Fate

«  "Three days..." He murmured to himself in thought.

He turned over an onion in his palm, only to find it stricken with the same malady as most. He set it aside to remove it. The last thing they needed were troops coming down with stomach sickness before a battle.

"I can't ascertain our situation with the rest of the stock, but most of the vegetables are unsalvageable." Gerome stood, reaching into the far corner for an empty burlap sack, and set himself back before the crate; onions, radishes, potatoes, and a manner of others finding their way inside.

Briefly he pondered who took up this task before Laurent, possibly his mother, though her own endeavours seemed to absorb much of her time. None the less, it was strenuous work for one man, mentally and physically.

     Of course, the request felt silly to her when she had her own Wyvern to attend to, and yet she wanted nothing more than a little more time with Gerome. He may not have thought of her like his mother, and she hardly felt like one, but to be around him caused her immense joy. It also broke her heart to see him try so hard to isolate himself from everybody; she figured perhaps he got lonely, and perhaps she could help a bit.

"Very well." He allowed, turning on his heel to face the right direction. "This way."  »

«  As they came upon the open field the wyvern lifted her head, her dark eyes glistened in a familiar shine to Gerome's approach. Her nostrils flared as she sniffed at the air, but upon catching Cherche's scent she seemed to perk, lifting her head attentively. She even made an affectionate screech, calling out to them, more excited than the rider had anticipated. It was both difficult and relieving for him to behold.

Placing a gloved hand against her muzzle, he turned back to look at the figure who so resembled his mother. He was sure she would have no problems, his mount was already stretching out her long neck to get closer.

❝Its not like you to jump to conclusions.❞

Although he kept his composure well the observation provoked what Robin liked to think was parental concern. A hasty Gerome implied a disgruntled one; it was possible someone had caused an upset before he’d come along. Mindful of this but also against obvious pursuit of the topic Robin focused on his initial strategy:

Leading an unwitting Gerome into casual conversation.

«  To say Gerome was wary of the other man was an understatement. His mask bore no response but his pale lips drew back uneasily at Robin's words. The seemingly friendly lure of his eyes was a trap— or so the rider would have himself think. Still, Chrom placed value heavily on the tactician's input, there was a chance he had a message to relay.

"If you have business with me, speak it quickly. I do not care for idle chatter." He said brusquely.

«  Her question caught him off-guard, a disgruntled look settling over him. Hopefully she wouldn't notice. He had thought one day to have to answer her this query, perhaps just not so soon. The wind whipped past them anew, his capelet making a snap as it caught the air and Lucina's hair tumbled like waves in the ocean. He mounted his arms atop his chest.

"It doesn't matter." He attempted to dismiss the subject. "I would think you'd have more pressing concerns then sparing time to ponder my worrisome reasoning."

    "Then maybe you can understand why I cannot ask Lucina to leave," to brush her from his side. Her real father he may not be, and while he was still new to being a father she felt like his daughter just as much as the Lucina in this time. "To send her back alone, where her parents are no more, where she may lose all those dear to her…" The possibility of that happening in this time was still there, he didn’t deny it but he had to believe together they could change what was to come. "As her father and friend I wouldn’t wish that on her and I suspect neither would you," now understanding a little better as to why he’d requested such a thing.

« The commander had faded back into his confident words, but it seemed to bloom hope in the rider's chest, if only a smidgeon. He wanted to believe everything would succeed, he wanted to believe in a brighter future for Lucina and for everyone— albeit the more he thought about it the more that hope sunk like a ship between the crash of waves. He hoped his frown had not deepened after such a speech, in any case he cleared his throat.

"I have done nothing worthy of your gratitude." He looked away.

Minerva had disappeared from behind him and was snuffling at the grass, wings folded away on the large of her back. Her presence calmed him, as it always had. It was plain that he would never wish such things on his childhood friend.

It is only that I would not have her suffer such strife a second time, as a foolish gamble. He thought grimly, but kept it to himself.

"I should hope such endeavours find only good graces..." Gerome was suddenly at a lack of things to say, his original purpose deflated like a balloon. He turned his back to the prince, a summer breeze running it's fingers over the field.

    “We all die eventually, Gerome. I only fear a death earned without a fight.” She took one cautious step towards him, shortening the distance between them. Though he stood far taller than she, she could sense the fractures within the core of his being, making it so much easier to pry.

« Her words were cold and flat, but somehow they inspired a twisted discomfort to take hold of him. He didn't like this, he didn't like this— woman. Though they spoke of death, her acceptance of the matter was strikingly calm, even where it concerned her own. As Tharja stepped forward his foot took half a step back without thought, he stilled, still unwilling to retreat just yet.

"I wasn't there." His reply was clipped. "I was all but a child when you met your fate."

He had thought to lie, but it wouldn't have done him any favours. It was only likely to intrigue her more. He had known scare more then a handful of the Shepherds as a child, tales of their adventures and battles from Cherche's lips were his only guide.

« The other man obviously had no intention of backing down from his stance. Ridiculous. However, Gerome knew a dead end when he was at one, turning his head aside to let a sigh slip free. It was pointless to fight a battle already lost.

The prince was curious now, or so it seemed. Chrom did well at keeping a blank face, shielding any intentions he harboured inside. After he called him away from camp, it seemed only right that he answer his indulgences.

 "...It was not for any greater good, nor any brave act to resurrect that which I have already lost." He said dryly. "It was for Minerva."

As if she had been called, the wyvern came foreword, leaning her large head over his shoulder. She opened her mouth a smidgeon to make a quiet sort of croak, the best she could do that wasn't an ear-shattering roar. He raised his gloved hand scratch her neck.

"In the future, not many wyverns still live. After I had died, she would have been alone..." He dropped his head to look at his feet, hand still upon his mount's neck. A new sort of sadness emerged in his voice when he spoke again.