Chapter Text
Today, the wind seemed to be especially blistering. It kicked up the fine sand and made visibility poor; Robin was only grateful that their party of mages were capable of moving swiftly through it with no issues. He didn’t think he could handle Tharja’s complaints and mutterings about the sand weathering away at her skin, nor Gaius’s complaints about it sticking to his lollies, were he present. He peered to his side, where Henry was humming and skipping along, a crow protected on his shoulder. It turned to look at him and tilted its head. Robin gave it a tiny smile, and it seemed satisfied, turning back to pulling at Henry’s ear. His retainer didn’t seem to mind the pain though; his hand rose to gently pat the bird.
They’d just finished helping an odd group of foreigners with some invisible beasts. Robin turned the battle over in his head, remembering the striking white hair of the so-called princess and her sharp-tongued retainer. He’d only ever seen them in storybooks before, though his entourage could not have been more unfamiliar with the heart-wrenching tale of Hoshido and Nohr, leaving him the sole member of their party who understood the truth. No problem, he thought to himself, it would be his own secret.
“Robin!” Henry yelped, rushing ahead. “There’s a guy just passed out in the sand here! D’you think he’s dead? I wonder if the sand got into his throat and choked him to death? Maybe someone got him with a spell that ruptures your internal organs? Or -”
“He’s not dead yet, you bumbling fool,” Tharja barked, storming over to the body. “He will be if we don’t get him out of this heat soon.” Robin hurried over. The stranger was pale skinned, though his face was beginning to turn red with the telltale signs of a sunburn or maybe heat stroke, and with hair the colour of blueberries, though it lacked a healthy sheen. His clothes were torn, and dried blood stained the rips almost black. Puckered, healing scars and bruises littered his skin. Regardless of his concerning state, he was still quite handsome - he shoved the thought into the recesses of his mind. Robin frowned, gnawing at his bottom lip.
“Must be Ylissean. What’s he doing at the Border Pass?” The people of Ylisse were an isolationist one. Despite the many invitations of trade or travel his older sister extended to them, the general dissonance of their clashing religions and ideals tended to keep Ylisseans on their side of the border. Hardly had he ever seen one in the capital, much less on patrol.
“What should we do, Robin?” Henry had extended his bubble of protection onto the stranger. Robin leaned over the man, wondering if it would be faster to resuscitate or dump his flagon of water on him.
“I don’t know. What do you propose we do?” At that moment, he groaned, fingers twitching as they scrabbled at the sandy ground. His eyes flickered open, and Robin’s breath caught at the sight of dull but beautiful azure blue. “I see you’re awake now. Give me your hand.” He stuck his hand out and helped the stranger up with a bit of effort: the man was at least half a foot taller than him, and likely more than 10 kilos heavier. He staggered against Robin, who quickly righted him with a hand to his bicep. By Grima’s name, did he have muscle. Willing the sudden flush on his cheeks to fade away, he let go of the man. “Are you fine?”
“I think I’m alright, Robin,” The stranger cleared his throat several times, and Robin offered his flagon of water. Gratefully, he took it and drank his fill. Robin pointedly stared at the spot beneath his ear as he tipped his head back.
“That’s Prince Robin to you, or shall I turn you into a newt for your disrespect?” Tharja snapped, her expression darkening. The stranger choked on his water and coughed, leaning over as he hacked his lungs out. Robin shot his retainer a warning glare, and she made a face back, but crossed her arms and looked away with a huff.
“P-prince? My apologies, Your Highness - I did not mean to offend - “ Robin smiled at him faintly, shaking his head. The stranger looked frantic, and his eyes kept glancing over to Tharja, as if she might actually make good on her threat. Henry snickered, and the crow on his shoulder trilled as if it too were amused.
“Peace - I would rather you refer to me as you would any other man. Strange that you know my name, but not my station,” he mused, and the man tensed up, his brow furrowing and lips dropping into a frown.
“It is as you say,” he muttered, “Your name is all I can recall. I cannot even remember my own at the moment.” He looked truly lost, and Robin pursed his lips. A predicament, indeed.
“You have amnesia,” Henry noted cheerfully. “Hey, do you think if I bash your head into a rock, you would recover your memories?” The man’s eyes widened and his hand swiftly dropped to his belt, where Robin realized a sword was sheathed.
“Henry,” he reprimanded, letting a little bite enter his tone. “I must apologize for my retainers,” he sighed, shaking his head. “They are…eccentric. But they mean well, I swear.” The man didn’t look as if he believed him, fingers clutching tightly at the hilt of his sword, and Robin could not fault him for his reluctance. “Regardless, you are clearly lost, and it would truly be an ignoble act to leave you here alone. We will accompany you to the nearest village - you’re lucky; it’s close by.”
“Am I your prisoner, or anything of the sort?” He asked suspiciously, and Robin let out a dry laugh, shaking his head.
“Nonsense. We hardly get any Ylissean travelers within our borders; especially with your condition, we would simply like to ensure your visit to Plegia is more pleasant than it is currently.”
“Plegia…” the man seemed to turn the name over in his mouth, as if it were unfamiliar to him. “This is Plegia?”
“Are there any other desert countries bordering yours on this godsforsaken continent?” Tharja grumbled, looking disconcerted. “Do they teach you Ylisseans geography at all, or do you truly spend all your time kissing the ground your Exalt walks on?”
“Tharja,” Robin warned, flicking her on the arm. “Do you forget that you represent me? Watch your words.” She winced but glowered apologetically at him, holding her tongue. Henry giggled and she snarled at him. Grima’s heart, why were his retainers children? He sighed, exasperated.
“I don’t even know if I’m from Ylisse,” the man interjected, quickly putting an end to the childish display. “You don’t seem to have a favorable impression of your neighboring country.”
“...Quite right,” Robin admitted, biting at his bottom lip. “Their Exalt is a volcano of a man. One can never be too sure when he wants to erupt. I fear he intends to declare war on us soon, though I’ve no inkling as to why. Well,” he amended, “Perhaps I do. But enough of that depressing talk — “
“More of that depressing talk, I’m afraid! I smell smoke,” Henry abruptly announced. “And not the food kind.” The four of them scrambled up the sand dune, only to be met with a sight that Robin dreaded most. The village they intended to drop the stranger off at was burning. Their homes were built of adobe and stone, which meant that anything that burned had to be supplies like oil and greenery. A mixture of rage and horror swam around in his stomach, and he cursed.
“Damn it all, it has to be those brigands!” As fast as he could, he skidded down the slope of sand. His retainers and the stranger weren’t far behind. Even from the edge of the village, he could hear villagers and brigands alike shouting. He could see their leader in the village centre, spinning his axe around and roaring with laughter as he commanded his subordinates to pillage and kill. Furious, Robin pulled his Thoron tome out.
“To arms,” he growled. “No mercy! This is equal retribution! Or Lord Grima strike me down where I stand. Stranger, with me,” he stalked forwards, electricity gathering in his palm and buzzing through his veins. Henry and Tharja split off from him to protect the villagers, and the stranger followed him closely, sword unsheathed and glittering in his hand.
“What would you have me do?” Battle was not new to him, Robin observed. His stance was strong and his gaze sharp on their surroundings. He was calm and focused. Perhaps he’d been a mercenary in the past, Robin mused - but now was not the time for wondering.
“I will guard your back; you go ahead of me.” Nodding, trusting, the stranger leapt forwards and began taunting the leader of the pack, who advanced towards him snarling. Robin patiently waited for an opening as the two men clashed, sparks flying off where their swords sliced against each other. “Duck!” He shouted. Obediently, the man dropped to the ground just as Robin cast his arm forward, a bolt of lightning spearing the enemy’s heart cleanly. Without a sound, the brigand collapsed to the ground. At the sight of their fallen leader, the others began to try and run off, but Robin and his group efficiently picked them off one by one. With the battle over and the fires put out, Robin cast a small Elfire, pinching his nose at the disgusting smell of burning flesh. They helped the village clean up and salvage what was possible, and Robin promised that a unit of wyvern riders would be by with new supplies as soon as possible.
“Thank you so much for saving us, Prince Robin,” one of the villagers gushed. “Please, you must stay so we can celebrate your might with a feast!”
“Though your hospitality is appreciated, we cannot,” he gently declined. “We must return to the capital as fast as we can.”
“So be it,” they acknowledged with a dip of the head. “May Grima’s wings grant you swift travels.”
“And may His heart protect your home,” he returned, and the four of them quickly set off. As they made their way swiftly across the desert, their charge began to shiver. The sun had begun to set, and the temperature was already shifting colder and colder. Absentmindedly, he rubbed at his arms, and Robin slowed to a stop.
“How about we rest for the night,” he suggested. “Our friend is unused to these weather conditions, and besides I’m feeling quite hungry.” The stranger shot him a grateful look, and Robin gave him the barest hint of a smile in return. The three of them set up camp quickly, in the swell of a dune, and Henry handed a blanket to the man, who gratefully snatched it up and buried himself in it. He gave a shiver of relief and relaxed as Robin ignited their makeshift fire pit.
“Right, well, it’s snake jerky for dinner today,” Henry cheerfully passed out the rations, which were quickly devoured with no complaint. After many days on the road, he knew not to be picky about the food he consumed. And besides, he found that he had learned to like the taste, oddly fishy and gamey with a touch of salt.
He quickly finished his meal and sat back against his tent, observing their stranger. He was tearing into the jerky with an intrigued expression on his face, slowly chewing; he looked as if he were lost in his thoughts, far away from their desert camp. As he swallowed his bite and moved to take the next one, he suddenly sat upright and turned to make eye contact with Robin.
“I remember now,” he announced. “My name is Chrom.” The name pinged familiarly with Robin, and he squinted at Chrom, truly trying to take in his appearance now. If he thought about it, Chrom looked familiar, as though someone else’s features had been carved into his face and he was still adjusting to them. Unfortunately, he couldn’t settle on any singular thing and decided to shelve it away for later. The man raised an eyebrow at him, as if to ask what he was doing, and Robin just blinked back.
“Glad to hear it,” Robin responded. “...well, who wants guard duty first tonight?”
“I will,” Tharja volunteered, as if this wasn’t their constant habit. “Rest, my sweet prince,” she cooed, and he merely rolled his eyes and crawled into the tent after sipping from his flagon. He wouldn’t admit it in front of the others, but their long day of trekking and helping the villagers had truly drained him; it had been a while since he had properly been on patrol. His stamina wasn’t what it used to be. Easily enough, his exhaustion allowed him to drift off into sleep to the muffled chatter of the wind and his retainers.