Through the fog of sleep, she could faintly hear the sound of birds singing.
Lucina's eyes snapped open. She hadn't heard birds singing in years, only the shrill cries of vultures.
The sun shone through a thick canopy of trees. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of wildlife — chirping and croaking, and the faint sound of a river.
"Napping on the ground..." Lucina rose to her feet, getting her bearings. Looking all around, she took in the unfamiliar forest. "Where in..."
The memories trickled backward.
The portal. She'd been there, with the others. They'd been planning to go back in time, to prevent the grim future they'd lived through.
She nodded. This was the past, just like she'd hoped. But...
The Risen had appeared, and she'd had to go through before Naga was finished creating the portal. Something had gone wrong, and if she'd arrived too late, or in another land, or even a century early...
She had to get an idea of where she was, and, more importantly, when she was.
The village of Southtown was the first settlement she came across.
Lucina walked around the center of town, dazed. Everything felt...alive. The clouds moved across the perfect blue sky, casting occasional shadows. The sun shone brightly on the people, who lived without concern of the world's death.
There was time, Lucina considered. She had all the time in the world, if her aunt was alive and well. She'd go to the capital, then, and find her father, and...
...and then what? Lucina's mind wandered. Would she tell him everything? No. She would have to bide her time, silently protecting him and Emmeryn, until Emmeryn's death was prevented and her father's murderer presented themselves before her.
The road north was worn and unpaved, and twisted through a forest before letting out before Ylisstol.
Lucina's mind spun in circles on the trip. She repeated what she'd say to her father, a young man leading a small band of loyal soldiers, making sure that the people lived without fear. The militia that would become an army.
"You may call me Marth," her rehearsals began, again and again. "The fate of you, your family, and your people is at stake. Heed this warning..."
If Southtown had seemed full with life, Ylisstol was thrice that and more. Lucina slowly worked her way through the market. She could feel her shoulders tensing with every person she walked by.
"Relax," she repeated softly. "Have to relax."
The palace was unchanged from the days of her youth, which, now that she thought about it, wouldn't be for years.
She made her way up the steps toward the palace — she noticed that quite a few other people were beginning to flock to the entrance to the palace as well. By the time she'd reached the top, a thick crowd had formed around the entrance. Lucina craned her neck in an attempt to get a better view of the proceedings.
The massive palace doors opened.
She could see Emmeryn, smiling and waving. She seemed to be already a woman — Lucina mentally smirked, she hadn't landed too far from her destination.
And then she saw the teen by Emmeryn's side, his blue hair messy and unkempt.
An involuntary curse escaped her lips. She'd gone back too far, years too far. She ground her teeth together and cursed over and over in her mind.
The inn was tiny and out of the way, and the room was colder than she'd have liked, but at least it was a place to stay. And, what little bullion she'd brought thanked her, it was cheap.
She laid down on the bed. She kept working her plan in her mind, but nothing was, well, working.
Somehow, she doubted that any of her (now former) companions had been launched this far back. And it wasn't like she could just say that she'd come from the future to anyone — that was madness itself. Chrom hadn't even thought about forming the Shepherds yet, but she hadn't even planned to join them in the first place.
Still, the dilemma remained. Planning — long-term planning, at that — was far from her forte and she, well, needed someone. Someone who was good with planning, and plotting, and...tactics.
The solution smashed into her.
The Tactician. Chrom's supposed most trusted confidant and ally. The genius who'd won wars. The White-Haired Devil, as he was named in Valm, for his victory at sea that allowed the Ylissean forces to land at Valm Harbor. The man who'd been the mastermind behind Chrom's astounding victories at every major battle before his assassination.
She needed the tactician. And somehow, she'd have to find him. She cursed silently, remembering the lack of records concerning the tactician's past. Hell, she wasn't even sure on what he looked like, or even if he was a "he" at all.
"Wonderful," Lucina muttered to the still air.
She hadn't been counting the time, but it felt like a reasonable length before she'd been able to track down the man.
Lucina eyed the island with some level of trepidation. A doubt rose up from her stomach and bubbled in her chest. Was the man going to be here?
Fourteen days and nights on the open sea. The crew of the ship hadn't been too welcoming, but they'd allowed the traveller to come aboard for the voyage for a small fee.
"That's the island," the captain said, just behind Lucina. "The men and women there are a hardy bunch, aye. You looking to settle here?"
Lucina stood in silence on the stern.
"If that's how it is," the captain muttered aside.
Lucina stood at the center of the village, her eyes looking up at the wooden structure used for town meetings and announcements.
The village was decidedly simple, the houses all lacking adornment. The houses were all built with simpler techniques, unlike Ylisstol or even Southtown. The singular general store was the tallest building in town.
On the fringe of society...was the tactician here?
She nodded quickly to herself and walked toward the store.
The door swung open with a great creaking and closed with a loud thump. The trader jumped up from his sleep in a chair, almost involuntarily. With a still half-asleep voice, he said, "What can I do you for?"
"I'm looking for someone with white hair," Lucina growled out. "Not old, though. Younger."
"Aye, that sounds like the, ah, farmhand," the trader said, almost fully awake now. He leaned over the counter and rested his forehead on his hand. "He works for Renard, over on his farm."
"Where is that?"
"Aye, ah, stranger, that'd be...uh..." The trader looked up and glanced about for a map for a moment before calling out, "Anne-Marie!"
"Yes, father?"
The trader nodded at the blond girl descending the steps. "Show this, ah, lad to Renard's farm."
The pair set out toward the rising sun.
On the edge of the forest was a simple house and a plot of farmland. Anne-Marie knocked thrice on the door of the house before an older man with a heavy limp threw the door wide open.
"Ah, Anne-Marie! Who's this with you?"
"You may call me Marth," Lucina half-mumbled, slightly unnerved at the man's jolly behaviour.
"Ah, after the Hero-King? Ah, that doesn't matter. Come in, come in! I was just about to make some tea."
The pair obliged and stood in the man's sitting room as he set a kettle on the wood-burning stove.
"Now, Anne-Marie, what brings you to old Renard on this fine day?"
"Well, actually —" Anne-Marie began.
"I'm looking for someone with white hair," Lucina interjected. "I was told there was a farmhand here?"
"Ah, you mean Robin," Renard said, enthused. "He's been a great help. This past year, my old wounds have been aching a great deal more. Robin's been tending to most of the actual work these days. The boy's a genius, aye."
"May I see him?"
"Aye, he should be out in the field this time of day," Renard said.
It just so happened that Robin opened the door and stepped inside at that exact moment.
"Renard," he greeted, clearly out of breath. "Anne-Marie. And...stranger."
"Marth," Lucina introduced herself.
"Marth. Right. False name?"
"That's not important," Lucina said. "I've been looking for you."
"Me?" Robin replied.
"Yes. Come with me," Lucina said, pulling Robin outside and shutting the door behind her.
Robin stared expectantly at the stranger as the pair stood on the house's porch.
"I need your help," Lucina said after a moment.
"With?"
"It's complicated." Lucina's hand caressed the hilt of the Falchion. "In a handful of years, the world will be devastated by the resurrection of Grima, the Fell Dragon. I need your help preventing that."
Robin raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And how do you know that the Fell Dragon's coming back?"
"Because I'm from the future."
"The future? That's absurd," Robin said. "You can't expect me to believe — "
"Wait," Lucina said. "You know what the Mark of the Exalt is, right?"
"It's the birthmark that the Ylissean kings and queens have," Robin said, rubbing the back of his bandaged left hand. "Emmeryn has it on her forehead, her brother has it on his shoulder."
"Look into my eyes."
Lucina slowly took off her mask.
"There's no way," Robin said, wide eyes focused on the Brand of the Exalt in Lucina's eye. "Either you're a bastard or — hmm. How far into the future do you come from?"
"Uh...twenty years," Lucina guessed. "I can't say for certain, a lot of record keepers perished when Ylisstol fell."
"Okay. So you're from twenty years ahead, where Grima has risen from his slumber," Robin said, cautiously. "And you need my help...how?"
"You play a key role in future events," Lucina said. "You're one of my father's most trusted lieutenants, and — "
"Wait, wait," Robin said. "Like...in the military?"
"Yes," the future girl replied. "You're a tactician. One of the finest the people of Ylisse have had in their service, at that."
Robin's eyes went slightly wide. "I've barely studied tactics."
"Never mind that. We still have to wrap things up for you here. Let's talk about this later," Lucina muttered, putting her mask back on.
"You're leaving?" Anne-Marie frowned at the newly-christened tactician's news.
"It's not forever," Robin said, packing the scant few books on basic tactics he owned into a bag. "Don't worry, I'll come back."
"But..."
"If you want to worry about someone, worry about your mother." Robin frowned with concern. "Take care of her, and I'll take care of myself."
Anne-Marie, still clearly concerned for the farmhand, silently rose up off the bed and left the small shack that was Robin's home.
"What the hell did I get myself into?" Robin muttered, his right hand crossing over and covering the back of his left. "Foolish fantasies about saving the world...but..."
He slowly undid the bandages. Slowly, he raised the back of his hand to the light. "Of course," he muttered, brow furrowing. "A link to the past. My lost memories."
At sunrise three days later, the cargo ship departed, hauling the crops and bullion the villagers had exchanged with the sailors, along with two travellers.
On the first night, underneath the deck of the ship, Lucina and Robin began to outline a plan.
"The key element in all this is Emmeryn," Lucina said. "In a few years, when I meant to go to, she is killed by a squad of assassins late at night. Her dream of peace is never realized."
"And Grima is born," Robin concluded. "So you want to guard her?"
"Of course," Lucina said, leaning forward.
Robin rested his head in the palm of his right hand. "That's not going to be easy."
"That's why I need your help," Lucina said.
"How long do we have?"
"A couple years. Three or four, if I had to guess," Lucina said.
"Probably less." Robin frowned and steepled his fingers. "Your very being here is altering time. The future as you know it is no longer set in stone. Even this talk, right now, is potentially changing the very fabric of the future."
"So..." Lucina began. "Then the future may already be different?"
"Indeed," Robin said. "Enough on that. We have a few years before Emmeryn's death. So how does this happen? What's the first part of your plan?"
"I don't know," Lucina said quietly. "I never planned to go back this far."
"Oh. That's great," Robin said, his head sinking into his hands. "That's wonderful. No problem."