Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Long, long ago, in a land now lost to the sands of time, there was a lifeform created from madness and greed. Small and weak, it would have died within days were it not for its creator. Reared on the blood of divine dragons, it survived. But it was not a dragon. It was nothing. It had no strength, no will, no mind of its own.

Again its creator saved it, this time feeding it his own blood. And suddenly, the creation began to grow, not only physically, but mentally as well. He learned of humanity, and desired a name for himself. His creator called him Grima, and he accepted the name as part of his very quintessence.

All Grima knew was his creator… and whenever he fed on his creator’s blood, he saw every thought and desire in his creator’s mind.

’If this is what you desire, you who have given me existence,’ Grima thought ’then I will gladly destroy the world for you. He tried to smile at his creator, tried to assure him that he would be at his side until the end.

But his creator was not pleased. He did not want a creature stronger than him, a creature that he could not keep under his own power. He soon wished to be rid of the being he created.

Grima saw it: the hatred, the fear, the selfish hypocrisy in his creator’s mind.

His creator would have preferred to drop dead than spend another second sealed away with Grima.

So Grima obliged him.

He felt no remorse as he delivered his creator’s end. He understood, then, how truly awful humanity was. His creator was awful, the people of Thabes were callous, and they were all worthless beings doomed to return to the dust whence they came.

The pitiful Thabesan seal was not sufficient to hold him. But for years, Grima remained in the ruins of his home. For what was outside but more worthless humans? It was no different than staying underground with the worms.

But then a woman came. A sorceress from a land he had no knowledge of. She would give him her blood, she said, if he would lend her his power. Nations would fall, she said, and they would rule the remains together.

Grima had no need for a nation. Nor was her blood strictly necessary. But it had been so long since he had seen any other living creature, and so he was tempted…

So he fed on her blood and saw into her mind. All she wanted was power. She had heard that there was a being so powerful that it single handedly sunk a civilization into the desert sands. She wanted to ruin the nation that had denied her her birthright, and who better than a destroyer of worlds?

He knew he could provide what she sought, so Grima shared his blood with her in turn, lending her his power until she finally took her throne right out of the bloodied hands of those who had stolen it from her. And as the new Queen, she sung Grima’s praises.

He was hailed as a god of ruin. People began praying for him to destroy their enemies.

And he did. He destroyed everything in his path. It was what the humans begged for.

Soon, though, the sorceress died. New humans took power. And they called him evil.

It did not matter to him that the humans hated and despised him. They could protest all they liked; he was only satisfying their base desires. He was only giving them what they asked for.

But then the worthless creatures raised their weapons against him.

Pathetic humans filled with greed, pride, or wrath approached him, each trying to destroy him.

As if his ancient soul could ever be destroyed. It was a futile exercise for them.

But… he became so tired. The wretched things were not worth the fight. And so, one day—he doesn’t know when, or even exactly why—he felt the pierce of a blade, and he… could no longer resist the call of sleep.

It was an awful slumber. Not exactly painful, but...

He dreamed, sometimes, of his creator, and of the sorceress. His mind was empty without them.

Humans are so despicable, so why is it that they get to keep bonds between each other. Why is he the one who is always left alone?

If only he could have been born a human, then perhaps…

But it did not matter. He was not a human but a god, and he was alone.

Still, he wished that someday, he, too, could carry the universe’s favor.

Chapter Text

Reincarnation was more trouble than it was worth.

“Lord Grima!” Validar, his most powerful follower, shouts. “You cannot leave us!”

He was stupid for thinking that having a human form would change anything. The humans are just as power-hungry, ungrateful, pitiful, and debased as ever. The Grimleal, his so-called “worshippers,” do not care one bit for his well-being. Ever since his body developed motor control, he’s done everything for them, killed everyone who’s gotten in their way, helped them claw their way up from the dregs of society into the ranks of royalty. And now these worms think they own him?

“You have no right to keep me against my will,” he hisses. “Do you think you are powerful? All your strength comes from me and me alone!”

“You are our strength, my lord, yes.” Validar sinks to the ground, muttering. “We cannot lose you... You must not leave... You must not…”

The sight is disgusting. It’s not as though he’s ever had any respect for the one who sired his human body, but to see him lose all composure like this… It stirs up something unpleasant in him. This man has been his closest companion for nearly two decades now. He doesn’t want to see him… do this..

He considers acquiescing. The Grimleal are nothing but lowly wretches. They would have nothing without him. They don’t deserve his pity… but he could perhaps stay with them for longer.

But then a sudden movement in the corner of his vision makes him pause. He hadn’t paid much attention to the other Grimleal in the room before, but now he can see that they’ve moved to surround him. Two armored knights block the door, flanked on both sides by sorcerers.

“Lord Validar,” a sage speaks as she steps forward. “Is it time?”

The Freeze staff in her hands portends danger. He glances back at Validar, who has not moved from his position on the ground.

“Forgive us, my lord,” Validar begs. “You left us no choice.”

Well, then. There’s no mistaking it.

Betrayal is such a human thing to do.

But they won’t get away with it.

“You would dare touch me?” he growls. “I am a god, and you are nothing! Stand down!”

He raises a hand in warning. The terrified sage looks to Validar for guidance, but she does not lower her staff.

Her mistake.

At this range, his blast of dark magic probably kills her on impact. He doesn’t care enough to check.

The Grimleal surely weren’t so stupid as to expect him to not attack, and yet they clearly are too stupid to realize the futility of attacking back. In the next instant, five blasts of Arcfire are flying towards him. The flames are weaker than the fires of Bolganone, but the larger radius of the fireballs makes them harder to avoid. One manages to hit him in the shoulder, and he grits his teeth against the sudden pain. He’s able to block another with his hands, although his gloves get so severely damaged that he has to rip their remains off before sending back a counterattack.

He misses the thick scales of his dragon body.

“Do not allow him to escape!” Validar orders as he reaches into his robes, probably for his own weapon. “I do not care if it kills you! You will lay down your lives for Lord Grima!”

The knights guarding the door seem a little conflicted. Obviously they’ve never had to choose between listening to their boss and their god before. Poor fools aren’t used to thinking.

“Go ahead and die,” he says with a cruel laugh. “But get out of my way first.”

He aims his next attack not at the idiotic knights, but instead at the wall opposite them. His tome, Grima’s Truth provides him access to only a tiny fraction of his true power, and yet it’s more than enough to blast a hole to the outside world.

Validar had really not thought his plan through. It’s almost disappointing.

He can’t resist the urge to take a final glance at his most devoted follower before he leaves. Validar’s face is unreadable.

Again… it’s almost disappointing.

“Did you truly think you could win against me?” he asks. “I am the breath of ruin and the wings of despair! This ending was predestined.” He laughs. “But you forgot about that, didn’t you, ‘Father.’”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He has to get out of Plegia—that much is certain—and the nearest border is a several hours’ walk.

It shouldn’t feel so… strange… to be leaving his home.

… In fact, he’s not even sure why he just thought of Plegia his home. He has stayed here with the Grimleal for so long solely out of convenience. It holds no significance to him.

…. If he’s reluctant to cross the border into Ylisse, it must only be because the two nations are hostile to each other. Indeed, he can recall with perfect clarity the moment he personally destroyed Ylisse’s ruler fifteen years ago… The man had been beyond reason, hell-bent on taking down the Grimleal no matter the cost. It seems he had heard of their desire to resurrect the fell dragon. Obviously, he had not heard that they succeeded. Not until it was too late for him.

Ylisse proceeded to withdraw without so much as a word of apology. (It was probably in their best interests; there would have been no mercy regardless.)

Ylisse hasn’t troubled them since. But the conflict was no small matter. It was not forgiven.

So it’s no surprise that Ylisse is no friend to Plegia now. With his Grimleal coat and his Plegian accent, he’ll immediately stand out. He would feel no remorse for inflaming the nations’ hostilities, but neither would he particularly like to at the moment.

What he desires is… Well, he doesn’t know. Right now, he only wants to be free of the Grimleal. He is a god with no limits. It doesn’t matter where he goes or what he does for now; all will fall to his power someday, regardless.

It would be better to leave Ylisse for now, he decides. But… it is becoming difficult for him to continue on. His shoulder and hands are beginning to bother him. He’s unused to going for so long with an injury; the Grimleal had never left him without a healer nearby. After walking for so long, his body is exhausted, he cannot breathe easily, and… he is entirely alone.

He knows how foolish it is to lie unconscious in the open while injured, especially while he’s in Ylisse. But he has no idea how far it would be to the next town, and he has no guarantee that the townsfolk would not be immediately hostile to him. Fighting in this state would only weaken him further.

So perhaps it’s better that he’s alone in a field. The morning sun is blocked by clouds and will not aggravate his burns. His coat protects him from the wind. And he is armed. Thunder is good enough to take out common bandits and animals, and he still has Grima’s Truth if some true threat should emerge.

He is in no danger. With this knowledge, he closes his eyes and indulges his body in the sleep it demands.

Chapter Text

He awakens to an unfamiliar voice.

“Chrom, we have to do something,” the voice—a female’s—says.

“What do you propose we do?” a man—Chrom, he assumes—asks. “Lissa, your staff isn’t going to fix damage this severe.”

“Well…” Lissa mumbles. “Um… Maybe… Frederick can go back to town and get supplies?”

Obviously, these people are not here to loot his body. That’s all he needs to know.

He blinks his eyes open slowly, careful to let them adjust to the light.

“Oh!” the man exclaims as he catches sight of the movement. “I see you’re awake now.”

“Hey there,” the woman says, smiling gently. “How are you feeling? Those injuries must have taken a lot out of you, huh?”

He grimaces. She thinks he’s weak. The aches in his body have him feeling pretty weak, too.

“It’s nothing,” he says. It might have been more convincing if he hadn’t tried to sit up at that moment. His shoulder flares with pain as though it’s been hit with a whole new Arcfire blast, and he can’t bite back a gasp.

“Don’t hurt yourself more,” the man insists. “I’ll help you up. Here, give me your hand.”

But he notices something as the man extends his arm. There’s no sleeve covering the shoulder, so there’s no mistaking it…

A brand. The Mark of Naga.

Chrom, he was called. He’s heard that name before. It must be the brother of the current exalt.

He curses inwardly. And here he thought he’d be able to get out of Ylisse without trouble.

He offers Chrom his right hand and allows the man to pull him up. Chrom’s grip is surprisingly gentle around his damaged hand, but his eyes bore intensely into him. (Only too late does Robin remember his own fell Mark, though luckily Chrom doesn’t seem to notice it)

“Thank you, Prince Chrom,” he forces himself to say.

“Ah, then you know who I am,” Chrom says, smiling.

“Who doesn’t know of the divine-blooded royal family?”

Hmm… he could have said that a little less sarcastically… The prince’s male companion—Frederick, surely— bristles at the tone.

“Indeed,” he says coolly. “And if I might ask, who are you?”

Well… He can’t call himself Grima, obviously. Luckily, he was also given a human name when he was reincarnated into this body.

“Robin,” he says. He tries to twist his features into a friendly expression. “And, uh, you are…?”

“My name is Frederick. I am a knight in the service of the royal family,” Frederick says. “It is my job to protect milord and milady here.”

“I’m Lissa! And don’t make it sound like I can’t do anything!” Lissa insists. “I’m just more of a healer than a fighter!”

“A healer?” Robin repeats in false relief. “Thank the gods. I was just on my way out of Plegia when I ran into some nasty arcfire. I’m lucky you all found me before those dastards caught up with me.”

“Oh, you poor thing!” Lissa exclaims. “I’m so sorry I don’t have anything to fix you up with! All I have is a Heal Staff, but I can use it on you if you want. It might help the pain a little until we can get you to a real medic.”

She reaches for her staff, but before she can pull it out, Frederick steps in front of her.

“Hold on,” he says. “This could be a trap.”

Ah. A wary one. Sometimes humans like this are smart enough to survive.

“Frederick! Don’t be a jerk!” Lissa huffs. “He’s obviously in a lot of pain. What’s he going to do to me?”

Robin can think of twelve different ways he could have her dead within thirty seconds… but perhaps it isn’t the time to share that.

“How do we know that he is not a brigand?” Frederick points out. “Perhaps he was injured while fleeing from the law. Or perhaps he was part of a group whose members turned on each other when things went south.”

That is… so incredibly close to the truth that Robin can’t help but feel uncomfortable.

“Even if he is,” Chrom says, placing a hand on Frederick’s shoulder, “we cannot allow him to suffer when it is in our power to stop it.”

“Milord…” Frederick backs down at his prince’s command, but he’s clearly still suspicious.

Robin rolls his eyes. If he’d wanted to kill them, he could have done it three times over by now.

“I am not a brigand,” he says. “I am only trying to leave an unfavorable situation behind. I have no intention of harming you today. While I thank you for your help, I have no need of it. I suggest you leave me and be on your way.”

“And allow you free reign of our countryside?” Frederick asks, affronted.

“Frederick, please, stay your doubts,” Chrom says. Turning to Robin, he continues. “If you are indeed telling the truth, you have been through quite an ordeal. But we do not have the resources to properly take care of you, and I cannot in good conscience leave you to tend to your injuries alone. Will you at least allow us to accompany you back to town?”

Robin sighs.

“Why do I feel as though you aren’t really asking me at all?”

Typical demanding human. Robin is so tired of following others’ “suggestions.” But he is undeniably injured, and it would be nice to get some medical attention without having to worry about being further attacked. And surely no healer would deny their prince, even if the patient they’re asked to treat looks like he could be a Plegian brigand...

“But if that is what your conscience demands of you, I will take you up on your offer,” he continues.

Some of the tension in Chrom’s face melts away.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he says. “Your journey will surely be easier once you’ve been mended up.”

“I’ll do what I can for you right now,” Lissa says, waving her staff.

The ache in Robin’s muscles lessens, but as far as the burns go…

Lissa winces.

“Geez, Robin, they really got you,” she says. “You’d think I hadn’t done anything at all.”

“I’ve had much worse before,” Robin says, shrugging. And to Lissa’s credit, that’s an action he could barely manage just seconds ago. “Let’s hurry on. I would like to leave this country as soon as possible.”

Frederick levels him an unimpressed glare.

“You understand why that makes you sound suspicious, do you not?” he says. “If you will not even speak of who harmed you, you cannot expect us to assume you are an innocent party.”

Robin barely contains his laughter at that thought. He has never been what humans call “innocent.”

“I don’t care what you believe,” he says. “Pray to the gods that this is the last time we meet.”

They met today in strange circumstances. Once he leaves Ylisse, he has no plans to return until he feels like destroying it. These humans should hope they never see him again.

“Peace, friend,” Chrom says. “So long as you do no harm to the people of Ylisse, we will not detain you. We’ll leave you in the hands of the healers, and then we must continue with our own business.”

“Uh, Chrom…” Lissa interjects suddenly. “I think we might have to change our plans a little bit…”

Robin follows her gaze over to the town in the distance… or what’s still standing of it, at least.

“Damn it! The whole town is ablaze!” Chrom exclaims. “Those blasted brigands, no doubt! Frederick, Lissa! Quickly!”

“But Chrom, we can’t leave Robin all alone!” Lissa protests. “What if the brigands come after him?”

Chrom grimaces.

“I will not have any difficulty protecting myself,” Robin says. “Do not stay back for my sake.”

“And if we were to leave you here, would you still be here upon our return?” Frederick asks.

Robin smiles thinly in response.

“That’s what I thought,” Frederick says.

“Gods, we’re wasting time!” Chrom snaps. “We’re all going. Robin, you stay behind me and Frederick. You too, Lissa!”

Robin considers ignoring the demand. After all, the Ylisseans are in no position to stop him right now.

On the other hand, how can he resist the lure of destruction?

Frederick and Chrom charge forward recklessly, giving the brigands an opportunity to swarm them. If this is their usual fighting style, it’s a miracle they’re still alive.

“Oh! Chrom, you idiot,” Lissa mutters. “I’ve gotta go heal him. Robin, just stay behind these houses, okay? They can’t reach you over here.”

“You don’t have the defenses to take—” Robin starts, but Lissa is already running towards her brother.

Well, it’s her funeral…

Robin can see the exact moment the brigands realize Lissa is in their range. The leader smirks as he approaches her.

“Such a pretty thing you are,” he says, giving Lissa a disgustingly lustful once-over. “I bet you’d fetch a pretty price, too,” he cackles.

“Oh, now you’re asking for it!” Lissa shrieks. “Take this, you dastard!”

Robin has never seen anyone swing a Heal staff so violently. Unfortunately, it doesn’t do any damage to the brigand leader. It does, however, enrage him.

“You’re gonna pay for that!” he shouts, raising his axe. “Grima have mercy on you, damn harpy!"

Robin’s eyes widen at the brigand’s words. Then, he laughs. This pathetic worm has no idea what it means to invoke his name.

“Why don’t you worry about yourself?” Robin taunts, narrowing his eyes. It’s going to be difficult with only Thunder, but if he strikes at the right artery…

“Here’s how it’s done,” he says, sparing Lissa a glance. His first blast knocks the brigand to the ground. The second blast ensures he stays there.

“W-Wow…” Lissa murmurs. She kneels down to look closer at the corpse. It still crackles with electricity. At least she knows better than to touch it. “R-Robin, you…”

She chokes on her words. Robin knows how this goes. This is the part where faint-hearted humans call him evil, and power-hungry humans seek to gain his power. From what he’s seen of Lissa, he expects the former.

But, surprisingly, she attacks him. Her arms wrap around his shoulders, and she squeezes the burned skin painfully.

“That was the coolest thing, Robin!” she shrieks. “You— Oh!”

She lets go of him suddenly, her face turning an unusual shade of red.

“U-Uh, was I hurting you there? I totally forgot you’re still injured!” she says. “It’s just… I thought for sure that guy was going to…”

“Lissa!” Chrom shouts. He runs towards his sister, Frederick and his horse following behind. “By the gods, I told you to stay back!”

“Oh, so you get to be a stupid hero and I don’t?” Lissa asks, putting her hands on hips. “If you’d stop running right into the middle of the enemy lines, I wouldn’t have to run in there to heal you!”

“That’s… not…” Chrom splutters.

“You would both benefit from a little more caution,” Frederick interrupts. “Robin will not always be here to save us.”

“Can’t you save the lecture for later?” Lissa asks. “Robin did save me, and that’s what’s important!”

“Yes, he did…” Chrom murmurs, turning his gleaming eyes to Robin. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you. You had no desire to be here, but I dragged you along nonetheless. You had no duty to us. And yet you saved my sister.”

Well… Robin has no love for Ylisse, but at least its Prince is not so hubristic to claim all the credit for victory for himself.

“It was nothing,” he says.

And it really wasn’t. He didn’t “save” anyone. He destroyed a worthless human being, that’s all.

But he supposes the Ylisseans can’t tell the difference. Lissa is alive, and the brigand is not. To them, she was saved.

“The people of the town are safe now, as well,” Chrom says, “Unfortunately, their supplies… well…” He glances back at a pile of ash. Of course the brigands would have trapped the townspeople without any way to heal. “Robin, I know I’ve brought you nothing but trouble so far, but if you come back to Ylisstol with us, I swear we’ll take care of you. Whatever you need.” He smiles. “It’s the least we can do.”

Oh… The Ylissean royals are actually going to repay him.

Why is it that these strangers are treating him with more respect than his own followers?

“I will follow you to your capitol,” Robin says, “I have left my country with only the clothes and weapons had on my person and I am going to need supplies.”

“I’ll sew you a whole wardrobe if that’s what you want,” Lissa says with a cheerful laugh. “Or maybe you should just ask my friend Maribelle. She knows how to make things that are actually, uh…”

“Good-looking,” Chrom finishes. “Maribelle actually has an eye for fashion.”

“Oh, like you’d know what style is,” Lissa says, rolling her eyes. “Frederick, you think my needlework is great, right?”

“It’s very practical, milady,” Frederick says. “Your stitches never come undone. Reliable clothing is essential for battle.”

“Nice save,” Chrom mutters under his breath.

Robin snorts. He can hardly believe that Plegia bothers to consider Ylisse an enemy, if this is how the royal family behaves. Perhaps their leader is a terror-inspiring warrior of some sort.

Perhaps he will see.

Chapter Text

Ylisse is certainly not ruled by a fierce warrior.

The Exalt bears no resemblance to her late father. Her voice has a soft, airy quality to it that makes her seem nonthreatening. Though she walks with her head held high, there is a deliberate hesitance to her movements.

“She is a symbol of peace,” Frederick says. “A thousand years ago, our first exalt nearly lost his life to end the fell dragon. Several of his allies did not come out of the battle at all. The exalt now stands both for peace and for its price.”

“Hmm…” Robin murmurs. It is difficult to remember the moments just before his slumber. A man had come, certainly. And Robin had fought, because he could do nothing else. And yet, there was a sense of relief just before he had gone into slumber… But wait, did the glory-hogging human tell his people that he had ended the fell dragon?

Such a feat would be impossible. Robin’s quintessence, his very life force, is too great. His spirit will likely never dissipate from the world. Not as long as he has the will to live…

“That isn’t the story they tell in Plegia, is it…?” Chrom says, giving Robin a sheepish smile. “I know your national religion says that, er…”

“The fell dragon will be reborn and destroy the world,” Robin says. He can’t stop the laugh that escapes him. “I’m aware.”

“... I see,” Frederick says, eyeing him suspiciously.

“You’re wondering if I’m a Grimleal spy,” Robin says.

“You have not denied it,” Frederick says.

“I am simply amused,” Robin says. “But you have my word that the Grimleal will not hear of your secrets from my lips. They have recently discovered that my interests are… not consistent with their own, it seems.”

Chrom glances questioningly at Robin’s injured shoulder.

“Yes, that is a memento from the Grimleal,” Robin says. “I am rather disillusioned with them, as I’m sure you can guess.”

The Ylisseans won’t guess the full story, of course, but nobody likes being blasted with Arcfire.

“Plegia is a fool to lose you,” Chrom says, placing a warm hand against Robin’s good shoulder.

“... Indeed,” Robin agrees. “They will live to regret it.”

He doesn’t feel any remorse for abandoning the Grimleal. After all, they betrayed him, their own god! The world would be better off without such faithless, gutless worms!

“Wow, Robin, has anyone ever told you you’ve got a terrifying aura?” Lissa asks with a shiver. “Remind me not to cross you, okay?”

“Pray you never consider it,” Robin says.

“Aye, we must promote peace, just as our sister does” Chrom says. “Though it is not hard to sympathize with those who would call for war…”

“Plegia has been trying to instigate a war for years, milord,” Frederick says. “We must remain steadfast.”

“You’re right as always, Frederick,” Chrom says, sighing. “The safety of the Ylissean people comes before all else.”

“Guys, look! Emm’s going back inside the castle!” Lissa interrupts.

“Ah! We should go meet her,” Chrom says.”Robin,” he continues, turning to meet Robin’s eyes. “Would you like to come with us? I’m sure she will want to thank you in person.”

Meeting the exalt in person… Right now, that’s the last thing Robin wants.

“I…” He takes a step forward, then fakes a wince. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to hold myself together all day, but…” He clutches his injured shoulder. “I just don’t know how much more I can take. I might lose consciousness again…”

Chrom buys it. His expression immediately softens.

“Of course. Don’t let me push you past your limits. I’ll show you to our healers,” he says. “Lissa, Frederick, I trust you can report to Emm on your own?”

“Aye, milord,” Frederick says. He looks more than a little relieved, presumably because Robin will not be nearing his precious Exalt… yet again proving himself to be the only Ylissean with any sense.

“Ohhh… Emm’s going to be sad she missed you, Robin,” Lissa says. “Feel better, okay!”

They part ways at the castle’s entrance, Chrom leading him down a side corridor.

“I’m relieved you agreed to seek treatment,” Chrom says. “The brigands could only have aggravated your wounds.”

“Injured or not, it would be an insult to myself to allow those petty criminals to harm me,” Robin says. “Indeed, they did me no injury.”

“I did not mean to suggest that they had hit you,” Chrom says. He chuckles. “I saw for myself the finesse with which you handled the fight. The brigand leader had no time to lay a hand on you.”

“Yes,” Robin agrees. “So you see why your concern for me is unnecessary.”

“On the contrary,” Chrom says. “I am all the more concerned. Your hands…”

Robin holds up his non-Marked hand. The burns there are only first degree.

“My gloves took most of the fire damage,” he says. “My hands are not the primary concern.”

“I never studied magic myself,” Chrom says, “but Emm did. I know that casting without gloves can damage the nerves.”

“Ah.” Robin hadn’t thought that Chrom would pay that much attention. “You are correct. I do not make a habit of it, I assure you.”

“No, but you were forced to in an emergency,” Chrom says. “With your hands already damaged! If I had protected you and Lissa properly—”

Oh. Of course. The prince thinks of himself as a protector. It’s proper, Robin supposes. Otherwise, the weak humans who place themselves under Ylissean rule may well decide that they are in fact the stronger. Worms devouring their leaders… It can be amusing.

But Robin is no worm.

“Peace, milord,” he says. “If I were going to smite you for your actions, I would let you know.”

The corners of Chrom’s lips twitch upwards.

“Now, now,” he says. “You’re really going to call me your lord and then talk of smiting me?” He laughs. “You can call me Chrom. I’m not one for formalities.”

Robin chuckles.

“As you wish,” he says. It’s not as though human titles mean anything to him. They can call themselves what they like; it does not change their fundamental characters. “So, Chrom, allow me to make myself clear. If you continue to assault me with your misplaced guilt, I may just decide to smite you after all.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” Chrom says. “Here we have arrived at the medic’s, and I promise I shall leave you to recover in peace… For the time being.” He smiles. “I would ask that you not leave the castle until we’ve had a chance to speak again. After all, you mentioned needing supplies…”

“Yes. I still want them,” Robin says. “I will form a list of necessities while I am here for treatment. You may come by tomorrow morning, if you are serious about providing them.” He fixes his gaze on Chrom. “And I do hope you are serious.”

“Of course I am, Robin,” Chrom says, his voice friendly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When Robin is at long last left alone, he resignedly submits himself to the care of the Ylissean healers. With three high-level sages all casting Mend on him, it isn’t long before his skin is once again smooth and undamaged, although it will still take at least a day’s rest before the pain completely resides.

He spends the rest of the night considering his strategy. The sages leave him alone after their initial attempts to engage him in conversation are met with failure, and it’s… irritating. They have to keep coming in to check on him, and to bring him food and water. It would surely be less distracting for everyone if they just stayed put…

But it is no true concern of his. Certainly, he does not need to hear their irritating voices while he is trying to think.

He does not have any firm goal at the moment, which makes it difficult to form a plan. For so long, he had done whatever the Grimleal had asked of him… No wonder they had thought him to be under their control! Of course, nobody in the world can force him to act against his will. Nevertheless, the Grimleal’s… influence, he’ll say… has clearly affected him. The world is, and has always been, in his hands. But now that he no longer feels obligated to aid his followers… what should he do?

Perhaps he would be better off wandering for a while. He should prepare for anything. That means weapons, of course. Dark magic might make him a suspicious figure outside of Plegia, but there’s nothing wrong with a good Thoron, and Rexcalibur, especially if he he can get his hands on both of them.

He’ll need clothing, of course. His coat will stay. He will have to repair the fire damage to it, but it has served him well for many years, and it would not do for him to abandon it now. But Ylissean garments will do for the most part.

He will need food, but the difficulty lies in not knowing where he’s going. It would not do to run out of rations in the middle of nowhere…

He closes his eyes with a sigh. He should not be having so much trouble with this matter. It does not matter what happens. He will take as much as Ylisse will give, and he will adapt to his position accordingly. Sometimes improvisation is the best strategy

Chapter Text

When he wakes the next morning, he is immediately accosted by the healers. Two of them wave their staves around him, while one goes out—evidently to tell on him to Chrom, because a few minutes later, after everyone has finished fussing over him, the prince himself walks in, brandishing… gloves… at him.

“Good morning, Robin,” Chrom greets him cheerfully. “I don’t know what kind of gloves you usually wear, but I brought the best I could find. I know they’re magically resistant, at least.”

They probably don’t resist dark magic, which is a flaw Robin will have to fix soon. But they’ll be good enough for now.

“These are suitable, thank you,” he says, hastily shoving the gloves on. Now that he can stop worrying about concealing his Brand, the Ylissean castle is a lot less threatening.

Chrom flashes him a smile.

“I’m glad to see you in better health,” he says.

“Your healers are skilled with magic,” Robin replies. “Indeed, I’d say the only threat to my being now is that I will be bored to death in their care.”

“Is that so?” Chrom chuckles. “You are not a prisoner, you know. Shall we get out of here?”

“Gladly,” Robin agrees, pushing past Chrom and out the door, only to pause a few steps outside because… right, this is not his castle. He does not know where he’s going.

“Come with me into the courtyard,” Chrom says, overtaking the lead. “It is easier to speak openly when servants are not roaming the halls with an ear for gossip.”

“… Indeed.” Robin glances towards a maid at the end of the hall. She appears very invested in dusting one particular corner over and over again.

The courtyard is warm and bright with morning sunlight. It is pleasant to walk in, and Robin even loosens his coat around him.

“Robin,” Chrom says after a moment of intense contemplation. “I’m just going to come right out and say it. You are a powerful mage—”

“Tactician,” Robin interrupts. “I have trained to become a tactician.”

“Gods, then please, consider what I’m about to offer all the more seriously,” Chrom says. “I want you to join my army, Robin.”

That was… not exactly what Robin had expected.

“I do not take orders,” he says dismissively. “Especially not from the Ylissean army.”

“Ah, wait!” Chrom exclaims. “I would not ask you to pledge loyalty to Ylisse. I was speaking of my… it’s more of a milita, really. A volunteer militia, although I would of course ensure that you are provided with food, shelter, and coin. We mainly fight the bandits and brigands that Plegia sends over, though we try to aid anyone we can. We call ourselves the Shepherds, and the people are our sheep.”

Shepherds tending their weak little human sheep, huh? Though he suspects the prince and his cohorts are little better than sheepdogs... Robin chuckles at the thought.

“I do not think you need my power for that job,” Robin says.

“Perhaps not,” Chrom agrees. “But truth be told… I suspect the fragile peace we currently hold is not going to last.. When war arrives, I want strong fighters at my side. And you say you are a tactician. I am afraid I do not have much of a mind for complex tactics. You would be an invaluable ally.”

“Interesting…” Robin murmurs. “And what makes you think that war will come soon?”

“Have you heard of the ‘Mad King’ of Plegia?” Chrom asks. At Robin’s blank look, he continues. “His name is Gangrel. He opposes the current Grimleal regime in Plegia, though he supposedly pays lip service to the fell dragon. In any case, he has amassed quite a following in the east of Plegia. And as much as he hates his own government, he also seems to despise both Valm and, well, Ylisse. If the Grimleal don’t start a war with us first, I suspect he will do it. ”

Robin frowns. It disturbs him that he has not heard of this Gangrel fellow. The Grimleal must not have seen him as much of a threat if they did not even bother to pray to their god for his destruction… but it infuriates him that his followers did not see it fit to inform him of the heretic.

And as for Gangrel himself… Robin isn’t stupid. The Grimleal are his only true worshippers. Anyone who opposes them opposes him. Which means that this “Mad King” has the gall to doubt the fell dragon himself… Again, infuriating.

“You’re convincing me,” he says, gritting his teeth. “But I don’t aid just anyone. I only accept blood oaths.”

Chrom takes a step back in horror.

“It’s normal in Plegia,” Robin adds quickly, lest Chrom decide to turn on him. Technically, it’s true. Many of the Grimleal give blood instead of their word. Of course, among humans, it’s a meaningless triviality. For him, it is a sign of truth.

“... Your trust is not easily earned,” Chrom murmurs.

Robin’s smile is thin.

He should not have offered anything to this foolish man. He is not like all the others, who sought out the fell dragon in all his glory. This is a a prince speaking to a stranger. He will not bother to—

“Is this enough?” Chrom asks.

And Robin watches, dumbstruck, as Chrom takes the tip of his ancient, legendary, dragonslaying sword and presses it carefully to his palm.

“What are you doing?” Robin snarls, grabbing Chrom’s hand with both of his own. “I am a Plegian expatriate whom you found on the ground. Do you know what I can do with blood? Is this truly worth the risk to you?”

“Robin…” Chrom murmurs. “You have done nothing to harm me. You already have my trust.”

Stupid, stupid… Is Robin really going to lend his strength to this particularly stupid prince?

Chrom’s blood glistens invitingly on his hand, and Robin presses it to his lips.

He can feel Chrom’s mind only for the briefest of moments, but it tells him enough. Oh, how the gentle prince longs for war. And Ylisse, Ylisse, it’s only for Ylisse, or so he tells himself, but if he had to raze Plegia to the ground to save his people, he’d do it. Better that other nations burn than his own. And better it happen swiftly, before more Ylisseans are lost.

Ah, yes. If this is what Chrom truly desires, Robin can give it to him.

“D-Did you say something, Robin?” Chrom asks.

Robin looks up at Chrom’s flushed face and quickly separates their minds. His own mind echoes strangely at the loss, but that’s nothing unusual. And he has no reason to establish a long-term link right now; indeed, considering that Chrom has no idea who he’s just offered his blood to… Well, a blood pact is out of the question.

But it is not a problem for him. Robin does not trust a child of Naga with his blood, anyway. He will still honor the pact that would be. He thinks he will enjoy bringing down a few nations with the descendant of the very man who supposedly defeated him. It should be an interesting diversion for a while, at least.

“I said I’ll do it,” he says, chuckling. “After that display, how could I not? But, Chrom…” He gives his new partner a hard stare. “As your tactician, I am now obligated to demand that you never give up your blood like that again. Especially if someone asks.”

Obviously Chrom really does need him. How he has survived to this day is a mystery.

“As long as you do your job, we won’t have to rely on my bone-headed strategies anymore,” Chrom says with a laugh.

“Indeed.” Robin says. “You will do well to listen to me. I do not ever fail.”

Chapter Text

Chrom’s militia is an absolute mess, and if it weren’t for the fact that Chrom swears by the members, Robin would demand they dissolve and reform with some competent fighters.

The Shepherds are about as threatening as their namesakes, if not less so. Robin feels like he’s the one corralling animals sometimes. And formulating any kind of battle plan is difficult when these fools are around.

First, there’s Maribelle, Lissa’s prissy friend who finds it barbaric that she would have to get her clothes dirty. She’s skilled at riding her horse, at least. It’s not much of a saving grace.

Cordelia is also a skilled rider, though she rides on a pegasus rather than a horse. She only trains with the Shepherds part-time, as she is also a member of the royal Pegasus Knights. However, even when she is present, her mind doesn’t seem to be there. It seems that she cannot stand to dedicate a single thought to anything besides Chrom. Fortunately, she receives enough training through her official duties that her distraction does not completely render her useless, but it is unnecessarily irritating nevertheless.

Then there’s Ricken, a child who would have an easier time convincing everyone of his maturity if he would stop running off on his own all the time. He’s lucky he doesn’t take his hand off with his own magic.

That said, at least Ricken tries to fight. Their other mage, Miriel, is so busy researching all the time that she conveniently forgets to do any training.

Sully is consistent with her training, though. She’s decent with a lance, but unfortunately, she’s entirely too easy to rile up. It’s going to be a liability in battle, because everyone knows how to exploit a quick temper.

Stahl is a cavalier like Sully. He’s not as powerful as her, and no wonder, because he never stops eating for long enough to train!

Sumia not only feeds Stahl’s bad habits by slipping him food, she also just plain slips. Here, there, and everywhere! Robin has never seen a more uncoordinated human. It’s a miracle she can even hold onto her lance.

Beating out both Stahl and Sumia for the title of “biggest airhead” is Vaike, who, as it turns out, actually cannot hold onto his weapon. Robin has lost count of the times he’s left it lying out in the open for Sumia to trip on. Even Robin nearly tripped on it once!

Lissa, for her part, does not help the matter. She likes to pick up Vaike’s axe and swing it around whenever she gets the chance. She’ll make a great war cleric one day... if she doesn’t inadvertently take out all her teammates first, that is.

Frederick remains ever wary, but surprisingly, has become somewhat less hostile towards Robin. Robin suspects it’s because he now has somebody to pass off babysitting duty to.

Not that Robin can blame him for that. The Shepherds are all a bunch of ridiculous—

“Oof! Oh, sorry, Robin!” Sumia apologizes as she tries to pick herself up from the floor in front of him. “I don’t know what I tripped over this ti—”

“Anyone seen my axe?” Vaike shouts from the other side of the garrison.

It’s so infuriating. Why does Robin even stay here?

“All right, everybody,” Chrom says as he walks in. “Brace yourselves, because we’ve got news.”

Oh, right. Because Robin is a god of his word.

“C-Captain!” Sumia shouts. As she steps forward, she trips again. Robin reluctantly pulls her back before she can topple onto Chrom.

“Good catch,” Chrom says. “Careful now, Sumia. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Y-Yes, Captain!” Sumia says. Robin pushes her behind him and releases her, silently commanding her not to move from that spot. He doesn’t have high hopes about that happening, though.

“As I was saying,” Chrom continues. “News has arrived… from Plegia.”

Murmuring immediately erupts. Some of the Shepherds give Robin uneasy glances. Robin rolls his eyes. As if anything is going to upset him.

“So, if I had to guess,” he speaks up. “The Grimleal did something stupid.”

Without me, he obviously doesn’t finish.

“Er, I don’t know if you would say… Uh, that is… Well…” Chrom glances away from his Shepherds. “They seem to have deposed their Queen… violently.”

“You mean they killed her?” Ricken asks. “That’s awful!”

Robin can’t say he particularly cares. The Queen was nothing but a puppet the Grimleal set up. Supposedly, Robin himself was the one controlling her actions. But now, after everything… He wonders if that was true at all. It’s not as though he has any love for politics…

But now isn’t the time to dwell on it. No, the more interesting question is, with the old Queen dead…

“Who is replacing her?” he asks.

“That’s the thing,” Chrom says, frowning. “I’ve never heard of the man before. He calls himself Validar.”

Wait, Validar? His Validar?

That’s… completely ridiculous. Validar was never interested in politics, either. Or… was he? Now that he thinks about it, Validar was always together with Robin, only ever focused on serving him… And Robin had never linked their minds. If Validar had desires of his own, beyond serving the fell dragon… Well, Robin had never caught wind of them…. Which perhaps doesn’t mean anything.

His inner unease must show on his face, because Chrom approaches him to place a hand on his shoulder. An unnecessary display of comfort that does nothing for him, but Robin doesn’t bother to push it away.

“Robin, are you okay?” Chrom asks. “Do you know who I’m talking about?”

“Yes,” Robin admits. “He is… the leader of the Grimleal. I do not know why he would take on the position of King.”

“They believe that they have lost their god’s favor, or so I have heard,” Chrom says. “Perhaps they believe it is their former Queen’s fault and wished to put in someone more faithful.”

“No…” Robin says. “I am sure they are planning something. What exactly, I do not know. But…” He looks up sharply into Chrom’s eyes. “We must prepare for war. They will come to fight us sooner or later. We must be ready to meet them. Or, better, force them to meet us.”

Chrom stares back at him with a grim certainty. Of course he does. This is, after all, what he’s always wanted to hear.

And it is almost certainly true. Whatever the Grimleal intend, as soon as they discover that Robin is staying with the rulers of Ylisse, they will surely come to him. It is only a matter of time.

“Do you truly think that’s what it will come to, Captain?” Sumia asks.

“I do,” Chrom says. “And I know it’s a lot to take in. None of you asked for this, and I will not try to demand your continued service to me, but—”

“Milord,” Frederick interrupts. “I think I speak for all of us when I say we would follow you to the ends of the earth.”

A chorus of “aye”s echoes through the garrison.

“Then… I thank you all for your loyalty,” Chrom says. “Our bonds will carry us to victory. Right, Robin?”

Bonds… Does Chrom have some kind of pact with the rest of the Shepherds? Well, no matter.

“It will be that way,” Robin agrees. “I will bring you victory.”

Chapter Text

The Shepherds are without a doubt the most foolish band of fighters Robin has ever dealt with.

But… they are improving. All thanks to Robin, of course.

He credits his success largely to his pair-up plan. Everyone gets a partner. You are responsible for your partner, not yourself. If you don’t want to die, you had better make sure your partner is on-task.

Sumia and Cordelia are the first people he puts together. Sumia becomes significantly more competent with her fellow pegasus knight around. Cordelia, for her part, can actually focus on things other than Chrom while in the presence of her so-called “best friend.”

He pairs up Vaike and Miriel shortly thereafter, when it becomes apparent that Miriel is the only one who can actually keep track of that blasted axe. And Vaike can actually stand Miriel’s overbearingly clinical personality, if only because he understands so little of it. They make an odd match, but their training results speak for themselves.

Sully and Maribelle end up getting along surprisingly well. Robin thought their personalities might clash, but as it turns out that they bond over… how stupid men can be... And, well, they’re correct, so if it convinces them to fight better, Robin isn’t going to discourage it.

Ricken and Stahl both continue to annoy Robin, but at least they work together well. Stahl’s pathologically laid-back personality soothes Ricken’s ego, while Ricken’s boundless energy forces Stahl to actually get up.

Frederick and Lissa are the two most competent Shepherds anyway, so it only makes sense for them to pair up. And besides, Frederick has always been dedicated to serving the royal family. And Lissa will actually listen to him. It’s a perfect match.

Now, if Frederick had his way, he would force Robin to let him have some kind of dual pair-up with both Lissa and Chrom, but… Robin cannot accept that.

He must guide Chrom himself, if he is to bring the violent future that Chrom desires.

And it will come soon.

“Everybody, we must be prepared to march on the morrow,” Chrom announces one morning. “Khan Flavia of Regna Ferox has requested we meet.”

“Wait, seriously?” Stahl asks. “I thought the Feroxi people didn’t do diplomacy?”

“That has been the case until now,” Chrom replies. “But it seems that even the great warriors do not wish to wage war alone. Ferox has given Ylisse aid in comfort in hard times past. The least we can do is hear them out now.”

The Shepherds mutter amongst themselves.

“Who’d be dumb enough to attack the Feroxi?” Vaike asks loudly. “Those guys are scary for real, and that’s coming from The Vaike.”

“Heh…”

A hush falls over the room as everyone turns their eyes to Robin.

“Plegia, obviously,” he says.

“Th-That’s right,” Chrom says, clearing his throat. “Plegia claims that Ferox is occupying the holy birthplace of the fell dragon. They demanded that the Feroxi cede the region to them immediately, and that went over about as well as you’d expect.””

Robin scoffs.

“A pretense, I’m sure.”

They must refer to Thabes, but there was never anything holy about the place. A worthless civilization, once home to a worthless alchemist, that is just as well lost forever. And now all that remains is worthless sand. The Grimleal would never find where it used to be. Robin doubts that he himself could.

“Indeed,” Chrom agrees. “If this place is so important to them, why would we only now be hearing of it? Nevertheless, they’ve started sending over soldiers. Fully armed soldiers. They didn’t issue an official declaration of war yet, but I expect it will come soon. ”

“But why would they provoke a war with Regna Ferox, of all countries?” Lissa asks. “Even if they managed to defeat the Feroxi—and hey, don’t look at me like that! I’m not saying that they will or anything!—they’d lose a lot of their own people, first!”

“Indeed,” Chrom says with a morose sigh . “They will bring destruction to the whole continent.”

“Then we must destroy them first,” Robin insists.

Chrom’s eyes harden to steel.

“If it comes to it, yes.”

Robin holds Chrom’s gaze steadily. He knows this is Chrom’s true desire. Perhaps a lesser being would spare some thought for a country that they had spent years of their life in… but Robin will gladly sink Plegia into the sand if that’s what it takes. He and Chrom will bring their own destruction.

“Pray it does not come to it,” Frederick interrupts. “We must make haste for Ferox. Perhaps a show of solidarity will convince Plegia of its folly.”

“Aye,” Chrom agrees. “Everyone, go and make your preparations now. We have a difficult journey ahead of us.”

The Shepherds scatter at the clear dismissal. Besides Robin, Chrom is the only one who does not immediately excuse himself.

Instead, he slumps against the wall beside him.

“Chrom? What are you doing?” Robin asks in alarm. He hopes the human isn’t ill. In addition to potentially spreading the illness to others, it will be very difficult to command an imposing presence at Regna Ferox with a weakened leader.

“I don’t know, Robin,” Chrom groans. “I don’t… Is war truly inevitable?”

“No,” Robin replies. “The annihilation of Ylisse and all you hold dear is a valid possibility.”

Chrom flinches.

“... Would it have hurt you to spare me that thought?” he practically whimpers.

“Do you need to delude yourself?” Robin asks sharply. He steps forward, closing the distance between the two of them. There is no escaping him. “You are stronger than that, Chrom. Do not deny what lies in your heart. It is time for you to command.”

He takes a step back, only to be stopped by a sudden tug.

“Robin…”

Chrom clutches at Robin’s arm, and Robin’s eyes briefly widen. No one dares to manhandle the fell dragon, Grima…

… But it is Robin’s own fault that Chrom does not understand what he is doing, for he has yet to even hint at his nature to the man. He resolves to allow the behavior, especially when he sees the desperation on Chrom’s face. It is a pitiful look, but if Chrom must wear it, better that he direct it towards Robin like this. Robin cannot lose respect for humanity when he never held it in the first place.

“You… You will continue to stand with me?” Chrom asks. “This is… This is a lot more than herding sheep. This is hunting wolves, and I fear the change in occupation will not come easy.”

“Are these not the very circumstances for which you wanted me?” Robin smirks. “You shall have my aid until your war is over.”

Chrom suddenly averts his gaze, and he finally releases Robin from his grip.

Robin doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, but he places a hand on Chrom’s shoulder, as Chrom has often done to him.

“Thank you, Robin,” Chrom says, looking back at him now with warm eyes. “I find that hearing you speak always strengthens my resolve.”

Of course it does. It is supposed to.

It is strangely satisfying to hear Chrom confess it, though.

Chapter Text

The journey to Regna Ferox goes smoothly right up until they have to actually enter the country.

First, it is bitterly cold. Robin has to wrap his coat tightly around him, and even then, his pathetic human body insists on shivering against his will.

At least he does it quietly.

“F-F-Frederick, I’m f-f-freezing!” Lissa complains loudly.

“Stand behind my horse, milady,” Frederick suggests. “She’ll shelter you from the wind.”

Lissa immediately snuggles closer to the horse… and to Frederick himself. Frederick obligingly wraps an arm around her.

In any event, the situation does not improve as they approach the fortress marking the border. One would think the Feroxi Guard would be ready to meet the Plegian royalty they invited, but…

“Halt, fiends!” a blonde-haired knight exclaims as she rushes out the door to block their entry. “You can try all you like, but I will never let a Plegian in as long as I draw breath!”

“Plegians?” Chrom repeats. “I’m afraid you misunderstand. I come in the name of House Ylisse to speak with the Khan. I am Prince Chrom. Have you not been expecting me?”

“House Ylisse, yeah right.” The knight scoffs. She jabs her hand in Robin’s direction. “And what do you call that thing? Looks like a Grimleal to me.”

Robin can feel the Shepherds’ surprised glances. All except Chrom…

“You will not disrespect my tactician!” Chrom snaps. Drawing his sword, he takes a step forward.

Robin glances approvingly at Chrom even as Frederick and Lissa gasp behind them.

“Milord,” Frederick says hesitantly. “We must not be hasty…”

“Ohhhh, Emm’s not going to like this…” Lissa murmurs.

But the Feroxi knight merely nods coolly.

“We will settle this dispute the Feroxi way,” she says. “If you are indeed the Ylissean Prince, then prove it in battle!”

She signals then, and suddenly, the Shepherds are under attack.

Fortunately, Robin is always prepared for battle, and after months of training the Shepherds, he can give them orders with only a signal of his own.

He lets his attention stray from Chrom for a few minutes in order to better survey the battlefield. He has to yell at Sumia and Cordelia to stay out of the way of the Feroxi archers, for one. Fortunately, Lissa and Maribelle are smart enough to stay covered by their fellow Shepherds, but Robin seriously hopes that nobody ends up needing to heal, or he might have to rethink this whole plan.

He then turns to Chrom, intending to order him forward. As soon as looks, though, he finds that the prince has already rushed toward the Feroxi Knight who had first met them. Strategically, it’s unsound, but…

Chrom looks so natural in the heat of battle. Far be it from Robin to cut short his rage. Instead, he stands back, casting Wind upon all those who would attempt to sneak up on Chrom’s back.

“A-Ah!” the knight cries when she collapses to the ground after several rounds of sparring. “Then your claims were… true…”

Chrom sheathes the Falchion, his face grave.

“Indeed,” he mutters.

Robin steps forward, a pleased smirk on his lips.

“Excellent, Chrom,” he says. “Truly an excellent fight.”

Chrom smiles back at him.

“And I suppose I have you to thank for keeping it a one-on-one match,” he says, chuckling. “I saw the flashes of your magic, Robin. I wouldn’t have been able to focus if I hadn’t known you were right behind me.”

“Yes… Well… Hmm...” Robin mutters.

It’s good that Chrom recognizes Robin’s influence. And yet… it is odd that Chrom does not even know it is a god he is praising.

But Robin does not have time to dwell on the thought, for the Feroxi knight begins to rise.

“A thousand apologies, Prince Chrom,” she says. “And, er, Robin, was it? I truly took you for Plegian forces. You understand, surely…”

“Indeed. You are newly at war. It is wise to be cautious,” Chrom says. “But Robin is my tactician and friend. I do not care from where he hails. He has my trust.”

“You make a formidable combination in battle,” the knight says. “That’s what we care about in Regna Ferox. The Plegians are not so courageous. I believe you are who you say you are. I will send word of your arrival to the capitol now, and then I shall escort you there personally. The khans will be so pleased to see you.”

“Wow…” Lissa murmurs as the knight leaves the room. “Her attitude sure changed quickly.”

“The Feroxi value strength over words…” Frederick says. “Milord… Forgive me for doubting you.”

“It’s all right, Frederick,” Chrom says. “My sword was out before my brain caught up with me. I could have stood to hesitate.”

“But you did the best thing,” Robin says quickly, lest Chrom begin doubting himself. “The longer we hesitate, the longer Plegia gets to prepare.”

“Indeed,” Chrom says. “I hope our Feroxi escort delivers us quickly.”

And indeed, the Feroxi knight—Raimi, she calls herself—is a hard driver, barely slowing down even as night begins to fall. They break only when the Shepherds begin complaining of hunger and exhaustion, but even then they rest for only a few short hours before continuing forward in the earliest hours of the morning.

“How are you holding up, Robin?” Chrom asks, siding up next to him. “Better than some of us, I hope.”

He casts a pointed look at Stahl, who looks as though he would fall asleep on his horse were Ricken not continuously prodding him with magical sparks.

Robin snorts.

“Yes. I have endured far greater hardship than this,” he says.

“The world is rough,” Chrom says, sighing. “And yet I find myself wishing we could have made this journey slightly easier had we simply waited for sunrise. It is dreadfully cold, isn’t it?”

“The Plegian desert can drop to far lower temperatures at night,” Robin says. Nevertheless, his freezing muscles choose that moment to let loose a particularly violent shudder. He grits his teeth. “Not that it matters to this body of mine…”

“Sadly, the body tends to disfavor adverse conditions regardless of what has been previously suffered,” Chrom says.

“I should have brought a fire tome,” Robin mutters. “It might just as soon burn the entire fort down, but I would be warm…”

Chrom’s gaze turns concerned.

“If it is upsetting you, then…”

“A-Ah?” Robin gasps as Chrom… embraces him?

What is with Chrom and grabbing him? Ugh. If he knew Robin’s full identity, he wouldn’t even want to be this close to him.

But… it is not entirely unpleasant. Indeed, his body seems to be spasming much less

“Better now?” Chrom asks, looking down at Robin with an amused gleam in his eyes.

“Yes…” Robin admits. “Although…” He wraps his arms around the arm that Chrom continually insists on leaving bare. “Clearly we would both be better off had you covered this.”

“Cover the Brand?” Chrom asks, still amused. “But then how would people know who I am?”

“... Hilarious,” Robin mutters. “I do not understand why you resist this. You follow my word on all other matters.”

“It isn’t that I value your opinion any less,” Chrom says. “This is simply a matter of pride in my bloodline. I am descended from the great Hero-King himself. He fought not only for his country, but for the whole world. I… cannot forget that this duty that befalls me as well, in his name and in Naga’s… It is really not something that others can understand...”

Robin scoffs. He understands perfectly the necessity of a blood duty. He would not have this body at all were it not for the pact he made ages ago, were it not for the children of the sorceress continuing to serve the god who shared his own blood with them.

But there is no reason to act a fool about it. The Brand makes Chrom a target. It would do him well to conceal it at times. And it certainly would not hurt him to cover his arm when it might otherwise freeze off.

“I will continue to repeat this until it sinks in,” Robin says. “You will get some proper armor sooner or later. It is impossible to defy my will.”

Chrom chuckles.

“Aren’t you all the armor I need?” he asks.

Robin looks up sharply.

“I am not,” he growls. “You hired a tactician, not a meat shield.”

“What?” Chrom asks, startled. “No, I didn’t mean— Gods, you don’t think I see you like some kind of tool, do you? You are important to me, and not just as my tactician! I… I deeply care about you as a person, Robin… if that was not obvious.”

… So he claims.

But what is Robin but power given form? And what is power but a tool?

Yes… He was created to be a tool. The only question is whose will he serves… and no matter what degenerate he lends his power to, Robin will never serve any will but his own.

… And because his will at the moment happens to be that Chrom should continue warming him, he allows himself to lean into Chrom’s chest.

It certainly makes the rest of the journey to the capitol less infuriatingly uncomfortable

Chapter Text

“Prince Chrom, please wait here while I summon the khan,” Raimi says before she leaves the Shepherds alone…

Or, well, almost alone. Feroxi guards line every exit, eying their visitors suspiciously.

“I wonder what Khan Flavia is like,” Lissa says excitedly. “What kind of leader rules over warriors? Hey, Chrom, have you ever met her?”

“Er, no,” Chrom says. “Emm has met with her before in Ylisse. I’m sure I was, er… quite busy that day.”

“Riiiight,” Lissa says, giggling. “You left all the talking to Emm, huh?”

“My sword is a better speaker than I am,” Chrom says, averting his eyes from his sister.

“Then you’ll get along well with us,” an imposing woman says behind him.

Chrom whirls around in surprise.

“Er, you must be the khan,” he says.

“One of them, yes. I am the East Khan, Flavia. I am the one who sent for you. I apologize for the trouble at the border,” she says. “If only Basilio’s blasted messengers were a little faster,” she adds, muttering.

“Basilio...” Robin says slowly. “You are referring to the West Khan?”

Now that he thinks about it, it’s strange that only one khan sent for them…

“Aye, he is my counterpart,” Flavia says.

“I see…” Chrom says. “I did not realize that Ferox had two khans… er, at the same time, I mean.”

“Ferox has an East Khan and a West Khan at all times,” Flavia explains. “However, only one truly commands the country. Unfortunately, that power is currently in Basilio’s hands.”

“Oh…” Chrom says, clearly confused. “Well, that’s… Should we wait for him, or… Er…”

Robin places a hand on Chrom’s arm and silently wills him to stop talking.

It doesn’t work.

“Do we need to talk to the both of you?” Chrom continues. “Or can we just speak with you? Er, maybe I should start over.” He clears his throat. “Khan Flavia, we have arrived at your invitation. What matters did you wish to discuss?”

Flavia’s scrutinizing eyes pass over each of the Shepherds in turn.

“Only one khan has the true power of the nation,” she says. “But this power is not everlasting. Ever so often, we hold a tournament. Each khan chooses a champion to represent them. Whoever’s chosen fighter is victorious becomes the ruling khan until the next tournament.”

Chrom glances at Robin, but he does not speak.

“I have heard many tales of your strength, Chrom,” Flavia continues. “And I think I may just best Basilio if you lend me your sword. What do you say?”

“Is this truly the time for a… tournament?” Frederick asks. “When your country is on the brink of war?”

“I believe it is all the more necessary in these times,” Flavia says. “The war must be waged by the strongest of us.”

The strongest… Hmm.

“What do you think, Robin?” Chrom asks. “I will not make my decision without your input.”

Robin chuckles.

“And I suppose winning this tournament of yours would demonstrate to your people that Ylisse is a worthy ally,” he says, meeting Flavia’s eyes. “We wouldn’t want anyone accusing Ferox of hiding behind a weak little nation of peace, would we?”

“... It would have that effect, I’m sure,” Flavia says. “I would consider asking for Ylisse’s help regardless. But unless I am the ruling khan, my decisions are meaningless.”

“Of course,” Robin says. “I am merely saying that it is convenient for you.”

“... Yes,” Flavia agrees. “I suppose it is.”

“Well, Chrom,” Robin says, smirking. “Will you show Ferox your strength? I doubt you will live it down if you do not.”

“Yes,” Chrom says, determination hardening his expression. “I will show you the true strength of my people, Flavia.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear!” Flavia says with a grin. “I hope you’re ready to train like a warrior, because Basilio’s champion goes soft on no man.”

And she is absolutely correct. Lon’qu, the champion representing the West Khan, will fearlessly stare down any man.

It’s women that give him trouble.

Robin found out this little non-secret when Flavia and Basilio each introduced their fighters to the other side. Sumia, in typical Sumia fashion, tripped and fell… right on top of Lon’qu.

Robin has seen corpses with more color on their faces.

“I should have volunteered Sumia to represent us,” Chrom says Robin when they discuss strategy later that evening. “Or perhaps Cordelia, if Sumia would decline.”

“It would be an easy victory. One look from either of them and Lon’qu would become paralyzed,” Robin agrees.

“Alas, we did not know,” Chrom says.

“Ah… But the khans did…” Robin remarks. “Hah, this proves the point further that they wish to test us. Had Flavia truly desired to become the ruling khan, she would have chosen a woman.”

“Perhaps she did not want her tactics to seem underhanded” Chrom suggests. “Nevertheless, I think you’re right about this being a test. Flavia gave me an offer I could not refuse, at least not without shaming my country in the eyes of the Feroxi warriors. I find myself… resentful of their actions.”

“Of course you would be,” Robin says. “Who are they to mislead you, trap you, insult you so?”

“Robin…” Chrom grips the edge of the table.

“Use your ire to your advantage,” Robin continues. “Show them the foolishness of their doubt. Ferox is the besieged nation, not Ylisse. It is they who ought to prove themselves to you.”

“Yes…” Chrom agrees. “You do have a point, Robin... But please let us return to outlining our plans. I cannot… continue talking about this now.”

Chrom does appear rather beleaguered at the moment. Robin does not want to see him go into battle like that.

“Alright,” he agrees. “We will finish marking our starting positions. That should be sufficient work for today.”

Chrom lets out a small sigh of relief as he takes up his pen and begins copying their notes onto the map of the arena.

It takes about an hour for them to finish. Chrom retires to his room the moment he is done, leaving Robin alone.

The minimalistically-designed Feroxi room only amplifies the emptiness. For a moment, Robin almost wishes one of the Shepherds would stumble in with one of their inane problems, just so the silence would be broken.

But pushing that strange thought aside, Robin heads for his own bed. There will be bloodshed tomorrow, and that should be enough to make him feel better.

Chapter Text

Robin need not have been so concerned about Chrom. When he faces Lon’qu in the arena, the fire in his eyes reflects the passion Robin knows lies in his heart.

“For the honor of all of Ylisse, I must cut you down today,” Chrom says. “But it will be a fair fight. I promise not to shame you.”

Lon’qu narrows his eyes.

“You are arrogant,” Lon’qu says, his voice as sharp as the steel of his blade. “I, too, promise a fair fight. But I bear no responsibility if you feel shamed at its end.”

The sound of swords clashing marks the official start of the duel. Chrom and Lon’qu fight each other alone, and it’s just as well for Robin, for the Shepherds are quickly surrounded by Basilio’s fighters, and it takes all of Robin’s concentration to direct them.

“Vaike, stay out of the mages’ ranges unless you no longer value your skin.”

“Stahl, your bronze sword isn’t even going to scratch that knight. Leave it to Ricken like I told you!”

“Lissa, don’t you dare move. I’m not saving you if an axe comes down over your head this time.”

But ultimately, with Robin’s guidance, the Shepherds are able to get themselves together and make quick work of the Feroxi warriors.

The look on Basilio’s face as his precious fighters fall like dominoes is priceless. Robin can’t keep the pleased smirk off his face. He’s in such a good mood that he doesn’t even knock Lissa away when she tries to hug him… although he is very relieved when she replaces him with Maribelle.

And Chrom… Oh, Chrom makes for the most pleasing sight of all. The fight was obviously not easy for him; his clothing is ripped in places, and there is a noticeable amount of blood (particularly around his arm, which Robin is never going to let him forget). But he stands, tall and proud, as Lon’qu staggers backwards.

“Your pride is… well-founded…” Lon’qu gasps out. “I must… continue my training…”

“You are a formidable opponent,” Chrom says. “And this was but a friendly fight. I would not want to face you on an enemy battlefield.”

“I think we can safely say that we would hate to face you, as well,” Flavia interrupts cheerfully, a smug grin on her face now that she can undoubtedly call herself the tournament’s winner. “Luckily, Ferox and Ylisse have always had good relations. And as Ferox’s new ruler…” Her smile grows even wider. “... I can assure you of our desire to further our friendship.”

“Yes…” Chrom says. “Thank you, East Khan.”

“I should thank you! It feels like ages since I’ve held full power!” She laughs. “We have much to discuss, but I think the political talk can wait. You should all see to your wounds, and then prepare yourself for a feast! Tonight, we celebrate!”

This pronouncement pleases most of the Shepherds, who are obviously not too injured to revel in their victory. Robin watches from the sidelines as Stahl stuffs his face with more food than any one person should be able to handle, Cordelia discusses some lance techniques with the Feroxi knights, and Miriel starts recording data about everyone’s alcohol tolerance. He hears an exuberant shout from Vaike somewhere behind him. And leading the festivities are Flavia, Basilio, who are both talented at turning everything into a competition between themselves.

“Robin!”

Chrom’s shout interrupts Robin’s observations… but Robin can’t say it bothers him. These… festivities… are not for him.

“Robin, what are you doing alone?” Chrom asks, laughing. “Flavia’s victory is mostly thanks to you. You should be enjoying yourself!”

“I am not hungry, and I prefer wine to their Feroxi ale,” Robin says dismissively. “As your tactician, it would be unwise for me to leave you and the other Shepherds to your own devices. But I have no wish to—ah?”

Chrom grabs Robin’s arm with both hands and tugs him forward.

“Dance with me, Robin!” Chrom says.

“E-Excuse me?” Robin asks.

“What kind of friend would I be if I allowed you to stand here and brood while the rest of us are having fun?” Chrom asks. “There is already music playing. We should take advantage of it.”

“... You have consumed too much alcohol…” Robin says. Certainly, the flush on Chrom’s face supports that conclusion. “You are not thinking clearly. Tomorrow you will laugh when you realize you are asking me, of all people.”

“I am not that drunk, Robin,” Chrom says, chuckling. “And I don’t know what you mean. True, I have never seen you dance before. But anything can change. Tell me, would you not find it fun?”

“I did not come here to be entertained,” Robin says.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t have a good time anyway,” Chrom says. “Tell me your true reasoning. It isn’t because you don’t know how to dance, is it?”

“Of course I know how,” Robin snaps.

It took him years to figure out how to emulate modern human behavior so that he could successfully infiltrate human societies. In what could probably be called his “childhood,” he often pretended to be Validar’s son. The leader of the Grimleal had social responsibilities, and so Robin has attended parties and even danced on occasion. Humans make such a big deal about it, as if it were anything more than worms wriggling in the dirt. But it isn’t unpleasant. Indeed, it can be an amusing distraction from otherwise inane events.

He hears Vaike let out another holler. Some Feroxi voices echo after him.

Yes… This is certainly an inane event.

It’s Robin’s turn to tug at Chrom.

“If we’re going to do this,” Robin says, “You had better keep up with me.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I do have some degree of grace,” Chrom replies as he follows Robin’s lead. “I think I can manage for one night.”

“Says the man who once broke three different swords in a week,” Robin says.

“My record is six, actually,” Chrom says. “I have improved since I was younger.”

Robin snorts. Chrom’s eyes light up.

“Ah, see,” Chrom says. “That is the first smile I’ve seen from you all night. Though I should be offended that my troubles are the only thing that can please you.”

“Your stupidity certainly does not please me,” Robin insists. “I am not smiling.”

“But you are,” Chrom says, smiling himself.

“I am grimacing at your abysmal dancing skills,” Robin says. “You keep stepping on my foot, did you know? You don’t know how to follow at all.”

“I always practiced leading,” Chrom says, shrugging even as he moves into his next step. “Old habits die hard. You wore steel-toed boots to a party. I cannot believe you did not expect to be trampled on at some point.”

“By Sumia, perhaps, but not you!” Robin exclaims, to Chrom’s laughter.

“Let us switch positions, then,” Chrom says. “I do not mind if you accidentally tread on me out of habit.”

“I do not make mistakes,” Robin says as he shifts himself to follow Chrom’s movements.. “If I step on your foot, it is because you deserve it.”

“Fair enough.”

And Chrom laughs again.

Of course, Robin does not step on Chrom’s foot. They are allies. Chrom being injured would only come back to weaken Robin himself.

By the end of the night, almost everyone has taken to dancing for at least a few songs. Eventually, a pink-haired Feroxi dancer proves herself to be the most skilled, and the rest of the guests settle down to watch her.

Truly, she is exceptional. There is something about her dancing that invigorates his mind.

“Chrom,” he says suddenly. “This woman. Who is she?”

“I think Basilio called her Olivia,” Chrom says without tearing his eyes away from the dance. “Incredible, isn’t she?”

“Indeed,” Robin agrees. “Chrom, we aren’t leaving this country without her.”

“A-Ah?” Chrom’s head whips around so he can stare wide-eyed at Robin. “What? You want… what?”

“The dancer. Olivia,” Robin says. “Bargain for her assistance in exchange for Ylisse’s alliance.”

“But… why?” Chrom asks. “Surely… Surely you have not fallen in love with her so quickly. I know she is enchanting, but…”

“What nonsense are you spouting?” Robin interrupts. “I am certainly not in love with her. Chrom, use your brain. Why would I, your tactician, be telling you to bargain for an ally?”

“You want her to join the Shepherds?” Chrom murmurs. “Hmm… She is agile…”

“Yes. And her dancing is powerful,” Robin says. “Can you not feel it? I have heard that there are certain singers and dancers who channel a kind of magic into their performances. It is said that they can breathe life into even the weariest of soldiers.”

“And you believe Olivia has this power?” Chrom turns back to her performance, narrowing his eyes in consideration. “I think I can see your point. She would be a powerful ally, if she would be willing to join us. Of course, we cannot make her do anything she does not want to do.”

“We could, actually,” Robin points out. “Very easily, between the two of us. But I do not think the Feroxi warriors would take kindly to us absconding with one of their own. No, we will ask for the dancer’s allegiance. And if the East Khan has any sense, she will convince Olivia to go along with the champion who just effected the new regime.”

“... Er, right…” Chrom hesitantly agrees. “I will ask Flavia, of course. But first, perhaps I should ask Olivia if she is amenable to the idea. Look, her performance is coming to an end.”

Sure enough, Olivia appears to have finished with her dance. The music has fallen away, and she now rests on her knees, her breath coming out in heavy pants. The crowd around her choruses their joyful cheers.

Chrom catches Olivia as soon as he has the chance to get her alone.

“Pardon me, miss,” Chrom says, his voice light and polite. “Olivia, right? Your dancing was incrazing— er, amcredible—good. Very good.”

Chrom’s face is horribly flushed, but it’s nothing compared to the scarlet hue coloring Olivia’s face.

“M-M-Milord, you’re too kind…” she says. “I… I know it really wasn’t that good! I have so much more to improve on… If I had thought about the fact that you would be watching me, I… I would never have… Oh! You mustn’t think this is the best our country has to offer! I am but one dancer among many, and a rather clumsy one at that…”

“Er, I see… I mean, I don’t see!” Chrom exclaims. “If you call that clumsy, then I must be an oaf!”

“C-Certainly not, milord!” Olivia cries. “I did not mean to imply… I mean, we all saw you fight today. You are clearly not an uaf… You are much more rugged and hands— ah, I mean…”

“Oh... Yes… Er, thank you! I mean thank you!” Chrom stammers. “And you are beautiful! Er, but that is not what I came over here to say. Er…”

Robin presses a hand to his temple.

“As charming as this conversation is,” he interrupts, “We do have a goal to achieve, here. Olivia, I am sure you have heard by now that those of us who have followed Chrom here are members of his militia, the Shepherds. To put it plainly, we want to recruit you. We would greatly benefit from having your dancing around to motivate us.”

“Really?” Olivia squeaks. “My… I’ve never been asked to join a militia before! Oh, but… I’m afraid the only thing I’m halfway decent at is dancing… I-I don’t know anything about fighting!”

“Neither did any of the Shepherds until I came along,” Robin mutters.

“Robin isn’t wrong, Olivia,” Chrom says, chuckling. “You would not believe the improvement we’ve seen since he joined us. This man could teach a worm to beat a wyvern given the chance.”

“That is what it feels like sometimes,” Robin agrees. “Besides, I do not care if you sit at the sidelines. It is not difficult to find swordsmen. Your dancing ability is unique.”

“Indeed,” Chrom says. “Your ability is extraordinary. I know it seems sudden, but when I meet an outstanding person, I just can’t live with myself if I don’t ask them to lend me their strength. I do not mean to pressure you into accepting, but I ask you to consider it. Our nations have long been on good terms, but I believe our bonds can be further strengthened. We would love to have you join us.”

“Milord, I… This really is sudden, but… I want to do it!” Olivia says. “Lord Basilio has given me so much… but I don’t want to stay weak under his protection for the rest of my life! I want to see the world and get stronger! I can be your dancer, if you’ll teach me how to fight for myself. Um… if that’s alright…”

Robin’s smirk grows wide with satisfaction. For the briefest of seconds, he had seen truth in this woman’s eyes. She has seen her own weakness and found herself lacking.

Even if humans are no better than insects, one can still discern the wasps from the flies..

Robin can give Olivia what she desires.

“Excellent,” Robin says. “Now, will Ferox let you leave easily, or are we going to have to start a war over you?”

“G-Goodness, no,” Olivia says. “I… I will have to tell Lord Basilio of my decision. I can’t imagine either he or Lady Flavia would disapprove. They have always been… so kind to me…” Tears begin to form at the edges of her eyes, and she wipes them away quickly. “No, I’m not going to talk myself out of this! I want to go! I do… I…”

“Peace, peace,” Chrom says gently. “We will surely not depart back to Ylisse before the end of the week, at least. There is no need to rush yourself.”

“A-Ah… I’m sorry!” Olivia exclaims. “You must think I’m so flaky! But I promise I’ll be ready to leave when you do. I-I’ll do everything I can for you, milord!”

“Thank you, Olivia,” Chrom says. “And, you know, just ‘Chrom’ is… fine… aaaand she’s gone.”

Chrom sighs, slumping himself onto Robin’s shoulder.

“That… did not go as smoothly as it could have…” he says. “Robin, how am I ever going to get along with foreign powers if I can’t even hold a simple conversation with a dancer?”

“Easy. You say whatever you like, and you stab them with your sword if they protest too much,” Robin says

“Robin, I’m serious,” Chrom groans.

“If you won’t stab the diplomats,” Robin says, rolling his eyes, “then I suppose you had better hope that somebody better with words is there with you.”

“Like you,” Chrom says.

“No. I would stab the diplomats,” Robin says seriously.

“You’re so violent…” Chrom mumbles tiredly.into Robin’s shoulder. “Maybe that’s why you’re the only one I can trust…”

“... What?” Robin asks, blinking in surprise. “That… does not follow?”

“If someday I have to stab a diplomat for the sake of Ylisse,” Chrom says, “you are the only one who would not hate me for it.”

Huh. So Chrom admits he would do it.For Ylisse, he says. Right. Because the whole world can burn for Ylisse.

“I understand now,” Robin says. “Yes, you can trust me with your true feelings. I will not think you are wicked.”

Humans preach of love and peace, but Robin has never seen anyone whose heart and mind was truly open to all. Selfishness is the human condition. And yet, there are variances among individuals. Robin does not normally bother to consider them. Nevertheless, he knows enough to say that Chrom is quite benign. Had Robin not met him by coincidence, it is unlikely that their paths would have ever crossed. His existence would never have offended Robin. It is the same for most humans. For why would the random wriggling of worms draw Robin’s ire? No, Chrom is not particularly disgusting. He is an ordinary human. And in any other set of circumstances, Chrom would most likely have eventually died in some battle far outside of Robin’s radar.

But of course, it’s a different situation now. Robin is… invested.

A lot more invested than he thought he would be, actually.

Possessiveness surges within him. Slowly, he places his arm around Chrom’s shoulders.

“Cease your self-doubt at once,” he says. “I am at your side. You will have everything you desire.”

Chapter Text

Regna Ferox is all too happy to deepen its friendship with its closest ally, Ylisse.

Of course they will share their armies and supplies. Why yes, Ylisse would love to station some troops along the Feroxi-Plegian border. Oh, and the Feroxi forces would be delighted to come visit Ylisstol.

Intimidating the hell out of Plegia is completely incidental. Sure.

Robin could not be any less interested in the details. Chrom is clearly getting bored. Even Flavia appears to be getting fed up with the repetitive meetings.

They are all very pleased when the talks are over.

“Bah! What a waste of time that was,” Flavia says as they exit the room after the final meeting. “We could have more quickly marched to the Plegian capitol ourselves!”

“Ha! You should have thought of that before you so rudely kicked me out of power,” Basilio says, suddenly rounding a the corner to meet them.

“You abandoned me on purpose,” Flavia says, narrowing her eyes. “Seriously, Basilio? As the West Khan, you could have come, too!”

“Aye, but I didn’t have to,” Basilio says smugly. “And I had things to take care of, besides. Did you know that your champion is stealing all of my best people?”

“Oh?” Flavia glances at Chrom.

“He is!” Basilio says. “First he charmed my favorite dancer, and now I find out that my champion of five years has been swayed over, too.”

“Er, wait, what?” Chrom interrupts. “Your champion? Lon’qu?”

“He didn’t mention it to you? Why am I not surprised.” Basilio shakes his head. “But I’m not mad at you, boy. You’ve got quite the skill with that fancy sword of yours. I’m not surprised those two want to get stronger by your side. Hell, I wouldn’t mind joining you myself.”

“You absolutely will not!” Flavia insists. “You are staying right here, and the two of us are going to have a little chat about the future of this nation. No escaping. Don’t make me drag your ass back here.”

“Sheesh, woman! Not even a week into power and you’re already lording it over me!” Basilio exclaims. “And you’re out of your mind if you think I’d walk away. You would grow weak without your rival keeping you on your toes!”

“Er, yes, well…” Chrom says. “I should say that I’m pleased your people want to fight beside me. The Shepherds are rather small in number, and… Robin, isn’t it fortunate?”

“”It is,” Robin agrees. It will take some work to get Olivia up to par in terms of swordplay, and Lon’qu has his troublesome phobia of roughly half of the population, but Robin cannot deny that he’s eager to put their skills to good use.

And indeed, managing the two new Shepherds is not any more challenging than managing the rest of them has been. Despite Lon’qu’s gynophobia, Robin insists that he and Olivia pair up, since he doesn’t want to rearrange his existing partners at the moment. It’s going remarkably well. Lon’qu is less nervous around Olivia than any of the other women, at least—probably because they already know each other. Olivia, too is more comfortable with the man she already knows. (When in doubt, they can always talk about Basilio. Robin has noticed that many of their conversations end up becoming about Basilio.) Plus, Olivia’s skills with a sword are quickly improving under Robin’s tutelage. With Lonqu’s guidance, she’s doing even better than Robin would have expected, and that means less hassle for him. Yes, this partnership is one of Robin’s best ideas.

And, interestingly, it seems that Olivia harbors… romantic affection… for Lon’qu.

The Shepherds are taking bets, apparently.

“I’m telling ya, she ain’t got a chance,” Vaike says. “He’s too skittish to figure it out on his own, and she’s never gonna confess herself. This thing ain’t happening, no way.”

“But they’re perfect for each other!” Sumia insists. “They’re both so reserved around the rest of us, but look how well they got along together!”

“Indeed. But has it occurred to you that they have known each other longer than we have known them?” Frederick asks. “And furthermore, I hardly think betting on our comrades’ behavior is appropriate…”

“Oh, hush,” Lissa says. “I didn’t see you complaining when we were all betting on how long it would take for Robin to find that frog I put in his bed!”

Frederick looks away quickly.

“Yes, you’re a delight, Lissa,” Robin says flatly. “Now, if you’ve all finished wasting your money, would you perhaps like to listen to your tactician? I do have some strategies to go over today.”

Completely ridiculous. If Olivia and Lon’qu became romantically involved, there is a chance it would make them more motivated on the battlefield. But otherwise, it doesn’t interest Robin. Especially not now, with tensions along the Feroxi-Plegian border growing ever stronger…

The declaration of war is never officially issued, but there is no doubt that those Plegian soldiers are being sent under authority of the king.

Robin doesn’t understand. He never took Validar for a warmonger. He was always prepared for Robin to destroy the world… but he didn’t protest when Robin didn’t feel like it. He was such an excellent servant. So... what happened…?

Robin tries not to dwell on his headache-inducing followers. It’s easy to avoid thinking about the matte amidst all the other hectic goings-on of the Shepherds.

And then, somehow, the Grimleal actually become the lesser of their concerns.

“Holy shit, you guys! We have to leave, like, right now!” Lissa shouts as she bursts into the garrison.

It’s a testament to the urgency of the situation that Frederick, following right behind her, doesn’t even mention her language.

“Plegia has invaded our southwest border,” Chrom gasps out as he pushes his way forward. “Not— Not Plegia. Plegians. It’s… gods…”

“The ‘Mad King’ of Plegia attacked Themis and abducted Maribelle,” Frederick explains. “He is demanding parley with Exalt Emmeryn, but he does not claim to act under authority of the Plegian crown, exactly. It seems that, er...he is claiming to be the people’s rightful king.”

“And what are his grounds for that claim?” Robin asks.

“Supposedly, the Grimleal have transgressed against the fell dragon, and he is the one who has been chosen to restore the country,” Frederick says. “Though, from the little we know about the situation, it is more likely that he is only looking for an excuse to seize power. And he does have quite a lot of popular support. It seems that the fell dragon is not as popular as he once was, and the Grimleal even less so. “

“I see…” Robin murmurs. His throat constricts strangely at the information.

But who cares what the Plegian masses think. They are worthless no matter who rules them. Worshipping the fell dragon does not elevate them. Robin aids those who give him something—food, shelter, amusement, or what have you. These strangers have given him nothing. He owes them nothing. They are worthless creatures who will die forgotten. That is all.

He does not understand why he is burning with rage. But it is not important. He can destroy them all if he pleases. But for now, he has to focus, because...

“They have Maribelle! We can’t just sit around here talking about it all day! We have to go find her!” Lissa frantically insists.

“And we shall,” Chrom says. “Everyone who is able should grab their weapons and meet me outside immediately. The journey to Plegia is long and will likely be uncomfortable, but we do not have any time to spend.”

“And Emmeryn, is she coming along?” Robin asks.

Chrom grits his teeth.

“She is,” he admits. “I told her it was dangerous, but… she wants to see what he has to say.”

“She’s going to legitimize him,” Robin says. “Does she really want to get dragged into a Plegian civil war?”

“Emm doesn’t see it like that, Robin…” Chrom says, sighing. “She has a pure heart. She always looks for the best in every situation. That is why she is a beacon of light for Ylisse. But… in times such as these, I fear her light is only going to attract ne’er-do-wells who lurk in the shadows.”

“I agree with you. She would do better to stay far away from Plegia right now,” Robin says. “But I suspect she will not listen to reason. You and Lissa do not.”

Chrom smiles faintly.

“Are you thinking it’s genetic? I’ve heard it said that our mother and father both had strong wills...” Again, he sighs. “I wish it were not this way. I’m terrified for her, Robin. I am truly terrified.”

Robin’s heart beats heavily at Chrom’s tone.

“Well…” he says. “That is a bit hasty… She is not in danger so long as she has an armed escort.” He brushes his fingers over the tome inside his coat. “You would not let anyone touch her. And I would be right next to you.”

Chrom gives him another faint smile.

“You’re right,” he says. “I do not have any mercy for those who would hurt the people I love. I would destroy any fiend who should so much as brandish a weapon in her direction.”

Robin nods, satisfied for the moment that Chrom has returned to being a confident leader.

Oddly, though, his heart continues to pound.

Chapter Text

Considering how strange it felt to leave Plegia, Robin half expects to feel something similar upon crossing the border again.

Of course, he does not. If anything, spending time in the beautiful Ylisstol has only made him realize just how bad of a condition most of Plegia really is. The Grimleal base was one of the best-kept structures in the country (er, before Robin took out half of it, that is), but it was only about the quality of an average Ylissean building. And most of the land here is so much… drier. Practically lifeless. Certainly not the best place to put a nation.

Robin is not sure what to call the feeling that begins to nag at him. But he thinks, perhaps, that the Plegian people might be better off now if their ancestors hadn’t been so faithful to him.

Not that it truly matters. The privileged and the poor look the same when they rot.

… And some humans don’t even have to die before they start rotting.

“What’s this, then? The Exalt, in all her radiance?”

From the top of a cliff, Gangrel appears with an army in tow. He immediately dissolves into snickers.

Robin can certainly see why they call him the Mad King.This is not a man who can hold himself together… How, exactly, did he gain support among the people?

“I’m so delighted you came to see me, Your Graceliness,” Gangrel continues. “We were worried you might side with those nasty, nasty Grimleal folks. My people doubted you, they did! But I told them you’d never side with the bastards that murdered your father, right?”

Bile rises in Robin’s throat at the sound of Gangrel’s laughter. Beside him, Chrom grits his teeth. The Shepherds all wear angry expressions as well. Only Emmeryn, flanked by her entourage of pegasus knights, appears calm.

“I have come only to seek the truth of this unfortunate incident between us,” she says. “First, is Maribelle unharmed?”

“Who?” Gangrel asks, seeming genuinely confused. “Oh, yes, that little blond brat.” He scowls. “Don’t tell me you came all this way just for her.”

“Unhand me, you gutter-born troglodyte!” Maribelle shouts, evidently after biting the hand of the brigand holding her.

“Maribelle!’ Lissa cries. She looks ready to rush forward, brigands or no. Robin catches her by the sleeve, and she halts with a huff.

“Lissa? Darling, is that you?” Maribelle shouts back. Before she can say anything more, however, Gangrel clears his throat.

“Quiet!” he demands. “This girl crossed the Plegian border and attacked Plegian soldiers! As the rightful king of the people, I won’t let this stand!”

“You dragged me across the border, you filthy—ah!”

Maribelle stops abruptly as a sword is pressed to her throat.

“You want peace, Your Brightness?” Gangrel asks. “You want this stupid endless border-crossing to just stop already? I can give it to you! All of Plegia will heed my word!” He laughs. “And all it’s going to cost you is one teensy-weensy priceless Ylissean treasure!”

“Gangrel, I request you release Maribelle at once,” Emmeryn says. “If you think you know of a way to restore relations between Ylisse and Plegia, I will consider it, but this situation hardly calls for hostages.”

“Doesn’t it?” Gangrel sneers. “Because it seems like Ylisse has been doing its best to give Plegia the cold shoulder for the past fifteen years! Do you know how hard it was to keep my people together after that? The Grimleal are no help! The fell dragon either doesn’t exist or doesn’t give a shit! I’m the only one who’s ever done anything for this blasted country! Now, you love this girl? She’s so important to you? Then you’d better do what I say, or I’ll kill her where she stands!”

Chrom grows angrier and angrier with every word. Robin can see the exact moment the emotion rises out of Chrom’s control.

“You black-hearted devil!” Chrom shouts.

Gangrel takes dismissive glance at Chrom before turning his gaze back to Emmeryn.

“Control your dog, my dear, before he gets someone hurt,” he says.

Chrom lets out a frustrated growl that has Robin yanking the prince towards him.

“Shh, he’ll prepare for an attack if you do that,” Robin whispers. “Don’t let him get an advantage over you.”

Chrom makes another frustrated noise.

“You and your ‘strategy,’” he grumbles. “If I could reach that man from here, I swear…”

“Peace, all of you,” Emmeryn commands. “Gangrel, we do not wish you and your people harm. There must be a way to settle this peacefully.”

“There is, Your Luminosity, there is!” Gangrel grins. “All I’m asking for is a little trade. You give me the Fire Emblem, and we’ll put the past behind us. Plegia and Ylisse can be the best of friends again, and I’ll even give back Mari Contrary here. No bloodshed required!”

Emmeryn, Chrom, and Lissa gasp in unison.

“You would ask for Ylisse’s royal treasure?” Emmeryn asks. “But why?”

“Because I know the legend!” Gangrel says excitedly. “The Fire Emblem is the key to having all one’s wishes realized! It has the power to slay gods! If I had this power, then… then…!” He breaks off into laughter.

“The Emblem’s power is meant for a single purpose, Gangrel: to save the world and its people at their hour of most desperate need,” Emmeryn says. “Would you claim a more noble wish?”

“Noble? Noble? Do you think you’re so noble?” Gangrel shouts. “This nation is my world! These people are my people! What of our desperate need? Ylisse has always prospered! You care nothing for the world as long as you are at peace! So have it your way! The price of your peace is the Fire Emblem! What will you do? This girl’s life is forfeit if you say no!”

“No, Your Grace!” Maribelle shouts. “I’d sooner die than act as a bargaining chip for this filthy reprobate!”

“Emm!” Lissa cries. “He’s… He’s seriously going to…”

“Maribelle, I cannot allow you to…” Emmeryn says hesitantly. “I… need to think...”

“No! You’ve had years to sit on your royal ass!” Gangrel yells. “If you won’t give up the Fire Emblem willingly, then I’ll pry it from your shiny dead hands!”

Several brigands rush at the exalt. Chrom is in front of her in an instant. In a flurry of slashes, he strikes all of the brigands down.

They will not be getting back up.

“Stay back!” Chrom warns, pointing his sword outwards. “Or you’ll suffer the same fate!”

“Chrom,” Emmeryn says softly. “You mustn’t…”

“Ha! You hear that? That’s a declaration of war!” Gangrel exclaims. “Fine with me! What’s a little more fighting after everything I’ve been through? You will die so King Gangrel can reign!”

Despite his fighting words, he flees the battlefield as soon as he’s directed his army to attack the Ylisseans.

He is a coward, then. His followers must have been truly desperate to rally around him. Robin does not even bother to draw out the deaths of the soldiers he faces. They are too pitiful to be entertaining.

At some point, Maribelle rejoins the rest of the Shepherds on the battlefield, apparently having been rescued by Ricken and Stahl. Robin heaves a sigh of relief when he sees her. He hadn’t realized just how much the Shepherds relied on her healing power until she wasn’t there. Lissa was overextending herself, and she wasn’t doing a particularly good job of it, either, considering her state of anxiety-induced distraction.

Battles simply go better when everyone is there. Robin will have to make sure to tell them that. Future absenteeism will not be tolerated.

In the end, the Shepherds are able to take out the enemy soldiers, leaving Chrom to face the captain alone. Robin hides himself several paces behind, keeping an eye out for any unexpected reinforcements.

“Why is Gangrel doing this?” Chrom asks his opponent as he parries the wyvern rider’s blows. “What is it all for?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” the man replies. “The boss said kill you, so I’m going to kill you. That’s that.”

“But you’re outnumbered!” Chrom argues. “For gods’ sake, lay down your weapon! We do not have to do this! Your ‘boss’ is a madman!”

“Don’t care,” the wyvern rider repeats. “We have no gods helping us. We only have King Gangrel. He’s the only one that’s trying to do anything for this country, while our Grimleal rulers would just as soon cook us up to be dragon dinner. Gangrel’s saved all of our lives, over and over. Maybe he was always cracked up, or maybe the stress took its toll on him, but none of us care if he’s lost it. He can drive himself straight to hell and we’ll go with him. Anything is better than what we have now.”

“Interesting,” Robin says, stepping out of his concealed position. “Some would commend your loyalty. But your conception of death is far-fetched. It will not better you. Your existence is meaningless, but you have it. When you are dead, you will have nothing. You truly wish to give up your being?”

The wyvern rider’s eyes snap to Robin, and he leaps away from Chrom.

“Ylisse is getting help from the Grimleal now?” he spits. “Damn you fiends!”

He points his axe at Robin before slowly swinging it back towards Chrom.

“It doesn’t matter,” he mutters. “Kill me, then! I’m a blasphemer! I don’t worship Grima, but if he’s out there, I wouldn’t mind him destroying the world just to get you sick bastards out of it. I know Gangrel’s never going to succeed! We all know that! But there are ideas good enough to die for, and damn it, Gangrel’s revolution is the best idea to ever come out of this awful country. I’ll die for it! I don’t care! I don’t know what he’s doing, but if a war gets Plegia back together, then I’m happy I got to participate in the first battle! Kill me, you beasts! Nobody’s afraid of dying to the Grimleal anymore; we just expect it! I just hope my axe skins you on the way out!”

“Oh, I’m not Grimleal,” Robin says. “Just interested in your wildly incorrect thoughts. But if you’re so fervent about it, then…” He raises his tome. “Chrom, move.”

Chrom turns to look at Robin, but he can’t seem to get the rest of his muscles to coordinate.With a frustrated sigh, Robin recalculates the trajectory of his spell mid-cast. The magic hits the wyvern rider in the side rather than in the chest, and the blast only succeeds in knocking the man out.

“Fine, then you can have the killing blow,” Robin says, stepping behind Chrom.

Except Chrom still doesn’t move.

“I… I can’t…” Chrom says. “I hate this man, and I hate Gangrel, and I don’t want to hesitate, but…” He sighs. “Robin, this could be a misunderstanding. These people have suffered. If we just give Emm a chance to work things out…”

“Unless ‘working things out’ involves giving Gangrel the Fire Emblem, I don’t think it’s going to be much help,” Robin says. “I don’t even know what the Fire Emblem is, but I am willing to bet that you don’t want to do that.”

“The Fire Emblem is our national treasure. I’ll have to show it to you,” Chrom says. “Legends say the first exalt used its power to awaken Falchion’s true potential, wielding it to defeat the fell dragon a thousand years ago. Other legends speak of it granting wealth, power, or wishes. But, to be honest… it isn’t that spectacular. Most of the gems are lost, and these days, it’s basically just an old shield on a wall in our vault. I can’t understand why Gangrel wants it.”

“He’s mad. He doesn’t have to make sense,” Robin says, rolling his eyes. “Nevertheless, I do want to see this… Fire Emblem… when we get back to Ylisstol.”

He glances down at the unconscious wyvern rider.

“So, am I correct in assuming you aren’t going to do anything about him?” he asks.

“I won’t kill him. It’s what Emm would want,” Chrom says.

“Well, then, you should hope his companions come back for him, or your decision will mean absolutely nothing,” Robin says. “I admit I’m interested… Do you think Gangrel cares at all for these soldiers? Or are they dying for someone who will not even remember their names?”

“I… I don’t know…” Chrom says. “But… He calls himself the people’s king. He speaks of the people’s suffering. I don’t know what he thinks now, but there must have been a time when he cared for them. He has saved their lives, apparently.”

“... Apparently, yes,” Robin agrees. “I was merely wondering. It seems completely contrary to reason to die for someone who cares nothing for you. Yet, it happens quite often. Why?”

“Because…” Chrom says. “Because… Gods, Robin, way to hit me with the hard questions today… I suppose… it’s because feelings are unreasonable. And if you admire someone enough, even if the feeling isn’t reciprocated, you would still want to help them. Maybe even die, if it came to it.” He shrugs. “That’s what I’m saying. What do you think?”

“Hmm? Oh, I have no idea,” Robin says. “That’s why I asked you.”

“I’m surprised,” Chrom says with a chuckle. “You do act as though you know everything sometimes.”

Chrom is merely attempting to tease him, but the words echo uncomfortably in Robin’s mind nevertheless.

He’s spent many hours locked in study since his resurrection. After all, he had to catch up on a thousand years of development. Although it would perhaps have been quicker to glean the knowledge off of his followers’ blood, blood is so unpalatable to his body’s human tongue… It was simply preferable to learn from books and scholars. Robin knows a lot about many topics, from human biology to weapon crafting to history. To mere humans, he is a genius.

But there are things even he doesn’t know.

“Well…” he mutters. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, placing a hand on Chrom’s arm to lead him away. “I meant to give us something to think about, that’s all.”

Chapter Text

“And here it is: the Fire Emblem. Underwhelming, I know,” Chrom says, gesturing towards what is indeed a rather drab-looking shield. There is but a single jewel, although there are several small indentations where others presumably used to rest.

“Hard to see why Gangrel would want it,” Lissa mutters.

“You know its history as well as I do,” Emmeryn says with a surprising harshness to her soft voice. “It saved the world once, and it has the power to do it again should the need arise.”

“Milady, isn’t the strength of the Fire Emblem dependant upon it being, er, complete?” Frederick asks.

“... Yes,” Emmeryn agrees, sighing. “It can only channel Naga’s power if it is fitted with all of the jewels. It… has no power at all like this.”

Robin isn’t sure about that. As lackluster as the Fire Emblem seems, something about it puts Robin on edge. It has some kind of power, all right. Is it because it was once used to seal away the fell dragon? But no, that can’t be it, because he feels nothing similar from the Falchion. This is…

“We cannot give Gangrel the royal treasure under any circumstances,” Emmeryn continues. “Yet, I do not want violence. Especially not over this…”

Robin’s eyes widen as she reaches for the shield.

“Don’t touch it!” he hisses. “It’s cursed!”

Emmeryn drops her hand before it can reach the Fire Emblem. She turns toward Robin in surprise. Chrom, Lissa, and Frederick also look to him — Lissa in confusion, Chrom in curiosity, and Frederick in wariness.

“Did the Plegians spring some sort of trap in our absence?” Frederick asks. “I do not see how anyone could have sneaked in and cursed it…”

“They didn’t. At least not recently. The curse is ancient,” Robin says. “Can you not feel it?”

Perhaps they cannot. He has never come across this kind of magic in the current century. These kinds of curses were not meant to harm. Generally the goal was to confer a benefit. The problem is that ancient mages were terrible at utilizing magic without running into horrible drawbacks. Unfortunately, whatever boon conferred upon the object would be accompanied by some bane, the effects of which would linger indefinitely and were difficult to dispel without destroying the object.

Somehow, he doubts that Emmeryn would be willing to do that with the Fire Emblem.

“Robin…” Emmeryn says quietly. “This is a serious allegation…”

Robin bites back a snarl. He knows dark magic better than anyone else in the room.

“If I were trying to trick you, I wouldn’t do it to save your life,” he says, crossing his arms as he gives Frederick a pointed look.

“But perhaps you would trick us into handing the Fire Emblem over to Gangrel,” Frederick suggests. “He appears to speak for a large portion of the Plegian public.”

Robin narrows his eyes.

“He does not speak for me,” he says. “I am loyal only to myself.” His gaze shifts to his side. “And to Chrom, for now. Of course, I can always leave, if my tactics are no longer needed…” He trails off suggestively.

Immediately, Chrom places a hand on Robin’s shoulder.

“Of course we need you,” he says. “If there’s really a curse—”

“There is,” Robin interrupts. “I would not mistake something like this.”

“Then your knowledge is invaluable,” Chrom continues. “Who knows what hardships could have befallen us had we set the curse upon ourselves?”

“Indeed, Robin. I did not mean for my words to imply doubt in your observations,” Emmeryn says. “However, as we do not know the exact nature or source of this curse, perhaps it is best to… leave the Fire Emblem be, for a time. The Emblem is meant to save the world from ruin. I do not believe such a calamity is upon us.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think Gangrel’s going to care about that!” Lissa says. “What do we do about him? We obviously can’t give him the Emblem, and especially not if we’re afraid to even touch it!”

“I believe he intends to fight us for it,” Emmeryn says, sighing. “If he launches an attack on our people, we do not have any choice but to counter. It is fortunate that we have allies in Ferox, and I have already sent some of our pegasus knights to the border, but…”

“Between King Validar’s forces attacking Ferox and Gangrel’s forces attacking us, we both might be short on forces,” Chrom finishes.

“What are the chances that they planned this?” Frederick asks. “That King Validar and Gangrel are actually working together?”

Robin snorts.

“Zero,” he says. “If you haven’t noticed, Gangrel despises the Grimleal. He would not work with their leader. And Validar would not work with someone who disrespects the fell dragon.”

“Not that it makes it any easier for us,” Chrom says. “We still have to deal with both of them.”

“We have had peace for such a long time…” Emmeryn murmurs. “And now we have double the Plegian trouble. I must admit that this is… difficult for me.”

Chrom’s eyes steel with determination at his sister’s words.

“You don’t have to worry, Emm,” he says firmly. “Your courage and grace are exactly what the Ylissean people need at times like this. Leave the fighting in my hands.”

Emmeryn smiles gently.

“I know you would do anything for Ylisse, Chrom. I place our nation’s security in your hands with complete faith.” Her smile dims ever so slightly. “Just promise that I will still have my brother when this is all over.”

For a second, her eyes flicker over to Robin. Robin is struck by a strange impression that she is… entrusting her brother to him.

Beside him, Chrom has shifted from having a hand on Robin to having his arm casually draped over Robin’s shoulder. He looks completely at ease in his position.

Robin realizes, somewhat to his surprise, that he also feels at ease. Is this camaraderie? It’s a feeling unlike he’s ever had before. Even the sorceress he once entrusted his blood to did not inspire him to such a feeling.

Although Robin had originally planned only to help Chrom fight until the human died in a bloody battle, that idea no longer seems satisfying. No… It’s worse than that. It would be awful. Robin wants to fight together with Chrom… and it wouldn’t be any fun unless they shared the victory. Chrom dying in battle is not in his plans anymore...

When had his plans changed?

While Robin is contemplating this unexpected change of opinion, he feels Chrom press closer to his side.

“Of course, Emm,” Chrom says. “This war won’t be like the last one.”

Chapter Text

For about two weeks, everything is unnaturally quiet in Ylisse. Plegia—Validar, that is— does not even attack Ferox, although there are apparently a few uncoordinated attempts by brigands to stir up trouble. Likewise, Ylisse’s brigand problem doesn’t go away; it’s just clear that they are not attacking on Gangrel’s behalf.

Robin trains with the Shepherds every day, but something has changed from before. It’s not just that Cordelia is absent (having been sent to the Feroxi border), although that certainly has had an effect, especially on Sumia. Her normally cheerful demeanor has turned gloomy, and it is not doing her any favors. Robin thinks she may have actually become clumsier, which is a feat that should not be possible.

Sumia aside, the Shepherds’ overall competency has not been affected.

The general mood, however, is much more somber.

It should be a good thing. No distracting pranks from Lissa, no inane gossip about Lon’qu and Olivia’s love life, no arguments for the sake of argument from Sully… Everyone is taking their training seriously, and Robin should be pleased.

But it just feels… wrong.

Even Chrom has become more subdued. Robin finds him in the courtyard one evening, just standing there and sighing to himself.

It’s bad enough that the rest of the Shepherds are like this, but as the group’s leader, Chrom’s attitude is especially bad for group morale.

“Chrom,” Robin says as he marches over to the tree Chrom seems to be staring at. “What are you doing out here so late?”

Chrom lets out his third heavy sigh in five minutes.

“Oh, hi, Robin,” he greets halfheartedly. “I’ve just been thinking about… the war.”

“I thought you would be more spirited,” Robin says. “You do not fear battle. It’s one of your good qualities.”

Chrom’s lips twitch upward.

“One of them, huh?” He chuckles, but it sounds tired. “I’m not afraid. Just determined to do the right thing. Gods, Robin, you’re only a few years older than me, right? I don’t know how much you remember about the last time Ylisse went to war with Plegia, but… It was awful, Robin. Truly awful.”

Of course Robin remembers. He was stuck in the body of a child, but he had gone through enough rituals that he had sufficient power to destroy the foolish Exalt who dared to target the Grimleal.

“It was over quickly,” Robin says. “The Grimleal took care of it. It cemented their power in Plegia.”

“It took thousands of lives before the end, though,” Chrom says. “Both Plegian and Ylissean. It caused… My father caused so much death… and all for nothing.”

“Death is always for nothing,” Robin says. “You can fight for what you desire all your life, but the second you die, it no longer matters. You are worthless as a corpse. You can be food for insects, perhaps.”

You’re worthless as a corpse, and because that’s what everyone becomes eventually, there’s really no point in being alive at all. That’s a lesson Robin learned a long time ago.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Chrom asks, staring wide-eyed at Robin.

“I…”

Robin gets the feeling that “yes” would be the wrong answer.

“What about the things bigger than us?” Chrom asks. “Our friends and families? Or our countries? Or, even larger: safety, happiness, peace? You’ll die all the same, but at least something you care about lives on. Isn’t that better than dying for nothing? Robin, surely you can see the difference?”

Robin frowns. He’s been secure in his beliefs for a long time now, but Chrom is speaking so passionately that Robin thinks he ought to give the matter some thought. Is there a difference? Between dying, and dying… for something you care about?

Before he was reincarnated into his human body, he would have said no. When he lived with the Grimleal, he would have said no. And even when he first met Chrom, he would have said no. But now…

It’s difficult to imagine. After all, Robin’s quintessence is strong. Even when this human form of his expires, he’s certain that his quintessence will linger. He will reincarnate again. That is the way of things, as all the alchemists of old knew. Most humans, on the other hand, possess quintessences so weak that their existence fades forever after their death. All but the most prolific of humans die at the cost of their being. Robin would only lose his memories and powers (and even those could perhaps be recovered through rituals, as he’s done in this body).

But even if it’s a different question for him, the answer for most of his existence would have been “no.” What would he have to care about, besides himself?

The only answer he can come up with is “Chrom,” and it’s only recently occurred to him.

So, the final question becomes: would he trade his life for Chrom’s? His memories and powers for Chrom’s existence? (Although, from what Robin can tell, Chrom’s quintessence is rather powerful for a human… Indeed, the only quintessence in recent memory that felt stronger was Validar’s, and he has fell blood in his veins. Perhaps Chrom could… but for the sake of argument, Robin shouldn’t assume.)

Chrom, or him… But no, that’s still the wrong question. Robin would choose his own life every time. But if the choice is between dying to save Chrom, and dying for any other reason…

“I suppose I do see the difference,” Robin admits. “Your death would still be objectively meaningless, but at least it would mean something to you.”

“That’s… not quite what I.. Oh, never mind.” Chrom sighs. “Sometimes I worry about you, Robin. What do they teach children over there in Plegia?”

“That they must worship the fell dragon all their lives and sacrifice themselves to him should it be required,” Robin answers flatly.

Chrom takes a step back in surprise.

“Seriously?” he gasps. “That is…”

“Ridiculous,” Robin finishes. “Talk about dying for nothing. Their lives would be worthless to the fell dragon.”

“Robin, that is horrible,” Chrom says.

Robin shrugs.

“So do you still regret your father’s war?” he asks. “This is what the Grimleal teach. This is what your father was trying to stop.”

Chrom frowns, shaking his head.

“What my father did is wrong,” he insists. “Innocent lives were wasted based on nothing but prejudice! Not every Plegian is Grimleal! Had he stopped to talk to them—”

“Then the Grimleal would have killed him even sooner,” Robin says. “What do you think talking would have done? The Grimleal have worshipped the fell dragon for thousands of years. They will not stop merely because you find their practices barbaric. The war was necessary, Chrom. The problem is that it didn’t end properly. Even now, this shit between Plegia and Ylisse stems from what happened back then.” He grits his teeth. “This won’t end unless the Grimleal are wiped out. They will fight until they get what they want… but what they want is lost to them now.”

Chrom tilts his head.

“What is it that they want?” he asks.

Robin can’t meet Chrom’s eyes.

“The allegiance of a god who does not care to help them,” he says after a pause.

“You’re talking about the fell dragon?” Chrom asks. “Hmm… Isn’t the rumor that King Validar is trying to win back Grima’s favor?”

“None of them ever had it,” Robin says. “The fell dragon does not care about anyone.” Except for Chrom now, but he obviously doesn’t mention that. “Whatever they’re doing, it’s pointless. I’m sure it will be trouble for us, though.”

“Yes…” Chrom agrees. “As soon as we’re done with Gangrel, I imagine King Validar will attack us, if only because we’re allies with Ferox. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t attack us sooner.”

“You’re correct,” Robin says. “And now you understand the importance of striking them down once and for all, don’t you? Things will never improve for you if you don’t. People are going to die, but you don’t want it to be for nothing, do you?”

“No,” Chrom says, sighing once more. “If these people will not accept peace, then I must be death’s agent. But I will not repeat my father’s mistakes. Violence will not be senseless under my command.”

Chapter Text

Another three days pass without event. Chrom does, at least, seem to have more energy while he trains. At night, though, he keeps falling back into a weary listlessness.

Robin spends these nights with him in the courtyard. They don’t talk about the war ahead of them, nor do they speak again of Chrom’s father. Instead, they speak of trivial matters. A local merchant recently got some rare tomes in stock. Fredrick’s recruitment posters for the Ylissean army are extremely questionable but apparently effective. The price of steel has been rising lately. No, Chrom absolutely should not just hop on a horse and call himself a great knight; does he even know how to ride?

After the third night, Chrom is starting to look more like himself. That’s when Gangrel’s forces decide they have to stir up trouble.

“Robin!”

Chrom’s shout is the first indication that anything is wrong. He tackles Robin to the ground just in time for them to avoid the slice of an assassin’s blade.

As Chrom rolls off of him, Robin reaches for the first tome in his pockets, which happens to be Elwind. The hit makes the assassin flinch, giving Chrom enough time to strike him down with his own blade. They barely have time to catch their breath before they’re moving again, this time towards the castle.

“No one should be able to breach our defenses,” Chrom exclaims.

“Perhaps there was a spy on the inside,” Robin suggests. “The problem with sellswords is that their loyalty goes to the highest bidder.”

Their conversation comes to halt as they rush into the castle to find it positively swarming with Plegians.

“Dastards,” Chrom mutters. He quickly surveys the scene before turning to Robin. “We have to split up.”

Robin had come to the same conclusion. Although he can hear shouts from many of the Shepherds, they’re clearly outnumbered. And the royal guards, if they have any sense, should be protecting Emmeryn. Robin and Chrom are the two strongest Shepherds, so the smartest thing to do is to conquer the enemy from both sides.

“Fine. You clean up over there,” Robin says, gesturing towards the side that does not lead directly to the throne room.

“But Emm—”

“Will be a lot safer if you don’t lead them right to her!” Robin hisses under his breath. “Now go! Tell Sumia to cover you!”

Robin runs in the opposite direction, taking a few shots at some thieves as he passes. He notices one of them slip some silver into his pockets. Ever an opportunist, it would seem.

He slows down as he approaches another room, pulling his coat’s hood over his head. It helps him for about five minutes until a dark mage spots him and starts yelling about “that tactician guy,” at which point Robin lets the hood fall in the wake of his wind magic.

It’s fortunate that he’s no longer running when he rounds the corner, because he’s barely able to dodge the creature that nearly mows him down.

“Out of my way, man spawn,” she growls.

“Taguel,” Robin says, narrowing his eyes. He had heard that the species had gone extinct after being massacred. “Out for revenge, I assume?”

“I will repay my warrior’s debt and then wash my hands of your race,” the taguel growls. “Do not get in my way.”

“By all means, have at it. I do enjoy a good revenge killing,” Robin says with a smirk. “But stick to the brigands. If you harm my allies, you’ll find that I’ll be the one taking revenge.”

“I will not harm your allies. My warren owes a debt to Ylisse. That is the only reason I am here.” The taguel glares at him before brushing by. “You are strange.You carry a power that man-spawn should not. I do not want to know. I hope we do not meet again.”

“Likewise,” Robin says.

As they part ways, Robin finally comes upon the throne room. In front, Frederick is fighting against four dark mages at once. It’s too much, even for him.

“Stand behind me,” Robin insists, shoving a vulnerary into Frederick’s hands. “You may not trust me, but I do not lose battles.”

“It is my duty to defend Lady Emmeryn,” Frederick argues, though he doesn’t protest the vulnerary. “We will fight together.”

“So be it,” Robin says, uncaring as he pushes back a dark mage with Arcwind.

Frederick supports Robin with his lance, and between the two of them, nobody is getting anywhere near Emmeryn. They stand in silence once the last of their opponents has fallen. It takes seven minutes for Chrom to come running in, and Robin can practically feel the hole Frederick’s stare is figuratively burning into the back of his head. Fortunately, when Chrom arrives, Frederick’s attention is immediately drawn away.

“Milord, has the castle been secured?” he asks.

“Yes,” Chrom replies. “When we defeated the assassins’ leader, the rest of them scattered. Gangrel ordered them to kill Emm, but the dastard didn’t even bother to show up himself. I know; I checked.” Suddenly, his eyes widen. “Where is Emm? Is she unharmed?”

“The enemy forces were unable to breach her room,” Frederick says. “I… could not have done it on my own. Robin’s assistance was critical in keeping them out.”

A hint of respect gleams in Frederick’s eyes. Although Robin has never cared about the man’s opinion of him, he can’t deny the surge of pleasure he feels at forcing “Frederick the Wary” into complimenting him. Considering all the work Robin’s been doing, it’s only right for Frederick to finally give him some credit.

“I can’t thank you enough, either of you,” Chrom says. “And I’m sure Emm feels the same way. Come now, we must find her immediately. If Gangrel is already launching attacks here in Ylisstol, time is clearly of the essence.”

They reconvene in a corridor. Every guard still alive in the castle seems to want to stick to the exalt’s side, but Emmeryn dismisses all but her head pegasus knight, Phila.

“Oh, Emm,” Chrom sighs. “Thank the gods you’re safe!”

The tension in Chrom’s body releases so suddenly that Robin feels compelled to place a steadying hand on his shoulder, just in case Chrom should begin to collapse. Fortunately, he does not, though he does lean slightly into Robin’s touch.

“It is you I have to thank, Chrom,” Emmeryn says, smiling gently.

“I beg your forgiveness, milord!’ Phila exclaims. “I failed in my duty—they never should have made it into the castle in the first place!”

“Peace, Phila. You had no reason to expect them to attack us at home.” Chrom frowns. “If anything, the fault lies with me. I was waiting for them to make the first move… Gods, how could I have been so stupid?”

“You’re both forgetting where the fault truly lies,” Robin interjects. “With Gangrel. I suggest you cease attacking yourselves and focus on attacking him.”

“Robin is correct,” Emmeryn says. “Gangrel ordered this attack; the blame rests on his shoulders alone. Please, do not burden yourselves with guilt. If it weren’t for your strength, this night could have been much worse than it was.”

“Well spoken, milady,” Frederick says. “This attack is behind us. We must now decide how to move forward so that Gangrel does not succeed in harming you in the future.”

Their conversation is suddenly interrupted by the sound of growling.

“There you are,” the taguel Robin previously met says. With a flash of light, she transforms into a more human-like figure, only retaining the large ears of her beast form. “I came to ascertain the safety of the exalt.”

“Oh,” Emmeryn exclaims softly. “I was unaware that we had a taguel fighting on our side. I must thank you as well, then...”

The taguel snorts.

“My name is Panne. My warren owes Ylisse a debt, and I am the only one alive to repay it.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Do not think us friends.”

“The… only one…?” Chrom asks, horror dawning in his eyes.

“Do not act so shocked,” Panne says coldly. “It’s man-spawn like you that invaded our warren and slaughtered my people. You are all the same. Right down to your base desire to ruin and destroy all that you touch.”

Robin narrows his eyes.

“Do you mean to imply that you are not of the same nature?” he challenges. “That your kind is not just as prone to violence? Were your power not restrained through a stone, you would be a mindless creature of destruction. Humans and taguel are alike at heart.”

“True, we have violence within us,” Panne admits, glaring at Robin. “But unlike you man-spawn, we have honor. We do not slaughter the innocent, and we do not deem our foes to be our lessers.”

“I’m told that, in taguel society, everyone is treated as an equal,” Emmeryn murmurs, smiling sadly. “Mankind could learn much from your warren. The words may come too late and mean too little, but I am deeply sorry, Panne. We have stolen your friends and family, and the world is worse for it.”

“Stop,” Panne says. “I was listening to your words before. Follow your own counsel. The blame does not lie with you, but with those who took up arms against my warren. Your words are like the wind.”

“I know,” Emmeryn says. “But they are all that I have.”

Panne is quiet for a moment before she speaks again.

“You said, too, that we must now act to prevent future harm,” she says. “I am the last of my warren. Your kind has slaughtered them all. I will never trust mankind, but… perhaps you are not like the others. Although there is nothing I can do for my fellow taguel now, I can lend you my strength so that you will not meet the same fate. A human who truly feels my pain as her own… That is worth fighting for.”

“We are honored to have you with us, Panne,” Chrom says. “I would ask you to join my Shepherds. I believe they are currently waiting for me in the barracks.”

“I will find my way there,” Panne says, then excuses herself.

After a beat of silence, Emmeryn smiles.

“I quite like her,” she says.

“As do I, milady,” Frederick says. “She will be an asset to our cause…. Whatever path we choose to follow.”

“We have to get out of this castle,” Chrom says immediately. “This place has already been compromised once. Emm, you should go stay with Flavia and Basilio in Ferox, where it’s safe.”

“And leave the people undefended?” Emmeryn asks. “War is at our borders, Chrom. War is inside our borders now. The people must know that their exalt stands with them.”

“But if something happens to you?” Chrom demands. “What then?”

“Chrom, you cannot always be there to defend me,” Emmeryn says. “It is true that someone needs to go to Ferox, for we cannot fight this war without our allies. But that responsibility falls on your shoulders. My responsibility is to stay in Ylisse and rally the strength of our people.”

“I… I will go to Ferox and request aid, of course,” Chrom says. “But, Emm… You would be so much safer if you came with me.”

“Chrom,” Emmeryn says firmly. “I am staying in Ylisse.”

Frederick clears his throat.

“Your Grace, perhaps you might relocate to the eastern palace for the time being?” he suggests. “I understand that you cannot leave the halidom, but it would be dangerous to stay in a castle whose defenses have been breached. You would be safer in the eastern palace, yet still within our borders.”

“Hmm… a reasonable compromise,” Emmeryn says after a pause. “Well, Chrom? Would this satisfy you?”

Though Chrom is clearly not satisfied, he nods his head.

“Okay, Emm,” he says. “It will be hard for me to leave for Ferox without you, but…”

“Peace, Chrom,” Emmeryn says. “I will be alright. We will reunite soon. Until then, be safe.”

Chapter Text

“You have no intention of heading to Ferox, do you?” Robin asks in amusement.

Chrom sighs, grabs a map off of Robin’s desk, and sits down on Robin’s bed. Robin has long since lost the urge to be territorial over his things, at least when it comes to Chrom. Besides, Chrom lets Robin practically live in his room when Robin feels like it; it’s hardly an unequal exchange.

“There’s no point hiding it from my tactician, now is there?” Chrom asks with a chuckle.

Robin sits down beside him, peering over at the map.

“So, where’s Gangrel?” Robin asks with a grin. “I assume you found out from the assassins?”

“A thief, actually,” Chrom says. “His name’s Gaius, and by the way, I recruited him to the Shepherds.”

“Of course you did,” Robin says, rolling his eyes.

“So,” Chrom says, rolling his eyes right back, “he said Gangrel approached him near the Feroxi-Plegian border and hired him to break into the castle since, er, apparently he’s done it before,” Chrom explains. “Anyway, word is that Gangrel is currently hiding out in the desert over there.”

“So close to the border with Ferox? I’m surprised the Grimleal haven’t gotten to him there,” Robin says. “Then again, that’s around where Ylisse has stationed its troops. Perhaps he intends to intercept if we attempt to send any more.”

“Probably,” Chrom agrees. “Too bad we won’t be sending troops. I’m going to fight Gangrel myself.”

“Good. More and more of your people will die if you don’t kill him now, you know,” Robin says. “Emmeryn could die.”

“I know,” Chrom says. The determination in his eyes melts into something miserable, and Robin, alarmed, straightens his back.

“I’m trying to motivate you,” Robin hisses. “What are you doing?”

“It’s… not your fault, Robin…” Chrom says quietly. “I know you’re trying to help. I just… don’t need convincing right now.”

“Oh?”

“Robin… I feel as though you are the only person I can truly be open with,” Chrom says. “Emm would be horrified if she knew what I was thinking right now… Lissa would think I had gone mad… Frederick would chastise me until I shut up… But you wouldn’t scorn me, Robin.”

Robin nods.

“You can be honest with me,” he says “Go on, tell me what your heart truly desires.”

Chrom’s face flushes as he looks into Robin’s eyes.

“You… You know that Ylisse will never truly be safe as long as Gangrel lives,” he says. “He is called the ‘Mad King’ for a reason. He will not negotiate…”

“True,” Robin agrees. “And so, you want to kill him.”

“I do,” Chrom admits, swallowing thickly. “It is wrong, but…”

“Is it?” Robin asks. “Why does this man’s life mean anything to you? I thought your people and your family were most important?”

“They are,” Chrom says. “But that doesn’t mean I can just…”

“Kill Gangrel? Of course you can,” Robin argues. “To be entirely truthful, I do not understand why you are troubled at the thought of killing him. You have killed plenty of your enemies before.”

“But that was different, Robin,” Chrom says with a groan. “Killing out of necessity is different from wanting to kill.”

“No it isn’t,” Robin argues. “You should want to kill your enemies, because you need to. Otherwise, while we’re pretending to be the better men, they are figuring out how to destroy us.”

“But if we destroy them first, are we not just as bad as they are?” Chrom asks.

Robin grits his teeth. Chrom sounds so miserable. It’s an intolerable sound.

“Chrom,” he says slowly. “I do not think you want to kill Gangrel at all.”

“But I do, Robin,” Chrom says, still sounding miserable. “I want to kill him so badly, but it goes against everything that Ylisse stands for. I am ready to march out to commit murder not because it will save people, but because I want him dead for what he tried to do to Emm.”

“Yes, and?” Robin asks. “I fail to see the problem. The result is the same no matter your motive.”

“I guess that’s true…” Chrom agrees, looking slightly relieved. “It really doesn’t make a difference. This is what I have to do. I simply can’t allow us to march to Ferox while Gangrel is a threat. Tomorrow, we’ll head for the border sands and put a stop to him once and for all.”

Robin narrows his eyes.

“You really didn’t need convincing, did you…” he says. “What, were you just seeking my approval?”

“Maybe I was,” Chrom says, meeting Robin’s eyes. “I may be the one in charge of Ylisse’s military affairs, but I trust your mind over anyone else’s, including my own. If you disapproved of a plan, I would reconsider it.”

“I am not in the habit of disapproving of plans that result in death and destruction,” Robin says, chuckling. But he soon trails off with a frown. “Chrom… You do understand that I do not view… death… the same way that you do…”

“I do,” Chrom says, placing a hand on Robin’s shoulder. “But I know you were taught horrible things, Robin. The Grimleal preach as though nobody’s life has any value at all.”

“It’s not the Grimleal’s influence. You can’t understand what I’ve been through,” Robin says. He has half a mind to pull away, but as if sensing his desire, Chrom’s grip tightens. Instead, he closes his eyes. “No one mourns for insects or beasts. Why is mankind treated better? Humans are worse than other creatures. Beasts and insects cannot care about their actions. Humans choose not to.”

Robin can feel Chrom’s hand begin to move downward, stroking his arm in a way meant to comfort. Robin is not comforted, but he doesn’t find the feeling unpleasant, either.

“Robin,” Chrom says, and Robin blinks his eyes back open. “I don’t know what you’ve been through. And it’s true that some people choose not to care about others…”

Robin opens his mouth to speak, but Chrom continues before he has the chance.

“But people choose to care, too,” Chrom says. “Tell me, Robin. Why did you join the Shepherds? I thought you were going to tell me no, you know.”

Robin frowns.

“I did it because you asked,” Robin says. “I thought our goals were compatible. You wanted a tactician for when you went to war. And I had… no better purpose. I thought it would be interesting.”

“Interesting,” Chrom echoes. “Little more than a game, then. Like chess.”

Chess… but with human bodies. A good enough analogy, Robin figures. He nods.

“Well, I’ve seen you play chess before,” Chrom says. “You always play to win, no matter how many of your own pieces you lose along the way.”

“Would you have me care about pieces of wood?” Robin asks sharply, incredulous.

“Of course not,” Chrom says. “I was only wondering if you’d noticed… How many Shepherds have we lost since you joined us?”

“Zero,” Robin says.

“Right. And… Robin, I swear I’ve seen you jump in front of us to strike an enemy that was about to finish us off. The gods know you’ve saved my life many times over.”

“I…” Robin hesitates. “I am strong enough to do so.”

“You are,” Chrom agrees. “But that’s hardly the play style of one defending wooden pieces.”

Robin averts his gaze.

“So what are you saying?” he asks. “That I change my behavior based on the circumstances? Who doesn’t?”

“I’m saying that you’re saving lives and I don’t know what I would do without you,” Chrom says. “Whatever your motive, the result is the same.”

Robin can’t stop the laugh that escapes him.

“You’re using my words against me,” he says, his lips twitching upwards.

“I do listen to you,” Chrom says with a chuckle.

“Hmm… do you now…” Robin says. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Robin feels like he’s been outwitted somehow, but he can’t quite figure out just what has been lost here.

He falls backwards onto his bed, placing a hand on his right temple.

“I’m exhausted,” he declares. “How many more maps do we need to look over?”

“Only a few,” Chrom says, his eyes glimmering with something like amusement. “But we can look over them tomorrow. I’m not trying to give you a headache.”

Robin lowers his hand from his head.

“I don’t—” he begins to protest.

“Good night, Robin,” Chrom says, laughing as he steps out the door.

And although they are going to set out to battle tomorrow, Robin feels strangely unburdened as he falls asleep.

Chapter Text

“Gods, Robin, are you actually used to this kind of climate?” Chrom asks. Sweat glistens on his face and in his hair, and Robin has to laugh at him.

“It’s not like I marched out here at noon every day,” Robin says. “But this heat is typical of the Plegian desert.”

“My arm is hot,” Chrom complains.

“Oh, be quiet,” Robin says, rolling his eyes. He finally got Chrom to cover both of his arms with armor by promoting him to Great Lord and insisting that the armor was a requirement for the class.

“Yeah, Chrom, shut up,” Lissa chimes in cheerfully. “You’re just mad that Robin isn’t impressed by your muscles.”

Robin had also promoted Lissa, in her case to War Cleric, but she didn’t protest her new outfit. She did, however, give a somewhat terrifying screech when she picked up her new axe. (At least she won’t mess around with Vaike’s anymore… hopefully.)

“That has nothing to do with it,” Chrom argues. “It’s harder to move like this!”

“Unfortunately, only mages and fliers can move around in the desert unhindered,” Frederick says.

“If you stand close enough to me, I can probably get my spell to affect both of us,” Robin suggests.

“Yeah, you’d both just love that,” Lissa giggles. Chrom elbows her as he moves past her into Robin’s range.

After a few more minutes of walking, Chrom lets out a short sigh.

“I’d like to think it’s our cunning that got us this far without being spotted…” he says. “But.. if Gangrel is really out here, shouldn’t he have come out by now? Is he leading us into some sort of trap?”

“Assuming that Gaius is in fact telling the truth about Gangrel hiding here, it’s likely that he has a well-concealed base of operations,” Robin says. “You have to remember that Validar would kill him in an instant if he came across him.”

“Maybe he already did…” Chrom says, scowling. “If we came all this way just to—”

Suddenly, a scream interrupts their conversation.

“Leave! Me! Alone!” comes a high-pitched voice.

A blur of light-green hair flashes in front of Robin’s eyes, and next thing he knows, what appears to be a girl is cowering behind him, clinging to the back of his coat.

The key word being “appears.” Robin can sense a familiar power within her. The power of a divine dragon.

His breath momentarily catches in his throat. He’d thought that the divine dragons had all died out. Even in his past, they were heavily hunted… Robin’s own existence was forged at the cost of their blood.

Seconds later, a large man comes running at them.

“You break Gregor’s heart!” he shouts. “Why you treat like villain?”

“Halt, fiend!” Chrom says, stepping in front of Robin and the manakete with his sword unsheathed. “Keep your hands off the maiden!”

“Who is fiend? You mean Gregor?” The man raises his hands innocently. “No, friend! You have idea wrong!”

“Yeah, right,” Lissa says, moving next to Chrom. Her hand hovers over her axe. “Creep,” she adds, giving Gregor a glare.

“Gregor is only trying to do good deed!” Gregor insists. “This is big mistake! Real fiends are following us, so little girl and friends need to be going now, yes?”

“What do you mean real fiends?” Lissa asks in alarm.

They quickly realize what he means.

“There you are, traitor!” one of Gangrel’s men shouts. “Give us back— Oh, fuck, the Ylisseans are here!” He shouts back to some of his men, who run off, probably to report to Gangrel.

“Damn it,” Chrom curses through clenched teeth. “All right, Shepherds! This isn’t great news, but it looks like we’re going to have to fight these dastards before we can get to Gangrel.”

As the Shepherds begin to get into their positions, Robin turns to the manakete behind him.

“How old are you?” he asks. “A hundred, two?”

“More like a thousand,” she says. “Plus a couple centuries I don’t wanna think about.”

“Yeah, sure,” Robin says. He has some of those, too. “Point is, you’re old enough to make your own decisions. So I’m going to leave you to do that, because I have to go slaughter my enemies right now.”

“Wait!” she cries out before he can take more than a couple of steps. “I just have to ask you… How come you’re not a dragon?”

“Uh…” Robin blinks. He takes a breath. “Excuse me?”

“When I was running away, I thought I sensed a dragon’s presence…” she says. “And you and your friends feel a little bit like dragons, but… you’re not dragons…”

She sounds disappointed. Perhaps she hoped to find some kin. But at least Robin can give her an explanation.

“Some humans have dragon blood running through their veins,” Robin says. “Chrom and Lissa are of the Ylissean royal family, so they have Naga’s blood in them. And I…” He narrows his eyes. “I would suggest not telling anyone about me, if you want to live.”

The manakete smiles as though she hadn’t been threatened at all.

“It’s okay, I get it. I don’t want the scary people to come after you, too,” she says. “Even if you can’t transform, we still gotta stick together to protect our blood, huh? Hey, what’s your name? I’m Nowi!”

“Robin…,” he says reluctantly. “And as… enlightening… as this conversation has been, I am needed on the battlefield. Leave now if you’re going to.”

“No way!” Nowi exclaims. “You and your royals may not be dragons, but you’re the closest thing I’ve ever found. I’m gonna stay and protect you!”

“In that case…” Robin says, smirking. “I should also inform you that I am this army’s tactician. Tell me, Nowi… How much dragonfire does it take to take down a myrmidon?”

“Oh, I know this one!” she exclaims, bouncing on her heels. A flash of light from her dragonstone precedes her transformation, and she does a little twirl in the air. “Two shots! Two shots!”

With Nowi successfully integrated into the battlefield (Robin even sees Gregor moving to cover her, which saves Robin from having to mobilize one of the Shepherds to do so), Robin takes a moment to survey the scene.

Since Cordelia is still stationed with the Pegasus Knights at the border, Sumia is without her battle partner. Luckily, she was smart enough to pair up with the only other person whose partner was otherwise occupied… Chrom. With a pegasus at their disposal, the two of them don’t have to worry about the desert sands slowing them down. Although they have to take an indirect route in order to avoid the enemy mages wielding Wind, they still make it over to the opposing commander much more quickly than the any of the ground units could.

Ignoring a sharp pang of irritation that Chrom didn’t wait for him, Robin quickly moves to blast a dark mage before she can take aim at Maribelle, who had to split from Sully in order to heal Olivia and Lon’qu.

“I’m impressed,” Maribelle calls out. When Robin turns towards her, she flips a strand of her hair over her shoulder. “You have quite a ferocious air about you. If you were anyone else, I would think it brutish, but with you… hmm… it gives you the look of an angry god.”

“I’m an irritated god,” Robin says, knowing she won’t truly believe him. Indeed, she merely laughs.

“Oh, Robin!” Olivia exclaims, running over to him with Lon’qu at her heels. “Would you like me to dance for you? You put so much power into every hit; I can only imagine that it’s exhausting.”

“I’ll sleep when they’re dead,” Robin says dismissively. “Save your dancing for the people who need it. Like her,” he says, gesturing towards Maribelle.

“Oh?” Maribelle asks. “Should I not wait here and wait for Sully to rejoin me?”

“Not when Gaius is over there trying to patch his wounds with peanut butter,” Robin says. He’s being literal; Gaius is placing peanut butter both over his shoulder and into his mouth while Panne looks on in utter revulsion.

Maribelle looks similarly disgusted.

“Must I?” she mutters, glancing at Robin.

“Excuse me?” Robin raises his eyebrows. “Would you seriously leave your fellow soldier to his attempts at edible bandaging?”

“Ugh,” Maribelle groans. Them, abruptly, she straightens her back. “Er, th-that is, of course not. I will go tend to… dear Gaius… immediately.”

As she rides off, Robin motions for Lon’qu and Olivia to flank her. The groups of barbarians Robin spots heading their way should be no match for the two quite adept sword users, but at least they’ll have Maribelle close if their luck should take a bad turn.

Left alone, Robin spares a quick glance towards the area of the field where Chrom and Sumia are still fighting the enemy leader. Neither of them have died. Good.

The Shepherds either have defeated or are currently engaged with most of the enemy forces, so Robin is safe from all but a few errant blasts of magic as he crosses (he will later hear Ricken say that he was “stalking across”) the battlefield until he reaches Chrom’s side. The fight is over by this point, and it clearly has taken its toll. Blood trickles from a cut on Chrom’s cheek, and Robin’s general feeling of irritation boils over into anger.

He finds himself growling as he places a hand against Chrom’s face. A few drops of blood sink into the material of his gloves. As far as wounds go, it’s completely insignificant. He would not have diverted a healer from battle to tend to it. But…

“I would have fried the man’s heart before he got the chance to touch you,” he hisses.

“What, this little thing?” Chrom smiles tiredly. “You know, it would have been worse if Sumia hadn’t been here. She took a daring leap off her pegasus to drive her lance into him.”

Robin tears his gaze away from Chrom for long enough to appraise Sumia. She rests on the ground, her leg seemingly sprained, and her armor is somewhat damaged. Nevertheless, she smiles at Chrom’s words.

“It was nothing, Captain,” she says. “You would have done the same for me. Um… if you had a pegasus.”

“Good work, Sumia,” Robin says, giving her a nod. “I’ve been thinking about promoting you to Dark Flier. I believe my decision is made now.”

“O-Oh!” Sumia gasps, her cheeks flushing a pale pink. “Really? I’m… I’m honored. Um… I’ll do my best!”

Robin gets the distinct feeling that she would have tripped over something had she not already been on the ground.

“We’ll wait until Cordelia comes back to us. I’ll promote you both,” Robin says.

He eagerly anticipates Cordelia’s return. She and Sumia have perfect synergy. Sumia is far better off working with her than with anyone else.

Turning away from Sumia, Robin gives Chrom another glance-over, this time removing his hands from Chrom and stepping back to get a full-body view. He’s pleased to note that Chrom’s new armor is doing its intended job. All things considered, he’s in great condition. Much better condition than Sumia.

Frowning, he walks over to her. He quickly scoops her into his arms, ignoring her squeak of surprise.

“R-Robin...” Chrom says, eyes widening. “I don’t think she needs you to carry her!”

“Um…” Sumia says. “I don’t mind, I guess, but I wasn’t expecting…”

Robin dumps her on her pegasus.

“I assumed you would have gotten up here yourself if you were able,” he says, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“Oh!” Sumia exclaims as though she’s gained a sudden insight. “Oh, yes, you’re right! Thank you, Robin.” She smiles. “Figures I’d be the one to fumble it on the landing, huh? Lucky for me, Chrom ended things really quickly after that.”

“That won’t be a problem once you can use magic. You’ll be able to attack from a distance,” Robin says. “In the meantime, I’m sure that Lissa or Maribelle will have no trouble healing you.”

Since she does need healing, Robin and Chrom decide to let her fly ahead of them back to camp. Thus, the two are left to traverse the desert alone as they head back. It’s easier to protect them both from the sands if they’re close enough to touch, which is how Robin finds himself hooking arms with Chrom.

“Today’s battle didn’t cost us much… resource-wise,” Chrom comments aloud. “But you know what the worst part is, right? If Gangrel was out here, I’m sure he’s moved by now. Gods, if we can’t find him again…”

“Perhaps we can ask Gregor,” Robin suggests. “He was working with them originally. Or, failing him, we could try Nowi. I believe she intends to… stay with us.”

In the end, both Nowi and Gregor do join the Shepherds. And they both provide useful information.

“They move around borders,” Gregor explains. “First Ylisse and now Ferox. There is camp to west from here. Gregor’s former employers likely head there, yes?”

“Okay, so I totally saw that western camp,” Nowi confirms. “See, I stumbled into their leader’s place one day. Gangrel, you said his name was? And he didn’t seem too bad at first, ‘cause I was running away from these AWFUL PEOPLE who bought me because I was a dragon. Oh, but ol’ Nowi wasn’t GOOD ENOUGH, no! They were after a different dragon, so they were just gonna kill me! No way was I gonna sit back and let that happen, so I ran away fast as I could. And then Gangrel said he was trying to beat the bad guys I was running from, and he said I should stay, but…” Her hands curl into fists. “That liar! He just wanted a dragon entertainer like everybody else! And when I didn’t play nicely with his men, he ordered me killed, too! Can you believe it?”

This tells Robin two main things.

One, if they head west, they will likely meet Gangrel. He’ll have the advantage of being in his own stronghold, but the Shepherds don’t have the luxury of waiting for a better opportunity. Every day they’re gone from Ylisse is another day Gangrel could order another attack to seize the Fire Emblem…. Or to kill Emmeryn, even though she left the Fire Emblem behind when she moved to the eastern palace. Robin is not certain that Gangrel has enough sense to make the distinction.

Two, the Grimleal are out and about in the area. Doing what, Robin doesn’t know, although his stomach twists painfully when he tries to imagine. It most likely involves him, of course. But nothing good has ever come out of stealing the blood of the divine dragons…

“Hey, Robin.” Lissa interrupts his thoughts. “You want to come play cards? Gaius brought some with him. We thought we should take a break before… you know. Before we have to go fight some more.”

“Alright,” Robin agrees. Pushing aside his uneasiness, he follows Lissa out to where the rest of the Shepherds are entertaining themselves. Perhaps it’s the sense of there being safety in numbers, but Robin finds that the tension in his body soon eases.

Chapter Text

As the Shepherds travel west along the border, they at least have the advantage of not having to sneak past the Feroxis. In fact, their allies are happy to share resources. Robin gets the impression that many of them are jealous that they are not the ones marching out to battle.

At one of the outposts, they actually run into Cordelia. Although she had been stationed there under Emmeryn’s orders, the Feroxis practically begged her to rejoin the Shepherds. Apparently, she was working so efficiently that there wasn’t enough for anyone else to do.

Robin is pleased to have Cordelia back (though not as pleased as Sumia, who was near tears as she tackled Cordelia in a hug), and he’s even more pleased to promote both her and Sumia into dark fliers. Robin gives them fire tomes and orders them to practice before the battle with Gangrel, but he suspects that both women could already capably wield them.

Robin is honestly impressed with how far they’ve come. Sumia is far from the wallflower she once was. And if Cordelia still harbors romantic feelings towards Chrom, she no longer lets them distract her. They (and the other Shepherds, as well) are truly worthy allies.

And it’s a good thing that they are, because Robin certainly couldn’t afford to have incompetent allies at a battle like this…

“Gods, did Gangrel bring all of his allies to this camp?” Chrom asks as he surveys the scene. The place is a literal wasteland. There are more enemies than there are trees... live ones, that is. It’s a land of ruin.

“We’re outnumbered,” Robin says flatly. It’s just a fact.

“He has been expecting us,” Frederick notes quietly.

“Ha! So you’ve come!” Gangrel shouts from the sky, confirming Frederick’s words. He sits behind one of his men on a wyvern… definitely without following proper riding protocol. Seated sideways and looking all too relaxed, he could fall off any time… and wouldn’t that be convenient for everyone.

“Gangrel!” Chrom shouts back. “You are charged with the attempted assassination of Exalt Emmeryn of Ylisse! What say you?”

“Oh, did you like that? I liked it.” Gangrel laughs. “Regicide takes practice, you know! It was good we didn’t start with Plegia Castle. Oh, no, no, that would have been a disaster! But you! Ha! Your defenses are nothing! You are weak because you know not of hardship! And after all that, you were still stupid enough to leave your capitol all alone!”

“W-What?” Chrom asks.”You… Are you threatening Ylisstol?”

“I’m going to destroy your lot right here!” Gangrel shouts with a grin. “And then I’ll take your pretty, pretty castle and its shiny, shiny treasure!”

“Is this all so trivial to you?” Chrom demands, fury blazing in his eyes. “We talk here of my family, my nation, and my people!”

He draws his sword, but Gangrel just snaps his fingers. The wyvern rider sitting next to him jerks the reins, and the wyvern flies a little higher.

“Come, now, princeling,” Gangrel taunts. “King Gangrel needs a new home!”

With another snap, Gangrel and the wyvern rider are heading off to the other side of the battlefield. In order to get over there, the Shepherds are going to have to fight through quite the crowd of combattants.

“He is not a king,” Chrom growls. “He knows nothing of honor. Never have I felt such… such contempt for a man.”

“Chrom…” Robin hesitates. “Now is not the time to lose your head…” It comes out as slightly hypocritical considering that Robin has always encouraged Chrom to fight harder… and perhaps more recklessly... but considering that Chrom appears half-inclined to charge straight into the middle of the battlefield, he thinks it’s a necessary reminder.

“Then what’s your big plan, Robin?” Chrom asks. “You know I’ll heed your word, but pray make it quick!”

“I’m thinking!” Robin snaps. “I suppose our best strategy is to lure them over here to us. We can’t afford for anyone to be out of range of a healer. And they have a ton of mages, so anyone without a long-range weapon should ideally stay out of the front lines… But they all have wind magic, which puts Cordelia and Sumia at risk…” He grits his teeth, cursing under his breath. “We just don’t have enough people!”

But then, just as Robin is considering the cost of channeling more of his power as the fell dragon, an unexpected form of aid arrives.

“These soldiers are not Feroxi…” Frederick murmurs.

“You mean they’re… Plegian…?” Chrom asks. “Wait, from the crown?”

“Greetings, Prince Chrom,” a large man wearing grimleal robes says, his voice booming. “I am Agares. I have heard much about your troubles with this… usurper. He attacked you on your own soil, did he not?”

Chrom’s eyes narrow marginally. Robin is suspicious, too, but he chooses to keep his eyes on Gangrel’s troops rather than scrutinize the newcomer. Although he’s confident that Gangrel and the Grimleal are not conspiring together, he wouldn’t put it past them to use each other as distractions to obstruct their own plots.

“In attempting to kill our Exalt, he has forfeited his life to us,” Chrom says slowly. “We are here only to seek justice.”

“Of course.” Agares gives a smile so blatantly false that Robin has a sudden desire to blast it off his face. “I believe we have compatible goals here, Prince Chrom. For you see, my orders are to ensure that the traitors and blasphemers are put to death.”

His eyes flicker to Robin.

Well now, Robin can hardly ignore that.

“Oh, do tell your king you tried to kill me,” he says with a smirk. “Truly, I’d like to see his face.”

“Agares,” Chrom says quickly. “Surely you understand that I will not allow your men to threaten mine.”

“Of course,” Agares says, giving his false smile again. “The same goes for your men against mine.” He gives Robin another quick glance. “Forgive me if you misunderstood my words. You are not our opponent today. I merely find it… interesting… that one would desert the Grimleal, and yet have the… courage… to return to our country.”

Robin snorts.

“Uh… Guys?” Lissa interrupts. “Not to rush you, but not everybody is super keen on standing around…”

From the corner of his eye, Robin spots Vaike and an enemy mercenary engaged in combat.

Robin swears.

“Alright. Remember, lure them to us. Don’t leave the healers,” he orders. “I’ll confer with the Plegian tactician and figure something out. I’ll tell you if plans change.”

“I am the tactician,” Agares says. “Unlike some, I am not in the habit of outsourcing my military strategies.”

“Robin,” Chrom says, sounding alarmed. “Shall I stay with you? I… I would not want…”

“I can handle it here, Chrom,” Robin snaps. “Go… Go and be a leader, already. Don’t do anything stupid where I can’t save you.”

Chrom gives him a hesitant look before nodding. Robin’s hands clench into fists as he watches Chrom leave.

“Hah. You’re awfully bold,” Agares says. “I suppose the prince values you for that.”

He says it like an insult, but Robin doesn’t bother to argue.

“I’m assuming most of your soldiers are mages of some sort,” he says to get to the point. “They need to be tanking hits from Gangrel’s mages. If you have any wyvern riders, have them ferry units across enemy lines, but only after we take out the wind magic users.

Agares scowls.

“And just why does your plan place my men at the front lines?” he asks. “Where are your mages?”

“Right now? As close to the front lines as they can get without dying,” Robin growls. “If you have a better plan, by all means, give it to me. But kindly do it before Gangrel takes advantage of your hesitation.”

“Your strategy is acceptable,” Agares growls back. “But I will not have you presume to order my men. They follow my command alone.”

It’s hilarious, because if they knew who Robin was, they’d all be clamoring to follow his orders. As it is, Robin merely rolls his eyes.

“I think I’ll save inciting insubordination for another time,” he says. “Incredible as it is, we are fighting together today. Let’s try not to regret it.”

He’s more than happy to leave Agares to his men in favor of rejoining the Shepherds, who are actually fighting. And well, at that—although it’s painfully slow going. If Robin couldn’t see the bodies on the ground, he wouldn’t think they were making any progress at all.

As he scans the field for Chrom, he has a momentary spike of fear that he’s gone rushing towards Gangrel without thinking. But a second later, he sees Chrom fighting alongside Lissa and Frederick against a group of wyvern riders. His dragonslaying sword does massive damage to the beasts, preventing their riders from escaping to the air as Frederick and Lissa land synchronized blows.

Robin is about to join them when an unexpected blast of dark magic slams into his side and sends him stumbling. He sends off a blast of fire magic before he can even ascertain his target, and he braces for the impact of a return shot. But it never comes.

Robin straightens from a battle crouch, though he keeps his tome at the ready. The woman he now sees in front of him wears the garb of a dark mage, and she’s looking at him… reverently?

“You…. are the one…” she murmurs, wide-eyed. “The one I’ve been seeking!”

“The one you’ve been seeking?” Perhaps she is confused. Or… no… “Are you Grimleal?” Robin asks warily.

“I am loyal to Lord Grima,” she says. “But I do not align with the Grimleal. I… am not so keen on dying… especially not for pointless reasons.”

Robin nods. He’s quite fond of this one; she’s sensible.

“And just who are you?” he asks. “I am certain we have not met before, so forgive me if I find it suspicious that you claim to have been ‘seeking’ me.”

“Tharja,” she says. “And I do not know why I have sought you. I only know… that you are unique among all others. Your soul calls to me.”

“Er…”

A normal human shouldn’t have any sense of his “soul.” There certainly shouldn’t be any sense of “calling.” Although… there is something about her mannerisms that seems… familiar.

But he doesn’t have time to consider the matter.

“Fine,” he says, though he continues to eye Tharja with suspicion. “Let’s say you’ve actually found the right person. Unfortunately, you’ve found me in the middle of battle. So, if you’d like to continue seeing me in the future…”

“You want me to fight for you,” Tharja says. She chuckles darkly. “You don’t even have to ask. Any enemy of yours… must die.”

The gleam in her eyes promises anguish for anyone that gets in her way. Robin doesn’t know what else he expected from someone who claims to be drawn to him.

“I was going to suggest that you leave me alone, but I suppose we do need another mage,” he says, smirking. “And that little blast you hit me with almost stung. So... how would you like to curse some people for me?”

Tharja clutches her tome to her chest as she smirks.

“You know just how to seduce a woman.”

With that, Robin directs her over towards a rotten tree where Vaike and Miriel are faking injury so as to draw over more enemies. Only the most ignorant would fall for such a trap, but Gangrel’s troops are not particularly clever in battle. It’s almost pitiable.

Though Tharja’s appearance was fortunate, it has unfortunately caused Robin to lose sight of Chrom. He scans the battlefield once again, but this time, it’s Chrom who comes to find him.

“Robin, gods, your clothing is all torn,” Chrom says, kneeling down to inspect Robin’s side. “Is this a dark magic burn? Should I get Lissa?”

“Stop that. It’s not even bad,” Robin says, cuffing Chrom on the head.

It would be stupid to waste their healers’ resources on wounds that aren’t life-threatening. But he doesn’t protest when Chrom runs his fingers very lightly over the area. Chrom has no healing touch, but Robin has a strange appreciation for the gesture anyway.

“I should have been at your side,” Chrom murmurs. “I hate thinking that… it’s my fault you’re in pain.”

Robin knows the feeling. So much of Chrom’s pain is directly attributable to Robin. Not just the times when he can’t be at Chrom’s side… but all of the fighting in the first place. Robin encouraged it even when Chrom hesitated...

“You are here now,” Robin says, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in his stomach. “And look, Gangrel’s defenses are finally beginning to wane.”

The mages wielding wind magic have all fallen, although a few dark mages remain to avenge their comrades. In the sky, two wyvern riders in Grimleal robes strike down the last of Gangrel’s fliers.

“The skies are clear…” Chrom says. “We can have Cordelia and Sumia fly us right to him.”

“Yes.” Robin is not surprised that they are on the same page.

“Then let’s go put an end to this, Robin,” Chrom says. “I want Ylisse to be at peace again.”

As far as war campaigns go, this little excursion barely qualifies as one. Gangrel is, indeed, little more than an usurper. Or, perhaps, the leader of a revolution born premature. Either way, he was always doomed to insignificance. His death will be another meaningless loss of quintessence. Chrom is forgetting that the true war is between the Grimleal and Ferox, and thus Ylisse by extension. Killing Gangrel will not bring peace.

But…

“I know you do,” Robin says. Once, he would have thought Chrom pathetic for it. But now… Well, it’s obvious that Chrom isn’t weak. No, he’s grown ever stronger since Robin first met him, coming into his own as a leader in ways Robin can’t entirely attribute to himself. He desires peace not because he is too weak to fight, but because he has fought and found that he values peace more.

Originally, Robin just wanted to exploit the darkness within Chrom as a means of entertainment as he worked to destroy the world. That thought sickens him now. Robin has known forever that there is darkness in every human heart. It is only after being around Chrom and his Shepherds that he’s found anything else.

“I swear I will do everything I can to bring you peace, Chrom” Robin says. Robin is not Chrom’s god and owes him nothing… but after using Chrom for so long, it only seems proper to grant his desire. His true desire.

The path to Gangrel is quiet. High in the air, the distant cries of dying soldiers could be mistaken for the wind.

“Good day, my little princeling!’ Gangrel’s voice is all the more jarring when it breaks the silence. “So nice of you to come all this way. Would’ve been nicer of you to bring me a gift—the Fire Emblem, perhaps—but I guess your daddy didn’t teach you any manners before he kicked the bucket.”

“Gangrel,” Chrom says. “If this is about my father’s sins, I would atone for them. But not with the Fire Emblem. Not with my sister’s life.”

“If your sister doesn’t want to die, she should be a little more cooperative,” Gangrel says. “It’s me or the evil dragon god who eats people, you know!”

Robin frowns. Technically, he consumes human blood, not human flesh as the idea of “eating people” implies. There’s no good reason for him to care about the distinction… but somehow, Gangrel’s words unsettle him.

“But don’t worry, princeling. I’ll take good care of Her Graceliness if she behaves,” Gangrel continues. “You, on the other hand… Ha! You’re just like me! When life asks you a question, you answer with blood!”

“Maybe you’re right,” Chrom says. “But I’m not trying to be Emmeryn; I’m trying to save her. I am sorry for your people, Gangrel, but I have no sympathy for you. For your crimes against House Ylisse, I will see to your end.”

“Adorable speech. Did you practice it in front of the mirror?” Gangrel sneers. “Leave your morals at home! Men are beasts! Nothing more! We fight when we’re caged! We fight when we’re free!” He draws his sword—a long, jagged thing that crackles with electricity. “So fight me now, the king of beasts!”

Chrom hesitates for a split-second, but all traces of hesitation leave as soon as his blade locks against Gangrel’s. With Sumia and Cordelia protecting the skies above them, it’s just Chrom and Robin against Gangrel. And despite their combined power, Gangrel is extremely quick on his feet, pulling off dodge after dodge against blade and tome alike.

“You know, I’m surprised at you, Grimleal deserter,” Gangrel says, cackling as he directs a ball of magical lightning towards Robin’s chest. Robin barely deflects it with a fireball of his own magic. “They didn’t stamp out all your will to live? Then you should be fighting on my side. That’s all we are, you know! Plegians who have the nerve to want to live!”

Robin grits his teeth as he sends out another fireball only to watch Gangrel slash it apart.

“So you say,” he replies. “Yet your philosophies are nearly the same as the Grimleal’s. The only difference is how and when you put an end to your worthless lives.” Frowning, he continues. “I have begun to think that it does not have to be this way.”

“Oh? Are you to be our next revolutionary?” Gangrel's grin turns into a wince as the Falchion grazes him. “Fool,” he spits. “If you’re going to tell me about love and friendship, I’ll just vomit now and save you the effort. Have you not seen enough of this miserable country to know that we all live and die alone?”

“If you live and die alone, that is your choice,” Robin says. “If you follow every impulse in your beastly heart, that is your choice. It is choice that separates people from beasts. The despicable have made themselves so.”

“That’s right,” Chrom says. Gangrel tries to send another blast of lightning towards him, but Robin intercepts it. “Your death is of your own making, Gangrel.”

“Easy for Ylisseans to say!” Gangrel shouts. “It’s so precious that you think I ever had a choice in this life! Everything has been leading to this, a miserable end on the battlefield! You want to talk about choices? Then choose to let me go! That’d fuck fate!”

Robin can see the moment Chrom’s determination falters, and he can also see the moment that Gangrel decides to the take advantage of it. Robin raises his tome again… only to find it falling apart. He curses.

“I can’t believe you’re actually this stupid,” Gangrel says, laughing as he pins Chrom back against a decaying tree. “You’re stuck. Your friend doesn’t have a weapon. I’m basically doing your country a favor by killing you! Imagine having an idiot lead a war!”

Except Robin does, in fact, have one more weapon on his person.

“You met your end the moment you laid eyes on me, Gangrel,” Robin says, raising up Grima’s Truth. “I am the end.”

There’s something satisfying in the way Gangrel’s eyes widen in horror at the approaching dark magic. It’s a spell unlike any other, allowing Robin to draw more of his power as the fell dragon than he would actually be able to contain in his human body. Of course, technically, any dark magic user could wield it… that is, if any copies existed outside of Robin or Validar’s possession.

Chrom’s eyes flicker to Robin, making him suddenly self-conscious. Stuffing his tome back into the depths of his coat, he makes his way to Chrom’s side.

“He… He died on impact…” Chrom murmurs, wide-eyed. “Robin… That’s…”

“You didn’t expect me to leave the Grimleal without having powerful dark magic up my sleeve, did you?” Robin asks. He intends the statement to be humorous. But he doesn’t feel capable of laughing.

“Robin, you’re amazing,” Chrom says, his voice growing warm. “In many ways, you’re the best fighter I’ve ever known… and the best friend. You’re… very special, and I… I, er…”

A shout interrupts him.

“Captain!” Sumia calls out as her pegasus lands. “Robin! Thank the gods! You’re safe!”

Beside her, Cordelia lands with her pegasus as well.

“We tried to bring back reinforcements,” she says. “But, well…”

“You,” Agares’s voice comes from above. His wyvern rider lowers the dragon just enough for him to jump down safely. “White hair… red eyes… You can’t be...”

Uncomfortable, Robin takes a step closer to Chrom.

“Don’t play stupid!” Agares insists. “That’s no regular trick of magic! You were never an ordinary Grimleal, were you?”

“And if I wasn’t?” Robin challenges. Part of him wants to blast the man and run, just as he’d done to Validar… but the thought of Chrom and the Shepherds’ reactions to that gives him pause.

“I can’t believe it,” Agares says. “I heard our leader had a son… but I never thought he’d betray us for Ylisse!”

Robin hears Chrom gasp, but suddenly, he can’t bear to look at his… friend. Instead, he locks eyes with Agares and forces himself to smirk.

But then, in an instant, Chrom is standing between them.

“I told you before that I would not allow you to threaten my men!” he says. “That goes doubly for Robin. Who, I might add, just brought us victory over an enemy that was as much your problem as ours. I would be more appreciative in your position!”

“You have a noble heart, Prince Chrom,” Agares says drily. “I only hope that those under your command do not take advantage of it.”

“Chrom is strong enough to inspire loyalty from all who are not craven,” Robin says furiously. “There is no one I hold in higher esteem.”

“Robin…” Chrom murmurs.

“Kindly remind your king that I am not his subject,” Robin continues, stepping forward to stand at Chrom’s side. “And it is far better this way. Look how well we’ve been doing without each other.”

Chapter Text

A week after the Shepherds get back to Ylisstol, Plegia withdraws from its conflict with Ferox, sending apologies and an offer of reparations for the damage that was done. It’s far too convenient, especially now that Robin is aware that Validar knows exactly where he is.

Emmeryn is not set to arrive back at the capitol for another week still, largely because Chrom and Frederick insisted on doing a full sweep of the castle and overhauling security before her return, and even then she is planned to be accompanied by holy priests.

Robin lends his aid to the castle preparations, which gets Chrom to smile at him, but in all the business, they hardly have little time to even speak to each other.

Perhaps it is for the best. After all, Robin cannot possibly remain in Ylisse anymore. It will be easier to part with some distance between them. As soon as Emmeryn returns, Robin will go.

The thought does not please him. In any other circumstances, he would follow his desires and stay in Ylisse as he wishes. But Robin is the antithesis of peace. His staying is incompatible with Chrom’s desires.

So he has to go. Where, he hasn’t decided. Perhaps some other nation on another continent will produce a war that can occupy him. Or... perhaps he could simply travel from place to place. The world is not as it was a thousand years ago, and despite all the studying he’s done, he could still be considered… ignorant, in certain respects.

With that plan in mind, Robin intends to slip away into the night without a word. It should be an easy task. Emmeryn’s return is met with much relief and joy. No one should be paying Robin any mind.

But he must linger too long—in the hallways, perhaps, or by the barracks, or around the courtyard—because he barely steps one foot outside the castle grounds when he hears Chrom call out to him from behind.

“Robin, what are you doing?” Chrom asks. When Robin turns around, Chrom runs up to his side. “Why are your things packed?”

“Is it not obvious?” Robin asks. “I’m leaving. I joined the Shepherds because I wanted war. What I didn’t… What I couldn’t understand then is that war for you is a means, not an end. My thoughts were very… Plegian… when I met you. Like Gangrel, or like the Grimleal, I thought all roads could lead only to destruction. You have since changed my views, Chrom. But not my nature. I cannot stay here.”

“Gods, Robin..” Chrom says, shaking his head. “Please tell me you aren’t doing this for the reason I think you are. If this is about who your father is, I don’t care! I care about you, not your blood!”

“Because you do not understand!” Robin insists. “I represent everything that you stand against!”

Growling in frustration, he tears off a single glove. The Mark on the back of his hand glows a vivid purple. It doesn’t explain the full truth, but it’s the closest he can come without confessing what he is. He doesn’t understand what compels him to do it, but perhaps it will be easier to go if Chrom understands… at least on some level… the deception that has been going on.

“I… don’t know what I’m looking at, Robin…” Chrom says. “Is this a Brand? Then, you…”

“It signifies fell blood!” Robin says sharply. “I am the embodiment of ruin and despair! I will not bring you any peace as your tactician!”

“But you already have!” Chrom argues. “Killing Gangrel has brought peace. Emmeryn is no longer in danger. Plegia has even withdrawn from Ferox, so our shared soldiers can come home.”

“And so my usefulness has ended,” Robin says. “You recall how I joined you to be your tactician in case of a war? You no longer need me.”

“I do,” Chrom insists, grabbing Robin by the shoulder. “This is a nation; there will always be conflict. I know what is just, but you know what is smart. I will always need you at my side.”

“There are others you can hire,” Robin says, but he can’t bring himself to pull away.

“They will never be you!” Chrom says. “Robin, truly, even if Ylisse never sees conflict again, I will always need you. We are two halves of a greater whole.”

Robin pauses. No being can ever be incomplete, for quintessence is not something that can be halved. Yet, if he were to leave Ylisse now and never speak to Chrom again… Robin knows that he would feel the absence, as though something was missing… almost as though his being was not complete...

“You… have changed me,” he says finally. “And… perhaps that is why some part of me now belongs to you.”

Yes… somehow, Chrom has become the only person to ever get Robin under his power. Yet when Chrom bends down to claim his lips, he feels not like the victim of a conquest but a victor in his own right. Kissing is not a custom Robin has felt the need to partake in until this moment… but now that he has, he better understands why lovers are so inclined to embrace on the battlefield.

“Let’s go back to your room, Robin,” Chrom says softly after they pull apart. “Put your things back. Tell me you’ll stay.”

“It... would seem that I’m going to stay,” Robin murmurs in agreement.

Very little changes after that moment. Chrom touches him more often… which would disturb Robin more were he not already so accustomed to Chrom’s touch. Additionally, they no longer bother to retire to separate rooms at night. Although they have slept beside each other in the past, Chrom now takes it upon himself to show Robin new and interesting ways that the human body can move. It is not very conducive to sleep, but Robin is not going to complain about it.

As for the Shepherds, very little changes with them, either. Ylisse may be at peace, but there are still plenty of brigands afoot. Robin continues to train them, even if practice often devolves into a giant, dangerous game of tag. (He blames Nowi for putting the idea into their heads, although it is admittedly effective.)

The newest member of the Shepherds is a priest and follower of Naga named Libra, and Robin inadvertently finds himself running into him all the time, mostly because the man insists on kneeling and praying three times a day in the courtyard that Robin enjoys getting sun in.

“You do know that Naga is powerless to help you, right?” Robin can’t resist interrupting one day. “She has no physical form. She cannot do anything.”

“In a physical sense, no, she cannot,” Libra says calmly, looking very much undisturbed by the comment. “But we do not praise her for what she will do for us, but rather for what she has already done. And in following her teachings, the hope is that her spirit will echo on, through us. Would you like to learn?”

“... I’ll pass,” Robin says. As amusing as the thought of him praying to Ylisse’s goddess is, he would rather not waste his time.

“I am not surprised,” Libra says with a smile. “You did not strike me as the religious type. I will not press you, though I think it might do you some good. I myself was a lost soul before I found the faith. Or, rather, until it found me.”

“Lost soul?” Robin asks.

“Yes. I was nothing but a wayward urchin until I devoted myself to Naga,” Libra explains. “You see, my parents abandoned me as a child. They thought I was possessed by demons. I lived on the streets, alone, until I met a group of priests who taught me a higher purpose.”

Robin hums in thought.

“I don’t know why, but I was expecting something more climactic than that.” he says. “From the way it sounds, you only worship Naga now because of a chance occurence. Had Grimleal priests happened upon you, would you not have found purpose with them instead?” He frowns. “Does this not shake the foundations of your faith?”

“Not at all,” Libra replies without hesitation. “I do believe I could have found solace in another god. Yes, even in Grima. But as it happened, it was Naga’s grace that saved me, not any other’s, and now I will gladly praise her for the blessings she has bestowed on me as well as others. They are not tangible, but they are very real.”

“You are very fortunate, then,” Robin says. “Had you indeed found solace in the fell dragon, there would have been no blessings for you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Libra says. “Forgive me, Robin, for I know of your break with the Grimleal. I am not questioning your judgment… and I certainly would not presume to characterize Grima as a kindhearted god. But, you see, even those of us who worship Naga do not always do so with kind hearts. To pray for the life of an ally is to pray for the death of an enemy. To pray for a war’s end is to pray that the enemy’s head rolls. I cannot pray that Grima returns to end the world, of course, because the world is very dear to me. But Grima taught his followers how to destroy, and in the proper time and place, I believe those teachings can be considered blessings as well.”

“Huh,” Robin says. He never intended to bless anyone. And from what he’s seen of Plegia, he thinks he’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who feels particularly blessed by him. “Interesting outlook. Careful, or they’ll soon be calling you a heretic.”

“I… do not believe that Naga would be displeased with me,” Libra says. His smile grows slightly wider. “Did you know that Nowi can speak to Naga through her mind? It is because they share blood, although their relation is only a distant one. She informed me that Naga can hear the prayers of her people… including me. I admit that I am… overjoyed… to know it.”

Robin believes him, really… It’s just hard to imagine that Nowi of all people would have the attention span to communicate with Naga… or with Libra, for that matter.

“Come on, Robin, play with me!” Nowi demands after the Shepherds have finished practicing. It is the third time this week that she has asked him to do so, and it is only Tuesday.

“I already told you that I would add ‘hide-and-seek’ to our practice tomorrow,” Robin says. In truth, it wasn’t a bad idea. If the Shepherds can find Robin in the streets of Ylisstol, they can spot an ally in a foreign camp. It’s a good skill to have. He does, however, have an awful suspicion that Tharja is going to win without much competition. He suspects there’s a curse involved in her remarkable ability to find him anywhere (indeed, he can practically feel her eyes on him right now), but he doesn’t mind it enough to seek to dispel it.

“Yeah, but you can play another game with me now!” Nowi insists, wrapping her arms around his back.

“I already have plans with Chrom,” Robin says as he tries to pry her off without damaging anything. It’s harder than it sounds.

“He can come, too! We can play duck duck dragon!” Nowi continues happily, completely ignoring his escape attempt. Manaketes mature physically more slowly than humans, not mentally, so he knows she’s acting like this on purpose. He just doesn’t understand why. “Oh, but he CAN’T bring the Big Pointy! I scratched myself on it last time and it REALLY hurt!”

“Big… Pointy?” Robin asks. Sometimes he wonders if he truly understands the common language at all.

“I’m talking about the Falchion, duh!” Nowi says. She finally removes her arms from him, now placing them on her hips. “Geez, Robin, you’re supposed to be smart! Keep up, will you?”

Robin sighs.

“Didn’t Emmeryn ban you from playing that game anymore?” he asks. “Something about local merchants complaining about dragonfire damage?”

“Oh... yeah,” Nowi says unapologetically “But that’s okay! We can play something else! Like, um…”

“Nowi,” Robin interrupts. “I am not going to give in to you. Surely there is someone else who is not busy?”

“But who?” Nowi asks, pouting. “Everyone else thinks I’m either an ancient terror or a total idiot! The other Shepherds only play my games when you make them!”

“Hm… is that so?” Robin mutters. Perhaps he can pass Nowi off to someone else in the name of training. Most of the Shepherds have probably gone off to do something else by now, though.

Wait…

“Tharja!” he calls. “Come here.”

“Yes, my love?” Tharja emerges from a shadowy corner of the wall that doesn’t look like it should be big enough to contain her. Her form of address is inappropriate, but much less unsettling than her original choice of “my lord,” which had reminded Robin too much of Validar. He hopes in time that he can work her down to just his name. “Want me to kill someone for you?”

“No,” Robin says. “What I want you to do is leave me alone. Incidentally, Nowi wants to play with someone. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Tharja glances over Nowi’s form. Slowly, she begins to smirk.

“I can be your playmate,” she says darkly, “for the right… price.”

“Um... but I don’t have any money,” Nowi says. “I don’t really use it a lot… Usually I just make Chrom and Robin buy things for me!”

“I don’t need your money,” Tharja says. “I was thinking more along the lines of… a scale.”

“A scale? You mean from my dragon form?” Nowi grins. “Easy, peasy! But what good is ONE scale going to do?”

“We’ll find out…” Tharja mutters.

“Okaaay, but only after we’re done playing!” Nowi says. She takes hold of Tharja’s hands and begins tugging. “We can make flower crowns! Or wrestle! Or wrestle with flower crowns!”

Robin quickly slips away, confident that the two of them will get along fine on their own.

And speaking of getting along…

“Chrom! Robin!” Lissa shouts on an otherwise quiet afternoon in the castle library.

“Where’s the battle?” Robin asks, slamming his book closed.

“What? No!” Lissa says, bouncing a little on her feet. “Come on, Robin, I talk to you about more than just fighting strategies! I’m just trying to spread some good news!”

“If you didn’t want us to assume the worst, you could have spoken more softly,” Chrom suggests, though his tone is light and teasing. “This is a quiet place of study, after all.”

“Oh, please,” Lissa scoffs. “Like you’d even be here if Robin didn’t love studying so much. He’s such a good influence on you.”

“Give us your news, Lissa,” Chrom demands, a blush beginning to dust his cheeks.

“Right! Okay! You’re never going to believe this!” Lissa exclaims. “Maribelle is getting married!”

It’s not that surprising. Maribelle is a noblewoman, after all. He would be much more surprised if she chose not to marry.

“How wonderful,” Chrom says happily. “If I may ask, who’s the lucky groom?”

Lissa’s smile widens.

“Get this: it’s Gaius!” she says.

Robin blinks. Now, that is more difficult to believe.

“Our Gaius?” Chrom asks, his jaw dropping slightly.

“Yes, our Gaius,” Lissa says. “Oh, do you two remember how much she hated him when he first joined us? And now! In love!”

“He’s hardly a… conventional… choice,” Robin says, mentally recalculating Maribelle’s character. He supposes she has always been fiercely independent. She would not follow arbitrary rules in choosing a life partner.

“Convention, shmonvention! It’s so romantic!” Lissa says. “He made her a ring and everythiing! I’m so happy I could cry.”

“Well, I hope their union will be a happy one,” Chrom says. “When is the wedding?”

“Oh, Chrom, he just proposed this morning,” Lissa says. “Give them some time to figure it out!”

“Only this morning?” Robin snorts. “And you’re sure they’re okay with you telling everybody?”

“Now, now, Robin,” Chrom says, placing his hand on Robin’s shoulder. “If Maribelle didn’t want the whole castle to know, she wouldn’t have told Lissa.”

“Are you saying I can’t keep a secret?” Lissa sticks out her tongue. “I’ll have you know that Maribelle asked me to help her! Wedding planning isn’t easy, you know!”

“Yes, I’ve seen enough nobles wed to be sure of that,” Chrom says with a chuckle. “If the two of you need help, I’m willing to pitch in what I can.”

“Maribelle will be touched, I’m sure,” Lissa says. “I mean, she’s known you as long as she’s known me. Oh, hey, and maybe Robin can help, too. It can’t be any harder than planning battle strategies, can it?”

“I do not have any interest in weddings,” Robin says dismissively.

… But he ends up getting dragged into it anyway. While he manages to avoid listening to Gaius whine about confectionery, and Maribelle mostly confines her meticulous explanations of color theory to Lissa’s ears, Robin does take it upon himself to arrange the seating. Given the sheer number of petty noble feuds that are apparently going on, perhaps Lissa is right to liken it to war preparations.

Still, Robin has never before been occupied with something so completely unrelated to war. He was made to destroy humans, and it doesn’t even matter that he doesn’t feel like doing that anymore: the absence of conflict leaves him restless.

His sleep becomes more and more disturbed. When he dreams, he can’t seem to envision anything but a thick, suffocating darkness. It’s hard to wake up from, too, and Chrom often has to physically move him in the morning just to break him out of it. Tharja even tries to curse the problem away, but none of her spells seem to have any effect.

Robin tries not to dwell on it. The healers have certified that there is neither disease nor injury in his body. If there is a problem, it is only circumstantial.

Gaius and Maribelle’s wedding eventually comes to pass without trouble. The Shepherds are by far the most exuberant guests, and the long reception somehow ends with them all cramming behind the happy couple so a merchant with a photo tome can take a picture.

It is the first ever photo they have taken. The tomes cost more than it would take to commission a portrait. Thus, the picture is a significant document. Robin will keep it for the sake of maintaining the Shepherds’ records.

Even after all of the wedding business has been concluded, though, Robin still finds his mind cloaked in darkness at night. Although he eventually discovers that it is much easier to sleep during the daytime hours, his nights end up filled with headaches if he forgoes sleep.

But this soon proves to be the least of his troubles.

Now, after two years of peace on the continent, it appears that a new conflict is about to emerge.

Valmese warships set sail for Ylisse.

Chapter Text

“But why would Valm come for us?” Chrom asks, slamming a hand on the table in front of him. Emmeryn has called for a conference with the Khans of Ferox, so that they might discuss their… continued alliance. (Of course, they will appear craven if they refuse to back Ylisse now. Feroxi support is not truly in question.)

“Hell if I know,” Basilio says. “Valm, the country that is, is a tiny thing. Far cry from what it was under their first emperor.”

“Rather, it was.” The man who had introduced himself as Virion, Duke of Rosanne speaks with an accent much thicker than the one his servant, Cherche, uses. Robin suspects that he’s playing it up for dramatic effect. “Now, Emperor Walhart evidently longs to return to the days of Alm! People are even calling him the Conqueror! Alas! He has been rapidly assimilating neighboring realms into his own for the past two years. Just recently, he reached Rosanne.” His voice suddenly drains of energy. “My people were… er, that is why I… sought new allies... in Regna Ferox… though only at my beautiful Cherche’s insistence.”

“We stayed in Rosanne for as long as we could. We did not think it would come to this,” Cherche adds. “For a time, it seemed that Walhart had his sights set on land across the sea. But ultimately his military advisors persuaded him against it. Now, I fear he has now swallowed up the whole of the Valmese continent… and has set his sights on yours.”

“Do you believe, then, that the emperor intends to conquer Ylisse?” Emmeryn asks. “And move on to Ferox and Plegia after?”

“Plegia used to be on good terms with the nation of Valm,” Robin says. “They probably still are. They became allies of a sort after the Grimleal came to power… although the relationship might be better characterized as mutual exploitation. In any event, no matter what Validar claims, Plegia is not a country homogeneously devoted to the Grimleal and the fell dragon. Gangrel proved that well enough. Should Walhart provide the opportunity, there are surely people who would take the chance to revolt again.”

“The Feroxi respect the strong. If Walhart bested us in a fair fight, the survivors would likely consent to his rule,” Flavia says. “Ylisse presents the biggest challenge: a large territory, a strong army, and a beloved leader to unite the people.”

“So he thinks that if he can get us out of the way, it will be an easy run for the rest of the continent,” Chrom says.

“He surely cannot suppose it an easy task,” Emmeryn says. “Though I suspect it will not be an easy task for us, either.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Virion says. “Valm has the strongest cavalry in the world. You will want to station troops experienced with mounted combat. It would be prudent to include units who can pick them off at a distance, too. And as wyverns are common on the continent, you would do well to have people to take down fliers. People like…”

“Wind mages,” Robin says, jotting some notes down. He will certainly have to promote both Miriel and Ricken before they head off to battle. He has no doubt that they will both choose to come.

“Er… y-yes,” Virion says. “They would help, I’m sure. But, er, you may need to rely on them to defeat heavily-armored enemies, yes? So perhaps you may want to employ someone skilled with the bow. I, as it happens, was once the archest of archers, now the boldest of bow knights…”

“Are you volunteering?” Chrom asks in amusement. “I’m sure we could use you amongst my Shepherds. What do you think, Robin?”

Virion gives him what he doubtlessly believes is a dazzling smile. That, along with his voice and general manner of being, is sure to get on Robin’s nerves.

But he supposes that Virion’s quirks are no worse than any of the other Shepherds’ idiosyncrasies.

“I would join milord in battle, as well,” Cherche says, nodding politely to Chrom and Robin. “This is not my country, but it is my cause. I long to see Walhart defeated. And I am a wyvern rider. My dear Minerva hungers for battle.” She smiles. “Literally. She will eat her opponents. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

As long as they loot the body for goods first, Robin really doesn’t care what the common dragon does.

“They’re fine,” he says to Chrom.

“In that case, we would be grateful for your service,” Chrom tells the two Rosanneans.

Fortunately, both Virion and Cherche have had enough training that Robin doesn’t feel like he has to supervise them too much. They integrate easily into the Shepherds. Even Minerva finds companionship in the form of Nowi. Virion tries to find companionship in the form of… well, every female in the army—only Maribelle, safely wed, is free from his flirtations… though not from his dramatics—but time and again he gets turned down. He ultimately ends up spending most of his spare time with either the men or with Cherche.

Not that there is much time to spare. The Valmese ships are moving quickly towards a port city to the far north. Neither Ferox nor Ylisse has warships, and by the time the Shepherds have led the Ylissean army north, the port city has been nearly razed to the ground. Although they manage to send this band of seacomers back home, it is clear that Ylisse simply cannot bear the brunt of another attack on its coast.

“Once they reach the interior, ir’s going to be over for us,” Chrom says. He is much more inclined to express his doubts when he and Robin are alone. With his sister, he holds his tongue. Robin much prefers the honest Chrom, of course, although insecurity irritates him… or rather, it would, if it weren’t so properly lodged in the facts of their situation. Robin is not fearful, but there is an unpleasant tension in his body. Although he could go up to Walhart and face him in battle himself, even he can’t take on the entire Valmese army alone… not in his current form, at least. And even if he and the rest of the army made it there, it would be too late. Walhart’s forces would no doubt scatter across the continent, and Ylisse would be ruined before a surrender could be negotiated.

“It isn’t good. The truth is that their cavalry outclasses ours,” Robin says. “Although, if we could fight them at sea… Yes, that is the only way.”

“But how?” Chrom asks. “The only nation with any warships is Plegia, and…” He trails off.

Robin looks at him expectantly.

“No!” Chrom gasps. “Robin, really?”

“They have the money for it,” Robin says. The Grimleal coffers were always overflowing when he was there. Validar is good at managing funds, at least.

“But… you hate the Grimleal,” Chrom says. “Come on, Robin, I know you do. You hate them, they might hate us, and anyone who liked Gangrel definitely hates us.”

“All of that is irrelevant as long as we succeed against Valm,” Robin says. “And… Validar will not refuse me.”

He cannot… can he? As long as he worships the fell dragon, he surely cannot refuse to obey his master. But Robin has not so much as looked at him in two years. A complete abandonment… Faithful have turned into heretics for less.

An unusual tightness grips his throat at the thought. It is an overreaction, surely. Even if Validar is no longer devoted to Robin, he will be persuaded to lend his aid, or else Robin will simply have to kill him.

That thought does not make him feel any better, and Chrom notices his discomfort.

“No way, Robin. I’m not making you go through that,” Chrom insists.

“Then your beloved Ylisse will be gone,” Robin snaps. “Is that what you want? We may as well have let Gangrel take us over, if we’re just going to let the Valmese do it!”

“This is different!” Chrom exclaims. “You know I’ll always protect my people, Robin! But I’ll also protect the people I love! I had to kill Gangrel for Emmeryn’s safety! And now I’m only saying that I don’t want you to suffer fighting a war beside the people who hurt you!”

“Hurt me?” Robin snorts. “You don’t know anything about what happened! Have you considered that I am the one who abandoned them?”

He pauses, feeling suddenly drained.

“Oh, Robin…”

Chrom, too, deflates. But Robin interrupts him before he can say anything more.

“No, that is exactly what I did,” he says. “I did not care for them. I still do not truly care if they suffer or not. But… the Grimleal spent nearly two decades caring for me… The choice I made was not a respectable one.”

He can’t even begin to explain the duty he should have had as a god to his worshippers… Even a thousand years ago, he should have acted differently toward them. He became a god when the human began to worship him as one. Before that, he was… what, an abomination born of a depraved heart?

“Chrom, if it is choice that separates us from worms, insects, or beasts… then I was worse than any of them.”

“I find that difficult to imagine,” Chrom says. When Robin opens his mouth again, Chrom quickly continues. “I know; you say I do not understand. It is difficult to understand when you keep your past quiet, Robin. But I know this…” Chrom takes Robin’s hands into his own. “When I asked, you chose to stay with me, and I need you far more than anyone in Plegia ever did.”

“That… is surely the truth,” Robin says. The Plegian people have not prospered under the Grimleal, and it is not for lack of resources. It is for lack of care, surely. The Grimleal care little for life, be it others’ or their own. And all in the name of the fell dragon…

“I think it would be well to sever those ties completely,” Robin says. “But it can wait until after the war with Valm. Indeed, it must. There is no better solution than this.

“I… admit that I see your point,” Chrom says, sighing. “Alright. If this is our best option, then I’ll talk to Emm about seeking Plegian aid. But if at any point they threaten you…”

“Heads will roll if I am threatened, Chrom,” Robin says dismissively. “You need not concern yourself.”

Nevertheless, Robin cannot truly say that he is at ease with their current course of action.

In the darkness of his dreams, he begins to hear a whisper.

Chapter Text

Validar, at Emmeryn’s request, invites a delegation to the Plegian castle.

“Greetings, Prince Chrom of Ylisse,” an older woman says when they arrive. “May Lord Grima guide your aim. Plegia welcomes you.”

The castle does not bear much resemblance to the Grimleal base where Robin previously spent most of his time (and briefly, he wonders if Validar had ever bothered to fix the damage Robin had caused while leaving). The base had been clearly structured and minimally decorated save what was necessary for the sake of ceremony. It was nice. Beautiful and practical. The castle is… well, it is beautiful in its extravagance, but whoever built it had clearly done so in an era where Grimleal influence on the crown was weak. There is nothing to suggest that worship was ever meant to take place here. The carpet is thick and plush beneath their feet, and bright tapestries hang on the walls. Everything is rich and opulent… and generic. It is almost as though the Grimleal have not touched this place… even with Validar being the king.

And soon, Validar himself is standing before them.

“An honor to finally meet you, Prince Chrom,” he says. His tone is polite but not friendly. “I have heard how you defeated Gangrel. Plegia thanks you for your aid, and we have forgiven your trespass.”

“Er, of course…” Chrom says. Robin snorts. Nobody was asking for forgiveness.

“And…” Validar’s eyes now slip toward Robin. He is clearly uncomfortable. Robin smirks.

“Chrom knows that you are my… ‘father,’” Robin says. “But you will address me as Robin.”

… Robin,” Validar says slowly. “I am glad that you have returned.”

Robin narrows his eyes.

“Only as part of Ylisse’s current war effort,” he says firmly. “I am Chrom’s tactician.”

“Yes… people the world over know of Ylisse’s master tactician… the one who moves like death itself while raining blood upon those in his path…” Validar smiles faintly.

Robin looks away.

“King Validar,” Chrom says, shooting Robin a quick glance. “We appreciate your willingness to meet with us on such short notice. Er, given that time is of the essence…”

“Of course,” Validar says, his expression smoothing out. “Then let us get to it.”

They retire to a private room. Chrom, Robin, and Frederick sit together on one side of the rectangular table inside, while Validar sits with two sages beside him. Robin vaguely recognizes them, most likely from some religious ceremony he’s observed in the past. They are probably ranked highly enough to know about Validar’s “son,” but they would not have been told that their god’s quintessence resides in him. In fact, now that he thinks about it, Robin probably killed everyone who knew about that, the day he left the base… everyone except Validar, of course.

“Plegia can offer no soldiers, but will provide 800 warships and 200 transports,” the sage on Validar’s right says. “In addition, we would be pleased to fully fund the campaign against Valm.”

Frederick’s eyes widen.

“That is… surprisingly generous of you, milord,” he says, as wary as ever. “We could not ask for more, quite literally. You offer most all your assets…”

Robin stares at Validar scrutinizingly. Validar meets his gaze.

“Indeed, this is almost everything you could possibly give,” he says. “But not troops.”

“That is correct,” Validar says. “Ridding this country of Gangrel has not rid it of dissenters. The people have grown selfish, conceited, and greedy; they are turning against the very god who gave Plegia purpose. Were we to divide our forces now, the disloyal would surely exploit it.”

“Interesting…” Robin says. “Pray tell me, exactly how long have you been dealing with these… dissenters?”

“They have never been a true concern. The Grimleal are the foundation of Plegia. We will never fall to the unfaithful,” Validar says firmly. “Will the gold and ships not suffice to prove our commitment to the cause?”

“Of course it will,” Chrom interrupts, nudging Robin beneath the table before he can comment. “Thank you, King Validar.”

“The honor is ours, my prince,” Validar says drily. “Our nations seem to be growing closer every day.” He looks at Robin, who puts his hand on Chrom’s arm.

“Forgive us if we do not dally,” Robin says in the same tone. “We wouldn’t want to squander the supplies you have provided by failing to put them to immediate use.”

Chrom, who has not relaxed since setting foot in the Plegian castle, does not protest a speedy exit.

They make it halfway to the next town over before the sun sets and they have to take shelter. The forest is not particularly dangerous, but unfortunately its lack of predators is due to lack of prey. They had, at least, eaten their fill back at the castle; nevertheless, many of the Shepherds grumble about the food situation as they retire for the night.

Robin tries to sleep as well, but it soon becomes obvious that he will not be finding rest for a while. He watches Chrom’s breathing slow and even out, and he then takes the opportunity to step out into the forest alone. It is warm, and silent, and Robin has a headache that only gets worse the more he walks.

He hates that he is so weak in this body. And he hates even more that he walked away from Chrom, who might have eased the pain with a caress against Robin’s forehead.

“H-Heed…” a whisper suddenly sounds in Robin’s ear. “H-Heed… me…”

“What?” Robin says aloud. He is alone… isn’t he? His head hurts…

“Heed my call…”

Suddenly, Robin is overwhelmed by dizziness.

“Why do you close your mind to me?”

As the world blurs around him, all he can see is a flash of light amidst darkness, and…

“Validar,” Robin hisses in fury.

“My lord.” Validar kneels. “I—”

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” Robin screeches.

Is this why he’s been having headaches? Just how long has Validar been trying to break into his mind?

“But I only want to speak to you, my lord!” Validar exclaims almost pleadingly. “I did not want you to think me faithless.”

“How are you doing this?” Robin growls. “This power is not for humans. How did you learn how to use it?”

“It was no easy task, my lord, but I am persistent. The Feroxi have a remarkably extensive body of scholarship for a people who supposedly spend all their days in battle,” Validar says. “The truth I found is this: the dragonkin have always been able to communicate through blood. We share sacred blood, my lord. You can always call me. I, too, used this connection to call you.”

Robin suddenly recalls how Nowi can communicate with Naga in her head.

So… all this time, his power was no greater than that of any other dragon…?

“Well, I have nothing to say to you. And I do not want to hear you speak” Robin growls. “Get. Out. Of. My. Mind.”

“But you must see!” Validar exclaims. “Your place is here with me, my lord. With… with your most loyal servants, not with Naga’s pawns! Have I not proved my faith? What more can I possibly do?”

Pain pulses through Robin’s at Validar’s words, and he lets out a screech.

“Robin!”

For a moment, Chrom’s face cuts through the darkness.

A second later, Chrom is gone and Validar is back.

“It’s the prince, isn’t it?” Validar hisses. “He has done something to you… Can you not see it?”

“Stop,” Robin says through clenched teeth,

“It is no matter, my lord,” Validar says, his voice becoming gentler. “I am your most faithful. I will prove it in time. Yes, that’s all it will be… a matter of time…”

Validar then vanishes, and immediately all traces of darkness are gone. His head feels light with the abrupt cessation of pain, although he is no longer dizzy.

“Robin!” Chrom calls, a note of terror in his tone. “Are you alright? I heard shouting, and then you…” He gestures vaguely to Robin’s position on the ground.

“I’m—hnnn.” Robin has to take a breath. “I’m fine.”

“‘Fine’ is a poor choice of words!” Chrom exclaims. “What happened?”

He offers his hand. Although Robin could just as easily stand up on his own, he has a strong urge to feel Chrom against him. And so he reaches out, crushing Chrom’s fingers with his own as he draws to his feet.

“Nothing you should concern yourself,” Robin says. “A matter of blood, that’s all.”

“Robin..” Chrom murmurs. “That is too vague. How can I not be concerned? How am I to know you are not dying as we speak?”

Robin chuckles.

“I suppose it does rather sound as though I have a mysterious illness,” he says. “But it is nothing like that. Indeed, I believe I have found the cause of my unrest as of late. It seems that Validar was… calling me.”

Chrom’s eyes widen.

“Calling you? But how?” he asks. “And why? We just spoke with him earlier…”

“He has been trying for much longer. Perhaps seeing me gave him the strength to break through,” Robin says. “As for how… well… the answer lies in the fell blood that runs in our veins…”

Robin removes his glove, revealing his Mark. As always, it glows faintly with his power.

“You could probably do it with your sisters, if you knew how…” Robin says quietly. “Perhaps to Naga herself. But you should not know how. It is natural that gods should be able to communicate with their chosen ones if they please. I did not think that even a dragon-blooded human could channel the same power. But somehow, Validar found the knowledge, and he used it to call to me.”

“I have never heard of anything like it,” Chrom says. “I know Nowi has spoken to Naga, but she is a manakete. As far as I’m aware, no one in my family has ever heard Naga’s voice… save for the first exalt, of course. I certainly do not know how to speak to my sisters remotely… though that sounds useful, actually.”

Robin smiles thinly.

“Yes, it could be advantageous in both battle and diplomacy,” he agrees. “For you. For me, it is… inconvenient…”

He places his hand inside his glove again, sighing.

“He wants me to come back to him,” he says. And Robin can see why, if people are rebelling against the Grimleal. Robin’s show of power in killing the former Ylissean exalt during the war was the deciding factor that propelled the Grimleal back into power after losing influence over the years. Robin had not known that they were losing it again. If he made some showing, some reminder to the Plegian people that the fell dragon was still alive and backing the Grimleal, then Validar would have a much easier time as a ruler.

And perhaps that is what he ought to do. If Validar is always at his side, should he not also be at Validar’s? And, in truth, living with the Grimleal was not unpleasant. Validar is decent company, and Robin wouldn’t mind pressing him for the details of whatever knowledge he came across in Ferox.

But…

“I do not want to go to him,” he says. If Validar is so loyal, he should follow Robin’s orders. Even if those orders are to let him go.

The truth is, Robin is starting to think it would be better for the Grimleal not to exist. There is no reason for them to worship him just because their ancestors praised him. The common people of Plegia have clearly already realized this. If Robin does not act to save the Grimleal, they will disband or be destroyed.

“You are your own person,” Chrom says. “Your choices are yours to make, regardless of your blood. Remember that.”

Robin will not save them. He is tired of being their god.

“Thank you, Chrom,” he says.

“Can you walk?” Chrom asks, his eyes shining in the moonlight.

“Yes,” Robin replies, though he allows himself to lean against Chrom’s side.

They head back to their tent where, for the first time in months, Robin sleeps easily.

Chapter Text

They are a mere day’s journey to port when they find their camp surrounded by a new menace.

A menace very familiar to Robin.

“Just what are these things?” Frederick asks. “Gods, they look like they’ve risen from the grave!”

“They are corpses, yes,” Robin says. “Controlled by insects, which are in turn controlled by a person.”

“Then… these ‘Risen’ are familiar to you?” Chrom asks. “We have never seen anything like them in Ylisse.”

“That is because the science of creating them was lost,” Robin says. Alchemy is dead, and for good reason. Its practitioners most often found death at their own hands. “Few are powerful enough to create them. Fewer are powerful enough to control them.”

Robin can, of course. He’s done it before, because the Risen (as Chrom has christened them) make good bodyguards. But he spent so long with them in the ruins of Thabes that the mere sight of them stirs up nausea inside him. They are repulsive things. His creator adored them, though. And they were all Robin had…

“They feel no pain, so you cannot merely wound them. They will easily fall to magic, but otherwise, behead them,” Robin says.

“Yuck,” Lissa mutters.

Chrom, too, looks rather disgusted.

“Right,” he says after a moment. “Well, we can’t just let them destroy our things. So, er, shall we go?”

Luckily for them, the Risen are not particularly well-crafted. They appear to have been crafted in haste, and do not have even basic battle training.

Robin can guess why.

Validar is the only one who has observed him creating Risen. Robin did not exactly explain the process, but Validar has eyes, a brain, and power to spare. If anyone could copy Robin, it would be him.

… But why now? Is Robin supposed to be impressed? He is going to war; he doesn’t have time to deal with this!

“Awwww,” a cheerful voice calls from a hill above him. “Or should I say… CAW! CAW!”

A flock of crows suddenly takes to the air, blocking the sun from view.

“What is the meaning of this?” Chrom demands. “Who are you?”

“Huh? I’m Henry!” the man says. “And I’m here to join your CAWS. Get it? Cause?”

“Join our caw—er, cause?” Chrom asks incredulously. “You, a Plegian dark mage?”

“You bet!” Henry says. “These little monsters here were supposed to be your soldiers, but I guess they make good lawn decorations, too.”

“Our soldiers?” Chrom asks.

“Sure! The good ol’ king said he felt bad he couldn’t offer you any troops, then he suddenly remembered he had all these dead people lying around.”

Robin narrows his eyes.

“Validar sent you to spy on us, didn’t he?” Henry’s robes just scream “low-ranked Grimleal.” He’ll probably be killed the second he goes back, if he’s stupid enough to do so.

“Nope!” Henry says. “The king’s kind of an introvert, you know. Doesn’t like to chat. So I just took off after the scent of death and decay. Birds of a feather and all that. I figured you guys would be a lot of fun.”

“In other words, you sneaked out and followed the Risen,” Robin says flatly.

“Oh, is that what we’re calling them?” Henry asks. “Yeah, that’s about it.”

“Go away, and take your crows with you,” Robin says, crossing his arms. “If you expect me to believe you have nothing to do with Validar after you tracked the Risen halfway across the country—”

“Wait, Robin,” Chrom interrupts. “Even if he is a spy, isn’t it better than, er…” He gestures vaguely towards his head.

“Hmm… perhaps you have a point,” Robin cautiously agrees. It isn’t as though Validar can’t just spy on him through his mind, anyway. It would be a waste of effort to send someone after him. “And we could use another magic user on our side.”

“Right, I’m great with all kinds of spells, curses, and hexes,” Henry says. “And look, don’t let all the joking around fool ya—I’ve got kind of a thing for killing. Most funny people do, you kno— Hey! Where are you going?”

“I’m grabbing you a battle parter. You’re in,” Robin says. “I know just the dark mage for you.”

Tharja, predictably, hates Robin’s idea but follows his orders anyway. Henry remains completely unfazed by any of her threats. Finally, someone that isn’t afraid to work next to her (well, besides Nowi, who, somewhat worryingly, seems to have become Tharja’s lab assistant as of late).

When the last of the Risen have been defeated, the Shepherds decide to take a moment to rest and recover before setting out again. As long as they leave by noon, they should still make it to the nearest port city in time to get on a ship the next morning, as Robin had originally planned. Fortunately, their camp has not sustained heavy damage, and their supplies are still in good condition. While Robin doesn’t believe for an instant that the Risen were sent to help them, they clearly weren’t made to bring them to ruin, either. Validar had to know that Robin would not be impressed.

Why, then, had he done it? Was it just a preview of bigger things yet to come?

“Hey, Robin,” Chrom says, coming to sit next to him. “You’re not hurt, are you? This battle came unexpectedly, even to you.”

“I’m not injured,” Robin says. “The Risen’s attacks were easy to avoid. They were unskilled.”

Chrom hums.

“You... seem to know a lot about them,” he says slowly. “Robin, please… I need you to tell me how much of a threat these creatures are. I have to report back to Emm about this…”

“They truly are abominations,” Robin mutters. “Validar does not understand what he has unleashed…”

“So it was him,” Chrom says. “Gods, but why would he send them to attack us? We’re allies now!”

“I know,” Robin says. “But we don’t have time to deal with him while Walhart is at large. Though at least we won’t have to worry about the Risen at sea. The insects don’t like water.”

“It’s hard to believe that insects can turn corpses into… something like the Risen,” Chrom says. “Do you think we have them in Ylisse, too?” He shudders.

“No. They are not natural insects,” Robin says. “They’re called thanatophages. The alchemist has to create them from… other elements. Obviously, it is not easy to create life, so few even get that far. Finding a corpse is the simplest part. You allow the thanatophages to take root in the corpse’s brain, at which point they begin to secrete preservatives. You also have to get the thanatophages to obey you; otherwise they will simply seek the nearest thing with blood—usually you—and try to feed. That is why they all wear masks… Death Masks, they’re called. They allow you to control the thanatophages, but if they are not made perfectly, you had better have some magic at the ready to take the thing out.”

Chrom smiles faintly.

“So, how many have you made?” he asks casually.

Robin chokes on his breath.

“How— How did…”

Now Chrom laughs outright.

“Please, Robin. You’re the smartest person I know, and you just gave me an oral treatise on Risen creation. It wasn’t hard to guess, even forgetting that it was your father who sent these things after us.”

Robin frowns. But he will tell the truth, because Chrom asked.

“I cannot count them all,” he admits. “I am far better at it than Validar is. I did not create the procedure, but I perfected it.” He grimaces. “Though ‘perfected’ may not be the correct term. They are loathsome, don’t you think? The knowledge of their creation should have died with their creator…”

“Robin, are you trying to blame yourself?” Chrom asks, shaking his head. “You didn’t create the Risen we fought today. You haven’t created any since you first arrived in Ylisse, have you?”

“No,” Robin agrees. “The last I created one was many years ago. I used it to practice swordfighting, because Validar refused to attack me properly. In any case, it didn’t last very long.”

“See, this wasn’t your fault,” Chrom says. “They weren’t your Risen.”

“All Risen are my Risen,” Robin says. “Chrom, Validar would never have gotten this knowledge if it weren’t for me. And at the time, I didn’t care about the consequences. I never thought that I would have an opinion on the Risen being around. I have always found them revolting, but it is only now that I find myself truly wishing that they did not exist.”

Chrom frowns.

“But this is easy to fix,” he says. “Don’t create any more yourself. Destroy the ones that Validar creates. Was that not already your plan?”

“I suppose it was,” Robin agrees. “You really think it’s as simple as that?”

“Of course it is,” Chrom says. “Maybe you can’t change the past that you regret. But the future isn’t set in stone. I agree with you that the Risen shouldn’t exist. We can eradicate them together, Robin.”

Robin smiles grimly. He is willing to be at Chrom’s side in peace, but he is glad that Chrom wants to be at his side in destruction.

“I highly doubt that this will be the last we see of the Risen, and you can write that in your report,” Robin says. “So I’m going to hold you to your word. Don’t write that.”

The sound of Chrom chuckling rings pleasantly in his ears.

Chapter Text

“The sea is breathtaking,” Robin murmurs from his position on deck. Beside him on his left, Chrom grips onto his arm.. On his right, Lissa and Frederick are standing awfully close to each other. Robin wonders if they will soon be following Gaius and Maribelle’s example.

“Yes, breathtaking… in more ways than one,” Chrom says, breathing a little too shallowly. “I’m grateful that Validar delivered us our ships as promised, but… urk… it’s my first time on a vessel, and my legs… I never fancied myself a sea captain.”

Robin chuckles.

“It is my first time as well,” he says. In the past, he would have simply flown around, being a dragon and all. And since his reincarnation, he has not been off the continent. “You know you would gain your sea legs quicker if you would stop clinging to me and move around.”

“Hmm… but I’m enjoying myself…” Chrom says, squeezing Robin even tighter.

“I was not complaining,” Robin says.

“Wow. It’s hotter than Elfire in here!” Lissa says, giggling. “Hey, Freddy Bear, can I cling to you, too?”

“I have to go meet with the Pegasus Knights, milady,” Frederick says apologetically. “And, er… I thought we agreed not to use certain pet names in public?”

“Oh, Chrom and Robin aren’t the public,” Lissa says dismissively. “Anyway, fine, go talk to our allies. But if I get seasick like Chrom, I’m going to make you carry me!”

Frederick’s lips twitch into a smile just before he leaves them.

“Hey! I’m not seasick!” Chrom protests, removing himself from Robin in order to wave his arms at Lissa.

Robin takes advantage of the opportunity and walks several paces away.

“Come here,” he says waving his hands coaxingly. “We are about to battle on the high seas. It will be humiliating for everyone, but especially me, if our commander is wobbling around.”

Chrom rolls his eyes, but his next step is, predictably, very wobbly.

By the time Frederick returns, Chrom has adjusted to the movement of the ship, and he has taken to looking out over the water with Robin and Lissa. The Valmese ships are but specks on the distant horizon… for now.

“The Pegasus Knights report the Valmese fleet matches ours, ship for ship,” Frederick announces.

“Your tone tells me this is not good news,” Chrom says. Slowly, he turns away from the sea to give Frederick his full attention.

“Their troops vastly outnumber ours,” Frederick explains. “Our vessels are half-full, at best. But every Valmese ship is packed from stern to stern with soldiers.”

Chrom and Robin exchange glances.

“If we attempt to board them in a straight fight, we’ll be slaughtered,” Chrom says, to which Robin nods his agreement.

“Ohh… what are we going to do?” Lissa groans. “Even with Flavia and Basilio lending us their soldiers, we just don’t have enough people. Too bad all Plegia gave us was this… stupid…oil…” she says, punctuating her words with light kicks to the barrel of oil lying next to her, “instead of troops!”

“Wait,” Robin says. He pushes Lissa aside to examine the barrel himself. Validar truly had left them well-supplied. Surely there was enough oil to…

“Ah,” Frederick says. “If we set fire to their fleet, they will be trapped.”

“That’s right,” Robin says, giving Frederick an appraising look. “You always did like starting fires, didn’t you…”

“Hey, now wait just a minute!” Lissa exclaims, shoving herself between Robin and the oil. “Am I the only one seeing the HUGE problem here? If we set THEM on fire, WE’RE going to get set on fire!”

“Not if we’re careful,” Chrom says. “Unfortunately, the Plegians didn’t leave us any catapults… But there must be some way we can attack them from a far enough distance to stay safe…”

“That won’t be necessary,” Robin says. “Our vessels are only half-full, correct? We need to consolidate everyone into one half of our fleet. The other half…” He chuckles darkly. “Chrom, I have an idea.”

“Those words from your mouth are music to my ears, Robin,” Chrom says. “Tell me, what’s the plan?”

“We’re going to set our ships on fire,” Robin says. His tone is somewhat gleeful—though he does not feel the need to set the entire world to ruin, there’s a certain thrill in destruction that never gets old. “They won’t be able to get out of our way in time.”

“What?” Frederick and Lissa exclaim in unison. But Chrom merely furrows his brow in thought, motioning for Robin to continue.

“But the plan ultimately hinges on our ability to disrupt their chain of command,” Robin says. “Our strongest team—led by the two of us, of course—has to board their lead ship and kill their general. Are you following?”

“I believe so…” Chrom says. He chuckles, shaking his head. “Robin, this sounds like madness, but your plans always work. Call me mad myself, but I’m on board.”

“If I didn’t trust you, Robin, I would think you were trying to kill us all,” Frederick says, chuckling. “Shall I tell our forces to abandon our frontmost vessels?”

Robin pauses, stuck on Frederick’s words.

“Since when have you trusted me?” he asks. Frederick’s suspicion of everything was just something Robin had come to expect.

“Since you’ve saved us time and again,” Frederick says. “Robin… I’m sorry if my initial wariness towards you has left you feeling that my regard for you now is somehow less than it is for the other Shepherds. You are one of us, as truly as if you had been born with us.”

“That’s right,” Chrom agrees. “So much has changed since we found you that day, lying in the open field… Destiny has a strange way.”

“Destiny?” Robin snorts. “Chrom, that doesn’t sound right.”

“No?” Chrom asks.

“Destiny didn’t bring us here today; we did,” Robin says. “We have all chosen to be here, to fight and bleed and perhaps die for a nation we have decided means something to us. To accept fate as a concept is to render everything meaningless. And I am tired of believing in a meaningless existence.”

For a moment, everyone is silent. Then…

“Aww, Robin, that was really sentimental coming from you,” Lissa says. “Did all the salty air out here go to your head or something?”

“Er… anyway,” Robin says, fighting down an uncomfortable flush. “Yes, Frederick, go direct our soldiers. Lissa, you rally the Shepherds. Chrom, with me. We have to make preparations, and quickly.”

“Of course,” Chrom agrees. “Oh, and Robin?”

“Yes?” Robin glances over.

“It may not have been destiny,” Chrom says, “but I thank the gods that I met you.”

Robin’s throat suddenly feels tight. He doesn’t say anything.

Chrom smiles.

“Now then, everyone!” he says. “Look lively! We have work to do!”

When they board the lead Valmese ship, the commanding general does not look impressed. He says something to the men around him, and they all break out into laughter.

Robin’s only regret is that the man will be dead before his ship burns.

There is no need to finish the battle extremely quickly (and in fact, it is better to give his soldiers more time to prepare the fleet), so he stations his most defensive units at the front of the bridges, then sits back and watches the mages pick off the enemy knights as they approach. The only concern is when the Valmese pegasus knights rush forward, but between him and Chrom, Cherche and Virion, and Sumia and Cordelia, the threat doesn’t last long.

As the Valmese soldiers fall, Chrom and Robin march forward to kill the commander themselves.

“Arrogant pups!” the general snarls. “The seas are my home, and they will be your grave!”

“Today’s funeral pyre will be for your soldiers, not ours,” Robin says, pleased by the irony of what the general does not know.

“Ha! Strike me down, and ten will take my place,” the general replies. “You lost the moment you opposed the Valmese Empire!”

Chrom cuts the conversation short, charging forward with his sword. While the two engage in close combat, Robin sends small fireballs towards the general’s armor from a distance in the hopes of damaging it.

As soon as the generall falls, Chrom and Robin trade looks. They do not have much time to pull this off.

“Alright, I’m giving the signal,” Chrom says. “All appointed ships, change course! Head right at them! Ramming speed!”

This is the part that requires finesse. A soldier informs them when they are right on top of the Valmese fleet, and…

“Now!” Chrom shouts. “Jump!”

The sensation is somewhat like that of flying, except Robin has no wings to catch himself before he plummets into the water. Around him, he can hear the sounds of other soldiers splashing into the water, followed by the boom of the ensuing explosion that shakes the sea itself.

As soon as his head breaks above the water, he spots Chrom. A relieved look passes over his face as he swims over to Robin. Together, they make it back to the safety of their own fleet… the part that isn’t burning, that is.

“It worked! It worked!” Frederick shouts as soon as Chrom and Robin arrive on deck. Considering that they are both still rather drenched, it is shocking when Frederick pulls first Robin and then Chrom into powerful but uncharacteristic embraces.

“The sea itself is on fire!” Lissa exclaims with both awe and terror in her tone.

Even from a distance, Robin can hear the screams coming from the Valmese army. In the air, pegasus knights shout as they look for a way to save their doomed comrades, but the flames burn too high. There is nothing they can do but bear witness.

“Thousands and thousands of soldiers, lost in a single instant,” Chrom murmurs. “It will be a tragedy written into our histories.”

Robin tilts his head.

“You’re not regretting this, are you?” he asks sharply.

“Of course not,” Chrom says. “It would be our bodies lining the seafloor if we had done anything else. But the loss of life is always a tragedy.”

Robin hates it when Chrom gets into this mood. But…

“It might be good that you see it that way,” Robin says, even though he cannot bring himself to feel any sorrow. “It sets you apart from other leaders. They become… miserable things. They drive either themselves or their nations to death in the end.”

“I should hope I do not become such a leader!” Chrom says, horrified. “And yet the war still looms…’

“If I have not yet made you lose your morals, you will never lose them,” Robin says.

Chrom frowns, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to respond. Finally, though, he sighs and turns to look back at the blazing sea. The pegasus knights are beginning to fly away now, though a few still circle uselessly around the ships as they fall apart.

“We must continue on and seize their main harbor,” Chrom says. “This is only the beginning.”

“The beginning of the end,” Robin says. “We are now the pursuers. The balance of power has shifted.”

Chrom nods.

“Full speed for Valm,” he orders.

Chapter Text

The Valmese have obviously been warned of Ylisse’s impending approach, because Valm Harbor is already well-fortified when they arrive.

Although… there seems to be a commotion in the streets.

“Confound these wretched imperials!” a woman shouts as she runs down an alley.

“Ey, we got ‘er cornered!” a Valmese soldier calls out. He glances over in Robin’s direction. “W-Wait…” He does a double take and then shrieks. “Ah! Demons!”

“What’re ya blubberin’ about now?” a new soldier asks as he runs forward ahead of a line of other soldiers. He, too, glances over. “Aw, shit, it’s the Ylissean League!”

“Don’t just stand there, you idiots,” one of the soldiers in the line snaps. “You’re going to let Say’ri get away!”

“R-Right,” the first soldier says. “I’ll go after her while you guys deal with the hellfire squad.”

“It’s Elfire, dumbass. They ain’t no demons!” the second soldier growls. “But whatever, just go!”

As the man runs down the alley, a few soldiers break formation to follow him.

“Any enemy of theirs is a friend of ours. We have to help her,” Chrom says to his group. “Robin, come with me. Everyone else, follow our plan. Oh, and if you get a chance, try to check up on some of the houses around here, make sure the citizens are alright and everything. Okay? Let’s go.”

And with that, their forces scatter. Robin follows Chrom down the alley they had seen the woman go down. They have their weapons at the ready, but apparently the woman was not in need of help. The bodies of three soldiers lie on the ground next to a woman gripping a very bloodied sword.

“Er… are you the one they called Say’ri?” Chrom asks.

“Aye,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “And who are you?”

“I am Prince Chrom of Ylisse, and this is Robin, my tactician,” Chrom says.

Say’ri’s eyes light with recognition. She sheathes her sword.

“You head the Ylissean league!” she says. “You have my gratitude!”

“You know of our cause?” Chrom asks.

“Of course! I have heard how you turned water to flame and sent a thousand of the emperor’s ships straight to hell!”

“Er, that’s… sort of...” Chrom starts, but Say’ri cuts him off.

“I would speak to you more,” she says. “But first, perhaps…” She gestures upwards to where a pegasus knight leers at them before flying off, probably to get reinforcements.

“Right,” Chrom says. “Time enough for that after the fighting has finished.”

When they return from the alley, Frederick rides over to meet them.

“Milord, it appears that the people have not been harmed by the Valmese army,” he says. “Most have been holing themselves in their houses as much as they can. Everyone we spoke to either supported the Resistance, or would save for fear. They even spared us some gold and supplies.”

“Truly?” Say’ri asks. “Oh, this is heartening. I had feared that the army had already closed off their hearts through propaganda.”

“It is not so, Milady,” Frederick says politely. “I assume that makes you, too, a member of the Resistance?”

“Aye, its leader,” Say’ri says. “Of sorts. I will gladly explain once we have defeated the last of the emperor’s soldiers here. I can give you my aid if you lend me a sword.”

Frederick raises an eyebrow.

“You do not have one?” he asks incredulously.

“She does. It’s caked with blood,” Chrom explains. “Don’t worry, Say’ri, we’ll get you one. Robin, you have a spare, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Robin replies, reaching around his waist for his extra sword. It is only made of iron, but it will be durable, and he suspects she can easily make up for its lack of power with her own.

“Thank you,” Say’ri says, giving the blade a few test swishes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a commander to slay.”

She runs forward. With an exchange of glances, Chrom and Robin follow her.

“Wait, Say’ri,” Chrom calls. “You don’t have to do this on your own. Let us help you.”

Say’ri slows to a stop, seeming to consider it.

“Alright,” she says after a moment. “I have confidence in your leadership. Today we face Farber, a dark knight. He wields Arcfire. Can you counter?”

“Yes,” Robin says, stepping forward. “I have Arcthunder. I will attack from behind you, Say’ri. Chrom, defend me.”

Chrom nods, and the three of them head towards the place where Farber is holding his ground.

“Long live the emperor!” the dark knight shouts. “Death to all who oppose him!”

His words are no doubt rote phrases, but the conviction with which he says them is startling.

“It is like Gangrel all over again,” Robin mutters. “This fool will die for a a man that cares nothing for him.”

“No,” Chrom says. “Gangrel’s men died for their cause. These men die for their leader.” He frowns. “Such devotion… my people feel it for Emmeryn, but it is not hard to see how she inspires them. I… I do not know what qualities Walhart could possibly possess that would inspire the same loyalty, not when he actively seeks conflict for his people.”

“Death to the emperor!” Say’ri shouts back at Farber, just as passionate as him. “The people will never be free as long as such a callous, brutal man reigns!”

She strikes forward with her sword. Robin, true to his word, strikes with magic from behind her. Say’ri takes the brunt of Farber’s attacks, but she is agile enough to avoid many of them. That leaves several fireballs headed towards Robin. Chrom manages to slash away some of them before they can hit, but Farber does get several good hits on Robin’s shoulder and chest that leave him gritting his teeth. As he counters the latest attack with his own magic, he spots Chrom staring at him with a dark look.

“Oh, now I’m angry,” Chrom growls. Drawing his sword, he rushes towards Farber. “Come on! Face me, you dastard!”

Farber is unprepared for the unexpected hit from the Falchion, and he is knocked off his horse. Staggering forward, he aims to retaliate, but not before Say’ri knocks him down to his knees.

“Die!” she shouts as she drives her sword through the man’s neck.

For a moment, the three victors stare at each other in silence. Then, slowly, Say’ri sinks to her knees. Her hair is singed in places, there are burns along her arms and face, and she is breathing heavily. Nevertheless, she smiles.

“A fight well-won,” she says. “I am indebted to you both.”

“As we are to you. It was your sword that did him in,” Chrom says. “Can you walk? If so, I must insist that you come with me to my sister immediately. She is a healer.” After a pause, he continues. “The same goes for you, Robin.”

“I am less injured than the day we met,” Robin mutters as Say’ri gets to her feet.

“And is that supposed to make me feel better?” Chrom asks. “Someday we’re just going to have to fireproof you.”

Robin rolls his eyes, but as he is perfectly aware of the extent of his injury, he allows Lissa to treat it. Maribelle and Libra are with her, but the two of them are focused on treating Say’ri instead.

Chrom, though uninjured, refuses to leave the room. He paces agitatedly against the wall.

“Okay, seriously?” Lissa asks after his fifteenth round. “Chrom, if you’re going to be in here, at least talk to us or something!”

“Sorry,” Chrom says. “I was just thinking.”

“Always a dangerous thing,” Maribelle mutters, which makes Lissa laugh. Her hand bumps slightly into Robin’s shoulder, and he winces.

“What’s on your mind?” Robin asks, ignoring Lissa’s fretful apology.

“I…” Chrom hesitates. “I feel that I have failed in my duty to you… and to Say’ri as well. I have no injuries, and yet the two of you are…”

“Alive,” Say’ri says. “And we may well not have been without your defense, Prince Chrom!”

“I told you to defend me,” Robin says. “If I wanted you on the offense, I would have said so! Your duty, or lack thereof, is not at issue in this matter.”

“I agree with your tactician,” Say’ri says. “In times like these, a careful strategy is key. Why, if I had a tactician at my side, perhaps the Resistance would be going better…”

Robin looks towards her. Maribelle is more or less blocking his view, but he catches a glimpse of dark hair.

“You agreed to speak more with us about that,” Robin says. “Now is as good a time as any.”

“Forgive me, but it really isn’t—” Libra starts.

“Aye, it is,” Say’ri says.”My throat hasn’t been burned.”

Libra sighs, but he doesn’t try to stop her.

“I told you that I was the leader of the Resistance,” Say’ri says. “But this implies that we are one organization. In fact, we are many small organizations, all seeking liberty for the states of Valm.”

“I thought the emperor had stamped out all dissenters…” Chrom says.

“He tries, but we Resistance are a slippery lot,” Say’ri says. “Even now rebels ride to the banner of dynasts across the continent. United, we could pose a veritable threat to Walhart. And so, for some time I have struggled to bring us together.”

“But it seems you haven’t had much luck,” Chrom says. “What is the problem?”

“Greed. Jealousy. Sloth. All the old weaknesses of men,” Say’ri says. “The dynasts would all have freedom, but on their own terms. Some refuse to take up arms unless their territory is threatened. Other’s thrive under the Conqueror’s heel and will not join unless there is profit in it.”

“That is…” Robin says, grimacing, “despicable.”

He has not forgotten the miserable inclinations of mankind. They may not be as beasts, but in fact, this only makes them all the worse for choosing selfishness over any kind of honor.

“They have their reasons, I suppose,” Say’ri says. “They must. Even if… we cannot understand them…”

“Say’ri…” Chrom murmurs.

“Peace, milady,” Libra says gently.

“Ah, fie,” Say’ri says, making a sound that could be either a laugh or a sob. “It’s only that I’m thinking of my brother. Damned fool fights for Walhart, would that I knew why!”

“You mean you’re facing your brother on the battlefield?” Chrom asks, horrified. He glances over at Lissa, and he’s no doubt picturing Emmeryn in his mind as well. His face pales.

“Make no mistake, if we meet on the battlefield, I would cut him down,” Say’ri assures him, apparently mistaking Chrom’s intent. “Yen’fay was a good man once, and I would like to believe that somewhere inside he still is. But as long as he lends his blade to the empire, he is my enemy, and yours as well.”

“Oh…” Lissa murmurs, her eyes moistening. “That’s… so sad.”

“It is a terrible thing when war separates families,” Chrom says. “But you are a brave woman, Say’ri. Your people are fortunate to have you fighting for them.”

“I hope that is so,” Say’ri replies. “But because of my brother’s allegiance, I fear the people do not truly trust me. Their support is difficult to win. I am trying to find a better way. Walhart is said to command a million men. Perhaps more. Sooner or later, he will stamp out the Resistance entirely… if we do not unite.”

A grave silence hangs in the air until Lissa hesitantly breaks it.

“Um…” she says. “Chrom… did she just say he has a MILLION soldiers?”

Say’ri laughs.

“And what are a million men against the Ylissean dogs of war?” she teases. “You stopped at least a hundred thousand of them just in getting here! You demolished their fleet in one fell swoop!”

“I still can’t believe that wild plan actually worked,” Maribelle says, sniffing. “But you get used to it with Robin, I suppose.”

“Your daring strategy has awoken and inspired people across all of Valm,” Say’ri says. “Together, I know we can yet unite the Resistance and break Walhart’s grip! Help me, Prince Chrom! I beg of you!”

Robin glances at Chrom.

“This is no easy thing you ask of me…” Chrom says. “I have my own halidom to save. My people, my sister back at the castle… The longer we take, the longer they suffer in fear…”

“It would be more efficient to simply integrate willing Resistance fighters into our own ranks,” Robin says.

“Efficient, perhaps…” Chrom murmurs, seeming to consider it. “But good? Just? I cannot say that I see it that way... “

“Our goals are aligned,” Robin says, shrugging. “I can adjust our strategies given time.”

“Yes…” Chrom says. “And I admire your courage, Say’ri. Perhaps your mission is the best way to achieve mine. So yes, I will join your cause with my own. And if I’m wrong… let it be my life on the line, as it should be. Promise me, all of you, that if I should fall, you’ll leave and—”

“Shut up, Chrom!” Lissa shouts. She inadvertently whacks her staff against Robin’s arm when she whirls around, but at least she misses the injured portion this time. “I can’t believe you’d even try to say something like that!”

“But I didn’t fini—”

“If you think we’re going to do anything but slap Walhart in that brutish mug of his, you’d better let me check for holes in your brain,” Maribelle insists.

“But Emm—”

“Will be safe, milord,” Libra says. “Because we will not back down until Walhart’s threat has been extinguished.”

“You’re going to lose to them on this,” Robin says. “Your first mistake, of course, was assuming that I would ever let you fall.”

“Robin…” Chrom murmurs. “Everyone… Er, I apologize… I am only trying to be a responsible leader. But I forget that we are all truly in this together. I am but one of the Shepherds, no more or less than any other. And so, if I should die—Robin, you aren’t invincible—then I know Ylisse will be safe in all of your hands.”

“Prince Chrom, I am honored to be your ally,” Say’ri says, smiling. “You make me believe that my people truly can fight together as one.”

“They can, Say’ri. We only have to show them how,” Chrom says. “Now, tell me. What will it take to unite your people?”

“Well…” Say’ri says. “I do have one idea…”

Robin, still frowning after Chrom’s invincibility remark, nevertheless turns his full attention to Say’ri.

“You see, since ancient times, many of our people have worshipped Naga,” Say’ri says. “Unlike most of the worshippers in Ylisse, however, we actually worship her oracle, Lady Tiki—although most know her only as the Voice. The Voice is trapped in her temple as Walhart’s prisoner. But if she were freed…”

Robin’s throat suddenly tightens. He has never come across Tiki, but he has read of her. She is not only Naga’s oracle, but her own daughter.

“So, er…” He coughs, which gets Lissa prodding at his chest. “You… You believe the Resistance would unite around her?”

“Yes,” Say’ri says. “The people of this continent have worshipped many gods and goddesses over the course of history. Tiki is one of the few who still communicates with us. She possesses considerable influence.”

“Then she is perhaps our best hope,” Chrom says. “Where did you say she is being held?”

“There is a shrine built in the branches of the divine Mila Tree,” Say’ri explains. “She is being confined there.”

“Then we have our plan,” Chrom says. “I will make our preparations while you and Robin finish your recovery.”

Robin inwardly curses. Try as he might, he cannot think of one reasonable explanation to give for why they should do anything but visit Naga’s daughter.

As Chrom passes, Robin catches his hand with his own. Chrom squeezes it gently.

“Please,” he whispers into Robin’s ear. “Do remember that you’re not invincible. I don’t know how I could ever go on without you.”

“You have the strength to prevent that outcome,” Robin whispers back. “Remember that I put you at my back because you are the only one I would trust there.”

Chapter Text

The Mila Tree, as it is called, is not one organism but two, fused together long ago. It is said to have grown from the bodies of Mila and Duma themselves, though Robin had not believed that legend until this moment. Plants do not usually have any quintessence, let alone quintessence this powerful. The life force of this tree… of Mila and Duma combined, he supposes… makes his own seem trifling by comparison. It is mildly nauseating.

“Whoa… I don’t think I’ve ever felt so small...” Lissa murmurs, echoing Robin’s sentiments, although she no doubt refers to the physical size of the tree rather than its spiritual strength.

“Most impressive indeed…” Frederick agrees. For a moment, he is quiet his his gaze trails up the bark and into the sky. “So the shrine hides all the way up in its branches?”

“Aye, sir,” Say’ri says. “A great staircase inside the trunk leads up to it. However, the empire has closed off the only route to the steps.” She smirks. “Or perhaps ‘roots,’ to the steps, I should say.”

Chrom chuckles at the terrible joke, but he does place his hand over his sword.

“Then we’ll just have to break through,” he says, motioning for the team to follow him.

It turns out that Say’ri was not actually kidding about the roots. The Shepherds have to battle on the rough, strangely shaped things. It is easy to slip into dirt or water like this, and the journey would be slow-going even if they did not have to face the Valmese army at every step. Fortunately, the conditions make fighting just as difficulty for the enemy as for them. Things start going much better once the Valmese pegasus and falcon knights go down, as it gives Sumia, Cordelia, and Cherche free reign of the air. Still, there are archers about, and Robin has to send Virion forward to meet their arrows with his own.

When they finally, finally reach the end of the roots, Robin is in no mood to entertain the general stationed there, whom Say’ri informs them is called Cervantes.

“My whiskers are safe against you lot,” Cervantes says, stroking his beard lovingly. “Victory is inevitable!”

Disgusting.

“Fiend!” Chrom shouts, evidently perfectly fine with having a conversation despite his own visible fatigue. “You invade kingdoms and bully them into submission! Why? What does it achieve?”

“Do you even need ask, whelp?” Cervantes growls. “Emperor Walhart is destined to rule the world, plain and simple!”

“Yes, but to what end?” Chrom asks. He opens his mouth to continue, but he is interrupted.

“Irrelevant!” Cervantes insists. “Walhart’s mind is beyond the grasp of common men!”

“So you fight for no reason, then,” Robin says. “How worthless.”

“I tend to my own beard, boy,” Cervantes says, again stroking the hairs on his face. “A soldier does not question orders. But he gives his loyalty—and maybe his life—in the service of greater men.”

“But if you do not care for what your effort stands for,” Robin says. “then it is meaningless. You are dying for nothing at all. You have lived for nothing at all. You are a worm, crushed by the heel of time.”

“Have you not tasted the thrill of being part of something bigger than yourself, tactician?” Cervantes asks. “Once, I myself had dreams of commanding… a nation. But Walhart, aye, he dreams bigger! He would rule the entire world! Mine is nothing compared to the moxie of the Conqueror!”

“I…” Robin hesitates. “I hear your conviction, though I do not understand it. But very well, I will honor your decision to die worthlessly by striking you down now.”

“I guess we have nothing more to discuss,” Cervantes sneers as he raises his axe. “Prepare to learn the meaning of the word ‘beard’!”

“B-Beard?” Chrom repeats in confusion.

“Fear! I meant fear!” Cervantes shouts furiously, charging forward. “You’ll pay for your mockery!”

Chrom raises his sword to block the axe as it comes down. It is a pathetic fight, as Cervantes runs away in retreat as soon as it becomes clear that he will not come out the victor. So much for giving his life in service.

“B-But my invincible mustache!” he cries as he flees. “Why didn’t it protect me? Blasted science, you have played me for a fool!”

If Robin felt anything but contempt for this man, he would kill him with magic before he could get away. As it is, it just feels like a waste of his limited-use tome.

“I almost pity the enemies of Ylisse…” Say’ri says, approaching after Cervantes has well and truly left. “The man did not know what he unleashed by challenging you.”

“Say’ri, do you know the way to the shrine?” Chrom asks tiredly. He had taken the lead in the battle because of the advantage his sword had over Cervantes’s axe. His armor is dented but still intact, and so long as they do not have to battle again today, it should not be a problem. The bruises that doubtlessly lie beneath, however, will surely plague him until they can go back to camp—the staves Lissa and Libra brought with them were depleted in the battle.

“Aye, follow me,” Say’ri says. “It is just up these stairs.”

Taking the stairs is salt in their wounds after the previous onslaught, but at least the wooden steps are sturdier than the sprawling root system they were fighting on. Robin keeps an eye on Chrom, but he is apparently faring much better than certain other members of their party…

“Owwww,” Nowi whines from behind Robin. She is not any more injured than the rest of them, but she insists on hanging on to his coat like it gives her strength.

Though Say’ri did not want to bring too many people to Tiki lest she be overwhelmed after months of confinement, nobody could deny Nowi the opportunity to meet one of her own kind.

“How come the temple that houses a dragon doesn’t have room for a dragon to fly up there, huh?” Nowi continues. “How does that make any sense?”

“Ugh… I’m with you, Nowi,” Lissa says, panting. “This staircase is STUPID!”

“Peace, we are nearly there,” Say’ri says. Raising her voice, she calls out sweetly. “Lady Tiki! Are you here? Prithee answer!”

A woman steps out from behind a column of twisted wood. Her green hair is darker than Nowi’s, but similar in style. Slowly, she approaches, giving a long yawn.

“Ah, my lady…” Say’ri breathes. “I’m so relieved to see you’re alright.”

“Are you Tiki?” Nowi pipes up, stepping out from behind Robin. “Are you really a dragon like me?”

“Oh…” Tiki murmurs in surprise. “Another… of our Tribe?”

“Tribe?” Nowi bounces on her heels. “There’s a Tribe?”

“Ah… No, I’m sorry…” Tiki says, dipping her head. “The Divine Dragon Tribe is no longer. Lost… during my endless sleep. Although… like you, individuals may yet remain…”

“You think so?” Nowi asks hopefully. “Do you think we can find them?”

“Perhaps…” Tiki says. “But I cannot simply… leave on a journey… I have been entrusted with…” She glances towards Chrom and Lissa. “You two… You are of the exalted bloodline, are you not?”

“Yes, milady,” Chrom answers.

“Do you yet possess the Fire Emblem?” Tiki asks. “It should have been passed down through your family…”

“Yes, we keep it protected in the castle at Ylisstol,” Chrom says. “Er, but… it seems to be cursed, milady.”

“Ah,” Tiki says, nodding. “Yes, of course… The price of great power… is always suffering.” She frowns. “But, when it is the only means of saving the world from destruction…”

“Then the price must be paid, milady,” Chrom says. “Though I pray we never face that need.”

“No… I can feel that it is not coming to pass… although...” Tiki’s gaze snaps to Robin, and she inhales a bit too quickly. “You… You have it…”

Robin’s eyes widen.

“I… don’t know what you mean,” he says. He has never suffered a heart attack, but he imagines this is what it feels like. A heart-pounding feeling of doom… the knowledge that any moment, something is going to rupture and ruin him…

There is something terribly wrong with him. The truth is that he is the fell dragon, and that fact has never changed no matter his disguise. But now… he does not want the disguise to be ruined, he does not want his arrangement with the Shepherds to end, he does not want Chrom to turn his blade against him, he does not want to lose the only thing that has given his life meaning, he does not want to be the fell dragon, Grima, and if the words fall from her lips, then Robin will cease to exist in all the ways that matter.

“You have power… like…” Tiki starts, but her eyes begin to close, and she drifts off to sleep mid-sentence. A second later, she awakes with a jolt. “I… Ah… Forgive me… I am still groggy from slumber. Lost in the past, it seems.”

Robin would glare at her were the sudden onslaught of relief he feels not so overpowering.

“Are you alright, my lady?” Say’ri asks. Simultaneously, Chrom asks: “Are you alright, Robin?” As soon as they’ve said it, they trade awkward glances.

Robin is faintly amused, but not nearly enough to laugh. He takes a deep breath.

“I am fatigued, as we all are,” he says. “Let us hurry and explain our mission.”

“I am merely tired, as well, milady” Tiki says, smiling. “Now, come. Tell me what you seek.”

As Say’ri explains her cause, Robin continues to eye Tiki suspiciously. She is yet a danger for what she knows. He does not understand why she has not told the others. Perhaps she fears in her weakened state that he would be able to overpower her… But she could wait. Wait, and whisper to them in the dead of night, tell them to turn their swords upon him come morning…

“I see… I will lend my voice to your cause,” Tiki says when Say’ri has finished speaking. “I haven’t the strength to join you in the fray. But I will call the people together, in prayer, for an end to this conflict.”

Robin is at first relieved, then confused that Tiki will not be coming with them. What is she planning? Every time he catches her eye, she just smiles at him. When it comes time to leave her temple, however, she finally calls out to him.

“Robin… may I speak to you privately?” she asks.

It is only the recognition of his own weakness that prevents him from declining. This power she has, to ruin him, is one he is used to having over others. To have the tables turn on him now… he feels rage and terror in equal measure.

“Chrom, wait for me below,” Robin growls. “If I do not return…”

“What?” Chrom gasps, horrified. “Robin, are you so unwell? I cannot leave you in such a state… I can send Lissa and Libra for more supplies, if necessary, but...”

“I’m fine!” Robin snaps. “I’m just…”

“Robin is overdramatizing the situation,” Tiki says, yawning. “Our conversation will not take long. He will return to you shortly.”

“Tiki… If anything happens…” Chrom murmurs. “You must let me know immediately.”

“I will, milord,” she says, smiling. “Let us be, and do not fear. Now come, Robin, and we shall rest among Mila and Duma’s beloved leaves.”

The branch they walk onto is wide and sturdy, perfectly suitable for them both to sit on. When he places a hand on the bark, he can feel power pulsing. Were he not wearing gloves, he would likely be overwhelmed with it. Gritting his teeth, he clasps his hands in his lap and tries not to make any unnecessary movements.

“Oh…” There is a look of pity in Tiki’s eyes that leaves Robin biting his tongue to keep from snarling. “You are so frightened… I did not mean to frighten you…”

“Then what exactly did you intend, daughter of Naga?” Robin hisses out. “I know you can sense what I am. You were in this world when she commanded her champion to slay me, were you not? Perhaps you remember what my power feels like.”

“You do not have to have that attitude about it,” Tiki says, huffing. “It took me a moment, but yes, I could recognize your quintessence.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Robin asks. He wants to get to the point. His future hinges on this moment, and he would rather not draw out the tension.

“Nothing,” Tiki says. “Why would I want to pull you from your cherished friends now?”

Robin chokes on his breath.

“W… Why?” Robin repeats incredulously. “Oh, no reason in particular. Perhaps because I am the fell dragon? The breath of ruin and the wings of despair? The great evil Naga bound an entire bloodline to defeat? Any of that ringing a bell?”

“Oh, Robin,” Tiki says with a sigh. “It wasn’t like that. You were on the verge of destroying the world out of boredom. My mother loves humans and she loves this world. What was she supposed to do? It was nothing personal.”

“Ylisseans still tell of the day their exalt will have to once again slay the fell dragon!” Robin says.

“And Plegians still tell of the day the fell dragon will destroy the world,” Tiki says. “But you aren’t going to do that, are you?”

“Not right now!” Robin says. “But I still could, someday!”

He is not sure that is entirely the truth, though. He had thought nothing of destroying the world when it was meaningless to him. Now… destroying the world would necessarily entail destroying the place he now thinks of as a home. He could do it… but why would he do it?

Tiki giggles.

“You are trying so hard, aren’t you?” she asks. “Stop being ridiculous. You are… surrounded with friends who love you. You are free from the threat of the madness that dragons succumb to. You don’t have to suffer anymore.”

“I was not suff—” Robin breaks off before can get the lie out. He had suffered from the moment he had touched his creator’s mind. “The world has not changed that much,” he mutters instead. “And most people will still never make anything of themselves. It is only that… the ones who are different are…”

“They make life worth living,” Tiki finishes for him. “I know… I have outlived everyone I have come to care for, and yet… It is those bonds that give me strength. Neither dragons nor humans can thrive in solitude, you know.”

“You are disgustingly sentimental,” Robin says.

Tiki smiles.

“I would like us to be friends, Robin,” she says. “After all… there are not many who understand the significance of living as long as we have…”

The weight of the ages seems to hang in her eyes. Robin wonders if his own have ever looked like that.

“I do not think we will get along,” he mutters. “But… fine, if you can delude yourself into believing it.”

Chapter Text

“Factions of the Resistance are already uniting in answer to the Voice’s call!” Say’ri excitedly informs them. “Soon bards will sing of this day… ‘They who conquered the Conqueror’!”

“Calm down. Walhart will not roll over dead at the first sign of trouble,” Robin points out.

“Aye, he will muster his forces to put down the Rebellion,” Say’ri says, sobering. “Then his gaze will turn to us. Against his full might, we would not last long.”

“Where are his armies garrisoned?” Chrom asks, thankfully getting to the point.

“Currently? They may as well be everywhere,” Say’ri says. “There are three divisions:one controls the north, one the south, and and the third the lands that lie between.”

Robin hums in thought.

“Emperor Walhart commands the northern forces. Their might easily exceeds our own,” Say’ri continues. “The south is led by my brother, Yen’fay… and his host is said to rival Walhart’s.”

“And if we head for the middle, we will soon be surrounded,” Chrom says gravely.

“We certainly cannot allow them to unite,” Robin says. “But… if we were to, what is the phrase, ‘divide and conquer,’ then…”

“But the divisions are too strong to face, even individually!” Say’ri insists.

Robin gives her a quelling glare. He has been listening.

“We divide their divisions,” he explains. “Disrupt their communications, supplies… and then introduce misinformation to add to the confusion. No need to be too dishonest… they already believe we have demons at our command.” He smirks. “The panic would spread on its own, and their giant force will collapse under its own weight.”

“And the third division, stationed between the other two…” Chrom says, catching on.

“Aye, sir, at Fort Steiger. We might stand a chance against them...” Say’ri says, coming to the same conclusion. “I would suggest sending the bulk of our army to the north and south to mask our plan. Then…”

“Chrom and I will go to Fort Steiger,” Robin says, already calculating who will be best to bring with him.

“Aye, I was going to suggest as much,” Say’ri says. “But fie! We could all be dead before nightfall, and here you are volunteering!”

“Robin’s confidence is always well-founded,” Chrom says. “Woe be the day he does not see it fit for us to lead the main charge.”

But confidence or no, the battlefield looks the same. And the way this one looks… Well, it may have been their “easiest” option, but it will certainly not be an “easy” victory.

“Our best option is to strike right at their heart,” Say’ri says.”If we can strike down their commander, the fortress will be ours…”

“Chrom and I will go for her,” Robin says. “You lead our forces against the soldiers surrounding the castle.”

Say’ri nods, but there is a strange look in her eyes.

“You do realize this puts Sir Chrom at the forefront of the danger, don’t you?” she asks. “Do you always situate your commander thusly?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Chrom says, placing a hand on Robin’s arm.

“He is in less danger when he is with me,” Robin insists. “As am I. When he is not there, I… have less focus.”

“Ah... I see,” Say’ri says. “I always believed that one should strive to keep their loved ones out of the line of fire. But when you both love the thrill of battle… Aye, perhaps you have it right. You are stronger next to each other.”

“Robin is the wind at my back and the sword at my side,” Chrom says. “Together, our strength is enough to change the world.”

“Then it’s settled,” Say’ri says. “Other Resistance forces are on the way, so with luck, they should arrive in time to help. Let’s cleave them a proud trail of imperial blood to find us by!”

With that, they split ways. Robin has Gaius cause a distraction, orders his hardest-hitting units to attack in the confusion, and then rushes forward with Chrom towards where the enemy commander waits. Unfortunately, it’s easier said than done, as enemies seem to spawn from out of nowhere, and… wait…

“Isn’t that one of the Resistance members?” Robin hisses, directing Chrom’s attention towards a war monk locked in combat with Lon’qu. At his side, Olivia has abandoned her dancing in favor of slashing at the enemy with her own sword, and the two aren’t necessarily having trouble. What’s troubling is the familiar face, and now that he thinks about it, there are… several of them.

“I swear that valkyrie come to visit Tiki just last week!” Chrom exclaims as they take shelter against the heavy winds of Rexcalibur. “Gods! What’s going on?”

“Sir Chrom!”

They look up to the sky to see Say’ri riding with a wyvern lord.

“Say’ri, tell me these aren’t the Resistance members who were supposed to follow us!” Chrom shouts.

“Alas, sir, I’m ashamed to say they are!” Say’ri replies. “I know some of them by name, even!”

“But there’s no way they should have been able to get here this quickly,” Robin points out. “Sudden change of allegiance aside, this should still be impossible!”

“Aye, that’s true,” Say’ri agrees. “But they’re being warped in—there! Look!”

Next to one of the fort’s staircases, a hero suddenly appears in a flash. Holding him by the throat is…

“Excellus!” Robin gasps. “You spineless little worm!”

Excellus had once been a high-ranking member of the Grimleal... until he had tried to assassinate Robin! And then the craven had fled the country before Robin had gotten the chance to eviscerate the traitorous fool!

Excellus looks over at the sound of his name, stiffening as soon as he catches sight of Robin.

“L-Lord Robin!” he calls out in what might be a greeting. “Er… Fancy seeing you here!”

Robin glares as he walks towards him. He briefly debates which weapon he should use to land the killing blow.

“Ha… Ha… You aren’t still mad about that little, er, incident from your childhood, are you?” Excellus says, waving his hands in a nonthreatening manner. “See, that… that was just a tiny misunderstanding. That poison wasn’t meant for you, milord. I-I was going after Validar I swear— M-Mercy!”

He warps away just before Robin’s Thoron can strike him. The magic slams into the wall instead, denting it through sheer force.

“Robin!” Chrom calls, running over himself. “Great gods, what was that?”

By the stairs, the newly-warped-in hero trembles.

“I-I’m on your side, sir!” he says. “Please, he… he threatened our families! I’ll… I’ll tell the others not to fight you, just, p-please…”

“The Resistance will fail if you all abandon the cause,” Chrom says sharply. “No one’s family is safe under a tyrant’s hand. Tell your fellows that.”

Robin watches as the man takes off across the battlefield. Growling, he grabs Chrom by the arm.

“We’ve wasted too much time,” he says. “We’re going to Pheros to end this. Now.”

Chrom nods, but he gives Robin a worried look.

“Robin, who was that man?” he asks as they run. “And did I hear him say something about poison?”

“A pathetic assassination plot,” Robin explains. “You know, I do believe he would have gone after Validar in the end. Men like him care for nothing but their own power. But I, appearing to be nothing more than a helpless child, was no doubt an easier first target.”

“I… am surprised Validar allowed him to live…” Chrom says.

“I didn’t tell him,” Robin says. “I had it handled... until Excellus ran away. And I… could not possibly admit…”

“Oh, Robin…” Chrom says. “I would have this man’s head myself, for the wrong he’s done you. But first…” He draws his sword as they near the fort’s commanding valkyrie. “We must take out this ally of his.”

“Take me out?” Pheros asks, smirking. “You’re not my type, I’m afraid.” At Chrom and Robin’s dual glares, she laughs. “I know who you are, Prince Chrom. Once, I followed your exalted sister, you know. Made the pilgrimage all the way just to hear her speak. I, too, grew up worshipping Naga and the Earth Mother.”

Chrom frowns.

“Yet you abandoned your faith.”

He does not say it as a question; there is no room for further discussion. But Pheros answers it, anyway.

“I have no use for invisible spirits any longer,” she says. “The dragons were the world’s most powerful beings, but their era is over. Emperor Walhart is a god among men, and he will do what no religion ever could—unite all people.”

“You are a fool if you believe that,” Robin says. “You have already turned your Conqueror into a holy hero. Yours is just another religion, and you will die for it, without purpose.”

“I do not expect you to understand, Grimleal deserter,” Pheros responds. “We are alike in our rejection of the gods, but you will never know the great power of Walhart’s voice, of his vision.”

“But how can you find inspiration in him?” Chrom asks. “A tyrant?”

“You have no right to call him a tyrant just because you disagree with him,” Pheros says. “Many people have found inspiration in your sister’s poetry, Prince Chrom. I used to be among them. Now, I see the great future Walhart promises, and yes, I will give my life for it.”

“But how?” Chrom exclaims, frustrated. “How can you turn from Emmeryn and peace to Walhart and violence?”

“Such is the path I have decided to tread,” Pheros insists coolly. “Sometimes those who will not walk must be dragged along or pushed aside. So raise your weapons, Ylisseans, and prepare to be pushed aside! ”

“So be it, then” Robin says, flipping open his tome. “The path you have chosen is a dead end, but it is too late to change your course now. Die by your faith, and pray it was worth it.”

The flames of the valkyrie’s Bolganone burn bright and hot, and Robin is simply not in the mood to play with fire today.

“You’re finished,” he says, and he sends a bolt of pure electricity straight through her heart.

“Nngh… Well done…” Pheros gasps out as she falls from her horse to the ground. “I may not live… to see Walhart unify all mankind… with my own eyes. But I have seen it… in my dreams… and that is enough…”

“How can that be enough?” Robin asks. “Your life is wasted if you cannot achieve your goals…”

But he will not receive an answer; the commander’s consciousness has faded. Her spirit will not linger. She dreamed of a different world, but ultimately did nothing to change her own.

“I don’t understand, Robin…” Chrom says quietly. “How can a man such as Walhart inspire such devotion? She is not the first we have met to feel this way…”

“Perhaps the people of this continent were weak,” Robin suggests, “and they clung to the first thing that made them feel strong.”

“And a ruthless leader who could strike them all down at any moment makes them feel strong?” Chrom asks.

“Yes…” Robin says. “Because they trust in his power, if nothing else. Even if he uses it against them…”

“You think that’s it?” Chrom mutters. “Then, this unification plan of his…”

“Might have worked, were he not facing us,” Robin says. “But they will not blindly follow a conqueror that has been conquered once. Even if we were to let him live, he would never have the same unwavering support from his followers.”

“We can’t let him live!” Chrom exclaims. “The danger is too great, to us and to the people of Valm. The threat—”

Robin holds up a hand.

“Who do you think I am? I did not say we were going to let him live,” he says, smirking. He quickly pockets his tome, then holds out a hand to Chrom. “Now, shall we tell Say’ri the good news?”

But the good news, it turns out, is short-lived.

Fort Steiger has fallen, but both Walhart and Yen’fay have defeated the forces that had been sent and are on the verge of surrounding them. And the fort is still surrounded by their ex-allies. Although a quarter of them have reaffirmed their dedication to the cause, Robin is loath to count on them. Half of them refuse to do anything at all, and another quarter still insist on making weak efforts to fight just in case their masters show up and surprise them.

“Robin…” There is despair in Chrom’s eyes, and for a moment, Robin wonders if, despite his own desires to the contrary, he might still have been responsible for putting it there. “What are we going to do?”

But Chrom still has faith in him. Robin does not lose. And he certainly will not lose now, when Chrom and the Shepherds are relying on him more than ever.

“We need to leave here—right away,” he says. “We have to strike at their armies before they can join together.”

“One general would be upon us before we could finish with the other,” Say’ri says.

Robin nods solemnly.

“I agree…” he says, “which is why we attack both.”

Chrom and Say’ri look at him for further explanation. He swallows. They trust him.

“Chrom and I will lead our strongest forces against Yen’fay,” he says. “And then… we have a smaller force attack Walhart.”

“A smaller force?” Say’ri repeats. “But… we could not defeat the emperor with a force twice as large as our current one.”

“I didn’t say we would defeat him,” Robin says. “We only need to distract him.”

“But, the smaller force…” Chrom says. “We’re asking them to throw away their lives… They would know that they will not be coming back…”

“And we’ve already lost so many…” Say’ri says. She looks close to tears.

They will not like the next part.

“Indeed, just today we have lost hundreds of thousands of soldiers,” he says. Taking a deep breath, he continues. “That is, hundreds of thousands of fresh corpses. Hundreds of thousands of fresh corpses with muscle memory still chemically ingrained in them.”

Chrom and Say’ri both look confused, but then, slowly, horror creeps into Chrom’s expression.

“No,” he says quietly. “Oh, gods, no. You are not suggesting…”

Robin grits his teeth. He has never seen such a look of revulsion on Chrom’s face. Of course, Robin, too, finds the Risen repulsive… but he fears that this look is for him, not his plan.

“Do you have any better ideas?” he asks. “I’m serious, Chrom. Anything else. Because you know I hate them. I truly do. But I cannot see any other way to get around it, not without more people dying! I am okay with that, but you are not!”

“They were our people, Robin!” Chrom exclaims. “Our soldiers! Our friends!”

“They are dead, Chrom!” Robin counters. “They cannot be hurt further! But we certainly can be! Give. Me. A. Better. Plan.”

“You know I cannot!” Chrom shouts. “Your tactics are perfect; your plan is flawless! And it is the worst possible thing we could do!”

“Good sirs!” Say’ri yells, slamming her hands on the table as she stands. “Prithee do not fight! We do not have enough time, and I cannot even understand what it is you are talking about!”

“Necromancy,” Chrom mutters.

“Alchemy,” Robin corrects. “Give me three days and I can give you a hundred thousand soldiers who will obey my every command and who, I would remind you, cannot die again.”

Say’ri opens her mouth. Then she shuts it. And then, slowly, she sits down.

“Oh,” she says after a moment.

“Yes, oh,” Chrom agrees.

“Gods…” Say’ri says. “But how did you come across such magic?”

“It is old magic,” Robin says. “It was taught to me.”

“I see,” Say’ri says. She bites her lip uncomfortably, but then nods. “It may be our only hope.”

“Say’ri… You have not seen them…” Chrom says. “They are… perversions of nature. It is the ultimate disrespect to their bodies…”

“You have seen them before?” Say’ri asks, but she quickly shakes her head. “Even if that is so… our comrades are with us no longer. If it were me lying out there… I would want my cause to live on, even without me. And so, if this is the price of our survival, we will have to pay it.”

“I do not feel good about this,” Chrom says.

“Which is as it should be,” Robin says. “The man who created this process embodied all of the worst aspects of humanity. I would not see a promulgation of his work. This is a secret I would have us take to the grave.”

“Which we may do sooner rather than later if we do not leave soon,” Say’ri says.

“Yes,” Robin agrees. “We must go.”

Chrom says nothing, but he stands and follows them out of the room, out to where their comrades await them.

“In three days, we will march on the southern army, led by Yen’fay,” he tells them.

Amidst their chattering, he bows his head.

“Gods help us all,” he says, so quiet that only Robin can hear.

Chapter Text

Chrom insists on being there when Robin creates the Death Masks… when he raises the Risen.

“If we’re doing this thing,” he says, “we’re doing it together.”

Were it anyone else, Robin would not allow it. The only other person he has ever permitted to observe is Validar (and that, clearly, was a mistake).

But Chrom will never replicate the process, even assuming he would be capable of it. The look of revulsion has not once left his face.

“You do not need to be here,” Robin says. “The creation process is over now. I only have to place the masks on the bodies and allow the thanatophages to… take root.”

The camp is little more than a morgue at this point. Say’ri and the others have already gone ahead; they are preparing for the battle with Yen’fay. Chrom would be better off with them.

“There is no need to watch over me in your scorn,” Robin continues. “Your hatred will only grow stronger.”

“Is that why you think I’m here?” Chrom asks quietly. “I don’t hate you, Robin. I am… trying to support you.”

“Why?” Robin asks. Chrom’s expression is difficult to read. “I do not care much for your morals, Chrom, but I know when I am stomping on them.”

“Such is the nature of war, it seems,” Chrom says, sighing heavily. “I believe in peace, but I also believe in fighting for it. It’s just… I always pictured a noble duel between leaders… something like the Feroxi means of power exchange. Never once did I imagine we would be here, working with dead science to create monsters out of the remains of our own allies…”

“As I said… You do not need to be here,” Robin says.

“If you thought I were more needed somewhere else, you would have demanded I go there,” Chrom insists. “Robin… You have already told me you wish the Risen did not exist. I am not going to leave you alone to complete a task you find as terrible as I do.”

“Not quite as terrible, I would think,” Robin says. “I find them to be disgusting, mindless things. They have no essence to their beings… They can not really be called beings, for that matter. But you keep seeing them as distortions of people you knew, do you not?”

“It is difficult to do otherwise,” Chrom says. “I cannot forget these faces…”

“Then it will be easier for you once the masks are in place, perhaps,” Robin suggests.

“I do not think so,” Chrom says. “But nothing about this war with Walhart has been easy to deal with. We must move forward anyway.”

Even with Robin’s perfect precision, it takes until the morning hours to outfit the entire force with the masks. It will take another two nights for them to wake, but Robin and Chrom cannot afford to stick around that long. Nevertheless, Robin does not expect anything to happen to the bodies in the meantime. As far as everyone else is concerned, it is a camp abandoned to the dead. The Valmese forces will not waste their time with it.

And it is good that they leave when they do, for it takes those two nights to catch up with their living forces. As they approach their camp, Robin can feel the Risen waking. The creatures have only the faintest connection to him, but with so many, there is nevertheless a noticeable effect on his mind. But this is the only way he can be sure they will obey his will.

With a mental command, he orders them to seek out Walhart. He does not have to tell them to fight until they cease to exist. They will do that naturally, for they have no instinct for self-preservation. Hunger is the sole drive they possess.

“Ah,” is the only greeting Say’ri gives when Chrom and Robin reunite with her. “We feared you would not return in time. My brother’s forces… Our fliers report they will be here within hours!”

“We should hasten south to meet them, and distance ourselves from Walhart,” Robin says. The Risen will occupy him for a time, but he has already defeated these bodies once.

“And there is another concern…” Say’ri says. “The dynasts who stayed behind…”

Robin snarls.

“They are weak,” he says, thinking of the whimpering hero that begged him for his life. “They would not dare…”

“Should they attack us from behind as we battle Yen’fay, it would be an easy victory. They would curry favor with the empire without risk of injury. This is how they think.”

“Then we have to make it so they cannot surround us,” Chrom says. “Say’ri, that mountain over there… I have seen it smoking since we arrived, but there are no trees on it anywhere?”

“What… ah… That is a volcano, sir,” Say’ri says. “Have you never seen one? That one is known as the Demon’s Ingle. It is known and feared by all people of Valm… Oh, no…”

Robin is already smirking.

“Robin, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Chrom asks.

“It sounds like it was made for us,” Robin says. “Let the Valmese join the hellish Ylissean League in our domain!”

“G-Go to the Demon’s Ingle?” Say’ri exclaims. “Do you know what you’re saying? You, who have never even seen a volcano before?”

“Your pathetic former friends won’t dare follow us, and we can use the flames as barriers to limit how your brother’s army approaches,” Robin explains. “Frankly, I could not ask for a more advantageous terrain.”

Say’ri laughs incredulously, shaking her head.

“And my brother will still come… His stubborn pride will force his hand…” she chokes out. “I’m sorry… It’s just, to think… we are heading into an active volcano! ‘Ideal terrain,’ he says!”

And perhaps there is some merit in her wariness. The field is filled with lava, which constantly shifts and causes the ground to crumble beneath their feet. It isn’t five minutes before some reckless young soldier falls into the burning ooze. His falcon knight partner fishes him out before he can drown in fire, but his legs are so brutalized that he will not be able to battle.

Robin swears.

“Can we keep the idiocy off of the battlefield today?” he snaps to the army. “If you’ve managed to make it this far, you must have a brain! Use it!”

“Uh-oh, everybody,” Henry shouts cheerfully. “You’d better do what our tactician says before he ERUPTS! Nya ha!”

“Get it, Robin?” Nowi asks, laughing. “Because we’re in a volcano!”

If they weren’t about to go into battle, Robin would hit both of them.

At least their opponents face the same difficulties. Yen’fay stares emotionlessly across the field of lava that separates their armies, but his soldiers are clearly fearful.

“We will have to tread carefully,” Robin says. “But we have the advantage. They are under orders from the Empire and must attack. We can bait them out.”

“Aye,” Say’ri says. “My brother will not flee. We do not need to approach him immediately.”

“Robin,” Chrom says quietly as Say’ri heads to speak to the few Resistance members who have neither betrayed them nor died. “We cannot make her face Yen’fay in battle… Not her own brother.”

Robin glances at Say’ri from the corner of his eye.

“I believe she can handle it,” Robin says. If facing her brother here has put her in agony, she is not showing it. “She must have been preparing for this from the day they parted ways.”

“Of course she can handle it,” Chrom says. “But she shouldn’t have to! This fight will be difficult enough without blood slaying blood!”

“So you want us to kill Yen’fay before she has to fight him?” He shrugs. “That’s fine. The ‘no rushing’ rule is for the rest of the army, not us.”

“Good,” Chrom says. He steps forward, but a rumbling sound beneath them quickly gets both him and Robin moving out of the way. “Er, but how exactly are we going to reach him?”

The answer, as it often turns out to be, is “fliers.”

“Someday, Sumia, you’re going to have to teach me how to fly one of these beauties,” Chrom says as he seats himself behind her.

“Did you know,” Cordelia speaks up as Robin joins her on her pegasus, “that while our Pegasus Knights have been female since before the time of the Hero King, there are even older historical records depicting sky knights of all genders?”

“Huh… So you’re saying I have a chance?” Chrom chuckles.

It is a moment of strange levity in what is otherwise an unending onslaught of combat. Yet, as Robin bites down an amused smile, he finds that he is pleased to have it.

They part ways with Sumia and Cordelia once they’ve landed close enough to Yen’fay. Their lances and magic are of more use among the rest of the soldiers right now.

“General Yen’fay,” Chrom greets solemnly as they approach.

“Aye, that is the name,” Yen’fay replies, as if there was ever any doubt. “What would you have of me, Ylissean?”

Chrom frowns.

“I would ask why a famed swordmaster would sell his honor to Walhart,” he says after a pause. There is true question in his eyes.

Yen’fay is silent for a moment, then he shakes his head.

“That is none of your concern,” he says. No hint of emotion can be gleaned from his tone. This only agitates Chrom.

“Your sister is a principled woman! Even knowing Walhart’s strength, she has fought on valiantly!” he says. “What do you believe in, Yen’fay? Do you admire the emperor’s ideals, or are you simply afraid of your master?”

“Afraid…?” Yen’fay murmurs. He hums in thought. “Yes, fear plays its part, that I cannot deny.”

Chrom falters, clearly not having expected him to admit as much.

“Fear is a pointless motive in your situation,” Robin says. “Either we will kill you now, or your masters will kill you when you stop being of use.”

“I did not say it was fear for my life,” Yen’fay says. “That my reasons exist is not cause to explain them all to strangers.”

“But there has to be a better way!” Chrom insists. “You are the first commander we have seen who is not enamored with Walhart’s every word! You could still join us…”

“Enough,” Yen’fay says. “The bones have been thrown. All that remains is to see where they land.”

“Fine,” Robin says. “If there is sense in your decision, I suppose we will never know of it.”

Although the fight is technically one against two, Yen’fay is agile enough that it almost feels like fighting two. His swordplay cannot be made light of, either—he wields one of the famed Valmese Regalia, the Amatsu.

But things end, as they must, with Robin and Chrom victorious.

Yen’fay does not groan as he collapses, nor does he shudder with pain. He merely falls to his knees in noble defeat.

“Well fought…” he breathes out. “She will… be… safe…”

Chrom’s eyes widen.

“She? Who is ‘she’?” he asks frantically “Your sister? Another? Yen’fay, speak to us!”

“I can die… in peace…” is all Yen’fay says. He closes his eyes, releasing his sword from his hand. As they look on, his breathing becomes quieter and quieter until it simply ceases.

“Damn it!” Chrom shouts in a burst of frustration before he falls silent.

Slowly, he begins to run his fingers over the blade lying on the ground.

“We should return this to Say’ri…” he murmurs tiredly, as though all of his energy has suddenly been drained away. “Gods… What are we going to tell her?”

As it turns out, they do not have to say a word. Say’ri is already crying when they find her. Apparently, Excellus had warped in when Robin’s back was turned, had told Say’ri the whole story of how Yen’fay had exchanged his service for her life, and had then warped away.

“The things I said to him… The things I did… I have wronged him beyond imagining...” Say’ri sobs, clutching the Amatsu to her chest. “If he had only spoken! Told me! I could have joined the ruse! I…”

“Say’ri…” Chrom murmurs, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps… Perhaps he believed that he could keep his beloved sister out of the line of fire.”

Say’ri only sobs harder.

“Of course… he did... “ she cries. “And... I am wretched! I’ve paid my brother’s kindness with death! Oh, Yen’fay, forgive me! Please, oh please… Please…”

“Say’ri…” Lissa stands next to her, tears streaking down her reddened face. “I… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry!”

“Say’ri, you did all you could,” Chrom says softly. “Your brother knew that… You are blameless in this.”

“Your blade did not cross with his,” Robin reminds her. “It was my Thoron that did him in. And I would not have stayed my hand even had I known of his ruse.”

This, unfortunately, only causes Say’ri to heave another great sob. Despite her tears, Lissa gives him a sharp glare and a sharper kick to his shin.

“Er… W-What Robin means…” Chrom says, “is that this fight has become bigger than you. You have done everything in your power to be the leader your people need. And today… today you’ve seen the worst that leadership entails.”

“I… I cannot be a leader if this is the price that is always paid…” Say’ri says. She is beginning to regain control over her breathing, but tears continue to run down her cheeks. “You have given this land far more than I have… I have done nothing. Or worse… The Resistance I united only fractured and turned against us…”

“We came to this land without expectation of help from you or anyone,” Robin says. “I do not care if you lead along with us, but you must not allow your life to be wasted. Your brother chose a path that was sure to end in his death with the sole purpose of keeping you alive. If you do not survive, then his death was worthless.”

Lissa glares at him again, but before she can gives him another kick, Say’ri nods, sniffing loudly.

“Aye, it is so,” Say’ri says. “I owe my life to my brother… and to all of you. So I swear to you… and to him… I will make the most of it.”

Chapter Text

Robin knows the exact moment the last of his Risen soldiers fall. Without any more connections between him and the thanatophages, he once again has his mind to himself. It is a relief to him, but as it means that Walhart is no longer occupied, he cannot deny the new tension that burdens him. The war’s end is nigh.

“The scouts have reported back,” Say’ri informs him. “Walhart’s army… has retreated to the imperial capital. And it seems the remaining dynasts are withdrawing their support from him.”

Robin hums in acknowledgement. He had wondered if this would happen. If nothing else, his soldiers should be shaken from the appearance of the Risen. His other two divisions have fallen, and he must surely by now realize the truth of the threat he is up against.

“If we march on them, they will be defending their own castle,” Chrom says. “We will have no advantage there.”

“We do not need it,” Robin says. “We have turned his invasion of our continent into our invasion of his. This will be the decisive battle. If we win, this war is over. If we lose…”

But no… To lose, Chrom would have to die. Robin still has Grima’s Truth, and he would raze all of Valm with it before he would allow that to happen.

“We will not lose,” he says instead.

“I do not understand how you can keep constant confidence,” Say’ri says. “But you have not once led us astray. If you believe we can siege the castle, then… aye, that is what we will do.”

“Right,” Chrom says. He raises his voice, calling attention of everyone else in the camp. “Shepherds! Comrades! Soldiers! We make for the capitol!”

Their army raises a collective cry of assent.

“This ‘Conqueror’s’ reign ends now!” Chrom shouts, to much cheering.

The enthusiasm carries them all the way to the outer limits of the capitol. But it is very clear that the Valmese do not intend to allow them to simply walk up to the castle.

The streets are packed full of soldiers. There are cries—some of anger, some of fear—as they spot the Ylissean League. Some of their bow knights let their arrows loose too soon, causing an air of confusion to sweep over the Valmese.

Then, suddenly, they all seem to fall in line.

“Is that…” Chrom murmurs, staring at a man in the distance. “That’s him, isn’t it? Walhart… Brave of him to face us.”

“He would not be the ‘Conqueror’ if he did not have the taste for battle,” Robin says. “In truth… I am rather interested to see how he fights.”

“You do your nation proud, Prince!” Walhart shouts from atop his horse. “But I am humanity’s savior. A conqueror who broke stronger men than you when they refused to bow.”

Chrom looks ready to shout back, but then Walhart raises his axe to the sky, and any response would be drowned by the chorus of eager shouts.

“Warriors of Valm! Ride with me now!” Walhart commands. “Together we will stamp out this final pack of insurgents and unite the world!”

Chrom grits his teeth, then raises his own weapon into the air.

“Warriors of Ylisse, Ferox, and the kingdoms of Valm!” he shouts. Subtly, Robin casts a bit of wind magic to ensure that the sound is amplified over the Imperial voices. “We fight for the freedom of all our people! Unity will be found through peace, not war, and we are not afraid to defend it!”

And then, all at once, their armies are running towards each other.

Robin could not have had more destruction if he had planned it.

He wonders if, perhaps, he does have a destiny that he cannot avoid. For otherwise, how could his decision to take a path of peace with Chrom lead to such utter despair and ruin?

There is screaming from all sides. Every soldier aims to kill. Healers lay down their staves in favor of getting in extra attacks. Griffons, wyverns, and pegasi screech in the air; every so often, the ground units have to scatter as one of the large beasts comes crashing to the ground.

Chrom is grave but determined as he makes his way towards Walhart. But Robin…

Robin’s heart pounds like the drums of war. This is why he was created. He is a chaotic god, designed to make cities fall and lay waste to humanity.

He is undoubtedly in his element. But… did he cause this? Is there anything he could have done to avoid a destructive outcome? Have his choices mattered at all?

Because, if they have not, if he cannot avoid his nature… then he cannot go back to Ylisse, cannot stay with Chrom at all. Robin is strong enough to protect him from all external forces, but if there is some destiny he cannot avoid, some fate that has made him its pawn, if he cannot actually reign in his own power… then everything he has done here has been meaningless.

But he cannot afford to consider it now. If his destiny is to destroy, then he will destroy Walhart today. If he has the choice, he will also destroy Walhart. Everything is in accord.

A fortunate thing, for they have now caught up with the emperor.

“Walhart!” Chrom raises his sword in a defensive manner. “You are honorable enough to fight alongside your people… but I cannot allow you to do so any longer!”

“Why do you resist me, little Prince?” Walhart asks. “You spoke to your men of unity. Submit to me, join my forces, and you shall live to see it.”

“You enslave the weak and kill the able!” Chrom growls. “You are the enemy of peace. You are not creating unity.”

“I would end the reign of the gods, and you object on moral grounds?” Walhart asks incredulously. “Blood is spilled in any new birth, Prince. And in many a just cause, as you know…” He jerks his head to the sky above them, where Cherche is hacking away at a Valmese griffon rider.

And, true, they have killed just as many soldiers in this war as Walhart has. They will kill more before the day is over.

“There is no justification for what you have done,” Chrom insists.

“By whose laws do you judge me?” Walhart demands. “Yours? Your exalted sister’s? The gods’?”

“His ideals are his own,” Robin interrupts. “As surely as yours belong to you. And it does not matter, because we are not having a creativity contest.”

Walhart turns his attention to Robin.

“Ah… the famed Ylissean tactician…” He chuckles. “My tactician is rather put out by you, you know. That alone puts you in my esteem.”

Robin frowns. Then, as understanding dawns, he snorts

“Excellus is your tactician?” he asks. “No wonder you are losing so utterly.”

“Had I a man like you in his place, I would have the entire world under my thumb by now,” Walhart says.

“It is your fault for taking in a worm,” Robin says. “In any case, had I met you earlier, I might have joined you. But that is not a road I will travel now. Chrom has my loyalty, and that is no easy thing to capture.”

“Then you fight not for an ideal, but because you are attached to another,” Walhart says, narrowing his eyes.

“I have beliefs of my own,” Robin says. “Truth, if it can be known. Freedom, if it can be had. I once believed all humans to be despicable, incapable of becoming more than their natures. But now… I would like to believe that they are not so bound, that they might make something more of themselves… that they might create meaning in a meaningless world.”

Yes, that is what he desires. The truth, he is still seeking.

“Then we do not disagree!” Walhart thunders. “Damn the gods! Damn their fates and their destinies! I will have true freedom!”

“You cannot have ‘true freedom’ by slaughtering everyone who stands in your way!” Chrom argues.

“That is what you believe, Prince,” Walhart says. “Now, let us fight as two great men, free of predetermined fates. I grant any challenger the chance to test his will against my own… But you, too, shall be found wanting!”

Chrom moves first, abandoning his defensive posture in favor of a strong attack. For once, Robin keeps back. He will protect Chrom from stray blows, yes… but he wants to observe how the two leaders fight against each other.

Their styles are so similar… Chrom wouldn’t like to hear it, but Robin had once envisioned him becoming something like Walhart, a great war leader who would eventually fall to his own conflicts.

In truth, it would have been very, very easy for Robin to have given Walhart his aid. If Chrom had not come across him in Ylisse, he might well have gone to Valm, just in time for its Conqueror to demand his attention. He would have given it… and then where would they be? In this alternate reality, would everything have still led up to this? Would it still be him, Chrom, and Walhart on a battlefield in the end?

He desperately hopes it is not evidence of destiny.

“You are strong, Prince,” Walhart growls as he pulls his horse back. “There are few in this world who can withstand more than one of my attacks… Indeed, you are perhaps the only, now that Yen’fay is dead. Cease now your foolishness and come to my side. I can perhaps give you command of the Ylissean lands when I rule.”

“I would be truly weak if I accepted an offer like that,” Chrom says. “Would you have me as the new Yen’fay? Force me to fight to keep my sisters unharmed? I can do one better than that, Emperor. You cannot harm them when you are dead!”

As Chrom moves to strike again, a sudden rain of arrows has Robin quickly opening his tome. The arrows disintegrate into ash as he blasts them with Bolganone, but it is soon apparent that they were meant only as a distraction. Walhart has drawn back, and a line of his soldiers now stands, ready to fight in his stead.

“We will finish this in my castle, Prince,” Walhart says. “That is, if you can make it. Your League may command hell, but I have already been there and back.”

“Damn it!” Chrom shouts, but they are surrounded by soldiers and cannot stop Walhart’s retreat. Robin casts his fire magic again and again as Chrom begins to slash his way through the ranks. Help comes when Say’ri directs the Shepherds to their side. Robin watches as Lon’qu and Say’ri team up to behead a Valmese paladin in a synchronized strike. He notes their almost identical techniques and remembers, belatedly, that Lon’qu is of Chon’sin and not Feroxi birth.

“I’m gonna crush you!” Nowi cries from the air in the distorted voice of her dragon form. On her back, Robin spots Tharja and Henry firing off dark magic while Libra protects them all with his warding staves.

On the ground, Stahl dismounts from his horse to enter the fray directly, leaving Ricken to both ride it and cast magic, which he is actually adeptly managing. At Ricken’s side are Miriel and Vaike, whose axe and tome strikes are timed with perfect precision.

“Walhart’s men are giving their lives to ensure his escape…” Chrom murmurs. “And now ours are…”

“Buying us time to follow him,” Robin says. “So we have to go. Now.”

But a sudden clamor behind them momentarily halts them.

“The dynasts?” Chrom gasps. “Have they come to ride against us?”

“No…” Say’ri breathes, her eyes widening. “Look!”

The newcomers, many still wearing imperial uniforms, are attacking Walhart’s army, not Chrom’s.

“They are from the southlands…” Say’ri murmurs. “The lands my brother commanded… Finally, now, they come to answer the call?”

“Finally is right, Say’ri,” Chrom says. “It has taken a lot of hard work to get here. A lot of sacrifice. From you, from us, from your brother, and from all the people of both our continents...Don’t forget this moment.”

“And do not waste it,” Robin says. He exchanges a glance with Chrom, who nods.

“Let us finish what we began,” Chrom agrees.

Chapter Text

“I see Walhart, still seated in his throne room,” Chrom says as they enter the castle. With Gaius’s help, breaking in had been easy. “He truly does not intend to escape…”

“It would not do him any good,” Robin says. “We would hunt him down again. There is no use in putting off this battle.”

“But these last soldiers…” Chrom says, looking down the halls. They are not crowded, but the few soldiers that line them are positioned defensively, unwilling to abandon their posts even now. “They will die rather than surrender. How… How does he inspire such loyalty in people?”

“I do not know,” Robin says. “But I respect these men more than the fickle turncoats who aid us only now that we are winning.”

And speaking of fickle turncoats…

“Lord Robin!” Excellus exclaims, warping just behind them. “Please, milord, let me fight at your side. I-It is how it was always supposed to be. I was naive when I tried to kill you! I thought the Grimleal were heading down the wrong path! But I never stopped being Grimleal; Lord Grima has my utter devotion! All this time I’ve spent whispering into Walhart’s ear… it was for Grima, really! Let me come back to the continent with you. I hear Validar is the king of Plegia now! A-As it should be, of course… I can redeem myself at his side, I swear!”

“Are you quite finished?” Robin asks coldly. “You must think me a fool. Why would I ever believe you? I would sooner kill you in your sleep.”

Excellus opens his mouth, but Robin does not allow him the opportunity to run it again.

“But I will not. I have realized that I do not need to seek vengeance upon you. And do you know why?” Robin asks, but again, he does not allow Excellus to speak. “Because you are nothing. You have nothing. You mean nothing. Nobody in Plegia cares to remember you. Nobody in Valm would remember you even if they were alive to do so. You scuttle from master to master as winter comes, and you nest when you find fair weather. You will never change the world, Excellus. Your existence is worthless. And if I still believed all men to be as you, perhaps I would still pray with you now for the world’s annihilation.”

“Then… it’s true, what they say about you deserting the faith…” Excellus says. “Well, FINE! Screw you AND your father! You’re one to lecture ME, you spoiled brat. None of you were smart enough to see just how talented I was. Walhart was the only one! And now you and your band of idiots come marching in and ruining EVERYTHING for me.” He waves his arm in the air. “You think I’m afraid? Lord Grima will guide my hand! So come on, COME AT ME!”

Robin snorts, not bothering to draw his weapon.

“You think the fell dragon will save you? He despises treacherous liars,” he says. “Why don’t you try taking down someone at your skill level, like a child. Oh, wait…”

The fact that Robin has never truly been a child is irrelevant. The insult enrages the fool.

“You!” he shouts, but before he can so much as reach for his tome, Say’ri comes running forward, blade at the ready.

“Is this snake bothering you?” she snarls. “Go now! I will put him in his place. I only pray my brother is watching…”

With the rest of the Shepherds fighting off the Valmese soldiers, the path to the throne room is clear. Chrom and Robin charge forward, their weapons at the ready from the moment they step inside.

“Walhart!” Chrom calls out.

Walhart sits on the throne, gazing at them steadily. Resolutely.

“Prince…” is all he answers.

“Will you surrender?” Chrom asks.

“Don’t waste my time with questions you know the answers to, boy.” Walhart stands, reaches for his axe, and… waits.

“It did not have to be this way,” Chrom says, but he is nevertheless resolved. He is speaking of roads not taken, not of what lies at the end of this one. “You believe in mankind’s strength… so does my sister. She would have welcomed you as a friend in peace. You believe that we are masters of our destinies… so do I. So does Robin. You could have been our ally…”

“Your ally?” Walhart repeats incredulously. “Does a pegasus join with the flea on its back? A dragon, with a cow it eats? I have no equal. I am the Conqueror, and I will unite the world!”

“Peace will only come by stoking people’s hearts, not their fear,” Chrom insists.

“Bah!” Walhart scoffs. “Do you believe this tripe, Tactician?” he asks Robin.

Robin frowns.

“No,” he says, and he can see Chrom stiffen. “For every decent human heart, there are ten depraved. They will not choose peace. But your way is worse. You may convince people to follow your power, but it will not change their hearts. You will create a world of liars. I do not believe in peace on earth, and I would have the treacherous show themselves. Let them be killed, but let it be their own just deserts.”

“Ha, then you oppose us both!” Walhart says. “But very well. Between unity, peace, and justice, we shall see who prevails.”

Walhart is already weakened from his previous fight with Chrom, and this time, Robin is also attacking. Nevertheless, Walhart has not become the Conqueror for lack of strength, and even Robin is somewhat impressed by his ability to continue attacking as though he feels no pain. His axe, Wolf Berg, is the second of Valm’s three Regalia, and he wields it as naturally as if he had known it from birth.

But behind his renowned weapon and his heavy armor, he is but a man. A man, exhausted and alone. The battle was never even.

“Your end has come!” Chrom shouts, his sword crashing particularly hard against Walhart’s axe. They struggle. Walhart takes a step backwards.

Robin takes the opening.

“You’re finished,” Robin says, aiming his magic in a precise strike. “Farewell, Conqueror. May your spirit burn on.”

Walhart is not an average human. He has too much quintessence to merely fade away.

But his body falls still.

For a moment, Chrom and Robin stand there in silence, the only sound in the room being that of their breath.

Then, Robin pulls Chrom into him, crashing their lips together. For a moment, Chrom is too surprised to move. But then, slowly, he begins to respond. Between the adrenaline from battle and the heat from Chrom’s body, Robin has never felt more alive.

Chapter Text

Their return to Ylisstol somehow feels longer than the journey to Valm.

To be sure, it is partly because of the stops they make along the way. They deliver Say’ri back to Chon’sin, where she now finds herself suddenly as the last member of the royal family, and therefore in the position to be crowned. They stay not only for her coronation, but for an impromptu wedding between Sumia and Cordelia. Robin knew they were close, but he was blindsided by this announcement. At least their ceremony is small and not elaborate; they exchange vows under a blooming cherry tree and are on their way. It had a certain aesthetic appeal, he will admit.

When they get back on the road, they find themselves met at every village with some ridiculous matter. Some of the Valmese adore them, meeting them with cheers and banners and food. Others, however, were quite happy under Walhart’s rule… and while no one is stupid enough to attack “they who conquered the Conqueror,” they spend many a cold night on the road, unwelcomed by the people living closest.

And on nights like those, Chrom is always somber.

“You know… it felt a bit like fighting my father…” Chrom says. He and Robin are looking over the cost reports of their weapons and armor during the war, but it is so utterly boring that Robin cannot fault Chrom for the vast drift in his thoughts. “Fighting Walhart, I mean. They were both spreading violence for the sake of… noble ideals, really.”

Robin hums.

“Were your father’s ideals noble?” he asks. “I genuinely do not know what they were. We in Plegia did not ask after them. He claimed to oppose the fell dragon, and then he started killing us. So we killed him in return. It was only fair.”

“Well.. He followed Naga, of course,” Chrom says. “He believed in a peaceful world. But… when he decided that someone threatened that, he was ruthless. What he did to Plegia… gods, Robin, I had no say in the matter, but I’m ashamed of his actions all the same. The people did nothing. The Grimleal did nothing. Even Grima did nothing. And, for the sake of peace, my father tried to slaughter them before they had a chance to stop doing nothing. But they may never have… if not for his own actions. His death was… hard for us. But I cannot deny that it was fair.”

“I see…” Robin says. “But it was different between you and Walhart. He was the one who threatened you. You were worried about that, weren’t you? When he spoke of the need to spill blood…”

“I… was, yes,” Chrom says. “But now… perhaps I am persuaded more by your philosophy. Perhaps it is not about peace… because Walhart might indeed have created that, in a world where people are struck down before they can do wrong. But that would not be just.”

Robin glances at Chrom in surprise.

“I was only explaining myself to Walhart. My intent was not to change your mind,” he says. He does not mention that it was Chrom himself who opened his mind to such an ideology. He has said as much before… or he has tried.

“Regardless, my mind has been changed,” Chrom says. “After everything we’ve done, how could it not? I feel like I am returning home a stranger. Emm will not even know me…”

“Your sister is not so foolish as to mistake you,” Robin says.

Of course she is not. Emmeryn welcomes Chrom and Lissa back to the castle with open arms, quite literally. Robin has never seen three people embrace so tightly.

But Chrom has changed, and the people of the castle cannot quite seem to get used to it.

“We are war heroes, Robin…” Chrom says. “There is more horror in it than glory. And yet these people, who have known me since my childhood, keep behaving as if I were still that child. Just today, the stable master chided me for approaching a wounded horse.” He grits his teeth. “Robin, I have seen these creatures cut apart and strewn across the field!”

“That stable master of yours has always been overly possessive.of the beasts,” Robin mutters. “Did you remind him who he was talking to?”

“Yes,” Chrom grounds out. “But it will happen again. Tomorrow, they will scold me for sleeping too far into breakfast, as though I had not lost all semblance of a normal schedule out there.”

“Does your sister know?” Robin asks.

“It is not Emm’s fault…” Chrom says. “She faced her own struggles here at home. I would not burden her further. But… if I do not get out of this castle soon, I fear I am going to do something I regret…”

Fortunately, they soon have the opportunity to leave. Unfortunately, they are to leave for Plegia.

“To speak of repayment?” Robin asks incredulously. “He… He did not mention that!”

“Validar gave us nearly all his resources,” Chrom says. “Of course he means to be repaid. The coffers of the former Valmese Empire can more than cover it.”

“Yes…” Robin agrees. “Which is why I am suspicious that he wants to talk about it…”

Chrom frowns.

“Perhaps it would be better for you to remain in Ylisstol…” he suggests. When Robin glares, he quickly continues. “He broke into your mind just after we last met him! That could not have been a coincidence. And those Risen…”

“I was able to handle those problems last time!” Robin insists. “And, besides… I worry more for you if I am not there to speak with him. He cannot harm me. No one else can claim such.”

“Robin… I might point out that he has harmed you,” Chrom argues. “That said… If there is some kind of plot afoot, I can hardly go without my tactician.”

“That’s right.” Robin smirks. There is something pleasing in the way Chrom always refers to him as his tactician, even when they are not at war. “So… shall we set out tomorrow?”

Chapter Text

The trip to Plegia is practically a Shepherds reunion. Not that they haven’t kept up their training, of course… but many of the Shepherds have been serving for years, and in the aftermath of the war, they can now consider how else they might spend their lives. Gaius and Maribelle want to start a family. Lon’qu and Olivia want to return to Ferox; there are whispers that marriage could be in their future. Robin has seen Frederick pacing near a jeweller’s in Ylisstol; he had jumped off the ground when Robin had passed by with the suggestion that Lissa would prefer a large stone. Cherche and Virion want to rebuild their fallen country, if they can find enough people to do so. The fact is, many Shepherds simply do not want to fight anymore.

But they all still volunteer to come with Chrom and Robin. It is a loyalty he had not imagined humans capable of before he had met these ones.

“Whoa,” Lissa exclaims as they near Plegia Castle. “Um, Chrom? Robin? Was that GIANT skull there last time?”

Robin’s gaze follows hers, and… his eyes widen. They are not the bones of his original form, for Robin had never revealed to anyone where those lay. But they are a perfect copy.

“That is… a replica of the fell dragon’s skeleton,” Robin says, swallowing. “I do not have any idea what it is doing there.”

“Well THAT’S not creepy or anything,” Lissa says, crossing her arms. “Are they trying to intimidate us? ‘Cause, uh, we’re kind of way more popular than the Grimleal, even if they were the ones funding us.”

“I don’t know,” Robin says. But he does not like it.

He likes it even less when he spots armed soldiers lying in wait as they walk through the doors of the castle. He whispers of this to Chrom, and begins to form a battle plan in his head. It seems that it really will be like old times for the Shepherds.

“Prince Chrom! Welcome!” Validar greets, a false smile on his face.

“Let us talk figures, King Validar,” Chrom says. He makes no pretenses.

“My, my! No time for courtesy, milord? Such impatience...” Validar puts a hand on his face as if dismayed. “You must have been travelling all day. Do you not desire rest?”

“I would like to get the discussion over with now,” Chrom says. “It is difficult to feel at ease in a place that greets us with its armed forces.”

“Hmm? Oh…” Validar shakes his head. “I apologize, Prince Chrom. We meant no offense. I’m afraid we’ve been having difficulties keeping the population in line lately. The troops are there for all of our protection.”

“If there have been problems here, that is all the more reason for us to finish this quickly,” Chrom says.

Validar sighs.

“Oh, very well,” he agrees. “Come, Prince Chrom. I have prepared a private room for us.”

As Chrom steps forward, Robin immediately moves to follow him. But suddenly, a sage warps in front of him, holding him back.

“Only Prince Chrom,” she says.

“The matter is so clear-cut,” Validar says. “It does not require the assistance of a tactician.”

He says the word like it is an insult.

“Excuse me?” Robin snaps. “Have you lost your mind? Do you remember who I am?”

“Do you… ‘Robin’?” Validar smiles strangely. “But worry not. This will be over soon.”

“I am not going anywhere without Robin,” Chrom insists. “Do you think I am so foolish as to allow you to separate us?”

“You do not understand,” Validar says, narrowing his eyes. “It is not a choice.”

Before Robin can cry out, a blast of magic is flying towards Chrom’s head. As it stuns him, a sage grabs hold, warping the two of them away.

Instantly, Thoron is in his hands.

“I will kill you,” he growls. “Give him back!”

Validar gives a signal, and his soldiers surge forward as one.

“It will be over soon,” Validar says, and, with the wave of a sage’s staff, he warps away.

“Your teenage rebellion was cute, even if it was a couple of years late,” a sorcerer says. “But don’t you think it’s time to wise up, milord?”

In the next moment, the sorcerer hits the wall, electricity crackling through his body.

Robin screeches.

He could take every soldier in this room on his own… but he doesn’t have to. As soon as the Shepherds hear the commotion, they break through the doors separating them from the main hall, and they immediately set to fighting. Robin does not even have to command them; they fall naturally into their positions.

“Robin… What has happened?” Frederick demands.

“Where’s Chrom?” Lissa asks.

Robin grimaces.

“I am going to find out,” he says. “Frederick… You are his second-in-command. So…”

“You can count on me,” Frederick says.

Robin believes him.

And so he runs, leaving his comrades to kill the Plegian soldiers in his stead.

The problem is that he is not familiar with the layout of this castle. He does not even know if Chrom and Validar are still in the castle. He does not have a warp staff and would not be able to work one if he did.

But he does have… his own blood.

Validar’s mind is forever linked to his, although Robin has been ignoring the connection for his whole life. Now, though, he tears into the man’s mind. Not caring to know the man’s thoughts, he focuses on finding the one thing he needs.

A locked room—they are in the castle—hurrying to break the prince before…

Robin rips himself back to reality. As he runs down the hallways, he hopes that was as awful for Validar as it was when Validar dared to call him. He hopes Validar is dizzy and pained.

He finds the room in an abandoned wing, about as far back in the castle as one can go. It is locked, but this is no obstacle to him. Thoron has the door off of its hinges in three blows.

Validar has his hands on Chrom’s throat. The Falchion lies on the other side of the room, Validar somehow having divested Chrom of it.

“Your feeble mind does not even comprehend what you have done,” Validar is growling. “You deserve a far more painful death than this.”

“Validar, stand down!” Robin demands. “I am ordering you to release him!”

Validar spins around at the sound of Robin’s voice. He does release Chrom’s throat, but only to bind his arms instead. He forces Chrom in front of him like a shield.

“My lord…” Validar murmurs. “Do you not see? This human has deceived you… bound you… blinded you… It’s a trick of his damned god! How else could you stand living with such filth?”

“You heard me,” Robin hisses. “Release Chrom now!”

“Robin…” Chrom says weakly. “He… won’t listen…” He coughs. “... to… reason.”

“If you won’t kill him for this, then I will!” Validar says. “My lord… I must do everything in my power to bring you back.”

“Is that what this is about?” Robin asks. Anger and terror course through him with every beat of his pounding heart. He cannot do anything, not with Chrom right there. He is… powerless like never before.“You are the worst of humankind, Validar. Dragon blood does not elevate you! You love your god only when it suits you and despise him the moment he ceases to give you what you want! You, who are supposed to be faithful to me above all else!”

His chest aches from the betrayal. Perhaps he does not deserve any loyalty from Validar, not when it was his own decision to cut ties with the Grimleal. Yet… somehow, he had never actually imagined that Validar would truly go against him.

“I am faithful!” Validar exclaims. “I am, and you would see that if this treacherous prince had not brainwashed you!”

“They do not practice brainwashing in Ylisse!” Robin exclaims frustratedly. “How… How long have you been a liar?”

“I am not the one who has lied to you,” Validar says. “You will see it soon. You are a GOD! Your destiny is with me, your loyal servant... not with a prince bound to Naga!”

Could it be true? Has this been his destiny all along? Is he inescapably bound to the Grimleal? Have any of his actions truly changed anything? Despite all his intent never to return, here he is in Plegia. Here he is with Validar. If anything has changed, it has only been for the worse, because now he has Chrom…

Chrom…

“Will you let him go if I come with you?” Robin asks. “You… do not need to threaten him. Let him go back in Ylisse where he belongs. He won’t challenge us; I am stronger than him.”

“W-What?” Chrom asks. “Robin… nothing you’re saying makes sense... Is he scrambling your brain again?”

“Quiet,” Validar growls, jabbing Chrom in the ribs. “You have not even see his true power. Show him, my lord. Show him who he owes his life to.”

Robin tears his gaze from Chrom to shoot a surprised look at Validar.

“You don’t mean…?” He narrows his eyes. “But I haven’t done that in years… not since the war with Ylisse.”

“Your body could barely handle the effects of the ritual back then,” Validar says “Now… You must do it. Perhaps your power will restore your mind.”

With Chrom in his grip, Validar’s command cannot be ignored.

“So be it…” Robin hisses.

He closes his eyes and draws himself inward. He does not have all the power of the fell dragon, but through childhood rituals, he can access more power than any ordinary human could handle. His body cannot bear the strain of it all; it warps into something monstrous. Two pairs of dragon eyes sprout beneath his human pair. Six dark wings, too small and fragile to bear any weight, grow from his back.

“Robin…” Chrom breathes.

Robin does not want to open his eyes. Any of them.

“I truly did not desire any of this,” he says. “But I warned you before… I cannot change my nature. It is not only my blood. It is my very being. I have always been the fell dragon… since the day I was born…”

“But… You…” Chrom’s voice is uncomprehending.

“Do not speak!” Robin insists. He snaps all six of his eyes open at once. It is difficult to see this way, and it makes him dizzy. Worse, even with its transformation, this body cannot handle the extent of his power. He does not think he can move. “Go back to Ylisse… and do not bother us… anymore…”

He sways.

“My lord!” Validar cries, releasing Chrom in his haste to move forward.

“Listen to me…” Robin whispers, just before his vision goes black.

Chapter Text

When Robin wakes, he is bound in chains like a prisoner. His arms and legs are in shackles, but also bound are his wings, which have not receded.

He lets out an incredulous scoff. Look at the fell dragon now.

“My lord…” Validar’s eyes are filled with concern, but Robin no longer cares to believe or doubt the man’s feelings. What Validar thinks he’s doing is irrelevant. Robin is here, alone, and miserable. His life with Chrom and the Shepherds is ruined, and he is left in despair. Perhaps it is his destiny. Perhaps the things he has learned from Chrom have been but delusions… or perhaps freedom can only be had by humans. Perhaps he, a monstrosity created from a human’s twisted will, has never truly had the same choice.

“So what would you have me do?” he mutters bitterly. “End another war for you? Start one? There is not much I can do here, but you know I will kill you if you unchain me.”

“That prince’s influence on you lingers…” Validar says, frowning. “Releasing your power did not help.”

“I do not know what you expected to happen,” Robin says. Then… “Did you kill him?”

Validar’s frown deepens into a scowl.

“The blasted fool got away while I attended to you,” he says. “Though it is no matter. You can kill him yourself when you are restored.”

This is his only comfort. Chrom will be safe. Robin has spent too long protecting him just to see his end now.

But as for Robin himself…

“Restored?” he repeats. “Oh… Right. You think I have been brainwashed.” He shakes his head. “You are the one who has lost all reason.”

“Nothing I have done has restored your mind…” Validar says. He does sound genuine in his sadness, but again, it does not matter. “But I feared this would be the case. There is still one more thing we can do. If we cannot restore your mind… the only thing left is to restore your body.”

“My body is fine,” Robin points out. “It would be better if I could withdraw the excess power…” He glances at the restraints on his wings, blinking his lower four eyes suggestively before closing them again for the sake of his vision.

“Not that body,” Validar says. “It was never meant to hold you. It is simply not powerful enough… though I suppose that is partially my fault. I must apologize, my lord, for without this human body, I do not think any human could have misled you so.”

“Why do you insist that I have been misled?” Robin asks, “Because I now believe things that you do not? Things that the Grimleal do not accept? The world is wider than us, Validar. I have met those who hold different views from either of us. At some point, you must allow them to be wrong, if indeed they are.”

“There is not a human in this world who is right,” Validar says. “I do not exclude myself; I was very nearly lost before you were born again, my lord. But this species is sick and rotten by nature. You are the only equalizer we have. We are supposed to be the same in your eyes… You cannot have favorites…”

Like Chrom, he doesn’t say.

“You were not complaining when you were my favorite,” Robin mutters.

Validar looks down.

“As I said, no human is right,” he says. When he meets Robin’s eyes again, they are steeled with determination. “But I am not purely human. Your blood flows in my veins, and I will use that power to make things right. Your true form will be restored. Your power will no longer need to be confined. The burdens of a human body will no longer fall upon you.”

“And if I tell you that I do not want that, that I would prefer to stay in this human body… What will you do?” Robin asks.

“I will do all I can to restore you,” Validar says. “If it does not work, you will kill me. But I must try nevertheless.”

“Of course. You would not respect my own choice,” Robin says. “Fine, then. If we are destiny’s captives, we can do nothing else. And if we are not, then you have clearly made your choice, and robbed me of mine.”

That is all Robin has to say about the matter, and it is all he is going to say. Validar attempts to engage him in more conversation, but he will not have it.

In the coming weeks, Validar tries again and again to persuade him that he has somehow lost himself, that he will understand when he is once again a great and terrible dragon. The Grimleal are preparing the ritual. That is why there are bones outside Plegia Castle. Validar has to spend more and more of his time elsewhere. A series of slaughters must be undertaken. It takes more than effigial bones to make a lifeform that will live and breathe with Robin’s spirit.

Robin does not tell Validar that he is becoming more and more like an alchemist every day. It would not bother him.

“The time has come…” Validar announces after what might as well have been an eternity (though in truth it was probably closer to a month). His face is ashen; exhaustion, dark magic overuse, and lack of sunlight have combined forces to render his appearance ghastly. “All we need is human blood.”

Robin does not break his silence.

“Any Grimleal would yet die for you, my lord,” Validar continues. “But it seems we have… some other volunteers today.”

Still, Robin does not speak.

Validar chuckles.

“There’s an army at my front door, my lord,” he says. “That damned prince… must truly desire you.”

Robin’s heart skips a beat.

“No,” he whispers.

“So you’ll speak for him? Still?” Validar continues to chuckle. “In that case… I shall allow the blood of your favorite to nourish your new form.”

He leaves the room then, leaving Robin to struggle fruitlessly against his chains.

He has never felt worthless before.

Chapter Text

Robin does not understand how he has become so weak. Too weak to stop Validar, too weak to break free of his chains, too weak to protect Chrom…

He does not want everything to end this way! Chrom will be dead, all the Shepherds will be dead, and he will be “restored” to an ancient form he did not ask for! He will kill Validar in revenge, and then what? Destroy Plegia? Destroy the world? Prove once and for all that there is no meaning to life? He does not want this!

He clenches his eyes shut and screeches with rage. This is not fair! He was created to destroy—can he never do anything else? Is he as doomed as the world is with him in it?

“Just let me be free!” he screams.

“You shall be.”

Robin’s human eyes fly open.

Chrom stands before him like a vision of hope. Robin does not dare move, lest it prove to be a mere illusion.

But then Chrom begins cutting his chains. That is not something an illusion can do.

“Why…” Robin chokes, his throat constricting. “Why... did you come?”

“Did you think I would not?” Chrom asks gently.

Though he is no longer bound by his restraints, Robin’s skin is bruised and cut where they used to be. Chrom caresses his wrist, checking the extent of the damage.

“We are halves of a whole,” Chrom reminds him. “We have walked the path of war, peace, and justice together. We have traversed the fields of hell at each other’s side. Do you really think I would allow some religious zealot to separate me from you now?”

Robin’s human eyes burn.

“I would do anything for you, Robin,” Chrom says. “Or… do you answer to ‘Grima’ now?”

“I answer to you,” Robin says, his voice cracking. “To... whatever you call me.”

Against his will, the tears gathering in his eyes begin to spill down his face. He has not had reason to cry so harshly before, and so he does not know how to stop it now. He is still on the ground, pathetic and wretched, and he simply does not know what to do about it.

But then Chrom is pulling him up, pulling him closer, pulling him into an embrace… He is too exhausted to resist resting his head against Chrom’s shoulder, especially when Chrom is holding him like he’s a treasure recovered.

The thought provokes more tears to fall.

“What am I, Chrom?” he asks quietly. “A man, or a god? I do not much resemble either right now…”

“You are Robin.” Chrom says. His eyes are somewhat watery as well. “You are my partner, and no ‘destiny’ is going to change that.”

Robin can do little more than breathe heavily.

Eventually, he does come enough to his senses that he can suppress his fell power. His inhuman eyes and wings fade into nothingness. It is suddenly much easier to keep upright. As reluctant as he is to let go of Chrom now that they have been reunited, there is one pressing matter…

“Validar…” he mutters. “You did not kill him…”

He can feel the connection between them. Validar’s will is strong… and it is pulling at him.

“I had more pressing concerns…” Chrom says. He straightens. “This was one battle I could not do without you. But now that you’re with me…”

From beneath his armor, he pulls out a Thoron. He extends his hand, offering the tome to Robin.

Robin takes it. It has been a month now since he last had a weapon in his hands.

Again, he feels a pull at his mind. Heed my call, it might as well say.

“He is still trying to complete the ritual…” Robin says. “A… futile action, but…”

“The Shepherds have taken care of the rest of his soldiers in this castle. There were some Risen, too… but they are gone as well.,” Chrom says. “We could just leave, if you wanted.”

Robin frowns. He is not in the best condition. The skin around his hands and feet aches, and his muscles are sore.

But he has known worse injury.

“You would not have brought me this tome if you did not expect us to fight,” he says.

Chrom smiles faintly.

“I thought I would give you the choice.”

They walk together down the hallway towards the throne room, where Validar is waiting for them.

“You did come…” Validar says. “Yet, the prince lives. I assume you have not come to your senses…”

“And neither have you,” Robin says. “You must see now that your plan is not going to come to fruition. You still have time to change this. I did favor you once… I could spare you yet.”

“I will never stand down,” Validar says. “It is my duty to serve your best interests, even if you do not recognize them as such.”

“You are going to throw your life away,” Robin says. “It is pointless. You know that. I do not offer you the option to surrender lightly, you know. But you are the reason I have a human heart… You do not need to break it for me.”

“Can you not SEE what has gone wrong here?” Validar asks. “Listen to yourself… This is not what you stand for! You are a GOD!”

“Not your god,” Robin says. “Not anymore.”

“Do you see? Do you SEE?” Validar exclaims. “If you walk away from here, it will be the end of the fell dragon! I cannot allow that!”

“Then we shall fight as you wish,” Robin says. “I will respect your choice. And you will die for it.”

Validar is a formidable sorcerer. Robin has never doubted that. But he relies now on Grima’s Truth, and Robin will not yield to power of the fell dragon, not now. Let his past be buried as deep in the sands of time as Thabes has been. He has chosen a new future.

“Are you ready?” Chrom asks quietly. “My strength is yours.”

They are partners… no matter what.

They strike as one, Chrom’s blade trapping Validar against the wall as Robin casts the final blow.

“This is the end!” Robin shouts.. The magic at his fingertips coalesces into a great bolt of lightning, striking Validar straight in his chest.

Validar collapses to the ground, twitching and choking. Nevertheless, he grasps his tome to his chest as he mouths a silent prayer.

The fell dragon cannot help him.

But perhaps Robin might still.

“Validar…” Robin kneels down.

“I… tried…” Validar gasps out. “My… lord, I… tried…”

“Stop. Die with dignity,” Robin commands. “You have done more than most. For in giving me this life… you have truly changed this world.”

“The world… is… wrong..,” Validar continues. “I… cannot… go… now...”

“I know. Your spirit is too strong to flicker out here,” Robin soothes. “Allow it to slumber…”

Validar exhales.

“You were the closest thing I ever had to a father,” Robin admits, dropping to a whisper. “But it could not be, not like this… So perhaps you will wake again someday… and we can meet again, in a better life.”

Validar’s eyes close. He makes no response, his body falling still. He is dead.

It is over.

“Robin..” Chrom murmurs, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as Robin stands. “I am… sorry.”

Robin nods in acknowledgement. He is not distraught; Validar had to die for Robin to be free, and that is the mere truth of the matter. But there is a loss… a literal connection that has been extinguished.

“It was his choice, and it was mine,” he says. He leans into Chrom’s touch—he will not fall apart again, but he is undeniably exhausted. “This is now written into history. What comes of it… is the yet unpenned future.”

Chapter Text

Robin stays in Plegia Castle for far longer than anyone planned. He had not been contemplating regicide, having forgotten that Validar headed more than just the Grimleal. As both the conqueror and the son of the former king, he has every claim to the Plegian throne… if he wants it.

He has never thought about being a king.

But certainly, the people of Plegia need someone.

The Grimleal are in shambles, having now lost their leader as well as most of their high-ranking members. They despise Robin for robbing them of their fellows, but weak as they are, they nevertheless flock to his protection

The remains of Gangrel’s crowd now praise Robin where they once cursed him. To them, he is the High Deliverer who has freed them from the clutches of the fell dragon once and for all.

In a way, they are right.

But for the most part, the public is apathetic—they have lived and died by others’ whims for so long that they no longer care who they call king. And this… is Robin’s fault. Born and raised on a philosophy of meaninglessness, told they must die for the fell dragon, and taught to wait for the end of the world… They do not know true freedom.

Robin could change it now. Not as their god, but as their king. Show them the equality of mankind, then let them find their own meaning in a world full of choices.

These are his ideals, and he has the power to make them truth.

But he will not, cannot bear to stay here alone.

“Chrom…” he says. “You are the prince of Ylisse. I do not know how to ask you…”

“To stay with you here,” Chrom finishes for him. “Robin… You do not have to ask. Wherever you go, I will go with you.”

“It is the same for me,” Robin says. “That is why I would return to Ylisse with you. You are its rightful prince…”

“And you are Plegia’s rightful king,” Chrom says. “These are your people, and they need you. The people of Ylisse have Emmeryn to keep them safe and happy. I have fought for my sister and Ylisse both… and I would do it again. But they do not need me, Robin.”

“Not like I do,” Robin agrees. ‘I cannot rule without you by my side. But… can you truly make your home here? In a country that has always had strained tensions with Ylisse?”

“That is all the more reason for me to be here,” Chrom says. “We can rebuild relations. If there is to be equality in this world… we cannot turn from our neighbors when they are in need, no matter how different they may be from us. This is what we must show them.”

“Your conviction… is greater than mine,” Robin says. “Perhaps you should be king rather than I…”

“Robin… no.” Chrom shakes his head firmly. “I am more idealistic than you are. Yet you are far more astute than I am. I… I believe it is only through our strengths combined that we can actually succeed at running this place.”

“Yes…” Robin agrees, confused. He thought it was clear that they would remain together.

“What I’m trying to say is…” Chrom says. “Ah… Just… Here.”

He pulls something small and shining, offering it out to Robin. Robin accepts it into his hands, looking down to inspect the… ring.

A signet ring, to be more precise. It bears the crest of the House of Ylisse

“My parents had it made to celebrate my birth,” Chrom explains. “They wanted me to give it to the one I would spend my life with. That is you.”

“I see…” Robin says. He twists the ring around in his fingers. The gold is rich and vibrant.

“I do not know if anyone else has dared to ask this of you,” Chrom says. “I hope that I am the first. Robin… Will you marry me?”

Robin had anticipated the question from the ring, of course. But it is somehow shocking nevertheless.

“You ask this… knowing everything about me,” Robin says. “And yet you would still bind yourself to me… You will be mine forever, you know. I will not let you go for anything.”

“I am already yours,” Chrom says. “The ring is only… a further statement.”

“Yes…” Robin murmurs. “But I do not have one for you. That is not right. We will have to get one made.” Glancing up into Chrom’s eyes, he continues. “I suppose you know my crest. It would not bother you to wear it?”

“It would not,” Chrom assures him. He takes Robin’s right hand into his own. Robin has not bothered to wear gloves. Only Chrom and the Shepherds are with him at the castle, and they all know the truth; there is no point in hiding the Mark from them.

“Then… I will tell you,” Robin says. “You are the only one who would dare to propose to me, and you are the only one whose proposal I would accept. So yes, Chrom, I will marry you.”

Robin smiles.

“And as kings we will lead Plegia away from the brink of ruin… together.”

Chapter Text

Robin: Deliverer King
Chrom: Exalted King

As the rulers of Plegia, Robin and Chrom ushered in a new era of prosperity for the nation. The people were at first suspicious of their new Ylissean leader, but Chrom’s genuine efforts to work with everyday citizens soon won the country over. Robin became known as both a just ruler and a merciless one. Through his strength and determination, he made Plegia into a place where all people could follow their ideals. However, those who threatened, exploited, and betrayed others would quickly find themselves dead.

Emmeryn: Beloved Exalt

Emmeryn had a long, peaceful reign as the exalt of Ylisse. She often visited other nations across the world, although she could never bring herself to keep away from her own country for very long. Her people adored her, and she inspired many of them in both artistic and philosophical pursuits.

Frederick: Polite Knight
Lissa: Sprightly Cleric

Frederick and Lissa were married in Ylisstol shortly after Robin and Chrom’s wedding. Frederick spent his life serving Emmeryn as a knight, eventually becoming knight captain. Lissa often visited her husband’s charges in town. This was ostensibly for his sake, but in truth she simply loved being among the people. She regaled Emmeryn with tales from around town, and sent more than a few anecdote-filled letters to Chrom as well.

Gaius: Candy Stealer
Maribelle: Dire Damsel

Gaius never lost his love for sweets, though most sources agree that he did in fact love his wife more. Maribelle became a magistrate and worked tirelessly for justice, eventually moving to Plegia when Robin requested her aid in reforming the court system. Gaius fell in with the rough crowd but was a surprisingly decent influence, often convincing would-be criminals to abandon their plans in favor of his own half-baked shenanigans.

Miriel: Rapier Intellect
Vaike: Zero to Hero

Vaike returned to the streets, where he was welcomed as a hero and brother to all. Once a year, he would visit Chrom and Robin in Plegia to challenge them to a fight, though he lost every time. Miriel appreciated these trips as an opportunity to expand her research. Any time she could not get her findings accepted in Ylisse, she sent them to Plegia, where no one ever had any qualms about publishing them.

Cordelia: Knight Paragon
Sumia: Maid of Flowers

Cordelia continued to serve as a Pegasus Knight, and she became a figurehead for all Ylissean warriors. Sumia, on the other hand, no longer desired to spend her days fighting. Instead, she stayed home raising pegasi—many of whom would go on to work with the Pegasus Knights— and found great success telling flower fortunes.

Sully: Crimson Knight

Sully remained a knight in Emmeryn’s service, though she was always the first to volunteer if a knight was needed to go to Plegia. Her dashing figure and significant skills made her a hero to women everywhere.

Stahl: Viridian Knight

Stahl continued his service as an Ylissean knight. Despite his scatterbrained nature, he led many crucial missions—though not in Plegia, as Robin refused to entrust him with anything that could be lost or broken.

Ricken: Upcoming Mage

Fighting a war forced Ricken to mature quickly. He was mortified at how childish some of his pre-war behavior had been, and he ended up following Robin to Plegia in an attempt to distance himself from some of it. He eventually became a mage of the highest order, renowned even in the country known for producing powerful magic users.

Kellam: Forgotten Hero

Legends tell of an Ylissean spy so skilled that even his allies could not recognize him. Though he supposedly served with the Shepherds during both the conflict with Gangrel and the war with Valm, neither Chrom nor Robin could ever confirm his existence. Robin admitted, however, that he had occasionally known information that he could not remember discovering himself.

Lon’qu: Steady Blade
Olivia: Blushing Beauty

Lon’qu and Olivia returned to Regna Ferox and eventually wed. Lon’qu served as Basilio’s right hand man until the older man died, leaving Lon’qu to take over the position of West Khan. Olivia often went on missions abroad, and Lon’qu always accompanied her. Their hearts strengthened during their travels, and they began to overcome the fears that had gripped them in their youth.

Panne: Proud Taguel

Panne set out to search for other taguel survivors. She was never seen again, but nearly fifty years after the end of Emmeryn’s reign, a group of taguel appeared in Ylisstol proclaiming loyalty to the exalt.

Gregor: Swell Sword

Gregor travelled the world in search of work. There was plenty of demand for a former member of the Ylissean League, though none of his future contracts ever brought him as much excitement.

Nowi: Eternal Youth
Tharja: Dark Shadow

Nowi and Tharja settled down in Plegia, both of them finding fulfillment in Robin’s court. Nowi treated Robin as an older brother and would constantly cajole him and Chrom to lighten up and play with her. Tharja stopped her constant trailing of Robin after marrying Nowi, but she always remained devoted to him in her capacity as a sorceress. She occasionally worked with him on some dark ritual or another, though Nowi was her more usual partner.

Libra: Fetching Friar

Libra stayed in Plegia in order to remain close to Tharja, Nowi, and Henry—the dear friends he had made during the war. He established an orphanage and brought joy to many children who had nowhere else to turn. He continued to preach Naga’s word until the day he died, but more people found inspiration in Libra himself than in his goddess.

Henry: Twisted Mind

Henry spent his life in Plegia continuing to study magic. He mellowed out over the years, even becoming a surprisingly good mentor to many of Libra’s orphans. However, whenever he and Nowi spent time together, his wild side would come back out. Robin was apparently the only one who could cut their reigns of terror short.

Cherche: Wyvern Friend
Virion: Boldest Bow Knight

Cherche and Virion spent a few years in Ylisse, where they were eventually wed. When they discovered that several citizens of Rosanne were living as refugees in other Valmese nations, they returned to their old territory and began to rebuild. Through their efforts as well as those of their remaining people, the country became stronger than ever before.

Tiki: Divine Voice

Tiki remained near the Divine Dragon Grounds, though she came down to visit the people regularly. She still insisted on cultivating a friendship with Robin, and she never allowed him to use their distance or his new title as an excuse to weasel out of it

Say’ri: Blade Princess

As Queen of Chon’sin, Say’ri worked tirelessly with the other dynasts to secure a peaceful future for the continent. She visited her friends on the Ylissean continent as well, truly believing that strengthening the bonds between them would keep the world at peace.

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THE END