The castle corridors echoed with the sound of purposeful footsteps as the group made their way toward the castle gates. Chrom's jaw was set in a hard line, his hand resting on Falchion's hilt as he led the way. Beside him, Robin clutched their tactical scrolls, already mentally reviewing contingencies.
"Gangrel's demands are nothing but pretense," Odyn growled, his dark elven features sharp with anger. "Taking a noble hostage and then claiming we're the aggressors – it's transparent warmongering."
"He wants this to escalate," Sarai agreed, keeping pace with her eldest brother. The morning's personal turmoil had been pushed aside, replaced by the cold focus of a tactician. "The non-aggression pact was just a façade to him. He's been waiting for an excuse."
Roy's hand tightened on his sword hilt. "Then we'll have to be careful not to give him one while we get Maribelle back."
"Exactly," Robin interjected, glancing up from their scrolls. "We need to handle this with precision. One wrong move, and Gangrel will have the justification he's looking for to launch a full-scale invasion."
Lissa, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly spoke up. "But we can't just... we have to save her! Maribelle would never abandon any of us!"
Khanna placed a steadying hand on Lissa's shoulder. "And we won't abandon her. We'll just have to be smarter than Gangrel expects."
"Emm's right to let us handle this," Chrom said, his voice tight with controlled anger. "A diplomatic approach would only play into his hands. He'd twist any official response into propaganda."
Sarai found herself studying his profile as he spoke, noting the tension in his shoulders, the fury carefully contained beneath his princely composure. Even now, with everything else happening, her heart stuttered at his proximity. But there was comfort in it too – in knowing that whatever had or hadn't been said between them, they could still work together seamlessly when it mattered most.
"We'll need to coordinate with the forward scouts," she said, forcing her mind back to tactics. "If we time this wrong..."
"We won't," Chrom replied, catching her eye with a certainty that made her breath catch. For a moment, the others seemed to fade away, and she saw in his expression not just confidence in their mission, but faith in her specifically.
The moment was broken by Robin clearing their throat. "The scouts should be ready by now. We should move quickly if we want to maintain our advantage."
"Agreed," Odyn said, either not noticing or choosing to ignore the brief exchange between his sister and the prince. "The longer Maribelle remains in Gangrel's custody, the more dangerous this becomes."
As they approached the castle gates, the gravity of their mission settled over them. This wasn't just about rescuing a friend anymore – it was about preventing a war, about outmaneuvering a mad king who seemed determined to reignite ancient conflicts.
"Remember," Sarai addressed the group as they reached the courtyard where the other Shepherds waited. "Gangrel wants us to act rashly. He's expecting hot-headed nobles charging in to save one of their own. Let's show him just how wrong he is about Ylisse."
The others nodded grimly. Whatever personal dramas or political complications lay between them, they were united in this moment by a common purpose. As they moved to join their waiting companions, Sarai felt Chrom's presence at her side, steady and reassuring. There would be time later to untangle their feelings, to face what had happened in the moonlight. For now, they had a friend to save and a mad king's schemes to thwart.
The real question was: could they accomplish both without giving Gangrel exactly what he wanted?
The march toward the border was tense, with scouts ranging ahead to ensure their path remained clear. As they traversed a particularly rocky stretch of terrain, Hailfire drew closer to the main group, her orange eyes gleaming with something that might have been hope.
"There's something you all should know," she said, keeping her voice low enough that only the core group could hear. "I've been hearing whispers in my travels – talk of a 'Red Knight' moving through these regions."
Chrom's attention sharpened. "A Red Knight?"
"Valvahdern," Sarai breathed, exchanging meaningful looks with her siblings. "It has to be."
"Your timing couldn't be better, Hailfire," Robin said, already adjusting mental calculations. "If it is indeed Valvahdern, his aid would be invaluable in this operation."
Odyn's expression lightened slightly at the news. "Valvahdern's never been one to stand idle while innocents suffer. If he's in the area and learns of Maribelle's situation..."
"He'll come," Roy finished confidently. "And Gangrel's thugs won't know what hit them."
Khanna nodded in agreement, a slight smile playing at her lips. "Having the Red Knight's blade at our side would certainly shift the odds in our favor."
"We shouldn't count on it," Sarai cautioned, ever the tactician, though hope colored her voice. "But we should perhaps leave room in our formation for an... unexpected ally."
Chrom watched her as she spoke, noting how her tactical mind was already incorporating this new possibility into their plans. Despite the gravity of their situation, he found himself admiring how quickly she adapted, how she could take new information and seamlessly weave it into their strategy.
"The Red Knight's reputation alone might give Gangrel's forces pause," Lissa added hopefully. "Everyone's heard the stories."
"Stories Gangrel would do well to heed," Hailfire said, her tone darkening. "Though I doubt a mad king places much stock in warnings."
As they continued their march, the possibility of Valvahdern's aid seemed to lift the group's spirits somewhat. It wasn't that they couldn't handle the rescue without him – the Shepherds were more than capable – but having such a renowned ally potentially waiting in the wings made their already solid plan feel even more secure.
"Either way," Chrom said firmly, "we proceed as planned. If Valvahdern joins us, all the better. But Maribelle's counting on us, and we won't let her down."
Sarai nodded in agreement, unconsciously moving closer to him as they walked. "The Red Knight or no, we have everything we need to succeed. Gangrel won't know what hit him."
The border grew closer with each step, and with it, the inevitable confrontation with Gangrel's forces. But now, along with their careful planning and united determination, they carried with them the hope of an unexpected ally. Sometimes, Sarai reflected, that was all it took to tip the scales of fate in their favor.
The border crossing came into view, and with it, an unexpected but welcome sight. There, standing like a crimson sentinel before a relieved Maribelle, was Valvahdern himself. His red armor caught the sunlight as he held his position, the ground around him already littered with fallen brigands who had learned too late the folly of challenging the Red Knight.
"It seems the whispers were true," Hailfire breathed, orange eyes bright with satisfaction.
Maribelle, maintaining her noble bearing even in such dire circumstances, appeared simultaneously shocked and grateful for her unexpected protector. The relief on her face was evident even from a distance as she caught sight of the approaching Shepherds.
"Perfect timing," Robin murmured, already adjusting their tactical formation to account for Valvahdern's position. "Though it seems he's started without us."
Any further strategic discussion was cut short by the appearance of Gangrel himself, the Mad King's theatrical swagger faltering as he took in the scene before him. His customary sneer froze on his face as he met the burning orange gazes of the assembled dark elves. Odyn's eyes in particular blazed with such intensity that even the self-styled Mad King took an involuntary step backward.
The weight of those elven stares – Odyn's righteous fury, Hailfire's barely contained rage, Sarai's cold tactical assessment – seemed to pierce through Gangrel's bravado. Whatever script he'd prepared, whatever provocations he'd planned to deliver, died unspoken on his lips.
"Your Majesty," one of his commanders ventured nervously, "should we..."
"Handle this," Gangrel snapped, his voice lacking its usual theatrical flair. His eyes darted between the assembled dark elves once more before he added, "I have more... pressing matters to attend to."
With that, the Mad King beat a hasty retreat, leaving his forces to deal with the situation. Around them, brigands and Plegian soldiers began to move into offensive positions, though they too seemed unsettled by the fury radiating from the elven warriors.
"Shepherds!" Chrom called out, drawing Falchion in one fluid motion. "Form up! We're not leaving without Maribelle!"
Sarai's tactical mind was already racing, taking in the battlefield. "Robin, take the left flank with Frederick and Lon'qu. Odyn, Roy, secure our right. Khanna, support Lissa with healing. Hailfire..."
"Already moving," the dark elf responded, her blade gleaming as she carved a path toward Valvahdern and Maribelle's position.
The battlefield erupted into controlled chaos. Valvahdern, seeing the approaching reinforcements, pressed his advantage against the brigands surrounding him. His crimson armor became a rallying point, a flash of red amidst the combat that told its own story of skill and determination.
Chrom and Sarai found themselves fighting back-to-back, their movements synchronized as if they'd been training for this moment all their lives. If their recent moonlit encounter had changed anything between them, it had only made their combat partnership stronger, each anticipating the other's moves with unconscious grace.
"We'll have time for proper reunions later," Chrom said as he parried a brigand's strike, allowing Sarai to deliver the finishing blow.
"Assuming Maribelle leaves any of us standing after we explain how long it took us to reach her," Sarai replied, a hint of humor breaking through her battle focus.
The fight continued, but with Valvahdern's unexpected assistance and the Shepherds' careful planning, the outcome was never really in doubt. Gangrel's forces, deprived of their leader's presence and facing opponents far more formidable than they'd anticipated, began to waver.
Victory was within reach. The only question remaining was what price Gangrel's failed scheme would ultimately cost them all.
The clash of steel finally ceased as Orton fell beneath Odyn's blade, the Plegian commander's final breath carrying an ominous prophecy. "This... this act of aggression... will bring war to your soil..." he gasped out.
Odyn's scowl deepened as he cleaned his blade, orange eyes still burning with barely contained rage. "You brought this upon yourselves when you violated the peace and took one of our own."
Across the battlefield, Maribelle was straightening her clothes, attempting to restore some dignity to her appearance despite her ordeal. She turned to Valvaderyhrn, her usual proud bearing returning now that the danger had passed.
"I suppose I must express my gratitude," she said, lifting her chin with characteristic hauteur, though genuine appreciation shone in her eyes. "Your timing was... most fortuitous. Though I assure you, I had the situation well in hand."
Any response Valvaderyhrn might have made was cut short as his attention shifted to the approaching Albanar siblings. In one fluid motion, he dropped to one knee before them, his crimson armor catching the sunlight as he bowed his head in formal deference.
"Your Highnesses," he intoned with deep respect, causing several of the other Shepherds to pause in their post-battle activities. "It honors me to serve the royal line of Albanar once again."
Sarai exchanged glances with her brothers, a complex mix of emotions crossing her features. Even now, years after their kingdom's fall, such displays of loyalty could still catch her off guard. Roy's expression softened, while Odyn's regal bearing seemed to intensify, accepting the gesture with the gravity it deserved.
"Rise, Sir Valvaderyhrn," Odyn commanded, his voice carrying the weight of his birthright despite their circumstances. "Your loyalty does us credit, but we fight as equals among the Shepherds now."
"The crown may be lost," Roy added, his tone gentler than his elder brother's, "but we have not forgotten those who still honor their oaths."
Valvaderyhrn rose, but maintained his formal bearing. "A knight's oath does not end with the fall of a kingdom, Your Highnesses. The blood of Albanar still flows through your veins, and with it, the right to rule that was yours by birth."
Maribelle, watching this exchange, seemed to reassess her rescuer with new eyes. "Well," she murmured, mostly to herself, "that certainly explains a few things about our dear Sarai's commanding presence."
Chrom, who had been organizing the Shepherds' withdrawal, paused nearby, his expression thoughtful as he observed the interaction. The respect Valvaderyhrn showed spoke volumes about the heritage of the siblings who had become such integral parts of the Shepherds' ranks.
"Sir Valvaderyhrn," Sarai finally spoke, her voice carrying both warmth and authority, "your dedication honors our house. Will you join us? The Shepherds could use a blade such as yours, especially with war looming on the horizon."
"The Red Knight would be a welcome addition to our ranks," Chrom added, stepping forward. "Especially in these troubled times."
Valvaderyhrn's response was interrupted by Frederick calling for immediate withdrawal – they were still too close to the Plegian border for comfort, and Orton's warning hung heavy in the air. As the Shepherds began their strategic retreat, the weight of what had transpired settled over them all.
War was coming. But at least they had gained another strong ally for the battles ahead.
Echoes of Lost Glory
The journey back to Ylisstol was tense, with every rustle in the underbrush drawing wary glances from the battle-worn Shepherds. They moved in tight formation, Frederick and Valvaderyhrn taking point while Chrom brought up the rear with Robin, their tactician's mind already churning with preparations for the conflict that now seemed inevitable.
As they made camp that evening, the flickering firelight cast long shadows across drawn faces. Maribelle had retired early, though not before insisting on properly treating everyone's wounds – a task she approached with her characteristic blend of fussiness and genuine concern. The rest of the Shepherds gathered around the campfire, sharing a simple meal of trail rations as they processed the day's events.
"Your fighting style," Odyn remarked to Valvaderyhrn, breaking the contemplative silence. "It's unchanged from the days when you trained the royal guard. I recognized those formations immediately."
The Red Knight inclined his head. "The techniques of Albanar were forged through centuries of warfare. I see no reason to abandon what has proven effective." His gaze swept over the three siblings. "Though I notice Your Highnesses have incorporated some... interesting variations."
Roy chuckled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "We've had to adapt. The Shepherds' style is more... flexible than what we were taught in the palace."
"Speaking of the palace," Lissa interjected, leaning forward with undisguised curiosity, "I've heard rumors about Albanar, but never from anyone who actually lived there. What was it like?"
A heavy silence fell over the group. Sarai's hand unconsciously went to the pendant she always wore – a piece of jewelry that suddenly took on new significance to those watching.
"It was beautiful," she said finally, her voice soft with memory. "The capital city was built into the mountainside, with towers of white stone that caught the sunrise like flames. The Great Hall had windows of stained glass that told the history of our people, and in winter, the snow would..."
She trailed off, and Odyn placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. The weight of their lost homeland hung in the air, made heavier by Valvaderyhrn's presence – a living reminder of all they had been forced to leave behind.
"Forgive me," Lissa said quickly, "I didn't mean to—"
"No," Roy interrupted gently. "It's good to remember. And perhaps..." He glanced at his siblings, then at their newly reunited knight. "Perhaps it's time we shared more of our history with our new family."
Chrom, who had been listening quietly, straightened. "Whatever comes with this war," he declared, "know that you all have a home here. Ylisse stands with you – not just as Shepherds, but as friends."
The conversation gradually shifted to lighter topics as the night wore on, but a subtle change had occurred. The presence of Valvaderyhrn had brought the past into sharp relief, forcing them all to confront not only what had been lost, but what might still be at stake.
As the fire burned low and the Shepherds began to drift toward their tents, Sarai remained behind, studying the embers. Valvaderyhrn stood a respectful distance away, his vigilant posture unchanged despite the long day.
"Sir Valvaderyhrn," she said without turning, "does it ever feel like a dream to you? The way it was before?"
The knight was silent for a long moment before responding. "Sometimes, Your Highness. But then I see how you and your brothers carry yourselves, how you lead even without a crown, and I know that Albanar's spirit lives on. The kingdom may have fallen, but its heart beats still in those who remember."
Sarai nodded slowly, her fingers still tracing the patterns of her pendant. In the distance, a wolf howled – a lonely sound that echoed through the forest. War was coming to Ylisse, but perhaps with it would come the chance to reclaim more than just peace.
Hearts in Shadow and Light
The camp had grown quiet, with only the soft crackle of dying embers and the distant calls of night birds breaking the silence. Sarai found herself unable to seek her tent, her mind too full of thoughts that demanded attention. Her fingers absently traced the grain of the wooden log where she sat, remembering the smooth stone of Castle Ylisstol's balconies where everything had changed.
That first kiss had been impulsive – a moment when her heart had acted before her mind could catch up. They had been discussing the future of Ylisse, and something in the way moonlight caught his profile, in how his voice carried such gentle strength when speaking of his people, had broken down her carefully maintained walls. The second kiss, in the privacy of the war council chamber the next day, had been different – deliberate, meaningful, weighted with unspoken questions.
Sarai closed her eyes, feeling the cool night breeze against her face. The past few days had been a blur of diplomatic tensions and military preparations, but beneath it all, those moments kept resurfacing in her thoughts. She was a princess without a kingdom, carrying responsibilities and memories that sometimes felt too heavy to bear. And yet...
Footsteps approached – ones she had grown to know well. Her heart quickened even as she maintained her composed exterior.
"Couldn't sleep either?" Chrom's voice was soft, meant only for her ears.
"Too much on my mind," she admitted, finally looking up at him. He stood uncertainly for a moment before settling beside her on the log, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him in the cool night air.
"About what happened?" he asked, and there was no need to specify which 'what' he meant.
"Yes." Sarai took a deep breath, gathering her courage. "Chrom, I—"
"If you regret it," he interrupted quickly, "I understand. The timing isn't ideal, with everything that's happening, and your position—"
"I don't regret it." The words came out stronger than she intended, and she saw his eyes widen slightly in the darkness. "That's... that's what I've been thinking about. I should regret it. It complicates everything. And yet..."
She turned to face him fully, thankful that the darkness might hide the blush she could feel warming her cheeks. "I've spent so long thinking about what I should do, what's proper, what's expected of me as a princess of Albanar. But when I'm with you, I find myself thinking about what I want. And what I want... is this."
The silence that followed felt endless, though it could only have been seconds. Then Chrom's hand found hers in the darkness, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her palm.
"I've been thinking too," he said quietly. "About duty, and kingdoms, and what it means to lead. And I've realized that perhaps the strongest way to lead is to be true to one's heart." He squeezed her hand gently. "I know the timing isn't perfect. We have a war to prepare for, and there will be those who question this. But I don't want to hide how I feel about you, Sarai."
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "The others probably already know. Lissa keeps giving me these knowing looks, and Frederick seems to have doubled his protective hovering."
Chrom's quiet laugh sent warmth through her chest. "I've noticed. Though I think Maribelle wins the prize for most obvious – she's already started leaving books about Ylissean royal protocol where you're likely to find them."
"We should wait to make any formal announcements," Sarai said, practicality asserting itself even as she leaned slightly closer to him. "Until after we've dealt with this Plegian situation."
"Agreed." His free hand came up to brush a strand of hair from her face, the gesture achingly tender. "But until then..."
This third kiss was different from the others – unhurried, certain, carrying all the words they didn't need to say. When they finally parted, Sarai rested her forehead against his, feeling for the first time in years that she had found somewhere she truly belonged.
In the shadows beyond the dying fire, a figure in red armor smiled slightly and silently withdrew, his vigilant watch unneeded for this particular moment.
Quiet Moments
The night held many secrets in the Shepherds' camp, Valvaderyhn mused as he made his way back toward the sleeping area. The absence of both Lissa and Roy hadn't escaped his notice – their usual spots by the fire conspicuously empty. A ghost of a smile crossed his features; it seemed the youngest Albanar sibling had found his own connection among Ylisse's royalty.
The Red Knight knew better than to intrude upon such moments. His years of service had taught him the value of discretion, especially when it came to matters of the heart. Still, he couldn't help but remember a much younger Roy, barely able to lift a practice sword, declaring with all the gravity a child could muster that he would one day marry a princess. Life, it seemed, had a way of making such innocent declarations come true in unexpected ways.
His feet carried him almost unconsciously toward Maribelle's tent. The noblewoman's ordeal earlier that day still weighed on his mind, despite her assertions of being perfectly fine. He positioned himself nearby, not so close as to seem improper, but near enough to respond quickly if needed. The subtle rustle of fabric from within the tent suggested she was still awake, perhaps writing in the journal he'd noticed her carrying.
Movement at the edge of camp drew his attention. Hailfire and Lon'qu emerged from the tree line, arms laden with freshly gathered firewood. The dark elf's silver hair caught the moonlight, creating an almost ethereal glow around her as she walked beside the typically stoic swordsman. What caught Valvaderyhn's attention wasn't just their return, but the comfortable silence between them – the kind that spoke of growing trust rather than awkwardness.
Lon'qu's usual rigid posture seemed slightly relaxed in Hailfire's presence, his characteristic wariness of women apparently eased somewhat around the dark elf. They worked together efficiently to stack the wood, movements synchronized in a way that suggested this wasn't the first time they'd shared this task.
"The bonds between them all grow stronger each day," Valvaderyhn thought, remembering similar scenes from his years serving the Albanar royal family. He had watched the siblings grow up, seen their bonds strengthen through adversity, and now he was witnessing how they formed new connections, weaving themselves into the tapestry of the Shepherds' family.
A soft sound from Maribelle's tent – perhaps a stifled yawn – brought his attention back to his self-appointed guard duty. The noblewoman had shown remarkable resilience today, maintaining her dignity even in the face of danger. Her strength reminded him of another noble lady he had once served, though he quickly pushed away the bittersweet memory.
As the night deepened, Valvaderyhn remained at his post, a silent guardian watching over the quiet camp. Each relationship he observed – whether romantic like Chrom and Sarai's, potentially budding like Lissa and Roy's, or the quiet camaraderie between Hailfire and Lon'qu – represented another thread strengthening the fabric of their group. In the coming war, such bonds might mean the difference between victory and defeat.
The Red Knight settled into his vigilant stance, content in the knowledge that while kingdoms might fall, the connections between people – be they royal, common, human, or elf – endured. And perhaps in these bonds lay the true strength of the Shepherds, beyond any tactical advantage or military might.
Unexpected Moments
The supply tent was illuminated by a single lantern, casting long shadows across stacks of crates and barrels. Roy and Lissa had volunteered to take inventory – a task that needed doing, though perhaps not quite so urgently as they'd made it sound. The princess moved between the shelves, quill scratching against parchment as she noted their remaining vulneraries and medicines.
"We're running low on healing staves," Lissa observed, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than how aware she was of Roy's presence behind her. "After today's battle, we should probably—"
Her foot caught on an errant rope, sending her stumbling backward. Before she could fall, strong arms caught her, spinning her around instinctively to steady her. Time seemed to slow as she found herself mere inches from Roy's face, close enough to see the subtle variations in his striking orange eyes, like flames caught in amber.
The lantern light played across his features, highlighting the unique coloring of his hair – that striking blend of cerulean blue and soft lavender that seemed to shift with every movement. Lissa found herself transfixed, suddenly very aware of his hands still steadying her waist, the warmth of his breath, and most distractingly, the proximity of his lips.
"I—" she started, then stopped, her mind going completely blank. Heat rushed to her face as she realized she'd been staring. Steam might as well have been coming out of her ears for how warm she felt.
"Are you alright?" Roy asked, genuine concern in his voice, seemingly unaware of the effect he was having on her.
"Fine! I'm fine!" Lissa practically jumped backward, nearly knocking over a stack of tomes in the process. "It's just... it's really hot in here, isn't it? The supply tent is always so... warm. With the supplies. And the tent. And the..." She backed toward the entrance, gesturing vaguely. "I should get some air. Fresh air. Outside. Where it's... not here."
She ducked out of the tent before Roy could respond, leaving him standing among the partially completed inventory, confusion evident on his face. He looked down at the spot where she'd been standing moments ago, then at his hands that had caught her, trying to piece together what had just happened.
"Did I do something wrong?" he wondered aloud to the empty tent. The supplies, unsurprisingly, offered no answers.
Outside, Lissa pressed her hands to her cheeks, willing them to cool down as she paced in small circles. "Get it together," she muttered to herself. "You're a princess of Ylisse, not some swooning maiden in one of Sumia's novels."
But try as she might, she couldn't quite banish the memory of how it felt to be in his arms, or the way his eyes had looked in the lantern light. Tomorrow they would return to Ylisstol, to Emmeryn and duties and proper royal behavior. Yet somehow Lissa knew that completing the supply inventory would never feel quite the same again.
Back in the tent, Roy returned to counting vulneraries, occasionally glancing at the tent's entrance with a puzzled expression. The answer to Lissa's strange behavior would have to wait until morning – though perhaps, had he been more versed in matters of the heart, he might have recognized the signs that were so obvious to everyone else in camp.
To be continued in Chapter 6: Foreseer