The Case of A Sneezing Wyvern

Chapter 1: Spellbooks Plus Wyverns Equates To Fire

Grey sky overshadowed the morning in the Ylissean war camp.

As Morgan and Severa sat on the flour sacks near the storage tents, they saw soldiers hurrying back and forth, receiving and fulfilling orders that had something to do with last night's chaos. Morgan remembered waking up barely after midnight, scrambling out from her tent in fear of a sudden ambush and finding the wyvern stable in flames. The fire had quickly spread to other nearby tents, but it was quickly doused through the coordinated efforts of Robin and the Shepherds.

Still, it had left behind a mess. And when Morgan had questioned Cherche during last night, out of curiosity, the woman said that Minerva had not been sick. That left out only one option; there was someone in the camp that had caused the last night's chaos.

"Say, Severa," Morgan said, "do you know the trick of making a wyvern sneeze?"

"Please, ask me something more challenging next time," Severa answered from above. She was sitting on four stacked flour-sacks and her long legs barely touched the ground. Morgan knew better than to mention her need to compensate.

"It's the spells and spell books; they are allergic to that stuff. And that's also why mages don't ride wyverns, ever," Severa continued.

"So you knew, huh." Morgan was a little disappointed. She had thought her father let her on a secret, when he had shared the fact during one of their late-night study sessions. But now it seemed like everybody knew the trick. That frustrated Morgan. She would have wanted to be somewhat special, to have secret knowledge that no one else would have been privy on. On that note, Morgan noticed how Severa's complex might have been rubbing off on her.

Chill morning wind hummed as Morgan pondered what actions she should take. Her grandfather had been the first person to the scene. That was as good of a start as any. The crime-scene investigations would come immediately afterwards.

Morgan hopped up from her flour sack and Severa lazily followed suit.

"…What are you up to?" the swordswoman asked, tilting her head dangerously to the right. Morgan sometimes wondered whether that was the way Severa checked if a person was lying.

"Nothing," the young tactician answered, but her determined grin told another story.

"Suuure. So, whose apple-tree is it?"

"Is that a saying? I'm afraid the meaning is lost to me," Morgan admitted, taking her first step towards the place where she suspected Chrom would be.

"My father's, actually," Severa said, straightening her back ever so slightly. "The meaning goes along the lines of 'who's the target'."

"How apt," Morgan said, her eyes turning towards the small puffs of grey that still rose from the blackened ruins of the stable. The smoke had become almost transparent, appearing almost ethereal. But there was still darkness in the deed done.

"The one behind the last night's chaos is the target, and we will be the ones to catch him," the young tactician declared. The weight behind those words bound Morgan as if she had sworn an oath.

"Absolutely not."

The answer of the crown prince was to the point and curt. Chrom's eyes beheld the shorter person, and there was not much compassion to be found in those deep blue pools of resolve.

Temporary, Morgan surmised, and it was very likely to be true. Chrom wasn't void of emotions, least of all those caring and fatherly, but he was still a leader. As such, it was his duty to stay strong in face of adversity. Encountered with such determination, it would have been difficult for Morgan to receive Chrom's permission for conducting her investigation. The young tactician decided to change her approach.

"Fine," Morgan said, pursing her lips together and casting her eyes down. After twenty-some seconds of fake disappointment, she heard a sigh from above. Morgan turned her eyes upwards and met Chrom's frowning face; the crown prince's fingers were massaging his brows and eyelids.

"…I will only give you the facts. You are not allowed to investigate this matter, there is danger involved. And if you do figure something out while contemplating on it, come straight to me. Understood?" Chrom asked. His tall body stood so straight that he appeared almost threatening. It was reasonable to think there would be repercussions for disobedience.

"Absolutely," Morgan answered immediately. And I'll apologize for lying to you later, grandfather, she promised in her mind. When it's less boring in the camp.

Chrom's eyes kept to Morgan for an indeterminable amount of time. Then they flicked to the swordswoman standing a few feet back. She was frowning. "Same applies to you, Severa. And try to keep Morgan in line, she gets too enthusiastic," Chrom said.

Morgan growled playfully at him, and Chrom patted her head, still keeping his eyes fixed on the swordswoman. Severa managed to nod, albeit with great difficulty, and Morgan felt pity for her friend who probably felt antagonized by Chrom, even though she had no need to. Don't hate him, Sev, she thought. There are no guilty parties in 'that' affair.

"Right, information," Chrom said, turning to face Morgan again. The young tactician felt her heart jump slightly at the expectation of useful tidbits. "Let's see. It was around midnight, not even ten minutes after, I think. I was walking around when…"

"Why were you walking around at midnight?" Severa asked suddenly, her voice a tinge too hostile for Morgan's tastes. Regardless, Severa's point was absolutely valid.

"Yes, why were you up so late?" Morgan asked, keeping her appearance soft as she ruminated upon the suspicious spot in her grandfather's testimony. Was he hiding something that couldn't survive the daylight?

Chrom coughed into his hand. "That's really not your business, Morgan."

And you are being too defensive, Morgan thought. She considered it unfortunate that there was no information to base any conclusive deductions on, but regardless gestured her grandfather to continue his testimony. The crown prince did so without further ado, and Morgan noticed how the frowns would disappear from Chrom's face immediately after she stopped asking about the reasons behind his night-time wanderings. Suspicious.

"As I was saying, I was walking around the camp moments after midnight. That's when I saw a dark shape near the stables, suspiciously hiding behind one of its corners."

"A… shape? A person, perhaps?" Morgan mused aloud.

Chrom nodded. "Too tall to be one of our manaketes, and he used a sword, so he wasn't a taguel. A human through and through."

"This raises a question..." Morgan said, lifting her index finger up.

Chrom exhaled slowly. "...Not again. Can't you just take the facts and juggle with them for the rest of the day?" The voice of the crown prince lacked energy, as if he had given up trying to win an argument.

"This is a good question, though," Morgan claimed. "And actually, make that two. First off, how did you know that person was a man, yet still could not tell who he was?"

"To this moment, I am still not absolutely sure whether he was a man. I just dislike calling a person 'it'," Chrom said. After that, the crown prince quickly muttered something under his breath, but Morgan could only hear the words 'beast' and 'Gangrel'. Then Chrom blinked his eyes, and resumed to his exposition. "Now that I think about it, his body-build was leaning slightly to the male side of things."

"Slightly?" Morgan asked, glancing at Severa who was standing close to her, stiffer than ever.

"… I swear, if Robin taught you that parrot act he used to play on me…" The crown prince's voice drowned into mumbles, but something dark kept flashing in his blue eyes.

"My question was not an act," Morgan said, prodding Chrom's chest with her index finger. "It was a request for clarification; what traits made that person seem like a male?"

Chrom rubbed his beardless chin for a minute. When he opened his mouth again, Morgan found no doubt in his voice. "He was somewhat lean, and didn't have a lot of visible muscle-mass, but that person had an almost certifiable presence of a man, or so my instincts said."

Morgan exhaled. Intuition was hardly a thing she trusted in. She was a daughter of a tactician after all, logical and collected. Gut feelings and premonitions held no value to her. Morgan did avoid mentioning that to her precious grandfather though, and instead moved on with her questioning.

"The second question is the more relevant one of the two," she stated. "You said that person used a sword. Now, given that there was darkness, how could you make out its shape? Or was there something else? Something like… a fight between you two?"

"No." Chrom's answer cut Morgan's suspicions down immediately. "And had you simply let me tell you what happened, you would already know what transpired during that night."

The crown prince drew in a sharp breath, exhaling slowly afterwards. Morgan began to wonder whether her grandfather was at the edge of his own patience. She started to feel bad for putting her own curiosity above Chrom's well-being. The crown prince's eyes fluttered even as Morgan watched him. Her father's eyes had always done the same after his all-nighters.

Chrom turned towards the stables and continued to share his experience from the last night. "Something flew from his direction and thumped into the stables. I could not discern the object, but Robin said that it might have been a spell book. That would certainly explain Minerva's reaction last night. In any case, the culprit drew his sword out, and in one swift movement cut in half one of the stable's supports. Then he ran, and the roof collapsed down behind him. Minerva sneezed immediately after, breathing fire, and you know the rest."

Turning to her right, the young tactician met Severa's eyes and received an almost unperceivable nod. That would support Morgan's own theory about Minerva's sneezing spree.

"That's all I have for you, Morgan," her grandfather continued. "Now, kindly let me resume my duties, I can hardly concentrate with you two crowding around me like puppies." Chrom's words almost fell down to the ground, having suddenly become heavy and burdensome.

"Right. We'll let you resume your investigations," Morgan said, then remembering to add something for the sake of the courtesy. "Thank you."

She turned around and was just about to walk away with Severa when a heavy hand landed on her shoulder. Morgan turned to once more face her grandfather's blue eyes, and this time, they pierced deep into her soul.

"Even if you don't want to obey my order to not investigate this matter, do it anyway. There's something strange afoot, and I do not want you to get tangled into it," Chrom whispered.

Morgan felt an involuntary shudder shake her body, traversing to her right shoulder where Chrom held his hand. He would know for sure now, regardless of whether his words had been a bluff in the first place. Morgan felt a short wave of nausea rise and then assert itself again. At her side, Severa stood still like a statue, her hand on one of the hidden daggers inside her jacket. Probably an unconscious gesture, but one very unsafe around the crown prince of Ylisse.

Regardless, that was one of Morgan's smaller worries. She could only nod back to her grandfather, before carefully slipping away from his hold and walking towards someplace other than here. Even without looking, Morgan knew that Chrom's knowing eyes were pointed at the back of her head.

She knew that there was no way they could investigate the crime-scene now.