I was inspired to write this after coming across an impressive piece of fan art that depicted the avatar encountering Morgan in the future past. To this artist, thanks very much.

And for you, as always, thank you for reading. You have my gratitude.

Instant

The gust from Robin's wind tome narrowly missed her shadow-cloaked enemy, but it flew just close enough to blow off his elaborate Sorcerer's headpiece. There, in the stark orange glow cast by surrounding fires, she saw her opponent's face for the first time.

Immediately, a sick feeling rose within her, a deluge of poisoned water. Just moments ago she had been throwing blasts of magic at him. She'd fought him with all her passion, her body on fire with the need to complete her mission and defend her friends. She'd fought him with every intent to kill, and now –

"Morgan." The name escaped her lips in a shocked whisper.

He probably didn't hear her. The entire dungeon was filled with the noise of their respective armies fighting each other – metal clanging, voices unleashing cries of war. But he recognized her, and he knew that she recognized him. And he didn't feel happy about it. That much was apparent in the way he angled his body away from her, his arm tucked in but his shoulder jutting out like the point of a blade. He made a motion to reach for his headpiece, which had skidded over the floor – but then his hand dropped. She'd already seen his face. He had no reason to keep concealing it.

Robin wanted to close the distance between them. She wanted to walk those few steps across the stone floor and stand right in front of her child. Close enough to touch. She remained frozen in place, however, held back by the look of fury and fear that Morgan directed at her. With those round brown eyes that perfectly mirrored her own, he glared at her.

"Stay back," he snapped. Oh, gods, his voice was lovely. It was exactly the voice she knew. "You are part of the group sent by Naga from another world, right? Then you are not my mother, and I am not your son, and we are only enemies."

Despite this outburst, the hand that held his tome stayed down by his side. She matched this stance; she could not raise her arm against him. Naga had warned them that they might run into some familiar faces in this parallel world, but Robin hadn't anticipated how much such a meeting would hurt.

"Morgan," she said. Though her heart still reeled, her voice sounded quite steady. "What happened to you? I can't believe you're commanding the Risen. Noire, Nah, Kjelle, Cynthia – were they not your friends in this world?"

He tried to step back, away from her, but his foot bumped into the wall. She had him backed into a corner. A tactically advantageous position, she thought grimly. She had the whole dungeon behind her, but behind him was only the line where two hard walls met. He was closed in. His eyes flickered around rapidly, as if searching for an exit, but he couldn't make a run for it. Not unless he wanted to run right through the flames surrounding them.

They were both alone. His army was distracted by hers, the warring Risen and Shepherds too busy fighting in the room behind her to attend to either of them. They were alone, just the two of them in this little corner of time and space.

Morgan's teeth were bared in a grimace. Every piece of his body language screamed of agitation. He reminded her so much of a trapped animal, especially when he finally gave his snarling reply: "I have no friends. I answer only to the call of the Fell Dragon."

Disbelief paralyzed her.

"Why?" It was all she could say when she managed to recover her voice. "Why the hell would you serve Grima?"

"Humph. Can't you guess?"

"Ugh, don't play games with me. I can't even imagine."

Now, suddenly, it was he who looked surprised. "Wait, are you not aware that . . .?"

"What?"

"That you are . . . that you're going to be . . ." For the first time, he really looked like a child, with his eyes wide and questioning. She was sorry to see that expression go, when his thoughts seemed to change and his face went back to cold suspicion. "Never mind. It's enough for you to know that I had my reasons. You needn't know what those reasons are."

From the background, she could hear the sharp clang of steel biting steel, of magic bursting from tomes, echoed several times over due to the number of fighters. He lived in this blazing chaos.

"I'm dead," Robin said flatly. She didn't know nearly as much as he did about the Fell Dragon, or his ruined world, but she believed she had it somewhat figured out. "I died in this world, along with the rest of the Shepherds. And my death had something to do with you turning to Grima."

His eyes shifted. The enemy commander was staring at the ground instead of his opponent. "Yes, I suppose you could . . . put it that way."

"Oh, Morgan, I'm so sorry . . ."

"Quiet! It had nothing to do with you! You're not even of this world."

That didn't matter to her. Even if it was a different version of her, she still felt as though she was the one who'd failed her greatest duty as a mother. She had died and left him alone. Somehow, she had forced her own child to turn to a god of evil for cover. And now he stood before her, a walking minefield of hurt hiding under hostility.

This one conversation with him caused her heart to ache as it never had before. But he was still not looking at her, and she had a feeling that he wouldn't be receptive if she told him all this.

Stay calm. She was still a tactician, here, and she had something else to ask him. "Oh, yes, speaking of which: how did you know that Naga sent me from another world? I doubt any one of us Shepherds mentioned it to you in the midst of battle."

He seemed to regret ever saying that to her, if his displeased grunt was anything to go by. "It was a guess. I thought you were her when I first saw you. You look like her. But when I looked again, I realized something seemed off about you. And I remembered how Master Grima warned me earlier that the meddling Divine Dragon might try to interfere with our plans by playing odd cards like this . . ."

"Even if you know I'm not her, it must still be disorienting," Robin commented. She could say the same of how she viewed him, actually. "I saw that when I first approached you, you hesitated before starting to fight back. I was wondering why my enemy would do that, but it's clear now."

"I'm only lucky that my hesitation didn't cost me," he replied bleakly.

The wording of his statement gave her pause. They both still held their respective tomes in their hands, but the way he just said it, it seemed he wasn't expecting to lose his life. He wasn't expecting to suffer a cost. Did that mean he anticipated defeating her in battle, or did he believe that their fight was already over and neither of them would die?

She hoped it was the latter. She had no intention of resuming the battle against him.

"We're both a little unpolished, as tacticians," she said. "The only reason it didn't cost you was because seeing your delay caused me to pause, too. Still, imperfect as we both are, I think I'm right to say that you're a smart young man, Morgan. You figured out who I was before I figured out you. I think this will benefit someone who is clearly going to offer the world a great strategic thinker someday."

He finally looked at her again as she pulled a book from inside her cloak. "What is that?"

"It's one of my favorite strategy books." She took a step towards him. Once again, he flinched and tried to step back, but the walls behind him left him nowhere to go.

I won't fight you. Determination flooded her. The whole dungeon was filled with Risen and fire and violence, but she no longer cared that she stood in the heart of danger. Suddenly, this task seemed far more important. Her fingers unfolded until her wind tome slipped out of her hand, dropping to the floor. Morgan's gaze immediately went to the tome. He gaped at it. She was a soldier who'd willingly dropped her weapon on the battlefield.

Except she wasn't only a soldier anymore. She was a mother. His mother, even if he wouldn't say so. And besides, it wasn't as if she was completely empty-handed. One hand had lost that tome, but the other hand still held the strategy book.

She took another step towards him. She'd wanted to approach him since she first saw his face, but she'd been held back by the animosity in his expression. Well, no more. The boy in front of her crossed his arms and glared at her with all the ferocity of a stubborn beast trying to maintain some dignity before the slaughter, but she wouldn't let it stop her this time. She stepped closer, feeling as though she was bridging an entire world as she drew close to him.

"Here." She held up the strategy book, stretching out her arm to offer it to him. "For you."

Before, she had been thinking about how this Morgan, so sullen and suspicious, appeared incredibly different from the other, cheerful Morgan she knew. No doubt, that was a result of living in this future of despair, and actually remembering it.

And yet, when this Morgan slowly unbent himself, coming out of his hunched and defensive form, tucking his dark tome under his arm (he didn't drop his weapon like she did, but she could live with that), and reached out with a hesitant hand to take the book from her, she could catch a glimpse of it. That spark of happiness in his eye. It was faint, but she could see it. It seemed that this Morgan and the other one, for all the differences in their mannerisms, had a love of tactics in common after all. They both became pleased when they were gifted with a book of strategy.

He opened the book right away, flipping through pages at random. Within moments, he said, "I already have this book. You – the other you, I mean, the one from this world – gave it to me a few years earlier. The notes and dog ears are all the same."

Robin smiled. "I'm glad to hear that. It looks like the other me was a good teacher to you. You were lucky to have her . . . and she was lucky to have you. It's clear that you care about her very much."

He didn't reply to that. His head was down; she couldn't see his expression as he stared at the book in his hands. For several moments, neither of them spoke, and he stood immobile as a statue.

And then –

In the space of a second, the strategy book was on the ground, having been thrown down by him. In its place, he held up his Goetia tome, pages flying open. She gasped and jerked backwards as the tome began to glow with energy. Sparks of dark magic burst into life, crackling around his hand.

Robin grit her teeth and braced herself.

She waited . . . but the blast never came. The spell was ready to fire, but Morgan's hands didn't move from the tome. He was giving her that look again, that look of enemy fury, but his body trembled.

He remained in that position, a shivering statue, for a long time before Robin eventually spoke up. "You can't do it."

"I can! M-my faith in Master Grima is unshakeable. I was ready to kill my own friends when I arrived here, and I shall be prepared to kill you as well . . ." He shook even harder. He was a crumbling leaf in the wind.

"Morgan."

"Enough talk! It's time to fight, as we both came here to do."

She shook her head. "I won't fight you. I would rather die than harm my own son."

"I am not your son!" he roared. "And are you truly willing to make that choice? Would you die to avoid fighting me? Don't think that I won't kill you!"

But she did think that.

"Fine, then," she said calmly. She held her empty hands up, palms forward, and made no other move. "Do what you will, my son."

She didn't declare a surrender to him. She saw no opponent to whom to surrender. She only saw Morgan, the trembling boy, a victim of circumstance, someone whose kind heart was buried in darkness but surely still beating strongly somewhere within him. She might've been wary of him when she first saw him, but she had faith in him now. If he looked at her, he would find nothing but love in her gaze.

It came as a relief, but honestly not much of a surprise, when in the end, the dark magic dissipated and his hands fell to his sides. A burden seemed to settle on his drooping shoulders as he stared despairingly at the ground. "Master Grima . . . I would do anything for you. Please, guide my hand. On my own, I cannot strike down the kind and gentle mother I once knew."

"Grima is lucky to have such a loyal servant," Robin sighed, "but I doubt the Fell Dragon will offer you help right now, nor do I think you should ask for it."

"Master Grima is my life," he muttered, a note of steel in his voice. "I have long given up any purpose other than to serve this master. And that means – it means – I cannot fail this mission. I have to stop the other kids from bringing the gemstones to Ylisse."

"I can't let you do that."

His head snapped back up and she was startled to see his eyes wide with a rising panic. "Then I have already lost. I can't fight you. If you're in my way, then I can't get past. It's over for me!"

Once again, she closed the distance between them, picking up her tossed strategy book along the way. This time, she stopped right in front of him, so close that she would need only to lift her arms to bring him into an embrace. "It's never over. In fact, it's only just begun." She tried to give the strategy book to him again, but he refused to raise his hand to take it.

"No, you don't understand." His free hand clenched into a fist. The other gripped Goetia so tightly that his fingers turned white. "When I said it's over for me, I really meant it. I disobeyed orders. I failed this absolutely crucial mission. The other kids are going to deliver the gemstones. When I return, Master Grima will punish me with – I am sure – death."

The weight of his words crushed her into silence for a while.

Then: "I can't imagine anyone would be willing to lose you."

He shook his head, his mouth twisted strangely. Was that a frown or a sad smile? "I swear to you that it will happen. There is nothing that my master is not willing to destroy. Especially when angry."

"Don't return, then."

"It doesn't matter! You have no idea of how forcefully I am bound to Master Grima, the layers upon layers of chains between us. If I tried to run, the Fell Dragon would find me anyway. It would make no difference than if I simply presented myself to the Table."

Her mind was already spinning with ideas. "Then we'll –"

"No, Mother." He looked up at her with an odd grin, full of bitterness, yet also achingly familiar. It reminded Robin of her husband. "I know that look on your face, but it's no use. You can't come up with a plan that will get me out of this one." She started to speak again, but he cut her off quickly. "And that brings me to the next thing I want to say. Since I am going to die no matter what . . . will you –?"

"No."

"Please, will you –?"

"Never."

"There is no one else to whom I would give this honor."

"There is no damned honor in –!"

"I would much prefer it be you!" he exclaimed. "If I have to die, then I can think of no better way to go than at the hand of my beloved mother. I would prefer it to be you, rather than the Fell Dragon. The one who . . . took you away."

He drew in a sharp breath. Robin's hand lifted on its own, already prepared to gently wipe away the tears, but he didn't let them fall. Somehow, he held on, and prevented his eyes from filling even as he spoke in a tight voice: "Oh, Mother, even if you are not the mother I knew, I'm still glad. I always hoped, but I never truly, one hundred percent believed that I would see her again. I guess I still haven't, technically, but seeing you is enough. You look and act so much like her. Being with you makes me feel as if I'm finally with her again."

At that, her voice became lost once more. She had to swallow a painful lump in her throat in order to regain it. "To think of all you've been through . . ."

"And that's why –"

"No, Morgan, I am not going to kill you. I refuse! If you're now going to acknowledge me as your mother, then you must understand why I cannot kill my son."

Gods, that look of pure desolation on him . . . "One way or another, you're going to kill me with this love. If you refuse to let it happen here, then that only means it'll happen in another place."

"I told you that it's not over for you. Listen – you might've guessed this already, but Naga's power is limited here. I can't stay for long. I'll have to return to my own world soon. And when I do, I'm taking you with me! You can escape to a whole other universe!"

This boy had been through too much. She knew that. So it probably would've been too optimistic to expect his face to light up with a sudden surge of hope. At the very least, though, she thought she could've reasonably expected some sort of reaction. As it was, he didn't even twitch at her suggestion. His face remained as forlorn as before. She didn't know how that could be, but her suspicions made a shiver race up her spine.

"Morgan . . . is Grima capable of following you to another world?"

Considering they were standing in a slowly burning dungeon, in the corner of a frantic battlefield, possibly skirting the edge of death, he answered in a surprisingly flippant tone. "I honestly don't know. Not that it matters, anyway. I'm not going to your world. Even if your Divine Dragon allowed it –"

"I don't care what Naga or anyone says. I would shake the heavens to keep you safe."

She thought he would recognize the fierceness in her voice as sincerity, but judging by the way his eyes narrowed, it seemed he interpreted it differently. "Why are you so hell-bent on taking me with you? You've ended my little crusade already. There's not much information I could give you, even if your army tortured me. I'm only a small piece in the Fell Dragon's plans."

"I would never dream of torturing you!" It was hard to tell if pain or anger was stronger in her. "Sheesh, and just a few moments ago you were confiding in me and trusting me. Where's the side of you that will believe me when I say I'm only trying to protect you? I will take you in, and you'll become one of us. The Shepherds will treat you like family."

Let him hear the total conviction in her voice. He may question it but she knew beyond a shadow of doubt that he could find a place in another world. She'd already seen it happen. The Shepherds already had one Morgan, whom they had found in the Ruins of Time.

She knew, deep down, that he was not truly hers. Just like the Morgan standing in front of her, he too hailed from a timeline different from her own. And yet, she still considered him to be her son. Her heart had no trouble accepting him. If this Morgan would only come with her, she would see him and love him as her son as well. She could find room for everyone in her family, no matter how large and strange it ended up being.

She searched his face, almost desperately, but she could detect no hints of a changing will. He appeared not even remotely tempted to accept her offer. He did seem to lose most of his wariness, at least, but that was only because he lost the rest of his emotions as well. His eyes had turned dull and soulless after she spoke. In a way, he looked calmer than he ever had been.

"As I was saying before," he muttered, "even if your Divine Dragon allowed it, I wouldn't go. I have no place in another universe. No right to live where I don't belong. It's . . . it's strange, but my heart seems to have stilled. I admit, the idea of death panicked me at first, but I guess my mind has already gotten over it. I would still rather have it done by you, though," he added.

"No."

"Please, just kill me here, Mother. I trust you. I know you'll make it easy. If you don't do it, then Master Grima will, and Master Grima will probably pick a more painful method . . ."

"As long as I'm alive, as long as I can still strategize, you cannot convince me that it is over for you. It's only just begun."

Briefly, he closed his eyes and sighed, as if to tune out the rest of the world for a mere moment.

When he reopened them and she saw his eyes again, they were lit on fire with a new emotion. Her heart leapt into her throat. Was he finally allowing himself to hope? Was he finally starting to trust and believe in her? But no, wait, there was something off about that look on him.

He raised his arm. Goetia flew open once more.

"No!" she exclaimed.

The air grew heavy as dark magic gathered around his hand. He stared at her with his mouth twisted into a lost, empty smile. "I'm sorry, Mother, but I'm not going back to Grima. Not now, when I finally have a mother again. I won't be able to take it. I need my killer to be you. I need it to be someone I love. And if you refuse to do it, then I'll just have to force your hand!"

Out of pure instinct, she tightened her grip on the book in her hand, but it was no use. She'd dropped her weapon long ago. The only item she held was not a magic tome, but the strategy book that he'd refused to take back.

"Fight!" he yelled, but his plan was flawed. Didn't he understand? She could never fight him. Not even if she had a weapon. He could not provoke her.

Was this it? Was she about to die? In this place, this dark world, so far from home. No. Run. Dodge. But for how long? She backed away from him, but even as she did, her mind questioned what she was doing. Would he keep attacking until she lost all her strength? How far would he go to get what he wanted? And now she could see it – the moment when hesitation faded. He'd been taking a while to charge up that magic but now it seemed he was sure about attacking, and she may very well be facing her end here –

The blast came from behind her. Thoron. She'd recognize that lightning bolt anywhere. It flew past her side to hit the target in front of her. It burned, it tore, it shot right through Morgan's body. The energy swirling around his Goetia tome immediately evaporated as he collapsed to the ground.

Robin's whole being shook so badly, it took some time before she even managed to turn her head and look.

He stood not far behind her. Morgan. Her Morgan, the first one she met, the one she found at the Ruins of Time. The one who had already served in the Shepherds for a while. The one who usually looked cheerful. Right now, however . . . His scowl was filled with righteous anger, but his eyes swam with tears.

He'd closed the tome already. Thoron was tucked under his arm. Nevertheless, little sparks of electricity were still crackling around his spellcasting hand.

"I'm sorry, Mother," her son said. "I know you didn't want the other me to die. I wish we could've taken him along with us too. But . . . he is the same as me, in a way, so I think I can understand how he felt. If I were in his shoes, I would want to die here too. So I decided to grant his wish. Normally I wouldn't make that decision for somebody else, but – well, he wasn't exactly someone else, was he?"

Robin didn't respond. Everything in her was too numb.

"Please forgive me," Morgan said quietly.

Robin still said nothing. She only turned her head back to look again on the lifeless body of her fallen child.

END