In a dimly lit room, happened to be filled with two people. One was of a white haired female; she looked like she was still somewhat young, but inside of her mind, she had years of experience in war and tactics. The other, was a young child with black hair. He looked completely innocent and had a baby-like face.
The room was filled with many books and papers, almost of them had some sort of writing on each sheet, about strategies from years past and tactics meant to wipe out forces of an army. Multiple of those pages of paper were depictions of creatures with dark and horrible faces, their eyes glowing an evil red.
Between the child and the mother, was a table and on that table was a board game. The game consisted of pieces that represented an army; an army that was meant to wipe the other out.
In the game, while it may not appear as much, it was most often difficult to win. Strategies and tactics of many kinds would be thrown around, to throw off the opponent, to win. In the form of a simple game, happened to be a complex idea. From a minor idea, it became the game of thinking ahead, always a step ahead.
Though, the mother had always gone easy, to encourage the child to further their studies of mastering the mind of the tactician, she could have defeated her child with a simple glance of their movements. But, the mother was alike to a master and her son, the disciple.
She had told her son many stories of old times and taught him many lessons to follow; the most important one of all was the preservation of allies. No matter how strong or smart you were, the number of an ally to an enemy will always tip fate's hand towards the favored side.
Every move that the child had done, the mother could counter. The archers that had moved back a space could be assaulted by her cavaliers, the pegasus riders taken by her own archers. Sometimes, she did one of those tactics, to slowly teach her offspring to learn the way of her tactics.
As she kept moving her pieces and claiming pieces, one by one, the boy had been doing his best to prevent losing. Eventually, the boy had won; however, most of pieces had been taken down.
"You've done better than last time, Morgan; just remember to keep your units from being defeated. The life of a person could rely on you someday. Otherwise, you did a great job. I'll buy you a gift tomorrow for doing better." The mother had said.
The child had nodded. "Thank you mother! Although, if people were on my side and I was as good as you, I totally wouldn't lose anyone because I'd be a great tactician just like you!"
The mother had chuckled. While ignorance was bliss, a child's ignorance was paradise; she wished she was still as young as him sometimes, but her life needed her to keep on moving in order to live.
"Okay, kiddo. You need to go to bed, it's already been past your bedtime for quite a while and your mother has work to do. Chrom can't possibly handle all the paperwork on his own all the time."
"Could you read me a bedtime story then? I couldn't possibly sleep now without one."
The mother had sighed; she shouldn't have stayed up this long. It would've been a better idea to continue in the morning, as she would have time before her work.
"Alright Morgan. Just be in your bed while I go grab a book."
Morgan ran off out of the room and presumably, into his room and bed. The mother, who had time to think to herself, had known that her husband couldn't have told him a bedtime story; after all, he had to handle their other child, their daughter. But that didn't bother her much. Looking around for a book, she found an old book full of stories of legends and myths that would interest Morgan and put him to sleep.
In the world, there could've been nothing more peaceful any other time than the time of now. Everything was almost amazing, perfect. But, that peace did not come free. There came a price for that peaceful setting.
In another room, happened to be a man of somewhat of a young age as well. His hair was dark, black to the point of matching the color of a shadow; his face betrayed nothing outside of a veteran's path; a single scar was covered below his eye, but it was hardly ever noticed.
There also happened to be a girl of a very young age, specifically a child. Her hair was white, like the wax of a candle and could not have looked any younger. She looked as happy as if she was in a candy store and could have anything for free.
The room was also filled with drawings and papers filled with ideas of tactics. On the wall, were tacked pictures and drawings of armies and her and her father side by side, fighting as if they were one. Many of the papers with writing of them were strategies and tactics that were thought of by a young kid; these strategies and tactics had always had a flaw of some sort in them.
There were also many books sprawled around in stacks and bookcases; many of them holding information on old text and battle tactics, as well basics on combat and old plans that were created by the father. It could've been a library, had there been more space in the room.
The child was in bed and the father had been up to tell her a story after their studies. The father promised to tell her daughter three stories before she went to sleep and had already been through two of them.
"Alright, Marc. What story do you want to hear next? Perhaps the Monster and the Bride? The Queen and the Rabbit? How I defeated a brigade of Risen with one soldier on the front lines?"
"Father, you've already told me those stories. Are you already growing that old, father? I hope that your age isn't catching up with you like mother's age has."
The father chuckled. True, he had been growing white hairs, but his wife had been the one in the relationship to have white hair from a young age. It did somewhat make him seem like the younger one at times, but he wasn't certain if he was or not.
"Well, not yet Marc. Maybe when you turn 20, I'll be that old by then. Well, those were the only ones that I thought I haven't read. Sorry sweetie."
"What about stories about you and mother? You've never told me any stories about both of you."
The father pondered for a moment. He never talked about him and her, has he? In fact, neither of them had really told about how either of them met, how their relationship began, all important things. It drifted from his mind and became a memory. Perhaps he was growing old.
"You're right. I shouldn't have to hold back stories from the past. So, what story would you like to know about me and your mother?"
"Well, how you and mother first met. I think that's what every child wants to know from their mother and father."
"If you want to hear about we first met, I'll have to go far back, so I might forget parts. Is that okay, Marc?" The child nodded and then the father put away the story book. Sitting back down in his chair and taking a deep breath, he began the story.
Author's Note: So, greetings. This is my second story and... not really sure what else to put here. I guess give some advice in a review if you'd like. Feel free to 'n' stuff.