Disclaimer: I don't own Fire Emblem Awakening, all rights to the owners.

Nathan.

"Come on dear."

"I have to plan Nathan!"

"You've been doing nothing but planning for nearly a week." I say. I run my fingers through Morgan's hair as I speak. "You can take a bit of time off. You don't even have a meeting today, right?"

"Well yeah…" Morgan grumbles. "But I have to work."

"No you don't."

"It's my job. We're at war!"

"You've been looking at that same map for the last four days, Morgan."

"Well-"

"You haven't moved over half of those figurines even once." I say. "Every time I come back to the tent, they're in the exact same place."

"Because they're constants! If a battle does happen where Virion thinks it's going to happen, it's going to be at this border river, and this is the most logical place for the archers, mages, and cavalry to be!"

"And you haven't come up with a plan yet?"

"Well I have, but I need to go through every possible permutation."

"No you don't."

"But-"

"Morgan. Disregarding that I'm trying to get you to stop working for a few hours, you're spending days of work on a situation that might not even happen even when, by your own admittance, you already have a plan." I point out. "There are better uses for your time, even if that would be looking at other battle scenarios rather than taking time off."

Morgan grumbles under her breath (a common thing ever since we arrived in Valm), and pushes out of her chair. She stands up and stretches, and pouts at me. "Alright, fine, I'm up. What now?"

"I dunno."

She gives me a flat look. "Nathan…"

"We're out in the middle of nowhere. Did you expect me to have a plan?" I ask. "It's not like there's anywhere for us to go."

"Then I should go back to work." Morgan says crossly. Her eyes narrow and she does, in fact, cross her arms in irritation. "I shouldn't waste my free time when there's nothing good to do."

I- well- "I guess that's a fair point." I say uncertainly.

"Of course it is." Morgan says, annoyed. "I'm a genius, aren't I?"

"Of course." I say automatically, just like I always do when she says something like that, but it doesn't feel right. Usually this sort of exchange is done in jest, or at least as part of friendly banter. But here it feels… wrong. "I just…"

"Yes?" She sighs, exasperated.

"Nothing." I mumble. "Uh, you can go back to work."

"Oh can I?" Morgan mutters under her breath as she sits back down in her seat. "Thanks."

I grimace and decide maybe now would be a good time to find something else to do. I've done all my duties for the day (we spent most of the day marching, and after helping to set up camp and doing inventory there's little for me to do. Today is a relatively free day on my part), but there's always something that needs doing.

Perhaps it was a bit selfish on my part to try and drag Morgan away from her work. As much as she might be obsessing over theoreticals… that's sort of her job. I probably shouldn't be trying to drag her away from her job just because I'm starting to feel lonely.

Morgan has been busy since we got to Valm. Heck, since we were on the boat she's been busy. I guess I have no right to complain, she's put up with my general panic and incompetence for a long time, as well as literally carrying me around for a few days after I regained my old body. Besides, her job is rather important. I shouldn't interrupt.

I wander around camp for a few minutes. Noire is busy, and I don't really have any other close friends among the Shepherds so there's no one I care to try and talk with.

Wow, I have no support ranks… I say as if those actually exist in this world, which they don't. What would my support ranks look like if they did exist though? Morgan is A, easily, and Noire is… hmm… B? Maybe still C? Probably B. I might have C with Nah too.

This is pointless to think about though. I'm only mulling this over because I have nothing else to do. I could do some woodworking I guess, I could make another compact desk. Everyone seems to like the compact desks, and the ones I made before got wrecked when our ship sunk and I haven't put in the effort to make others yet, because where's the fun in doing that? I might make something if I can see a real point to it, but it's hard to care without an obvious point. Besides, I'd have to go back to the tent to do that, and I don't want to bother Morgan.

It looks like most of the chores are done too, unless I fancy volunteering myself for making dinner (which I don't, not unless Sully or Kjelle would be cooking otherwise). The Shepherds are strangely efficient when they actually put their minds to it.

Either that or Laurent has been around to make sure everything got done. Sometimes it feels like he and Frederick are all that's keeping the Shepherds from collapsing into chaos. They're the ones that keep everyone else on track, because some Shepherds can be rather forgetful or negligent. (I'm talking about you, Vaike.)

"Nathan!" Morgan's voice calls out from somewhere in the camp. She can be quite loud when she wants to be. "Naaathan!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming…" I mutter. What does she want? I left her alone, didn't I? Maybe Robin wants to talk to me? Why send Morgan to find me though?

It only takes a moment to navigate to Morgan, mostly because she doesn't stop shouting until I step into her view so she's really easy to find. As soon as she sees me, she stops calling out and stomps in my direction.

"Did someone need me?" I ask as Morgan approaches. She doesn't answer, and instead grabs me by the collar and pulls me towards the tent. I'm aware of a few pairs of curious eyes watching us. "Is something wrong? Morgan?"

Morgan drags me into the tent. She scowls at me for a long second, takes a breath, and then says. "Sorry."

Uh… "Apology accepted. But for what, exactly?"

"Nathan." She groans. "Don't make me explain."

"Okay."

"... you do know what I'm apologizing for, right?"

"Not really?" I admit with hesitation.

Morgan grumbles, but explains. "I brushed you off, and I shouldn't have."

"You were busy." I say with a shake of my head.

"No." Morgan growls. She then seems to realize she's growling, and visibly takes a moment to fix her tone. "Look, you've been doting on me for the last several months at this point, and I've mostly been ignoring you."

"You're busy." I repeat. "It's fine. Besides, this is just repayment for all you've done to take care of me in the past."

"It's not the same." Morgan continues stubbornly.

"It is."

"No, it isn't." Morgan insists. "Nathan, in those first months walking around Ferox, were you so busy that your interaction with me was limited to meals and maybe half an hour of chat before bed?"

"Well no."

"Were you snippy and irritable towards me?"

"Yes."

She gives me an unimpressed look. "Nathan."

"I was!"

"That's bullshit and you know it. Being clingy and paranoid is not the same as being irritable."

"Fine…"

"Point is, even at your worst, you never ignored me. For all those months we talked constantly, did random, spontaneous skits, we acted like friends. Something we haven't done at all for the last month."

"Because of a war." I point out. "You have a perfectly good reason to be busy."

"Maybe." Morgan admits. "But that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it. I'm not being a good partner like this."

"Again, there's a war." I reassure her.

Morgan throws up her hands. "I know there's a war! I don't want to use that excuse though! You're really not asking for much, and I want to spend time with you, and yet I'm still the one making this difficult."

"Again, war." I think quietly, but I don't speak. She just said she refuses to use that excuse.

"I mean, when was the last time we did a bit? When was the last time we had an interaction that wasn't you forcing me to take a break, or me using your company to calm down rather than actually have fun?" Morgan asks. "No matter how bad you might have supposedly been back in Ferox, you were never this bad."

I disagree, but people are often harder on themselves than others I suppose.

"And- and-" Morgan says, vaguely waving her arms in the air. "Look, this is a very roundabout way of saying I want to spend more time with you. I miss what we used to do just as much as you probably do. I want to do some of that again, and keep doing that. I shouldn't let this stupid war make me into a negligant jerk."

I'd hardly say she's been negligent, or a jerk (beyond maybe this one time and even that's debatable), but again I have a feeling she doesn't want to hear that at the moment and it wouldn't be helpful of me to say, so I keep saying nothing.

"So basically, if you don't mind…" Morgan says. "Sorry for brushing you off earlier, I'm more than willing to spend time with you."

Well, even if I don't totally agree with the reasoning behind it, that's not something I'm about to say no to.

###

"There has to be something Nathan!"

Somehow spending time with each other still devolved into work talk, but at least Morgan isn't sitting at her desk and actively working. We're currently sitting on her bedroll with me in her lap (it was the other way around at first, but Morgan found this amusing at the moment) facing each other.

"Dear…"

"There has to be!"

"Why?"

"Nothing is that simple!" Morgan insists. "We had barely any casualties!"

"Isn't that a good thing?" I ask. I bring my hands up from her back to her hair and start running my fingers through it again.

"Yes, but it's suspicious!"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Or, you all came up with a good plan."

"Or we're being set up to think we had a good plan!" Morgan says.

"Or maybe you're a genius, and so it was a good plan."

Morgan groans. "You aren't taking me seriously at all, are you?"

"Not really." I say, then realize how rude that sounds. "Uh, sorry. It just seems unlikely that someone would throw away such a golden opportunity to wreak havoc just to mess with us a bit."

"Maybe." Morgan admits, still looking tense. "But… it's still possible, isn't it? We know there are possibly spies in the army. Who's to say Excellus doesn't know our plans to some extent?"

"He probably does." I say. "It's not like we can hide the actions of a whole army, Morgan."

Morgan grumbles, but doesn't argue the point. It's true after all. "So I'm just paranoid then?"

"Justifiably so."

"But I am."

"...probably."

"How did I become the paranoid one? I thought that was supposed to be your thing?" Morgan complains.

"Oh, I'm absolutely still paranoid." I say. "But I'm at the point where I basically don't have to think very much about what's going on, so I can mostly just ignore whatever is causing me to be nervous."

"Other people are in charge, so you just let them deal with it?"

"Basically." I shrug. "I'm just the Shepherds' janitor at this point. I've given you all everything I know, and you're way more suited to actually use it than I am. Aside from me being a thoroughly underwhelming soldier or councilman, it's really in your hands now."

"You just don't want to be responsible." Morgan says accusingly, if jokingly.

"Well yeah, that too." I admit. "I've never liked being in charge of anything."

"I'm well aware." Morgan hums; and I suppose she would be aware. After all, I passed the leadership of our initial group to her as quickly as I could. "Also…"

"Hmm?"

"What's a janitor?"

"Uh… guy who cleans a place up."

"You do more than that."

"Yeah, I know. It was the first job that came to mind that sort of matched what I was going for, so I said it. I know I do more."

"Good."

…

"I still think it was too easy."

I roll my eyes and pat her back. Morgan huffs in mock annoyance. "If you're really that certain, find out."

"Oh, just like that?" Morgan mutters sarcastically.

"Just like that." I say. "You did politics for a while, right? Would it be that hard to start poking around? I'm sure you're smart enough to root out a spy or two if you put your mind to it."

"Huh." Morgan blinks. "I didn't even consider I could use those sorts of skills here."

"Well there you go." I say. "Secret agent Morgan."

"But I'm already so busy…" She complains.

"Then don't worry about it."

"Oh, sure, I'm just going to ignore that I could be rooting out spies." Morgan grumbles. "Why did you have to bring up that I could do that? Now I won't be able to stop thinking about it."

"Sorry for knowing about the many talents of my girlfriend." I say in mock apology. "I shall endeavor to think of you only as a tactician from now on. You have no other skills."

"You know it." She says. She smiles, and I can really see how tired she looks in that smile. The usual mischievous light that sparkled in her eyes months ago is decidedly gone, replaced with a weariness that I don't think is going to go away for a while.

"...you're really not up for this right now, are you?"

"Not really." She admits, and slumps against me. "I want to be, but I'm just way too tired."

I hum in understanding. "Maybe after the war then."

"Gods I hope so." Morgan groans. "I'm tired of being tired."

"Do you need to sleep?" I ask suddenly.

"Probably, but I don't want to." Morgan admits. "I have work I could be doing, or just doing more of this."

"You should sleep."

Morgan groans. "Nathan…"

"I'll wake you for dinner, I promise."

"Fine." She grumbles. I get off her so she can lie down, and she does so after shrugging off her coat. "But I'm going to be grumpy about it."

"You do that." I smile. Then, on an impulse, I say: "Love you Morg."

I know it might not sound like much, but this is the first time I've said that in a way that hasn't been somewhat joking.

"Love you too." Morgan mutters. Honestly, her casual treatment of the words is more reassuring than if she made a big deal of it.

With that done, I slip out of the tent again, this time to actually find something to do until dinner.

###

"Here you go."

"Wh-When did you have time-?" Noire stammers as she accepts the fold-up chair.

"Morgan's pretty busy, so I always have a bit of free time." I shrug. "You said you needed a chair, right? So here you go."

"I said that two days ago! That's more than a bit of free time!" Noire says. "And I said I was tired of sitting on a stool, I never asked you to make this!"

I shrug. "Morgan is busy and I have basically two hobbies when not dealing with her. Woodworking, and talking to you. So I made a chair."

Noire's brow furrows in concern. "Is that really all you do?"

"Well… no. I sew, sometimes I try writing, those two hobbies are just the big things." I say.

"Oh, good."

"Anyhow, I had a goal and no other major hobbies to pull at me, so I focused on that." I explain. "Didn't mean to worry you."

"Alright…" Noire says. "Well, thank you for the gift."

I saw an excuse to actually start woodworking again and took it. If someone other than specifically Noire or Morgan had made an offhand comment about needing something, I would have instantly forgotten about it. If anyone else had made anything but an outright request for something, I probably wouldn't have bothered. I won't say that though. Not only does it make me look lazy (which I am, admittedly), but there's no reason to bring my motivation issues into this conversation. "No problem. Glad you like it. Is there anything else you need, or just want, furniture-wise?"

"I-I can't ask for more!" Noire protests.

"Good thing you don't have to, because I'm asking." I say cheerfully.

"I-I-I-" Noire stammers. "I don't need anything."

"What about want?" I press.

Noire mutely shakes her head.

"Are you sure? Nothing at all?"

Noire shakes her head again.

"Alright…"

"Thank you, but I really don't need anything." Noire insists. "Put your effort towards someone else."

"Fiiine." I'm sure Morgan would appreciate a new fold-out desk anyways.

"I feel bad not paying for this." Noire mentions, still fiddling with the chair.

"It's a mediocre chair, Noire. Not a luxury bed."

"Still."

"If someone I didn't care for asked for something, or if the request is difficult, maybe then I'd ask for payment. I'm fine for now." I say. "Besides, I have- well, had- my games rental. I guess I need to rebuild that now."

"I'd forgotten about that." Noire murmurs.

"Honestly? Me too." I admit. "No one is asking for games anymore, so I forgot I lost them."

"No one is asking?" Noire frowns. "Why not?"

"I think it has something to do with me getting our ships sunk."

Noire grimaces. "Oh, right. Are… are people still giving you trouble about that?"

"Not really. Tharja is a bitch as always, Severa too sometimes, but beyond that no one else really bothers me." I say. "I think people are too busy to be annoyed about something that happened months ago at this point."

"Except Mother."

"Well yeah, like I said, Tharja's a bitch."

Noire doesn't deny it. She doesn't even seem uncomfortable about me saying it. It is simply an accepted fact. "Don't say that to her face."

"Yeah, don't worry. I'm not that foolish." I say.

Movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. I can see Brady, who just stepped around a tent into view of us, and stopped short.

"Well, it looks like you have someone else wanting your company." I say, smiling in a way that is very obviously teasing. Noire looks away, hands fidgeting together, embarrassed. I resist the urge to tease her more. "So I'll get going. Have fun."

I think Noire says something in reply, but she mumbles it so I can't hear. I smile and wave to Brady as I walk past, trying not to look too horribly amused.

What can I say? I like seeing my favourite pairing become an actual thing.

###

"Sir Nathan."

"Lucina." I greet. Almost instantly I frown. "You look exhausted."

"I have not had much sleep as of late." She admits. Her normally bright eyes have noticeable bangs under them. "Nothing is going according to plan."

"Plan? Did I not hear about something?"

"No, no." Lucina shakes her head. "I mean my plan. I had a plan about watching the Shepherds from the sidelines and preventing key issues in the timeline… and that is no longer applicable, as this timeline is nothing like my world's history anymore."

"Is that a bad thing?" I ask. I know I'm mostly responsible for that change in timeline. Or, at least, the knowledge I brought with me is responsible for it. I'd like to think that knowledge has done more good than bad so far.

"Not necessarily." Lucina says. "But it hardly gives one peace of mind."

Fair enough. "Sorry to cause you so much stress then. The war is going well enough, you're doing everything you can, don't worry too much. I know that's an impossible ask, but really, I don't see us losing this."

Lucina lets out a long breath. "You say that, but do you know it?"

"No." I say honestly. "But there's no point in being pessimistic about it, is there? Your plan would be the game plot, which the player is expected to win. So if this is better than your plan because we have more information, it's not unrealistic to expect this will go even more well."

"Maybe." Lucina sighs. "Either way, that's not what I'm here to ask."

"What then?"

"Have you yet spoken to Gerome?"

"Gerome? No. He hasn't approached me, nor I him." I sort of forgot Gerome was even here. I never see him around camp. All the other future kids approached me directly at some point. Gerome is the only exception.

"Might you try speaking with him then?" Lucina asks. "He's being… distant."

"I mean, I can try. I don't think I'm going to do better than you though." I say. "I'm not exactly known for my charisma. What's my goal though? Get him to be more chatty?"

"He refuses to deal with me." Lucina says. Her anxiety is clear in her tone and posture. "He claims there is no reason for him to associate with his parents beyond Grima's eventual downfall, and he has grown distant from the rest of us. I was hoping you could use your knowledge of him to try and bring him around to reason."

"That's the first time someone has ever wanted me to use my outside knowledge about a person." I muse. "Are you sure about this? It's more likely he's going to find me to be strange and intrusive rather than helpful."

"Maybe, but I've had no success, and I do not think Cherche has had much more." Lucina says. "I… I am not seeing many other options. He was never particularly close to any of the other future children, else I would ask them."

"Well, I can try if you really want me to." I say.

"I do."

"Alright. Don't expect a miracle."

"Thank you, Sir Nathan." Lucina says, bowing at the waist.

It's incredibly uncomfortable to have someone bow to me (when they're not being sarcastic). I wish she wouldn't do that. "No problem."

Well this is going to go horribly. I have no idea why Lucina thinks I can do this when she can't, but hey, she asked me to try, so I'll try.

This is what I get for being 'the advice guy' I suppose. Finding Gerome is actually pretty easy. The old, giant wyvern sort of makes him stand out no matter how much he tries to hide.

Old Minerva is noticeably different from Cherche's Minerva. Old Minerva is about a full meter longer than her younger counterpart, though her skin and scales seem to cling more to her body making her look ever so slightly emaciated even if I'm pretty sure she's healthy (it's probably just an age thing); in addition, her horns are longer, her eyes are a bit sunken, some of her claws are chipped, some of the scales on the back of her neck have been noticeably ground down at the edges (perhaps constant bending during aerial maneuvers cause them to rub together?), and they don't have the same lustrous sheen as the younger wyvern along with being slightly discolored to shades of grey in some places.

The wyvern also notices me from a long ways away. I don't know if it's something about me in particular, or if my direction of travel is just that obvious, but from her resting position on top of a slight rise in the land, she meets my eye and turns her head a bit to watch me approach.

Unlike Minerva the Younger, this Minerva doesn't make her interest known by moseying right up to someone (Minerva the Younger nearly gave me a heart-attack the first time she noticed me), for which I am very grateful because wyverns are still terrifying. I don't care how friendly she was, Miverva the Younger is five meters long and can breathe fire.

Gerome is… sharpening his axe? We haven't been in a fight for a week at this point, so I don't see why that's necessary. Maybe training. Probably training. Something I don't do much of. That would explain it. He actually fights.

Right, cool. Deep breath. This is only going to go terribly.

"Gerome!" I call as I walk up the hill.

The masked boy glances up from his task, scowls, and looks back down. "Leave."

Wow. I didn't even say two words. I wonder if that's a new record for the fastest Gerome rejection? "Is my reputation really that terrible?"

"Leave." He repeats.

Oookay, new tactic. "Lucina wanted me to talk to you."

"About a battle?"

"No."

"About the war?"

"No."

"About Grima?"

"No."

"Then leave."

"Uhh…"

A quiet growl interrupts my attempt at a reply. Miverva has raised her head off the ground and is looking at Gerome. They stare at each other for a few silent moments until Gerome mutters "fine" and the wyvern huffs and lies her head back down.

"Minerva wants me to listen, so talk." Gerome grumbles, still not looking at me.

I don't see how he got that out of a growl and a staring contest, but hey, I'll take it. "Lucina wanted me to talk to you about… well basically you being an anti-social edgelord and refusing to deal with people outside of combat for the most part."

"I don't see how that's any of your business." He says curtly.

"I mean, it isn't." I agree. "But Lucina asked me to poke my nose into it, so here I am."

Gerome sighs deeply. "And you have nothing better to do?"

"Not really."

"So what then? Are you here to pester me until I agree to something?" Gerome asks.

"No. I'd hear your reasoning and try to debate you." I say. "Because I'd rather not be a brat about this anymore than I already am."

"And debating me is somehow less irritating?" Gerome asks sharply.

"Maybe not, but at least I'm not treating you like an idiot." I say. "Would you rather I talk at you about how you're acting like a rebellious teenager or some anti-hero from a book instead? Or would you prefer I actually let you explain yourself, and see if your logic stands up to scrutiny?"

Gerome's glare is withering, but he sets down his axe and properly faces me. "Fine. Don't expect this to change my mind."

"I won't. I can't force you to after all."

"Hmph. Well, to put my point simply, I refuse to deal with my parents, and now the others, because there is little point to it."

"Why so? I presume not out of spite."

"Of course not. Interacting with my parents is actively detrimental to their lives. That is why I refuse to do so. I won't deal with the other future children, as you call them, because they meddle with their parents' futures. They've forgotten why we are here, and what the stakes to interference are."

"And what are those stakes?"

"Change." Gerome says ominously. "Too much interference, and the timeline may not go as planned."

"Isn't that your goal?"

"My goal is to change one very particular thing." Gerome says firmly. "Grima. Grima cannot be allowed to conquer the world. I would change that, and nothing else."

"What's wrong with changing other things?"

Gerome's mouth curls. "Are you simply going to keep asking variations of 'why'? I thought this was to be a debate."

"It is. I'm getting all your arguments and reasoning out on the table first." I say. "We can hardly debate when we don't know what we're arguing about in precise detail."

His lips purse a bit, but he must be sufficiently accepting of my reasons because he continues talking. "The problem with change is that it cannot be controlled. Interacting with one's parents… who knows what sort of issues that could bring? Maybe I'll change their actions, bringing about an early death. Maybe they won't ever get married due to knowing I exist. There are too many uncertainties and dangers. I am already unhappy with them knowing I exist at all; I won't jeopardize their futures more by meddling."

"Okay." I nod. "So, to be clear: You think your presence will change the future, and you don't want to risk changing more than your very specific goal, so you think you should avoid interaction with relevant parts of your past as much as possible."

"Yes." Gerome nods curtly.

"One problem."

Gerome crosses his arms.

"This isn't your past."

"It is the same as my past." Gerome says.

"Yes, but it isn't your past." I repeat. "At best, it is a near copy. The portal created by Naga did not allow you to time travel. It shot you to a different dimension."

"I know. Your point?" Gerome snaps.

"My point is that there's no future to change." I say. "Oh sure, this world seems to be on the same path, I won't deny that, but that's a pattern. You don't have future sight. All we can do is steer the present. You can't 'change the future' so to speak."

"And?" Gerome says. "That's just semantics."

"Is it? Can you really talk about meddling in a timeline if there's no way to know the future?" I ask. "For all you know, in this timeline Cherche was going to end up alone and you aren't going to exist here at all."

Gerome glares. "You don't know that."

"I don't, but neither do you." I point out. "So no, to counter your point, it's not just semantics. This is a parallel dimension. A very similar dimension, but not the same. You can't write yourself out of existence if your parents don't get married. There are no paradoxes to be had. Grima will rise or fall in this world independently of whatever fate befell your world's Fell Dragon. To pretend that everything is going to be, and should be, exactly the same is to arrogantly assume your world is the template for every world, and to promote the idea of destiny." I practically spit out the last word, not worried to make my distaste for the concept known. "Are your parents puppets, Gerome? Destined to act out the same patterns as your world? Are you trying to avoid plucking their strings at the wrong moment?"

I can tell I'm genuinely making him mad, and I take a bit of reassurance in that he hasn't told me to fuck off yet.

"Of course not." Gerome says through gritted teeth. "I care little for destiny. I simply don't want to mess up the patterns I see that are good."

"You think your presence is strong enough to stop love?" I ask. "You think that talking to your mother is potentially enough to make her not love your father? Do you think their affection was really so fragile as to crumble from that?"

"No, but I'd rather not risk it being so."

"If it is so, wouldn't it be a good thing to make sure it doesn't happen? If their love is so fragile, surely they'd be better off with other people." I say.

"How dare you."

"Am I wrong?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes."

"Why? Please, enlighten me." I ask. "Why would a fragile relationship be better for them?"

"Because they could be happy despite that."

"Rather than even more happy with a more solid relationship?" I ask.

"Rather than miserable without one at all."

"I never took you for a romantic."

"What?" Gerome frowns.

"Because it sounds like you're saying that your parents only have one person that could possibly love them romantically." I say. "I don't see how else you can say they'll be miserable without a partner with such conviction. Are you that certain no one else would love them? Even if so, are you so certain they'd be unhappy without a partner? Is a partner necessary for happiness?"

Gerome grits his teeth. "I did not say that."

"Then how do you know they'll end up alone and miserable?"

"Maybe they won't." Gerome says. "Maybe. I won't take that risk. I'll take my pattern."

"But-"

"I've had enough." He says abruptly. "Leave."

"Alright." I won't push his patience. I'm lucky he listened for this long.

Gerome huffs and turns around to focus back on his work. I shrug, stand up, wave to Minerva to be polite, and mosey on back to the main part of camp.

I tried. Though looking back on it I can already see things I could have done better (like not jumping into that talk without some rehearsal or actual plan) but… honestly I don't think I did too bad.

Now to find Lucina to report my failure.

I'm kinda running into the issue that Nathan doesn't really have much to do. He's the advice guy and Morgan's support, and that's about it. Actually, his character arc is mostly finished. I think I need to switch to Morgan being the full-on main character at this point, so expect to see fewer Nathan chapters going forward.