More experimenting! I read somewhere that Morgan's Japanese name is Mark, and that is also the default tactician name from FE7. Some things are kind of vague to fit the theme.
I do not own anything. I write fics for enjoyment, not profit.
Alternate
He wakes on a bed of soft feathered grasses to the strange feeling that someone is hovering over him, but when he opens his eyes, nobody's there. He sits up as his eyes adjust to the setting sun, bathing the field in ruby fire. The sight of the rolling hills is pleasing—familiar—but he's not sure why.
His thoughts are a jumbled trunk of images encased in fog, just barely out of reach. The haze is disorienting, but other than that, he doesn't seem to be injured. It takes him a moment to realize that he doesn't know where or even who he is. For some reason, that doesn't exactly bother him. It doesn't seem weird to be waking up like this at all.
As he gets up, his dark robes with purple trim swish around his—thankfully whole—body. He doesn't remember what happened to him, but if it caused him to lose all of his memories, it must've been drastic. Twigs and flower remnants are brushed from his dark hair, and as he looks down, his garb sticks out sorely from the foliage. Somehow he thinks green would've been more fitting.
With nothing else to go on, he resolves to find the nearest town. Maybe someone will recognize who he is. As he looks out over the fields, he expects to find woven tents dotted across the land and is somewhat disheartened when there's nothing there.
o-o-o
Damaged ruins are the first thing he stumbles across instead of a town, but somehow it still feels right. The sound of fighting draws his ear, and from his mind he catches a glimpse of sellswords and a fortress defended on three fronts. He has to shake his head to clear it—the image is so vivid he can almost touch it. With washed out stones that taste of just a hint of magic, this place is a little different, though the scenario seems about right. There's a unique-looking army fighting off some sort of remnants with dead eyes. He tenses automatically.
It isn't long before the zombies catch sight of him, and he panics for an instant before a current of energy threads through his fingers and he remembers that he's not helpless. A dark-winged pegasus and its rider rush forward in a cackle of electricity, but he can do one better. His tome is solid in his hands as the foe erupts in fire, crashing to the cement and sliding into a crumbling wall so hard that it cracks. He grins at his prowess, but a quick flash of relief foods his system. He thinks that once upon a time, he hadn't been able to fight.
Strategized movement through the cool blue stones comes as a second nature to him, so he must've had some experience with tactics before he forgot everything. He's able to avoid the foes until they're vanquished—mostly thanks to the other army.
When it's over, there's a man with a strange mark on his shoulder and blue hair who's looking at him closely. However, he keeps his distance, and it's a woman in dark robes that mirror his own who approaches him instead. He remembers his mother then, upon seeing her face, and he hopes that she isn't mad that he forgot for a second.
"Who are you?" she asks.
He smiles when he realizes that she doesn't remember him either, and although it's strange, he's not worried. "Mother, there you are!" he calls, an ease of confidence setting in now that there's someone he recognizes.
He's about to offer his name, but he can't quite grasp it. A hesitation settles in his gut, but he fights it. He knows his own name doesn't he? M—something, he thinks.
Just before the moment becomes awkward, a woman with deep blue hair like the man with the tattoo comes forward, calling, "Morgan!"
He doesn't recognize her either, but that's the name he sticks with.
o-o-o
Mother explains to him that like Lucina—the girl who had recognized him—he had probably come from the future, as crazy as it sounds. However, the events the rest explained to him don't seem familiar at all, don't match up with the rolling hills or the abandoned forts and castles. The bit about the dragon seems like it's on the right track, but his last lingering memories aren't about a horrible, dying land.
Because of that, they think that maybe he's from some alternate future. It wouldn't be the strangest thing, so Morgan's inclined to believe them.
But even if that were true, wouldn't some of his comrades strike some sort of chord? Lucina and the rest, although he likes them, aren't familiar at all—at least, not in the way they should be.
There's some sort of ease in the way he can wander around camp and observe people, training with one person or talking about dreams with another. The motions are seemingly engraved into him, but the specifics don't match up. Gerome's wyvern is the wrong color; for some reason, Morgan keeps seeing a lighter turquoise tint to Minerva's scales. Owain, too, seems like he should have a ponytail waving in the wind to go along with his dramatic sword slashing, and he keeps imagining Cynthia with a stutter.
It puzzles him, but after the first bout of trying to force the memories gave him a migraine for three days, he decides to let it go. It's almost pleasant in a way—like deja vu, only different.
Despite the oddity of his new friends, he's drawn to Nah. There is something familiar about her. Talking about her prayers to Naga, and the idea of dragons in general, seems right. He isn't really sure why this is significant until one night at camp.
They sit around the campfire as Olivia dances, her sashes flying out around her. Light and shadow flicker to the same beat. When Nah approaches as he waves, for an instant, the two women are eclipsed, and it seems as if the dragon girl is the one with robes aflutter.
He hears the tune of a flute that's only in his head, but he still asks her to dance. It's both painful and wonderful.
o-o-o
His father is the one thing that puzzles Morgan most of all. If he can remember his mother, why not his father? Nothing solid has come back to him as of yet, despite knocking his head against the tent poles and anything else solid-looking. He ignored the stares, at first.
At his father's insistence, he stops that practice and tries something more gentle. But even looking deeply into his father's face doesn't reveal anything new. He wants to fling his hands out and yell, "Blast!" but he refrains. He's not sure where that comes from.
It isn't until the Shepards visit the Outrealms that he gets it. They face down armies from all sorts of legends, in strange lands none of them have ever seen. Sometimes they have allies, or at least soldiers that think they're allies, but sometimes they face armies alone.
It doesn't bother him until they come to a strange hall with many locked rooms off to the sides. He can feel the warriors kept behind them, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. A shiver jags down his spine like the dark fang of a demon. Somehow the metaphor seems to fit in a way he can't explain.
When the double doors at the end of the hall creak open, he expects a dragon. Instead, a warrior with bright red hair emerges. Their eyes meet for an instant, and although neither of them recognize the other, Morgan knows there's something familiar about him.
Mother had said he was from an alternate time than Lucina and the others, but now he thinks that she wasn't quite right. Maybe it's an alternate world instead. Maybe that's why he can't remember his father, why he acts strangely sometimes, why the images and people don't match up. Maybe he's just not from this world at all. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
In his mind he sees snowy fortresses, desert ruins, and rolling hills, and even if this world has those things too, they're not the same. It should bother him more, he thinks, but it doesn't. For all his maybes and lost memories, he feels oddly at peace. He sees the way Lucina and the others interact with parents who are not really their parents. They make it work and find happy moments even if they're in the wrong time.
Morgan can do that too. Even if he was misplaced across time and space, he's still him, no matter what he remembers. Things will work out, and maybe, if he's lucky, he'll find answers.
Thank you for reading!