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Premonition: Homecoming

It's over.

An irritable sensation began to rear itself. It tried to freeze his body and force it to turn back and run. With incredible determination and gall, a man that donned a thick Grimleal coat approached his most powerful foe—so much so that each step he took was enough to send every Grimleal zealot around them frozen in awe. So much so that every step sapped their will to fight.

With the intensity of evil personified, the Fell Dragon tried to stare down the man who smugly placed the legendary tome into his coat's pocket. An ominous glow began to coalesce into the man's palms. He shouted and tried to squirm but his body disobeyed, unaware that a lingering strike from Mjölnir's holy thunder locked him in place.

For the very first time in his existence, Grima began to feel true fear as he stepped closer. Never did he feel so hopeless—so weak.

Face-to-face, they sized up each other: the same disheveled brown hair, the same high cheekbones, and the same sharp eyes that emanated immeasurable pride and tenacity. They were each other's doppelganger—the polarizing entities of the very man they physically portrayed.

And that did not stop the man from jamming his arm into the Fell Dragon's chest.

Grima's true body flinched backward and seized; its freakish and gnarled head let off a shriek so sharp and so loud that it made Minerva's cry seem like a chirp. Its vessel staggered backwards and fell on one knee. He looked at the sky above and silently cursed the gods.

Was this how it would all end, he thought. To be outsmarted and destroyed by something that he knew had the strength of mere insect?

With a whimper that was so unbecoming of his stature, the Fell Dragon Grima—the catalyst of destruction and the harbinger of the End Times—quietly disappeared into the wind.

A feeling of gradual weakness began to overcome the man's body, but it wasn't painful. In fact, it was warm. Welcoming, even. And the man realized that the Divine Dragon's warnings had come to fruition: he was Grima after all. If he killed himself, he would cease to exist. It was that simple.

He could have run, he could've let Grima go and played the "better man" but in no way was he going to pass up total victory. Was it his conceit or hatred of Grima? Or was it selflessness and love for his companions? In the end, a small hint of pride barely superseded all other virtues and vices. After all, to choose the lives of millions instead of choosing his own was nothing short of heroic.

Only when he saw the sadness and shock appear in Chrom's eyes did guilt overcome pride. He betrayed the Exalt's plan to strike Grima with Falchion and send him to a millennial slumber. But was he willing to live with the burden of fostering a future where the Fell Dragon would wake again? Was he ready to leave a legacy where history would curse him for his actions? Was he willing to let his children's children to wage war with that monster and—gods forbid—perish?

"Mark! No!" Chrom, the one man who stood by him through the thickest of troubles immediately made headway towards him. He did not feel Falchion's hilt slip away from his grip, its blade letting off a resounding ring after hitting the scales of the felled dragon's neck. He ignored the worried beckon of his eldest daughter as his mind churned with raw emotion—anger, frustration, grief, and jubilation—all from the action of a man that he forever considered as his "other half".

Whether it was his bravado or the fact that he knew neither of them could handle the sadness of a permanent farewell, Mark raised his palm and stopped him from getting closer. And both men knew that there was nothing either of them could do to stop everything that began to unfold; the deed was done and the time of farewells had begun.

"Thank you, Chrom…for everything." Mark began as the last moments of his existence finally arrived. At first, Chrom was unable to look his friend in the eye, knowing that Mark had done the right thing, but in his selfishness, wished he did not. But his friend's words were able to sway the Exalt's gaze back towards him. Mark was serene and his tone was calm as if he was, at the very least, consoling his friend. "Tell the others my last thoughts were of them."

Chrom choked but fought back the tears, still showing that regal strength that he had admired and seen when they took the fight to Gangrel. Farther along the dragon's back, his companions—no, his friends—began walking closer. It was not the victorious action that drew the rest of the Shepherds towards the two men, but rather it was a mutual feeling of loss that began to weave its way into everyone.

"May we meet again in a better life..." He said, finally losing all strength to say more. His time in their world was up and it was time for him to go. Chrom yelled at the gods for this twist of fate. The feelings of sorrow not seen since Exalt Emmeryn's supposed demise finally overcame him.

Mark wished he would stop grieving because he would not have that, at least not now for it would hurt him more. Despite knowing that all his senses and strength were fading, he heard everything around him. At first, he heard the winds from above roar. Over time, it was eventually overwhelmed by footsteps.

Footsteps…? Running footsteps amongst the silent Shepherds.

He thought it was strange but as the steps grew louder and closer, he immediately knew. Fatigued, injured, and beaten around from the long battle, his wife and children ran towards him without a care for those in their way—leaving their weapons scattered on the ground and their injuries ignored. They bumped shoulders with their comrades in arms and shoved them away. She yelled his name and they called for their father but their voices were muffled by the strong wind and his fading hearing.

His sights were already blurred; their faces and bodies slowly became indistinguishable blobs of color. Immediately, his heart (which was still beating strong) sank and ached. Was this to be his final memory? Looking at the sadness in Chrom was terrible enough, was fate forbidding him to see the faces of the family he loved with all his being, too? All without even saying goodbye?

He found it strangely funny that all of the things occurring right now reminded him of an old Magvelian book about a young hero who succumbed to the control of a terrible demon. Despite losing himself, he would try his best to steer his friends towards the path of his own destruction. And before he passed on to the afterlife, all he saw were the pained expressions of his friend and the woman he loved.

Yet he won't have that luxury. He wanted damn Naga for this but he couldn't. It was a deserving punishment for the crimes his bloodline had done. And it was proper punishment for what he was about to do to them by leaving.

He felt tears well up but did not know if they fell. Soon, those figures of color gave way to blackness. He would not see his daughter wipe her eyes constantly with the sleeves of her robe nor would he see his eldest son fall to his knees and embrace his younger sister, holding back the tears and pain that his father was to leave him again once more. But worst of all, he would not see the red eyes of his wife and her sad begging of him to never leave, an endless flow of tears streaming down her cheeks.

It was not like he wanted to leave. He wanted to teach his daughter the lessons he learned and to watch her grow into a tactician that will surpass him. He wanted stay and laugh with his son and the crazy antics he gets into with his theatrical sword hand.

But most of all, he wanted see the not-so delicate princess he loved so much—the woman that shared her life with him from every loving prank to every terrible fight. His chest tightened when he remembered their wedding vows. He promised her all those years ago that they would have a great life together. They promised each other that they would grow old together surrounded by their children and grandchildren.

"Together forever", she always said. His heart felt like exploding when he realized couldn't keep this promise.

As a final act of farewell, he mustered whatever strength he had to wave at them and smile. He wanted to let them know it was all right and that he had no regrets. That he was proud of his children and that he loved his wife no matter what. He had to do something—just something to let them know that he loved them with all his being. Something to ease the tears that he knew were falling.

His only wish was to see her once more and see just one smile from the woman who gave him the reason to breathe and fight. One smile just so his heart would be eased, even in the smallest way.

Instead, he would hear her heartbroken yell.

"MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARK!"

Despite the sorrow it brought, it was enough. He knew he was loved.

Well, let's see: the benefit of destroying yourself with the Fell Dragon? Saving the world, remembering everything that had been removed by said time travelling pseudo-god of destruction.

The catch? Having Chrom and my entire family in tears to be my final memory from their world.

At least that's one way he would put it. After all, he had the rest of eternity contemplating his "technical suicide". The surrounding nothingness, after all, seemed to be the preferred place to atone for any sort of sin.

Yet with the curious mind he had, Mark noted that nothingness was truly an amazing but lonely experience. He felt—no—he knew he was alive but not in the world he wanted to be in. Everything around him was pitch black but he could see his hands clearly when he held them out in front of him. He would walk, but it would lead to no destination. He wondered when he last ate but did not feel hunger. He did not feel the need for sleep either. Only when he started thinking how a dark place could be lit up without a source of light did his brain begin hurting.

Pain. That was a good sign of being alive. He checked what he wore and he was still in his Grandmaster armor and his trademark robe from the Grimleal. He even found Mjölnir tucked neatly in his robe and a sword with an inscription from when he married his wife. When he tried to cast a spell from the book, nothing came. He stabbed the sword onto the ground and it would not go through. He scoffed and sheathed his blade; escape from eternity was not to be that easy.

Time passed and while reading Mjölnir's scriptures, he perked up and paused. And then he remembered. Not the hours that passed, no. He remembered everything.

Well, almost everything.

Thankfully, it came with no headache and no complications. Most of his memories came back to him as if it was a forgotten task remembered at the last minute. He remembered the loving mother that stole him away from the Grimleal from the man that could never be considered a father. He remembered her silver hair and her soothing voice. He remembered he had the most normal of childhoods and he had loved books long before he learned to read. He even remembered the devastating feeling of loss when she disappeared without a trace when they went to Regna Ferox. Who was she? Why did she run? Where did she go? All he knew was that she was the reason why he sung those lullabies to his newly born infant son.

From the very first time he even met the Shepherds, he thought it was strange that he could innately fight with both mediums. Of all the times he had sparred with Lon'qu and Chrom, the two men often noted how strange but elegant his swordplay was. Though he was no saint of swords, his skill was described by both men as one of brutal and fluid motion. Miriel and Ricken even thought his spell casting methods were strange—both Ylissean mages even tried to completely document, and in the process, attempt to debunk every single motion and incantation!

Mark let off a loud chuckle and smiled.

I wonder how Lyn and Erk are doing… And with that he kept quiet and all became clear. A sudden rush of childish joy energized his legs and he jumped as high as he could, uttering a toned-down but clearly audible "yes".

He finally knew the source of every single incantation, every sword strike and parry! Everything began to make sense now; that a continent considered a myth in Ylisse would be the root of his successes. For the most part, fighting the fire dragon at the Dragon's Gate explained his sudden, unfounded fear about the existence of the Manakete. It also explained why the Ylissean nobles and senior Grandmasters found his strategies to be strange. Many doubted the competencies of his plans until he led the Feroxi and Ylisseans to victory against Gangrel's Royal Guard. Every tactical decision he made in Ylisse had a foundation on the advice and teachings of the veteran Pherean Knight Marcus and Lord Hector's steward, Oswin.

By Naga, he finally figured it all out! And he couldn't wait to share it with the people he cared about.

Maybe once he got out of this terrible construct, he would visit the Outrealms and travel to Elibe with his wife—only if Old Hubba would steer clear of her. Oddly enough, he was more worried about the old man more than his wife. Not because of what he would do, but because of what Owain and Morgan will do to protect their mother.

And the moment he remembered his family, he sighed. He wondered when and doubted if he'll ever return to the world he loved. Naga said if their bonds were strong enough, it would be enough for him to return back to their world. But he wondered if the bonds he had with every Shepherd were deep enough. Was he that big of a part in their lives as they were in his?

There was no doubt in his mind that his bond with Chrom were that of brothers; probably even stronger as Tiki had told him that his bond with the Exalt transcended beyond those of blood brothers. From Emmeryn's sacrifice and Walhart's conquest to saving the Merchant Annas and meeting the Radiant Hero's descendant, Priam, Chrom was there from his worst tactical failure to his greatest victory. In willful exchange, Mark stood by his side during his wedding, during the supposed death of Exalt Emmeryn and the birth of their daughter, Lucina. Likewise, Chrom was there when he married Lissa, and although his past dictated sinister origins, Chrom absolutely did not care. He was truly a kind man, one who would risk his own security for the safety of a stranger. If anyone could bring him out of this lonely world, he would be at the very top of the list.

His time with the Shepherds even netted him a few close friends. Mark then remembered the times when he and Gaius would sneak around the royal castle and "borrow but not return" candies that Lissa had, even long after they were wed. The two often created complex—and sometimes nonsensical—plans to just get her out of her tent so Gaius can sneak in and take the candies. Surprisingly, some of those shenanigans went to Mark's benefit as well.

He chuckled at the time he took Donnel shopping for the ring he would eventually give Nowi and in exchange, he would teach him how to trap rabbits for food. Although Panne did not speak to him for weeks after succeeding for the first time.

He would even remember the time when all the male Shepherds would drink at Regna Ferox's taverns and he would laugh at the times when Vaike and Gregor challenged each other to excessive bouts of drinking. He especially recalled, and definitely regretted, the time when he took up their challenge and ending with him waking up at the tallest tree in the village to the point he needed Cordelia to rescue him like a trapped cat.

But despite all of those precious memories, the feeling of frustration and hopelessness still angered him. As he wandered the darkness around him, it felt like it was the same place when Grima spirited him away from his friends as he tried to kill them. A strange thought came across his head, would he count as Risen if he returns? What about a Deadlord? He cringed at that thought, seeing that's something Henry would say.

As time passed within the nothingness that surrounded him, he always thought of the times he and Lissa spent together with pranking being the first thing that always came to mind. He remembered the first time she gave him a massage and it ended with a toad down his coat (yet she insisted it was a frog) and how he got her back by switching her staff with an intricately disguised ladle. He remembered the first time he fell in love with her when they returned the frogs (toads, he would still call) to the pond. Lissa revealed everything to him then, how Chrom always bullied her and her pigtails and how Emmeryn was always treated her like a child. She even told him the reason why she hated to be called a "delicate princess", even though she showed her most delicate side to him. He remembered their first kiss and the passionate nights when their souls became one. As the love between them grew and changed over time, all of their sorrows and joys were mutually shared and felt.

It only grew stronger with the birth of their first child Owain and the arrival of his time-travelling future self and their daughter, Morgan, whose sprightly attitude and boundless energy often reminded him that she really took more after her mother the most—her twitching nose whenever she hatches up a plot and snorting laughter included.

He chuckled why he forgot something so obvious.

It wasn't perfect. But damn my soul in this place if I say that was not the best decision I made.

With his reminiscing complete, set Mjölnir by his side and laid down on the ground, relishing in the joy that his past experiences brought him. He did not mind recollecting every single memory from beginning to end, seeing that eternity gave him as much time as he needed. He moved his arms around and felt the softness of the grass, the warm breeze that gently tickled his face, and the scent of wet grass wafting around his nose.

Grass? A breeze? It definitely baffled him that these began to spontaneously arouse his senses. For the sake of rationality and sanity, he merely deduced it as a trick of the mind—a sensory illusion, perhaps made by a brain deprived of natural interaction.

"Chrom, we have to do something." But once the beautiful tone of her voice immediately filled his ears, he knew that this was no ordinary illusion. Mark heard their muffled footsteps approach him. He also heard the sound of metal plates grind against each other lightly.

He was not at the fine line of sleepiness and being awake, but rather he did not want his eyes to be tricked by the oblivion that surrounded him. His heart began beating faster and faster.

Oh Naga, please don't torture me like this. Against his conscious nature, his eyes began to flutter open.

Seeing the two of them standing over him with concern and worry over his well-being like that moment from long ago reminded him of the admiration he held for the two royal siblings.

"Well, what do you propose we do?" Chrom asked Lissa, who was clearly flustered and concerned. As the two siblings began to ponder what they should do, Mark completely set his gaze on his wife, ignoring his friend and liege for the time being. Lissa stammered nervously, her eyes switching back and forth between her brother and the person that lay on the grass.

This memory, huh…

Even after years of knowing her, he was still enamored by her beauty. Gods, did she grow to become a beautiful woman, he thought. Even though she never grew out of those intricate pigtails, only he knew that she can pull them off without a problem. In reality, he knew it was definitely not love at first sight between them but time allowed it to grow beautifully.

"I-I dunno…" She hastily replied. But he felt something was different about all of this. He felt the tips of rough grass graze his calloused fingertips. There was sound, there were voices, itchiness from the grass piercing his cloak. Then it hit him.

Wait, how come I didn't have this kind of sensation happen to me while I was remembering everything else?

"I see you're awake now." He was startled by Chrom's words. Meanwhile, the latter noticed his eyes were strictly fixated at Lissa, earning him a very subtle glare but eventually giving way to a friendly smile. Lissa was immediately surprised.

"H-hey there!" Lissa giggled as she gleefully leaned closer, her nose subtly twitching. But it seemed that her voice was a little softer—toned down. But Mark couldn't help but crease his lips and return their smile.

Gods, she's still as beautiful as ever. He thought.

"There are better places to take a nap than on the ground you know." Chrom extended his hand out to him. It was exactly like the first time they all met. "Give me your hand."

In all honesty, Mark felt genuinely happy. He brushed aside his own logic that this might be his sanity slipping away.

Let's relive it all over again, then. I don't mind spending the rest of eternity repeating it.

But when he reached out to meet Chrom's open palm, he noticed something very peculiar: the Mark of Grima was no longer on his hand.

Wait…I should still have the Mark! Unless— No words escaped his lips as Chrom pulled him up with a firm but gentle grip.

"Welcome back. It's over now." He said.

At first he was speechless, believing it to be a simple illusion. But as he played Chrom's words over and over in his mind, he knew it was true. When the gentle spring breeze blew strong and Lissa immediately buried herself on his chest only enforced the fact that his bonds were indeed strong enough. All he could do was look in awe at his friend and wife, dispelling the thought that this would be the third time he awoke on an empty field.

I'm back…I'm back… It played in his mind as he himself embraced his wife, his head leaning on hers.

"I'm back!"

Author's Note: Yes! First fanfiction~! Woohoo! Oh my stars. #fangirlisms.

So here's a little bit of explanation here. No, I did not accidentally use the "Tactican/Mark" tag on accident. But rather, I'm using one of the DLC's as a major description of who "Avatar/Robin" is. If one recalls the "Let's Recruit Lyn!" DLC, she literally mistakes the character as the Tactician from FE7. So, I hope this could give readers an insight into the backstory of the mysterious Elibean tactician. Also, extended plot plans!

Settings for Mark in Awakening: 1-4-4-5, English 1 or Japanese 2.

Given that opportunity, I decided to tackle Lissa/MU because they are downright precious. At the same time, their support conversations were downright cute but it lacked substance that I hope I could refine and add depth to it in my own way.

Read and Review, guys! I would really appreciate it! It really motivates me to pump out things faster!