Of Exalted Blood

Something about Chrom’s reaction seems strange to her. For a moment, she thinks she hears regret in his voice; it is a feeling all too familiar to her… but the speaker is not. How could she know how he was feeling? She didn’t even know how to speak to him, and yet…

“There is nothing to forgive,” Cordelia interjects gently, unable to keep the words from slipping out. There is a bashful pause, and then: “…I was happy you cared enough to ask.” 

But he has always cared, hasn’t he? Always, even when he did not know her name; the truth of it rattles something inside her chest.

“I’d like to see you happy.”

Always. He was always like this. 

For a moment, she forgets how to breathe, and she looks down at her hands, her hair falling between them like a curtain. He’d done it yet again, hadn’t he? He’d saved her again, as easily as he always has. It was a silly thing to save her, perhaps– such small words they were– but…

But he’d wanted to see her happy. 

“I could say the same of you, my prince.” She laughs, quietly, and when she tucks her hair behind her ear once more, she brushes the stray tears along with it in a single fluid gesture. 

“…I’d like to see you happy, too.” 

His downcast gaze lifted to meet hers again. Curious by the sudden pluck with which she speaks. ...Some walls were being broken at least.

He softens, and agrees simply. “Always”

Always. He could not recognize himself any other way. Who would he be, if not feeling for others first. Aching just as they.

His expression quirks then, ever so slightly, at her curtained expression. Somehow, those words meet him strangely, and he is bound silent as they reverberate through him.

It is a sentiment that should come naturally, and though they were his own words, the exact collection feels far more meaningful than it should. All wished him well, but precisely for his happiness...?

He exhales, a breath held where he didn’t realize. But a pleasant feeling takes its place.

In response she growls, as evil and as dragon-y as possible. It’s more of a purr than a roar, but at least she tried. “But what about brussel sprouts? And broccoli, and carrots!” She says, deepening her voice as much as she can. “What happens when I hoard the cake and never share?” 

His laugh sparks a broad grin in her, and she does her best to hug him so tight despite carrying him. “Meanest sister for my most precious brother.” She says. “Meanest sister was very serious about those veggies,” Emmeryn insists, though she’s already weakened in her resole.

She’ll be sneaking him a piece of pie at least. A small one though, because he was naughty.

“O brave knight,” Emmeryn intoned, spinning around in a circle as they passed through a doorway, “How will you defeat me, when I have you so captured?”

The irritable and brattish feelings lifted so easily when they giggled in each other’s company like this. Any will to fight, no matter how silly, faded with each passing foot fall. Braving vegetables was worth an afternoon with Emm.

“Mmm. Maybe it isn’t so bad, Dragon.” He says, in the soft and warm tone that was rarer these days. “You’re worth the poison.”

Still, the more he was happy to be with his sister, the more guilt nipped at him for how it came to pass.

“Emm,” He starts, quietly, shameful. “Sorry I broke the vase... I... I...”

“Well I can’t say that living that life suits me well but hey, someone’s got to do it!”

After receiving Churro from the blue-haired lord, Rutger began to stare down the baby. The baby’s whimpering was sort of disheartening to Rutger. Maybe it was it was his soft spot for the baby kicking in, but Rutger wanted to suddenly take action.

“I’ve got it.”

With Churro tucked in like an American football, Rutger made a mad dash for the river. The breeze managed to calm the baby down a bit in time for Rutger to rip off the diaper and slam dunk Churro’s butt into the water. This was clearly the epitome of baby rearing. Everything had gone according to plan for once.

There were really no words to react with at this point. Chrom supposed he should just expect the unexpected with Rutger; little point in making a fuss now over his antics.

He only shook his head before approaching the riverside. “Well I suppose you saved me the trouble then. Hopefully Churro feels better now...”

They’d need a replacement nappy though... he glanced back down at his chest; cape still affixed as a sling.

He wasn’t ideal, but it was an easy choice at least. More important that Churro was comfortable.

Even with Chrom’s appearance and the ruined world around him, Ephraim isn’t expecting a blade nearly at his throat.

“Chrom,” he implores again, though somehow he knows it won’t make a difference. He’s been here before, after all. He tightens his grip on the staff. It’s not enough, not even knowing he has his hunting knife as well, hardly a blessed spear of legend, but – 

But who else could be so prepared to act this way? Perhaps it’s meant to be. Better Ephraim do this than a sister or a lover. 

He forces back everything outside his outrage and strikes with everything he has.

Against everything, even The Risen King’s mercy, this man was still a fool.

He attacks with nothing more than a sharpened stick, and it impacts uselessly against the Knight’s flesh. He doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, only grasps the spear embedded in his shoulder, and snaps it in half.

He wanted to suffer then did he? He would know suffering.

The Knight pulled back and struck the fool with the broad side of Baal, sending him topple backwards. He knew his once name... his once self... and his intentions didn’t seem to lie in conquest... who was this worm? Why was he here?!

These were questions the Knight shouldn’t have even bothered with, but they gnawed at his mind and would not cease. Decidedly, the Knight kicked his crumbled form onto his back, and pressed a heel against his throat.

Henry turned toward the sound of his name, a smile spreading across his face as the parcel was placed in his hands. Despite his lineage, Chrom remained ever humble about these sorts of things.

Henry peered down at the wrapped gift, the size and weight familiar enough for the dark mage to know just what it was before he’d even opened it. A useful gift from any person, but it meant more than he could express coming from their leader. “Ahaha, you remembered! Or maybe Robin told you, hmm…” He couldn’t help but tease the monarch a little. Truthfully, either way he was as happy as could be, it meant he was on someone’s mind.

Henry smiled warmly, watching Chrom’s sheepish display. “Don’t worry, I have no idea when your birthday is.” He admitted without even a hint of shame in his tone. “I’d just ask Robin too!“ He realized he should probably get to it sooner than later.

“Well, it looks like something out of a book.” he laughed, but it was unusual for the dark mage not to be—making it hard to tell if the comment was a compliment or not. The present was wrapped almost cartoonishly, and was certainly adorable. Unable to wait any further, he pulled the bow apart and tore off the paper. His eyebrows shot upwards briefly- wow, now THIS was a gift! Such a powerful tome, but he supposed that was what having the buying power of a halidom got you. Did the taxpayers of Ylisse know? He began to laugh again as a particular thought struck him.

“Did you buy this yourself?!” he asked, trying to imagine the crown prince shopping for dark magic and then paying for it. What a sight indeed. “Did you make Frederick do it?” He whispered scandalously, leaning in close.

“Oh come now, I must have fun of my own, right? I can’t let Frederick run all my errands. As much as he would like to.” If he could sneak away without even telling Frederick where he was headed, he always took the opportunity. (Though really, it would only fuel his anxieties more.)

Still, Chrom was smiling. “The vendor said it was pretty old, so…” He grasped for anything to say. Difficult when he hardly understood magic, let alone dark.

Bonding always seemed to happen more quickly on the battlefield, Pent found… There was something about placing one’s life in the hands of another and the prolonged, close proximity to one another (and death) that seemed to make everything fall into place.

“And I am honoured to have the privilege, Your Grace…” He sighed deeply, staring up at the dim ceiling above them. The whisper of wind outside the ruins and the trickle of the fountain took over in the silence. How many nights had he laid back like this, wondering over spells and theory… and now he would get to do it again, mind running over the exact steps to send the Exalt home.

“I am afraid my magic is not yet strong enough to open the gates to Ylisse… It would not be too long though. In the meanwhile, please make yourselves comfortable here. There is not much left, but I imagine Your Grace would want to rest before returning to the entirety of the palace…”

Such an offer cemented the exhaustion Chrom was fending off, the relief of being able to collapse was overcoming him now. He could only singularly nod his head and hum a sound of recognition.

Shaky hands moved; first to his gloves, then to the clasp of his cape. Both of which fell a little thoughtlessly to the cot. He hesitated above his harness. He looked upon Falchion, still sheathed at his hip. They had spent all night retrieving the blade, he almost felt as though removing it now would be a disrespect. But his heavy eyelids nagged at him again, and he began to fumble with the latches soon after. Rising only to rest his sword against a wall in plain view.

Seeing Chrom’s wide smile warmed Marth’s heart, and he couldn’t help but beam back at his descendant.

We’re family after all.

Family… Family he never thought he’d have. The thought of Chrom as family, as his descendant, emboldens him, and he decided to take a chance. After all, if Chrom wasn’t ready to be so close, he could always say no, couldn’t he?

“Would you like me to carry you back?” he asked. “Altea castle is still some distance away, and I wouldn’t want you to suffer having to limp all the way back - especially not if I’m currently capable of carrying you.”

Chrom is... surprised to say the least. He stares widely, processing the information twice just to make sure he heard it just right.

Carry... him? It’s a strange thought... he hasn’t been carried since he was just a lad... Usually Chrom is the one to carry others; and that is part of the strangeness he thinks. To be carried, in his own arms, in a way.

All the same, he isn’t exactly... opposed to the idea, and to convince himself further, he glances down and tries his leg again. No... if he did walk, he’d only slow them both down and risk more injury. If not for his own sake, for Marth’s. It was his body after all.

“If it’s... no bother...? Haha? I’d hate to slow us down or injury your leg more.” His hand moves to run through his hair again. Much shorter than he is use to, and topped with the iconic headpiece.

He could hardly see through all the blasted steam in this place. Even if he could, it was almost hypnotic in it’s tranquility. Chrom was somehow content to idly wander about the area, until a door practically slammed behind him.

Strange, and yet- was that- “Henry?”

On the other side of the room was the Mage. What very little anxiety chewed at him dissolved to at least see a familiar face.

While he wasn’t normally the most observant person around- and especially not when it came to social cues, Henry had picked up on Chrom’s confusion at what he’d said. “Well, yeah…” He smirked, “Do you usually go around looking for cursed rooms to hang out in? It’s no wonder you needed a tactician.” It was of course said in jest, but Henry wondered afterward if he should have watched his tone with the Ylessian Exalt more than he had been. Chrom had to have been used to his candor by now, right?

“Eeyup, it’s magic…” Couldn’t he feel it? “I can’t figure out in what way yet, but - ah! You’re… ahaha.. really?” Caught off guard by the sudden compliment, Henry glanced around fervently for anyone else that he could have been speaking to, and his chest tightened in unfamiliar anxiousness upon finding that it was indeed only the both of them… him, and the guy that he kind-of-definitely had a secret thing for.

“I mean, I agree! It’s nice.” Tittering lightly, Henry’s gaze fell bashfully to his feet. “I’m just surprised. Your people just usually can’t unclench when I’m around,” Oof, “-and I can’t usually think of excuses good enough to get you in a room alone with me that wouldn’t just sound weird, so—”Henry looked down at his hands like he was prepared to gnaw them off himself.

Coming from any other person, Chrom might have taken offense to that. But in this room with the calming aura, it easily washed over his back. Although Henry’s comment was crass, Chrom was becoming accustomed to the Mage’s dark banter, and admittedly, he wasn’t really wrong either.

“It’s a good thing Robin is good at his job then isn’t it?” He says rather flippantly, noticing then Henry’s own embarrassment. “Ah-…”

Although Chrom had tried to grow these past years from his instilled biases, the clashing cultures could still be a sticking point; and for more than just him. Plegia and Ylisse had an age old animosity. That wasn’t so easily shaken.

“I think… it’s understandable… and I felt much the same for a long while.” Even discovering Robin’s heritage took some working through, but he was finding more and more reason for betterment. It was a natural thing to have prejudices, considering both their upbringings, but Chrom still felt a touch ashamed.

“Getting to know you has helped though. I think that’s all anyone ever needs…” Why were these words coming so easily now? They were typically locked tight and tucked away.

Chrom looked back to the door. He was in no rush to leave.

“Emms like them lots,” Emmeryn says sagely, glad for the easier positioning. Chrom was certainly growing still, and he seemed heavier every day. The day was fast approaching when she would no longer be able to hold him like this. 

(Her heart twisted though, to hear him say such a thing. Even all these years later, their father’s shadow brought conflicting emotions back to the forefront of her mind.)

“All part of my diabolical plot to rule this entire castle with a green and healthy fist, Little Brother.” Emm said, leaning her head forward to blow a raspberry against his cheek. “The poison’s part of the plot! The very most important part.” 

And then she winked at him, quite obviously.

Normally, her blowing a raspberry to his cheek would only make him more huffy. But today, a giggle squeaks by his tightly held pout. He tucks his head away in the crook of her neck to hide it.

“So mean. Meanest sister.” To make her poor, innocent, helpless brother eat healthy, just because he broke a vase. Unforgivable.

Still, she may be the meanest sister, but she was one he loved a lot

He decides to change the game around then instead. She is actually an evil dragon, of course. Trying to destroy him like this.