Interlude: Family reunion
"MORGAN!"
The girl ducked beneath a table, and wondered why someone was yelling her name. It wasn't that she lacked reasons to offend. It was more an excess. She wasn't trying to make enemies, of course, but she had to test stimuli, know how everyone would react in high pressure situations. Sometimes, that meant doing things that hurt squad cohesion. Other times that meant luring Laurent into a pit trap and running away laughing. But it was all for the good of the army!
...Also fun. It was very fun. But telling people you lured them into a nest of wild boars for fun made them a lot angrier than when you told them it was a training exercise. When both were true, it paid to lead with the benevolent excuse.
She looked up from beneath the table for her accuser. It couldn't be too bad a situation, right? It was a whole WEEK since she'd gotten the bears into the camp. Besides, dad said she was in charge of this little expedition. If anyone tried to yell at her, she was the authority until they met up with dad, mom, and grandpa in the main army. If things stayed on schedule, that was weeks to set up a charm offensive.
It was Kjelle. That made sense. Intense, prone to loud outbursts, recently on a scouting assignment…
Morgan jumped to her feet. Right. She'd sent Kjelle out to find out more about the region. War going on, and the resistance wasn't doing well. If they could find a region that didn't like Walhart with a relatively light military presence, it might be a good place to resupply, reinforce, and make long term plans. At least, that was something like what dad said the reason was. Morgan had her suspicions that keeping some of the more… eccentric members of the army out of the way for delicate political negotiations played a part. Less risk of revealing the future thing (or anything else that might make Chrom look crazy), safer environment for her.
Morgan made sure not to pass on those suspicions. No need to make everyone else distrust her. More. She nodded to Kjelle.
"Here I am! What's the report?"
"Why were you hiding under a table?"
"Strategy things. It's not important right now."
Kjelle sighed.
"I found a few bandits."
"Oh. Did we start a war?"
"Not if they can take a little beating without crying back to their bosses. Even if we did, they were pathetic. Expecting people to just roll over at the smallest show of force."
"So, we started a war. While already at war. Dad is not going to be happy."
"It's just bandits anyway. We'll be fine. That isn't the important thing."
Morgan considered telling Kjelle her "We'll be fine" was a little past most of the army's "Fall back! Retreat!". She focused on the task at hand.
"So, what made this interesting?"
"The bandits were telling the villagers to give up their money in the name of Exalt Chrom."
"...That doesn't sound like Grandpa."
Kjelle rolled her eyes. Morgan shrugged. It wasn't the most believable story to her, either, but it was the best fit for the evidence as far as she could tell. Amnesia didn't leave her primed to argue with the one person she knew she could trust.
"No. The Exalt's not going to resort to petty banditry. He's a knight for the gods's sakes! He would never leave worthless peasants to suffer while he lived in luxury."
"Even if he somehow had forces out here. Right! Making new plans!"
"What new plans do we need? We crush them, liberate the cowardly idiots in the villages, and report back that Walhart doesn't have what it takes to challenge us out here. I can handle it."
"Except Chrom put me in charge. And I think he'd like to know more about someone kind of using his name? I mean, I think someone using my name would… be a problem. Unless it's me. I mean, if I'm going to go back, that means I have to go forward first, so that means…"
Kjelle walked away before Morgan could finish the thought. She was still working out the mechanics when Gerome walked in. Morgan stopped the thought immediately. There were more important things to consider. Like Gerome! And Gerome's abs! And to a much lesser extent whatever Gerome wanted to brood about today! Morgan prepared for a speech on how she didn't exist, how her illusory history was proof Lucina should see through the faked past and return to what mattered, or on how cute a wyvern Minerva was, yes she was. (The last only came when Gerome thought no-one was listening.) Mom promised Gerome could be useful and intelligent as an aid once you gained his trust, and Morgan wasn't the kind to miss out on a tactical advantage. Even if getting it took forever.
Then Morgan looked at the man's face. It was hard to tell under the mask, even with practice, but he seemed more stressed than usual.
"We have a small army of bandits moving for our camp. If we can move out of their path, it may be our best hope. Even if it leaves the inhabitants of this illusory world to their fate, I see nothing but death in this fight."
"Small meaning they're very short?"
Morgan tried her winning smile.
"What kind of an imbecile asks that?"
"One who needs to know if we're really fighting a bunch of preschoolers. Because I think we have the forces to handle that level of problem! See, we just hide everyone under a blanket and then they'll think we left! Or maybe we could..."
"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
"No. That's probably Kjelle starting a fight with them. Without finding anything out. I'm just trying to put a happy face on it."
"We aren't fighting children. We're fighting experienced killers, grown fat on the fruits of terrified labor from hapless villagers. Alone, they may be weak and cowardly, but in force, they are a scourge almost as terrible as that faced in reality. "
"Great! Thanks for being a sunny beacon of optimism!"
Morgan started running the numbers. She had a handful of archers, some light infantry, and a scouting unit of pegasus. An excess of force for recon. For full battle, it wasn't nearly enough. And they'd make an example of the force. They'd have to! It was banditry 101 that you never let someone get away if they made you look weak.
She tried to focus. Dad said there was no such thing as a hopeless fight. As long as one person could fight, hope would never… Hey! He said he got that from mom! Something else! Morgan shook her head. Focus. What advantages did she have? Well, better scouting information. The ability to choose the field of battle, considering the enemy probably didn't know she knew that they knew… right. Another tangent.
And most importantly, she had some of the best soldiers alive. Full scale battle was out of the question. But a quick strike at the head of the enemy, with Gerome, Owain, Kjelle, and the other Shepherds with her? Any one of them could outfight a small platoon of soldiers. Kjelle was worth more than some divisions! As long as they could keep the engagement area enclosed, avoid losing the advantage, maybe quality could take on quantity. It worked for her before on the board, even if her dad still won six of ten. And, really, how bad could a few bandits be on their own?
Owain interrupted the thought when he entered the room.
"Forsooth! I bear grim tidings! For terrible trials stand in our path, and even the blood of heroes may face that we cannot prevail against!"
"You said the same thing about eating a whole bear. And you did that when I forced you to!"
"But that was… I still can't believe… I still…. Ahem! But even that challenge pales before the newest opposition we face!"
Morgan smiled. Well, at least it would be creatively phrased bad news.
"What?"
"Word has come of mighty bandits plaguing the region! Enemies that strike down the staunchest of fighters, robbing the land under a false banner of our own beloved monarch!"
"Yup! Kjelle met them. She beat up a dozen of them."
Owain's face froze. Morgan winced. She didn't mean to kill his enthusiasm! This early! It was way more fun later, when he was about to finish.
"I'm sure she left the best ones for you? I'm making plans already."
"But even if we face such enemies, they ride with a warrior worthy of our attention, a foe I would dare call a rival, even to our glorious leader! A rider on a winged steed, armor bright as the sun, heart as black as pitch! War is her escort, death her helpmeet! For what can stand against…"
"So, they have a pegasus knight? I mean a good one."
"Yes."
See, that was when you killed his buzz. Morgan smiled, and ran the numbers. Well. Not many people got attention like that, and most of the ones she knew were in the Shepherds. That was champion and hero territory. That was a major problem. Her whole plan revolved around being able to clean house with Kjelle and Gerome. (And maybe Owain, if he could keep his head in the game.) If they were fielding people on that level, well, even one changed the whole equation. Focusing on a duel with an equal meant you weren't ready with a wind spell when archers aimed at your larynx, or you couldn't keep the focus to deflect a charging stallion back at its own lines. Quantity had a quality of its own, and even if you were worth twenty soldiers, someone else worth eleven meant they only needed nine more grunts to polish you off.
One advantage, negated! And that was assuming the pegasus knight was 'just' on Phila's level. Someone who could beat, say, Kjelle? Retreat would be the right call. 100 percent. But then the village would be burnt in retribution, no question. And Chrom would be blamed, which meant blowback all the way up and down the coast. Improved supplies for Walhart. Probably more losses for them, down the road. And dad would blame himself. Morgan knew he would. It was part of being too perfect a father. She couldn't do that to him. So, she had to achieve the impossible.
Basic job of any good tactician. She'd make dad proud or die in the attempt! She'd… try not to die in the attempt.
"You're planning for another duel of destiny, Owain? I thought we had something special!"
Morgan gave him the sad puppydog eyes. It wasn't hard to play Owain. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and when you needed to push him around the board, you poked at it. Kjelle, you made it a challenge to her honor. Gerome was a little harder to work with, but if you let him think he came up with the idea himself, it was a fairly smooth operation. That was something she had over the enemy, if she was listing edges. Maybe the last thing she had. She knew how people worked. Hers and, with a little time, theirs. Trying to intimidate Kjelle? She knew that wouldn't work the first time she met her!
"Our battles are written in the stars! You as the trusted ally and daughter of my sworn commander, she an implacable enemy! Torn between the two worlds, the DARK AVENGER must stand alone in a path of blood!"
"I have good news, then! We're probably in for a fight by tomorrowish. I know, I'm just so generous."
Owain's face turned into jelly. Morgan smiled.
And the smile vanished as quick as it came. Right. Probable death tomorrow. Not time for smiling! At least, not if she wanted anyone to trust her judgement. Maayyybe with a few more wins under her belt she could get away with 'the tactician so crazy that she welcomes death', but for the moment, she would just look like an idiot. Thinking would have to cover… okay. Even with the Peg Knight, she was better off with close quarters and small units. The main army could be used to fortify the village, keep the goodwill and handle any breakthrough. Meanwhile, Gerome could get them a hot drop on 'Chrom' and his bandits. Bad odds. Very bad odds. But they were the best she could make. If dad was here…
Well, he wasn't. Every second she spent worrying about that was a second not making a plan. Dad was good as an example and an inspiration. If he was an idol, he was going to get her killed. He didn't want that. She didn't want that. And he couldn't be here anyway. More important work.
She'd just give him something to be proud of.
"Okay! I have a plan. Six hours rest, and be ready to move at dusk. Tell Marcus to pull the heavy infantry and the archers back to the nearest village, offer support. They probably won't accept, but if we show we're willing to accept them not accepting, it's worth good will later when we've done something for them to feel good about. Gerome can take four of us to meet with the bandits and maybe… negotiate something?"
Owain's face stayed jelly, but the flavor went more to bitter.
"Impossible challenges bring forth…"
"I know what I'm doing. Just be ready."
Winning smile. Hope that no-one confused her winning smile with a psychotic smile. And shove the boys out of the tent to make thinking better. What did she have? Four soldiers she could trust in the situation. Owain. Overdramatic. Worthless for stealth operations. Likely to draw down a bigger fight when she already had trouble. And… right. A lightning fast dark magic fueled mobile cutlery rack once he got going. He was pretty resistant to pain, and the more blood flowed, the better he got at killing. Something from his father, but useful. Just not what you wanted in the middle of your lines. Or around the people you wanted to talk to. Kjelle. Nearly invincible, and she'd been working on her few flaws. Still, her charge had balance issues. Gerome. Air support, carrying an axe that Morgan was pretty sure would break her arms just to lift. Not perfect for every job, and awful at coordinated maneuvers, but if you wanted to send someone in alone and unaided, he was about as good as it got. Finishing the set, she had… herself. Morgan of Ylisse, probably Chrom's granddaughter if time travel worked like dad thought. Definitely Lucina's daughter. Master tactician in training. And all of that came together to make her a pretty impressive force multiplier… in theory. In practice, well. That's what practice was for!
She had six hours to rest, prepare, and try to convince herself this was even possible. That was five hours more than she needed. That was hopefully five hours more than she needed. That was maybe, fingers crossed, only five hours less than she needed.
That was six hours gone! Terriffic! And the maps confirmed that she only had this shot unless she'd really misread this situation! It just kept getting better! Well. Minerva was waiting. Gerome was waiting. Owain was waiting. Kjelle had been waiting longer than anyone else.
"Morgan. We've…"
"Great! No time to waste, we PROBABLY have Walhart's bounty hunters after us so we might not want to wait around and oh look at this we're going already!"
"WHAT?"
"No time to argue! We're off! Come on, Minerva! Who's the cutest Wyvern? "
Morgan ran through the plan. It was… good? It was very good. All it needed was a way to get down without being filled with arrows. Or breaking both legs in the fall. Or somehow summoning an entire risen attack horde right in the middle of… wait. That might have worked! She really should have thought of that earlier. Well, no time for that. She had landing to think about. Well, a wind tome could…
Suddenly an arrow came for Minerva, and the question was much less abstract. Morgan could hold onto the wyvern, her dad's tactical manual, or the sword mom left her. Not all three. In the heat of the moment, the wyvern seemed the least important to her.
"MORGAN!"
She looked back. Oh. Right! That was why the Wyvern was important! Huh. Well. It was a learning experience. And it made fighting her way to the ground much simpler.
"All according to plan! Just split up on landing, and make sure…"
They probably couldn't hear her. Still. This technically was part of the plan. Or A plan. She just had to form a diversion. If she could tie up the threats, Kjelle and Gerome should have the impact to convince the bandits a whole army was after them. Which she'd set up for as a contingency in the notes she left on Minerva! All she had to do was figure out how to survive a massive fall, deal with about...thirty bandits on her own, take on the best pegasus knight that she'd ever heard of, including Grandma, and find out how a bandit convinced everyone in the area he was Chrom. Simple!
Morgan shook her head. Even thinking this fast, the ground was coming too fast for a complete plan. Focus on the fall. Everything else could wait until she was landed. Sword in sheath, so it wouldn't kill her. And book to a wind scroll. Morgan smiled. It might work! Or it could end with her splattered all over the ground! But the alternative only had the splattered option. She'd always wanted an opportunity to try out the theory. No better chance than now.
A gust of wind filled her cloak and slowed her fall enough that her legs just hurt like they'd been stabbed instead of snapping. She poured a little elixer on them through the pain and stumbled to her feet. Well. That was the first step cleared. This wasn't too bad! She looked around. Blue sky. Green trees. White pegasus and silver lance. Right. That was the bad.
Morgan tried to size up her opponent, like dad would. She was fast. About as fast as Lucina would be, give or take a little bit of extra kick mom put in whenever Morgan looked like she was going to slack off. She was armored about as well as you could be on a pegasus without losing mobility, and the scratches said she'd fought in it enough to at least qualify as experienced. Smile said she either didn't have to kill people often, or liked it. And the blue hair…
Huh! Morgan looked at the strand passing her eye, and back to the pegasus knight. Same shade! Morgan's mind ran through a thousand scenarios and conversation openers. Long lost sister gambit? 'Funny coincidence, but I was JUST looking for someone who knew what went well with blue hair!' Maybe something about how it was a naturally heroic look. I mean, it wasn't like she'd met anyone with that shade who fell below three kinds of a nightmare on the battlefield. Even the amnesic lunatic had people talking about how she had a natural… oh, right. Morgan almost winced. She was thinking of herself in the third person again. Really, not the best way to convince people you were sane and stable.
Then she looked the pegasus rider in the eye as she charged, and everything went out the window. She had the mark of the Exalt. Which made everything a lot more complicated.
"Cynthia is here, villain! In the name of Chrom, I will punish your vileness!"
"I'm Morgan! I'm probably not evil, I swear. I bet you'd like me if you got to know me. I'm naturally lovable and charming!"
Cynthia looked puzzled.
"That's not what you're supposed to say."
"I'm sorry?"
"You're supposed to tell me how you'll never surrender to Chrom, because his heroic visage and love of the common people is an an... anath…"
"Anathema?"
"Anathema to your villainous schemes!"
"But I don't have any villainous schemes."
That was a lie.
"That's a lie! Chrom would never tell me to go after intruders if he wasn't sure they were fiendish meanies!"
"Well, no. Grandpa wouldn't. But since whoever sent you to look at intruders wanted you to attack innocent old me, you have to know it wasn't him."
Cynthia fell out of her saddle and almost missed the reins as she plummeted towards the ground.
"GRANDPA?"
"Yup!"
Morgan's mind was racing. She really didn't know how to prove her claims. The brand on her shoulder might qualify as evidence, but was also easy enough to fake even if she did rip her trusty robes enough to show it.. And the brand on her back was probably trouble if that came up. But the more pressing thing was the name. Well, the name and the eye and the hair. Mom mentioned a sister once. She was on the long list of things dad said not to talk to mom about, up there with 'So, who do you think's going to try to kill grandpa?", something Morgan wasn't sure about, but… there was a name starting with C somewhere around there.
"Lucina said…"
"Lucy?!"
Then Cynthia shook her head.
"Nice try! I know enough to be pretty sure Dad didn't have any kids before Lucy! And you're too old to be anything but a fakey-fake-fake!"
Morgan smiled.
"If I was a fake, how would I know Lucy?"
"By… being a big lying faker! Boy, when Chrom sees you… when Chrom sees you… he'll have some things to say! Fake!"
"Then there'd be no problem with me seeing Chrom since he'd know I was a big fake, right?"
Cynthia scratched her head and fell to the ground.
"OW!"
"Oh. Sorry. You really shouldn't do that when… you figured it out on your own, didn't you. Guess mom got all the brains in the family."
"You don't fool me!"
"I guessed that. Look, I wouldn't fool Chrom either, so…"
Morgan was going to finish with a repeat when they appeared. Bounty hunters, by the looks of them. Heavily armed, highly trained, and the worst kind of complication when a plan was already well out of control. Morgan and Cynthia sighed in concert. Morgan turned to look at them.
"We're kind of busy right now. Could you maybe kill us some other time?"
"What?"
"I've got a list, even! Look, I can put you right under… Walhart? Would that be okay?"
The lead hunter, a man in massive armor with a scarred face, turned to Cynthia.
"What is she even talking about?"
"I don't know. She's insane."
"Or SO SANE that you can't figure out what I'm planning!"
The bounty hunter winced.
"Look. There's money for taking in the local bandits. You're both heavily armed and armored. In the area where we were expecting bandits. I don't care what you're about to say. Just that, dead or alive, you come with us."
Cynthia frowned.
"Bandits? I'm pretty sure dad...I mean Chrom would have done something about them. Are you sure there are bandits around here?"
"Bounty notices don't lie. Look. I'll make it simple. Alive is on the table for another five minutes. Then we just take what we can of dead to make up for you dragging us out here. A couple teenage girls aren't worth our time, but your armor might be able to pass for veteran if we had to."
"Just talk to Chrom! He'll sort everything out."
Morgan felt an obligation to correct the error.
"Uh, it isn't Chrom. She's just… kind of dumb? I mean, she thinks some bandit leader is her dad, which would be totally crazy, right? So, I think that means you can't kill crazy people. It's bad luck."
Winning smile. Never a bad time for the good old fashioned Morgan winning smile. Then the bounty hunter drew a hand crossbow. Maybe there was a bad time for the winning smile.
"Look. I can kill you now, or you can take me to your boss, and maybe, just maybe, he can convince me that you aren't worth the effort."
Cynthia frowned.
"Well, Chrom should be able to show you who the real bandits are, if there are any. But she's not..."
"I don't care. And, before you make your next point, I don't care. And your friend? With her mouth open like she has a comment? I don't care. And if she's not your friend, I don't care. One word that isn't 'Chrom, we brought friends who want to talk', and I decide this whole thing isn't worth the bother."
One of the other hunters turned to him.
"Deke, are you sure about this? I mean, they can't be older than…"
"Older than I was when I killed my first man. Old enough to put a knife in your spine if you turn your back. Old enough to die if they step out of line."
"...Yes sir."
"Damn right. Move it!"
Morgan shook her head. If she had to, well, bad crossbow. Good armor. Quick wind spell to disrupt, and she could stay alive long enough to get distance and signal for the rest of the team. But it was a gamble, and she wouldn't be able to defend Cynthia. Getting an aunt killed would look really bad for her first real command. Dad would be disappointed, mom would be disappointed, and she'd feel awful for weeks. So. She moved. Besides, she was looking for the fake Chrom anyway! It was almost working better than she planned! For a given value of 'working', 'planned', 'better', and possibly 'than'.
It was a short march compared to most of the campaigns so far, but on rough terrain. Cynthia stopped more than once to remember where traps were. Morgan had enough experience to guess the answer was 'pretty much everywhere', and the drive to get through before anyone else. It didn't do much to convince the bounty hunters she wasn't a bandit, but it did keep her from dying to something Cynthia missed. Much better long term decision. When they arrived, Morgan cut off whatever intro Cynthia had planned.
"So, we're here!"
"In the middle of the woods."
"By a well hidden door in a patch of brush in the middle of the woods! Whoever the bandit leader is, he should be here."
"He?"
"Chrom. Or, you know. Not Chrom. The person you're looking for? Geeze! I thought I was forgetful, but you're really...
"Thinking things through. Now, what's the thing people say about Chrom? Blue hair, good swordsman. What would a bandit imitating him need?"
"A huge set of…"
"No. No, I don't think so. I think you're leading us into a trap, because you've been running things and killed anyone too close to the truth. So you open the door, you take point, and you and your little helper don't get to flank us and tear us apart."
"Right."
Morgan took a step back and nodded towards Cynthia.
"You might want to make introductions. Before we all get shot full of arrows. Please?"
Cynthia nodded.
"Chrom will sort this all out, evildoer."
"Which is why we need him. Really, I'm sure this will all make sense once he's here! Just make sure he knows not to have people shoot arrows at us when we come in."
"Why would you think that, unless you were planning treachery already?"
"I've been shot with arrows a lot. It's not fun! I don't think you should try it."
"Fine! But only because I know Chrom can deal with your fiendishness!"
Morgan smiled and stepped back again. No point in arguing. Or in getting too close if it turned into a massive brawl. Cynthia shoved the door after an elaborate knock, and Morgan looked in. Nice little facility. Decent walls, some room for a secret passage, and was that... murder holes! Morgan loved everything about murder holes. The name, the tactical utility, the aesthetics, the way they could be used as more heavy irritation holes if you used mud instead of boiling acid. Whoever ran this place had good taste in boobytraps! Or stole it from someone who had good taste in boobytraps, but poor execution of same. Either way, nice to see. Less nice to get out of if this went the only way it could go, but hey. You took things one day at a time. Morgan followed Cynthia as she passed the bandits inside. Scruffy looking standard models. And not the kind of company a king kept, even a king as bad with ceremony as dear old gramps.
What was the game here? Usually a lie was supposed to be, well, believable. Or almost believable. It should last ten seconds under scrutiny. Something odd was going on. Morgan sidled close to her aunt.
"Cynthia, why would 'Chrom' work with bandits?"
"Whaaat? You're the…"
"Seriously. Those are bandits. Before you ask, I'm right. So, maybe you can tell me why he'd want them around instead of anyone else. Because grandpa could get a lot better. Sully would do better with a random bunch of villagers and a couple of hours."
Cynthia looked from the bandits to Morgan and glared.
"Like you would know…"
"You noticed you're way, way better than anyone else here, right?"
"Because…"
"Not even like Lucy is better than everyone else. That would make sense! But you're the only one who carries a weapon like you need to fight for your life. They're totally shakedown artists. Also, bullies. Which doesn't really match up well with the idea that he's Chrom."
"He is Chrom! Meanie!"
"Wow. I'm really not used to this."
"What?"
"Family arguments where I'm the voice of reason. I'm used to being able to be the fun, crazy one who doesn't have to think about anything."
Cynthia stuck out her tongue. Morgan considered how much effort it would take to come up with a counterargument and decided against it. Right now, the best thing was finding out what was going on from someone more informed. Then Cynthia turned and looked ahead.
"Father!"
She dashed towards a man in a cape, better armed than the other bandits. Morgan couldn't see much resemblance to the Exalt
"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that."
"Err… sorry Captain Chrom. I found a bandit. Also, some bounty hunters who didn't believe I was working for you."
"Oh."
"I let them in to talk to you!"
"You lead them here?"
Cynthia smiled almost as wide as Morgan's standard.
"Yessir, fa...Chrom! I knew you could deal with the situation!"
Morgan could barely make out the man's words.
"Competition, the last thing I…"
Then he coughed.
"Of course. I could always use more… assistance in my protection of the realm."
"That's just what I thought! And maybe they can show the no-good imposter who's the real Chrom!"
"Imposter?"
"She claims to be working for Chrom! And you would tell me if you'd seen her, because I know my…captain would never do anything deceptive."
"Of course not. Who is it?"
Cynthia pointed at Morgan. Morgan pointed right back. Cynthia looked confused. As usual. Morgan took the opportunity to counter. Always have the last option the enemy would expect primed and ready.
"Isn't it suspicious that she claimed to be your daughter from the future? I mean, it's not like anyone would believe that story. She had to know you wouldn't, and you'd think she was too dumb to be a threat! It's a classic misdirection play, and now that you're on the cusp of discovering her, she's trying to find a patsy!"
'Chrom' stared at Morgan.
"That's your bandit?"
"Yeah! She's suspicious!"
"Says the spy!"
Morgan kept down a smile. 'Chrom' didn't trust Cynthia already. She could see it in his eyes, doubt about his luck and doubt that anyone could be that stupid. It wouldn't be enough to start a full schism, but with luck, it could get Cynthia imprisoned instead of dead, and then when they came back to the main camp, dad and mom could sort the whole thing out. Well, it was a starting plan, anyway.
One of the mercenaries coughed.
"As fascinating as watching these idiots argue is, we're here for a bounty. As in a bounty on you. Dead or alive, they're not too picky. So, you coming with us?"
Chrom turned to the bounty hunters, much less worried than a man should be with a crossbow aimed at his throat. Morgan hadn't smiled that much, and she was, well, Morgan. The gods' gift to mayhem and sunny optimism!
"You must have made a mistake somewhere."
"No. Now, I'm giving you until the count of three. Two."
"I'm Chrom. The ruler of Ylisse. I'm sure I could reward you much better than whoever you're working for now."
Morgan smelled something sweet in the air. Her arms were lead, her legs were worse, and just collapsing was ruled out for being too much effort. Even bothering to think 'this doesn't feel right' was draining. She pushed into her memories. Curses, curses, curses. Great uncle Henry had said something about them, right?
"Nya ha ha! I can still taste the blood!"
No.
"Remember, a quick death is for when you're feeling nice!"
No.
"When you get hit with a curse, you just push right through it! Or you die. Your dad would kill you if you died, nya ha ha!"
Close enough. So, all she had was endurance, then. That and whatever willpower she had left. No problem. She'd handled three all night study sessions last month. Only conked out fifteen times! That kind of record, she knew she could be relied on!
Morgan held on. Whatever was poking at her brain, whatever this bandit wanted, she wasn't having it. She was Morgan, and that meant… that meant… it meant something! And she stood by it.
The bandit looked her in the eye, and his face seemed to fade into Chrom's and back.
"After all, why would I lie to you?"
Morgan tried to think of a clever retort. But all the energy she had was stuck keeping her brain more or less her own.
"You would."
"No. I'm a king. I can offer you so much more with the truth."
"Which makes it weird that you're lying anyway."
Morgan looked around the room.
"Nobody's buying this, right? Because I'm pretty sure I'm a better liar than he is."
Deke looked at her. Morgan revised her odds down.
"Why would I doubt Chrom? He seems like an honest man. Bare minimum, he can afford to pay us better than the alternatives. Hell, maybe more than Walhart could, and he's less reliable to work with."
"Um, you're supposed to be putting sarcasm quotes around 'Chrom'. Because he isn't Chrom. Trust me. I know Chrom."
"Which makes me wonder why you can't see him right in front of you."
Great. Perfect. Morgan moved her odds from 'bad' to 'hahahahaha.'
'Chrom' shook his head and muttered.
"At least she might draw a ransom."
He sighed.
"Cynthia, escort her to the cells."
"But Fath...Captain Chrom! We can't trust her to the…"
"Did I say you could argue with me?"
"No."
A fragment of old memory slid through Morgan's mind. Morgan whispered in Cynthia's general direction
"He didn't call you his pega-pony princess either."
Cynthia's eyes flared.
"He didn't!"
'Chrom' shook his head.
"What did I say?"
"Right away. Chrom."
Cynthia jabbed a spear to Morgan's back and marched towards the cells. Morgan smirked.
"You know, he doesn't act much like your dad. I mean, MY dad is always saying nice things. Because he's a good dad."
"Nuh-uh! He's a great… Lucy said he was a great dad."
"And Chrom is. Why would Lucy lie to you?"
"She wouldn't!"
"So, he isn't a great dad. So he isn't Chrom. After all, you'd be his pega pony princess! Why wouldn't he brag about that?"
"He wouldn't!"
"Exactly. So maybe we can try to get out of here. And to your actual dad, who might..."
Morgan winced. Okay, Chrom really deserved all the world's greatest grandpa praise that he'd gotten from her, and he'd be thrilled to have another daughter around, or at least prefer it to when he found out he was a grandfather while still in his twenties. But she was going to lie a lot pretty soon, and that was going to be trouble. Well, trouble then beat dead now.
"Who will DEFINITELY call you his Pega-pony princess. Also, he's been spending a lot of time asking Lucy about how to make an entrance, and she has no. idea."
"Of course not! For someone so heroic, she doesn't know much about heroes."
"Yes. She doesn't. So, we probably should…"
Right. She'd been planning to burn the place down. Tome and sword slipped into their hiding spots, but somehow it seemed like bad idea to go with total war and sneaky killing when working with someone so enthralled with heroics. Especially someone you just convinced you were the good guy. The goal for the moment was to get out alive. After that, she could worry about the original goal. Dad said things got out of hand from time to time. What mattered was not getting immediate family murdered by bandits impersonating your grandfather. Or something. Honestly, she was operating without a map at this point.
"leave. How many entrances do you know for this place?"
"One!"
"One."
"Heroes don't have to worry about a secret entrance to their base. That's for baddies."
"Right. But we're running from the bad guys now. It would be really good if you found a secret entrance."
"Oh. I thought you'd need a secret exit."
"That's basically the same thing."
"But heroes always have a secret exit. It's by the stables!"
Morgan considered debating semantics. Not the best idea when pressed for time.
"Oh, right. Ha. Ha. So, we should go there. Before the crazy mind controlling not-Chrom comes and tries to kill us. Because we're making a lot of enemies."
"Weird. We're so likable!"
Morgan smiled.
"You know, that's exactly what I was thinking! See, I told you we were family."
The path through the base was smooth enough, considering the circumstances. Morgan would have prefered not to spend every second in fear of guards and alerts, but you made do with what you had.
Still. It was smooth.
Until it wasn't. The leader of the bandits met them in a back hall without warning. Morgan wished she'd laid some traps on the way there. Nothing good, maybe, but having warning was better than not. All she had now was the old charm and a winning smile. The charm now, the smile for an emergency.
"Cynthia, I told you to take the prisoner to her cell."
Morgan smiled.
"I just got lost! Cynthia's certainly scatterbrained ha ha… ha?"
Cynthia glared.
"I know you're not Chrom!"
"What?"
"My REAL dad would never act so sneaky."
"Uh, Cynthia?"
"You were the one who told me!"
"And now might not be the best time."
"But he's the villain! Heroes confront villains. Right? That's what things are supposed to be like in the past. And then he'll go…"
The bandit leader shook his head.
"Kill them."
"Yeah! And then…"
Morgan yanked Cynthia to the floor as an arrow flew overhead.
"Then we run or we die. Fun!"
Morgan rolled to her feet, tactics manual in hand, and flipped to the emergency spells. A few words filled the hall with wind. A few more followed with fire. And then she shut up, because the breath was better spent running and dragging Cynthia with her. Morgan would call it plan C, but that would imply she still had letters left. Right now she was well into 'incoherent grunt" territory. Owain, Kjelle, and Gerome should arrive soon, and that might be enough. For now, she had to survive and adapt.
"Cynthia?"
"He lied to me!"
"Yeah. He lied to a lot of people. Which is why we're running."
"We need to show him what…"
"Later. Once Owain and everyone's here."
"Owain!"
"And Gerome. And Kjelle. And… pretty much no other backup, so we should probably be smart instead of daring. Unless daring is smart."
"The justice cabal, together again! Evildoers beware..."
"Fine. Just keep running!"
Morgan rolled under a blast of wind and worked through a dozen more scenarios. The best case had her out clean, no-one injured, and a commendation from the townsfolk. It also involved so many coincidences and acts of god that she had to invent exciting new numbers to keep track of them all! The next best option was to take out the leader and run in the confusion, with Gerome and Kjelle boxing in anyone wanting to fight at the exits leaving Cynthia and Owain free to secure the pegasus. It was high risk, of course. Riskier than dad would go with. Riskier than anyone sensible would go with.
Morgan heard movement by the entrance. Wings. Wyvern, big, three riders… Well, if the plan had a shot, it was now.
"Cynthia, tell Owain where the pegasus is, don't go into details about why you're here, I'll meet up with you!"
"What?"
Flames took out a wall and Morgan was running before Cynthia could ask any questions. Quick math gave her just enough charges to burn, freeze, and jolt her way around the main enemy group to cut off not-Grandpa with a smaller group of soldiers. The catch was, that also meant she couldn't pull off any magic beyond a pretty girl's smile when she had to take him on with, judging from earlier, a brainwashed bodyguard of mercenaries and cutthroats who'd kill her as soon as look at her. (The magic of a pretty girl's smile had been very disappointing in practice so far.) Then, it all came down to the plan.
Even if she lived, this was ending in a lecture from her father. About how you shouldn't be a hero on the battlefield, about how a plan should have failsafes, how lives were irreplaceable. And she'd listen, because he'd be right. But right now, the irreplaceable lives were the people trusted to her. People who trusted her. She'd do them proud, or die in the attempt.
Older lectures from dear old dad rumbled through her mind. Not in warning for the next one. In planning how to survive this.
"Do you know what the most important quality is for a tactician, Morgan?"
She shook her head. Even if she did, she wanted to hear him say it.
"Empathy. It's the hardest part of the job, too. If you know how your troops feel, how they think, you know how to motivate them, drive them to their best, and how to best use those talents. But it also rips your heart out when they die."
"Well, at least you can…"
"Empathy for the enemy is even more important. And even harder. You know their hopes, their dreams, the fact that most of them don't deserve to die, and even if they did you wouldn't have the right. And then you use that to end their lives. If you understand someone, you know how to kill them. It's also much harder to want to."
She'd been small then. Morgan remembered that. She wanted to cry. But a master tactician couldn't cry in front of an officer.
"I think I like the board better. The little horsey ones don't feel bad when they die. And they come back."
"So do I. But sometimes, we have to do things we don't like."
Morgan looked into the last room. If her calculations were right, she was at the target. If they weren't, she was surrounded and dead within the next ten minutes. A look into the room would collapse the uncertainty. Jackpot. 'Chrom' and half a dozen guards. He was muttering something about his luck and trusting that idiot. Nothing mission relevant. Well, it reinforced what she'd thought already. Another part of the plan moved to a slightly lower risk category from the initial 'not a chance'.
She stepped into the center, and gulped. If this didn't work, it would be very, very short.
"Chrom!"
What had she known about him? That he was a bandit. That, instead of any other plan, he took the name of a king to plant his banner. Not just any king, though. Not even one who was an established power, or someone who could safely claim tribute in Walhart's name. No. He picked grandpa. Why?
Morgan had a guess. A simple one. It was in the blood. Chrom's line was unbroken back to the days of the hero king, if mom could be believed. Chosen by the gods. Born better, which wasn't true at all but popular belief was a devil of a thing. (Kjelle's blood was as common as dirt, and she was terrifying.) Chrom was nobility head to toe, no matter how he denied it or tried to shrug it off.
And this bandit wasn't. He needed to be better than he was. He needed to think he was important. He was a fragile, frightened man who happened into some power, and knew that he didn't deserve it. So. This might work.
"What?"
He'd turned, but he hadn't gotten to 'kill her'. So. On track.
"The Chrom I know was a peerless fighter. And honorable."
"Then…"
"Prove you're him."
Morgan drew her sword.
"Honorable combat. One on one. Defeat me, and I submit."
She tried to channel Kjelle in the tone. If you were challenging someone to a fight to the death, they needed to believe you were the kind of person who wanted it. Simple blood and honor stuff. No complicated games, no risks other than not being good enough. No escape.
"Why should I surrender the advantage?"
"Because you're a king and an honorable man, not a dog."
She timed the words carefully. Do it right. Like you believe it. And like there's enough doubt that you'll win that he'll take it.
The man gestured to the guards to step back. He drew a sword. And he smiled. Morgan aimed her blade at the man. Simple rules. It wasn't tactics now. It wasn't psychology. It was killing and dying. Mom's gift more than dad's, and not her favorite way to solve a problem. But she was out of options.
Blades clashed. Morgan winced. The man wasn't bad. Well, he was BAD, banditry and murder and using dark magic to mind control people into being your puppets certainly wasn't good, but he had some talent with the whole stabbing thing. More than she'd been hoping for, even if it fit with her expectations. If he'd been up against most of the army, or even some of the Shepherds, they'd be dead already.
Morgan was lucky she was trained better. Her grandfather was a king. Her mother was the best swordfighter alive. And her father was just the best. Every trick of the wrist, every edge you could get in these quarters was hers. And she saw what she needed.
He left an opening with his left side parries. He didn't notice. Most people wouldn't, not at that speed. A quick poke to the left exposed it again. He parried. And Morgan's eyes flashed.
"This ends here."
Cherry blossoms filled the air. Morgan drove her sword into the man's heart. Magic flowed along the blade and burned his body to a crisp.
Morgan smiled. She'd burned a man to death, yes. She'd killed a lot of people. Usually after learning how they thought, and reasons they might not deserve to die. She was used to it. The important thing was she won. If she could sell it.
"So. Um… guess he wasn't Chrom, huh?"
The guards were backed against the wall. Morgan shrugged. That was as good as anything. One of them managed to squeak out a few words.
"Gods. Gods!"
"Yeah. That was a last minute plan. I had something better, but it more or less fell apart as it went. Uh, at least you aren't dead? I mean, as long as you surrender."
Swords clattered to the ground. Morgan smiled again.
"Thank you for your cooperation. Tell everyone you see on the way out the whole story, and then we'll all be fine."
Probably. Dad had told uncle Henry to stop experimenting on POWs, right? Now that had been a disturbing afternoon. One of the mercenaries from before, Deke(?), nodded.
"Whatever you say. Hell, with a display like that, you could say I was Chrom, and I'd nod along. Didn't sign up for this line of work just to die."
"Don't worry. You're not Chrom. Grandpa is much younger than you. Also, fewer scars. Maybe you should try to get stabbed less."
"Was more worried about the dying. And, grandpa?"
Deke paused.
"Wait. I said I wouldn't ask the crazy girl who just turned a guy to ash too many questions. Hands up march people. Nobody else needs to die, and I doubt many of us want to."
Morgan's smile grew.
"See? That's the kind of attitude I wanted earlier."
They were halfway out before they saw anyone else, and he almost missed them at a dead run.
"Get Chrom! We're under attack!"
Deke turned to Morgan. She nodded. Letting someone else talk preserved the mystique.
"Can't, on account of he's dead, on account of this girl being a hell of a lot scarier than we figured on. Sword down, hands up. No point in dying now."
"Well, we're dying soon! I don't care how good she is. Even if she killed Chrom, she's not talking the dastards outside down!"
Morgan paused.
"Dastards?"
"Yeah! Not only did Chrom's new favorite turn around and start stabbing us in the back, but we have a white haired swordsman yammering about vengeance, a WYVERN with an axe swinging something on its back, and a lady knight who barely qualifies for the first thanks to being a PSYCHOTIC NIGHTMARE on the second!"
"Oh. Good. They're with me."
The man blinked, then dropped his sword and walked into line without a word.
Well. This would be a story for dad, wouldn't it? Morgan had to admit, he'd been right. Family bonding was good, but sometimes you had to find things out on your own.
(Author's note: Okay, I was originally planning to go with another set of shorter showpieces for the, but some of those were coming together slower, and this seemed like it could fill . Going to admit it. Morgan(F)'s probably my favorite. It isn't because she's a psychotic monster who torments her friends... at least, not entirely. It's that she's simultaneously brilliant and airheaded. It's nearly impossible to tell at any given moment if she's just goofing off or running an elaborate scheme. Or both.
As for Ruger having mind control? Well, Cynthia can be pretty stupid, sure. But even for her, that was a standout. Figure a guy with a solid magic stat and that kind of luck talking people around would use any edge he could get. As for Morgan shrugging it off, well, Henry mentions that curses roll against willpower. And Morgan IS the most shamelessly self-motivated.
Standard hope you liked it, equally standard thanks for reading, and see you next time, assuming point one holds.)