Chapter Text
“Hey.”
Chrom reached down and prodded the shoulder of the woman who was sprawled out on the grass.
“Hey. You alright there?”
The woman stirred, shifted, and let out a groan.
“Oh good, you’re awake -“
Chrom’s breath caught in his throat as he gave a start. The woman had opened her eyes, and they glowed an unnatural, fierce red. Despite the groggy and disheveled expression on her face, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little unsettled.
Not wanting to offend her, however, he tried his best to hide his surprise and extended a hand. “Ah. Er, sorry about that. You know, there are better places to take a nap than on the ground.”
She took his hand and Chrom helped her to her feet. It was then that he was able to get a good look at her. She was wearing a Grimleal coat, snow-white hair pulled back in twintails. Already quite unusual for the circumstances, but then he noticed something else.
It was subtle, but the air around her was shimmering and tinged purple, almost as if she was giving off some sort of aura. Chrom had seen something like this before, but only when mages had been using extremely powerful spells. It certainly struck him as odd. Frederick was sure to not like this either.
That being said, far be it from him to not help a woman found lying unconscious in a field, regardless of whether he found her strange.
“You feeling alright?” he asked again.
“Er… yes, thank you, Chrom,” the woman responded, rubbing her forehead and still looking a little disoriented.
“Not a problem,” he replied, noting that she seemed to know who he was, though that wasn’t all that surprising, with him being the prince and all that. “If I may ask, though, where are you from? We don’t see people around here wearing garb like yours very often.”
“I, um… “ she paused, brows furrowed. “I… actually… don’t know.”
Immediately Frederick narrowed his eyes. “You claim to not know where you’re from, and yet you know the prince’s name? Pegasus dung. Milord, get behind me. I suspect a trick.”
Chrom frowned. He knew Frederick meant well, of course, but it seemed unlikely. “Why would it be?” he asked. “When we found her, she was clearly passed out.”
Lissa chimed in. “I’ve heard of this! It’s called amnesia! Losing your memory!”
The woman also frowned. “That… seems accurate to describe me right now,” she said. “I… can only remember my name. Strange.”
Frederick scoffed, but Chrom ignored him. “Well, that’s a start at least. That should make it easier for us to figure out where you’re from. What is it?”
“My name… is Grima. It’s good to meet you all, I suppose.”
Chrom gaped. “Excuse me, WHAT did you say?” he blurted out. Frederick and Lissa exchanged panicked looks behind him.
Grima raised her eyebrows, looking slightly offended. “Is there… something wrong with my name?”
“Uh…” Chrom was at a loss for words. If this woman wasn’t pretending, which he didn’t think she was, this was definitely some REALLY severe amnesia going on. Who lived on the continent of Ylisse and hadn’t heard the name Grima?
“I think… we had better take this discussion back to town,” he offered. “What do you say? We’ll be a lot more comfortable than here, standing in the middle of a field.”
Grima shrugged. “Alright, that’s fine by me. I do need to figure out what I’m going to do from here on out…”
Today was certainly a weird day, Chrom thought to himself as he parried an axe strike. First they’d found this… woman lying in a field, memories not included. Then she’d named herself as the fell dragon, the god of annihilation, without even knowing it. And now here she was fighting alongside them, effortlessly conjuring massive dark spikes and impaling bandits with simple snaps of her fingers.
What in Naga’s name was going on here?
He twisted his body and brought Falchion around, felling the brigand with a deep slash across the chest. Across the square, Frederick ran another through with his lance. The battle was winding down, it was just their leader left -
Chrom turned his head in time to see Grima dance backwards, deftly avoiding a wild swing from the bandit boss. Then with a movement so fast he almost missed it, she twirled and ran him through with her own sword, an elaborate-looking blade he had sworn he’d seen somewhere before. The man slumped to the ground, bleeding profusely from the chest.
It had all been so clean, so surgical, like she had done it many times before. Chrom suppressed a shudder. He was glad she was on their side, at least for now… and if he could help it, it would hopefully stay that way.
“Where on earth did you learn to fight like that?” Frederick asked her suspiciously as they regrouped in the middle of the square.
“I’ve never seen any magic like yours, either,” added Lissa, looking nervous.
Grima just shrugged, grinning widely. She looked relaxed, and not like she had just killed a dozen bandits without breaking a sweat. “I’ve told you, I don’t remember anything about my life,” she replied. “I certainly enjoyed that, though! Do you all do this often?”
Chrom raised an eyebrow. “‘Enjoyed’? It was definitely necessary, and we did our duty, but I don’t think I would use that word…”
“It all seemed to come so naturally,” said Grima, looking thoughtful. “Perhaps I used to be in the army as well.”
“Maybe it helps that you’re a literal god,” blurted Lissa without thinking.
“…Excuse me?” Grima turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised quizzically. “Whatever do you mean?”
Chrom groaned. Frederick’s face was hard as usual, but underneath he looked slightly pale.
“We’d better head back to Ylisstol,” Chrom decided. “Come with us, Grima, I’ll… explain as we walk.”