Chapter Text
Robin wakes up with nothing but the impressions of a nightmare and the foreboding cackles of a madman, into a reality which feels cold and distance. His uncertainty doubles when he meets the eyes of a man whose achingly familiar. He wakes up and is only cognisant of the change because he has nothing. He feels empty, alone and lost on the outskirts of a town he doesn’t know the name of, in an area he doesn’t recognise despite the echoes of some past memory he can't hold onto.
His body is heavy as he allows himself to be heaved off of the ground and he can’t help it when he stumbles, having difficulty finding his feet as his head swims. He’s dizzy and his confusion only makes him dizzier as he is met with suspicion.
The two that had spoken to him when his eyes first opened, crouched over him with concerned frowns and encouraging smiles, continue to engage him now until their words start to register; begin to make sense from the gibberish that knocked around in his ears before.
The man remains smiling as Robin tries to remember how to stand. His legs feel uncooperative, unnecessarily weak at the knees. ‘There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know,’ the man chides gently, in some attempt at humour maybe, but the words ring false.
‘I - nap?’ Robin cannot help but repeat, tongue awkward around the vowels. He slurs it, knows it doesn’t sound quite right as his mouth holds itself stubbornly in the wrong position for this language. He cannot think as to why.
‘…you don’t look injured,’ the man states as his gaze examines him unapologetically. His regard in any other circumstance may have made Robin feel uncomfortable, now he’s too - ‘but you seem…tired.’
Robin blinks heavy eyes. ‘I - I feel…tired,’ he admits softly. His instincts are screaming at him, an exhausted cry but he cannot comprehend what is wrong outside of physical fatigue and the vague sense that all is not well.
‘He doesn’t look too good, either, bro,’ the girl chimes in with large eyes. She’s holding a staff in her hands, the conduit crystal still somewhat aglow like it’s recently been used. From the foreign tingle of mana glowing against Robin's skin, he can guess what on. ‘Someone mug you? Need us to punch someone for you?’
Robin blinks at the suggestion, one that he wouldn’t have expected from such a young girl. Wearing twin tails on either side of her ‘Lissa! Don’t say that,’ the man castigates with clear disapproval. 'We’re not in the business of petty revenge.’
‘Well, maybe you’re not,’ the girl - Lissa, mutters, something akin to mischief emanating from her person. A cheeky one, someone to watch for. Robin almost smiles at her but finds his energy is too low for it.
‘Milord? May I encourage caution.’ Robin jolts not even having noticed another man standing a few paces behind, a severe expression carved upon a stony disposition. A knight, Robin can recognise from the man’s armour and his mount. The way he spoke - not like a request but a reminder only strengthens such an assumption.
The knight’s lord seems to ignore his council and carries on like no one had spoken. ‘You look to be in one piece at least, fogginess aside.’ Robin doesn’t feel in one piece but a thousand, as if he’s been dismantled and shattered while asleep without even knowing it. ‘Can we help you?’
His mouth opens before he tells it to: ‘no - I don’t think so, Chrom, I just need to sit.’ He feels - lacking, not just weak. Empty, hollowed out and empty. But he does not understand how to explain it to himself, never mind someone else. Maybe if he stays still he'll catch up to how the world is moving.
Chrom pauses. ’…you know of me?’
Robin looks at the man’s open face, his guileless eyes - rich and blue as any gem, and thinks I should. But he cannot place the reason behind that problematic thought, does not know how this man’s name appeared on his tongue. The impressions that they’re important weigh on him, though.
‘I - no?’ but Robin’s not sure so he sounds unsure, ‘I don’t believe so.’
‘You said my name.’
‘…yes,' Robin acknowledges Chrom's state but cannot explain how. 'I’m not making any sense.’
‘Oh, I think you make plenty,’ the knight comments darkly and Robin cannot help how insecure his position feels, even stood out here in the open like he is.
‘Frederick,’ Chrom says in a scolding tone, giving the knight a look Robin cannot interpret even half the words for, before Chrom is looking back again. 'Apologises, friend. What brings you here?’
‘Here? I -’ Robin attempts to reason his appearance on the ground, laid out in the middle of the day but he doesn’t have answers. He comes up short. ‘I do not know. I - I don’t recall. I’m sorry, where is here?’
Frederick’s eyebrows raise. ‘That’s the story you’re going with?’
‘Story?’
‘This is Yodall, between the border and Ylisstol, our capital,’ Frederick informs him and Robin cannot even thank him because he’s not doing it to be kind. The words are pointed, almost threatening. ‘Do you not know of it?’
Robin swallows as he forces himself not to look around, to check the area even if just to test the legitimacy of himself. It would appear dishonest and he probably already looks enough like a liar. '…should I?’
Frederick’s eyes narrow. 'Yodall is under frequent attack of…pests.’
Those words have an underlying meaning Robin doesn’t understand. ’Vermin?’
The knight snorts unkindly. It’s a harsh sound. ‘Quite.’
‘Frederick,’ Chrom hisses as Lissa looks increasingly awkward. Whatever the man was trying to imply, he drops and allows Chrom to take over whatever this is.
‘May I ask your name?’ Chrom requests.
‘It’s - my name is…’ Robin stumbles, blindly reaches for a title, a name in which to introduce himself with, and comes up with nothing. His head begins to ache as he searches through the darkness; the heavy smog laying thick on his thoughts. ‘I - I don’t know. I -’
‘Alright,’ Chrom soothes, as Robin grows more panicked, because who doesn't know their name?! ‘Let’s stay calm here. What do you remember before waking up?’
‘Milord, you cannot honestly be playing along with him.’
‘Frederick, please.’
‘I - nothing. I - I was dreaming…I think, but even my dream has left me now. I…’ Robin feels himself begin to shake, his body betraying him as he fights to stay calm. What’s my name? he thinks, what’s my name. ‘Please, I - I’m lost. I don’t mean to inconvenience you but…’ but what? he thinks, what is he hoping for? anything, part of him responds desperately.
This brings Chrom up short again. 'Nothing at all?’ Robin knows the darkness that came after his terror, a voice maybe, and Chrom’s name but that’s not how things should be. Robin shakes his head.
‘Oh! I’ve heard of this!’ Lissa exclaims and Robin can’t help but flinch. ‘You have amnesia!’
‘A-amnesia?’ Robin repeats numbly.
‘Yes! It’s when a condition or head trauma causes a person to forget themselves. My master healer as been teaching me about it,’ Lissa lectures with wild hand gestures. ‘A brain's never quite the same afterwards, even if someone’s able to remember the things they’ve forgotten.’
Fear curdles Robin’s stomach as realisation hits like lightning, sudden and shocking and often times unfair. He feels the blood drain from his face and clasps his hands together, to try and stop them from shaking.
‘Yes, thank you, Lissa,’ Chrom attempts to mediate as he places a hand on Robin’s shoulder. He barely feels it there. ‘It’s fine, we can - do something.’
‘Do what? There’s no real successful treatment for -’
‘Lissa.’
The girl blinks and looks towards Robin and begins to panic.‘Oh. Er…I mean. There are treatments! But - it really depends on how you lost it. If it’s an emotional problem and your brain’s made you forget to protect you, then it may never return. Sometimes trauma is easier, because a talented enough healer can fix what’s gone wrong but…er. Yeah, I mean, we can look see!’
The “ifs” and “maybes” just make Robin feel worse as he bites harshly on the inside of his mouth as his nails dig into skin. Frederick scoffs. ‘Milord, milady, you cannot seriously be taking this under advisement?’
‘It’s a real thing, Freddy!’ Lissa says with some real offence. Her hands curl inwards, she stands straighter but Robin doesn’t have time to think about Lissa’s flip-flopping emotions when he’s trying to rein in his own.
‘I am not doubting your diagnosis, milady,’ Frederick reassures calmly, ‘only the circumstances. This is suspicious.’
Chrom sighs and gestures towards Robin. 'Frederick, look at him.’
‘Yes, I am,’ the knight says with cold eyes, ‘are you?’
Chrom sighs again. ‘This is a serious issue that’s been reported to us, Frederick, we cannot just do nothing.’
‘I just want to remind you that this could very well be a trap.’
‘An ill-conceived one, if it is,’ Chrom says dismissively.
‘Milord, he’s a Plegian.'
Robin doesn’t know what that means. ‘A Plegian?’ he asks quietly.
‘You cannot possibly expect us to believe you do not know that either,’ Frederick demands with no small amount of disbelief.
‘I…’ he looks between them all, not sure what to say. No words come to him and he’s left struggling until Chrom reaches out after removing a glove. He moves to grasp hold of Robin's hand. Robin jolts at the contract, and blinks in bewilderment for a moment before glancing down, and properly focusing on what he hadn’t when Chrom pulled him back onto his feet.
Chrom’s skin is pale, like clay, pinkish around his knuckles while Robin at his lightest is wheatish, bronzed at his darkest. Robin startles and glances down at himself on instinct. He’s wearing purples and blacks and greys and golds, while Chrom and Frederick are in blues and silvers and Lissa in yellows and browns. The differences are obvious; they are not the same.
Robin finds himself biting his lip, gnawing at it as looks back up to Chrom’s eyes. ‘Plegian?’ he says again, weakly as the weight of the word leaves him unsettled.
‘From Plegia,’ Chrom informs him, as he releases Robin, ‘our sister country. You’re a long way from home.’
‘Then...how would I have gotten here?’ Robin is so confused. He looks down at himself again, and glances over were he was laid out on the grass. His clothing isn’t particularly heavy, though his cloak seems to be weighed down, but not enough to compensate his lack of luggage. Nothing about him says he’s been travelling.
‘Quite.’ Frederick’s voice is sharp, unfriendly. ‘The Western border is closed and the Northern one might as well be. While coming through from the West isn't illegal you'd require papers, which I very much doubt you have and the likelihood of you travelling from the North is slim.’
‘...why is that?’ Robin almost doesn’t question it. Every time he opens his mouth, he seems to annoy Frederick more. Lissa’s grown quiet but watchful, and even while she’s smiling at him, and Robin doesn’t think that’s all there is to it. Chrom seems the most open to his circumstance, but Robin doesn’t want to push the man’s sincerity.
‘Regna Ferox has been in isolation for over ten years. They’ll trade but the borders are relatively closed to outsiders.’ Everything Frederick says is pointed and declaring viciously “you shouldn’t be here”.
‘We’ll work this out,’ Chrom states kindly when Robin finds he has nothing he can say.
‘Un! We’ll take you back to Ylisstol with us; see if you have your papers,’ Lissa offers though Robin knows he won’t be able to deny them. ‘I’m still training but there’s plenty of healers back home that might be able to help you.’
‘Yes, with his “amnesia,”’ Frederick scoffs with clear disapproval.
Robin understands that his story is farfetched, though he can’t quite grasp why. His intuition tells him that the distance Frederick wants to create is fair and without the knowledge to refute the knight’s distrust, he can only go off the feelings his gut is trying to tell him.
Still, he allows them to guide him onto the dirt road with the intentions to lead him to Ylisstol. His nervousness grows with every step, no matter how Chrom and Lissa try to put him at ease but even that fades as the silence grows. Until Robin has to break it.
‘I - I’m not…’
‘Speak up,’ Frederick snaps as Robin’s voice fades.
‘Frederick.’ The knight settles back down but it’s too late, Robin hesitates as he glances between the two men.
‘I’m not in much trouble, am I?’ Robin finds the courage to ask. He’s worried because something’s not right and he doesn’t know what it is. ‘I - I haven’t done anything wrong.’ He says that but he can’t be sure that’s true and it’s upsetting.
‘Yet.’ Animosity; that’s what Robin hears from this knight. Is it deserved? His mind grabs hold of that question and refuses to let it go.
‘Frederick.’ Chrom’s starting to sound more annoyed but Robin appreciates when the man turns to him, it vanishes. 'No,’ he responds gently, ‘your presence here is a bit of a…grey matter? It’s not illegal in and of itself, but the border does require papers to oversee your stay.’
‘Oh.’
‘But I’m sure we can get this matter cleared up for you.’ Robin wished he held Chrom’s optimism.
‘And…what if it doesn’t?’ He’s tentative here, can’t help how his stomach churns in circles, as he thinks about what may come if these people can’t find what he needs.
‘We’re not going to hurt you.’ Chrom sounds certain about this, reassuring way that Robin desperately needs even if he can’t quite believe it.
‘Right.’
‘No, truly.’ Chrom’s watching him carefully now and Robin isn’t sure what to do with it. ‘We’re the Shepherds, we don’t needlessly hurt people.’
Robin frowns as he looks at Chrom’s sword and Frederick’s armour and Lissa’s battle crinoline. '…you tend sheep?’
Chrom sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. 'Well…our herd is a bit different, but the concepts the same.’
'Even if that’s true. I don’t think that counts.’
‘I think it does.’
Robin frowns. 'But I’m…suspicious.’
Chrom inclines his head in consideration. He doesn’t deny that, but it also seems like he doesn’t care. 'You knew my name. Maybe it’s a sign.’
‘Of what?’
Chrom huffs a laugh. ‘Anankos knows.’ He shrugs carelessly but he's smiling wider. 'Some times fate has a funny way of working out.’
‘This hardly feels fated.’
‘Maybe you’re just tired.’
‘I’m not tired, I’m Rob -’ Robin stops his bad joke, a hand raising to touch his mouth as he realises what’s returned to him. His feet halt. ‘Oh. I’m…my name is Robin.’
‘…you remembered?’ Chrom’s smile brightens, eyes glinting excitedly.
‘That was quick.’ The judgement in Frederick’s voice is strong but Robin ignores it in favour of the stunning knowledge of his name. Robin, his name. Something’s still - absent, but he pushes that away too. Because he has a name.
‘It can be sometimes,’ Lissa defends even as Robin’s lips curl into a smile almost as sunny as Chrom’s. ‘No one knows what triggers memories to return.’
‘My name is Robin,’ Robin says in awe.
‘Well met, Robin.' Chrom grins. 'Is that foreign -?'
‘Fire,’ Lissa whispers and it cuts into the moment. ‘Yodall! It’s on fire!’
Frederick said that Robin is a trap. A trap for what, Robin only begins to understand when he runs after the self-proclaimed Shepherds as they leave him to give aid, towards the fire and the screams and the chaos. The battle he steps into has clear lines drawn, and his heartbeat raises a new tempo when he sees that the offenders share the dark colour of their skin with him.
‘They keep crossing the border.’ Chrom huffs as he cuts down a dark mage which was aiming at Lissa. Cowardly as it is, it makes sense to take out your opponents healer first.
‘Damn Plegians,’ Frederick swears and Robin feels his breath coming out just a little faster, having nothing to do with how much he’s just run, or how he’s decided to put himself in the firing line.
Plegians. Robin swallows and begins to understand the accusing way Frederick branded him with a race he can’t identify as. It isn’t enough to turn him away and he isn’t sure why it isn’t. Intellectually, Robin can think of half a dozen reasons not to get involved.
His arrival is unexpected and Frederick nearly takes off his head when he intercepts an attack meant for Chrom, with movements too sudden and violent. It’s easily misinterpreted as something they aren’t. It isn’t until the throwing axe imbeds itself where Chrom was standing that Frederick redirects, and Chrom relaxes under Robin’s hands. ‘How -?’ Chrom attempts to say but Robin has already refocused.
‘Ser knight, to your left!’ Robin warns, having kept an ear on the barbarians’ frantic yelling. It’s obvious that they aren’t expecting to be interrupted in this destruction and are quite unorganised. That they aren’t more colluding is a mystery, though the Shepherds don’t seem to respond to their words.
Frederick moves and narrowly misses the sword aimed at his back as he fends off the the axe wielder. Robin pulls out his tome; the book that fell out of the binding attached to his belt when he ran after Chrom. He palms it almost clumsily. He doesn’t remember, but as he feels static charge in his fingertips, he thinks he might not have to.
‘Magic?’ Chrom gasps, expression startled, ‘do you remember how to use that?’
Robin’s stomach does a complicated summersault. ‘We’re about to find out.’
His tome is cracked open, balanced in his palm. It's just a moment - the time it takes to aim at his target, charging his mana as he calls through the might of lightning. Of Ramiel. He dischargers the power he's managed to generate at the axe wielder. He can taste the ozone on his tongue, feel his hair stand on end and while he hits his target, Robin can tell immediately he hasn’t properly compensated for the seizing of his muscles, and with any other element, it wouldn’t have been enough to still meet his mark. (But then, with any other element, you didn’t have to worry about that particular concern). It’s a risk, he knew that distantly; a warning echoing in the back of his mind, but with Frederick engaging the swordsman, he needed the support and quickly.
Slicing through his combatant, Frederick turns with a startled expression to see the dead fighter behind him and wisps of blazing energy dissipating. Robin lowers his outstretched hand, tries to ignore how his fingers twitch. Ignore how much he's trembling. ‘You’re a mage?’ the knight demands as he swerves to Robin, now that the field is seemingly clear.
Robin frowns, glances down to the golden tome in his hold. It’s old, he can tell that by the spine and how battered the cover is; well loved and well used and on its way out. ‘…yes?’ he says with uncertainty, looks up to meet Frederick’s unimpressed face. He sweeps back one side of his robe as a sword is pressing against his leg from where it is sheathed to his belt. He doesn’t want to draw further consideration from them, but he’d prefer to be upfront. ‘Then again…’
Frederick’s eyes narrow. ‘….Plegians aren’t known for mixing disciplines,’ he says but Robin doesn’t know what to tell him. He has no real idea what a “Plegian” is outside of tan skin and invading foreign countries. He doesn’t have an excuse, he doesn’t have answers. He wants them, desperately, but he can’t give what he doesn’t have.
‘Perhaps,’ Chrom interrupts calmly as Robin flounders, ‘we can hold off on this, for later.’
‘Yes, milord,’ Frederick allows because there’s a time and a place and even with the dread hanging over Robin’s head, there’s a village on fire around them and barbarians running amok.
‘Robin.’ He startles at the address, the sound of his name from another’s mouth. Deep blue eyes assess him. ‘You can understand the Plegians, can’t you?’
Robin hesitates. ‘…can you not?’
Chrom’s face, pale with urgency, pauses with sympathy. 'No, we can’t. They weren’t speaking Ylissean, like we are now.’
‘Ylissean?’ Robin mouths and suddenly hears the accent he hadn’t before in his repetition, and remembers his absentminded confusion when he first woke up and they'd addressed him. When everything sounded so wrong. 'This is…’
‘You didn't realise you were speaking a foreign language?’ Frederick asks skeptically.
Robin fumbles for some sort of explanation. ‘It - it was the first thing I heard?’ Which may be the most probable reason, whether it’s was true or not… Robin doesn’t know.
Frederick with his perfectly raised eyebrow, the scornful set of his lips, is almost too much. ‘Later,’ Chrom says again, intercepting whatever Frederick is about to throw Robin’s way. He’s grateful for it. ‘Are there more of them?’ he asks pointedly instead.
Robin takes a breath. Right, of course. He feels himself sinking but there just isn’t time for his anxiety. This creeping fear as he realises the more he’s lost. He attempts to re-centre himself. He’s not what’s important here. Later, when the fires are out, he can slink off and break down about this. ‘Right. Yes. There are more of them, near the fountain. They were talking about getting reinforcements.’
‘…I shouldn’t ask this of you,’ Chrom says with some contrition but it's dwarfed by his determination and given the situation, Robin can’t blame him, ‘but will you offer us your aid?’
‘I fear I already have,’ Robin swallows but his feet are already pointing towards the danger, knees bent and prepared to take off. ‘I - I don’t know what it means.’
Chrom’s face holds his sadly and they stare at each other until Lissa grabs his arm. ‘Don’t worry, Robin!’ she exclaims with wide eyes and her face has so much compassion it makes Robin feel uncomfortable. ‘We’ll take care of you!’
Robin inhales slowly. ‘The fountain,’ he reminds them because these people are strangers and they really don’t owe him anything. ‘I don’t know where that is.’
‘Follow me,’ Chrom mutters with some distraction now.
And he does.
It’s the right thing to do.
His body attempts to energise itself as they reach their destination. He wonders briefly if he’s used to combat. Having both a melee and a projectile weapon says as much, maybe it’ll be clearer a second time.
When they get to the fountain, they can see the barbarians looting and wrecking mindless destruction. Robin knows not to re-engage. From where they’re crouched behind the tavern, Robin stops Chrom from sprinting out when the fighter with a flying axe knocks over a plant box.
‘Robin?’ Chrom hisses and it’s the most antagonistic this man's sounded towards Robin since they met. But Chrom gives him the benefit of the doubt and again, here, where Robin could be sabotaging them...Chrom gives him the benefit of the doubt . This nobility serves good men. Foolish, but good.
‘There’s more of them than there are of us,’ Robin tells him succinctly because Chrom seems good but also impatient, ‘and a majority of them are stronger. We have to pick them off.’
Chrom’s face pinches. ‘That’s...sly.’
Robin frowns. That’s deliberate wording and he can taste Chrom’s disapproval. ‘That’s… strategy.’ He doesn’t want an argument, it doesn’t feel like his place. It’s not just that - this is how this should work, isn’t it? His gut is telling him it is. For everything he doesn’t know, this feels right. ‘It’s a matter of consideration. Weigh whose lives means more to you. You, your companions and what you’re standing for, or those you’re standing against.’
‘...you have a point,’ Chrom admits with some reluctance. ‘What would you have us do?’
‘...me?’
‘You seem to know what you’re doing.’ Then, Chrom smiles and it really makes Robin want to hit him. Are you out of your mind? he wants to exclaim in utter bafflement. Who - who says that to a man they hardly know, who’s obviously not all with it. ‘Besides, you’re right, they have more numbers and you’re our advantage.’
‘Milord, are you sure this is wise?’ Frederick asks lowly.
‘Robin?’ Chrom insists as he ignores Frederick’s very sound caution. He seems to do that a lot.
Robin licks his lips, glances back over to every opponent he can see and thinks. Four in front of the fountain (three barbarians, one fighter), making a nuance of themselves, two at the back (one barbarian and one thief). And a further three behind the bridge, of which he can barely see. He understands their threat level like he’s come to know the Shepherds. It’s instinct; his brain mapping out strengths and weaknesses for him, but right now that isn’t when he should be questioning it.
‘We’ll draw them out,’ Robin announces. Frederick is their strongest, however he’s also the largest and most intimidating member of their group. He’s not going to lore anyone from their positions. Chrom is more likely to get a few bites but his defence seems weak and if he gets surrounded in the process than he’ll be at risk. Lissa would be great, she’s quick on her feet but she has even less protection than her brother.
And Robin? Robin doesn’t trust himself. He doesn’t know his abilities or what he’s capable of. He doesn’t know, but maybe that’s why he needs to be the lamb in this situation. He’s certainly the only one who should.
‘Here,’ Robin murmurs, ‘here’s what we can do.’
‘Are you sure?’ is all Chrom asks, afterwards, with a degree of trust Robin in no way deserves. They’re all staring at him and even Frederick is silent when Robin laid out a plan.
‘Yes,’ Robin replies and means it as much as he can.
Chrom inclines his head and with that, it’s confirmed: Robin will be the decoy.
Robin collapses as soon as the leader is felled. He’s sweating and his muscles are tight. He can’t remember if this type of exertion is normal for him, but there was certainly a number of close calls; especially when the invaders realised their ploy and the added insult of a "traitor."
'You - you betray your country! How do you stand with those monsters?!' one screamed and again, Robin held no answers. You cannot hesitate on the battlefield though, so he didn't. Robin doesn't know if he should regret that.
Mentally, he's more a mess than he was when he first woke up. That shouldn't be a surprise, battle isn't how people relax. At least, Robin doesn't believe it's how he would relax. Uneasiness grows, though.
He's hurt too, and that's the most inconvenient thing because it makes it harder to focus. Robin has a lot of cuts and scrapes and they sting, but what has him feeling off balance is the sword that was a hair from slicing through his face entirely.
He doesn’t think the shadow of his hood quite hides the thin slash carved into the bridge of his nose and onto his cheeks. It hurts enough to make him feel sick but it’s mostly dried up now, so it doesn’t feel important even if it steals his concentration.
‘Are you alright?’ Chrom asks in concern as he finds Robin leant up against an abandoned cart. There’s a tired slump to his back and he can’t straighten himself. Chrom’s some kind of noble, that much is obvious but Robin can’t bring himself to care in this moment. Chrom squats next to him, places a hand on his shoulder like Chrom doesn’t either and Robin isn’t sure if that makes this easier. ‘You used a lot of mana.’
Robin hums in agreement; he did. He tried switching out to his sword when he’d become too faint, but with only melee fighters in their group, it was reliant on him to even the group out. He feels wrung out for it too, but he can’t bring himself to regret it. ‘Yes.’
‘…once we get back to Ylisstol, a healer will attend to you,’ Chrom asserts, looking directly to Robin’s eyes with a strength that’s unfair. ‘You - you’ll forgive me for saying, but you seemed unsteady before and this battle hasn’t helped.’
Robin blinks. ‘I’m…still coming back with you?’
Chrom pauses. ‘Well, yes. We can’t exactly leave you here.’
His stomach twists but Robin feels very resigned to this, and is overall too tired to fight wherever this Shepherd is trying to guide him. If that means Ylisstol, then that means Ylisstol. ‘A prisoner again, huh?’
Chrom cringes. ‘It’s not my intention to…limit you, I trust what you say when you tell me you are without your memory,’ he says and squeezes Robin’s shoulder. ‘And because I trust what you say, you can’t expect me to abandon you back to the road, especially after all the help you’ve given us.’
Robin swallows and wonders idly when it was that he last had something to drink. ‘It was nothing.’
‘It was not nothing,’ Chrom retorts in disbelief.
‘It was definitely something,’ Lissa agrees as she approaches with her healer’s staff held behind her, between her two good hands as she skips forward. She’s smiling still, though her brows are furrowed. ‘How’re ya doing, Robin?’
‘I’m fine,’ Robin says.
Lissa’s eyebrow furrow. The response is obviously not one she expected. ‘...you’re covered in blood.’
Robin glances down to find his beige shirt is, in fact, covered in blood. Must’ve been from his face. It’d been bleeding pretty heavily for a while before it stemmed itself. ‘Oh, that’s stopped now,’ he reassures.
‘Stopped! That doesn’t make it better!’ Lissa shouts as she stomps forward. Not delicate, indeed. She reaches out and rips his hood back, leaning down in his space and is completely unapologetic about it. Robin’s face is tilted up towards her and not a second passes before he’s staring into assessing eyes.
‘What’s the verdict?’ Chrom enquires.
‘Hmm...so, yeah, it’s not that deep but it’s still not good, Robin!’
‘...sorry?’ Robin offers tentatively.
Lissa scoffs and releases him, readying her heal staff in front of his nose. Robin’s vision explodes into green light when he doesn’t respond fast enough. By the time he can see again, Lissa’s stepping back with a stern expression. ‘You need to learn to take better care of yourself!’ she declares.
Robin hesitates. The freshness of his wound has hardened into something crusty, fragile. The pain has soothed though, softened into something bearable. The smaller injuries disappear almost entirely. ‘Thank you.’
‘Thank me by not scratching at it!’ Robin concedes this with a nod, though the small movement makes him feel nauseous. Heal staffs aren’t miracles after all. ‘That face of yours also needs balm to stop it from scarring.’’
Robin huffs in laughter. ‘Okay.’
‘Oh, milord,’ Frederick says as they join him and the man he’s been quietly conversing with. Robin is walking slow, feeling weak kneed and annoyingly - “floaty”. He doesn’t feel grounded, and he’s not sure how much of that is waking up without a memory to his name, or the mana deprivation. ‘This gentlemen was just offering us the use of his Inn -’
‘I thought ya said ya got ‘em all!’ the man yells, cutting through the calmness of Frederick’s voice with something fearful. The townsman takes a step back, hands curling into fists at his sides and Robin tenses as he notices who the man’s glare is directed towards. As wary as Robin feels, he isn’t able to respond before Chrom is edging in front of him.
He doesn’t feel much safer. Confusion numbs him as the man starts yelling, face snarled and eyes glinting. Frederick steps in to try and pacify the situation, but despite that, and Lissa suddenly pressing into his side, trepidation builds.
‘Sir, please, calm yourself,’ Frederick attempts to soothe as he raises his hands. ‘Our - hooded companion means you no harm.’
‘What?’ The townsman says weakly as he glances between the knight and Robin. ‘Yer - yer Shepherds. Yer ain’t meant to be consorting wit the likes of ‘im.’
Robin can taste ashes and the faintest spark of magic on his tongue as he struggles to breath in. He’s missing something (everything), and that just makes him feel more vulnerable as he attempts to stand his ground against such hatred. Should he be? The whispers of doubt are like the faintest trickles of poison in his blood.
‘He just helped save you all!’ Lissa states with outrage on Robin’s behalf but her own stance is unsteady. He can’t tell what’s destabilised her. He suspects its what’s stolen all the words from his lips.
The townsman sneers. ‘Ee’s a filthy heathen! Worshipin’ that Fell Dragon like their Mad King!’ Every word is a condemnation Robin barely comprehends but each one is still like an arrow to the back. He wonders if his skin is meant to be so thin. ‘Brings nothin’ but death and misfortune! The lot of em!’
‘Sir,’ Chrom says but Robin feels like he hears a line being drawn. Chrom’s hand returns to Robin’s shoulder. The weight almost makes Robin feel off-kilter. ‘Peace, please. We were just leaving, besides.’
‘Good,’ the townsman snarls, ‘ee don’t belong ‘ere! 'im and ‘is kind shoulda been wiped out in the Holy Crusade.’ The words were spat with nothing but venom and although they meant nothing to Robin, they do mean something. Lissa gasps, horrified, and Frederick’s expression slips from the cordial thing he had masked himself with, and into something dangerous. Chrom’s grip becomes bruising as Robin allows himself to be led away.
‘You can’t just say -’ Lissa begins to reprimand behind them before Frederick hushes her somewhat apologetically, with something Robin's can't quite make out. ‘But Freddy!’ she protests with a cat like hiss.
‘Lissa.’
More townsfolk are leaving the safety they had hidden themselves in and they are not anymore welcoming. Robin’s entourage grow tenser with every person who notices them - notices Robin, and stops and stares. Their whispers are accusing and their fingers inculpate him. Lissa stops objecting.
Robin pulls his hood back up, tries to make himself smaller. He feels smaller. They leave the damaged town quickly but the townsfolk and their glares follow his back far into the distance. It burns. When Robin finds himself back on the dirt road, he wonders where it will lead.