Grima sat quietly in the dark depths of the Plegian palace. Despite his millenium long slumber he still felt horribly tired. After all, forced sleep was never good sleep. That and traveling through time was no easy feat. Despite this he couldn't help but become fustrated with his situation. He might be known as a dark dragon and a manner of names pertaining to all that is horrible and dreary but he wasn't opposed to some sunlight every now and then. He had half a mind to disintegrate who ever decreed that all the curtains had to be drawn.
Besides, his memory was still quite groggy and many specifics of his earlier years required quite a bit of brow furrowing to recall. His most recent memories, the ones of Chrom and the Shepards, were still the most clear. It was almost funny when he thought back to his time with the prince and his vassals and all the times they had cursed Grima's name. It had stung a bit that someone he had considered his other half would call him an omnicidal lunatic, but he had forgiven him. Forgiven him at the exact same moment he stuck a Thoron bolt through Chrom's chest.
He hadn't had any particular wish to kill Chrom or any specific human. It was rather the fact that he knew the prince would never stop pursuing him. It was a kindness to simply cut him down before he had his heart broken. Or perhaps it was for his own sake, he didn't need to deal with someone insisting that he was possessed. After all, he had been Grima the whole time, even while he guided the Shepards to victory against the Mad King. Looking back now, he could almost sympathize with Gangrel, revenge was something that all creatures could understand.
But the Mad King had been just that: mad. He had believed himself invulnerable, that steel would have no affect on him. Humans were as remarkably delicate as they were durable. At times they were pests that refused to be stamped out; Chrom had said, no, he himself had called it the invisible bonds between companions. But even so, a nicely placed arrow would severe those bonds quite easily. It was just as well that Gangrel was dead, and now Validar, his father, was in control of Plegia.
Despite being his father, something about Validar put him off. It couldn't put his finger on it, perhaps it was the fact that whenever he passed a reflective surface, he had to ask himself how he and Validar could be related yet look so different. His pale pallor and white hair contrasted sharply with Validar's dark skin and black hair. But who knows, maybe it was his mother's doing. Or perhaps the mark of Grima had done something odd to his body. But it disturbed him none the less. Not to mention that Validar was not the most dependable man in the world. He nearly got himself killed during that stint trying to assassinate Exalt Emmeryn. If he had just waited a little while, just shown a little bit of that delightful quality called patience. Time always favors its original course, Emmeryn would have died regardless. And now it would take someone who was blind and deaf to not notice that Validar had seemingly come back from the dead. Chrom might have been a thickhead and a bit of a goody-two-shoes but he tended to remember those who try to kill his family.
And that wasn't even the half of it, at least Validar knew what ultimately must be done, it was that woman Aversa who was truly grating on his nerves. If there was anyone who was brainwashed, it was her. He wasn't quite sure what his scheming father had told her but whatever it was, she seemed to live and breathe for the man. She was a believer too, worshiping Grima with all her heart. What she was not was pragmatic, what on earth was the point of killing messengers? Plegia didn't exactly have an unlimited supply of messengers. But she even so, at least he knew that she was never betray Validar, and Validar in turn would never betray him.
She would serve her duty for now, especially seeing as Chrom was coming soon with his past self in tow. He had watched his past self with great interest, it was nice to recall a time when he was that care free. Not unlike when he and Naga were still child manakete, before this whole divine and fell dragon business. Before he was demonized to hell and back. It was nice to watch and relive the conversations he had had with the Shepards. Making potions with Stahl, playing pranks with Lissa, conducting experiments with Miriel, trying to teach Frederick how to eat bear meat; and messing with Chrom never got old. It was almost cute how blissfully unaware he had been all that time. And when it all came rushing back to him, the blow nearly knocked him out. It certaintly explained why he felt a sense of deja vu during those casual conversations. After all, Naga had stuffed a frog down his shirt ages before Lissa did. But that was in a time beyond human memory, before that divine witch turned against him.
At first he had been confused when the first Grimleals appeared. He had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time and just happened to possessed enough power to be confused with a god of annihalation. And before he had a chance to regain his bearings, it spread like a wild fire. And before long came the Followers of Naga who condemened him as a dark god that brought nothing but destruction. A bitter smile tugged at his mouth as he thought of Naga. At one point, he would have been delighted that she was promoting a sense of peace between dragons and humans. But now, he could barely think of her name without feeling sick.
The humans had prayed for an entity that brought about sorrow and ruin. And after hundreds upon thousands of years of playing the role, he knew why. Humans simply couldn't accept the fact that the capability and desire to destroy lay within themselves. No, they needed something to blame it on. In the end of it, Grimleals were no better than the Followers of Naga. They also needed something to assure them that they were always in the right. That whatever they did was in the name of peace, so they elevated Naga to peace personified. And that Emmeryn too, her path was just leading down to somewhere unpleasant. If she had been a bit more concious to the true nature of the world, she would not have returned to the capital and gotten captured. What good could she have done back there anyway? Was she planning to go and fight with her soldiers? That was no act of good will, that was the delusion of a mad woman.
If they wanted an agent of destruction, they got one. His name had been cursed and twisted over the ages and why not? Why not give them what they wanted? They assumed they knew everything and yet ask anyone of how Grima came to be and they would draw a blank. They can die then, with their invisible ties in tatters.
He would be lying if he said that he had no regrets. His past self was nothing but a reminder of how drastically he would change the moment the milleniums of hurt were taken away. But that simply could not happen, memory was something precious. Something beyond these notions of peace and righteousness. Memory would always exist even when the whole world burns.
"Lord Grima, it seems as though Chrom is here."
Grima blinked, he had slipped into a half concious state. A single beam of light slipped in from the open door. He could just see Validra's silhouette in the door way.
"Right, then everything should be in place." he said quietly.
Standing up, he drew his hood over his head. He would make sure that the past and future meet up. Afterall, he was Grima, the fell dragon. And he would see to it that the humans are punished.