"We have to do something."
"Well, do you have any suggestions?"
"Uhh… well… Hey! I'm not the one in charge here!"
The stranger opened their eyes, and was greeted by the participants of the argument looming over them; the two figures silhouetted by the midday sun. One, a man with messy, dark-blue hair, noticed the stranger stir, and quickly proffered a hand to help them up.
"There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know," he said with a smile.
"Thanks, I-"
The stranger was cut off by the tip of a lance tickling their temple. A third member of this group had snuck around into the stranger's blind spot and, despite the blue-haired man's friendliness, seemed fully prepared to run them through.
But no one stopped this man from helping me up in the first place? the stranger thought, confused.
The other half of the initial argument: a young woman, who's blonde hair was pulled back into two, short pigtails on either side of her head, rolled her eyes at whoever was menacing the stranger.
"Leave him alone, Frederick," she said, shaking a tall, ornamented healer's staff for emphasis. "For Naga's sake, he was asleep in a field. On the list of dangers we need to look out for, this guy ranks pretty low, don't you think?"
Him? Guy? the stranger thought.
"I will happily desist, once my lord returns to a safe distance," came a precise, deep voice -Frederick, presumably, from somewhere over the stranger's right shoulder.
The blue-haired man's smile turned sheepish as he took an exaggerated step back from the stranger.
"Apologies, friend," he said. " I sometimes forget to take my wary companion into account. Is that far enough Sir Frederick, or shall I run to the other side of that hill?"
The deadly pressure on the stranger's head subsided as Frederick moved around to stand in front of them, the lance still at the ready. This finally gave the stranger a chance to look down and inspect themselves.
I am a 'him', the stranger thought with no small amount of surprise.
It wasn't his gender that was so shocking, but the fact that, before this moment, he hadn't known what it that was. How was that possible?
"I don't mean to sound rude, friend," the blue-haired man said. "But, you are wearing a Plegian coat. I think it's best if you tell us your name and how you got across the border."
The stranger looked down again. A Plegian coat? Was that what he was wearing? It was knee length and black, with gold around the cuffs and had a strange series of eyes embroidered in purple down the sleeves. He had no memory of owning such a coat, or any clothes; for that matter. He looked up at the others helplessly.
"I… don't know,"
This answer didn't do much to change the direction of a Frederick's spear point. The other man looked confused and the woman had a worried expression on her face.
"You don't know… what?" the blue-haired man asked.
"Anything," the stranger replied, panic rising in his chest. "I don't know what this coat is. I don't know what a Plegian is. I don't know how I got… wherever I am right now. And, I don't know what my name is."
It was the fear in his voice that must have reached the man, Frederick. The spear wavered in his grip as he and the blue-haired man exchanged a questioning look.
It was the woman who moved first. Brushing past the still-raised spear, she walked right up to stand in front of the stranger. Frederick cursed and tried to reposition himself so any thrust from his weapon wouldn't risk hitting the woman.
"Lady Lissa, step back, now! He might be-"
"Can you open your coat and raise your arms, please?" Lissa said kindly, ignoring the command.
The stranger made to comply when suddenly the spear was back, this time pointing at his neck, and it wasn't alone. From the other side of Lissa, the blue-haired man had unsheathed a sword from his waist and directed its tip at the stranger's throat. The man's amiable smile was back.
"Slowly, friend, slowly," he said, almost apologetically. "She's my sister, you understand? We'll figure this out. Safety first, is all."
Frederick grumbled something under his breath at that last remark, but Lissa just rolled her eyes and took a step forward. A strange, metallic pinging suddenly cut through the tense moment.
Lissa's staff was taller than she was, mostly made of a dark wood. The top quarter, however, was wrapped in a cage of a pearlescent, blue-tinted metal, capped by a watery gemstone the size of an apple, cut into a perfect sphere. Dangling off of the spellwork were half-a-dozen small charms on thin chains. One of these: a random spiderweb of curving lines, made from the same strange material as the staff's head, was jerking and vibrating, seemingly, of its own accord. It knocked against the cage again, producing the ping.
Lissa looked up at it, then back to her brother.
"He's got some enchantments on him," she said.
"The coat," Frederick supplied. "It looks as if it belongs to one of those barbaric desert nomads. Grima worshippers all, but rather clever with their enchantments."
"You don't have anything dangerous in there, do you?" Lissa asked the stranger cheerfully.
"If you do find something, it'll be just as much a surprise to me," the stranger responded.
He finally managed to undo the unfamiliar coat's front buttons and he carefully pulled it apart. Underneath was a simple, tan cotton shirt and dark trousers.
Lissa reached out and lightly tapped along the inside of the coat with her knuckles. Then, she ran a hand around his belt, front to back. She finally patted each pocket of his trouser.
"He's got nothing," she said, baffled. "Not just weapons, but no food, water, supplies… I thought Plegians had a thing for being self-reliant?"
The group all looked at each other, then to the stranger, who just shrugged; carful not to move his neck.
"Could he have fallen from those rocks during the earthquake? Hit his head, maybe?" the blue-haired man asked.
"What rocks?" the stranger said. "What earthquake?"
Lissa gestured over his shoulder. Realizing he wasn't exactly in a position to turn his head, she giggled.
"Let me see your hands for a second. Hmm… no calluses or blisters from climbing." She held up a finger in front of the strangers face. Suddenly, a small flame appeared in the air above the finger. She moved it back and forth, peering up to get a good look into his eyes.
"His pupils seem fine," she continued. Then, to her companions: "Could you two relax for a minute. I need to check his head, and unless one of you wants to give me a boost, he'll have to sit down for that. Which, he can't do right now without getting skewered."
After a moments hesitation, both men put up their weapons. The blue-haired man crouched down as the stranger sat back in the grass to allow Lissa to probe his scalp with her fingers.
"So, you really can't remember anything?"
"I…" The hint of a memory bubbled up into the void in the stranger's head. "That man called you 'lord'. Are you Exalt Chrom?"
To the stranger's surprise, the other man barked out a laugh.
"You definitely hit your head, friend. My sister -my other sister, is the Exalt. I have the good fortune of being only a lowly prince."
Frederick's eyes narrowed. "You remember my lord's name but not your own? I suggest you think up a new story, quickly."
"Welp," Lissa said, giving the stranger's arm a quick pat as she moved back around in front of him. "No injury, and your skull is intact. No other sign of a concussion. Do I have your permission to cast a spell on you? Just a quick one. It'll heal anything that I might have missed. Anything physical, anyways."
"So, I didn't hit my head from-" the stranger looked back to see a short series of cliffs rising up some distance away from them. His body shuddered involuntarily. "No. I don't know much right now, but I definitely wouldn't have been climbing around way up there."
"But you knew my name, if not my title," Chrom said, scratching his chin.
"Someone… mentioned it to me, I think," the stranger said.
I did have a conversation with someone… right? he thought.
"Well, you speak Ylissian," Lissa piped up as she fiddled with her staff. "There's definitely an accent, but I don't think it's Plegian. What is that? Feroxi? Something from up north, maybe."
The woman shook the staff at the stranger, who -after a moments contemplation, nodded. Lissa stepped forward and placed one hand on the metal segment of her focus. The gem at its top flashed, and the stranger felt a wave of warmth, as if he had just stepped into a bustling kitchen. There was no rush of returning memories, or the itchy feeling of a wound being mended.
So, I know what being healed is supposed to feel like? And what it's like in kitchen, too, apparently.
He could only shrug in response to Lissa's hopeful expression. The woman let out a dejected sigh.
"Maybe the church in Breya will have a more experienced healer," she said. "I'm sure if Maribelle were here she'd know what to do."
"You did good, Lissa," Chrom said with a nod. He turned to the stranger. "We'll take you to the closest town. We were on our way there when the earthquake hit and we found you."
"It doesn't sound as if I have much of a choice in the matter," the stranger muttered.
Frederick glared at him, tapping the butt of his spear against the ground meaningfully. Lissa gave him an apologetic shrug. Chrom let out another, loud laugh and clapped the stranger on the back.
"Congratulations! You're officially a prisoner of the Halidom of Ylisse."
The stranger's three captors set a leisurely pace through -as Lissa explained it, the heart of Ylisse's pastureland. The collection of crags and cliffs slowly shrinking into the distance behind them was, by far, the highest point for miles. Rolling, grassy hills, broken by the occasional copse of shaggy trees, stretched out to the horizon in every direction.
Here and there, signs of the earthquake Chrom had mentioned were evident. They passed a great, old oak tree, that must have stood alone in its field for countless years, toppled on its side; gnarled roots extending helplessly into the air. Twice, the path they followed was bisected by jagged crevasses of split earth, large enough that they had to be jumped over. Not a single fence or signpost had managed to stay upright. Frederick insisted they stop at every instance of destruction, so he could document them properly for his reports.
With each step, the stranger felt taunted by the world. It seemed his ability to speak Ylissian wasn't the only ingrained knowledge that had stayed when his memories fled. He could identify each and every animal and plant they came across -a few that even the others didn't know. What bothered him most was when they cut through a sweeping field of golden wheat. At a glance, he knew how to harvest and process the crop into flour, but he couldn't recall the taste of baked bread.
I can even remember the term 'amnesia' he thought with a mirthless chuckle.
As the day wore on, the air changed. The lazy, spring-time clouds had been chased away by a darker variety blowing in from the north. The calm breeze angered into blustering gusts that buffeted the travelers. Birds, beasts and even the inquisitive flies that had pestered the stranger vanished to seek shelter. And, despite not knowing what it felt like to walk through a storm, he knew one was on the way long before the first droplets began to speckle the surrounding fields.
"There's Breya! Lets run," Chrom called over the building gale.
The two siblings dashed off, Lissa complaining loudly as her brother laughed and whooped. The stranger tried to linger, feeling his excitement increase in tandem with the storm's momentum, but Frederick grabbed his arm roughly and towed him along. They found shelter in an empty barn on the outskirts of the town.
As the others rung out their clothes and tried their best to dry off, the stranger stood as close to the barn's entrance as he could without attracting Frederick's ire, and watched the downpour. A flash of lighting split the sky, and he knew to count the seconds until the arrival of the crash of thunder to gauge the distance of the main storm. It was still miles away, but getting closer.
The stranger tugged back the sleeve of his coat and stuck his arm out from beneath the barn's roof, letting his hand be drenched by the rain. He couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face.
"It must be strange," Chrom said, stepping up to join him. "If you're telling the truth about your memory -from your perspective, this is the first storm you've experienced. At least you seem to be enjoying it."
The prince's clothes were soaked through, but he didn't seem to mind. It was only then that the stranger realized that his own coat was completely waterproof. Had he been able to raise his hood without having to worry that Frederick would consider it a hostile act and stab him, he could have strolled through the storm and not gotten wet.
"Are they always like this?" the stranger asked in amazement.
"What, this drizzle?" Chrom said. He chuckled as the stranger turned to him, eyes wide with excitement. "Around these parts, it's the storms blowing off of the Fossil Coast to the south that bring the 'real weather'."
The stranger took a minute to watch the rain. Then, said: "Do you think someone in this place will be able to help me remember?"
Chrom shrugged at the question. Now that he'd removed the white cape from his shoulder and left it to dry over the gate to an empty stall, the stranger noticed an odd tattoo on the man's upper bicep: what appeared to be the curving guard of a sword wrapped around teardrop.
"The Church of the Divine Dragon is pretty dominant throughout the Halidom," Chrom explained. "Most of the nuns and priests who have an affinity for magic -as my sister does, tend to study the healer's arts. There are hundreds of preachers wandering the Ylissian back roads, providing aid and faith wherever they go. There's a chance one of them might be in Breya."
"You know, I'd appreciate your help a lot more if my freedom didn't…" the stranger trailed off, something nagging at the back of his mind. "Sir… Lord? Prince? Does this village seem… wrong?"
"Please, if you refer to me as anything other than my own name I'll hit you so hard you'll get some of your memories back." Chrom groaned, before the rest of the stranger's words caught up to him. "What? Why? Is something amiss?"
"There isn't any light coming from in between the storm shutters," he pointed out. "And, I'd think in a gale like this -even a relatively small one by these people's standards, they'd have lit their hearths. Look, no smoke from the chimneys."
Chrom narrowed his eyes and nodded.
"I don't hear dogs. I knew something was missing! Whenever we patrol in this area there's always dogs barking before we even arrive. We shouldn't have had this much time in one of the barns. Rain or shine, those mutts will chase anyone away once they get their scent."
Frederick, who'd casually moved within his lance's striking distance behind the stranger, suddenly stepped forward at the concerned tone in his lord's voice. Chrom pointed out their suspicions about the village to him.
"Could it be some trouble from the earthquake?" the knight wondered aloud.
Chrom shook his head.
"It smells funny, Frederick. I want you to take Lissa and scout around the north. Check the houses. Try not to scare anyone, but be thorough. If I remember correctly, this village has a covered well close by to the church. Meet us there."
"My lord! Allow me to take the prisoner. It could be dangerous to leave you alone with him."
The stranger was about to tell Frederick exactly what he thought of that idea when Chrom grabbed his shoulder in an iron grip.
"Nonsense, Sir Frederick. You'll behave, won't you, friend?" Before the stranger could respond, Chrom was already in motion, dragging him out into the elements.
"But I just dried off!" Lissa shouted at their backs as they both disappeared into the storm.
As soon as they were out of view of Frederick, Chrom released the stranger and they both dashed through drenched rows of adolescent cornstalks to a simple cottage in the adjoining field to their barn. The prince wordlessly took the lead as they edged around to the front of the home.
The building, like most in the village, was made almost entirely of wood, with angled, slate-shingles roofs that created miniature waterfalls in the downpour. A stone foundation peeked out from the grass along the house's perimeter, and bore deep cracks from the earthquake. The stranger tried to peer through one of the side windows, but was foiled by the large, slanted storm shutters secured tightly in place.
Chrom, with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, cautiously nudged the door of the cottage. It swung open easily on well-oiled hinges, revealing a dark, cold interior. The stranger tapped the prince's shoulder and gestured to a large, metal lock set, unsecured, on a peg next to the entrance. Chrom nodded and stepped to a heavy, wooden table that stretched across the center of the single-roomed home.
"Looks like food for one," he said, sniffing at the small loaf of dark bread and a bowl of congealed stew. "So, something interrupts lunch, and whoever lives here left without locking up. It could have been the quake."
"Or not. Here," the stranger handed Chrom something he had spied on the floor, close to a short workbench. "An arrow, but no bow or quiver. There's some spare bowstrings here, too. I think, whatever happened, this farmer made sure to arm themselves before they left."
They left the cottage, making sure to close the door on their way out, and stood in the rain for a minute. The stranger flipped up his hood as Chrom wiped the water from his eyes and surveyed the village.
"There," he pointed towards a larger building closer to the center of the town. "That's The Fame, the local inn. It's our best bet to find someone."
The stranger was readying himself for another sprint when Chrom reached down into his own boot and produced a dagger and sheath. He handed it to his prisoner hilt first.
"You know, if your bodyguard sees me with this, whatever's going on in this town will be the least of my troubles," the stranger said, trying to hide his surprise at the prince's offer.
Chrom chuckled.
"Think of this as a way to expedite our investigation into your trustworthiness."
The weight of the dagger felt familiar, but awkward, in the stranger's hand.
So, I've handled weapons before, he thought with a sinking feeling. Not gracefully, it would seem, but still…
The thunder and lightning were in almost perfect sync as they reached a muddy alley formed between the inn and a neighboring home. Chrom ducked under the awning of a roof, shooting a jealous glance at the stranger's coat.
"I'll go around to the front," he said. "You circle along the side. There's a set of stairs in back that lead up to where the innkeeper sleeps."
"You trust me not to run off?"
"You've got no memories," the prince pointed out. "By my math, that means I've known you about as long as you've known yourself. Can't say I trust you enough to have my back. But, you do seem concerned about these townsfolk, and I can trust that. Now, get going and we'll meet inside."
Chrom disappeared around the corner and the stranger turned to his own task. Sure enough, he found a rickety set of stairs -made all the more precarious as the earthquake that had cracked several of its supporting beams, right where the prince had said they'd be. Climbing them was a noisy affair. Each step let out a creak that seemed to cut through storm.
Unlike the previous cottage, the door here was secured, but only by a simple latch on the inside. Without needing much time to consider, the stranger unsheathed Chrom's dagger and slipped it in between the door and its frame. Only a moment's jiggling was all that was required to knock the latch free and grant him entrance. One more unsavory skill he could add to the clues of his previous life.
The inside of the innkeeper's residence was in much the same state as the other home, dark and empty. The stranger's first step caused the entire structure to groan and shift slightly. It appeared the earthquake had done more structural damage here than in the shorter houses. He waited for the building to settle, but the moans of damaged wood didn't stop. They morphed into a low growl.
A massive, black sheep dog stood in the entranceway of a second room, hackles raised and teeth bared. Then -for the second time that day, he felt the point of a weapon touch the side of his head.
"Drop that knife, or die," whispered a woman's voice from out of the darkness.
The stranger complied without pause. The dagger clattered loudly to the floor, producing an angry grunt from both the damaged building and the dog. He wondered idly if waterproofing was the only enchantment on his coat or if it was also stab- and bite-proof. He decided not to make that gamble today.
The woman let out a low whistle, and the dog sat back on its haunches, not taking its eyes off of the intruder. She circled around until she was standing in front of him, a wickedly sharp pitchfork in her hands.
"Where's my wife?" she demanded, jabbing the farm implement at him to punctuate her words. "Are those folks you rounded up still alive?"
"Whoever you think I am, you're mistaken. I'm here with-"
"Did you expect country folk to be stupid? I know a Plegian coat when I see one."
"And were the others wearing Plegian clothes?" the stranger asked quickly.
A flash of uncertainty crossed the innkeeper's face.
"I… that don't mean nothin'. Your kind have been skulking around these parts for weeks now, pretending to be bandits, but everyone knows they're Plegians."
"If that's true, then this isn't a very good bandit disguise, is it. And only armed with a little dagger? Please, this coat was a… a gift," he said. The woman wavered. The dog growled at the lie. "And how many of the group that took your wife spoke Ylissian like me? With my accent?"
"Then who are you?"
"I'm here with… um, Prince Chrom."
"Prince Chrom?" the woman sagged with relief, the tines of her pitchfork pinging as they bounced on the floor. "The Shepherds are here?"
"…Yes?" the stranger hedged. He decided that now wasn't the time to ask what Ylissian royalty had to do with tending sheep.
The innkeeper sat down hard, her dog, not taking its eyes off of the stranger, cautiously padded to her side and began licking at her face. Chrom chose that moment to nudge open a door at the far side of the room. The mutt only gave the prince a perfunctory sniff before returning to its master.
"Missus Mara? Thank Naga you're alright. I saw the state of the common room and feared the worst. I see you've met my companion."
The innkeeper jumped to her feet, giving the prince a short curtsy. The dog spared the stranger a quick growl before trotting over to receive a thorough scratching behind its ears from Chrom.
"My lord," she said. "Most of the damage you see downstairs was from that great quake earlier in the afternoon. As everyone was repairing the damage, an armed group came into town." She cast an apologetic look at the stranger.
"They raided the inn and a few of the surrounding homes for food and valuables. I think they wanted to stay in The Fame, but with the roof half falling off and the storm coming, they decided to hold up in the church. Please, Lord, they took Mizzy!"
"She's fairly confident they were Plegians," the stranger said, flinching as the dogs head whipped around at the sound of his voice.
Chrom ceased petting the hound and walked up to put a comforting hand on the innkeeper's shoulder.
"We'll see to them, ma'am. I need you get out of the inn before it collapses on you. One of the barns on the outside of town will be safe and dry to shelter in for a while. I'll come find you after we're done."
"Let me help," the woman pleaded. "I'm no soldier, but Luca here has fought off his share of wolves."
Upon hearing his name, the dog perked up and wagged his tail. Chrom shook his head kindly.
"You want to save your wife, I understand that. But, the best thing you can do right now is stay safe."
"Did you see how many bandits there were?" the stranger asked, knowing any information would be invaluable. "Maybe the weapons they had? It would also be good to know how many hostages they have in there with them."
"At least a dozen. Maybe fifteen? Mostly big, scary brutes with axes, but there were some bows. I don't know how many people they took or… how many they killed. Sorry."
Chrom nodded his approval at the stranger's questions, and gave the innkeeper a gallant bow.
"You have my word, we'll do everything we can to save your wife."
The stranger stole back across the muddy morass of the village's central square, heading for a squat stone building on its northern side. Inside, the town's well was practically overflowing with the added storm water. Lissa hopped off of the stone rim she'd been seated on, waiting. Despite her earlier complaining, once informed of Breya's plight, she didn't mention her now soaked-through traveling dress.
Frederick eyed him warily, but said nothing. Since they'd separated in the barn, the knight had donned a set of dull-blue armor. His grieves were coated in a layer of grime, mirroring the stranger's own boots.
"Any windows on your side?" the stranger asked.
"None," Frederick said. "I could hear some shouting from inside, but this storm makes it impossible to pick out different speakers."
Chrom paced back and forth, the imminent conflict seemed to energize him. The thought of a fight made the stranger queasy.
"Does that mean you had no luck either?" the prince asked.
"No information, but…" The group leaned in. Even Frederick seemed hopeful for any advantage they might gain against the bandits. "It looks like the earthquake collapsed a stretch of the western wall. The villagers boarded it up before the attack, but I managed to get inside. Looks like it's a way into the priest's quarters, I think. It's the first church I've ever been in."
Chrom's predatory grin was illuminated briefly by a flash of lightning. The storm was right above them now. The prince made to clap Frederick on the back, but -remembering his armor, chose instead to plant a hand firmly on the knight's shoulder.
"That's our in, Sir Frederick."
"What about the villagers?" Lissa asked.
"Their odds might be better if you two had a distraction before you hit the bandit's rear," the stranger sighed, knowing what he was signing up for.
"I'll leave that up to you then, friend."
"What about me?" Lissa grumbled.
"You can come with me," the stranger said. He waited for Frederick to spring up and accuse him of wanting to separate them in order to slit the princess' throat, or something equally daft. The knight remains silent. His desire to aid the villagers seemed to supersede his distrust.
"With Chrom and Frederick striking from behind, we can try to extract the villagers out through the front doors," the stranger continued. "Some of them might be injured. You can get them clear out of the town. I'll… cover our retreat."
He still didn't know how he felt about the possibility of having to use the dagger Chrom gave him.
Will I learn I am a killer? he thought.
"Alright," Lissa nodded. "I can do that."
I clap of thunder marked the end of their talk of tactics. Chrom pulled Lissa into a brief hug before he and Frederick sprinted around to where the stranger had described the hole in the church's wall. That left him alone with Lissa as they waited a few minutes to let the other get into position.
"How are you holding up?" she asked, her voice strained. "You've only got about six hours of memories and we've already gotten you in trouble."
"Better than I thought I would," he said with a shrug. "I think, maybe, I've done stuff like this before."
"Oh… that sounds kinda' scary."
"It's terrifying," laughed the stranger.
"Look, I know you don't really have much reason to like us dragging you around as our prisoner, but my friend Maribelle is one of the best healers in all of the Halidom. If there isn't a priest in Breya, coming to Ylisstol might not be what you want, but it's the best chance you have to learn something about your condition; if not your past."
"And would you say -in your medical opinion, that being glared at by Frederick day and night on the journey is really the best thing for me right now?"
The stranger's joke worked. Lissa laughed, a little of her tension draining away.
"Don't worry, I'll have a word with him."
After another minute, the stranger stepped out into the town square. Lissa accompanied him to the front steps of the Church of the Divine Dagon, then slipped off to position herself with a view of the entrance, but hidden if any of the bandits happened to glance out into the village.
The church for such a small settlement was only a simple, plain stone structure. The real artistry of the building was carved into its great, wooden doors and the intricate stained-glass window hanging above them. The doors told a story: a young man with a brilliant blade traveling a war-torn continent, bringing hope and peace where he walked. It sparked something in the back of the stranger's mind, but nothing solid materialized.
The stained-glass portrayed what must have been a symbol of the church: two white dragon wings cradling a sapphire. The stranger rooted around in the mud until he came up with a large stone that fit nicely in his palm. He hefted it once, waiting for the storm.
"I don't know who you are," he said to the window. "But, I hope this isn't going to anger any deities. It's for a good cause… hopefully."
Lighting cleaved the angry clouds and the stranger hurled the rock. He couldn't hope to react faster than the crash of thunder that followed closely on the heels of the bolt, but his throw was good. To anyone in the church, it would appear that the window had exploded in time with the storm. He didn't move to hide. He forced himself to stand in plain view in the rain.
The beautiful door crashed open. A man and a woman stared out at him. They were both wearing simple, leather armor, with axes held at the ready. Their startled, angry expression collapsed into confusion as they saw a hooded man in Plegian garb standing before them.
Behind them, the stranger could see directly into the main hall of the church. A dozen other, similarly armed and armored figures prowled between overturned pews. He spied a wooden staircase off to one side. On it perched a cluster of miserable looking townsfolk. Everyone was looking at the front entrance.
The woman took a step forward and shouted over the storm. The stranger didn't understand a word of the language.
Does this mean I'm not Plegian like the others said? a small part of him wondered.
The two door guards watched him for a moment longer, the the man took a step out into the rain, raising his axe. Before the stranger could continue his charade, a large shape hurtled out of the darkness of the village and smashed into the man. The bandits screamed as a shaggy, black dog tore at his throat.
The woman ran out, hefting her own axe to save her companion from the hound. The stranger whipped out his borrowed dagger and carved a harmless slash across the Plegian's breastplate. Luckily, the strike caused her to stumble backwards and slip in the mud, cracking her head loudly against the stone steps.
From inside the church, shouts of alarm turned to panic as a war cry cut through the hall. Chrom and Frederick struck down four bandits before they knew what was happening. The stranger watched in utter amazement as the prince fell upon the Plegians, his strange, glittering blade carving through opponent after opponent as if it had a mind of its own.
Frederick was no less terrifying. The knight was a storm unto himself, his lance a bolt of lightning striking with unerring, fatal precision. For now, the stranger was completely forgotten in the melee. He ran up the steps and out of the rain.
"Mizzy?" he shouted from the entrance.
One of the villagers, a young woman with a bloody bandage wrapped around her forehead, stood up. The stranger waved and gestured that they all come to him and be quick about it. Her eyes flicked down to his coat and she faltered. Then, the innkeeper -Mara, appeared at his side, panting and soaked; still wielding her pitchfork.
"Mizzy!" she screamed. "Over here! We can-"
The stranger interrupted her with a yank on her shoulder. An arrow whistled through the air she'd just been standing in. One of the Plegian archers had managed to draw her bow, but made the mistake of picking the easiest target, not the attackers. Frederick's lance made her acutely aware of her error, if only for a moment.
The villagers broke for the entrance in an ungainly crowd. One of the bandits turned to strike at the closest civilian, but Luca was on top of him before he could draw back his blade. They poured out into the storm. Lissa jumped out and, with a little magic, lit her staffs head as a beacon to the panicked townsfolk.
The stranger waited until the last one -Mizzy, who threw her arms around her wife as the two stumbled away, was out before reaching to slam the large church doors closed. It would cut of the Plegian's retreat, while protecting his own. A scream from outside stopped him.
Lissa had fallen to the ground, the woman he had thought knocked unconscious by his attack was up on her feet, poised to split the princess' skull.
The stranger acted without thought. He shouted at the bandit, causing her to look back over her shoulder. Raising his hands as he rushed her, he molded reality with his fingers; pushing the magic of the world into a form that was intimately familiar to him. The meager sparks he created were nothing compared to the majesty of the storm above, but, for a brief instant, they shone just as bright.
The bandit fell back, unharmed but wildly disoriented and partially blinded from the rapidly flashing light the stranger had manifested. His intent was to slam a shoulder into her, but the muddy ground had other ideas. He skidded, colliding awkwardly with the woman and sending them both tumbling into the muck.
Whatever he might have been before, a grappler wasn't it. Even at a disadvantage, the Plegian quickly gained the upper hand. Desperately, the stranger tried to reposition the dagger, but was knocked senseless as his opponent clobbered the haft of her axe against the side of his head.
The bandit dragged herself to her feet as he attempted to crawl backwards away from her. She shouted at him and unsteadily brought her axe up for a killing blow.
Lissa's staff smashed into the back of her head. With a sharp crack the spellwork cage on the staff's head broke, scattering charms into the storm. The bandit hit the mud at the same time as the two halves of the shattered gemstone.
The stranger lay back and let the rain soothe his throbbing headache. The lighting flashed, but the thunder took its time responding. The storm was moving on.
"Is this going to become a habit with you, friend?"
Chrom stood over him, grinning. The prince offered the stranger a hand.
"Robin."
"What?"
"My name. It's Robin. I think that bandit knocked some memories loose."
Chrom barked out a laugh.
"Well, Robin, on behalf of the Shepherds: you did good. Now, let's go see if we can't rustle up your first drink."