(DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters, places or anything else; they remain property of Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. This is a work of fanfiction and love: please don't sue me.)
AN: So, for ease of my own digital housekeeping and to make my profile pages look a little neater, I've decided to collect all my Fire Emblem pieces and commissions in one place. I'm doing this separately for the Self Insert series, too, so these are all just one- or two-chapter pieces I've written in various Fire Emblem games (with about fifteen more planned as things orz), including some of my earliest pieces.
If a story was previously published, I've saved all the old reviews, so don't worry, I didn't lose anything. I cherish all your reviews and comments.
But yes! I hope you enjoy the short story anthology!
Read, review and Nagaspeed!
Fire Emblem Awakening: Time Child
Morgan huffed, her breath coming out in clouds of white mist, as she tried to keep pace with her father; for a man pushing sixty he was in great shape and practically flew up the mountain path they were hiking on.
"Daaaaad!" she called, stumbling. "Slow down! I'm… I'm not half mountain-goat like you are!"
Robin stopped and turned, his laughter reaching Morgan's ears and spurring her to catch up, if only to stop his mirth at her dawdling.
That's how she would describe her nineteen years of existence, though; struggling to catch up to her father's level in all things. After all, he was a great hero! She had some pretty big shoes to fill.
General Robin, the greatest tactical mind Ylisse has ever seen, Morgan repeated sourly in her head. Saviour of the world, leader of men, defeater of kings! And what am I? Morgan, she of the I-can't-even-hike-up-a-stupid-mountain. How did he get so fit, anyway? All I ever see him do is read those books and write his own!
The young apprentice-tactician could easily see why Severa adopted the attitude she had with Lady Cordelia. But Morgan loved her father too much to ever act so frostily towards him.
She huffed, breath coming out in a cloud as she decided that lamenting her short-comings weren't going to get her up the mountain any quicker.
By the time Morgan caught up her father had already set up a small fire in an alcove shielded from the wind and was setting about brewing tea.
"You look like you could use a little pick-me-up," he said, smiling through the thick grey beard hiding much of his face. "It's one of Virion's blends. I've been saving it for just such an occasion. I also swiped some of those tea-cakes that your mother won't usually let us eat, so dig in."
"You just couldn't help but rub in the fact you're a better hiker than me," she huffed, practically falling into the alcove and leaning against the cold rock, pulling the hood of her own jacket off of her shoulder length navy blue hair.
"Well, that too," Robin admitted with a chuckle.
As they ate Morgan was unhappy to see it was starting to snow again.
"Dammit," she muttered, pulling her light jacket closer about her slender frame.
"Your mother did tell you to take something thicker," Robin said, extinguishing the small fire with a flick of his wrist and a small wind spell.
"I didn't think it would be snowing," Morgan complained, moving to stand closer to the warm embers.
How long would this trip take, Morgan wondered. She could use fire spells to keep herself warm, but exhausting herself by using up all her mana in this treacherous terrain would be a bad idea. She would just have to rough it and hope they came across a town or a rest-stop somewhere in the mountains-
Robin shook his head and pulled off his own coat, reading his daughter's thought process clear as day.
"Put this on over your jacket," he instructed.
Morgan wordlessly took the coat. His coat; the coat he had worn for forty years, fought three separate campaigns in, worn with pride through countless coronations, political meetings and even weddings and funerals. The faded black leather was worn almost to the texture of silk, but thanks to a spell the headmistress of the Royal Ylissean Mage Academy, Lady Miriel, had cast during the war against Plegia some thirty-five years ago and a number of hexes her Auntie Tharja had cast around the same time, it still looked almost brand new. Morgan also knew that it was warmer than anything she owned, and tough enough to turn most glancing blows.
"Are you sure, dad?" she asked, rubbing the cloth between her fingers.
So light… and yet I've seen it stop arrows! She thought, eying the garment with wonder.
"I'm already wearing a blanket as a cloak, so yes," Robin answered from behind her.
When Morgan looked up she burst out laughing. Her father, the General, the Grandmaster, the world-renowned tactical genius, was indeed wearing a thick blanket as a cloak, pinned at the neck to create a sort of hood.
In a word, he looked ridiculous. Morgan stifled her giggles, imagining the pained reactions her mother and her Aunt Tharja would be having if they could see him. The students at the School for Tacticians would never take him seriously again if they could see him now.
"Tactical adaptability and creativity," he said proudly, swishing his creation about in the snow before posing heroically with his legs spread wide and his fists oh his hips. "It's what got me where I am today!"
"Standing on a frozen mountain wearing a blanket as a cloak," Morgan teased as she slipped into his coat.
Instantly she was hit by the aroma it carried; mother had once complained that the coat stank of a thousand battles and a hundred land's worth of sweat, but all Morgan could think was just how much it smelled like her father. It was a little embarrassing to admit, but it almost felt like she would be walking around wearing one of his hugs.
"Many have mocked my tactical brilliance over the decades, my very young pupil," Robin said mock-seriously as he shouldered his pack again. "And they're all dead. Remember that."
"What are we doing on this Grima-forsaken mountain, anyway?" Morgan asked, again out of breath as she followed in her father's wake.
The snow had, mercifully, stayed light, but it was still cold and they were still trudging further into the mountains, away from hot beds and sweet cakes. Dark clouds threatened with a snowstorm, too, so Morgan was in a hurry to do whatever weird training exercise her father had come up with and go home.
When her father had suggested a trip to Regna Ferox, Morgan had thought they would be going to visit Khan Flavia, Sir Lon'qu or even Old Man Gregor, but he had led them to an obscure village at the base of an even more obscure mountain range, all at the beck and call of an obscure legend, and in the name of Morgan's training.
Her father, admittedly, did love his obscurity.
"You have to get out and see the world more," he always said. "You can only learn so much from books and tomes; the real adventures are out there waiting! Just… try not to get dragged into leading any wars or anything. That never ends well."
"We're almost there," Robin said reassuringly as they crested the slope they were climbing.
Morgan shook the icy cobwebs from her brain as she jogged the last few feet to join her father, standing at the top of the mountain and-
Morgan's breath caught in her throat as she beheld the spectacle before them.
An ancient, snow shrouded fortress built into the mountains sat half buried by ice and earth, its massive stone walls and parapets breaking the natural skyline of the mountains as they reached for the heavens. Morgan could tell at a glance that it was abandoned, but there was a certain aura of majesty about it that screamed of a bygone age of heroes and magic.
Cynthia and Owain would love this place, Morgan thought as they began to descend, thinking fondly of her childhood friends and fellow 'Justice Cabal' members.
Morgan snickered just thinking about the silly games they used to play; heroes vanquishing villains and monsters, just like their parents had, inventing fanciful narratives and 'super-secret' combo attacks that more often than not ended with one or more of them on their rear, sporting bruises. She remembered the way that Princess Lissa would admonish them while dragging Owain away, while Queen Sumia would simply grin and shake her head as she began to neaten Cynthia's hair. Then her mother would be there, quietly asking if she'd had fun…
"Stop laughing at my blanket," her father said, pretending to be offended in that joking way he always did.
"But it's so fluffy and soft!" Morgan persisted, running her bare hands all over her father's back. "It's like you're carrying Yarne or one of his kits!"
"I could throw you off this cliff and no one would ever know."
"Nah. You'd miss me too much."
"You were so much more fun when you believed my little threats like that," Robin sighed, dropping his head a little. "I guess my baby's all grown up now. Soon you'll be graduating, and I'll be all alone…"
Robin let out a very fake sniffle, looking over his shoulder with big puppy-dog eyes before sighing and looking back again.
"Oh no, Daddy!" Morgan squealed in a high-pitched voice, grabbing hold of her father's arm. "I'll be good, I promise! Don't throw me off the cliff!"
Robin laughed, tugging at his arm and trying to regain his balance.
"All right, all right! Release me, foul creatu-WAUGH!"
"Fath-EEK!"
Too busy playing, Robin and Morgan had both missed the patch of ice on the ground, and both slipped, falling dangerously close to the edge of the trail. And the cliff.
"That was close," Morgan breathed, eyeing the cliff.
"I should really know better than that," her father said, shaking his head. "'Winter-travel rule one: watch your footing'."
He had fallen much closer to the edge, Morgan noticed with a quick pang of guilt.
"I'm sorry, father," Morgan said, rising and offering him her hand.
"It's okay, honey," he said, smiling up at her.
A loud crack broke the mountain ambiance, drowning out the wind for a second.
For a split second time itself seemed to freeze in the frigid mountain air, the light snow in the wind coming to a halt as the world stopped turning.
Robin and Morgan's eyes both went wide, before everything sped back up and Robin fell backwards, tumbling off the cliff and disappearing into the icy mist that wrapped the mountain.
"FATHER!" Morgan shrieked, throwing herself to her stomach and reaching over the cliff.
Too slow; far, far too slow…
Tears sprung to Morgan's eyes as her father slid down the cliff into the blinding snow and wind, his face the picture of calm collectedness as he scrambled for a hand-hold on his way down, to no avail.
"FATHER!" Morgan called again more desperately, her voice cracking as she fell to her knees at the cliff's edge.
Seconds passed, and Morgan began panicking further, expecting the worst, before she could just make out a voice over the wind.
"No…" she muttered, tears springing to her eyes. "No… no, no, no…"
"I'm alright!" her father suddenly shouted from somewhere beneath her. "There's a ledge down here! I should be able to climb down safely! Head for the Fortress! Meet me in the entry hall!"
"Alright!" she shouted back, choking down her tears.
"I love you, Cupcake!" he called. "Stay safe, okay!?"
"I love you too, dad!"
He's okay! She thought, relief making her momentarily too weak to stand. Thank Naga, he's alright! Gods… Mom would've killed me…
Morgan collapsed as she entered the fortress, crawling out of the intensifying snowstorm outside and behind a pillar, trying to catch her breath. She had practically run there after she had become separated from her father, vigilantly watching her footing the entire way.
She had resisted the urge to look for him in the storm, visibility dropping to barely a few meters. She'd been a little worried that she had gotten lost on her way there, but after banging her shin into the first of the massive stone steps she had found the fortress without further incident.
The entry hall she found herself huddling in was, in one word, epic. Strategically placed windows, their glass long since shattered and gone, let in the perfect amount of light, amplified by the layer of ice on half of the surfaces, making the interior just as bright as the outside. Huge stone pillars, like the one Morgan was leaning on, held up a high, arched ceiling, and doorways sat invitingly, coercing Morgan with the promise of knowledge and treasure long since forgotten by human minds.
Having caught her breath, Morgan stood, convincing herself that her father would appreciate finding her with a roaring fire to warm himself with. Choosing one of the doorways at random Morgan set off with the intention of finding something worth burning, leaving her pack with a note attached to it reading 'gone to find stuff to burn. Don't eat all the tea cakes without me. M' near the pole, easily visible to anyone entering the hall.
Hopefully he wasn't too far behind her.
"Wowee…" Morgan breathed, looking around in awe.
The girl had travelled to what she roughly guessed was the centre of the Fortress, not finding anything to burn, but still pushing on if for no other reason than she had already started. The huge building was abandoned, but still felt somehow warm, like someone still lived there. And not in a creepy ghost way, either, Morgan realized. She may very well be trespassing in some ancient power's home here.
Morgan stepped deeper into the room she had found, a huge, circular room with an altar in the centre, a tear-shaped groove carved into the middle of it.
The young trainee-tactician started when she realised that it was a carving of the Mark of Naga, the symbol of House Ylisse.
Morgan tore her eyes away from the floor and walked around the outside walls, marvelling at the beautifully carved murals of heroes fighting monsters and beasts, but strangely never each other. At the other end of the room there was a huge mural of Naga and Grima locked in awesome aerial combat, breathing fire at each other as human, Manakete and Taguel heroes fought dark, vaguely humanoid shapes with claws and piercing red eyes picked out in ruby gems.
"This is so cool!" Morgan muttered, completely absorbed in the mural.
"Morgan? There you are!"
Morgan jumped a foot into the air. She had been so preoccupied with the mural she had completely missed the sound of her father approaching!
"Dad!" she shouted happily, spinning and starting to run towards him, only to stop short.
She wasn't quite the mage he was yet, but something seemed… off to her. Her magical sixth sense screamed for her attention, warning her that something was wrong with this scene. But he was standing right in front of her, completely fine and unhurt, smiling his lopsided grin through his beard the way he always did, arms crossed and leaning back, his long grey hair fluttering in the slight breeze in the hallway.
"Where's your blanket?" she asked nervously, approaching much more cautiously.
"I lost it when I fell," he answered simply.
No joke. Just a simple statement of facts. Something was seriously wrong with him. He'd been so proud of his blanket-cloak.
"Are you… okay?" Morgan asked, her concern growing. "You didn't hit your head or anything?"
"I'm fine, Morgan," he said, uncrossing his arms.
As he did, Morgan noticed an evil looking purple brand on the back of his hand.
Morgan started backing away, hand falling to the sword strapped to her hip. "I don't know who or what you are, but stay away from me."
"Child, it's me," the imposter wearing her father's face said, stepping forward, still smiling her father's lopsided grin.
Then she noticed that he was perfectly dry; not a bit of damp or even a lingering ice-crystal on him. After coming in out of that storm, such a thing would have been impossible.
"I said stay back!" Morgan warned, drawing her sword. "He never called me by my full name! He never called me 'child'! And my father would have hit me with some sort of sneak attack while my attention was elsewhere! What have you done with him!?"
The imposter tsked, flicking his wrist to the side. A dark cloud appeared behind him, coalescing into a perfect copy of the coat she was currently wearing. As the coat coalesced, his hair shrunk and his beard disappeared; he also seemed to age in reverse until he looked barely older than Morgan.
"I was hoping to do this the easy way," the imposter said, drawing up his hood over a messy head of short brown hair. "No matter. You will serve me in the end, regardless."
Without warning the man-that-was-not-her-father thrust out his hands, dark fire shooting in a jet towards Morgan. She barely had time to scream before the flames found her and she shut her eyes tight, waiting for the pain. However, instead of searing heat, she felt nothing. Warily cracking first one eye then the other she was surprised to see a translucent green barrier protecting her.
"What in the…" she muttered in amazement.
Across the barrier, with a jet of black fire still licking futilely at it, the imposter howled in irritation, sending another burst of power into his spell.
"Run," a disembodied woman's voice begged, no louder than a whisper.
Without further urging Morgan spun on her heel and ran as fast as her exhausted legs would carry her, turning randomly down hallways and not slowing.
"You can run," the imposter called after her, "But I will catch you, and you will be my thrall!"
A very draconian roar shook the walls as she ran, followed by bone-chilling laughter, prompting Morgan to push herself harder.
"Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap," Morgan repeated over and over as she pelted down the Fortress' hallways.
She stopped dead when another green barrier popped up in a four-way intersection.
"This way," the voice from earlier said again, distinctly coming from the left path.
Not having anything to lose, Morgan followed the voice, reasoning that it sounded far less evil than that of the imposter's. After a few more twists and turns Morgan found herself bursting out into the harsh white daylight onto a high balcony, buffeted by alpine winds and sudden cutting cold. All of this went barely noticed as she glanced up at what was waiting for her.
There, standing in the middle of the balcony, exposed to all of the elements but apparently not even being slightly touched by them, was a beautiful woman.
She stood, unperturbed by the blistering wind or biting cold, the snow seeming to dance around her long, green hair, wearing a beautiful, shimmering white gown that was in no way winter clothing.
"There is not much time, Child of Destiny," she said softly, her words reaching Morgan's ears unnaturally over the howling wind. "You must escape now."
"Who are you!?" Morgan shouted to be heard. "Where's my father!?"
The woman looked down, sadness radiating from her frame in waves through the mana in the air. Morgan could feel it like a physical thing, it was so potent.
"He has been slain," she said sadly.
"No!" Morgan shrieked in denial.
"YES!" the imposter's voice rumbled from behind her.
He stood in the doorway just behind her, physical darkness radiating out around him like a cloud.
"He was weak, so I erased him! In this timeline he never had cause to become strong and become what I am! What we were always destined to be, in this and every other timeline!"
"Be silent, Grima," the woman said, her soft words hiding an edge of steel.
Morgan gaped and stepped back, Grima smiling with her father's face, his mouth distending horribly to reveal far too many razor sharp fangs.
The Dark Dragon, enemy of all life and destroyer of the previous age, stood before her in her father's skin. And he wanted her for some nefarious plan that would no doubt end in her death. Morgan gulped, staring into the fathomless black orbs set in her father's eye sockets.
"Come now, Nagi," Grima purred. "Surely you would let this poor girl serve her father's will?"
"You are not my father!" Morgan shouted defiantly, fear forgotten, brandishing her sword even as the tears froze on her cheeks. "I'll die before I serve you!"
Whether he really was the Dark Dragon or not was a moot point; he had killed her father and now he would pay.
"Morgan," the woman, Nagi, whispered in her ear, appearing at Morgan's side. "You must walk a different path."
Ignoring the woman, Morgan shouted a wordless warcry as she charged at Grima, sword held in a high-guard position her mother had taught her.
Grima seemed to chuckle as he lazily lifted a hand and Morgan went flying backwards. She couldn't be sure, though, as the second Grima's spell had hit her everything became hazy and all she could hear was a loud ringing. Sobbing once in frustration as she forced herself to roll to her knees the girl looked upwards. Nagi stood before her, holding out one perfect hand and deflecting another of Grima's jets of flame with a green barrier.
"You must escape," she said, strain evident in her voice. "I cannot match him for long."
"Escape where!?" Morgan cried, looking around.
They were at the top of the fortress; there was literally nowhere for her to go. She doubted she could outrun Grima anyway, but she had no intention of running from the monster that had murdered her father.
Nagi smiled. "All will be made clear, child."
The strange woman pointed with her other hand, and a swirling green vortex appeared in the air behind Morgan.
"NO!" Grima howled, his face distending further and becoming reptilian, eyes glowing a deep, baleful red. "SHE IS MINE!"
"Go," Nagi gasped, faltering and falling to one knee as Grima poured even more flames, even more power, into the barrier.
Morgan didn't have time to think, instead doing something her father had always cautioned her against, and raced for the portal, acting on instinct.
Grima howled his frustration wordlessly, Nagi shrieked in pain as her barrier finally collapsed, and Morgan knew she was unprotected now. A few more steps and she'd be at the portal, though…
An icy hand grabbed a hold of her hair as she reached the portal, yanking her head back.
Without turning Morgan struck out with her sword, breaking free as Grima roared once more in pain and frustration and launching herself into the portal. Shouting defiance Grima sent a final spell after Morgan, who instantly felt the world go cold and her thoughts slip away as the portal enveloped her.
Morgan woke in a field, hand instantly going to her head. She remembered… Nothing.
Sitting up gingerly, Morgan looked around, taking stock of her surroundings.
"Where am I?" Morgan asked the air groggily.
Standing, she turned in a circle.
Mountains, mountains, mountains… Ah! A path! May as well see where it leads. Maybe father's waiting at the end of it.
Smiling at the thought of catching up to her father, Morgan held his coat closer around her as she walked, humming happily to herself.
I'm sure he's not that far ahead. He'll know what happened.
Finished 2014
AN2019: I wrote this in, like, an afternoon back in 2019 when I was still working on the start of the Valm arc of Invisible Ties. I just… really wanted to get to Morgan.