GHOST STORIES

Chapter 4: Palimpsest

"See? It's not so bad, is it?"

Libra and Lissa sat at a small table across from one another in their private tent. Lissa had her hand upon Libra's left cheek and he leaned into her touch. She brushed a thumb gently over the edge of his cheekbone as if wiping away a tear, though his eyes were dry.

"No, not at all," he said with a gentle smile. "In fact, I dare say that I am beginning to crave it – your touch, that is. I've been avoiding human contact for so long I didn't realize how starved I became for it."

"Good, good. The easier you get with this, the easier it will be to treat you when you get your boneheaded self hurt. You can only treat your own injuries so much, you know."

"You know I try to do that as little as possible, by Naga's grace."

Lissa gently traced her hand downward, over his neck. Libra flinched, her fingers brushing too close to a specific scar.

"Not yet, love," he said with a wince. "Not yet."

"Oh, alright," She withdrew her hand and placed it atop his. She smiled. "You'll get better. Our son from the future says so."

Just then, the aforementioned son burst in through the tent flap. Libra immediately startled and Lissa in kind.

"Father! I finally found the perfect name for the weapon we forged together at the last blacksmith's shop!" Owain proudly held a silver-plated battleaxe in both his hands, keeping the weight in balance. "It spoke to me from out of the fell darkness – a soul shining in the night, proclaiming itself to me!"

Libra and Lissa both gave him disapproving looks.

"I'm not calling it 'Head-Smoosher + 1." Libra answered him.

"That's the beauty of it!" Owain announced, "You don't have to! Your new partner's name is Quinarin II! It means 'Vanquisher,' but he is the second in a line. Please accept him, oh Father!"

Libra stood and hesitantly held out his hands to take the axe. "Very… nice… Owain."

"Don't you think you're being a bit overdramatic?" Lissa asked the young man. "I mean, you go on and on like this all the time, sometimes in front of the whole camp! Is it too much to ask for you to tone it down a bit?"

"Whatever do you mean, dear, sainted Mother?" Owain responded, taken aback. "I have been wracking my overheated brains trying to aid you in bestowing a name upon your favorite staff! I wish merely to bequeath a proper soul upon your weapon to protect you-"

"Stop right there. A weapon doesn't need a name or a soul. Please, Owain, you startled us."

"Many apologies," the young swordsman said with a deep bow. "I shall take my leave now."

"Oh, don't be like that!" Lissa replied. "We'll meet you at dinner, okay?"

Owain was already out of the tent. He wandered around the edges of the camp until he found Lucina sitting on a log looking out over a field. Owain knew that she appreciated the grasses and the little wildflowers that were everywhere. He did, too. They hadn't seen anything but blighted landscapes for a long time.

He refrained from letting his mother know of his habit of catching grasshoppers and making snacks of them – a holdover from the dark days.

"Ho, there!"

"Go ahead and sit down," Lucina beckoned. "I was just… thinking."

Owain sighed as he took a seat beside her, making sure there weren't any ants on the log – a problem he had encountered in their last camp.

"I thought you were spending time with your parents," Lucina mused.

"Yeah, about that…" Owain began, "I think I'm not exactly a fit for them in this timeframe. Mother seems to fear my boiling blood and Father… I haven't got a handle yet on how shy he used to be. I just offended them… I think I stumbled in on a private moment."

"I'm sure you don't offend them, Owain," Lucina assured him, turning to him with a gentle smile. "It's just… this is a different time. They're younger now than when we knew them. A lot of things happened in our time that haven't happened yet."

She set a steel-gaze toward the field. Owain noticed the subtle clench of her fingers digging into the bark of the log. "And most of those things won't happen if I can possibly change fate."

"It's just strange… seeing them again, you know."

Lucina murmured and nodded. Other people might have noticed the change in Owain's demeanor; that he was speaking perfectly seriously and not in his nearly-perpetual "adventure mode," but she didn't seem to notice. After all, they had been very close as cousins all of their lives and his theatrics had become normal to her. Every one of her companions had their particular ways of coping with the traumas they'd lived through. Bombast was his, focus upon goals was hers.

"It is strange," Lucina responded. "I buried Father long ago and Mother… I've been searching for her for so long and here they are."

"It's like seeing ghosts. I am haunted! Haunted, Lucina, not by dark demonic spirits to be bent to my service by the correct incantation but by bright specters of a future-past that never should have been! They live! Again!"

The theater was back and Lucina must have noticed it for the way she smirked at him. It was, however, an expression touched with sadness.

"There are changes… but I don't know if the changes are enough, Owain. The River of Fate seems to be trying to run back to its original course no matter what we do. Aunt Emmeryn still…died. It happened in a different way, but it still happened."

"It must have been so hard for you, being there," Owain said, looking down. "I only heard about it. It was the stuff of legends… her…choice."

"I never knew she was so brave," Lucina sighed. "Too bad that her devotion to peace only shortened one war… it failed to stop the current one – or what's coming. I think the worst part of it was watching over Father and your mother. They took it hard. Frederick, too. My Mother was beside herself. It was the first time she'd lost and lost big. I think she still blames herself. I know Father still blames himself."

"I guess I should count myself lucky that my father managed to join the Shepherds and meet Mother in this timeline, anyway. His circumstances were different – fighting across the desert instead of into Ylisstol. It all turned out the same, though… with him as the lone survivor. It would have been nice if that had been changed…he could have kept his friends… maybe they would have joined the Shepherds, too and I could have met them. Mistress Fate is cruel."

"Aunt Tharja's and Henry's joining – they came in differently, too, but they're still here. This world is already different for our being here, but the general direction is the same. Have you spoken much with my mother yet?"

"A little, but not much. She's very busy. I don't want to bother her planning. She's definitely my aunt by the way she carries her noble self. I have already enlisted her aid in bestowing an appellation upon one of my partner-blades."

"A backup for Missletain?"

"Rightly, my lady. She assessed my level of magical prowess and suggested I try a blade in the shape of a bolt of divine retribution from the heavens. She even suggested that I might take more training under my parents to become an official healer."

"Are you interested in that?"

"I am afraid that my blood boils to overflowing! With the hunger of my sword-hand and the hunger of Owain Dark's rage, I fear that I am unfit to be a priest. I am not quite as controlled as my stoic father."

Lucina gave him a small, quiet laugh. "So, my mother hasn't told you of her memory problems yet?"

"Memory problems?"

"In this timeline, she has amnesia. She doesn't remember a thing from before the day she met my father. She doesn't remember her mother, the namesake for my middle name. My infant-self back at the castle has the middle name of 'Emmeryn."

"So, it runs in the family in this timeline, then?"

Lucina gave him a grim look. "It would seem so."

It was Owain's turn to sigh. "He didn't remember anything… nothing from the Justice Cabal. He's still smart as a whip but he doesn't remember all the times he saved our tails. He still can't remember you? Not a thing?"

"Nothing, Owain, none of it. He seems to remember a little bit about Falchion, how I wouldn't let him touch it, but he has no clear memory of me or Father – only of Mother."

"It's painful. I'm so sorry, Lucina. We'll help him…somehow."

"On one hand, I wonder if it might be a blessing. He's… happier… than most of us seem to be. He isn't indebted to the painful memories that we share."

"He was always a pretty chipper kid," Owain answered. "But, I know what you mean. At least we found him. Give it time. He'll have to remember his big sister. You were so close."

"I'm…I'm happy we found him at all. When he disappeared, I held out hope, but after a while…"

"We had to assume the worst and move on. It was a miracle that we found him again just as we were running for the Gate."

"What if something horrible happened to him, Owain?"

"Well, Mother and Father didn't see any big scars or wounds on him when they gave him an examination," Owain assured her. "They checked his head thoroughly. And didn't Brady get a good look at him before we jumped time?"

"I didn't… I didn't tell Father or Mother about Morgan at all," Lucina confessed. "When we were separated again after going through the Gate…"

"For the same reason that Yarne doesn't tell Aunt Panne and Uncle Gaius about his brothers and sisters," Owain finished for her.

"I didn't want to give them the burden of grief if he was… if he hadn't shown up. It's bad enough as it is. I don't know what's worse – losing him initially or…being forgotten."

"We're in this together," Owain spoke, surprisingly sagely. "It'll work out. It has to. We're the heirs of heroes and we've defied the temporal plain itself to change things! The chosen heroes yet to be born will know a different world because I, Owain, Hero of the Ages, will carve a new path! With you as my sidekick!"

Lucina gave him a smile. "Thank you, Owain."

The Shepherds were on the march the next day and time's river once again was trying to flow into its appointed bed.

Owain was in the rearguard with his father, walking steadily behind one of the medical supply wagons, well behind the others due to an unanticipated stop to repair one of the wheels. They passed under a glade of tall trees as they were arguing about an incident that happened after breakfast that morning in which Owain was failing to stay his "raging blood" and Libra had found it both distressing and embarrassing. He had genuinely thought that something was wrong with his son – at first, and then Lissa had sorted everything out in her usual manner. The priest was still a tad annoyed. Owain searched his face for some way he might make things up to him.

In the future, his parents had encouraged his imagination – this set was unused to it. Owain had to remind himself that they hadn't even created the Destiny that was him just yet and perhaps were a little overwhelmed by his sheer aura.

The young man's ear caught the distinct sound of an arrow whistling on the air.

"OWAIN, LOOK OUT!"

Before he knew it, his father and jumped in front of him. In an instant, the tall man was griping an arrow lodged in his shoulder, blood staining his white robes.

Owain's only thought in that split-second was Oh, no, not again, not again, please, gods, not again!

"Archers…in the trees…" Libra struggled. "We're outnumbered…We have to get out of here! Now! GO!"

"R-right."

Owain looped his father's good arm over his shoulders to keep him steady as they fled through the forest. They were panting in exhaustion by the time they'd lost the enemy, not even sure what manner of enemy they were. Neither of them had gotten a good look as to ascertain whether they were Valmese soldiers, Risen or standard bandits. They heard the din of battle in the distance, the shouts of familiar voices, which meant that the rest of the Shepherds had backtracked for them and had encountered their attackers.

Owain settled Libra on the ground against a tree, the latter wincing. He knew enough from being raised by the man and by his mother that the projectile was best left in the wound until help arrived, despite how uncomfortable it was.

"Gods, not again."

"Hmm?" Libra asked, hazy.

"Why? Why did you take that arrow for me?" Owain demanded, his face flushed from running. "You could have died! This is how it happens, you know, this is exactly…Er…"

"This is how what happens?" Libra asked, surprisingly calm given the situation.

Owain was gesticulating and a choking sob escaped his throat. "Oh, Father…"

"Owain? Owain, why are you crying? What's wrong?" Libra asked urgently, suddenly worried that maybe his wound was worse than it felt. He quickly assessed that he did not presently have any of the symptoms of acute shock, but the way Owain was acting was worrisome.

"I," Owain sighed, "No, nothing. Nothing is wrong. It was just more improv… alright? Just forget I said anything. More importantly, we need to get that shoulder looked at. I'll go get Mother."

"A-alright," Libra said tiredly. "I'll be right here."

Owain returned, crashing through the bushes with Lissa in tow.

"Libra!" she yelped. "Libra, answer me!"

Libra opened his eyes. "I'm alright, love."

She dropped to her knees with a tin-box medical kit and passed the Mend stave she was holding into Owain's hands. Owain felt as numb as stone as he watched the proceedings. He managed to hold back the urge to sob so as not to upset the patient or the physician.

Libra sucked wind through his teeth and Lissa gently prodded the area surrounding the wound and cut a hole in his outer robe around where the arrow had struck home. "Alright," she said, matter-of-factly, "We both know that this isn't going to be pretty. I suspect Owain knows it, too. You can look away, kiddo!"

Owain gently shook his head. "No, Mother. I've assisted wounds before. What kind of a hero would I be if I could not look upon a little blood?"

Lissa took a strip of leather out of the medical kit and placed it in Libra's mouth. "Bite down on the count of three," she said.

He nodded quickly and calmly did as told. She grabbed the shaft of the arrow. "One. Two. Three!"

She yanked out the bloody head of the projectile and tossed it over her shoulder. In a flash she grabbed the stave from Owain's hand and set to a quick mend of the wound.

The bit of belt dropped from Libra's lips as he uttered a moan of both pain and relief. He caught his breath.

Owain was giving him the look of a deer caught in a flash of nighttime lightning-magic.

"Owain," he said softly, "I am healed. No need to worry. Owain? Owain…?"

"Y-yeah, Father," he answered hesitantly.

Other Shepherds came upon the scene.

"Oh, my, my," said Virion. "Beauty has cheated the Reaper!"

"Are you alright, Friend?" Chrom asked.

Three months of being his brother-in-law and Chrom still had a habit of calling his relations "Friend."

"Don't you worry, just a bunch of Risen dastards and we kicked their asses!" Sully announced.

Libra smiled as he allowed Chrom to help him to his feet.

"Can we - ?" Owain began, "Can he ride in a wagon for the rest of the march?"

"I don't see why not," Robin said.

"I am fine, really," Libra insisted.

"It's best to take precautions!" Lissa said. "And I'm gonna ride with you to make sure you rest!"

"You just don't want to walk the rest of the way," Chrom teased.

"Are you kidding? My feet are killing me!"

"Alright, alright," Chrom said, a bemused smile crossing his lips. "But we are having bear tonight."

"Hmph!"

"She's just using me as an excuse, Sir," Libra said, "but I welcome it."

"Owain?" Chrom asked.

"Huh?" the young man jumped, unsettled from his thoughts. "Oh… I'll walk with Lucina, alright?"

"Hmm."

Owain walked in silence the rest of the way beside his cousin, watching the wagon his parents rode in. His silence was met with Lucina's own, grim glances exchanged occasionally between them.

The truth was that, in the future, Libra had taken an arrow for Owain and it had lead to his end. However, the deeper truth was that the priest had not lost his life by the arrow directly. Owain could not shake the guilt and the shame, however, the emotions rising up anew. In the pas that was the future, an arrow taken for him had been the beginning of the end. Although circumstances were different now, the young man could not stop himself from being wracked with worry that history was just going to repeat itself.

He kept his gaze ahead at the wagon and prayed silently that his father was going to be alright.