1, 2, 3, 4
A young Virion gazed intently at his reflection as his father gently passed the silver brush through his blue locks and his mother sat on the bed, thumbing the velvet cravat she had decided on not too long ago.
"A proper gentleman must be conscious of his appearance," his father repeated those words ever morning as he brushed—100 strokes exactly.
It was still quite early in the day, clearly too early for the sun to rise and the stars to rest. Regardless, he was happy as his father praised his work and his mother joked lightly about his already huge ego. Both his parents were busy with the responsibilities of caring for a dukedom, but during those wee hours of the morning he enjoyed some semblance of a normal family life.
23, 24, 25, 26
Early mornings became routine—how else would he have enough time to prepare for the day? But more so, those quiet hours remained special. The soft glow of the stirring sun, over the horizon, cast away the darkness of the night, allowing for careful contemplation. Yes, the cross between night and day brought many things to mind. Thoughts as light hearted as what flowers would bring the lovely Robin the most cheer to darker ones like what flowers would be placed on the day's graves. Times like those—just before battle—he would use whatever light was available to scribble a heartfelt letter to his parents, for good measure.
45, 46, 47, 48
He recalled time spent reflecting: on his people; fighting for their home, his parents; overseeing the war efforts, his fiancée back in Ylisse; helping Prince Chrom treat the scars of war. He would wonder if his decision was truly selfless or selfish. Could he have done more to guard his domain? That morning, alone in his room, he paid his brush no mind as he thumbed the papers detailing their strategic retreat.
75, 76, 77, 78
The light clang of armor once again roused Virion from his slumber. Back during the Plegian war, the sound of Frederick's meticulous preparations ensured Virion continued to rise before the sun. Such untimely awakenings left his mind foggy with dreams the war made him fear to hope for. The most popular among being of the future. One where war was no more, but, he would still raise his bow. The cheers of a child—a perfect blend of his wife and him—would fill the air with merriment as his imagination runs free.
97, 98, 99, 100
"And...finished," Virion stepped back to admire his work, "the bards will sing of your lustrous hair!"
His tender gaze refused to leave the mirror. Such a wide, genuine smile was rare on his own face. The gleam, shining in those round, brown eyes radiated hope and eagerness. And he barely resist mussing up his hair.
"Thanks father!" Morgan's grin refused to simmer as he flaunted his new look for the day.
Yes, primping was important, and of course it would take time. He could spend it contemplating the future or reflecting on the past. But, never had he enjoyed so much as when he spent it with his son.