healer.

     Olivia tended to shy away from compliments, and while Lissa had such a beautiful heart, Olivia still blushed and bowed her head at her words. She understood she had talent, though she was modest, she was not wholly naive. For recognition and kind words, she was grateful. Yet at the same time, she couldn’t squelch the tinge of discomfort that the word ‘wife’ still brought her. She desired love and companionship, but the remnants of fear and loathing that word conjured up in her still tugged at her heart from time to time. No sorrow etches itself across her face, however, and only radiant joy is shown to Lissa when she lifts her head, a tiny smile pulling at her lips. 

    “Lissa, thank you, but you must pay yourself such kind words as well. No one brings the same light to camp as you do, and you are just as beautiful if not more so.” Physical intimacy was especially difficult for Olivia, but she took the clerics hands into her own and squeezed. “You are a wonderful mage, and you have a good heart. Talents can be learned and practiced… I’d hesitate to declare myself extraordinary, yet I would still find myself content to help you with anything you might desire… but you do not require my assistance to shine.”

       it amused her, how their conversations always had a tendency to become simple back and forth compliments. however, lissa has come to notice this is rather common with many of the women in their army. blissfully unaware of olivia’s initial discomfort, the princess giggles, head shaking as she gazes at the elder with a sheepish grin. sure, she was a talented healer, and sure, she was useful in battle nowadays and was that “ever shining light in the army!” ( as maribelle liked to put it ), but lissa simply wasn’t... marriage material. as beautiful as olivia has claimed her to be, the younger had a tendency to focus on her faults. she wasn’t graceful like olivia, wasn’t prim or proper like maribelle, nor knowledgeable like miriel. she was kind, yes, but she was too often deemed too pure and naive.

    she was deemed a child, no matter how much she had grown. 

         ‘I’m sure she’d be glad to see you.’ And he wonders if she would be when he’s covered in ghastly scales, unsettling marks, and barely clinging to what little humanity is left within his broken, decaying body. Wonders if she would forgive him for the blood on his hands and the bones in mouth, or for the pain he knows he’s brought upon them in one way or another. Wonders if she would have even missed him at all when he had failed her so many times; when he had let her beloved sister die, when he had sent soldiers into battle only to watch them fall, or when he had betrayed Chrom (feeding him sweet lies of a future where he would have stood beside him instead of one where he wouldn’t be there at all) to put Grima down for good (but that had backfired; just look at what it’s done to him now). 

          No, she wouldn’t, is the answer his racing, frantic mind comes to a screeching halt upon because he’s done too much to be worthy of such mercy. But looking at her is so hard; it makes his hollow chest throb and his faltering, dying hurt sputter helplessly because gods she’s grown up, but somehow she seems the same as she’s always been (like war had never broken them, but he’s no fool, he was there to watch it destroy all of them). And he wants nothing more than to reach out; embrace her and beg for forgiveness she can’t possible offer him because she doesn’t know. But not knowing is better, surely, than remembering; remembering and surviving to see the monster he’s become. So isn’t it an act of mercy rather than cruelty that leaves her ignorant to the fact that he had been a part of her life?

         So it’s with mercy, perhaps for her or for himself, that he forces a smile upon his splintered lips at her words. And it’s the saddest grin he’s ever let paint his shattered features, but it feels better than wallowing in his regrets and wishing he had a way of fixing this (of fixing himself) only to know he never will. “Thank you,” he croaks, and she’ll never know just how sincere those words are or how much her seemingly senseless rambling had meant to him because, in a way, it was the closest he would ever come to being granted peace by someone he had once dreamed of spending mundane, thoughtless years beside after the end of an ugly war. And it was good enough for him. 

          A rusted, soft laugh rattles his dry throat. It’s so quiet and so strained that it almost sounded like a cough if one wasn’t listening closely, but it’s the first one to leave his worthless lungs in years, and it startles him; makes him clamp his mouth shut to drown out the noise because it sounds foreign to his sensitive, pointed ears. “I’ve always been a bit odd, I’m afraid, but my name is Robin, princess. Now we aren’t quiet strangers anymore.” They’re words he never believed he would have to speak again, but they flow so easily that it’s almost painful, yet, somehow, they bring with them a strange sense of peace (like he was the man they had picked up from that field what felt like centuries ago all over again). “It’s all right, milady, I am fine, you need not worry about me.” 

         His features crinkle in confusion when she begins to scold him, and then he freezes; crimson eyes wide with something akin to horror as she quotes him. His heart is in his throat, trying to claw its way up into his mouth so it can spew bile all over the street because he might be nothing more than a few foggy words here and there, but a part of her, no matter how small, remembers him. And that’s more than enough; more than his wicked, shallow soul could have ever desired. It sinks like a sword into the pit of his stomach that he’ll never dislodge; she remembers you, and he’s trembling. “Lissa.” His hands move to cover his mouth, and he swallows the hot, vile rush of blood and gods knows what else that creeps up his throat; just the faintest sting of a tepid liquid eating away at the corners of his eyes as his knees give out and slam gracelessly against the street. But it doesn’t hurt; nothing hurts anymore because even if she can’t place his name, his face, or his bond with her; she remembers him, vague as that memory happens to be.       

            “I’m so sorry.”                 

       truly this entire interaction with a hooded stranger so horribly laced with what she believes is a simple illness feels so, so strange. ‘robin’ he says his name is. robin, just like the bird ( a creature with wings that can take flight, and leave her behind, with mere memories to leave her with should he decide to leave... should he be forced to leave ). seeing as he is named after a bird, she wonders if his parents named him such so he could live a free life. she wonders why someone with such a nice name seems so burdened with pains she could only attempt to understand and vaguely, she wonders if it’s because he truly has been forced to leave behind all he’s known. 

    the lissa of the past wouldn’t have to try to understand though. the lissa from before would know this man and cry tears of sorrow, not for what he has become, but because he’s taken so much upon himself to ensure hers and others’ happiness. robin, named after a beautiful bird, whose name reflects his intelligence, and was too kind of a man to blame himself for all the tragedies she had witnessed... that was the tactician that had remained in the depths of her heart and wanted so desperately to break free. 

    so when he says her name in such a heart wrenching manner, a hand clutches at her chest, as though his very voice were a spear aimed to take her life. the thoughtfulness on her visage is replaced with furrowed brows, marred with concern and laced with the desire to understand. what was he apologizing for? she didn’t know, she couldn’t know, and it was frustrating. his pained voice, the way he seems to hold himself as if to stop himself from falling apart hurt. but why? he was a stranger, yes a mere stranger only freshly turned into a new acquaintance. he wasn’t one of the people she had battled alongside in the wars for peace. he wasn’t one of those people she so warmly and gratefully calls family. her brain knew, so why did her heart think so differently? was this how emmeryn felt towards her people? could she say her confusion was akin to the love her sister had for the people her family had strove to protect?

    slowly, she kneels beside him, mind racing so fast she felt nauseous. although lost in the hurricane of her own emotions and thoughts, she attempts to hold her voice steady, head shaking in as though to comfort her new acquaintance. lissa swallows thickly, a hand hesitantly placed upon his shoulder, her touch feather light because that part of her that makes her question if he truly is a stranger, tells her, for his own comfort, placing her weight upon her own dainty hand may frighten him away. 

    ❝ robin... ❞ even his name felt familiar on her lips. “are you okay? what are you apologizing for...?” she does not attempt to peer at his expression, knowing he keeps his hood up for secrecy. “you’re really not okay, right? i’m sorry— i kept you standing here when you obviously need a bed to rest on...” her voice is soft, and though faint, she sounds as though she were on the verge of tears. was it her empathy that pained her chest when she sees this man crumpled to the floor as though he were a broken doll? or was it something else? 

     “Heh, well, I can’t really argue with that, now can I?” Helping Lissa get the hang of wielding an axe had certainly been a welcome change of pace from his duties as exalt, and he’d been happy for an excuse to get away from his desk and spend some time with his family. “And I guess that’s true, too. I can’t imagine it was easy, having to wait to see whether any of us were okay.” 

   Robin chews on her lip thoughtfully, though she knows that the sort of thinking Lissa is asking for is far from her strong suit. It’s hard to imagine the thoughts of someone who doesn’t know Lissa on a personal level and has their first glance of her upon the battlefield. 

   “I don’t think I’d say that, but…I guess I wouldn’t be particularly frightened, either. I guess it sort of depends on how confident you look?”

      a-ha! she knew it! and with a sigh, lissa slumps once again, head shaking in disappointment. though she had anticipated such an answer, somehow, it was still disheartening to heart. perhaps it was because she wanted to have the slimmest hope that yes, her angry pout could be scary enough when she was armed with an big axe.

       Time had not been kind to him; not when she and Chrom had found him in a field, without an identity to be had, what felt like centuries ago, and not now, when the pieces of himself that had once made him Ylisse’s trusted tactician (human) were slowly warping into little more than scales and memories that barely felt like they belonged to him anymore. And the way she leans forward in an attempt to catch a glimpse beneath the worn hood isn’t lost upon him (he can’t blame her; he sounds like the devil to himself, he can’t imagine how his voice must grate against her ears), so he lifts his chin sightly, hefty fabric draping over the right side of his face, but revealing just a bit more of his left (exposing odd scars where the Fell Dragon’s second and third sets of eyes would have been upon his own face and just the hint of his own, too red iris). He knows it won’t quell the nervous tone she speaks with (and how it kills him to hear it flow from her lips like he’s just a faceless stranger to her), but it’s all he can offer. 

         “It was a long time ago, forgive me, milady.” The words sound odd upon his tongue, and he wonders if it’s simply because it’s been years since he’s spoken to another on somewhat friendly terms or simply because the word ‘milady’ sounded foreign to him when it was aimed at someone he had once considered something akin to family. “She was like a sister to me, and I hope she finds herself well these days.” But the words sound like venom to him when they’re laced with Grima’s low growl, but, for the moment, the Fell Dragon has chosen to remain dormant; lingering beneath his tattered skin, watching, waiting. 

           Sharp fangs press into the mushy flesh of the inside of his mouth when she offers to heel him; chapped, bloodied lips pursing together into a thin line that’s something between a frown and a melancholy grin. He had almost forgotten how kind she had been (apparently war had not drained it from her like it had him), and for a moment the offer left him with a meek voice lodged between his throat and his heart (because how long had it been since someone had offered to help him rather than kill him; he can’t remember). And it stings more than it should; slices through the foggy memories he clings to like a knife splitting him from the only lifeline he has left. He had to force himself to breathe again; to not stumble over his words or chase after a past that has left him behind to rot. 

            “I’m grateful, and I do not doubt your skill, princess,” he smiles; still the title feels like a rock in his mouth, “But I’m afraid I can’t be healed.” He wishes he could be (but he tells himself it’s better this way; he deserves the hand fate has bolted to his being). “So please don’t waste your time or energy on me. There is so much more you could accomplish with it instead.” He reaches out a gloved hand; scales scratching against the frayed fabric like a beast trying to claw its way out of a cage, to gently ruffles her hair. He used to do it often (to reassure her, or to tease her when the time between battles had dragged on so very slowly); the familiar motion coming so naturally to him that it took a moment for his crowded brain to catch up with his arm, and he was quick to pull his hand away when he had realized what he had done.   

               “Forgive me, I’m afraid it’s an old habit.”    

       with her time spent with an army, mending wounds via staff and by hand, the princess has come across many scars. some were more visible than others, some larger, and some appearing more cruel. each mark tainting once pure skin only ever sent shivers and sympathy down her spine, and his are no exception. her brows are quick to furrow, no matter how difficult they are to see. his skin is marred, and it’s no wonder he wears his hood. suddenly, she feels terrible for even attempting to try to view his features, her pangs of guilt pushing back the unease that comes with his frighteningly faint red gaze. fingers fiddle with the cuffs of her dress, eyes being cast elsewhere as if to showcase regret for her rudeness. older and wiser she may be, but the insensitivity from youth seemed to follow her nonetheless. 

    lips part to speak, but she can’t help the way her body seems to freeze as this hooded figure ruffles her hair. familiarity courses through her veins as this stranger lays affection upon her, a soft gasp leaving still gaping lips. when he rests his hand atop her head, a ghost of warmth from someone important seemed to gently call to memories she isn’t sure are there. perhaps she was attributing this warmth to the long gone touch of her dear sister ( however, the love she feels isn’t from the soft hands of emmeryn, but from rough hands that were too familiar with war and it wasn’t her brother’s so then... who’s...? ). 

    she finds no offense in his action. no, in fact, all she feels is curiosity. she peers up at the man with a puzzled expression, heart attempting to unite with her brain. the heart remembers, but the brain doesn’t, and it’s so frustrating, yet she cannot voice it to someone she doesn’t know. ❝ i... see...❞ she says slowly, as though recovering from her stupor. blinking, she clears her throat, the smallest fond smile spreading across her features. “i understand... the army i was with became my family too... we’ve all gone our separate ways, but i hope they’re doing well... someday, maybe you’ll meet that girl again. i’m sure she’d be glad to see you.” 

    and truly, she would be, had lissa remembered him. had fate been kind and allowed robin a future in ylisse, after such a long absence, the princess would shed tears upon their reunion. he was a dear friend, a sibling, a member of her ever large family, and one of her dearest companions. she’d call him a fool for being gone for so long, and though his appearance would be different, she’d love him all the same. 

    because he was robin, no matter what happened. 

    “you don’t have to apologize for patting my head... but, still, kinda weird for a stranger to do that to a princess, isn’t it?” her voice carries light amusement, something even the darkest of days couldn’t diminish. however it is fleeting, her expression becoming solemn soon enough. “i’m sorry though... for not being able to help you. i don’t even have a drink that could soothe your throat...” her arms cross in thought, lips pursed and soon enough she’s nodding, a hand upon her hip as an index finger raises. 

    “listen, i know i talked to you first, but if you’re not feeling well, it’s okay to say that so you can go rest. maybe i’m being too pushy, and i know we live in a pretty peaceful time now, but travelling alone is dangerous when you’re sick! back when i was fighting in the war, i’d always get scolded for not taking care of my health! i was always told ‘pranks are fun, but don’t go out in the rain to go do it!’” though mimicking robin’s voice, quickly she pauses, raised hand resting upon her chin as she looks down in thought. she appears troubled once again, brows furrowing as if desperately searching through memories unknowingly stolen from her. 

            ` oh no, i’m sorry … that’s not …’

he smiled apologetically, fingers rubbing his collarbone out of bad habit. it had been the third time today, since walking into camp, that he had been referred by a name that was not his own. forneus wondered of this ‘robin’ with whom he supposedly shared his face. he must be famous, he thought, because the second in command was generally prone to be known by name and reputation than by face.

            ` my name is forneus. i’ve only just joined your merry band of freedom fighters! i’m afraid i’m not quite at nearly a high enough ranking here to be joining in on strategy meetings any time soon, but i’ll be trying my best.’

            ` i’ll be under your care, milady.’

       oh, how embarrassing! she had heard there was a new recruit, was all eager to welcome them to the shepherds, and yet here she is, confusing said new recruit for someone else! her cheeks burn in mortification, head shaking as she groans both internally and aloud. add that to her many list of blunders. gods, she’d never let herself live this down, ever.

    “Oh, don’t I know it! I’m still not sure how I survived when I first joined the Shepherds.” She winces, her muscles aching at the mere memory of it. “But Lissa, you don’t have to be intimidating–you know that, right? It doesn’t make you any less of a soldier, and it definitely doesn’t diminish your skills. I really don’t think you need to worry about this too much.” 

       He hadn’t meant to stare; hadn’t meant to allow his ever racing mind to become caught up in past memories that should have meant nothing to by now, but his heart was such a pathetic thing sometimes and he couldn’t look away. Unlike her, though, his thick hood obstructed his eyes, drowning the horns upon his head with purple fabric and hiding the dark scales that sat beneath his all too red eyes. And he hates how his pointed, scruffy ears perk up at the fear radiating from her body; hates how he can smell it on her, but despises the greedy hunger that rattled his bones as he picks up on it the most. So he purses chapped lips, and swallows around the taste of ash and blood in his throat to quell Grima’s persistent presence as it was caged within him.

         A part of him, the morbid fragment of his cluttered mind, wonders if she had ever felt like something was missing from her life; he had seen her as something akin to a sister after he had joined the Shepherds, but those days were long gone now, and he was nothing more than a monster unfit to walk the same earth as those he once loved. And another part of him, the one that’s so tired of fighting Grima’s curse, is so grateful she can’t remember him because at least then she’ll never know the burden and shame that drags him down now. 

         He forces a smile onto his lips; it’s a gentle, fleeting thing that can just barely be seen beneath his hood. “It’s all right, I apologize if I startled you, it was not my intention. You merely - look like someone I used to know.” His voice is raspy and hoarse; one can almost hear Grima’s strained snarl with each word that slips from his dry mouth.      

       after grima’s fall and everything had returned to normal, it was far too obvious that, among the shepherds, something seemed to be missing. however, none were able to put their finger on this missing something ( or someone ), so they allowed that uncomfortable gap fade away into the back of their consciousness. however, for someone as close to that lost puzzle piece as lissa, it never fully faded. as she traveled alone, that nagging feeling only increased now that she had so much time to think on her lonesome. 

    she can’t fully explain it, but that itch in the back of her mind only seems to grow in the presence of this stranger, and she wants to know why but is simply too afraid to ask. well, more like a stranger wouldn’t be able to answer, right? it seems odd, wanting to involve someone she had just met into her personal affairs. trusting she may be as both her personality and status as a previous member of the ever kind shepherds allows, but she isn’t a fool to allow such desperation to overtake her. 

    ( and yet, she can’t help but wonder why those robes, alongside that small smile she can barely catch a full glimpse of, gives her a sense of peace now that she’s heard his voice, no matter how distorted it sounds ).

    ❝ o-oh... really? ❞ she relaxes ever so slightly, body leaning forward but feet never moving, as though to catch a better glimpse at the man’s facial expression. “that’s... weird. i’ve never heard of someone resembling a member of the royal house so closely... but, um, never mind that... you sound a little... sick. is your throat sore?” she shifts slightly, calling attention to the staff she carries upon back, resting alongside her axe. ever kind as she is, she offers a small smile, nervousness still apparent in her voice. 

“Hehe, okay… that sounds… nice…” Emmeryn consented with a smile, tilting her head up a bit to give her sister full access to her hair. “But, Lissa… after you’re done with my hair… maybe… maybe you’d let me try… braiding yours…? Your hair… it’s curly… but it’s also soft… and much thicker than mine… If we… braided each other’s hair… we could match…!”

      “Correction–I’m not used to you charging through the front lines,” he concedes. After all, it wasn’t like Lissa had simply waited for the battles to be over even before she’d learned to wield a weapon of her own. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re able to protect yourself, and being able to fight alongside you is a weight off my mind.”

       ❛ I do what I can ! Camouflage is an important skill. ❜ 

       He repositions the fruit just so, the angle precise enough to meet even the standards of someone as watchful and exact as Frederick. No one would guess as to the strangely savory filling lurking within – and a good thing, too, as any slip would ruin the surprise. ( there’s a little thrill at that, the idea of an emotion as strong as even momentary shock. and, of course, at seeing the mirthful glee that is painted across Lissa’s face. a worthy endeavor on all fronts. ) 

       ❛ If we’re not all out yet, I know some of the venison was put aside – that’d probably work just fine, hm ? ❜  

       she has to keep in mind to not go too overboard with their filling ( she wouldn’t want the surprise to be ruined by the overwhelming scent of meat rising from a cake ), but it was too much fun! just the thought of everyone’s reactions when they bite into a slice only to get meat would be hilarious! though, perhaps if the aroma does come across as odd once they’ve done their job, they can slap some more fresh fruit on top to disguise it. 

    ❝ ooooh, that’s pretty normal in comparison to the bear but... ❞

    she nods in approval, expression pleased. “if we’re putting meat in there, might as well give them a break and give them something good too.” and then she pauses, mischief radiating off each corner of her expression. she’s glad she has a comrade while doing something like this. it was fun doing a prank on her own, but it’s so much more enjoyable when she can talk to someone ( and not get scolded ) about her plans. henry was significantly more easy going than a handful of others in the army, so she feels she can easily cause a little mayhem with him.