Chapter Text
According to Robin, she and Elijah had been neighbors. He wasn’t the only other boy her age in the village, but he was the closest. Their courtship, “if it could be called that,” had begun in their adolescence and proceeded on an on-again, off-again basis.
“I don’t know how serious it really was. Maybe we took each other too much for granted to be serious. We were kids.”
Robin had broken things off for good shortly before she’d left Halkonnis for Ylisstol, though it had been a long time coming. They’d been arguing more frequently, and they both knew that her path would take her from the village someday. All in all, he’d taken the breakup “pretty well.”
“We saw each other every day for almost twenty years. I can’t believe I forgot about him.”
But she had. And his memory had been late in returning, too. Frederick did not say these things to Robin. But he thought them.
“We don’t have to go if it bothers you,” he told her.
“It doesn’t bother me. Even if it did, I wouldn’t call the entire trip off because of one guy. Unless…does it bother you?”
“I have no reason to be bothered.”
She had married him, after all. Morgan was proof that, even in another world, she had chosen him. Their bond had transcended time, war, a would-be god, and even death. Why should he be concerned about Robin’s childhood friend?
Still, the idea of Elijah made him uneasy.
--
They left Ylisstol just as the summer heat was becoming truly uncomfortable. It would be hot in the south as well, but it always felt cooler to be among green things.
“I’m sorry to miss the festivals,” Robin said as they drove through the city. Already bright garlands were being strung above the streets.
“Halkonnis doesn’t celebrate the solstice?”
“It does, and there are a couple of feasts in late summer. But we didn’t really observe any of Naga’s holy days.”
“My village was the same. Everyone recognized Naga, of course, but worshipping her was for city folk. Farmers always relied on local gods.”
“Did you have a favorite?”
“The Old Man of the Hills.”
“Is that his true name?”
“No. I don’t believe his true name is known by mortals.”
“Hm. He sounds spooky.”
“Yes. He emerges from the earth and wanders the hills at night in the form of an old man dressed in a cloak made of grass. If he begins to follow you, you must make your way indoors immediately, lest he catch you and drag you back into the earth with him.”
“A convenient god if you don’t want your children to wander at night.”
“Very much so, though he is more than that. It’s said that he’s the spirit of the hills themselves and has always guarded our village. It’s also said that he would bestow a great boon upon anyone who could hide from him until dawn. Naturally, that encouraged many a child to sneak out at night.”
“Yourself included?”
“Only once or twice.”
“Good for you. Did you ever win that boon?”
“I’m afraid not.”
But Frederick had seen him one summer night beneath the half-moon—a giant, hunched figure passing silently by the well. Moss grew across the Old Man’s skin, and his cloak dragged in the dirt as he walked. Frederick, barefoot and in his sleep clothes, had hidden behind a pile of firewood, his heart beating out of his chest as the Old Man turned in his direction. He’d thrown his hands over his face, but not before he’d seen eyes white as mushroom caps set in a deeply creased face. Frederick had thought he’d be struck dead, but when he looked again, the Old Man had vanished.
He hadn’t told a soul what he’d seen that night. He didn’t want to jeopardize whatever goodwill had earned him the Old Man’s mercy. Or perhaps he’d wanted to keep the god to himself and knew intuitively that sharing the memory would dilute it.
“We should visit your village, too,” Robin said. “You described it so beautifully before.”
“I’m afraid you may be disappointed. It is a village like any other.”
“That’s not true. Not if it’s yours.”
They passed through the city gates. One of the guards nodded at him, and Frederick wondered when he’d last left the city out of armor. He couldn’t remember.
“Do you think your mother would like me?” Robin asked.
“I think she’d warm up to you, in time. It’s me she’d have words for.”
“It’s not too late to write.”
“It is for me, I’m afraid. My only chance may be to bring her a grandchild.”
“You want to get me pregnant that badly?”
“If we go,” he said, blushing.
“Well, we’ll have plenty of time to work on it this summer.” Robin leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’d like Mogan to know at least one grandmother. And between our mothers, it should probably be yours.”
“I’ll write to her,” Frederick promised, although he could already imagine the letter he’d get in return, assuming she responded. His mother had not been pleased that he’d joined the knighthood. He wondered if he’d be welcomed home, and the thought surprised him.
Frederick had left his village to make his home by Chrom’s side, then Robin’s. He hadn’t planned to return. Yet he’d stumbled into thinking of the village as “home” again. Maybe it was, despite everything. Maybe he could still go back.
Would the hills remember him if he did?
--
Frederick had not spent much time in southern Ylisse before, and his impression of it was “dense.” The land was lower and closer to the sea than Ylisstol, and the air hung on him like a second shirt. Wild bushes grew thick along the side of the road and often onto it. Those thick, tenacious roots had a penchant for choking out crops and had kept the size of southern farms small. Nevertheless, it looked like Halkonnis was due for a decent harvest.
“It looks exactly the same,” Robin said as they drove past the outer fields. “Although I’ve never seen it from this perspective.”
“Do we stay on the road?” Frederick asked.
“For a bit longer, yes. Although soon there won’t be much road to follow. I’ll let you know when to—Gert!”
Robin stood up suddenly in the cart. Frederick slowed the horses, but before he could scold her for her recklessness, she’d jumped out of the (still moving) cart. Only then did Frederick notice the ancient woman standing off from the road, no taller than a child. Her hair was even whiter than Robin’s, and her skin was dark from decades of fieldwork.
“Lydia? Is that you?”
“No, Gert. I’m her daughter, Robin.”
“Oh yes, of course you are. Nonni said you’d be coming. It’s good to see you, dear.”
They embraced, and Robin had to bend slightly to accommodate Gert’s height. Despite her age, the old woman had a healthy grip.
“And who do you have with you?”
“This is Frederick, my husband. Frederick, this is Gert. She practically raised all of us kids.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gert.”
Gert nodded slightly. She’d been squinting at him ever since Robin had said the word “husband,” her dark eyes nearly disappearing into her face.
“He’s big,” Gert said at last. She grinned toothlessly and slapped Robin’s arm. “Good.”
He supposed he was flattered?
“My Karl used to be big, too, back in the day,” Gert continued. “Hard to believe, I know. Once we stopped having kids, he withered up like an old tree. But even then, he kept his strength for a good while.”
“How is Karl?” Robin asked, breezing past whatever it was Gert was trying to imply.
“Dead.”
“Oh, Gert. I’m so sorry.”
The old woman waved away Robin’s sympathy like it was a housefly. “He’d lived long enough.”
“But he was so healthy. What happened?”
“Fever happened. A bad fever swept through two summers ago and took some folks with it. Karl was one of them.”
“That’s awful.”
“That’s life.”
“Still, I’m sorry it happened.”
“Oh, hush. There’s nothing for you to apologize for, Lydia.”
“I’m Robin.”
“Robin, yes, that’s what I said.”
“Gert, we brought gifts for you and your family,” Frederick said, cutting in. “May we bring them to your house after we settle in?”
“You didn’t have to bring us gifts,” Gert said, although it would have been unthinkable for them to come empty-handed. She gripped Robin’s arm and shook it once. “You come by the house any time, you hear? I’ll let Nonni know to expect you. It’s good to have you home, girlie.”
“Thanks, Gert. It’s good to be back.”
Robin shot Frederick a quick glance. It was a glance she often employed in council meetings to request his support when a noble had made a troublesome suggestion, or said something too stupid to let lie. He had no idea what it could mean in the context of this conversation.
“Gert,” she said. “Would you like us to take you home? Does Nonni know you’re out here?”
“What would she need to know for?” Gert scoffed. “You think just because I’m old, I can’t find my own ass? This is my field. I come out here every morning, and I can certainly make my own way home, Lydia.”
“I’m Robin.”
“Of course you are.”
“…Alright. We’ll come by the house later. Take care, Gert.”
Robin climbed back into the cart. She turned to wave at Gert as they drove down the road.
“She got old,” she said when there was no chance the old woman could hear. “She was always old. But now she’s old.”
“How do you feel?”
“I don’t know.”
Frederick wondered if that was true. She was still looking back to where Gert had stood. He could not see her face. She would tell him when she was ready, he thought, and he turned his eyes forward to the road, which was becoming less and less.
“Tell me where to turn.”
--
Robin’s house was larger than Frederick had expected. It had a separate bedroom equipped with a large bed, and a room that must have once served as a study, perhaps built for Robin’s mother. The barn, too, was more than spacious enough for two horses. Her father must have been a wealthy man.
The property was in good condition, although the house would need a thorough cleaning. The land had been tended to in Robin’s absence, even the vegetable garden, which boasted handsome green beans, cucumbers, and eggplants.
“Elijah’s done good work,” Robin said, inspecting a row of onions.
Once they’d watered and fed the horses, they got to work on the house. They carried the mattress outside, beat the dust out of it, and let it lie in the sun. They opened all the windows and swept the floors. They washed cobwebs from the bowls and plates (after discovering their resident spider, much to Robin’s distress).
When the house was clean enough, they began to unload the cart. By then it was mid-afternoon and too late to start paying visits.
“We’ll get an early start tomorrow,” Robin decided.
“That would require you to wake early.”
“What, you think I can’t?”
“I’m sure you can. But you haven’t.”
“Stop giving me reasons to stay up, and I will. Did you see a jar of pickled onions?”
“Yes. It’s already inside.”
“Thanks.”
Robin took another trunk inside, so Frederick was the first to see him walking down the path. He was a young man, or at least younger than himself. Shorter, too, though solidly built. He had black hair that fell in curls around his ears and the beginnings of a beard. His pants were stained at the knees, but he wore a clean shirt. His face and hands, too, looked washed.
Robin had not described him in so much detail, but Frederick knew who he was.
“Elijah!”
She ran down the path to meet him, and he caught her, laughing.
“Gods, you’re here! When your letter came, I thought it was a joke!”
“The only joke here is that thing on your face! What’s that supposed to be, huh?”
“It looks good!” Elijah said, touching his chin. “I won’t take criticism from a girl who’s worn her hair the same way for fifteen years.”
Elijah glanced at Frederick as he walked toward them. His smile remained, but he straightened his posture. Even so, he was still a full head shorter than him.
“Elijah,” Robin said, putting her arm around Frederick. “This is my husband, Frederick.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Elijah said, extending his hand.
“Likewise.” His palm was hard and his grip was strong. “Robin has told me much about you.”
“Not too much, I hope.”
“Don’t worry, I only told him the embarrassing bits,” Robin said.
“Wonderful. Thanks.”
“I should be thanking you. Seriously. Thanks for letting us stay here.”
“I don’t know what you mean. It’s your land and your house.”
“I gave them to you.”
“I didn’t accept them.”
The happiness of their reunion snagged on something. An unfinished argument, perhaps. What that argument was, Frederick couldn’t guess. Robin hadn’t even told him she’d given her land away.
“Well, thanks for looking after the place, then,” Robin said, saving the argument for another day. “How’re your parents?”
“They’re old, but well. They need to slow down a little more, actually.”
“I’m glad they’re alright,” Robin said. She smiled in relief, but that smile quickly dissolved into a frown. “We ran into Gert on our way here. She said there was a bad fever two years ago.”
“It was actually three years ago, but Gert was right about it being bad.”
“…Did a lot of people die?”
“Hey.” Elijah clapped a hand on her shoulder. “I know what you’re thinking. But nobody blamed Lydia.”
“Maybe they should have,” Robin said bitterly. “She might have done something, if she’d stayed.”
“She was an herbalist, not a miracle worker. I mean, even your dad… Anyway, she left long before the fever hit. You can feel how you want about her, but it would be absurd for the rest of us to blame her every time someone catches cold.”
“She might have taught someone.”
“Who should she have taught?”
It didn’t seem like a difficult question to Frederick. Surely there were people in Halkonnis interested in learning about medicinal herbs. But to his surprise, Robin only frowned. She had no answer for him.
“Some of us did learn from her, you know,” Elijah continued. “Not formally, but Lydia passed down a little bit of her knowledge every time she treated us. She may not have been here, but that knowledge did help us during the fever. It’s still helping us. Not that we’d say no to having another resident witch.”
“Not everyone who knows magic is a witch,” Robin said. She was still frowning, but less darkly than before.
“If you want to explain the difference between mages, sages, and sorcerers to me again, you can do it over dinner. You’re invited, by the way. That’s what I came by to tell you.”
Robin looked to Frederick for his approval. As far as he was concerned, she didn’t need it—he hadn’t even imagined refusing on their behalf. But he appreciated the gesture, all the same.
“Thank you,” he said to Elijah. “The kitchen’s not in working order just yet, and we would have had a cold dinner otherwise.”
“It’ll be good to have your mom’s cooking again,” Robin added.
“Actually, I have my own household now.”
“What? Since when?”
“Since about two years ago, after Lorella and I got married.”
“You and Lorella got married?!”
“Yeah, about two years ago.”
“That should have been the first thing you told me! That’s huge! Congratulations!”
“Thanks. We’re expecting our first child in the fall.”
“Gods, you’re going to be a father. I’m not sure Halkonnis is prepared for that.”
“Hey, I can still un-invite you, you know. Not you, Frederick. You’re certainly welcome.”
“I’ll behave,” Robin promised. “I need to talk to Lorella about this.”
“I’ll hold you to that. Our house is about a ten-minute walk from my parents’. From there, head toward the shrine. You won’t miss it. It was good meeting you, Frederick.”
But Elijah’s posture still seemed tense.
“Gods,” Robin said after Elijah had left. “He has a beard. And he’s married. And he’s expecting a child.”
“Except for the beard, the same is true about yourself,” Frederick pointed out.
“I guess. Though it feels like a stretch to say that meeting our teenage son from the future is the same as ‘expecting a child.’”
“We know to expect him.”
“True.”
“Did you think he would be much changed?”
“The opposite, actually,” Robin admitted. “I guess I thought he’d be exactly the same.”
“No one remains the same.”
“I thought they might, at least here.”
She was quiet for a moment, thinking.
“He and Lorella are a good match,” she said. “I didn’t expect it, but it makes sense. She’ll balance him out.”
Robin nodded, as if pleased with her own assessment of their marriage. Then she lifted the last sack out of the cart.
“Let’s bring them some vegetables from the garden,” she said. “Since Elijah grew them anyway.”
She went inside, and Frederick pulled the cart to the side of the house. In the shade of the eaves, he realized that Robin had told Elijah absolutely nothing about herself.