Chapter 4: Three Falchions

"Lord Chrom, I fear that there is no other option." Marth didn't meet Chrom's eye as they walked.

Chrom ran a hand through his hair, eyeing the encroaching Outrealm Gate in the distance; he had a number of things to dread at this moment, and it worried him that the Gate wasn't even close to the top of the list.

"Lord Chrom…" Marth repeated. "It may be necessary for me to turn myself over."

"No," Chrom said quickly, looking at Marth. "That is the worst thing you could do. Handing yourself over to the enemy is never the best idea." He frowned. It didn't work for Emm, and it wouldn't work for you.

Lucina shook her head. "We'll figure something out, Prince Marth, I promise. We'll save Caeda somehow."

"I trust that you will try, milady," Marth said grimly. "I… er, thank you. Thank you for… for helping me."

Lucina smiled. "Of course. I feel that I…"

"In we go!" Old Hubba interrupted, and he walked into the Outrealm Gate. The rest of the party slowly followed him.

Chrom watched the Gate, sighing. "In we go," he echoed sullenly, and entered the Gate.

Lucina made to follow him, but Marth stepped in front of her, facing her with a serious expression. "Lady Lucina."

Lucina frowned curiously. "What is it, Your Highness?"

"I—er, I am certain you know much more about Caeda than I would expect a stranger to," he began slowly. "You being… from my future, and all. So, I just wanted to emphasize how… how… important, she is to me." He struggled to articulate. "I have not seen her in a very long time… Even when she—her card—was in Old Hubba's possession, I—I had—er—very little time to spend with her." He winced. "And, in life… I have many regrets, many things I wished I did, back in my era… and her… with her, um…" He shook his head quickly. "I-I am sorry for my lack of eloquence, milady. I simply—I wish to impress upon you what saving her means to me."

"I understand," said Lucina firmly. "I was not lying when I said that I promise. We will save her. We will." She smiled. "The Shepherds have accomplished much more harrowing feats in the past. Please, ease your worries."

Marth closed his eyes, taking a long breath through his nose and releasing it through his mouth. Then, his eyes opened. "Your words do me much good, Lady Lucina. Thank you."

He turned around, his cape swishing as he entered the Outrealm Gate.

Lucina frowned. "Him and Caeda… Would it be better if I told him how it ends?"

She shook her head. "When we rescue her, they can talk it over then. I needn't spoil things."

She followed the others into the Outrealm Gate.

Nah glanced over her shoulder, noticing Morgan. "Ah, you caught up."

"Yup." Morgan gestured at the Gate sitting ahead. "Ready?"

Nah smiled nervously. "U-Um, you go on ahead. I, ah, dropped my Dragonstone around here somewhere."

"What? And here I thought you waited up for me out of the goodness of your heart." Morgan winked at Nah, teasing. "Welp, let's get to looking." She scanned the ground.

"Uh, that's okay, I-I'll look for it myself."

"No way, dude! I'm not leaving you here in Nowhere Island on your own. C'mon, let's look."

"No, really, it's okay," Nah insisted. "Go on ahead."

Morgan eyed Nah skeptically. "…Okay… I'll wait for you on the other side, then."

"I'll be awhile," Nah continued. "Don't wait up, okay?"

Morgan huffed impatiently. "What's the deal, Nah? I thought we were friends!"

Nah winced. "W-We are, Morgan. We are. But I can do this on my own."

"Then stop doing—whatever this is, wouldja? Let me help."

"No!" Nah snapped, startling Morgan. "I-I'm fine, Morgan! Could you not be so damn stubborn for five minutes?!"

"And now you're mad!" Morgan replied, not missing a beat. "Why're you mad at me? Is this about the fake Dad again?"

Morgan snickered. If I call him "Dad," it's kinda true for both of us. She felt bad for finding that hilarious.

"It's not about Robin," said Nah, irritated. "…And I'm not mad. Just go, okay?"

Morgan sighed. The sigh went on about five seconds too long—classic Morgan hyperbole. "Fiiiiine," she moaned, and trudged toward the Outrealm Gate.

Nah crossed her arms, watching Morgan go. Morgan lingered by the Gate, slowly dipping a toe into the door, then glancing over at Nah, then stepping in further, then—

Nah rolled her eyes, refusing to humor Morgan. I'm not going to call her back.

Morgan sighed again, finally resigning, and returned to Old Hubba's Outrealm.

Say'ri's teeth were clenched in the hardest grimace she had held since the Valmese War. "Milady, I must tell Lord Chrom. Now."

Tiki sat up in her bed quickly—much more quickly than someone in her condition should—and said sharply, "No!"

"But why, Lady Tiki?! Look at you! Your complexion is pale, your motions are weak, and your fever has never been so high. I can keep this secret no longer, milady!"

Tiki's interjection was delayed by a miserable coughing fit. Say'ri's expression sharpened, her point proven.

Her fit over, Tiki resumed the argument. "Say'ri, Lord Chrom mustn't know of my condition. Not yet."

"Why in the nine hells not?!" Say'ri exclaimed. "When you fainted as we first entered the Outrealms, I kept your secret safe. When you fell briefly comatose as we entered this second Outrealm, I kept your secret once more. I cannot do it again. It is a matter of time before someone questions why you have been locked away in your room for so long."

"I'll be… fine," Tiki whispered. Her eyelids fluttered, and she swayed weakly from side to side. Say'ri hurried over and eased her ward onto her back, resting Tiki's head comfortably on the pillow. "I just, ah… need… some sleep, okay?"

Say'ri pursed her lips, watching the half-conscious Manakete slowly drift away. "Fie," Say'ri hissed, cursing herself. "As the Voice commands… but I cannot do this forever."

Nah blinked, slowly standing. She grasped her head as she came to.

Looking around, she spotted Old Hubba's mansion in the distance, and started to walk.

A clap resounded from behind her. She froze.

More clapping. Slow clapping; sarcastic, definitely sarcastic.

"Way to go," came Morgan's voice, dripping with irony. "Really stuck that landing. The way your face hit the dirt, and then just, just sat there for, like, a minute—really nailed it, Nah."

Nah slowly turned around to face Morgan. "M-Morgan, I told you not to wait for me."

Morgan crossed her arms. "See, I dunno how Manaketes do it, but when humans realize their best friend is acting super weird, they don't exactly obey every order." She gestured at the imprint Nah had made in the dirt.

Nah grimaced. "…Don't tell anyone."

"That you pass out whenever you go through the Outrealm Gate? Sure, sure," Morgan said. The sarcasm had yet to leave her tone. "It's not like Chrom would love to know someone else's having the same problem. And it definitely wouldn't help us figure out what's going on with that." Morgan smirked. "Morgan: one, Nah: zero. You couldn't reflect on any of that while you were looking for your Dragonstone?"

Nah pinched the bridge of her nose. "I lied about that, Morgan. I didn't really lose my Dragonstone."

"Can't win 'em all. Morgan: one, Nah: one."

Nah threw up her hands. "What does it matter? Me and Chrom, we're just oddballs, or something. Something about the Gate doesn't agree with us. It's not a big deal."

"But it could be," said Morgan, raising a finger. "For all we know, this could be a lot worse than it looks! What if y'all are being… like…" Her eyes widened with childlike wonder. "Like, injected with an alien disease or something?!"

"Oh my gods Morgan, that isn't happening." Nah turned away and began walking towards the manse. "I'm going inside."

"Wait, wait!" Morgan rushed over to grab Nah's arm. "I'll be serious. Look at my face, I'm being serious right now." She put up her serious face. "Nah. Are you okay?"

"Wh—Yes, of course I'm okay," Nah scoffed, prying away Morgan's grip.

"You say that, but I don't think you mean it," Morgan said. "You're lying. You're doing that thing you do when you lie."

"What thing?"

Morgan gestured vaguely at Nah. "I dunno, that—that thing! It's nothing specific; I can just tell, okay? And—I don't know why you're lying to me…" Morgan sniffed. "Either you're lying to keep me from worrying, or you're lying because… you don't like me, and don't want my help…"

"Morgan, come on," Nah murmured. "Please don't give me waterworks…"

"I-I can't help it!" Morgan sniffed, raising her hands defensively as though to guard the tears rising to her eyes. "I j-just don't know why you hate me now, Nah! What did I do wr-wrong? Are you… are you still mad about l-last week, really? A-About the other Dad? Because I said I'm s-sorry! I apologized for leaving you a-alone all that time…" She clumsily wiped at her tears with the heel of her hand. "N-Nah, I feel h-horrible about it, okay? I feel—I feel like—like I failed you, and that it's m-my fault for everything that happened…"

"It's not your fault!" Nah cried. Tears brewed in her eyes as well. "N-Nothing is your fault, Morgan! You've never done anything wrong in your life! It's my fault everything happened!"

"No it isn't!" Morgan said, pushing Nah's shoulder. "C-Captain already told you back in the infirmary… He s-said it wasn't your fault, okay?"

"Well Chrom was wrong!" Nah shouted, stepping closer. "Honestly, Morgan, I don't get you! Why aren't you mad?! Why?! I loved Robin! I loved him, in that way, and you don't resent me even a little bit?!"

Morgan blinked, surprised. "…Nah, I could never be mad at you for that…"

"Yes you can! Yes you should!" Nah exclaimed. "S-Sure, it wasn't the real Robin, but I thought he was, and I was more than willing to split your family up and take him for myself! It's not fair, Morgan! Why can't you just hate me?!"

Morgan's lips parted in shock. She had no reply to that.

Nah panted, angry tears drawing lines down her cheeks as she glared at Morgan. "Y-You're too nice, Morgan… You're allowed to hate people. You're allowed to hate me. You definitely don't have to be my friend anymore. I kinda…" She looked down. "I kinda threw that away."

"We can still be friends," Morgan finally replied, hopeful.

"No we can't," Nah interjected. "What I did will always loom over our heads, y'know. That, even though it didn't happen, I was willing to put myself over your family." She laughed, though humorless. "It's like all the events of last week comprised a sort of cosmic test… and I failed it."

"You were being—"

"I was not being manipulated," said Nah coldly, taking Morgan aback. "My feelings for Robin were real, and my actions were all my own. I really was okay with being with Robin at your expense. So, don't make excuses for me." She wiped her eyes and raised an eyebrow. "…Well, Morgan? Do you hate me yet? Because I sure do. And it would be a lot easier on me if you just went ahead and admitted it."

Morgan wrenched her trembling expression into a heated, determined frown. "…Yes! Yes, Nah, I hate you!"

Nah looked at the ground quietly.

"I hate you for how—for how you always treat me like I'm an annoyance! You think I don't see when you roll your eyes, but I do, every time! And—and how you're always so serious, when I just want to live life a little! And—And—" She wiped her nose, shivering violently. "And how you're never… never…"

Morgan buried her face in her sleeve, crying loudly.

Nah folded her hands silently, still looking down. She could feel her tears drying.

This is how it should be, she thought numbly. Robin was right. I've lost Morgan. Who's next?

"Morgan," she whispered. "I'll…"

"But what I hate you most for!" Morgan interrupted loudly, jabbing an accusatory pointer finger at Nah, "is how you always make me humor your stupid, overly-complicated drama by making up a bunch of reasons I hate you, when actually, I love you a lot, and I want to be your friend more than anything, and if you say no, then you are the worst person in the world!" She gasped for breath. "Nah, you are my best friend, and it'll take a lot more than dating my evil father from another world to split us up!"

"Morgan…!" Nah whispered, the blow of Morgan's words loosening tears from her eyes. Her hands began to tremble, but Morgan solved that problem by taking them in her own.

"Nah! We—are—friends! There is nothing you can say or do to convince me otherwise!" Morgan cried.

"We… We…" Morgan's emotional outburst left Nah without meaningful words.

"Nah, look me in the eye right now, and tell me you love me as much as I love you! I know it's true!" Morgan shook Nah's hands emphatically. "Tell me!"

Nah didn't have a reply. She could feel a burning tear tracing a line down to her chin. She tried to move her mouth, but no words came forth.

"N-Nah," Morgan choked agonizingly. "Please…"

Nah cleared her throat of emotion and finally replied. "…Morgan… Where did this all come from? I've never seen you break down like this…"

Not even when your father died.

Morgan sniffed. She wanted to wipe her eyes again, but she feared that if she released Nah's hands, she wouldn't be able to hold them ever again.

"I-I'm so… tired… of losing everyone," she whispered. Her shaking voice couldn't go much louder. "Cynthia and Mom don't get along anymore… And I didn't know it, but I accidentally chose Cynthia's side by hanging out with her more, so me and Mom don't speak much either. And that's all after Dad disappeared, and for all we know, La-Laurent is right, and he's dead after all…" She forced an emotional half-smile for Nah. "I'm tired of losing people and s-still smiling about it. 'Cause, that's Morgan, she's the smiling one! …But Nah, it really hurts… it hurts, thinking that I'll never see Dad again, or that Mom and Cynthia will never work things out… I hate it! I hate that feeling! And I don't wanna lose you too, Nah, not if I can stop it."

Far more than a single tear began to run from Nah's eyes, as her stunned face contorted into a crying one. She began to shake with sobs.

She finally understood. She could finally relate.

Nah could lose Libra again. She could lose Nowi again. She could lose Robin again. But she'd be damned if she lost Morgan, the only constant through it all.

I don't want to lose her, Nah thought. I don't EVER want to lose her.

Nah squeezed Morgan's hands and summoned up her courage. "Morgan! I do! I do love you! And I never want to let you go, okay? That'll never happen!"

Morgan took a moment of surprise, Nah's words sinking in, before she burst into incoherent tears and pulled Nah in for a tight hug.

"Oof!" Nah grunted, but she reciprocated.

They stood in the clearing, the silent Outrealm Gate looming nearby, caught in the hug for a long time.

Slowly, Morgan pulled away from the embrace, wiping her eyes and smiling. "A-All right, that was pretty cool," she said, sniffing. "I could use a good cry every now and then."

"That… That felt great," Nah sighed. The pressure that had weighed on her chest ever since entering the Outrealms was gone, at least for now.

Morgan beamed. "I'm glad! And I finally convinced you, too. Morgan: two, Nah: one. …Buuut I'll call it a draw."

Nah rolled her eyes, but she was grinning. "Morgan, you're… you're great, you know that? I'm happy that… you're my friend."

"Hey, c'mon now, you're not so bad yourself," said Morgan, winking. "But I think 'sentimental time' is over. We should get back to the mansion."

Nah nodded.

Old Hubba sat behind the desk in his office, grinning at the other occupants of the small room: Chrom, Lucina, Maribelle, and Marth. The door creaked open, and in stepped Morgan, who subtly wiped her eyes as she moved to sit next to Lucina on the couch.

"Looks we're all here, finally," said Chrom. Morgan flinched, embarrassed at her tardiness.

But Chrom didn't linger on the subject, and faced Hubba. "As I was saying, this rescue mission won't be an easy one. The challenge comes from how we're trying to rescue Caeda while she's in her card: a card that Algol is most likely always carrying on his person. Not to mention that, if he sees us coming, he only needs a matter of seconds to tear the card in half, rendering the mission pointless. This requires the utmost stealth."

"Or," said Hubba, tenting his fingers, "we don't."

A beat passed.

"…We don't? As in, we don't perform the rescue?" Maribelle enquired. "You can't be serious."

"Do y'all know what's happening right now? Mr. Grimleal over there is tryin' ta manipulate us. Thing is, negotiations with madmen never work out. Somehow, if we agree ta his little deal, we end up losing."

"I cannot sacrifice Caeda," said Marth sharply. "I will do what I must to save her."

Old Hubba snorted. "Marth, it's just a card," he said. "It's just a damn card."

The room missed another beat.

Chrom leaned forward, watching Hubba skeptically. "…Is that all they are to you, Hubba? Is that all that Marth is to you? Just a card?"

Old Hubba sighed. "Chrom, the reality of the situation is, that card yer tryin' to save ain't Caeda, and this one standin' before me ain't Marth." He grimaced. "Sorry, but… it's the truth. Is riskin' yer life for a facsimile of Caeda really worth it?"

"Then what would you have us do?" said Lucina, crossing her arms as though to restrain herself from using them on Hubba. "I thought the objective was to retrieve all of the Einherjar for you. If Marth doesn't show, Algol will destroy the Caeda card."

"And he will do it," Marth added. "He doesn't need her. He has plenty of other Einherjar to fit her role."

"Fine," said Old Hubba. "Don't care. If he destroys the card, then there's nothin' we can do about it, and he won't have her either. Better'n giving him the Marth card too."

Marth seethed, his knuckles white as he drove his nails into his palm. "Old Hubba—"

"That's enough," said Hubba exasperatedly. "If it were up to me, I'd forbid y'all from going, but it's up to you. Rescue Caeda, don't rescue Caeda, I don't care. Just don't lose Marth, an' please don't die."

Old Hubba left the silent room behind.

Very little was made in the way of productive discussion from then on. Lucina's temper had reached a point where she could not offer useful advice, Morgan was still running on an emotion high from earlier, and Marth, Chrom, and Maribelle were not tacticians. It wasn't long before the meeting was temporarily adjourned, no solution reached.

While the others mostly headed from the office toward their new rooms upstairs, Lucina instead stormed to the foyer. The sun had set, and moonlight filtered through the mansion's lavish, thoroughly waxed windows.

She paced in the darkness, her hands on her hips. "I cannot believe him," she muttered to herself. "The nerve of that old man…"

She watched the front door. She wished to go for a nighttime walk, to cool off, but Chrom had given strict orders to the Shepherds: "Stay in the mansion; go nowhere alone. We don't know what to expect in the Outrealms." This, in defiance of Old Hubba's assertion that his Outrealm, at least, was safe.

Chrom had looked at Marth specifically. "Prince Marth. Please understand that I disagree with Old Hubba's view of you. I think that, despite being an Einherjar, you are a real person—I can feel that you have a heart, a will of your own. You are more than a card. But, just this one time, I must put my foot down. You may be a real person, but you are still under my command. As… your master, I order you not to hunt after Caeda on your own. We will save her together, without your defection."

And Marth had cast his eyes downward. "…Very well."

Lucina shook her head, clenching her teeth. She knew she must calm down, but she wanted to blow off some steam, just this once.

She sighed. She had no choice in the matter. She couldn't very well return to her room and wake her roommate with her temper.

Who was her roommate, anyway? Severa? Inigo? Probably Brady.

"Lady Lucina."

Lucina glanced, surprised, at the newcomer. "Ah! Prince Marth, you startled me." She nodded at him respectfully. "What brings you here at this hour? Are you all right?"

"No," Marth admitted. "I'm… I'm troubled that a rescue would be impossible."

"It isn't," Lucina insisted. "Don't let the old man get in your head. We'll find a way."

"I don't see what you could possibly do," Marth sighed. "Algol may not seem like it, but he has quite a wit to him. Sneaking up on him is no easy task, especially considering his army of tireless Einherjar protecting him even as he sleeps."

Lucina threw her hands up. Her frustration nearly pushed her to snapping at Marth, but she held herself back, at least somewhat. "I don't know what you want to hear, Your Highness! You doubt my reassurances, and we have no other options. Would you like me to tell you that the only option is to lose her?"

"That is not the only option." A dangerous twinkle lit in Marth's eye.

Lucina frowned, watching him. "…No… No, my father forbade it. You cannot."

"I must, and I will," said Marth determinedly. "I shall depart tonight."

"But you can't!" Lucina pressed. "Father gave you an explicit order not to leave."

Marth's eyes narrowed. "I am more than an automaton, Lady Lucina."

Lucina was taken aback. "H-How can you…" She shook her head. She still knew too little about Einherjar to be floored by Marth's claim. "Regardless of whether you can, the fact remains that you shouldn't!"

"You don't understand," Marth said, raising a calming hand. "Lady Lucina, have you ever…" He took a breath, steeling himself. "Have you ever loved someone?"

Lucina blinked, recoiling slightly. "I… No, I…"

"Tell me," Marth insisted, taking a step closer. "Tell me how it ends."

"I…" Lucina closed her eyes. "…Are you certain you want to know?"

"Milady, for all I know, I walk to my death," said Marth. "I need to know. Do I… do we…" He grimaced. "Do Caeda and I… grow old together?"

Lucina sighed, quiet for a moment. She slowly came to terms with the fact that she could not refuse Marth.

"Yes."

The two lords fell silent.

Marth closed his eyes, his expression a peaceful one. "…I see. Thank you, milady." He opened his eyes and turned toward the door. "I beg your leave."

"Your Highness, before you go," Lucina said quickly, reaching out.

Marth hesitated, as did Lucina's hand; her fingers twitched, as if wanting to touch Marth—but unable to.

She dropped her arm, as well as her gaze. "Prince Marth… my homeland was, devastated… ravaged. Everything I knew, everything I loved, would disappear just as soon as I could wrap my fingers around it…"

She slowly clenched a fist, imitating her thought.

"Sifting through the wreckage of my home, I found one last painting." She raised a finger. "Just one. And it was you—the exact portrait of the Hero-King, Marth, that adorns your card. The way you stand—your poise—it's perfect, to my imagination. You are exactly as I dreamed."

Marth pursed his lips sadly.

"On that day," Lucina continued, her lips quivering, "earlier that morning, I had received news of my aunt's death. The last of my family, aside from brothers and cousins, gone from my life… I felt as though I had nothing left. But then… I found you. The portrait. The regality of the legendary Hero-King, the noble poise of the champion of yore… It filled me with such resolve as I had never felt. I knew, that day, that I had to become a champion worthy of you. So… I adorned your clothes, I wielded my birthright Falchion, and I waged war against the evil that had taken everything from me."

Lucina sniffed; her hand immediately removed the tear from her eye before it became too large of a threat.

"That portrait… I owe it everything," said Lucina. "So, P-Prince Marth, please, humor me… Please, tell me I did right. Tell me… you were watching over me, as I always imagined."

Marth was silent. His warm blue eyes assessed Lucina during the lull.

"I am certain that the true Marth was," he said at last. "Were I him, I would consider the opportunity wasted if I had not. Lady Lucina, you have much more courage than even the Hero-King ever did." He looked down. "If I am not the true Marth, then I will offer this in his stead: Thank you, Lucina. You are far more worthy of that blade than I."

Lucina could not meet his eye. She fought for self-control, her emotions threatening to overcome her. Just for a moment, she allowed herself this playful fantasy—that Marth, at last, had come to congratulate her for everything she had done. A selfish fantasy.

Marth smiled. "You have made no mistakes yet. I trust in you."

Lucina squeezed her eyes shut.

You are wrong.

The illusion was shattered.

'No mistakes…' So you were not watching over me after all. Because, if you were, you would know that isn't true. You would have witnessed my greatest failure, my greatest moment of weakness.

Lucina forced a smile for Marth. "Thank you, Prince Marth. Your words are too kind." She nodded at the door. "Now… if you intend to leave, you must do it now. I will tell my father of this in half an hour, and we will come after you."

"I suppose I should expect no less." Marth's hand rested on the doorknob. "Thank you, Lucina… You are making the right choice." He stared her in the eye seriously. "There's… so much I want to say to you, but I cannot. Remember this, Lucina, if I do not have the chance to say it later: find Seliph, and tell him of my fate."

"Seliph…" The name vaguely rang a bell. "How will I find him?" And… your 'fate'?

Marth looked around furtively. "…I haven't the time. Fear not, Lucina. I'm certain your paths will cross—and hopefully, so will ours."

He turned to the door and slipped out into the night.

Lucina took a long breath, her heart pounding. What have I done…?

"What?! How did he—Argh, it doesn't matter!"

Chrom was immediately on his feet, grabbing Falchion from its spot leaning against the wall.

"We ride immediately! Lucina: rally the Shepherds!"

Lucina frowned. "…At once, Father."

The night was cool, and the moonlight pleasant. It would have been perfect for a stroll.

Despite the chill in the air, Lucina's skin boiled. Her cheeks glowed red in shame for what she had done, and further for her cowardice: she had yet to tell Chrom of her misdemeanor, and she was not even certain if she would tell him at all.

Not to mention the dread. She could not imagine what waited for them at the arena that Algol had spoken of—'a few miles to the north,' he had said. What would be there? Would Marth still be alive? Would Caeda be spared, as promised?

Not to mention… the only offer was 'sparing' Caeda. Nothing of returning her card to Old Hubba… The Shepherds truly had nothing to gain from this besides peace of mind, knowing of Caeda's survival—at least for now.

Stupid, she thought bitterly. What a stupid decision. I let my heart get ahead of my mind. What a costly error…

The arena was relatively small. Chrom had seen few, if any, aside from Arena Ferox, and this little gymnasium had nothing on the grand playground of the Khans. Many of the building's pillars were crumbling, and no signs showed of recent habitation—with the exception of its many lit torches, which painted the walls warmly in defiance of the night.

As Chrom entered the central court of the arena, his eyes were quickly drawn to the splash of color in the sea of brown.

Blue. A cape, kneeling in the center of the arena, the owner's back to the newcomers.

Chrom's eyes narrowed. "…Marth?"

The blue figure twitched, noticing them, and it slowly stood. With methodical, deliberate motions, it turned around.

It was, indeed, Marth. He stood regally, his hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword. His expression carried both pity and resolve.

"Hold fast," Marth commanded. The mass of Shepherds listed to a stop.

Marth nodded respectfully at the leader of the group. "Lord Chrom."

"Prince Marth," Chrom echoed, with equal respect, but also a measure of skepticism. "I'm glad you're unhurt."

"Likewise," said Marth. He gritted his teeth, tightly gripping the handle of his sword. "Though I am afraid pleasantries will have to wait."

"What happened, Marth?" Chrom asked. "Where's Algol?"

"He left," said Marth.

"So he was here," said Chrom. "What happened?"

"Suffice to say that Caeda is quite safe." Marth forced a smile, patting his breast pocket.

Morgan brightened. "That's wonder—!"

Chrom halted her with a gesture. "But… he got what he wanted, didn't he, Marth." He rested his hand on the pommel of Falchion. "You're on his side."

"I am. He… defeated me with his words, you could say. I surrendered." He grimaced. "So yes, I am under Algol's command as of now."

"Dammit, Marth…" Chrom muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "And I suppose he gave you some pretty special orders, huh?"

"Single combat with the inheritor of Falchion," Marth stated. "If I win, I return to him without being forced into my card. If not, well… then I'm no good to him as a fighter anyway." He stared Chrom into the eye determinedly. "Milord, if I lose here, I lose all of my memories. I am reset to the point in time at which that card captures me. I do not want that to happen."

Marth slowly extracted his sword from its sheath. It glowed with a golden radiance as he held it. "I will not lose this fight. Not with this blade in my hand."

Chrom furrowed his eyebrows as he watched the blade. It looked so familiar, but something about it—some small detail was just off.

His eyes widened. "Falchion!" He looked down at his own sword, which lay sheathed on his hip. The hilt of Marth's sword was entirely different—where Chrom's and Lucina's Falchions held a teardrop shape, Marth's was a much brighter gold, and forked upwards like a claw.

The ORIGINAL Falchion.

Chrom composed himself and approached Marth alone. "So Algol's got some nice toys, huh? Well, I'm not going to let this stop me." He pulled the sheath off of his hip as he walked, and slowed to a stop a few paces away from Marth.

Chrom drew the shining blade of the Exalted Falchion. He tossed the sheath aside. "If it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get. I won't hold back, Marth."

"Nor will I."

Marth readied himself, his Falchion held low; Chrom stood with his defensive arm forward, the Fire Emblem ready as his shield.

"Best of luck," Chrom said wryly, and charged forward.

The two Falchions clashed, casting burning sparks across the ground. Marth recoiled from the strike, regaining his balance. He's stronger! His SWORD is stronger than mine, even. That explains the shine to his blade that my Falchion lacks.

Chrom grinned, twirling his Falchion expectantly.

Marth straightened his expression and readied his sword once again. It matters little. Where he has strength, I have speed, and…

Marth paced slowly around Chrom, constantly keeping his sword forward and low. The stance discouraged Chrom from reckless offense, while also understating Falchion's true range.

Marth deftly swiped the tip of his blade upward, with the finesse of a fencer. Chrom sidestepped the attack, and tried to lunge in, but found himself unable to—Marth was clearly a master of keeping Chrom at range.

Chrom grit his teeth, frustrated, as he searched for an opening. Marth fought like a lanceman, constantly focused on defensive spacing and getting in stray hits—a fighting style Chrom had always struggled with, given his fondness for aggression.

Marth's expression was impassive, and he watched Chrom with an analytical stare. He feinted forward, raising Falchion as he did so.

Chrom slashed at the approaching Marth, intending to delay the prince's attack. Marth foresaw the attack and ducked, before stabbing forward with the narrow tip of Falchion.

Chrom brought up the Fire Emblem in time to guard from Marth's attack, and shoved forward, trying to throw Marth off balance; but Marth swiftly twirled to the side to dodge the bash and landed one, two cuts on Chrom.

Chrom backed away, wincing at the minor wounds. He was reminded of his fight with Lex: Marth was reading him like a book. And consistently! Twice in a row, back to back. He knows. He was paying attention to how I fought earlier—and he took notes, apparently. He readied himself, determined. Doesn't matter—Focus, Chrom. I can't keep letting him set the pace for the fight.

Marth saw the change in Chrom's stance and couldn't resist a small smile. He figured it out.

Chrom took the offensive, charging forward shield-first into Marth.

Marth grunted as the Fire Emblem impacted in his gut, taking him by surprise. The pommel of Chrom's Falchion came soaring from over the shield, but Marth ducked away before the bludgeon could connect.

Chrom frowned as Marth backed away. They were back to where they started, and Chrom still didn't—

Marth surprised Chrom by suddenly turning aggressive. Chrom found himself deflecting attack after attack, before finally gaining his bearings.

Chrom met Marth's blow with a blow of his own, and his stronger Falchion rebounded Marth's.

Marth recovered from the staggering blow, waiting for Chrom's follow-up. As expected, Chrom pressed his advantage when he shouldn't have.

Marth stuck his foot forward and leaned out of Chrom's swing. Marth shifted his weight forward and pushed, trying to trip Chrom. Chrom stumbled; Marth tried to press on and force Chrom onto the ground.

Chrom stabbed the ground with Falchion, catching his balance, and he swung around on the fixed blade, planting his boot in Marth's sternum.

Marth was knocked onto his back, winded. As Marth stood, Chrom dislodged his sword from the ground.

Both warriors panted, holding their respective Falchions at the ready.

"Gotta say, Marth," Chrom breathed, "you're pretty good, and you don't even have your experiences from the War of Heroes. Can't say I envy your enemies."

"Nor I yours," Marth replied, rubbing his smarting chest. Then, he stood straight. "But you know you cannot win. I have had the advantage this whole time; I've watched how you fight."

"I wanna say 'don't count me out yet,' but you've kinda got a point," sighed Chrom. "Your style is a tough one for me to deal with."

Marth twirled Falchion. "So you do see."

"Sure do, but I've got a secret weapon." Chrom grinned. "Someone who's much better at this sort of fight than me."

Chrom glanced over her shoulder, meeting the eye of his 'secret weapon.'

Lucina nodded at him. If Chrom hadn't tapped out on his own, she would have told him to.

Lucina approached the two swordsmen, her expression impassive. "I'll take it from here, Father."

Chrom patted her on the shoulder. "You've got this, Lucina. Good luck."

Chrom headed back to rejoin the other spectators, leaving Marth and Lucina staring down in the center of the arena.

"You wish to fight the wielder of Falchion," Lucina stated. She drew her weapon—it lacked the glow of Chrom's, and likely its power as well, but strength had proven to matter little in this fight so far. "I am the latest inheritor of the sword—your final descendant."

"Are you certain you can do this, Lucina?" Marth enquired. "Can you bring yourself to point that weapon at me?"

"I'll do what I must to save my friends," Lucina stated. She adopted her battle stance, holding Falchion horizontally. It was a stance Marth was thoroughly unfamiliar with. "I won't lie, Marth. I deeply sympathize with you, and I wish things hadn't come to this." She tightened her grip on Falchion. "But I believe you are in the wrong. If I must fight you, I will. And I will win." And I will right my wrong.

"Very well." Marth readied. "En garde!"

Lucina's grip on her sword was such that Marth had never seen. She held the hilt of the sword close to her ear, the blade aiming forward—an aggressive stance, fit for quick stabs to wound the opponent.

Marth took a suitable tactic: defense. If he kept his guard up, he reasoned, she could not get those glancing blows in, and her strategy would crumble.

Marth decided to test the waters: a quick flick of Falchion, testing Lucina's defenses.

This was a mistake.

Lucina powered the blow away, dashed forward with stunning nimbleness, and scored multiple cuts on Marth.

Marth retreated, shocked. She's—she's impossibly fast!

Chrom had implied that Lucina was suited to combating defensive styles. Here was the proof.

He composed himself, frowning determinedly. Change of plans. Let's see how she handles some aggression.

Marth lunged forward, stabbing with Falchion. Lucina parried; Marth expected her to push her advantage, as she had previously, but she relented instead.

Marth continued his offensive, hoping to force a slip-up from his opponent. In Marth's experience, when pushed excessively, most enemies folded.

Lucina didn't. She kept her expression cool, her eyes following every motion of Marth's Falchion and blocking in kind. The attacks slid right off of the face of her blade—deflection, rather than Chrom's blunt, impact-based guarding. A far more frustrating tactic for Marth to deal with.

But Marth had fought frustrating-er. He kept his head.

Marth intentionally whiffed a swing, leaving an opening for Lucina to strike. She took the bait, lunging for Marth.

Marth sidestepped. Lucina's eyes continued to follow him, and she pursued the sidestep. She had delayed her attack as she waited for Marth to dodge, and only now threw out her sword.

Marth narrowly deflected the strike, and now found himself on the defensive. Lucina pressed an assault similar to Marth's: the two Falchions weaved a firework pattern in the air as Marth deflected each blow.

Lucina took a half-step back, easing the pressure on Marth. Neither lord wished to tire themselves out on offense so quickly.

Marth re-adopted his defensive stance. Aggression had gotten him nowhere, and he was more comfortable with defense.

Lucina waited patiently. A bead of sweat dripped down her chin; Marth, similarly, shined in the moonlight.

Neither lord let their fatigue show. Impassive expressions ruled the day as they continued to circle each other.

Lucina feinted forward. Marth didn't take the bait.

Marth attacked. Lucina easily parried.

Lucina feinted forward. Nope, it actually wasn't a feint, but Marth blocked successfully.

Marth feinted forward, just like Lucina's previous ones. Lucina took the bait, sort of.

If, by 'taking the bait,' that meant she would lunge forward, Falchion raised over her head, and bring the sword down in a powerful blow like one her father would perform, utterly taking Marth by surprise and shifting the entire dynamic of the fight… then, yes, she took the bait.

Marth barely deflected the attack, the force of the blow staggering him—if her sword had been Chrom's Falchion, Marth feared he would have been disarmed.

He brought his sword up in time to block Lucina's follow up, just barely; he was on his heels, backing away with each attack.

Lucina gripped her parallel Falchion tightly and swung it down. Marth brought his Falchion up as well, and the two swords clashed, locked together as the two lords struggled for dominance.

Marth gritted his teeth, pushing upward on his weapon. Lucina's expression was likewise determined, as she put her weight behind their locked blades.

Marth dug his heels into the dirt and pushed upward, intending to dislodge Lucina's blade from his—but Lucina released her pressure just then, and Marth pushed up into nothing.

Marth tried to catch his footing, already knowing it was too late. Lucina swiped Marth's blade aside and sliced a red line down Marth's left wrist.

Marth staggered backward, crying out at the injury; Lucina did not pursue. Marth fell to a knee, pressing against his bleeding wrist with his opposite, sword-wielding glove, still holding Falchion. He panted, covered in sweat, as he stared at the grisly wound.

Lucina could make out a "Woohoo!" from Morgan back in the crowd.

Lucina's eyes narrowed, staring down at the Hero-King. "Admit defeat, Marth," she stated. "If you surrender, you can rejoin us, right?"

Marth gritted his teeth, shaking his head. "I… I can't…! I have to… I…"

"Please," Lucina said softly. She offered her left hand. "Caeda is safe now. You can come home."

Marth stared at her hand, pained tears welling in his eyes. Indecision dominated his expression.

Finally, slowly, he reached out to her with his bloodied hand.

His hand grasped hers. Slowly, Lucina started to smile.

Marth's grip tightened, and he grimaced. Lucina's smile died.

Marth's other hand squeezed Falchion, and he yanked on Lucina's arm, his sharp blade awaiting her.

Shocked, Lucina defensively raised her Falchion, reflexively swatting aside Marth's sword and plunging her blade into the Hero-King's chest.

Lucina recoiled in horror, pulling her sword from Marth's sternum. Marth collapsed backwards; he wheezed as his blood seeped into the arena's dirt floor.

Lucina trembled, vaguely aware of various footsteps quickly approaching her. She felt a pair of hands take her by the shoulders and shake her. A shouting voice accompanied.

Chrom… it was Father. "Are you all right?" Chrom insisted, worry in his eyes. "Lucina, talk to me!"

"I—I—I'm f-fine," Lucina stammered dazedly. She looked down at Marth, whose breathing was rough and arrhythmic. "Marth… he…"

Marth coughed, splattering blood across his clothes. "Y-You… you did it," he said, smiling weakly. "You w-won…"

Lucina pushed Chrom off of her, her eyes locked on Marth in horror. "Wh-Why, Marth?! It didn't have to be this way!"

"I-It did, actually," he whispered, still smiling. "This h-had to happen…"

Slowly, with his trembling right hand—his left one was all but useless, now—he reached into his chest pocket and produced two cards. He feebly lifted his hand, offering the gifts to the Shepherds.

"M-Marth… and Caeda," Marth breathed.

Chrom slowly accepted the cards. "Marth… I'm sorry."

"Brady!" Lucina cried, looking around. "Mother! Anyone! We need a healer!"

"I'm right here," Brady said. He grimaced as he approached. "…Sorry, sis, but… I don't think a staff's gonna do anything."

"L-Lucina," Marth wheezed. "Listen to me, Lucina…"

Lucina knelt over him. When he offered his hand, she grasped it with both of her own. "This didn't have to happen," she insisted. "You never had to…"

"Lucina!" Marth interrupted loudly, and paid for his outburst with a brief coughing fit. "…I don't have much time left before I return to the card, so… just listen, okay?"

Lucina felt tears in her eyes. She nodded.

"T-Tell Old Hubba… Tell him you saved Caeda," Marth said. He smiled. "…She's quite a delightful person. I love her, Lucina… I really do."

"I know." Lucina smiled tearfully. "When we summon you back from the card, I'll… I'll tell you about everything you forgot. You'll get to be with Caeda, I promise."

Marth coughed again, his smile gone. "N-No, Lucina… Tell Old Hubba that you lost me."

Lucina and Chrom both frowned. The other listeners murmured among themselves.

"What?" Lucina stated.

"T-Tell him my card was destroyed… and don't summon me." Marth was deadly serious. "…Not that you can summon me until a full day after I return to my card."

"Why?" Chrom asked.

"H-He'd be upset if I was returned to the card…" Marth began. "…We have so many memories together… that he wouldn't want me to forget. I-It would be a softer blow… if you told him I was destroyed."

Lucina pursed her lips. "…Even after everything he said to you, you are still close with him."

"I've always been his favorite," Marth chuckled. "And I… have always loved him like a father."

The mass of Shepherds was silent. Marth continued to smile as he bled out.

"Don't grieve for me," Marth breathed. With a weak, trembling hand, he slowly reached up to brush his fingers against Lucina's cheek. "…My time passed, long ago…"

He gestured for Lucina to come closer, and she did so. Practically inaudible, he whispered into her ear: "Remember… Find Seliph. Tell him… tell him…"

Marth's head fell back with finality.

Runes of light encircled him, and he faded away in a burst.

The return to the mansion was numb and quiet. Lucina politely refused the concern of several Shepherds; she felt she had done nothing to earn their comfort.

She looked down at Marth's card, clasped in her trembling hand. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I failed you."

Lucina stowed the card away in her pocket.

Chrom's eyes narrowed. Someone awaited them outside the mansion's front door.

He squinted to make out the figure. As they drew nearer, the person approached to greet them.

"Ah," Chrom said, finally recognizing the silhouette. "What's wrong, Cynthia?"

Cynthia adjusted her arm in its cast. "Well, my arm itches like crazy, for one," she said irritably. "But, uh, more importantly…" She gestured at the door to the mansion. "We have a guest. She asked for you, Captain."

Maribelle frowned. "Really? A guest? …Do you know who it is?"

"No," Cynthia admitted. "She's got silver hair… and there's something really familiar about her, too."

"Silver hair…" Chrom rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I don't suppose it could be… the Silver-Haired Maiden of legend? …Her Einherjar, at least. She was supposedly gifted with foresight."

Cynthia shrugged. "Only one way to find out." She stepped aside, nodding at the door.

Chrom approached the door, with Cynthia, Maribelle, Brady, Lucina, and Morgan following behind. The rest of the Shepherds waited outside.

Chrom rested his hand on the door's handle, composing himself. How am I supposed to act in front of the Silver-Haired Maiden? Man, I wasn't ready for this tonight.

He gathered his courage and opened the door. Sure enough, in the middle of the foyer stood a woman with silver hair, her back to the door. As Chrom and the others filed in, she turned around, a wide smile growing on her face.

Chrom crossed his arms, watching her. Geez. What should I even say in this situ—? He paused. Wait… wait, those clothes…

"Ah! You finally made it, Chrom." The woman strode closer, still grinning widely.

Chrom offered a hand for her to shake. "Pleasure to—"

The woman brushed Chrom's hand aside, put her hands on his cheeks, and firmly pressed her lips against his.

Eyes widened from the onlookers. Maribelle's grip tightened on her parasol, bending it nearly to the breaking point.

Chrom raised his hands, glancing aside at Maribelle in horror, as if to say, "No hands! This isn't my fault!"

The woman finally pulled away, smiling widely. "Sorry, hon. I missed you."

Chrom's cheeks were heated to a bright red, and he shook his head dumbly. "Wh—Wha…" He came to his senses, growing angry out of embarrassment. "Wh-Why?! Who are you?"

Her eyebrows furrowed in mild confusion, though her smile persisted. "What are you talking about, Chrom? It's me." She placed a hand on her chest. "It's Robin."

Next time:

Chapter 5 – Time's Split