Archive of Our Own

Instead, he was a like a whirlwind of destruction. Several soldiers stopped in their tracks, jaws agape, to goggle at the dark mage who cut a bloody swathe through the enemy as though the Risen were made of so much rice paper, immediately turned to confetti with a flick of his wrist. He cackled through most of the skirmish. By battle's end he was covered in blackish blood, gossiping with the crows that were already descending on the rotting corpses. The Shepherds gave him a wide berth as they began to regroup before moving on. 

All except for two. Chrom kept his steady gaze fixed on Robin as she made her way over to their newest member to introduce herself. "Hello," she called pleasantly, forcing down a cringe when he turned to smile at her with his gore-splattered face. 

"Hiya!" he chirped, standing up and fruitlessly wiping his hands on his sash; he'd been poking inside the crushed skull of a Risen archer.

"I'm sorry for not introducing myself earlier," she apologized, "but things got hairy fast. I'm Robin, the Shepherds' chief tactician." She held out her hand to shake. "Pleased to meet you, er..." 

"Henry." He peered at her outstretched hand for a moment, then grasped it lightly with long, cold fingers. 

"Right, Henry. Sorry." 

"Oh, don't worry about it. So, am I still good to go?" 

Robin blinked. "'Go'? I'm not sure wh—oh, do you mean, is Chrom's invitation for you to join us still good?"

"Yup!" 

"Of course." Robin looked back in Chrom's direction and was surprised to see him observing them. He nodded slowly in assent. "Chrom's a man of his word," she replied, turning back to face the Plegian. "Welcome to the Shepherds."

 .~.~. 

"Henry." 

The dark mage looked up from the sigil he'd been doodling in the dirt. Looming over him in the light of the fire was...that big fella. The leader's stalker. What was his name? "Hey-o, big guy." That would have to do. 

Big Guy frowned; it was just Henry's first day, but he could already tell that it was the knight's favorite expression. "Milord Chrom wishes to speak with you. If you'll follow me, his tent is this way." 

"Okey-doke!" And Henry trundled after him.

Big Guy ended up leading him to a tent that was the same size as all the rest, which Henry found a little surprising. Leaving the curt knight to stand guard outside, Henry lifted a tent flap to peer in. Situated around a table were three people: the leader ("Chrome"? Gosh, he'd never been too good with names), the woman who had spoken to him on Carrion Island earlier that night, and a dark robed mage with red hair and a keen gaze behind glinting spectacles. 

"Henry, welcome," the tactician said with a smile. "Come on in, we were just about to discuss your place within the Shepherds. Have a seat." He took the proffered chair, one of his legs swinging absently once he was settled. 

"But before we get to that," the leader interjected, glancing over to the woman who'd spoken, "we want to make absolutely certain that you're sure about this. Do you still want to join us? The path we've chosen is a long and dangerous one." 

Henry's carefree laugh echoed in the small space. "I already told you, I love fighting! Killing's kinda my thing—I thought I gave you a nice little sample of that with those mushy meat puppets earlier." 

"Hmm...." The leader's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Aside from Gangrel, I've yet to come across someone as enthusiastic about carnage as you are." 

"It is irregular, to be sure, but perhaps to be expected of a mage who is so heavily imbued with dark magical prowess," remarked the bespectacled woman. "I couldn't help making the observation that Tharja is also relatively nonchalant about bloodshed; I believe the correlation between this mentality and the use of dark magic may be a fascinating line of inquiry to pursue." 

"Uh...right you are, Miriel," said the leader, looking a bit lost. 

"The point is," the tactician said, coming to his rescue, "Tharja's proven that she's a valuable ally—" 

"And utterly fixated upon you, Robin," added Miriel. 

"—so it's very possible that Henry could be the same." 

"Do you mean Henry could prove useful, or that he'd also develop an unhealthy obsession?" The blue haired man was clearly having trouble following the thread of the conversation. 

Robin rolled her eyes. "Chrom, give me a break." 

(Henry now knew all of their names, and felt proud of himself for noticing.) 

Miriel cleared her throat pointedly. "The former, captain. Neither Robin nor I have any objection to this young man's posthaste enlistment." 

Chrom nodded, but it looked somewhat hesitant. "All right, Miriel, you know I trust your and Robin's judgment." His steely blue gaze fixed on Henry once more, sizing him up. 

Henry chuckled, unfazed and unintimidated. "Don't worry—if you don't think you can trust me, you can always just kill me!" 

"...All right." Chrom blinked several times as Robin stared with wide eyes and Miriel's narrowed behind her glasses. "Uh, if that's all, then Miriel here will help you get settled in camp and show you our collection of tomes." 

"Ooh, tomes? I can't wait to take a look! G'night!" Henry hopped up from his seat and followed his fellow mage out of the tent. 

A few seconds after they left, Chrom slumped in his seat, head tilting back as his eyes closed in exhaustion. "He's...an odd one." 

Robin hummed noncommittally as she scribbled on the parchment in front of her. "That he is. Sort of funny, though."

One of Chrom's eyes cracked open to give his tactician a disbelieving look. "'Funny'? I'm almost positive I saw him steal an eyeball from a Risen corpse earlier." 

Robin shrugged. "I guess we'll see how he fits in. We're a pretty ragtag group, after all." 

Chrom chuckled. "You can say that again."

Just as they concluded their business for the evening and Robin was gathering her things to leave, Frederick cleared his throat outside the tent. "Yes, Frederick, what is it?" called Chrom. 

The knight poked his head through the flaps. "Pardon, milord, but Panne insists that she speak with you." 

"Oh. All right, send her in." 

Panne entered the tent slowly, standing barely inside. "I have information about the new curse-slinger," she began without preamble. "We have met before." 

"You have?" Robin leaned forward, intrigued. 

"Yes. He informed me of the Plegian plot against Exalt Emmeryn's life two years ago." 

The pause in conversation following her claim was almost painful. "R-really?" Chrom finally choked out. 

Panne's nose twitched. "Unlike those of your kind, I do not lie." 

"We believe you're telling the truth," Robin assured her. "It just seems too incredible to be true. Do you know why he told you?" 

"I do not." 

"We'll have to ask him," Chrom muttered, eyes dark. Robin looked over at him in concern. 

"So we can trust him?" she asked, turning back to Panne.

The taguel's face was impassive. "I do not yet know him, and do not intend to do so. Still, I will vouch for him. For now." She left the tent as quickly as she came, leaving stunned silence in her wake. 

"One good turn deserves another," said Robin finally. She turned to Chrom for confirmation; he nodded tersely, jaw clenched and gaze averted. He never reacted well whenever his elder sister was mentioned. "Chrom, are you all right?" 

"I know I shouldn't feel this way." The prince's voice was lower than normal. "I've had plenty of time to accept what happened. But...a Plegian? We know absolutely nothing about him." 

"We know that he helped us when we needed it, just like every other Shepherd. We recruited Tharja, and she's Plegian. Hell, we recruited Gaius when he was planning on stealing from the royal treasury." She shook her head. "Henry is as worthy of being here as anyone else." 

Chrom sighed. "I know, I know. Believe me, I feel terrible for even thinking this way. I just need to be alone for a bit." 

Robin pursed her lips. "I understand. Get some rest, and I'll see you in the morning. Tell Sumia and Lucina that I said goodnight." 

"I will." 

She walked outside and turned to make her way back to her own tent. After taking only a few steps, however, she accidentally bumped into someone in the darkness. "Ack! I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, stepping back to see who she'd run into. A pair of dark eyes in a pale face bored into hers, making Robin feel apprehensive. "Oh, uh, hello there, Tharja. What are you doing here?" 

Tharja's frown deepened. "Making sure that new one didn't harm you." She stepped a bit closer. "You're hex-free right now, but until he proves that he's not a complete idiot, I'll be paying close attention to you. Extra close." 

Robin had no idea how much more attention Tharja could possibly pay her, nor did she want to. "A-all right, thanks, but don't work yourself too hard." 

The dark mage looked almost delighted at Robin's admonishment. "You're worried for me? How sweet," she cooed. 

"Oh, it's nothing. Haha...hah. Well, goodnight, Tharja." Robin barely managed to keep herself from breaking into a sprint as she walked back to her tent.

.~.~.

As Henry got settled in, he could hear the whisperings. Plegian. Untrustworthy. Dangerous. He was just too used to whispers to care. 

He got a teeny tiny bit annoyed when, only a few days after he'd joined the Shepherds, he went back to his tent following a training session—to which Frederick had forcefully dragged him—and found that it was in shambles. Shredded bedroll, little table overturned, parchment strewn about, tomes missing. The only object left untouched was the decomposing Risen eyeball he'd put in a jar at the foot of his now-destroyed bed, so at least there was that. He stood at the entrance and blinked slowly, then shrugged and made his way to one of the supply tents. 

He ended up, by happenstance, at the same tent in which Robin was taking some inventory or other. She looked up at the rustle at the entrance, and smiled slightly when she recognized the dark mage. 

"Afternoon, Henry," she greeted. She seemed then to notice Henry's exhausted appearance and muffled a snicker. "Frederick got you, didn't he?" 

"Uh-huh. So hey, where can I get another bedroll?" 

Robin frowned. "What happened to yours?" 

"It got all ripped up."

The tactician lifted a skeptical brow and took a couple of steps closer to him, quill and parchment lowering. "How did it get all ripped up?" 

Henry scratched his cheek and shrugged. "I think it got trashed." 

"By you?" 

He shook his head. Robin, quick as she was, understood immediately, mouth opening in a small "o" of dismay. 

But Henry just waved it off. "It's totally fine! It's not like I had any personal stuff in there anyway." 

"That's not the point," Robin snapped. Her jaw clenched for a moment. "I'm sorry, Henry. You didn't deserve that." 

Expectations were a luxury, in his book. "Don't worry about it," he replied with a laugh. 

She shook her head. "Of course I'm worried. I'll help you find some new things right now. Come on, the convoy isn't far from here." She went towards the tent flaps, but paused, putting a comforting hand on Henry's upper arm. "Sorry," she muttered again.  

Henry stood stiff as a board, unsure how to act in this situation. Most people never touched him. He didn't have to think about it for long, though, because Robin slipped quickly out of the tent. Henry followed her unthinkingly, reflexively. 

When Chrom made an announcement that evening that hazing or harassment of any Shepherd was unacceptable and would be met with swift retribution, Henry knew it was no coincidence, and looked over to see Robin flash him a small smile. He thought that was a little funny.