In his eyes, she was already a hero.

Every move, every word, every breath was filled with an undying passion for justice. Even if she failed as often as she succeeded, the spark of pure hope in her eyes never vanished for a second. She believed in everyone, believed that they could overcome any weakness if they wanted to, believed they could face any odds and still come out on top. That level of idealism was, to him, frightening.

An aura of light surrounded Cynthia, one that Gerome almost dare not touch. It was best to gaze, admire from a distance without looking too close. He would never deserve that wide smile or that warm voice or that bright laughter. The world took every person he loved and tore them to pieces until he learned to stay far away from anyone, keep them away, embrace the shadows. Cynthia, though, shone brighter than ever after the death of her parents. She threw herself into heroic fervor and dedicated her efforts to keeping people happy and safe. So, no, a dark shroud like him definitely didn't belong with a ray of sunshine like her.

And yet, there she was - standing atop one of the castle spires and (oh gods she stumbled she's gonna fall and - oh, nevermind) shouting her love for him to the skies.

"Gerome, my dark, shining knight of love, your very existence colors my world!"

There went his face. Red as the late Cordelia's locks, and he hoped to the gods that his mask covered his deep blush. He didn't know what to say. By the divine dragon, he did love her, more than anyone. But he couldn't say that. He didn't have even a tenth of the confidence Cynthia had.

And even if he did, well, they had no time for love, not with the Fell Dragon and the armies of Risen and oh god he loved this girl so much but they would never be able to build a future together as much as she said they could.

He often wished that he could stop caring for her, for her existence to lose meaning to him. Because then it would be so easy for Gerome to let go, to fear nothing, not even death itself. But to do that would be impossible. Cynthia wormed her way into everyone's heart. Her enthusiasm was simply infectious (especially when she leaned up to press her lips against his and wow, they were really bad at this, but neither of them cared because they were too warm, too in the moment to be anything but overjoyed -). To not love her would be to extinguish the sun, a fact that bothered and bewitched him.

She made him fear. To see that look in her eyes as she ran up to his bloodied form, tears welling, screaming and crying for him not to give up, that he promised to stay with her until the war was done, trying everything in her power to make him better until she finally realized that he couldn't be saved. Or maybe… to see her own crumpled form, riddled with arrows, and as he gathered her up in his arms with silent tears she would simply apologize for breaking those promises, oh, those promises, and tell him how much she loves him before drifting away. Gerome wasn't sure which image was worse, and he sure as hell wasn't planning on finding out.

So he loved, tentatively, to keep himself and his love from breaking.

"Promise me you won't ever sacrifice yourself."

She said it with such uncharacteristic seriousness that Gerome gave Cynthia his undivided attention. It was just after their recent battle, more brutal than usual. The Risen had surrounded them during one of their supply runs before any of them knew it, and it was a hard fight to break free. He could still see the dried blood smattered across her face, almost camouflaged against her freckles.

Gerome had seen her from across the battlefield. Cynthia moved quickly, faster than he could even comprehend, but there were still too many and then in the blink of an eye an archer had knocked an arrow and let it fly and gods she hadn't noticed she was too busy staving off myrmidons and mages and dammit Minerva couldn't move fast enough and by the time she had turned her head it was too late and she was going to die and he never even told her how he felt and - THUNK! Blood splashed upon the ground. But it wasn't hers, no, even with that piercing cry he could tell she was unharmed.

Morgan.

Morgan had thrown themself into the line of fire, for they were the only one close enough to save her. From her sobs begging Naga for it not to be true, for it to be an illusion, Gerome wasn't sure if things were much better this way. He found himself at a loss. So he did the only thing he could think to do.

Risen fell left and right by his hand, while Cynthia threw herself from Belfire to kneel by her dying companion. If he listened close he could hear her begging them to hold on. To keep fighting. To not give up, not yet. And then Nah was shouting that they had cleared a way, but they had to move quickly before the Risen regrouped. Cynthia looked from Morgan to Belfire and finally stared Gerome in the eyes like she was looking for something, anything.

He wasn't sure if she found it, but the next thing he knew, Cynthia had picked Morgan off the ground and placed them onto Belfire. She sat behind them and took the reins of her trusty steed and suddenly the fire of hope returned to her mien.

They took off, back to their main encampment, and rushed Morgan to the infirmary.

And now, here she was, begging him to make a promise that was always meant to be broken. Not that he would ever tell her that. Besides, the matter would weigh heavily on her heart until Gerome said something to reassure her.

"I… I promise." He coughed. "A-and, it wasn't your fault."

Cynthia didn't have much a response to that other than walking a little bit closer, then hesitating. For the first time since he was a kid, he held out his arms for her, an open invitation she gladly accepted. It felt like hours that they stood in a tight embrace, waiting outside the infirmary for any sort of news, Cynthia's tears staining his shirt and shaky breaths puffing against his neck. He lifted a hand to run through her hair and bent down to whisper gentle words to put her at ease until finally Brady appeared.

Morgan's funeral was held a week later, in the meadow they used to play.

All their hard work was for naught. The final gem was lost to the Fell Dragon. They could do nothing more for this perilous future.

Even so, Cynthia's light remained.

"We can get through this," she said to him one night, as they lie upon a cot, fingers entwined. "All of us are strong enough to survive. I mean, we've already proven it a thousand times over, right?"

As much as he didn't want it to, her statement sparked something in his heart akin to hope. Gerome lifted their joined hands with the smallest of smiles. Their eyes met, his face - his emotion - bare for her to witness.

"I trust you more than anyone else, Cynthia. I know we will survive."

And so they did.

"Time travel?"

The fading form of Naga nodded. "Tis a perilous and finicky thing - a last resort, if you will."

Lucina's visage remained dubious as she surveyed her friends. Gerome hardened his expression, though Cynthia's arm looped with his eased his posture. Even she seemed a tad apprehensive. Their leader spoke once more.

"We would be abandoning this timeline. All these people, forsaken - I'm not sure I could bear to leave my people to their own devices."

A hint of melancholy overtook Naga's eyes. "I know the decision is difficult, Exalted One. But think, you could save countless more lives in the past. You already know the fate that is to befall the land should the events that lead up to this take place."

Lucina frowned. "I still don't think I could accept such a solution…"

"Perhaps… when the war is won for the other time, I could return you to this one. Awaken your blade there and save the people of this land."

There was little time left for them to argue further. Grima's army closed in as they spoke, writhing amongst the roots of the Mila Tree. After a moment of quiet contemplation, Lucina nodded and turned to her compatriots for support.

Gerome gave a small nod of assurance, while Cynthia dealt out a goofy grin and a thumbs up. The others all shared their approval of her decision. Changing the past to save the future - an idea Gerome once thought preposterous was becoming a reality.

"Wonderful," Naga said, "but there are a few complications..."

Lucina motioned for the goddess to continue, and she did.

"I can only transport one or two of you at a time. Riders with mounts will be fine, but anything more is not possible for me. As well… there is no guarantee you will all arrive at the same time or location. Some may arrive earlier than others, some on different continents. Do you still wish to go back, even knowing this?"

The group looked between one another, an aura of resolute among them.

Naga smiled. "I know you will bring light into this new world. Stay safe, children of the future…"

Cynthia trapped Gerome in a warm embrace, their bodies flush.

"I love you."

She pressed a warm kiss to his temple, eyes shining with pure affection,

"I- thank you…" I love you, too.

Even though he couldn't say it, she understood.

Cynthia slipped something into his palm as she and Belfire disappeared. Her mother's wings.

It took a year before he caught sight of her again.

Gerome was in Wyvern Valley, saying his goodbyes to Minerva. He had selfishly kept her, searching this timeline fruitlessly for Cynthia until his hopes vanished. She wasn't here. The idea made his heart ache.

He stilled as he heard the shouting of brigands nearby, the distressed crying of villagers ill-equipped to deal with the situation. One even came up to him.

"Please, sir, you've got to help us!"

He grimaced. "I have no such obligation. Fate takes indiscriminately, and this situation is no different."

To Gerome's vexation, the villager continued his pleas to no avail… until he peered over Gerome's shoulder and his eyes brightened. Gerome breathed a sigh of relief as the man redirected his attentions to the next unlucky passersby, readying himself to leave before he could be further inconvenienced.

That is, until he caught a glimpse of her.

His head whipped around, and sure enough, the bright hero of his dreams sat up her mount as she drove her lance through an archer. Gerome was not close enough to hear her enthusiastic battle cries or see her vibrant expressions, but he was captivated once again. By the gods, this had to be some dream - or nightmare.

"Careful there, young man," a voice said from just behind him. He jolted and turned.

And there his mother - no, his mother was long dead, this one just a copy - Cherche was perched atop a younger version of Minerva. Before her lay the bloodied form of a swordmaster carrying a Wyrmslayer.

Gerome unresponsive, Cherche continued. "You could get yourself and your cute little mount killed like that!"

He gawked as she continued to reprimand him while cutting down brigands left and right. This woman was utterly terrifying. Somewhere between her scolding and axe swinging, she got him into the battle as well. Gerome couldn't say he minded terribly, especially not when the subject of his search was within reach.

When the last poacher was laid to waste, Gerome landed haphazardly and threw himself from his saddle. Cherche, who had been following him through battle, watched in shock as this apparently unenthusiastic man bounded across the battlefield with relentless energy.

Cynthia had her back turned to him, giggling to her not-quite mother and striking a pose. Sumia saw him first and raised her lance with a warning shout. At that, Cynthia turned and dropped her lance with wide eyes. He saw her mouth his name and come stumbling towards him.

She tripped over her own feet, but he closed the gap between them before she could fall, lifting her into a wordless embrace. Gerome ran his hands over her face, hair, lips, waist, checking to see if this was real and not a cruel trick of his mind, her own hands combing through his hair.

After a few long seconds, Cynthia broke the silence. "I looked everywhere for you! What were you doing?"

Gerome gave a soft smile reserved only for her. "I was looking for you."

Cynthia grinned and punched his shoulder. "Yeesh, you'd think we'd have found each other before now!"

"We're together now, aren't we?"

"Now and forever! Let's never get separated like that again."

After his reunion with Cynthia, he knew there would have to be some sort of confrontation with his parents - maybe even hers.

"Gerome."

This time, it's Cherche calling for him. He had just returned to camp with the rest of the Shepherds, having agreed to join their cause. Cynthia had parted ways, being in charge of kitchen duty, while Gerome settled down to sharpen his axe. He looked up from his task.

"How do you know my name?" he said.

"Sumia's girl, Cynthia. She talked about you a lot."

"...So?"

"Your mount is startlingly identical to my own."

Sweat gathered at his brow. Cherche was too sharp for her own good.

"I fail to see your point."

"Don't try and play coy with me, son - " Gerome jolted at the term, " - we have a lot of catching up to do!"

Cynthia found him hours later, hiding in her tent.

Gerome's fingers trembled around the small ring as he pocketed it. He needed to pull himself together. He had only come to town to help Inigo find supplies and keep him focused on the task at hand, but the ring had caught his eye through the shop window.

The design had been simple yet beautiful - flower petals of silver surrounding a small sapphire at the center. It reminded him of Cynthia, of the kinds of things she would love.

So he returned to camp with a nervous jitter and a much lighter coin purse.

"Morgan?"

Gerome couldn't believe his eyes. A very alive young tactician stood before him, looking just as confused as he felt. They gazed at him warily.

"That's my name, but… who are you?"

Although their old friend couldn't seem to remember any one of them, Cynthia was overjoyed to have Morgan back, alive and well. Gerome couldn't help but feel something was off about the situation, but he did not voice his thoughts. Cynthia was happy, and this new Morgan posed no obvious threat. Life carried on as though they had never died, and their fate in the old timeline went unmentioned by the rest of the children. Perhaps they didn't want to frighten this Morgan. Or perhaps none of them wanted to jinx their friend returned.

Whatever timeline they came from, Morgan seemed to be the only one to make it to the past.

The thought bothered him, but in time, he let it go.

It happened after a long battle on Mount Prism.

The wings Cynthia trusted him with had gone missing - knocked out of his bag during the battle, surely. Gerome searched the bloodied fields into the night in a tizzy, looking for them. They couldn't just be gone. Those wings were Cynthia's most prized possession, and damn it all if he had gone and lost them after everything he'd carried them through. They reminded him over her presence, her hope, her light, and their importance carried on even after they had found each other.

"Um, excuse me…" Sumia, his mind supplied, spoke. "What are you looking for?"

"...A good luck charm," he replied. "It was given to me by a friend."

"Hm… well, what did it look like?"

Gerome hesitated. "Actually… they were your old hair decorations. Cynthia would be devastated if they were lost. They were one of the few things she had left of you in our time."

"Oooooh! Oh, goodness, I'm so sorry!" Sumia gushed. Gerome opened his mouth to tell her it was alright, but she continued. "I thought my wings had fallen out when I saw them lying around on the ground, so I picked them up, but then I realized mine were just fine, so I brought them to Cynthia, and- and-"

Gerome spent a few minutes calming the hysterical Sumia while thanking the gods the wings were safe.

Cynthia confronted him in their tent later on.

"You really kept these?"

"Of course. They're my little piece of you."

"Awwww, you're so adorable when you're cheesy, Ger!"

"Regardless, would it be inappropriate to ask for them back?"

She shook her head. "But I think I'm gonna keep one… to show that we're two halves of a whole!"

"Now who's being cheesy?"

"Oh, hush, you!"

He wanted this to last forever.

Gerome couldn't believe the war is finally over.

Everything that defined his life up until that point, his very reason for running to a new timeline…

Vanquished.

He saw his shock mirrored in the other future children. They were free.

Gerome looked over his shoulder and found Cynthia just as frozen as the rest. His hand ghosted over his pocket, the one that's carried that gods forsaken ring since the day he bought it, waiting for the right moment.

And, well, there would never be a more right moment than this one.

He'd never forget the look on her face as she said yes, tears of joy streaming down her face and arms thrown haphazardly around his neck.

Wyvern Valley was quiet enough. Minerva especially enjoyed the company of fellow wyverns.

Gerome had tried to set her free, really, but she always came back. Cynthia, his wife, laughed and helped him build a bigger stable, Belfire already well-used to Minerva's presence. They'd spruced up an old house on the outskirts of town, a little big for just the two of them, but cozy enough. Flowers sprung up from their overgrown yard, surrounding their home with vibrant color, and they had a perfect view of the valley below. There was nothing more either of them could ask for.

This was the future they promised one another and the future they fought for.

Now, all they had to do was live it.

AN: Hey, guys! This is my first fanfic (that I've shared with the outside world). Ever. I posted this over a month ago on AO3 and figured I might as well make an account here and share it on FF too. I hope y'all enjoyed the fic!