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Chapter Text

"Oi, big brother!" touted a sensual voice. "Getting ready to dirty your hands, are you?
Robin was standing in front of the heavy double doors, replacing his heavy cloak on his shoulders and his famed crown named Grima's Fangs atop his head, when his sister arrived. He turned his head towards the source of her voice, a grin on his face.
"Fancy my place?"
His sister, Aversa, grimaced, the only time her complexion lost the perfection she tried so hard to keep.
"As if I'll ever get anything of me dirty, not even my weapons, that's why I fancy magic, blast'em to bits from a long range..."
A smile tugged the corner of his lips again as he looked down at his clothes, flattening his shirt. He felt her hand on his shoulder and slowly slither down his chest.
"Don't forget to bathe after your done, I don't want my big brother to get infected..."
"You're unbelievable..."
Aversa chuckled in his ear.
"That's why I'm feared all across Plegia."
He plucked her hand off his chest, a smile written across his face.
"I have to go."
And he walked through the double doors that guards opened for him, leaving a pouting, regal woman behind.
The Throne Room in itself wasn't a room exactly, more like never ending hallway, sided by archways and mezzanines on the second floor and it was all crossed by other never ending hall ways which gave the impression of a maze-like palace. The Throne was seated at the end of the Grand Hallway, right in front of a high bay window which purpose was to set ablaze the Throne Room at sunset.
The College of Pontiffs was already waiting for him beside the King's Throne. True, Plegia's throne wasn't his, but King Gangrel's, but as Grima's avatar, he had every right to sit upon the Throne, even kick the king out if he so desired.
But that would be unnecessary and his father, Validar, was having way too much fun with Gangrel. The puppet danced under his father's strings.
The clergy fell to their knees when he sat down on the Throne. No word was needed: an a bishop handed him his ceremonial tome and they all took their position on each side of his seat, head bent. Robin remained seated, back straight, chin jutting out, eyes locked onto the horizon, his marked hand resting on his chest and the other laid atop the tome on his lap.
Across the Throne Room, the guards opened the doors to let the guest in.
Slightly squinting, Robin could see it was a woman, limping and slightly slouched. but as she came nearer, he could see her steely stare, cold and hiding barely her pain. She was as neat as he expected a village woman to be: bags under her eyes, stains on her hands, stretched skin over her cheekbones, skin burnt by the desert sun, grubby robes that she tried to clean for the occasion... sickly looking
But her eyes...
He didn't trust her.
So he keep his hand close to his tome, Grima's Truth, just in case of rebellion. It had already happened and the peasant's end had been messy. But this one was well surrounded, by the clergy who were by no mean helpless in a fight and escorted by two well-armed guards.
The woman knelt before him, her gaze on the floor and she tried to stand back up, a guard dealt her a sharp blow to the back of her knees and she sprawled on the marble floor again.
"Your Divine Highness Grima, this is Ayan of Raye's region, widow of Nyck, a faithful defender of Plegia and the Grimleal. He died two weeks ago, defending an esteemed Grimleal member.
Robin nodded.
So this woman was here in her late husband stead to receive the grace of Grima. He had done blessings like this dozens and dozens of times.
Just a day like the others.

--

Not long after his birth, when the Grimleal and Plegia were celebrating, the neighbouring halidom, Ylisse, declared a holy war on Plegia. It had been a massacre and Plegia had lost more than the enemy. Entire villages decimated, families slaughtered...the streets smelt of blood, gore and desolation for many years. Nothing had been ceased or brought back by the enemy. It was just killings.
Looking back, veterans and historians recognized it was more of a genocide than a war. The goals held by Ylisse's Exalt were too kill the "heathens"...the worshippers of the Fell Dragon.
Many Grimleal members had fell during the genocide, even the secret ones.
Thankfully, destiny had avenged them and they found the Exalt, fallen from an arrow in the eye in a battlefield.
Since then, Ylisse had returned to its peace with plegian blood on their hands while Plegia gathered its broken limbs under itself to walk again. Afraid and lost, they turned their hope and devotion to Grima, to the young Robin, who had mercifully stayed safe during the war.
And so he began his role of Plegia's hierophant, Grima's heart and body...

--

He scrubbed himself raw, having discarded the loaf a while ago in favor of his nails for a deep cleaning. Feeling that his skin was red enough, he sank in the hot water till his chin hovered above the surface and let his skin buzz in frustration from the warm water. Robin sighed and dunked his silver-haired head under the pool sized tub.
The ceremony hadn't been long: he recited a few prayers, blessed the woman and she then took her leave. And everything ended with the celebration of the Union, a recital of three prayers with the College.
After that, following Aversa's demand, he took a bath... He later discovered it wasn't only to get rid of the filth...
"Would you mind if you could just stop staring"
A smile responded to him a few meters away.
"Is it a sin?"
"I might make it one!"
She chuckled and walked around the edge of the bath and knelt behind him. Her svelte arms hugged him from behind, around his neck and she lightly bit his ear, sensually.
"Stop it."
Her breath on his neck only made him shiver.
She only pulled on his lobe even more and he felt her grin against his hair. Groaning, he fought against her grip and caresses and waddled in the center of the bath once freed. He glared at her and she just smiled, laid down and draped her arms over the pool's edge.
"Who would've have thought the Great Grima looked adorable blushing like that. "
Robin sulked and grimaced.
He was never sure how to react to her: hate her, love her? He never knew. But he clearly knew what she wanted from him though. She never truly have been his sister. His father had spotted her in a village a year after the end of the war, fighting off rioters. She fought like a wild wyvern, Validar had told him, untamed and fiery.
He had to harness its fury, he had said.
So he brought her to Plegia's capital and took her under his wing for the first three years of her training then left her under the tutelage of experienced generals and sages. She carved herself a name throughout her teens, but others rose to try and steal her fame and take the highest spot under the eye the King and High Priests...and hierophant as well.
So Aversa struggled to keep her comfortable life so she clung to her last resource: Him.
Not that her attention truly bothered him. She never went further than shameless teasing and it was better like this.
Aversa tilted her head, still grinning.
"You have nothing to say, your "Felliness?"
"Get me a towel..."
"You mean...this?"
She held out the towel he had left on the armchair near the bath. Robin swam to the edge and stretched to get the cloth.
"Oops!" the towel slipped from her fingers and landed a tad too far from his reach. Her grin faded when she saw the seriousness in his eyes. With a sigh, she pushed the towel closer to him. "You're no fun."
Robin dabbed at his wet face and waited for Aversa to leave the bathroom to dry himself completely and get dressed in a more casual set of clothes: a white tunic, trimmed with intricate black designs, a heavy leather belt hugged his waist over a silk purple sash. He readjusted his hair and short black vest over his shoulders, satisfied, he exited the steamy room. Aversa had left his quarters so he found himself alone in his vast bedroom, surrounded by slim windows that gazed out on the Plegian capital.
Sighing, he left to his study to examine a few books about magic as his father pressured him to do when he had free time.
The walls of his study were covered by massive bookshelves, filled with holy books, magic, science, tactics and defense books. Everything that could be useful to him as Grima's avatar.
After a few hours he got bored of reading on a study of the Nosferatu tomes and the best use of them. So he switched to reading researches on Manaketes and dragon stones.

--

"As I said earlier, King Gangrel is only doing half-hearted attempts to get the Fire Emblem into our hands. Bandits! He got to step it up!"
"What do you suggest Neruson? We don't have a functioning army since the last war!"
Robin looked to his meal, various marinade meats, goat, lamb and fish. All in different bowls. He currently had the fish bowl in his left hand and took small bites while observed the mayhem on the lower dais. He had the same show every day: the highest members would meet at the palace for dinner. They would talk argue and obsess over the might of Grima and its resurrection while Robin watched from afar, in the shadows of the highest platform, as his father instructed. In his younger years it was fascinating to hear the most influential people in the kingdom interacted, but he soon saw the poison lurking behind their words.
" I'm not an idiot, Ardri! I know we cannot instigate a war right now and that the Grimleal ust stay hidden. But still, we can't get let time flies by forever! The Grimleal finally has Master Grima's blood and heart in the same flesh!
Robin frowned and smashed his fish against the porcelain with his chopsticks. It always ended like this.
"Enjoying hearing about your future?"
Robin recognized the regal voice immediately and smiled lightly.
"Hello father", he swallowed his bite. "It's a bit disturbing hearing old men talking about my future, without even knowing I'm here."
Validar chuckled, sat beside him and picked a few raisins from the fruit bowl on the low table.
"They do know you're here, but it would be rude of them to address you."
Robin grunted and returned to his meal while his father picked out a few fruits out of his son's course: he didn't mind.
For the rest of dinner, the clergy continued talking and ranting about the "half assed" attempts to start a war while Validar did a check up in Robin's studies.
"But seriously father... I don't understand why I have to make researches on dragonstones? Manaketes are extremely rare, therefore learning about fighting them is a bit... useless..."
Robin swallowed nervously as he saw a shadow pass over his father's eyes.
"Sorry, I know I should learn the most as I can but-"
"You clearly did not understand what you read."
"Uh?" He tried to push away the sting of embarrassment.
"The dragonstones are precious sources of magic untapped and they only respond to certain individuals."
"But how--"
Oh...
He couldn't suppress the shiver that shook him. He had Grima's blood and heart, an ancient and godly dragon. He never knew he could tap into the power of Manaketes.
"So you mean I could shift into G--"
"Of course not! If it were the case we wouldn't be hunting the Emblem!"
"Ah"
Robin felt his cheeks burning in embarrassment.
Of course...
Nothing could be that simple.

Chapter Text

The sun beat down upon his bare back like a shower of heat and the sweat coating his skin didn't help to refresh him at all. He was certain he would burn as a crisp at the end of his training.
He grunted as the brunt of his father's training sword connected with his sternum and sent him keeling into the dirt. He brought a hand over his eyes when the sun seared his retinas and took a deep breath when his lungs started working again.
"As much as I admire your strong offensive, never underestimate fighting in defensive. Your strikes are quite imprecise too", grunted Validar.
"Yes father."
With that Robin stood, swiped the dirt off the back of his silver hair and got into sparring position again. He kept his eyes trained onto his father who stared him down without an ounce of pity.
It was like this every two days, they'd come down in the courtyard to train in fencing, magic, hand combat and meditation. It was only the two of them, no one was allowed to see the High hierophant, dressed in such a fashion: bare chest, loose pants and laced boots.
Truly decadent.
He did enjoy those training sessions, even though he came out of them exhausted and in pain, it was the only time he could see the old man.
Well...
Old man wasn't really the term. He could still pack quite a punch if he wanted to, even if swords were never his weapon of choice.
"Try again then!", barked the man, the stern look in his dark eyes never gone.
They repeated feints and lunges over and over again, till Robin felt like his arm would fall off his shoulder for keeping it stretched for so long. Answering his prayers, he father ended the fencing practice for the meditation session.
They sat under the archways the contoured the courtyard, in the shade. Robin could finally savour the fresher air against his skin and the calming descent of his heartbeat. This was by far his favorite moment: the surreal tranquility, the lazy whistling of the wind that past above the castles spires and towers, the distant songs of unfettered birds and the soft lapping of the fountain.
This was his only moment of peace.
He wasn't restrained by traditions or obligations, no longer being stuffed underneath ceremonial clothing or being critiqued by his father who expected so much of him.
His father, Validar had incredible pressure on his shoulders before Robin's birth. Plegia had been waiting for the return of Grima for a century and generation by generation, the holy family had brought nothing but disappointment, till Robin was born with the long sought for mark of Grima on his hand. Tragedy almost befell Plegia when his mother tried to escape with him as an infant.
Robin never knew how she truly died, but the ones who were charged to chase her in the middle of that fated night told him she was still weak from giving birth to him and her run during a cold desert night made her fatally ill.
Robin had no memories of her, nor any portraits. He only had her soft traits and silvery blond hair in heritage.
She was just a name barely spoken about between the walls of his palace.
"Yesterday, you said something about the dragonstones and the fact that I could probably use them..." said Robin to his father as they were back in the Hall, sponging their sweat off.
Validar plunged the loaf into the water bowl a servant brought them a few moments ago.
"Yes you could use them to boost your magic abilities or use them to replace tomes altogether."
"Will I be to channel different types of magic through it?" asked Robin, curious, since tomes were infused with a single type of magic which the caster could absorb then launch. The actual content of tomes were for studying and to refine the use of the tome's magic.
But if a dragonstone could liberate raw magic that he could shape into any element he wanted to, it would be revolutionary.
"Would you be able to", corrected the man, rising a finger as a warning. "It's a theory I came about quite recently. And we don't have a dragonstone in our possession. That's why I am planning to pilgrim to the Vent'am Shrine, next week."
Robin fished for fresh clothes that were piled on a bench and he rose an eyebrow.
"Isn't that a minor shrine? Wait... isn't that the one where an old Earth dragon was buried?"
"With all of his belongings..."
"So there "might" be a dragonstone in there. Are you sure you want to desecrate a sacred ground... just for suppositions?"
His Validar was silent and the look in his eyes grave. Robin gulped and played the hem of the tunic he just put on.
"Plegia is doing small raids on Ylisse, we cannot outright march to the Ylissean capitol with our army in shambles, but such a day will come", added his father, a dark undertone in his voice. "This will be the day the Ylisseans will believe the rumors that Grima has truly returned among us and they will target you."
It's true that Ylisse heard of Grima's return in flesh and blood, but the same buzz surrounded the sacred bloodline every time a new member was born and for the halidom it'd be impossible to say if Robin's birth was the legit Grima's reincarnation... or at least Robin hoped it was...
His father sighed and he beckoned his son to leave the Hall with him. The servants lined the walls of the corridors prostrated themselves at the High Hierophant's arrival.
"Are they already suspecting it is true, that I am Grima?" enquired Robin "There are rumors of spies wandering around Plegia and even in the Grimleal. They might have noticed that the Grimleal behaves differently than when you were at the head."
"I doubt they would infiltrate the Grimleal, nor will they be able to get in contact with you.
Robin thought of all the people he knew, which wasn't much. His father, Aversa, a personal instructor, that he barely saw these days, and the close circle of hierophants that was re-elected every five years.
"Would infiltrating the circle of hierophants be possible for a spy?"
Validar huffed with a smirk on his face.
"I would love to see them try! Those Ylissean won't ever be able to set foot in the clergy with their inability in occult magic. And on top of that, I took the Cardinal Secretary of State's position. No un-fellblooded can touch you.
It was Robin's time to smirk.
"I'll tell Aversa to pack her things then."
He cringed as Validar had gripped the nape of his neck.
"Your words are meant to be the truth, you should never lower yourself to useless tales. Got it?" He was pleased to see his son's nod. "But it's true, Aversa had tried to get closer to you lately. I shall have a word with her."
He parted way with his father at the chapel as they did every day. The small chapel was silent and peaceful, with drapes of golden light cascading from the high clerestory windows, moths of dusts floating.
...silent...
It was at this moment that he realized that his life would become more and more like this. Eerily silent and filled with solitude. His father wishing to reduce Aversa's presence in the portrait was proof of that.
Sighing, Robin dropped to his knees in front of the altar.

--

Mesmerized by the tears of ink that dripped from his pen, Robin couldn't bring himself to bring the blurry words in his mind onto paper. Inspiration had long since flowed out of him, which was a given considering the number of pages he had written in the span of two years.
The pen dropped into the ink pot with a tiny splash and Robin grunted, resting his head against the backrest of his chair. After rubbing the exhaustion from his bleary eyes he glanced at the rolls of papyrus strewn across his desk. It was close to nine hundred pages after the copyists are done putting it in book form. But he had to do more than a thousand pages, more than what his father and ancestors did. Writing religious scriptures were a tradition and obligation since the Fell dragon was vanquished. The purpose of Grima has to be carried by those in whom the Fell blood flowed. As Grima reincarnated, the expectations were much higher with him. He mustn't disappoint. Once his long book would be finished, the copies will be sent in the largest temple in every plegian city, to be hollered at the mass and venerated as the Word of Grima.
Stress made him even less inspired. He had talked about every subject and even tried to decipher his nuts great-great grandmother's book for new ideas, but nothing. He had already approached the subject of the Apocalypse Grima would bring and how that Death was only temporary. The Fell Dragon would collect the souls of every being on Earth, sinners as well and carry them far above the World while its mighty wings beat down the unholy soil that Humanity had committed such atrocities upon. Grima's breath of ice and fire would shape the new World. Fresh and untarnished.
Those servants of Naga praised they were fixing the World by defending their morals and ideologies at the tip of bloody swords. It has never worked. Even though they had a century to demonstrate it.
They can't fix this broken world. They needed to be born again. But who would be born must first destroy a world.
He wondered what such a world would look like. A world were skirmishes a thing of the past. One without boundaries... one where he could be free?
His fingers danced around his pen.

Chapter Text

Just as his father planned, the next week they left for the Vent'am shrine to search for a precious dragonstone. They boarded the carriage at first light and departed in an unusual quiet manner: No trumpets, no banners and no bystanders to greet them, they left like thieves.
The streets were eerily quiet and if it was not for the rooster that crowed, Robin would have sworn a death curse had stricken the city and stolen away every soul that inhabited it. The stillness allowed him to observe the city, uncharted territory for someone as sequestered as he was. It wasn't as beautiful as the palace was: no rich colours, no delicate stained glass, no draperies and no expensive carpets. But something was special about those sandy-coloured houses with flat roofs, something alien. An invisible cloud of suffering floated above the rooftops. A pain carried by every Plegians since the last war. Hunger, illness and crime...
They didn't stay in the capital long, before he could blink, the horses were already galloping in the vast wasteland.
Farmlands were rare here and farmers preferred to stick close to waterways. The only way to make something grow here even with the various irrigation techniques they perfected through the centuries. And the livestock was kept in for most of the day.
It was empty, flat rare trees decorated scarcely the vast landscape.
The scenery didn't change save for the hues of the sand that turned pure gold as the sun rose higher. The air burned more by each passing hour and by noon, Robin thought with revulsion that he might have drenched his ceremonial robes in sweat. It was to his great pleasure that the carriages stopped by an oasis to quench the horses thirst and fill the Grimleal members and soldiers stomachs.
Everyone sighed and stretched their sore limbs, either from riding or sitting for too long. Validar, the only one who shared his carriage with his son helped him down the carriage steps when he noticed how shaky his legs were.
"You're servants will set up your lunch spot by the pond," informed Validar, pointing at the spot, shadowed by acacias. "You won't be bothered there."

--

It was his solace. Solitude was peace, he repeated to himself after each bite he took of his meal. No one to bother him, just like his father said. Like this he could appreciate all the subtle delicacy of the meat, bread and fruits he had to eat: Fresh, juicy and tasty. More delicious than what soldiers had to eat even more than what his father and the king -who had joined the cohort to meet up with the border patrol- had to eat.
Relaxing under the shade of an acacia, even though it didn't spare him from the heat, he observed their escort on the other side, trying to pick up stray words. It was an unintelligible blabber.
From the sea of heads, he discerned Aversa's white mane, she shone like the brightest star under the desert sun. Not once did she look his way, like she would always do, sending him flirtatious glances that would fluster him. The absence of her advances was disquieting, Validar probably spoke to her, telling her to stay away from Grima's flesh and blood, just like he had sworn he would to Robin. Even from far away, Robin could see a difference in her stance: back straight, chin jutted out and arrogance in her dark eyes. She tried to appear more intimidating to hide the anxiety Robin knew she was feeling. He, her only guarantee for promotion was out of her grasp.
He truly did pity her. Living in this family was taxing. You had to be on top to not disappoint and Aversa, not having a drop of fell blood, was susceptible to be left in the dust.
Even though their relationship was superficial, her using him and him playing along, she was refreshing to have around...
Robin froze in alarm when the soldiers suddenly stood up one by one, a few of them surrounded the High Hierophant, hands gripped around their lances, and all of their were eyes lost on the same point on the horizon. Robin could only take a peek through the wall of bodies: a tiny dot, cloud of dust in its trail, came towards them at a rattling pace.
A horse and a cavalier, the Plegian banner fluttering behind the messenger. After a tense moment, the horse stopped, wheezing, beside the temporary settlement.
"A message from the Plegian border, near Heimler," the sweat-drenched rider, wiping his brow. "Following a raid on the Ylissean town of Themis, we successfully kidnapped a noble heir. General Orton ask for the next procedures."
Robin abandoned his meal, pushed through his guards and slowly trotted over to where the scene was happening. Validar stopped his advance just as he was about to enter the throng of soldier, the man's face shone with absolute mirth and so did King Gangrel who let out a guffaw.
"Give me a horse," he ordered, snapping his fingers and seized the horse's reins a soldier just brought him. "Aversa you're coming with me."
The woman absolutely appeared radiant as she joined the king and his new escort. They left quickly in a cloud of dust.
Validar was still beaming when they mounted in the carriage again with full stomaches and Robin could guess why: The Fire Emblem was a well guarded treasure in Ylisse and to lure it out they needed to invade Ylisse by declaring war. Whoever declares it first doesn't matter, but having this noble girl in their grasp could be the spark that set everything in motion.
The goal the Grimleal set for him has never seemed so close. His Awakening was nigh.

--

Robin was choking. Who had this great idea the force the High Hierophant in the most stuffy robes as a tradition? He would seriously spit on their grave or expedited them into it if they weren't already. He wiped the trickles of sweat off his nape, grimacing at the slimy textures it left on his fingers.
The shadowy interior of their compartment still brought no release from the heat and Robin nervously swallowed around the thick paste in his mouth. Their pause at the oasis to fill themselves hadn't helped, he didn't feel well.
No matter how many swings out his canteen he took it simply couldn't save him from the dizzy spells.
He already emptied two of them...
His only silver lining was that they were close to destination and that mean it would be over soon. He hoped this dragonstone really was worth it.
The scouts left the escort to investigate the old temple: It was dangerously close to the border and this route of pilgrimage was known by the Ylisseans. There was no guarantee that they wouldn't try anything dirty. Especially after the raid on Themis.
"Look over there." Validar pointed at shimmering silhouette in the distance pushing apart the veils that shielded them from the sun. The shrine wasn't impressive at all. Mostly swallowed by sand and its cracked walls seemed ready to collapse, its remote location making it impossible for the Plegian government to send specialist to conserve this historical site. Looking more closely, it appeared that the main part of the shrine was underground. It promised cooler air...
When the scouts came back, the procession finally stopped by its gates.
The heat flared to his head, catching him off guard with a new dizzy spell when he stepped down from the carriage. The frontier of unconsciousness crept into the corner of his vision and being embraced by it was tempting just to escape the stifling air. But for Grima, collapsing would be a scandal, no matter the circumstances and especially in front of an audience. Even in front of Aversa it would be a disgrace.
Face scrunched in the shadow of his hood, he gestured to a servant to a servant to bring more water.
The liquid was blissfully cool against his lips and parched throat. Swallowing greedily around the thick paste in his mouth and hoping the drink would take effect.
His father cautious stare was the first thing he opened his eyes again, obviously aware of how his son was fairing.
"Soldiers are to guard the perimeter of the shrine I will proceed with the High Hierophant."

--

His legs shook each step he took down the stairs. The air was stuffy, humid and cooler the more downward they went, but still too warm, his insides were burning and the sweat pearling on his skin made him shiver. He couldn't find any relief like he had hoped he would. He was thankful for Validar to acknowledge his silent request and assure that they would remain alone.
When the underground darkness shrouded them, his father brought his hand high the air, the flame dancing between his fingers grew in strength and lit the underground mausoleum and he sent it flying. The orb of fire stayed suspended in midair in the room that was smaller than Robin had thought. About twice his arm-span with ancient fresques etched onto the sandstones walls, and in the center of the room presided an ornate marble sarcophagus.
The heavy silence was cut short by Robin's cough on the dust that hung in the air. Validar clasped his hands in prayer and Robin did the same, dropping to his knees shakily in front of the tomb.
The whole situation was troubling. Grima desecrating the final rest of a dragon was outrageous. He was soiling Grima's image, but nonetheless, an artifact of immense power was within his reach and his father consented for him to use. And said artefact would allow him to fight for the plegian theocracy and guarantee his safety till his revival at the Dragon's Table. Considering the Ylissean's kidnapping that just occured, War would strike again sooner than anyone would expect.
"Are you well enough to open the sarcophagus?", asked Validar. The flickering flame outlined the ounce of worry on his face.
Robin frowned. "It's with the corpse?" He had expected the dragonstone to be kept somewhere in an urn or even decorating the marble sarcophagus.
"Dragonstones are the most precious thing to manaketes." humpfed Validar. "It is an embodiment of their incredible power. They would always keep it close to their heart. Help me push... if you're well enough."
No matter, Robin's hands joined his father's on the lid's side, they counted down and pushed. He grunted with efforts, his limbs shaking from exhaustion.
"ROBIN!"
He felt like his body floated between two waters and he vaguely felt an arm slung behind his back and a trembling one cupping his nape, while he was half-way from laying down.
How did he end up in this position? Wasn't he pushing off the lid of the coffin?
"Father..." Robin tried to shift and he felt his burning muscle cramp oddly at the effort and head swam in confusion. The hands fluttered around him and moved, surprising him with an intense wave of nausea. Bile flooded the back of his throat and he whined in pain.
Unconsciousness finally relieved him.

--

Gulping the small trickle of saliva in his mouth and slowly blinking away the drowsiness, Robin let eyes roam the vaulted ceiling, the bas-relief, wondering where he was. Then the luxurious room became familiar, he has living between those four walls for over nineteen years... His own bedroom. He groaned, shifting underneath his bed covers, testing his sore limbs. The cramps were finally gone but he felt weak all over.
Rolling onto his side, he stared out the window with half-lidded eyes. It was a new morning, the greyish light was soft and an inch of sunlight peeked over the wasteland's horizon. His focus shifted to land onto his night stand and the small parcel that rested on it. Something small wrapped in cloth. He picked it up, which proved itself to be more difficult than expected with a numb hand.
A strange awe got caught in his throat as he unfolded the gift someone left for him...
It was the dragonstone.
The nacreous rock, about the size of a walnut, was of murky brown colour, but a soft glint teal shone in the morning. It wasn't as magnificent as he expected, but the pulsations of raw magic, a force of nature thrummed against his fingertips. He was mesmerized
He could finally afford himself a smile.

--

In afternoon, Robin was well enough to leave his quarters with aid of an hydrating elixir his father brought to him and the command that he join him in the courtyard to celebrate Gangrel's return. The High Hierophant could feel the buzz of unease through the corridors as guards flocked towards the courtyard.
Robin was careful enough to remain in the shade with his escort on top of the balcony that overlooked the crowded square below. The chatter ended when trumpets blared, clamoring the King's return. Horses poured in through the gates...
One
Two
Three
Four
...
There was a total of ten horses, far less than what was supposed to accompany royalty
Robin's hands tensed on the railing as he scan the faces. It was with an overwhelming sense of relief that he recognized Aversa's white hair and black garments and she appeared unharmed.
Validar walked briskly towards Gangrel who seemed quite upset and gesticulated vehemently after something Robin's father said.
It was only after the courtyard slowly emptied itself that the first whispers of rumors reached the Hierophant:
They not only lost their Ylissean hostage, but missed they missed a rare opportunity for Plegia's rightful retribution. The Exalt, the holder of the Emblem, along with the Ylissean prince and princess had been present. Their only saving grace in this mission: War was officially declared.

Chapter Text

"Regardless of your struggles, Chaos shall embrace thee, and corrupt thy naive heart."
Robin groaned, rubbing the heels of his palms against his tired eyes. He thought he was finally done with his side-work, he could go back to concentrating on writing his book now.
He gave the text before him another once-over, the words blurring in his vision, he groaned again.
If only his father was there to correct and critic his work like he used to, but he had been busy with the War preparations with Gangrel and other high standing officials.
He guessed he had to take responsibility for his writing then. Robin hoped it would live up to his father's expectations, he did not wish to sully Grima's name with petty words. It would terrible if this parchment, Grima's Word, -a message recited each year during the Grand Mass at the Dragon Table by a represent of the Fell Dragon's bloodline- turned out to be a catastrophe. Other copies of the speech would be sent to Hierophants to be shared in the most important temples for those who could not afford the trip. After the Mass, Plegia would sway to the beat of festivals and banquets for two weeks. Meanwhile, the Great Hierophant would stay confined in his quarter for security because of the incoming war.
What a terrible time for celebrations.
Robin blew out the lone candle on his desk and the room was pitch black. Stretching his sore back and his mind numbed by fatigue, he trudged his way to bed, picking the dragonstone left on his night stand along the way.
Sighing, eyes on the ceiling, he rolled the stone between his fingers as he listened to the distant murmurs of a party held below in an adjacent wing. It was to celebrate the promotion of the brand new general that would lead Plegia to War. The music and laughter was distant and Robin wished he could make the words to fill the silence he had been in the entire day. What were they talking about? The War? The Grand Mass? Gossip, ladies or other raunchy subjects? Would he ever know?
The loneliness and monotony would end him one day.
Aversa was probably present at the party. Perhaps he could bypass his father's interdictions to see her and ask how it was and how she has been. He hoped she wouldn't try to avoid him out of fear of being punished.
His father should also be there too, not being restrained by the title of being Grim. Robin envied him sometimes, being free...
They still had to explore the possibilities the of dragonstone, together. Robin wondered what would happen. It wouldn't trigger a transformation, that much he was sure -the prospect of it was scary too-, but it would do something for sure. Robin remembered well the first time he was introduced to the art of sword fighting and cut himself on a wyrmslayer; staves couldn't seal the cut shut and the tears of pain had been hard to hide.
Perhaps the stone would help his spell cast--
That's when he felt it. A lurch in his stomach that froze his breath in his throat. His heart was drumming against his ribcage and the dragonstone was hot beneath his fingers and the pulsing energy inside it that made his skin buzz faded quickly, like a flame being snuffed out by the breeze. The stone had reacted to him somehow.
"How... did I..."
How did he trigger it again? The thrill of the unknown was exciting and so was defying Validar's request to wait for him. But he couldn't resist the offer of breaking away from the monotonous routine.
He bit his lips and scrunched his eyes shut in concentration.
This time he tried channeling energy through it like he would a spell through a tome and he felt the lurch again. But this time the buzz rushing throughout his body stayed, crackling like static under his skin.
He noticed a strange shift into his perceptions...
He no longer was trapped between the suffocating walls of his quarters, they had crumbled around him and the sounds of the celebrations reached his ears with a frightening clarity. He heard their joy and gluttony. His own presence felt different. He used to feel small, full of power and potential, but crushed under the weight of traditions and paranoia for his safety. He felt... immense... like his breath could bellow a hurricane and his arms blanket the whole world. A taste of freedom he never felt before, the boundaries and chains of traditions unfettered.
He could soar free.
Air gusted into his lungs with each deep breath he took and he felt it. Felt his blood filled with oxygen. The thrum of blood in every inch of flesh. He could see dust lazy float in the air, grazing his face.
His senses buzzed and his worries, the pressure he had on his shoulders were eclipsed by this state of beatitude. Eyes closed, he sighed.
How could he not realize what being Grima meant. How could let himself be bound in chains of traditions and be afraid to break them? Him the Fell Dragon, a mighty being with the power to reshape the world to his whims, be held down by petty things. Just like those fair elephants restrained by a thin rope, ignoring their own strength. He had been scared of his father's ideals for him, that he never tried to truly live.
He deserved to live in this world, break free of those walls that hid him from this land that was his.
... This world was his.
---

The party was even more beautiful than he expected
Like colorful flower petals ruffled by the wind, the elegant dresses fluttered under every sway of the music. The melodies hummed deep into Robin's chest, his head spinning in bliss at this new dimension he just discovered. His feet carried him down the long flight of stairs, to the dance floor. He could feel every stare that landed on him: the mysterious lonely guest, adorned in luxurious robes, bearing a face only a select few knew. His aura spoke of his high status. It pushed the curious away.
Probing deeper into the dragonstone, his perception shifted again, now more precise and every presence were shining like beacons.
An aura, shimmering like the dark coils of viper, much similar to his own he presumed, hummed dangerously behind a thick curtain of people. Validar was participating to the festivities just as he guessed.
He couldn't detect Aversa's presence anywhere in the ballroom and felt disappointed, but the negative feeling was washed away by the wafting sinful joy that he swirled around him.
Further away, through the large double-doors leading onto the veranda, he felt a different atmosphere, colder and flowing slowly. His curiosity led him there, he remained away from the kissing couples and hid in a dark corner, letting himself bask in the fragrances of the city below carried away by the wind. Pastry baked in ovens, meat being cooked. It felt heavenly.
But underneath those scents laid a gaping wound. The ugly wound of the War. Sorrow, pain and frustration still clung to the city's walls even though the years had trudged by and craters left by canons were filled. The lingered despair Robin sensed excited a part of him he hadn't known before, one which begged to have its curiosity satiated.
Grima wanted to know more.

Chapter Text

It was late, closer to sunrise than twilight, but the party still thrived in the ballroom.
Robin roamed the empty hallways -save for the maids and servants that scurried away at the sight of him- lost in thoughts. The ghostly feeling he sensed from the plegian streets lingered, itching him with the wishful desire of leaving the palace, even if it was for a single night. The sea of sensations that shimmered outside the castle's walls was terribly enticing. A foreign world to his hermit life.
And Grima's heart pleaded for freedom.
Fingers cramped around the dragonstone, he resigned himself to head for his quarters. He wasn't ready to fulfill his urge: he had no way to slip through the guards surrounding the palace and his luxurious choice of wardrobe would attract unwanted attention. Nor could request his maids to get dingier robes for him without looking suspicious, nor could he really trust that his request remained a secret from his father's ears...
A flash of light akin to a thunder strike illuminated the corner of his vision accompanied by the sizzling of magic.
His gaze landed on the other side of the arched windows, down to a dark courtyard. The very same where he used to train with his father, except it wasn't Validar exercising his magic down there, but a familiar silver-haired woman. Rage was oozing from her svelte silhouette, making Grima's heart shudder in delight and he headed for the training yard.
He could hear her mutters of curses as she flipped angrily through the pages of her tome, her eyes scanning for a specific spell across the parchment.
The training dummy split in a half as a streak of magic hit it a ferocity unparallel to what Robin had ever seen and he knew from which dark abyss this anger stemmed from: the resentment of being ignored.
The woman was furious against his father and the king, against their decision of choosing someone else as a general, Robin guessed and had to agree with her, they missed a huge opportunity on the battlefield.
The way she pulverized that mannequin was proof of that.
She could be an untameable fury.
Robin circled the training yard, hidden among the shadows of the archways.
She raged on and on until dawn was inching over the horizon and her shoulders finally sagged. Just as her tome slipped from her fingers, Robin spoke up.
"Feel better?"
She spun towards him, eyes alight, her face fell when she saw him. The smirk that appeared just after was far from convincing.
"Oi big brother! Why aren't you partying with the others. I betted you'd look for anything that breaks your routine." she laughed uneasily when he walked to her, he threw a short glance at all the shreds of dummies that littered the ground. Their linen cloth were still smoking in some places.
"You can spare me the fake enchantment. I know you could rampage through Ylisse right now and win."
Aversa's gaze turned dark again.
"I agree with you on my father and Gangrel's decision."
Her eyes narrowed in disbelief. The silence between them was heavy he could feel her hesitation. Validar's warning was still on her mind.
"I offer you a deal" -that picked up her interest- "I'll do my best to secure you a higher position in the royal army and indemnity if... you do me a favor.

---

The hierophant wondered if his satiated curiosity would outweighed this indecency he put himself in as he flustered over this incredibly itchy cloak and gloves, making sure it covered every inch of his disguise: servant's robes, in case he got spotted trying to sneak back in the palace through one of the old palace's escape route. Thankfully, the guards never saw his face so they wouldn't look twice at a "lowly servant" like him. And hopefully, they were still suffering the aftermath of alcohol from the party the night before, as Aversa told him. Soldier wouldn't pass by an opportunity sneak alcohol to improve their boring rounds.
This was ridiculous...
And he felt ridiculous.
But no matter the embarrassment that made his face flare, he couldn't stop marvelling at the peculiar atmosphere that hung around the plegian slums. It clung to its sandstone walls like a strong perfume. The scent of dust and dung was overwhelming. He had never noticed it when he breezed through the street in the safety of his carriage. That carriage had shielded him not only from the scents he noticed as a strange and unfamiliar feeling of vulnerability that crept in the back of his mind as he wandered through the dark streets.
As he neared a more crowded avenue, that feeling almost overtook the intoxicating high from the stone in his pouch and he had to fight the urge of simply walking away.
The bittersweet aroma that lured him out of the palace's walls was strong here, its scent mingling with the pungent smell of alcohol.
The Prancing Mares.
Tiny, squeezed between two shops, just as tiny, with a small filthy window. Through the ajar door slipped an inviting rhythmic music and some drunk men who were trying to reach the comfort of their homes. It was a pathetic display. Entranced by the scene he saw inside, he curiously stepped in.
It was a narrow pub, dimly lit by sparse flickering candles. Small rickety tables surrounded a stage where a lone belly dancer performed. Some men observed her hungrily from the balcony on the second floor.
No matter the delectable ambience the music and the dancer provided, the guests were there to drink away this dark aura that made Grima's heart buzz in an eerie glee.
Robin sat at the furthermost corner of the counter, where curious eyes weren't likely to find him, but not hidden for the barman's keen eyes.
"...What may I serve you?" The man was cautious when approaching Robin, his eyes trying to see the face under the hood. He guessed the owner wasn't fond of suspicious customers.
"...Mead."
The man didn't move and kept on looking at his new customer expectantly, it was then that Robin noticed his outstretched hand. Ah yes, payment...Quite an unfamiliar notion to the Fellblood.
He rummaged through the small money bag Aversa gave him 'in case he got in trouble'.
"How much for the drink?" he asked.
"The same as every other tavern. The prices haven't changed since the new 'prices law' on alcohol." the man's voice was gruff and frustration trickled into his every word.
The hierophant pursed his lips, that didn't help at all, and the coins he had in his palm looked foreign.
Before he could look even more suspicious, Robin slid a generous pile of coins across the counter, unsure of the amount. The barman raised an eyebrow and took the amount required for the mead and left to prepare the drink. Or what Robin hoped was the required amount. He didn't want to ruin Aversa's expanses. She worked hard for everything she earned. Hopefully he could repay her by tricking the system and influencing her future promotions. He still wasn't sure how he could manage it yet.
Robin sighed, rested his elbows onto the counter and his chin onto his linked hands, drinking in the ethereal maelstrom in the room: the sorrow, the rage, the hate, the suffering Plegia had stumbled with since the war against the ylissean scum. His sensitive picked up some whispers about the incoming war, but he was surprised... and shocked about what he sensed.
"Have you 'em, those prancing pricks!"
It was like his senses switched filters, he now understood the anger swirling through the air and Robin was disgusted by it:
The hate in their words, meant for Ylisse, was aimed at the Plegian royalty instead.
It was their rare chance at ending their quest once and for all, what was a little suffering through war when the salvation at the end would eclipse all the pain? Why could those commoners understand such a basic principle?
"Bunch of zealots the lot of 'em."
Robin cautiously looked over his shoulder, making sure his hood would still cover his face, and glanced at a table of men, heads bent together, eyes tired.
"And what do they want to prove with this war, uh?" exclaimed a drunk bearded man, his voice climbing up a notch from anger. "That we still have some flesh to spare? Some blood to be spilled? Or is it for that far-fetched prophecy?
"Jarl keep your voice down," warned his friend, throwing worried glances around.
"Why shouldn't I say out loud what everybody thinks silently", growled the bearded man, Jarl, tapping his finger against his temple. "Their obsession is rotting Plegia."
His friend hissed in frustration tugged Jarl back down on his seat.
"Do you want to want to find yourself hanging from the gallows? Then shut it. Our best hopes is that they fail in whatever they're planning--"
"And you think they'll stop at a failure? They're convinced they have Grima's incarnate."
"That's because they do."
Surprised eyes landed on Robin who blanched, shockingly realized his affront at their conversation made him think out loud. After an anxious moment of silence, "Jarl" barked an incredulous laughter.
"Oh really? And what would the mysterious cloaked guy know about this?" The man's expression soured and his stare became hard as stone. "You're one of their dogs?"
The dragonstone's influence was eclipsed by the fear that washed over him. One slip up and the measly distance that protected him from that man would be null. Robin gripped his mug of mead as a life-line, he didn't wish this to escalate into one of those infamous drunken-fist-fights he heard about, even though he was quite confident of his fighting skills.
"...no."
"Oh, that was quite convincing, mind explaining more? Oh forget that! I can spot a spy when I see one."
Heads had turned towards Robin and the silence that swallowed the pub was colder than a desert night.
"U-uh?" Robin inched back when the man stood up and threateningly approached him... as threateningly a drunk man could. He vaguely hear the barman shout a warning, but Jarl didn't hear any word of it.
"Are you scared of touching filth?," he seethed. "Blue-Blood?"
Before Robin could voice his confusion or jerk out of the way, a rough hand grabbed his wrist in a vicious grip and his heart jumped into his throat as fresh air met his skin. He slapped his clad hand over his bare one. Even though it wasn't the hand bearing Grima's mark, the sentiment of vulnerability wasn't lost on him.
"...Just as I thought, you--"
"I'm not a spy," Robin hissed after swallowing back his fear. He looked up at the man with challenge in his eyes, he snatched his glove back. "...I simply know a lot about Grima."
The man was immobile, with an astounded look on his face until a sarcastic smirk split his expression.
"Oh I see..."
"Jarl... drop it..." whispered one of the man's friend, urging him back to their table. Jarl looked back at Robin. "Do come back", he challenged. "And explain what is so great about Grima. I'm quite sure people here are thirsty for... enlightenment."
He left on those words and Robin couldn't fight back the urge of leave the place, ignoring his untouched mug of mead.
He stumbled out of the pub, his legs almost giving up under his shaky steps as his heart pounded in his head. He clawed obsessively at his glove, certain it would disappear at any moment. He could still feel the man's fingers ripping off the garment.
Down a few streets, he collapsed against a wall, laughter bubbling in throat as realization dawned upon him. He just picked a fight with a commoner, a commoner that succeeded in scaring him. A feat only held by Validar before that night.
With a smile on his lips, he made his way back home.

Chapter Text

Standing on his rickety stool was quite a challenge, especially when the seamstress nudged him in his calves, measuring with her tape while his own eyes drooped in fatigue.

Sneaking out at night wasn't the best idea with his charged routine. If only he could escape during the evening, but they were already occupied with diners and studying.

He sighed

The ceremonial robes he was expected to wear at the Grand Mass no longer fit him from last year, as meager as his growth spurt was. Validar, the one who requested a new stuffy piece that could barely fit in Robin's already overflowing wardrobe, watched him like an hawk from the corner of the room.

Robin fidgeted under his stare. He hoped the tension he saw in his father's eyes was only a symptom of the War and not caused by suspicions. The kind of suspicions that could be titled "I know my child broke the rules". He hoped the fabled "parents' intuition" was just an expression.

"How are the war preparation going?"

If it indeed was suspicions swimming through Validar's head, might as well direct his thoughts somewhere else. His father snapped out of daze and weakly smiled. A rare sight.

"The mercenaries we hired last week were sent to raid Ylissean villages that could've been important suppliers to the enemy. Our actual troops are still on our side of the borders, while we wait to see where the enemy forces are stationned."

"No reply from the Ylisseans?"

Validar frowned, which didn't bode well to the hierophant. " One of the mercenary troop were decimated in a small town in the south and rumours tell a band warriors were responsible, one well known at that from the rumours."

"Who?"

"Our spies are on it as we speak, we aren't sure if they work for the Crown yet."

Robin gritted his teeth, he had a bad feeling about this, and this omen was amplified by the thrumming of the dragonstone in his pocket. He could feel a flicker of foreign anger seeped through him. This band, while not strong in numbers, could land devastating blows if they were smart and knew how to sneak around. He hoped this failure from their mercenaries was caused by them being caught off guard and not them facing a foe leagues stronger than they anticipated.

Sadly, only time could truly tell.

"And the people... what do they think of it... this War?"

Robin felt the tension rise a notch, even the seamstress seemed bothered by it with the way her eyes danced across the room and Robin tried to do nonchalantly the same as to hide his intentions behind the question, and landed his gaze out the window.

He heard the fabric of his father's clothes ruffle, crossing his arms he presumed and the seamstress excused herself, leaving them together, clearly not wanting to be part of that.

Validar spoke once they heard the door close.

"Some are eager, quite eager in fact, and some are still licking their wounds."

"And about the motivation behind the war?"

"You mean the snotty noble brat trespassing on our grounds?"

"No, I mean... me."

"...They know your destiny is of the utmost importance. But of course this war is make Ylisse pay for the terrible crimes they committed and still refuse to acknowledge."

"Do they agree that it is "of the utmost importance?" This time, Robin risked a glance at his father and he saw bafflement on his face, quickly erased by bitterness.

"They worship you as expected of the Plegian people."

"Do they know I exist?" His heartbeat raced under his skin, this got dangerous too fast, he hoped Validar wouldn't link his questions to his possible suspicions of his son sneaking away. But he had to ask, he might not have an opportunity to speak with his father alone like this.

"Why do you suddenly worry about this?"

"I was thinking," he said, biting his lips. "The manuscript I'm writing is supposed to be the word of the Fell Dragon; words that will inspire the people. But how can I inspire them, if I don't even know how they are and if they don't know me either."

"You thought too much." scoffed his father, squinting and nose in the air. "You are a Fell-blooded, your words are the most important in the land and people will listen."

And he left it at that, leaving the room. Robin looked down at the unfinished robe draped over his lanky frame and wondered if his words were truly listened.

He almost forgot that he came out here, out on the balcony, to continue writing his book when jerked out of daze as a bird landed in a flutter on the awning above him, its shadow jumping across the thin veil. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm, rubbing the reverie away. Looking down at his manuscript laid upon his lap, he sadly acknowledged that he struggled writing those two previous lines. All that he has written that day. It had been a fool's hope. I wished he could have stirred the discussion with father to ask him if he could organize an outing where he could meet the outside world, even if it were an official outing. But no such luck, his last resort would be sneaking out at night and hope to never get caught or hope the signs of exhaustion wouldn't show on his traits.

He vaguely wondered if he could find a way to use the dragonstone to give himself a boost of strength, stay awake, and visit those dangy alleyways and prove that he wasn't a scam and that Grima was great. If could only gain recognition there, true recognition, and not be polished like a doll on a shelve between these walls, it would make his existence much more bearable. But it seemed to be the exact existence the Grimleal wanted him to go through.

He grunted, packing his things under his arms, stretching his sore legs after having them tucked under him for who knows how long.

He could understand why the Grimleal was proctective of him. The scars from the Holy War were still bloody and no one knew the extent of the Ylissean's knowledge about the High Hierophant's existence; was only a rumor to them? Or were waiting to pounce at the most opportune moment? Was it a possible Ylissean spy, the rumor that made the Grimleal itch? But with the animosity he saw that night in the pub, his seclusion might have more than one reason.

It couldn't be all lies! He remembered the crowds gathered below him at the last Grand Mass, looking up at him. They wanted to be there ... didn't they?

After dropping his stuff on his desk, he angrily pulled out the sirwal pants he wore for exercising and trudged to the changing rooms neighboring the training courtyard. Relieved of his heavy robes, he then wrapped the bandages around his wrists and ankles. He made it out under the blazing sun onto the courtyard, deserted just for his training and where his father would join him once he was done with whatever was planned for his routine.

Robin sat down, legs crossed and took a deep breath, trying to ward off the frustration that had coursed through him for the entire day, thankfully, the dragonstone, slipped under the wraps at his right wrist, bulging strangely under the fabric, thrummed happily against his skin with a soothing energy flowing from it.

Its powers seemed to shift on its own; once spiking his awareness and senses to insane levels, helping his skills, and now sapping away all the tension in his body

He wondered what else this treasure had in store for him.

His bare feet skidded across the dusty ground, raising clouds at the every steps of this ancient martial dance. Striking the air, where his imaginary target would be, he got lost in his adrenaline rush, the stone carrying him into uncharted territories, beating his limits, till his blood was searing and he ended on his knees, heaving, sweat drenching his skin like morning dew.

"Pushed myself too hard there..." he chuckled, but when he started to rise to his feet, his knees buckled under the painful heat to sweeped through his head, his vision flickering like a dying flame. Yep, really too hard. The dragonstone probably numbed his body so he could keep going.

After taking in a few deep breath, Robin finally looked up and his eyes swept the courtyard. The sun was already declining in its trip across the skies.

How has he been out there exactly? And mostly importantly... He listened to the dead quietness that surrounded him.

Father hadn't come for their usual training that day.

Chapter Text

The moment the water washed away the grease off his skin after scrubbing it furiously felt like a blessing and he half-wondered if he would make the water froth with all the filth he was washing away. But he couldn't care less with how heavenly that bath felt, even if he wished he could have gotten colder water to soothe the blaze inside him.

It was early, the first rays of sunlight hadn't even kissed the horizon yet, but he could no longer stand the blistering hot cocoon his bed covers had become nor the damp mess he made of his mattress. Whatever had struck him the day before during his training had yet to recede and that blissful relief seemed to be far away. Though the exhaustion that had seized all of his muscles had gone from the pitiful rest he had in his bed, it wasn't the case for the hot fire coursing through his veins. The throbbing heat had rose to his head somewhere in the middle of the night, making him feel like his skull was trampled by the entire plegian cavalry. And the itching! He felt like scratching his skin raw. Unable to stand his discomfort, he had pulled himself out of bed, struggling against the covers glued to his sweaty skin and made his way downstairs, to the baths, snatching an early-riser servant to prepare the water for him.

So there he was, simmering in peace, unconsciously scratching at the irritated skin of his hand. He let his head thud against the rim of the in-ground tub, taking a deep breath. He realized he had slipped away into a blissful daze when the doors crashed open behind him. Robin jerked awake, choking on the bit of water he accidentally breathed in while slipping off the ledge of his seat.

Blinking away the droplets clinging to his eyelashes, he noticed the silhouette towering over him, their shape cut against the golden light of the rising sun, now peaking through the arched windows.

"A-Aversa?"

Robin hadn't seen her since she helped him sneak out and he was surprised to see the expression displayed on her face, an emotion he never saw targeted at him before: simmering anger, completely livid , like she could storm through Ylisse right at this instant. He felt a cold wave of fear when looking at her.

"Why didn't you tell me your father would leave for Ylisse?!"

Ah yes...something his father forgot to mention to his own son too. Robin only learned of his departure at dinner with his Circle: the man had been called at the frontier again in the middle of the day, after Robin's robe fitting. And what was so urgent he felt the need to leave without warning him? Had the war progressed that quickly or has something major happened.

"I'm as surprised as you are, Aversa." Robin growled, rubbing his temple against the migraine that flared again viciously. "And could you please close the door?"

She huffed and went back to slam the doors shut with a bang.

"So what about our deal?" Robin felt her sitting behind him on her haunches. "I'm still waiting for my payment."

Robin grimaced and shimmied deeper under the surface, water up to his chin, currently conscious of how little foam was left from the soap floating on the surface. But in her eyes there was no intention to tease him about his state of undress.

"I've been thinking..."

"That's all you've been doing ain't you? Thinking." Aversa growled and Robin bit his lip. He couldn't really deny it, but...

Think of something!

"I've been thinking about creating a controversy about one of the generals. If I'm such an important figure, the people should care about my opinions."

"...you just pulled that out of your ass just now, didn't you? she drawled, unimpressed, and Robin weakly chuckled at the truth of it.

Aversa sighed and dipped her fingers in the bath, quickly pulling them out, frowning.

"Why were you in need of a cold bath like this? Had some steamy dreams?" She smirked then at Robin who rubbed his face tiredly only to have his hand replaced by Aversa on his forehead.

"When did you become a furnace?" she questioned after a lengthy pause. "Caught something?"

Robin groaned, Aversa's fingers feeling like ice against his feverish skin.

"Told you that leaving the palace was a bad idea. You don't know what kind of filth is down there."

Robin shook his head. "No I didn't catch it from down there, just pushed myself too hard lately." Aversa frowned, clearly not buying his excuse, but he couldn't mention anything about the dragonstone currently hidden among his pile of clothes, about the bad reaction he had about pushing too much magic through him. Robin had resigned himself to slack off on his training for a few days to rest and also practice the Sermon he had to give at the upcoming Grand Mass. A Sermon which thankfully wasn't as long as the others the previous years.

"Whatever", Aversa drawled, sitting back on her haunches "But don't you feel disgraced hanging out with the peasants?"

Robin shrugged, picking his loafer and scrubbing his shoulders, the itching made him cringe. "No, and I have my reasons for returning."

"Returning? You..."

"Father isn't here, I'll take full advantage of that. So I'll require your help once more."

Still uncomfortable as he remembered and he feared that his dingy costume was starting to smell from having being shoved into the darkest pit of his wardrobe. He'll have to find a way to slip it into a maid laundry load and get it back somehow.

But the thrill of his second escape eclipsed the chaffing of the hand-me-down uniform. In the distance, he recognized the small outline of the Prancing Mares. More quiet than last time he's been there: the performers seemed to already have finished their number and the few customers were talking in ushered voices, bent over their drinks. The atmosphere felt quite familiar to what hovered above the palace. He wondered if Validar's departure with a few troops was also responsible the gloomy feeling down there and he was now more fascinated than ever.

He was about to enter when there's a crash behind him, just behind the corner, a loud yell multiple angry voices. He could see the customers peek through the windows and some had the courage to press their faces to the dusty glass trying to catch a glimpse of the scene.

"Oh yeah? You want to arrest me? Go ahead, a cell is better than the rat shit we're living in down here!"

That voice, Robin recognized it. Jarl. The lone man was wrestling with two guards and clearly losing, the clear amount of alcohol in his system not helping at all.

As much as Robin was still sour at the comments the man had thrown at him the last time, he could not deny that such a loud-mouthed character might be his best bet to learn what was happening in the slums and not the rosy version they fed him at the Palace. Hoping he wouldn't regret his decision later, Robin approached the scene.

"What is happening here sirs?"

The guard who had the butt of lance raised, ready to strike across the crumpled man's skull halted, furious eyes now aimed at the hooded figure that stood before them completely unimpressed.

"Military affairs are none of your business, civilian!" he barked, spit almost flying out his mouth, now threateningly jerking his weapon at the Hierophant who scowled in outrage. "Go on your way!"

"Is that so?" he drawled as he advanced a few step but had to stop when the second guard raised his lance too, dropping the dazed man on the floor who then struggled to pick himself up. "But I could've sworn I heard through the vines the army marched out not long ago." Robin mockingly wondered, pensively tapping his barely visible chin. "What would you two good soldiers be doing here, back at the Capital? Oh!" He clapped his hands in apology. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were just patrolmen...my apologies."

The affront was evident on their faces and almost comical.

"Does this man insult our army?" Robin gestured at Jarl who now looked at him with distrustful eyes now that he recognized his voice. Robin didn't wait for the guards' response. "No need to act so defensive about our troops. No mere tongue lashing could make them crumble. They've already seen and heard worse."

The second man guffawed. "We still can't let rascals run their mouth and have their vile thoughts fester across the Plegia."

"Still quite certain they wouldn't be bothered by the words of a drunk man."

"And what makes you so certain."

"Mmm...connections mayhaps?" he smirked at the now surprised look on their face, but the first guard then grunted. "Alright, alright. You realize that poor us guards have a small reward for every arrest, don't you? That's gold to help us feed our hungry families. But you know, we could let this slide," -he motioned at Jarl- "If we agree on a price." he said, eyeing the Fell's mantle where he surely hid his gold purse under the garment.

"So you want a bribe?"

"Yes."

"And you ask for a bribe, an illegal activity, to a person who has connections to your boss?"

"..."

Without any more words to the soldiers, Robin turned to Jarl. The man looked ruffled; old clothes askew, hair stuck in a mess from the scuffle and a bloody lip and nose.

Once the soldiers had disappeared in the distant shadows, muttering angrily to themselves, Robin extended a hand to the crumpled man with a sigh. Jarl replied with a glare

"You...you wanna play hero now? Tsk..." he snapped, ignoring the offered hand and shakily got to his feet. "You made your allegiances pretty clear, ass kisser."

Robin bristled at the insult under his hood, retracted his hand back under his mantle and watched the man trying to wobble back into the shadowy streets, back to where he resided, snapping at those who still ogled him through the window.

The Hierophant didn't get it. He showed mercy, offered help and complete utter dismissal is the reply? Was that the standard politeness down here? Ingrate...

"I want to speak with you."

"Kiss my ass!" He drunkenly shouted over his shoulder.

"I lied about my connections with the army," The Fell lied. "I can offer you another drink too."

He saw a grimace twist Jarl's face and a hateful stare thrown at him, but he could see the hesitation in his eyes.

Wordlessly, after a long glare exchange that stretched forever he grunted and walked back inside, lured by the promise of a free drink and Robin followed Jarl to a table of his choice after ordering drinks from a disgruntled barman who whispered a few warnings of "don't ever do that again", "don't bring the soldiers' attention onto my business", which he mostly ignored

He plopped down hard on the free seat, spilling half of his ale -not that he minded too much, the shorter the suffering, the better-. Jarl's face still looked like he caught a waft of a rotten wyvern's carcass.

"Gimme the drink, but I'm warning ya, I ain't gonna be swayed by your brainwashed sermon about your glorified lizard."

Robin sized him with a long stare and gave him his drink.

"Why won't you? I'm eager to know."

"What kind of rock have you been living under?"

Robin simply rose an eyebrow at that. "Enlighten my poor mind then."

"Uh-uh, I ain't gonna waste more time than necessary on someone like you. I just want to head back home after having such a lovely evening"

"If the guards butting in didn't ruin your "lovely evening", I'm sure you can spare me a few minutes."

" Nobody wants to risk their head for a casual conversation. Especially for a shady guy with an obvious allegiance to the Grimleal."

Robin felt the heavy weight of his stare upon him and he now knew he had to lay himself bare to earn his trust. He briefly thought on giving up on him and asking someone else but the distrustful glances sent his way changed his mind.

Sighing, he pulled back his hood a bit, just enough for candlelight to lit his face. He felt oddly naked and vulnerable, letting strangers see his face He waited for a reaction, a spark of recognition , they somehow noticing the fell blood running through his veins, twisting his features into something alien.

"You a foreigner?" was the reaction he got from a confused Jarl. "What's up with your hair?"

Robin fingers itched at the hem of his hood. "I don't know, half I guess?"

"From Chon'sin?"

"Uh?"

"You got eyes like theirs."

Robin nervously laughed at the situation. So he did not really look odd after all? Just foreign, the good type of foreign. He could perhaps take advantage of that.

"I don't really remember my mom, so perhaps she was. But I remember she hated cities", Robin quickly made up. "Or at least that's what my father told me. I lived far away from civilization until recently."

"Tired of fresh air and freedom?" Jarl joked.

Robin froze, eyes lost in the vision of a reality that he could only vaguely imagine. If only he knew what freedom really felt like.

The skin of hands itched.