A/N: Inspired by the Ink Spots song "It's All over but the Crying" listen to it while reading this fic if you can. Or just listen to it in general, it'a s good song.

They visit here as often as their heavy heart allows them to, and they find that's becoming less and less. The more they comes back here the more the memories threaten to overwhelm them and send them back once again into despair. It shouldn't have been like this, it really shouldn't have been. They had grown up on stories where the heroes always won despite impossible odds and the groups that saved entire nations made it through their terrible ordeals without losing those dearest to them. Whether the Gods were kinder to those heroes than to themselves, they did not know, they would never know most likely. Dusting off the weathered stone before them, they took some time to sit down and drink from the canteen that hung loosely around their back. It was a good place to rest, they mused. It would've been a nice place to visit in happier times. This little spot near the River Cain where there was a stand of oak trees providing good shade from the warm spring sun. As the ancient flow of water moved ever onward the fish followed and thus the season went on and on, irrelevant to

Yes, it would've been a nice place to go together in happier times. They let the sound of the river take their mind away from their troubles and their woes but for a moment. Eyes closed and mind empty, as images of a battle that should not have been fought disappeared. They were replaced by the sounds of joyful laughter and the picture of a smile that would never be seen again. The tears flowed freely now, no sense hiding them, there was no one else around. They had come here for a reason, however, and for that reason, they would cease their mourning and reach into their pack. From said pack came two objects, objects that might have passed hands a thousand times before reaching theirs. Nonetheless, it was perhaps some sense of honor or morbidity that drew out this gesture. A book and a sword. That was all they were to most people, just a book and a sword. A rare book, it being a thoron tome, and an uncommon sword, it being a levin sword, but just weapons and tools for most people. Just another item used to get the job done. Not to them, to them, it represented something much than that. To them, these things were the instruments of one generation for peace, and another generation's use for destruction. It was a passing of the torch in some ways, and beginning and an end represented in two objects of war and battle.

Could they have done more? That's a question that is constantly asked. At different times, the answer is different things. Yes, you could've done more to save them. No, you fought as hard as could ever be asked of anyone, harder in fact. The comrades who fought that same war often say the second answer holds true, but it's hard to really take their words to heart some days. Could something in their early years have predicted that something so terrible could happen? That kin could find themselves on opposite sides of the battlefield, weapons clashing and tears falling, with the fate of the world hanging in the balance? It's becoming harder and harder to remember life as a child, and it's because of memories that trying to hold on to what is remembered is such a priority. It's the little things, a smile, a laugh, even a childish fight, it's those trappings of a "normal" childhood together that threatens to escape. After all that had to be said and done, though, both of them earned a rest, one of them perhaps more than the other. There was no way to know exactly what had transpired in those darkest of days, perhaps the ordeal of one was nothing compared to the trials of another.

However, there's no way to know for sure, now there's now way to know what thoughts were running through a young mind as everything fell apart. It can't be helped, that was the way things were, the way things had to be. But that didn't make anything feel any better. Perhaps in the future, it will become easier to visit, and maybe someday they might bring their friends here. Maybe, they say, maybe. But that day is not today, not yet, and it may not come for many days more. A small prayer escapes tired lips, and with that offering of metal and paper finally laid down, a lone figure leaves the area behind. Before departure, however, once the last glance is spared to the single stone resting beneath a standing oak tree.

Here Lies Morgan,

Beloved sibling and beloved child

May we meet again in a better life

They can't tarry too long, the others are waiting for them to reunite. But surely they would understand if for a few moments more they gaze at the single stone. Yes, a few moments more, then... Then they can smile with their friends... It's all over but the crying, it hasn't ended yet...

A/N This may not be very good, since I didn't have a beta to look over it. I wanted to make sure you weren't sure which older sibling was looking at the grave. Anyway, hope this isn't a waste of internet space. Anyway, the whole thing was inspired by the idea that in the Future Past timeline the happiest ending tells you what happens to the 12 "standard" children but nothing is said about Morgan's fate. In this story Morgan's sibling was the one who had to deal the final blow, and it was them and them alone who faced the fallen tactician. And before you say anything about there being two Morgans... I got nothing do with as you will... Whatever the case... review... please?