A shame though." He tilts his head, drawling out with curiosity, "Where is the East Khan, then?"

Olivia is about to respond, but I'm quick to override her with another lie. I get the feeling he's fishing for information. Something to bring to his Plegian cohorts after this? "In Tihark, the tradepost of Plegia's central farming belt. She prefers to remain close to the front lines, and our heaviest focus in on claiming Plegia's food production. Her Grace has left the East Khan to assume all acting decisions on behalf of the army in our absence." Flavia is actually farther north marching toward a whole other plain for encampment, not that he needs to know that. Word of that maneuver won't reach Ylisse for another week, so my lie is safe.

"Is that not a risk to make, leaving our people in her hands?" Thibault feigns a cough, expressing apology to Olivia and I while soaking in the reaction of the crowd. "Excuse me, I believe that came out wrong. What I mean is that I am surprised the Exalt chose to do so as, well, one can only worry what the other nobility may think. It would not sit well with them to know their vassals remain in the hands of a foreign power, allied as she may be."

"Indeed," Lady Turnpike harrumphs, fanning herself extra hard.

"Quite right, m'dear," her husband echoes, one of many shared sentiments that the group parrots off of Thibault. Despite being very low on the chain, he has his fellow courtiers continuing to eat out of his hand.

To help assuage the wounds he's making to Emmeryn's reputation, I point out the whole of the truth, reminding them Flavia isn't "sole" decision maker. "As I have come to understand, before we left, your Exalt has also left the leader of her aerial corps in charge on her behalf. A knight by the name Phila?"

Lord Turnpike perks up. She is apparently known to him as he raises his glass at her mention. "Yes, Warren's eldest." He take a sip and holds it higher. "And brightest. She carries on her father's legacy."

"Yes!" An elderly reveler to the right adds. "A rare story theirs. Not often do we see commoners elevated to such a state of nobility."

"Naga provides to the faithful." The woman besides him states, raising a hand to the heavens in reverence to their protector. "I never knew a family more loyal than her parents. Properly devout and fierce defenders of our goddess. The church should have made martyrs of them for their services against Plegia."

Lady Turnpike pats Olivia on the arm in sympathy, turning up her nose in disgust at the name of our neighboring county. "Rapscallions, all of them. To think they even dared attack you at the same time as us. They must be truly mad."

"They do say the king has lost his wit. It only makes sense. The power is held equally by both their church and their king. They probably poisoned the man and used him as a puppet whilst they take all the power for themselves," her husband adds, equal in his distaste of the nation.

"What else can you expect when your nation chooses to follow false gods?" Thibault pauses, mulling over his statement and adds, "Though I mean that in no offense, dear ambassadors. I am aware you hold your ancestors in high esteem. My ire is reserved for Plegia's heresies alone. Regna Ferox at least acknowledges Naga's divinity and has chosen to amend their ways to include her blessings."

Olivia just smiles and looks away in appeasement. I respond differently, taking from this conversation that Thibault is a man who enjoys those that push against him. "None taken! We can't all be blessed as the chosen ones," I say, playing with the words in just the way he likes to. "That would be unfair to world as whole."

"Your candor is unexpected, Ambassador." He muses, regarding me with a hint of approval not previously seen. "I don't believe we hear such challenges made in public as often as it needs to be made."

I feign ignorance, playing up my surprise. "You almost sound as if you approve of my opinion."

"Let us say my experiences over the years along the border have made me see things those protected on the interior do not often have exposure to."

I have to wonder. Based on that comment, is he...maybe sympathizing with Plegia? Does he disapprove of how the Ylissean populace treat their neighbors? I could only guess that, given how close his borders are to the country, that maybe he's had dealing with them. Perhaps a sort of sympathy was built. Not all people approved of the conscription methods the last Exalt used on the populace to fuel his sudden war. He didn't just affect the commoners. Manpower and resources were forcibly taken from the nobility to fund the soldiers. Who knows how badly that could have impacted Thibault's small domain. Counts are among the lowest on the hierarchy of hereditary nobility here. He would have gotten the shortest end of the stick when it came to funding. Or, maybe it goes deeper than that. Who knows? Only the man himself.

"Perhaps you and I should talk further tonight. Both of you. I dare say, you have wits about you I don't encounter often among your people. I think I would like to learn more of your culture. The night is short and we have so few hours to share. Learning more of Regna Ferox would only help me further in my future ties, whatever path this war may take us down," Thibault says.

"There is always tomorrow, Count," I respond, unable to refrain from commenting on the irony.

"Indeed." He betrays no reaction to the statement, assuming mine totally innocent. We've been playing with words unbeknownst to him this whole time. It hasn't given me much, but there's something to ponder on.

Out of the back, one of his servants come up. Thibault steps back and lets her whisper something in his ear. Finished with the message, she scuddles away and allows him to return, though not for long. "You'll have to excuse me. It seems I am being hailed by a member of the Ylisstol's mage college. The job of a host never ends," he chortles. A series of disappointed remarks follows, fueling his ego. He waves them off, oh so humble in his words. "Now, now. There is no need to be so glum, my friends. I will be here all evening, and many after. There will be plenty of time to share stories going forward with our gathering."

Most of the figures wander off after the dismissal, a few close friends lingering for a longer farewell. Olivia and I hang back until they depart, the last to address Thibault before he goes. Xian'li is the one to point us out as he prepares to leave. He addresses us with polite haste. "Ambassadors? Is there something else I may do for you?"

"Before you go, Count Thibault, a question. We were looking to speak to the Exalt's brother. She bade us to converse with him on further orders Khans Flavia and Basilio sent to her from the war front. Do you know where he is?" I say to him.

A flicker of amusement passes over him. He gestures with his staff behind us, a gruff snort of exasperation escaping him. "Ah, the young lad is knee-deep in the spirits of youth. You will find him in the far corner. I arranged for him to speak to the various guild leaders tonight, though it seems many have sent their daughters instead to negotiate."

That explains a lot.

We part ways, Thibault ushering Xian'li off to follow him. The man throw me one last look and mouths out, "Good luck."

Yeah, probably gonna need that with what we're about to face. And I don't mean the betrayal.

As we walk off together, I whisper to her, "Thibault is a tough man to crack. I assume you got nothing out of him?"

She frowns. "I'm sorry."

I just nod, understanding her frustration. There's not much you can do when your target isn't an idiot. Thibault has a life decades long in experience. I doubt even a seasoned spy could finagle a single clue out of him. I get a feeling I understand his motivations a bit more clearer, but that doesn't help us much. Feeling down, I stretch out my back and swing my arm back and force to loosen it up. Time for a new social fight.

"So, how did I do in my diplomatic appearance?" I say to Olivia, who is quick to avert her eyes.

"Must I answer?" she asks, slow and cautious.

I snicker, all teeth and malice. "I make a terrible ambassador, don't I?"

"Well...yes. If it were anyone else..." Olivia hides her amusement behind the back of her hand. "As the envoy of the East Khan, I say you acted marvelously. You behave like the exact type of character Flavia would have hired!"

I can't help but let out an explosion of laughter, enough that it disturbs some of the crowd around us. They bustle away as I slap my knee. "That's a relief! I won't have to worry about anyone questioning the authenticity of my position. Now I just have to hope Flavia's reputation doesn't receive some sort of permanent stain after the things I said."

"It's alright. I think she would rather enjoy the infamy." Olivia's face dims. She looks ahead, though it's no where in particular as she loses herself in thought. "I'm soooo glad Count Thibault left. My hands are shaking. I was never comfortable being the...the... "

" - center of attention?" I finish for her, earning a sympathetic nod. I shake my head. "Me neither."

Olivia twines her fingers together over her chest, closing her eyes and breathing out to calm herself. "I am capable of handling this. Truly. Basilio always tells me I just have to dig deep and carry on," she admits.

"Good, because you'll need all the guts you can muster." I pause to look around us before continuing. "We need to break into the sectioned off part of the keep where Thibault lives. There is a large congregation of castle guard gathered in the mess hall. I need to see what's happening. Beyond that, snooping about his quarters might not be a bad idea either. He might have some plans lying about."

"Do you believe the Count is making a move to..." she tapers off, eyes widening.

"Maybe. If so, we can get to Ylisse's general ahead of time. He can probably route them off early with the element of surprise on his side."

We close in on the gaggle of women. Their voices carry over the crowd, all perfumed laughter and raging estrogen. I thought Cordelia was bad at times, but this is ridiculous. How could anyone ever devolve into to such maniacal obsession over one person? I mean, just because one person is super rich, attractive, and famous doesn't mean to you have to worship them. If this were my era I wouldn't be surprised if there were posters of Chrom plastered on these girls' walls like I did with the Backstreet Boys. Autographs of every member framed over my bed. Numerous CDs stacked high on the nightstand and knowing the Dead 7 script by heart, word for word. Spending several hundred on a limited...edition...

Oh.

...

Okay, let's just forget that thought and move on.

"We should probably leave at separate times. You can go first. I have my map and can scout you out." I pat over the part of my coat where my favorite tool is nestled away. "I have to warn my captain. The Exalt is the primary target tonight. Something tells me every last one of us here is going to be needed to keep her safe."

"Prince Chrom? Oh my." Olivia places a hand on my arm to steady herself. She presses her eyelids together, face puckering up in despair.

We reach the farthest edge of Chrom's circle. Smaller groups orbit the center ring, waiting for their chance to pounce on an opening made by another leaving party. His admirers are just as thick as Emmeryn's, but far less polite in how they go about it. The Exalt demands respect in her presence as leader of the land. Her siblings are next in line, but not destined to rule. They are far more suited for marriage alliances, and the fight for that right is a battle fought with ruthless persistence.

I stand on my tiptoes, pulling away my mask just a bit to see better over the crowd. "You've already had your turn in socializing with him tonight, yeah? We can use your leverage as the ambassador to slide me in. It would be rude for him to address only one Feroxi envoy and not the other, right?"

"That's correct. I don't know how long that will give you, even in terms of privacy. I could not even get five minutes with him before someone interrupted," Olivia says beside me.

Feeling her discomfort, I catch her by the elbow and have to ask. "Are you okay doing this?"

"It's nothing! Nothing. I just find it hard to talk normally with him." She waves her hands in protest before her face, mostly to block the flush creeping over her features. "People like him!"

Uh-huh.

"Royalty." She deflates, sulking forward while pulling her mask just a little lower. "Let's just go, please."

We follow the edge of circling vultures, searching for the weakest spot to exploit. It starts to take up time. Too much time. My patience winds down and I end up grabbing hold of Olivia. With one elbow out before me like shield, I barrel into the crowd. One girl even shrieks when she topples into the other, spilling wine down the front of her dress. Bill me from the cleaners, bitch. I'm saving the world here!

"-cannot express the feelings of safety and security within our country's borders now. I could not be more grateful, or appreciative of the sacrifices you put forth in such terrible settings. War is such a terrible thing, especially when up against such heathens."

Ah, nothing like the sound of useless drivel and pandering. The musical theme of the evening.

"To know we have such a strong, capable individual guiding our armies fills me with such comfort."

The two of us muscle through until we stumble into breathing space. We appear opposite my target, who remains oblivious to the sudden appearance. Hard not to given the woman clinging to Chrom's side is taking up all of his vision. I swear internally. I know her, even having never met the countess personally. Several times widowed and still young enough for more, the vivacious Widow Bakersfield is on a mission. Coming from old blood and one of the most powerful families in Ylisse, she raked up the lands of her dead lovers while continuing to carry her own cloth import empire. She received a unanimous vote as head of the merchant's guild, meaning almost everything that comes and goes through Ylisse has her stamp of approval on it. Very few match her pedigree, and fewer the power to work against her. I have neither myself. I just don't give enough fucks about my reputation to care.

"Should we wait until they're finished?" Olivia whispers to me. Proper etiquette says we should. It would prevent a scene, but I'm barely thinking about that.

I find myself rooted to the spot, a fire slowly building in my chest. I don't know where it's coming from, but it spreads rapidly through my veins, burning over my skin. Bakersfield has herself sidled up against Chrom, who stands stiff as a board and utterly too polite for his own good to say anything against her. She slowly twirls golden curls along one hand, the other resting on the arm pinned at his side. My eyes follow as her long fingers, like that of a pianist, slide ever so slowly up toward his shoulder allowing Bakersfield to lean closer in. The fair amount of cleavage in her ample bosom pushes out further, brushing up against him. For all the noble woman's efforts, Chrom's eyes are everywhere but on her. There's a red flush rising up the back of his neck. He angles his torso away from her, hand behind his back and safe from anyplace she could be.

The taste of blood in my mouth clears the haze over my vision. I let go of the skin of my cheek from between my teeth, swallowing the coppery taste. My jaw aches from the pressure of how hard I'm holding it. Olivia tugs at my arm, calling my name softly once more. I breath out.

Dear God. I'm jealous.

"Let's go," I growl, trying to ignore this explosive cocktail of emotions distracting me from my duty. I take a breath, steeling myself with the "fuck-all" attitude I've embraced since settling into hospitality and customer service long ago. I weave through a few ladies at the outer edge of the circle, Olivia tailing after. The eyes of the other women watch me with an interest rekindled in their eyes. They can sense something about to happen, and their desire for gossip is about to be satiated.

"It would be such a pleasure if I could-" Widow Bakersfield's words are sultry and smooth, broken only when my strides catch her attention. She covers her choke of surprise into a suppressed chortle. Her lips are penciled bright red and form two thin lines which deepen the already prominent lines around her mouth in displeasure. "Beg pardon, but can I help you?" Bakersfield asks looming over me.

I stop and perform the standard partial curtsy, a half-assed attempt at a poor first impression. Now she knows I'm not here for pleasantries. My smile strains to stay in place. "Apologies, Lady, but I have urgent business with the prince."

Hearing his title, Chrom leaps to attention. Bakersfield is still reeling from the interruption and he uses this to extract himself from her grasp. Side stepping to a safer distance, he ignores her pout and looks over his new guests. He glosses over me, attention landing on the face he knows best. "Oli- Ambassador! What are you doing here? Is there something I can I help you with?"

I can see him tense. With Olivia in on the whole conspiracy, her showing up with alleged urgent matters is enough to cause him any amount of alarm. Bakersfield goes white as he steps past her, fingers forming little grabby hands in a futile effort to catch him. Olivia looks ready to bolt at his approach, forcing him to stop. She braves her fears and forces herself to stand her ground, though the tension between them is clear enough to everyone.

"I'm so, so sorry to bother you, your Highness." She reaches out and pulls me by the hand, stepping behind me and moving me forward as a shield. "I thought it only fair that I introduce you to my partner from the East before the night's festivities end. I know she had been looking forward to meeting you tonight."

"The East envoy...?" he utters in confusion. Unfortunately, timing prevented Chrom and I from meeting earlier on. Emmeryn would have passed on the details of my garb to him, as well as the new identity I assumed once we had one figured out. It was her idea to have me switch places with Flavia's envoy, but it was a late decision after she searched through numerous individuals on the guest list who might be trustworthy for the ruse. This is the first time we're meeting close, and it seems to take a minute for him to try and remember the details. My features may be masked well, but he'll know my voice better than anything.

I perform a proper introduction, one I'm sure Maribelle would be proud of. "Ambassador Freya, Khan Flavia's envoy. We have only met in passing before this. I haven't had a chance to formally introduce myself to you."

"Frey...a? Oh! Freya of Starfall! You- " I rise up and Chrom truly looks me over. A light of recognition ignites in his eyes. "You... " His throat bobs, the words catching up and fumbling away to silence.

I remember how Chrom looked at me just the other day, our reunion a memory I continue to replay to this moment. His eyes are probably the best feature about him. I can read everything through them, honest and clear as they are. Sometimes calm as brook, other times fierce as an ocean's storm. His joy was so open and earnest. A bright sky opening after the rain. I knew that nothing had changed. That we would slip back into our old ways like a not a day had gone by.

But here? Now? For the first time, their meaning is imperceptible to me. Different from anytime before, as if it's the first time he's ever seen me. Dark. Unfathomable. Something intense and consuming and perplexing all at once. Swallowed deep in his gaze, I find my own voice drowned out, lost in a strange abyss. It's alarming. Thrilling. It ignites something deep down I can't quite explain. The shock of a thunderbolt ripping through my muscles cords. A buzzing in the back of my mind. An inexplicable urge to ignore everything else around me but us. An attention I don't want to share, let alone give up.

"Your Highness?" Widow Bakersfield's voice is nails on a chalkboard, shattering the moment. My eyelids flutter, a rasp of air exiting my mouth as I look away.

"I- I am fine, Countess. I assure you," Chrom says, again moving one step further with each one she makes. Taking the hint, she backs off for the moment, but continues to hover. The hard edge he carries with Bakersfield dulls, adopting something much softer in his greeting to me. "Ambassador, I remember now. Please forgive the momentary lapse in memory. With Flavia now in the plains, I had forgotten she was sending her personal aide to fill in for her while we stay in Ylisse."

My eyes drift back over to him, slow and hesitant. Chrom seems to have shaken what possessed him before. He remains the man I've always known. Even partially hidden under his mask, I see the same kindness and security in his features whenever he looks at me. More than ever, he resembles a knight in shining armor straight from a fairy tale. It makes me believe we can get out of this unscathed.

"The pleasure is all mine," I respond. Per tradition, Chrom offers a hand in greeting, a repeat of the gesture Thibault made earlier. I follow through the motions. With the pressure of his glove under mine, the memory of our time at his bedside in Ironhold returns unbidden. It reminds me what happened the last time I gave him my hand. I nearly jerk my arm back out of reflex, the emotion overtaking me that intensely. Oh hells, when did it get so hot in here?

Chrom's touch is feather-soft. Unlike Thibault, his left arm crosses his chest and rest his empty hand over his heart. He raises my hand to a higher level acknowledgment and actually bows his head forward, a personal touch that doesn't go unnoticed by myself or those around us. Bakersfield is smoking, the jealousy abundant in her mannerisms. I'd be laughing internally thinking he did this on purpose to get a rise out of her. Except, I don't think this was an intentional exaggeration. Not from the way he peers up from under his lashes, soaking in every contour of my face. Nor from the way he seems to take pleasure at my stunned features, puling his lips into a type smile I've never seen before.

Our arms drop, though his touch lingers several seconds longer before we fall apart. He laughs softly, running his finger up the high rise of his collar into the hair at the nape of his neck. "Ambassador, you cut your hair since I last saw you from afar. It is flattering."

I resist the urge to fluff it about, showing off the clean edges and extra shine it holds. I mean, I didn't do it just based on his comment yesterday. It needed a good pruning. That's all. Nothing else.

Hey, wait a minute. I'm not the only one who changed! What happened to his face? Those cheeks are smooth and clean, not a day more! That so-called beard he so proudly declared to be growing in is now gone! And I just happened to mention that after...

"You...also appear to have made some changes," I offer, ambiguous in my meaning to the others though he'll know very well what I'm referencing. Chrom rubs hand over the bottom of his chin, throwing me a knowing smile. My God, are we really that hopeless?

Fed up with her treatment, Bakersfield asserts her authority in an attempt to win back her time. She bustles over, all sass in her attempts to separate us. "Ambassador, his Highness and I were in the middle of a very important trade discussion. I have been thinking of opening more avenues to outside lands and - "

Olivia, bless her soul, leaps in to save the day. She threads her arm through the Countess' and beams up at her with equal parts innocence and goodwill. "I'm sure I could help you with that, Countess! Even in Regna Ferox, your products are well known. They hold much value in our markets and are often sought after by the mightiest traders. Regna Ferox is still a united whole, and such matters are very relevant to me. Trade is especially important to the western coast where our largest ports reside."

Bakersfield stares aghast at Olivia's bold move, trying to pull away from the other woman. "But I- "

With the momentary distraction, and my mind given a moment to recompose itself, I prepare to address the morbid reality we're in. I step in close to Chrom, punctuating the last word with emphasis. "We need to talk away from all this. Now."

"Do you see what Thibault has put me in?" Chrom responds in a rapid whisper. "I have been alone and surrounded for hours. It has not been an easy predicament to retreat from."

"Plegia is on the move, Chrom."

He reels back. Chrom's immediate reaction is to search the crowd, gaze diving towards Emmeryn. "Hells," he groans.

"Privacy," I implore, "please?"

Chrom nods, vision lost in thought. His grip around Falchion squeezes tight, a sign he's working on something in his mind. There's only precious minutes to spare, so I hope whatever he's planning on happens fast. I can feel us being circled, someone priming to take Bakersfield's spot.

Suddenly, without a word spoken, Chrom darts past me in a blur. I blink stunned. My mouth opens to call out to him, the attempt ending in a garbled exclamation of surprise. My arm has suddenly found itself being pulled along, and with it, the rest of my body. Chrom has me tightly by the wrist, his pace only offering the option to follow or fall. I choose the latter, only thanks to my reflexes from training. He says something to the crowd around him and they part with haste. The faces they wear range from stunned to intrigued. Feeling the intensity of their judgment, I alter my focus to the cape trailing elegantly behind Chrom as he moves.

Our route continues unhindered through the hall as we move from the back toward the central area. Because of the growing number of courtiers around, Chrom's pace grows hindered. It gives me enough times to recover and match his steps. "Where are we going?"

"The only place no one will follow us. It will only spare us a short reprieve, so you'll have to be quick about your report." Chrom's grip loosens, then drops completely between us. He continues to move with purpose, a clear indication I should still follow. I do so, all the way until I find myself pushing through a thinning crowd. Emerging into the most brightly lit area of the ballroom, my feet land on smooth, polished white tiles. A blur of color swirls past, followed by another. Here, the muffled serenades that have been playing all night are at their clearest. I can see the musicians performing along the far wall with their assortment of strings, wind instruments, and percussion. Hanging garlands of dawnflowers in all colors hang from the ceiling above dropping petals that scent the air when crushed underfoot. There is no scheming over here, only laughter and coy attempts at sweet nothings. Ahead, Chrom turns around and faces me throwing out both arms to present the scene with a helpless shrug.

I recoil, not quite believing his intents. "The dance floor?"

His grin is shaky, not fully believing his own plan. Chrom pulls at his collar, looking back over his shoulder. "No one would dare interfere in a dance, especially the first to be shared between individuals. Such an interruption is taboo. The social scorn is not worth the competition."

Oh hells, he- he's right! Good to her word, Maribelle has been pulling me on some of our off days since my last disastrous appearance to teach me the finer points of noble living. Proper greetings, small talk, how to eat with tiny forks...and of course, dancing. In fact, I think there are more rules to dancing than eating. Ridiculous, all of it. Chrom has a point though. It's considered arrogant to steal any half of a couple intending to dance before the length of a song's end. It implies you feel you have more power and prestige than the slighted party to pull such a stunt. Entitlement is never flaunted callously. Nobles strive to keep an illusion of equality or there would be strife everywhere. I suppose there really is no better place than here to slip a private word in. This is going to churn the rumor mills. Chrom hasn't danced with anyone aside from his sisters tonight. Good thing I'm dumping this disguise.

"You are lucky Maribelle has been teaching me courtly ways in our free time," I tell him. Resigned to my fate, I just pray I can do some justice to her lessons. She volunteered Frederick often to be my partner, and the sacrifices his big toes made during that time shouldn't be forgotten.

"She has mentioned as much." Breathing in deep, he throws out a hand to me. And offering. I reach out. While doing so, he adds quite genuinely, "I've been hoping to see your skills in person."

My fingertips brush over his, freezing. A hot flash washes over me like the aftershock of an Arcfire impact. My heart skips, confidence wavering. Something in my soul drains away, unable to comprehend that last bit. My eyes flit up to his face, questioning.

Closing his hand fully over my, Chrom takes one step back, drawing me in and forward. He chuckles, merry and light. "Frederick did say your completion of the most basic four-step was a miracle to behold. A true feat only Naga could have invoked to occur."

I inhale sharply. The prior heat burning up my face breaks like a fever, leaving behind nothing but a hollow chill. An offended huff bursts out my chest. I brush past Chrom, dragging him along. "Come on," I retort.

He appeases my outburst a short distance before anchoring in and forcing me to stop. "You're already breaking the first rule," he says, lifting the physical link between us. "The male leads."

I let out an indignant little huff, readying a fine retort. Chrom circles around me, holding out a finger to shush my protest. "Don't make that face. It's not about the power." He adjusts our grasp, my eyes darting toward the movement. One finger after another slowing entwining, tying together in knot made impossible to undue. Palms melding together. "It's about the partner placing trust in his ability to guide her through the rhythms of life without faltering a step." I swallow, but my mouth has suddenly gone dry. The fluttering from before returns, now a tickling snow drawing a haze over the scene. The gesture, simple as it is, remains oddly mesmerizing. The boundary of our gloves can't stop the prickling over my skin. Chrom's voice dips, soft and intimate. "To know they can move together without fear of him leading her astray through whatever twists and turns they encounter."

Trust. Such a dangerous word. Easy to declare, but hard to prove. Harder still to uphold. But that's all we've had, isn't it? Since the very beginning? Blind, unyielding trust. Despite everything, it continues to persevere even as I become a stranger to my own self, further than what I was when we first met. Chrom has never asked for anything more. The only thing I can do, will do, is believe in that faith.

What else can I do?

I relinquish my power and allow him to pull ahead. Chrom leads me to across the floor to search for a perfect space to a call our own. For a few minutes, a world of our entire making. We find it in the back, furthest from all in the most dimly lit corner. The other courtiers must think him crazy, choosing such a spot when he could be the height of attention in the center of the floor.

"Are you ready?" he ask, mostly out of courtesy.

"Lead on, m'lord." My breathy mockery of court-like manners earns a genuine smile, if small. He tips his head in a sign to move. He initiates the first dance step with a smooth transition into the top of the next beat. The song has just begun making integration into the routine an easy one. The tempo is slow and smooth. I count the beats and watch one couple to the left repeat the first round of steps. It's traditional. One of the very first I was taught. Mostly toe touching back and forth, a few turns taken without breaking the conjoined hands. Rinse and repeat. I should be able to survive this.

Step to the front with the right foot, then back. Now step with left. Twist around and change sides...

The next time we step forward, Chrom uses the increased space to whisper between us. "Tell me what's happening. What did you find?"

"I checked the map and security has lapsed completely. Aside from a handful of guards at the front hall, all patrols have essentially dissolved into the heart of the keep. There's a large gathering of bodies in the barrack's mess hall. Not sure why, but it could be anything."

Chrom chew over the news, finally continuing after a thought. "How many?"

The dance requires a change in position. We step apart and tuck one arm behind our lower back and another over our stomach. We circle each other in a perfect sphere thrice before stepping on our left foot. We lean our weight back and bend at the knee in courtesy to our partner. Once done, the song returns to the chorus. Face to face once more, I continue the conversation. "Enough that I couldn't see properly. The Count's personal knights are still in the upper level and the elite guard of forty or so continue to stand guard around the front hall and main corridors."

Being new to the song, this is only the first time we repeat our steps. Those around us are on their third or fourth time. I swear they've drawn closer to each other, the gap between their persons not as far apart as Chrom and I.

"Seems our guess was right. Thibault is planning to storm the party at the height of the festivities whilst the nobility are at their most vulnerable." He lifts his arm a bit higher to allow me to duck under it, following up with, "Have you confirmed anything with Xian'li?"

I can't stop the grimace from forming. "You'll love this. Thibault stripped him of all power this morning. That means we lost control of the guard and everyone in charge of the party as of this morning."

Chrom's falters at the news, though years of expertise kick in and allow him to recover. "What is Thibault's game? It all sits so wrongly with me. I'll have to press into Thibault harder than before, even draw his guard captain back in. Perhaps I can get something to slip, small as that chance may be." The grip on my hand tightens, along with the heavy strain of regret in his tone. "While you're off alone, investigating."

"It was bound to happen. Intelligence gathering failed here, so we move on to Plan B. I'll have Olivia with me, just like we planned. Then, we can find out what's really happening and hopefully let Eldaran and the others know to enact a surprise counterattack of our own. Moving first against Thibault and cutting off his home advantage may be the only chance we have until reinforcement arrive at dawn." I reassure him, hesitant as my own confidence is. Hoping to improve his mood, I try to joke around. "Hopefully Widow Breastfield will let Olivia out of her grasp before the song ends."

I rewarded with a smile, albeit a faint one that barely cracks the surface.

It's obvious to me now on the second time around that our routine is stiff and formal compared to the dancers around us. There's less distance between the couples, and some have altered their hand positions all together to never disconnect. Always moving in a circle together but never coming apart. Maybe I am mistaking this song for another type of dance and Chrom is just obliging me? Gods, I hope I'm not making him look like a fool.

"Is..." I hesitate, trying to find the courage to ask. He raises both brows in question, indicating for me to continue. "Is it just me, or are these dance moves different? I swear I remember this being the steps Maribelle taught me. Some late period Classical piece popular in the court of Exalted Lucan the Second."

"You have a good eye," he compliments. "The song the musicians are using is a very specific one with a minor instrumental change that alters the routine from what you recall. This was most likely a special request. The dance Maribelle taught you has an older variant, choreographed with a Celican twist."

"A what?" I've heard that cultural reference before. The Celican League is a large collection of city-state kingdoms that banded together through trade and form the boundary between Valm in the north and where the Chon'sin migrated in the South to form their own lands. Virion's home is somewhere in that allegiance, giving me an idea of what Chrom might be talking about.

"This original version was considered too inappropriate at the time it debuted, so the song was redone to make it more chaste. This only came back into style with the revivalist interest among the last decade. Emmeryn has encouraged the newer generation to loosen the severity our elders had on physical expression. Maribelle prefers the newer rendition, hence why you might not know this version." While he narrates, I watch the closest duo to us dance along to the alterations. "There's much more intimacy between the partners, such as stepping in until opposite hips just brush. As you see there, both their hands cross over and entwine with each other, never to leave the partner's."

"They're so close. Chest to chest almost." I turn back to him, gasping in false disbelief. "How risqué of them!"

Chrom shifts with unease, his grip slacking. He diverts his face, showing off the reddening of his ears. "I apologize if this is making you uncomfortable. It's just luck this was the song performing. There really is no way we could have spoken like this otherwise."

"Oh, it's not that. The issue lies in the dance. The routine is rather boring." I thicken my accent and toss my hair over one shoulder, raising my nose into the air. "As a born and bred Feroxi woman, I am used to more energy in our dances. We prefer to be led by passion and spirit as opposed to this restricted pomp."

"I see," he murmurs to himself. Chrom goes quiet, saying nothing more and retaining a strict interest in floor as we continue. I watch him out of concern, but also keep my peace. I hope he's not too beside himself with embarrassment. He takes things to heart so easily. If I haven't convinced him my lady-like honor is still intact, he'll probably wallow for days thinking himself some villain.

We finish the last steps and bow down once more on knee to our partner. Instead of continuing, Chrom remains in place. He is slow to move, taking a neutral stance to potentially disengage from the dance completely. I outwardly cringe, glad for my mask to cover most of it. My heart speeds up out of fear, worrying what sort of things he might say. Cautiously, he throws out both hands blindly with palms up. "Would the, uh, Ambassador care to try the original routine then?"

A strangled hiccup of surprise leaps up from my throat. I stare, though Chrom has yet to regain eye contact after finding some fascinating little spot on the floor. I have a sudden urge to remove my outer coat. Perspiration is building over my skin, the flush I wear near as bad as his. Precious seconds tick by, demanding an answer before we look like two idiots before the whole Court. It's just a dance, right? Why should I be so embarrassed about being a few steps closer? Why is he?

Why did he ask to begin with?

Shaking off the indecision, I accept the proposition. After all, it was my words, joking or not, that led us here. It would look terrible to the Court if I rejected him. Gotta take responsibility. Not at all like the thought of actually doing this fills me with a familiar feeling of butterflies and giddiness I haven't had since I last date-

Oh. No.

Despite a very inappropriately timed realization attempting to come to light again, I push back the floodgates and regain my stability. Breathe in. Breathe Out.

My brain still feels muddled, pushing past clouds to function. I react automatically, repeating a gesture from before that seems so much more intimate now. Thank goodness for the gloves I'm wearing because there is nothing but clammy sweat on my skin. The presence of my touch on his sends a visible shock wave through Chrom that stiffens his whole shape. I pull lightly on him, crossing one ankle over the other as I draw us in a circle to catch up to the beat. Chrom finds no trouble keeping his balance, side stepping in and moving with me as if we had engaged in this same maneuver our whole lives. He looks a big dazed, not quite processing the position he...we're in.

Chrom's perplexity over the situation only grows, eyes darting between my face and our hands in wonder. It's comforting to know I'm not the only one feeling off about the scenario, and it lifts my spirits. I laugh under my breath and whisper, "We're a few steps behind. Give me some patience as I fumble through finding the rhythm again. It shouldn't take me long to memorize it."

Chrom offers a wordless nod, guiding our hands aloft with a lifesaving grip.

The song is nearing its end. What little time we have left is both a relief and a disappointment. Perhaps because of that, Chrom seems to disregard all progression and draws us together as close as he's willing to brave. It wasn't hard to fall in line with him before. We train together so often that I'm already distinctly aware of his natural footwork. With only a few hand alternations to take into consideration, the adjustment from before takes no time to overcome. It's strange though. Training involves a similar closeness in proximity with all the tumbling and weaving around that we do. It's nothing but casual with us goofing around in a playful and competitive manner. It was always platonic. Now? I'm just trying to remember to breathe. I'm not the only one struggling either.

Whatever ease of speech we had from before appears to have been forgotten. The change of dance has brought a new air, introducing a hypersensitivity to both my partner and me. Every brush, every touch brings a certain electricity about it. The spiraling pattern is a continuous thread winding tighter around us in a bond of trust and reliance that could never break. A fact proven in the little gestures between movements: fleeting and shy glances, timid smiles, a hush of laughter over one foot coming too close to the other...The ballroom, our enemies, and even war drift away in the private space we build around us. I can forget that soon I'll be thrown back into a threatening situation that could cause the biggest political upheaval of our time.

The musicians wind up and reach the climax of the song, dragging down the tempo into the final throes. My chest grows heavy, some of the earlier haze drifting away. The soft glow of the fires around us grow dim and the dawnflowers no longer smell as sweet. Reality comes down, and I detest it.

"Last round," I remind Chrom, wondering if the disappointment is obvious.

It's the first words spoken in a while, and it seems to shake him from his own fantasy. Chrom lingers when I take the first step in for the final time, lowering his head so his whisper is right in my ear. "You just returned, and I feel as if I am letting you wander straight back into the dragon's den."

I wait until we cross sides to answer, memorizing the pained regret on his face. "I know, but there's more at risk here than just a battle."

"Robin..." Chrom begins to protest, but the dance pulls us apart again. The look remains, agonizingly genuine in how much he cares about the potential of losing me again. It makes my resolve burn only harder to do what has to be done, no matter the danger. Because as much as I mean to him, so does he to me. The thought of actually having to live through a certain set of events from the game is something I never want to endure. I'm not sure I'd be able to live if I were to see Chrom mourning for Emmeryn, or the shadows of regret hanging over him taking up the mantle of Exalt. His father already haunts him. But Emmeryn as well?

"Some things are just more important." We make one full circle before I find the courage to finish my thoughts. "We have to keep your sister safe."

Chrom pales. His movements halt forcing me to ground my heels down to catch myself. "Naga's blood, Robin!" his voice raises desperation, the use of such harsh language a rare occurrence from him. Our arms drop, twining together as he pulls them against his chest in an effort close what distance is left between us. We're almost nose to nose, and I see nothing but pure despair thundering in him. He swallows hard, chest deflating in defeat. Contrary to before, his final plea is a mere wisp of air. "I want you safe."

My lungs seize. That...That's...

The final notes of the wind instruments die away, the lingering bitter sweetness fading to the night. The song is over. So is my time.

Chrom takes an abrupt step back, the separation a crack I feel lash across my soul. The withdrawal of his warmth is distressing. I have to force myself to stop from reaching out. I have no idea what to say to that. I'm so lost for words. I fumble about for something to say. "I- I'm sorry. I don't-"

"Stop. Please," Chrom interrupts, voice cracking over the struggle of his emotion. He exhales, dropping both sight and shoulders in defeat. "You're right. I know I'm just being selfish. I just wish..."

"No, you're- " A little voice in the back of my head is screeching about appearances. What are the others around us seeing between the prince of the realm and a random envoy right now? The warnings are all accurate, but I'm finding it hard to care.

The next song kicks up, a jaunty sounding waltz that clashes with the mood. I pull my overcoat closer around me, wishing it had a hood to bury my face into. There's a millions things I could say. Anything really! I could thank him. Appease him. Ease his worries. I should do what I always do and try to make a joke. It's just difficult. I experienced so many things in such a short time, unbidden. I'm not sure how to feel or what would be the most appropriate thing to say. I can't even reach out and comfort him like I could if I were just plain Robin. Instead, I have to remain distant, as a foreign dignitary would.

"You need to go," Chrom utters, quieter and weaker than before. He tugs his hand through the back of his hair. "I need to muster the others. We might not even have as much time as we thought if Thibault is already on the move."

"Yeah." I try to open my mouth and say more, but my jaw locks up tight. Emotions are welling up fast. I may not be able to contain them as I did earlier. "Be safe." He starts to say something else to me, but I turn away quickly and march off the floor. I'm afraid if I hear another word or even see Chrom's face, my resolve will break. Things have taken a turn tonight I wasn't expecting. Something happened there. A realization I felt once before but not nearly as strong. Maybe that's not the best word. Realization means I was unaware. In truth, any suspicions I had were simply quashed. Denied. Actions I'm unable to take because of the uncertainty of the situation at hand, and myself. There's too many repercussions to take into account. I'm not sure I'm ready to face them, let alone become the foundational pillar for a certain someone's very existence.

I haven't even told Lucina about the twins. That's a whole other bag of drama to be opened on another day. I have to get through tonight first. One impending disaster at a time.

I'm so caught up in my thoughts I miss the darting figure coming my way. With no time to react, the individual crashes into my left shoulder and causes us to both stumble back from the impact. I reach out in instinct and grab the back of a man's coat to stop myself from falling. I nearly manage to drag us both down, the friends of the man saving us by anchoring both his arms as he flails. I hasten out an apology and point at the other figure beside me picking themselves off the floor. The man accepts my apology with a few brisk words and flushes out the wrinkles from his frilly blouse. Gathering up his friends, they eye us warily before moving away. Several other nobles have scattered away from us as well, glaring in contempt before picking up their gowns and coattails to shuffle away for an undisturbed location.

"My Lady?" a smooth, rich voice questions in apparent shock from behind.

The figure who ran into me is attired in a non-descriptive servant's garb, a gray and washed out overcoat and britches with simple riding boots. The mask they wear is plain, neither gaudy nor colorful. Whomever they serve, their employer has given them the same treatment many other squires and servants have. They still wear a disguise, but it's bland so the noble they travel with can receive all the attention tonight.

The servant stares me over, frozen as if before a ghost. I can feel internal panic welling over. Is my mask askew? Was my face exposed enough to give away my identity? I don't recognize the person before me, but there's a number of castle personnel that know the tactician of the Shepherds. I do my best to control the shake in my voice, smiling at the other person in apology. "Oh, uh, hello? Have we met before?"

My voice snaps them from whatever trance they're in. They blink rapidly under their mask, looking me over one more time in full measure before bowing down to the waist. "I beg your pardon. I thought you my liege."

There's a hint of something there. Foreign, like my own. Their mastery of the language is far too good for me to pinpoint the origins. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be bumbling about in such a crowded space."

The servant recovers from their bow and steps back, hands up in apology. "The same can be said of myself. I beg your pardon for the intrusion again, but I must be off. Excuse me."

"That's al...right," I finish as the servant bolts past, my eyes turning to follow as they duck into the crowd. Whoever that noble is, she better be thankful she has such an attentive aide at her side. She's probably inebriated in a corner somewhere, plotting out her next sordid affair. Strange that I was mistaken as her though. There aren't many Ylisseans with dark hair, especially as deep as mine. They tend to run lighter shades, blonde or red. Maybe it's the costume? Either way, I don't have much time to think further on it. I've got a mission to uphold.

I step over the growing amount of wine puddles and discarded bones to reach the entrance of the ballroom. The doors are still open, creating a strange vortex of smell. The heat of body odor, perfume, and sticky sweet liquid clashes against the cold scent of stone and must. The guards at the entrance don't even bother to notice as I leave. The one on the left is wavering on her feet, from alcohol or exhaustion I can't tell. I walk off to the south and turn into a corridor that leads to one of the rooms set aside for the nobility to freshen up. No one appears to be around so I take a look at my map. Things don't appear to have changed all that much. The sight of that mess hall is a punch to the gut every time I see it. I can just imagine all the plans they could be concocting at this moment. None of them good for me.

I don't see Olivia anywhere in the immediate area. It seems I beat her on the escape. I'm not surprised though. Who wouldn't want to stop a gorgeous woman like her? She's probably peeling off admirers every few steps. Maybe I should have stuck with her? Bah, she's a grown woman. I know she can handle herself. In the meantime, I'll just find a way forward for us when she catches up.

I scan the area for a weak point to exploit and find I'm in luck. My entry point is a bit further from my points of interest than I would have liked, but how could I say no to such an obvious choice. Far down the main hall and off to the left, a lone soldier guards the south-most entrance to the Count's private quarters. Why this lone guard, you may ask? Because upon stumbling over his slumped form, I notice the abundance of empty plates and two overturned wine glasses littering the side table to his immediate left. The visor of his helmet is closed completely, tipped down toward his chest obscuring his total line of sight. He's loosened the belt around his waist letting the protrusion of his stomach hang out unhindered. The man is drunk, overstuffed, and painfully in need of a nap. Like I said, the perfect target.

"Are you around?" I whisper to the open air around me. It's a silly question. I could feel the General tailing me since leaving the party. All the same, I don't feel it right to make demands of him. If he wants to make himself known and help, that's his choice. This whole relationship is built on a thinly constructed alliance of mutual goals. I need there to be something akin to trust there, even if I never fully earn the General's respect.

He stalks what feels like the other side of the wall, as if he were traversing hidden passages between the stones. His presence, large and cold, hangs like a mist behind me. It stops some feet away, the echoing distortion of his voice a now familiar frequency in my brain.

"I am."

I try to test the link between us. It's only the second time I've tried this consciously. Trying to grasp his mental connection is like trying to hold a fishing line slick with soap. "We've got activity," I manage to think out to him.

It works, as I feel a ripple of agitation bounce between us. "I have been following you throughout the night. I'm aware."

"Ready to get to work?" The connection is like a bad itch I just can't reach at the base of my brain. I'm still trying to learn how to manage this strange...whatever you would call it between us. The influence of his emotions on mine is something I have yet to control. It's confusing feeling his own sense of self overriding my own. "This is very disconcerting. I'm feeling way too much than I would like. Is it always this invasive?"

He scoffs, the sound of metal grating on my earlobes. "If you believe this a bother, I would suggest stepping into my boots. Your wandering thoughts are often too...personal for my liking."

I squint in his direction, feeling the blood drain from my face as dozen of impure fears run through my brain. "What do you hear?"

"May I suggest simply focusing from now on how to prevent it from happening further?" The shadows cast by the candles seems to deepen and quiver with his own irritation. "I have advised you several times that such efforts are your own to uphold. I do not actively seek to know your thoughts. Block them and I shall hear no more."

I rap on the side of my temple with my left knuckles, mental bond slipping from the strain. "Easier said than done. It's kind of hard to do that when I've got a multitude of other things to focus on." I sink back against the wall and fold my arms, not trying to hide my sulking. "Do all dragons have this problem?"

There is a moment's hesitation before he continues with, "Only those bound by blood and spirit."

I lift my right hand and flex each joint one at a time. The image of those blackened veins burned deep into memory. "Damn it."

I hear armor shift and a loud yawn follow. Peering back around the corner, I see the guard has propped his weapon up against the wall and is doing his best to hide his drowsy expression under his visor. Both hands are tucked under an arm and his legs are outstretched and crossed at the ankles. Five more minutes and he could be snoozing away. Helps me little though. There's no way he could sleep through that big of a door opening and closing if I managed to open it.

There is a rush of wind behind me that sends my coat fluttering about my legs. I look over my shoulder and nearly leap out of my skin. The General's scorching eyes are inches from my own. A stale breath rattles out from his helmet, causing me to shiver. "Do you need him removed?"

Shaking off the uncanny feeling of standing in a morgue, I suppress my goosebumps by vigorously rubbing the tops of both arms. "Yes, but - "

Before I can finish the sentence, he steps back against the wall and melts away. The candles above me flicker along the hall from sconce to sconce like something out of horror movie. The guard is oblivious to the ominous foreshadowing even as the General's powerful energy bears down on the man. It isn't until the Risen slides smoothly out of the dark creases of the wall corner beside him that the guard leaps up and back. Staring up at the sudden appearance of a powerful intruder, the man can only manage to sputter. "What in- "

The rest of that is muffled under the General's gauntlet as it closes in over the guard's face. A brief, suppressed shriek wails from the guard before the General twists his whole body in one fluid motion. The side of the guard's head meets the stone block walls with a heavy crunch that makes my fingers and toes curl. I can't help a tiny "oof" from escaping as the guard drops to the floor. A trickle of blood rolls down the side of his cheek and down his chin.

I tiptoe up to the General and peer at the body from behind him. "Holy hells. You broke him like an egg."

"He lives yet. A small mercy."

"With the headache he's going to be rocking upon waking, death might be preferable."

The General bends down on one knee. His arm loops under the unconscious guard and hefts the body up with a grunt. He tucks the man over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "I will deal with the body. You- "

The approaching sound of footsteps from just down the hall causes us both to freeze. They are light and soft against the carpet runner. Definitely someone wearing dress shoes. Olivia? I gesture for the General to go. He nods, readjusting his grip on the body. Once comfortable, both disappear into the cold void. The tip of his boot escapes to shadow just as my partner in crime rounds the corner. She seems me and removes her mask, face alight in recognition.

"Robin!" Olivia calls out softly, moving swiftly to my side.

"Olivia!" I clap in surprise. I smile a big, toothy one hoping the General doesn't mind me taking credit for his work. "Perfect timing. I just found an unguarded entrance to the back halls."

I take her to the heavy wooden door that provides a barrier between us and the private quarters. The reddish-brown coloring and smell of sap tells me this is made from the Copperwood trees of East Regna Ferox. Renowned for their thickness, it would take an advanced spell to level it. There was no way we could break this down physically between the two of us. That left only one other option, the lock. Guess who took the body that might have the keys?

While I mope and try to figure out the quietest way I could blast the lock off, Olivia presses her hands against the metal key frame. She runs her fingers over the grooves and angles before kneeling down entirely. "I should have worn more comfortable gloves for this," she murmurs to herself. Reaching deep into her sleeve, the material shakes about as she fiddles with something within. Olivia eventually produces a small square satchel that blends in with her dress. She fumbles with the clasp, flipping it open to produce two rows of intricate looking tools. Lock picks, to be exact.

"You can lock pick?" I settle in against the wall to watch her progress. She doesn't move with the expertise I've seen others have, but she does have some skill. I don't remember if she was able to do this or not in the game, but it's a damn useful perk right now.

"Before all of this, some of those I work with under the Khan tried to teach me the fundamentals. I never had to use the knowledge before. Your friend Gauis showed me around locks since I arrived at the war camp. I thought it might be useful to know in the future." The tips of her fingers dance over several of the tools, pulling and tugging at various ones until she finds what she needs. She inserts the pieces into the lock hole and practices with the weight. She presses an ear to the wood, listening intently. The metal latch scratches and clicks as she moves her hands in various motions. It's like a scene right out of a spy thriller. "He's a lovely teacher," she concludes, eyes pressed shut in thought.

"Depends what you bribe him with," I say, laughing to myself.

Concentrating as she is, Olivia still manages the faint hint of a smile. "Berry biscuits and homemade cream do very well in that regard."

While she focuses on her work, I pull out the map once more. Scouring the halls ahead, I find them as empty as I did before. Whatever is happening in the mess hall, it's sucked the life out of the rest of the keep. There are still guards posted at vital entrances, but patrolling is bare bones. I notice a few odd soldiers, maybe twenty or so, gathered in a living chamber off the barracks. One of them is blue, much to my surprise. Upon poking the icon, I see Tharja's information spill out over the page. That's...good to remember. Why is she separate from the rest in the mess hall? I'm not sure what to make of that, but she is a potential ally. I may have to rely on her sometime tonight.

In the kitchen, ten or so green neutrals continue to work, with a new one leaving and joining every few minutes back to the ballroom. There's only one guard of any threat to us and he looks easy to circumvent. He continues his patrol around the Count's private quarters in one predictable route, stopping only when I assume he wants a break.

While memorizing the best path of avoidance, I hear Olivia make a squeak of celebration. The door's locking mechanism clicks and I look up just as the hinges squeal. Olivia stands and pushes her shoulder against the door, stone and wood grinding against each other as it opens all the way. We each take one side of the portal, staring down its depths. Beyond, the keep's hall expands deep into the shadowy recesses, an open maw inviting us down the gullet.

We exchange glances. "Well, this looks fun," I quip.

Olivia shakes her head, still smiling wide at her victory. "I haven't done anything this intricate in a long time. I would usually prove as a brief distraction before Basilio and his fighters would step in."

I roll up my map and tuck it under my arm. "Come on, we should find Thibault's study first as it's closest. I'm sure he has some juicy bits of info locked away somewhere."

We slip in, careful to shut the door behind us. The night is still young, but every minute that passes feels like the final breath before the plunge. Something is happening tonight. I don't know what it is, but I intend to find out just what our lovely count has in store for us.

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A/N: Hey. It's been a while. Here's a chapter for ya.