A/N: So, my Senior year has finally come to a close and summer vacation is in full throttle; meaning, I now have more time to focus on writing! Yes, FREEDOM at last! So to start this all off, here is the well-awaited Brady chapter. This one was more of a challenge because, as you can see, I always use an actual quote from the future-children to differentiate which segment will start up the chapter; usually father, then mother. The problem with Brady is that he never brought up a quote that's pretty solid for back-story – even in part 2 of The Future Past DLC. So in this one, I used two quotes that are pretty similar in meaning, but it connects with Brady's history with having being coddled by his mother and not living up to the physical standards when it comes to fighting. Hopefully I wrote it well, and I hope you all enjoy Brady's segment. I also apologize in advance if Maribelle sounds a little OOC. She's one of those characters that I find difficult to write…but I hope I wrote her well-enough for you all. (Feel free to tell me otherwise.)

A Noble Lineage

"The you from the future smothered me, to be perfectly honest. You'd pack lunches for me, hold my hand while walkin' up stairs... You were so busy doing the heavy lifting for me that I turned into a total wimp! Ya wouldn't even let me fend for myself in the end. So next time, lemme protect YOU!"

"Brady, what in the world are you doing waving around that barbaric thing?! Put it down this instant or you will harm yourself!"

"Aw, but, Ma!" protested the young red haired boy, who clutched the wooden toy sword tightly in his hands. "All the others get to play with these and their Mas don't say nuthin'!"

Maribelle quickly closed the distance between her and her son, storming across the garden until she towered over Brady and plucked the wooden toy from the boy's grasp. She shook her head in disapproval, making her ever-so curled golden locks bounce. "Well those other children aren't raised to become noble gentleman like you are, therefore such games like these," she grimaced at the wooden sword that she clutched in her gloved hand, "are expected."

Brady pouted. "Gerome's a noble and his pa lets him play warrior and so does his ma."

"Gerome is a noble, dearie," Maribelle corrected. "And it is Father and Mother, not Pa or Ma. Really, Brady, I thought we've gone over proper diction."

"Ma!"

"Brady! A gentleman does not raise his voice!"

"My, my," an amused chuckle halted the family feud from going any further. "Don't you two think it's too early to have such a loud argument? I swear, I heard the two of you a mile down the road."

Standing right under the rose arch that marked the entrance to Maribelle's beloved garden was a familiar mage dressed in blue robes with a matching hat of the same color that, despite his increase of height, continued to droop at the back of his red hair. His chocolate brown eyes sparkled with amusement, as did the smirk that graced his handsome features. He had certainly come a long way from the young energetic mage that he once was years ago – physically speaking, that is. His attitude, however, has changed very little.

Brady's sour disposition lifted as he darted toward the man, arms wide open and smile spread out from cheek to cheek. "Pop! You're home!"

The boy was immediately swooped up into his father's arms where he was then held up high in the air, resulting in cheerful laughter from the usually moody child. Then again, why wouldn't Brady's mood lighten? His father had been gone for months on a campaign with the other Shepherds. He had missed his father and despite her lack of physical proof, Brady knew his mother missed him too and was just as delighted as Brady with his return.

Holding Brady close to him, Brady's father brought him down to eye-level. "What did you do this time to stoke your mother's temper, Brady? Did you get yourself filthy running around in the dirt with the other kids? Skip lessons? Chew with your mouth open?" His father had a scolding tone, but the mischievous glint in his eyes said otherwise. If there was one thing Brady loved about his father, it was how they both shared a love for annoying his mother Maribelle. However, this shared trait of theirs continued to the point where they would both get scolded (lectured) by the ever-so "dignified" noblewoman.

"No, Pop!" Brady replied, a grin still spread out from ear to ear.

"Oh?" His father feigned cluelessness. "Then what did you do?"

"Must you jest about this, dear?" Maribelle fumed, not enjoying being teased by both her husband and her son at the slightest; then again, she doesn't like being teased by anyone. "I was just explaining to Brady how inappropriate it is for a boy of his status to play Barbarians with the other children when he should be inside continuing his violin lessons."

The young boy took offense in that. "It ain't Barbarians, Ma! It's playin' Knights or Warriors, or sumthin'. And I wanted to play with the others for once! I don't wanna be stuck inside the estate all day fiddlin'."

Maribelle's face began to turn a hilarious shade of red that could rival even the color of both Brady and his father's hair, her grip tightening around her parasol – which never left her side, to be honest. "Brady…" she seethed.

"Now, Maribelle," said Brady's father, cutting-in on Maribelle's sentence to save himself, and Brady, from her unforgiving wrath. "You need to stop coddling the boy. He's at that age where he should be waving around a wooden sword, pretending to be a knight, or a warrior – whatever he wants! Even I played games like these with the other boys when I was a child, you know that. Chrom too, and he was the prince of Ylisse for crying out loud!"

Maribelle remained defiant and calmly met her husband's gaze. "He might get hurt."

He sighed; his wife can be so stubborn, but he loves her for it. "All children get hurt while they play, Maribelle. It's not like a real battlefield." For a moment, his expression darkened, but it quickly went unnoticed by Brady, but not Maribelle, who seemed reluctant to accept that she was wrong.

He stepped closer to the prim-and-proper troubadour and held her close, not minding Brady's insistent squirming as he's pinned in-between his two parents' bodies. "Just let him have his fun, Maribelle."

"Fine," she sighed.

Brady let out a victorious cheer.

"But only if he promises to let me tag along to keep an eye on him at all times whenever he does…play."

"Aw, Ma!"

"I mostly practised fightin' in the future. I never had your knack for warfare, see? Half the time, I'd wind up with an axe buried in my face or worse. Nasty stuff. But I wanted to learn how to hold my own and fight for the world ya tried to protect."

"Brady, I think you need a break," said the armor-clad Kjelle. She peered down at Brady's sprawled form from when she managed to disarm him and throw him to the ground in five minutes – a new record for the both of them; time to win and time to lose respectively. Though the knight had convinced herself that she has hardened her heart against any feelings of sympathy or the like to her opponents, she couldn't help but pity Brady a bit. He wanted to get stronger – a quest Kjelle herself shares and respects – but his physical capabilities made his goal a hard one to achieve.

Brady managed to get back onto his feet, albeit unsteadily, and raised the training axe in front of him in a sloppy battle position. "Nah, I'm good," he wheezed; his lungs felt like they were on fire! But he couldn't stop – not now. He had to get stronger to defend his friends and the world his Ma and Pop had died trying to protect. If he kept on taking breaks, he'd be nothing but a burden to everyone – deadweight that would only cause problems in the get-go.

Kjelle frowned; she respected Brady's dedication, but she knew better than most that sometimes too much training would do more harm than help. She grabbed Brady's training axe by the blade, which was blunt, and yanked it out of his hands with no problem.

"Hey!" Brady yelled. "Give it here!" He tried reaching for the axe, but Kjelle pushed him backward with her hand – and by push, it actually ended up as a shove, making Brady land arse first onto the dirt.

"Sorry," she mumbled, though it didn't sound like she meant it. "Listen, Brady, as much as I enjoy sparring with you," she actually doesn't, "you need a breather. You're practically on the verge of dying on your feet."

The priest gaped. "Am not!" Then he wheezed again, resulting in a harsh coughing fit.

The teal haired knight winced. "My point exactly. Now go. Eat, bathe, sleep – just allow your body to recover, Brady. No use training yourself if you end up dying midway."

Brady bit back disappointed tears – no use crying over spilled milk, his Ma used to say – and reluctantly left the white stone circle that marked one of three sparring areas of the training grounds. Almost immediately, Kjelle returned to her regular training regimen, forgetting Brady altogether. The red headed priest stood at the edge of the training grounds, watching his companions, the other second generation of Shepherds, train and spar with one another. He watched how Owain managed to disarm Inigo with a quick flick of his blade; he observed Cynthia's practice session on her aim when throwing a lance with Noire, who practiced archery right beside her, and most of all, he looked on with envy as Laurent practiced his mastery over the Elfire spell with a few wooden dummies.

He sighed, looking onto his companions, his friends, with a forlorn expression. Everyone was so much more capable in surviving a battle compared to him. They had skill; they had strength – something Brady severely lacked. There was no one to blame for his lack of physical strength but himself – and his Ma, with all of her coddling and what-not, but that would be rude. Surrounded by all of these talented warriors, archers and mages, it made Brady feel…inadequate, useless, the list can go on endlessly.

Yes, he's technically not useless – he's a priest, he's the group's best healer should anything go south in a fight. But at the same time, he's the group's biggest weakness. In nearly every strategy, Brady would always be dealt with first. And by dealt with, it meant a game of, "Who's the Unlucky Soul Who Has to Pair Up with Brady?" And usually, the babysitting duty is given to either Inigo, Severa or Kjelle – sadly, the most common one is Severa; why? He'll never know.

Brady sighed and glanced down at the ring that hung on a steel chain around his neck. He gently cupped it in his hand and thumbed the gold band, caressing it fondly. This was his Ma's ring – the only thing Brady had that belonged to her before she and Pop died in a battle against a whole army of Risen. He doesn't know the full story himself, but he's heard snippets of what had led to their demise. They part of a defense team that was tasked to lead a caravan of refugees to Ylisstol, when the Risen ambushed them while they were crossing a steep mountain pass. They took on great casualties – both of innocent people and of the soldiers that had volunteered to defend the caravan. The first of his parents to fall was his Ma; she was healing a wounded soldier when a Risen archer managed to shoot her off of her horse. She didn't survive the wound. Then his Pop played hero, sacrificing himself to ensure that what remained of the caravan and of the small squad that they had lead would make it to Ylisstol.

Brady had only been fourteen when he had found out of his parents' demise. He was one of the lucky ones of his friends – his parents managed to live long enough to see him grow up from being a rough, rebellious child to an even more rebellious and moody teenager. But the loss was the same; the pain of losing his parents was the same and would remain the same regardless of what age he was when they died. It would still be the same lonely feeling that enveloped his entire being, like there was a gaping chasm in his heart that could never be filled. That was the pain that he felt when he found out, and it's the same pain that drove him to promise on his Ma's wedding ring, that someday he'll get stronger and protect the world from chaos and destruction until his dying breath.

It was the pain that acted as his motivation to train himself to a stupor every waking moment in his life. And gods be damned if he doesn't try.

Yeah, he wasn't good at sword-fighting or lance-work like Lucina or Kjelle, nor was he good in terms of aim like Noire. And, despite having a mage for a father, Brady didn't excel at magic. Brady may had a lot of weaknesses, it didn't mean that this was how he'll remain for the rest of his life – he was going to shape himself to become the best member of the Shepherds and ensure that this world that his parents greatly died for would remain protected and kept out of Chaos' greedy hands.

Clutching the ring tightly in his hand, Brady felt his resolve and motivation return to him in a wild rush of energy. Don't worry, Ma and Pop, Brady thought. I'll make sure to get stronger and defend Ylisse and the entire world from Grima. It may take a while, but I have you know that I'm not restin' until Grima is sent back to whatever kind of hole they found him in the first place.

Pocketing the ring and chain under his dark purple robes, Brady got back up onto his feet and ran off into the training grounds. This time, he wasn't going to back out anymore. He won't be a burden to his friends anymore. Watch out world, Brady is comin' through full throttle and nothing is going to stop him. Ever.

Note: If you enjoyed this chapter and/or if you have something you'd like to say about it, especially if it's critique, feel free to leave me a review. I hope you all enjoyed Brady's segment. Next up is the ever-so diligent knight, Kjelle. Thank you for reading!