Chapter 7: The Lost Bloodlines
Chrom surveyed the uneasy crowd of Einherjar filling the conference room. "I hope you all can find it in yourselves to understand."
"Einherjar…" Eliwood murmured. "…So that is the truth."
"What a far-fetched tale," Lyn added. "It makes… certain things clear, I will admit, but there must be a more logical explanation!"
"So Algol is the true villain?" Quan asked. "We were all manipulated by that man?"
Leif, leaning against the back wall, shifted uncomfortably. He shot a glance at Seliph, hoping to meet his eye, but Seliph's attention to Chrom was rapt. Leif crossed his arms, and looked down at his feet.
Severa played with the bandage on her arm. The cut Lyn had given her stung a little bit, but it definitely itched.
Cordelia clasped her hands, frustration growing in her at Severa's refusal to meet her eye. "Severa."
"What."
Cordelia had yet to get used to Severa's constantly impudent tone. "Severa, I'm concerned."
"For Linfan? He's fine. Little Heal staff and he'll be good as new."
"I'm concerned about you, Severa."
Severa snorted. "My knuckles are fine, thanks. I washed his blood off of them already."
Cordelia closed her eyes, taking a long, calming breath. "…Why do you feel the need to distance yourself from me, Severa? I'm your mother."
"No you're not. My mother's dead."
"That's not true and you know it. I am Cordelia; I am no fake."
Severa rolled her eyes.
"Severa, what Linfan did was, admittedly, over the line, but certainly not enough to warrant such a reaction from you," Cordelia said soothingly. "Something else is at play here. Something else is bothering you. I'm going to get to the bottom of it, because you are my daughter, Severa."
"Oh, so now you care about all this," Severa muttered. "Never came up before, but now you're all 'oh man, better talk to Severa, oh geez.' It's not like I'm going to snap like that again, 'Mother.' I don't need this lecture."
"What are you going on about?" Cordelia's voice and temper rose. "'Never came up before'? Severa, we have never spoken! EVER! Since you joined the party over a year ago, we have never, not once, sat down and had a conversation as mother and daughter. You always kept me at arm's length, speaking in curt, one-word responses. Well, Severa, I am sick of it. From now on, we are going to act like we should and talk to each other." She leaned forward, looking earnestly into Severa's eyes. "Please, Severa. Don't be distant to me. I want to be a part of your life. Please."
Severa still looked away. After a pause, she shrugged quietly.
Cordelia sighed, leaning back. "…Okay. Now, Severa… Open up to me. Please."
"Ha! 'Please'? What am I, a door? 'Open Sesame, Severa! Tell me all your deep dark secrets!'" She laughed. "Give me a break."
Cordelia was not deterred. "You can talk to me, Severa, I promise. I would never judge you."
Severa's expression grew sullen once again, and she sat back, crossing her arms. "Of course you wouldn't. You're probably perfect at counseling, too."
Cordelia frowned. "I'm sorry?"
Severa glanced up at Cordelia, still surly. "You're the best at everything, Mother. Flying. Logistics. Memory. Talented at anything you want to do." Her eyes flicked downwards. "Of course you'd be so nice to me even though I'm always so mean."
Cordelia watched Severa quietly for a moment, composing and discarding several topics in her head. If there was one thing she knew, it was that her words had to be carefully chosen in front of Severa.
"…Is it… my fault?" Cordelia began uncertainly.
"Nothing is ever your fault, Mother."
"And that is what bothers you," Cordelia mused. "Do you think that you're living in my shadow?"
"I don't think that at all," Severa hissed. "I know it. Before you died, all I would ever hear was 'you're Cordelia's daughter, how cute'; 'maybe someday you'll grow up to be a great pegasus knight just like your mother'; 'when your mother was your age, she was already in training for Ylisse's elite pegasus flight!' Gawds, I couldn't stand your profession. Pegasus knights? Please." Severa scoffed. "Your shadow was freaking huge, and I couldn't escape it even after you died. You should've heard what people said. Some filthy noble actually had the gall to tell me—me! Your daughter! Recently orphaned!—that Cordelia, oh so perfect Cordelia, would not have let her mother die!" Severa's knuckles were white in the grip she clenched on her arms. "So it was my fault! OBVIOUSLY! It was only because I wasn't as perfect as you, of course, that you, the perfect one, died. What a joke!" Her eyes were red with a fiery rage. "You died when I was a preteen, 'Mother,' and I have spent every year since then hating you." She glared insolently at Cordelia. "Did you hear me, Mother? I hate you. I've been avoiding you because I don't want to talk to you, and I never will."
"Severa…" Cordelia murmured. "…I don't believe that that's true."
"Believe whatever you want," Severa scoffed. She pushed away from the table and stood. "I'm out of here. Probably not worthy of standing in your perfect presence anyway."
Cordelia sighed, staring down at her hands as Severa walked towards the door. "I'm not giving up, Severa. I love you too much for that."
Severa's hand rested on the door handle. "I'd expect as much from perfect Cordelia. You'll probably hound me forever, never getting the gist that I really don't care." She glanced sideways at her mother. "I guess, in that way, you aren't perfect, are you?"
Cordelia continued to look down. In a hollow tone, she murmured, "Chrom told me to relay that you're under house arrest for the time being. You won't see any combat for the indefinite future."
"Fine. By. Me," Severa snarled.
She left, slamming the door behind her.
Cordelia clasped her hands atop the table, and slowly rested her forehead atop them. Her heart sank to a new low.
Old Hubba had entered the conference room at some point, and stood next to Chrom as he concluded his recap to the Einherjar-filled room. Hubba's hands were clasped atop his cane, and his old eyes watched the room, pleased.
"Now that you all know the truth," Chrom said, "all I ask is that you help us find and reclaim the rest of the Einherjar, and end this war. Can I ask that of you?"
"Absolutely," Lyn replied without hesitation. "I think I can speak for the room when I say that I feel humiliated by my prior hostility to you, justified as it may have been by Algol's trickery. I would do anything to atone."
The rest of the room nodded its agreement.
Chrom took a breath. "Well… it makes me very happy to have everyone's support. Thank you." He gestured at the door. "You are all dismissed. Please feel free to roam the mansion—if that's all right with our host?"
Old Hubba's face wrinkled into a smile. "Of course, of course."
As most of the Einherjar shifted around, leaving the room, Eliwood stood and approached Chrom and Hubba.
"Thank you very much for your generosity," Eliwood said with a smile, offering his hand to Old Hubba. "It seems we were colleagues in the past? I very much look forward to working with you again, sir."
Old Hubba watched Eliwood's young face for a moment, a wide smile growing on his own expression. After this pause, he slowly reached out to shake Eliwood's hand. "…The pleasure is all mine, sonny," he said. "Welcome home."
Leif shouldered past a number of strangers in the crowd. "Seliph!" he whispered sharply. "Seliph!"
Seliph turned, noticing Leif. He wore a face of utmost impassiveness. "Leif."
Leif glanced over each shoulder, at the giant crowd of milling Einherjar. He approached Seliph, firmly grabbed his arm, and led him away from the crowd.
Seliph quietly complied.
In a side hallway, out of earshot of the others, Leif finally released Seliph.
"What's the matter, Leif?"
"Seliph, I didn't think this would be so hard," Leif growled through his teeth, pacing.
"What do you mean?"
"Lying to my father," Leif said. "I have never known my father, Seliph! Never! …I shouldn't be deceiving him like this. I know it in my heart."
Seliph softened. "Leif… Do you not trust me?"
Leif paused. "Wh—Of course I trust you."
"Everything is going as it should," said Seliph calmly. He put a hand on Leif's shoulder. "I understand. To think, I am finally reunited with my father, but I cannot tell him everything… it pains me. I know that, if I were to get too close with him, I would eventually lose the will to keep our secret." He breathed in, and out. "The greater good requires sacrifice. Our silence is a small one to pay for the evil we will prevent."
Leif grimaced. "I know, but—"
"All I can ask," Seliph said, "is that you have faith. Faith in me, faith in…" He looked over his shoulders surreptitiously. "…Faith in our allies. Everything is on track, but I need you to be strong. …I need myself to be strong, and… for that to happen, I need your help, old friend." He smiled. "…Can I believe in you, Leif? Can I trust that you'll believe in me, as well?"
Resolve grew in Leif. "Yes… Yes, of course, Seliph. Until the end of it all."
Seliph smiled, relieved. "Thank you, Leif. Your companionship gives me strength." He gestured away. "Now, how about we make good of this free time, and mingle?"
"Right."
The mansion was enormous. Sigurd's mass of Einherjar slowly drifted out, mixing with the Shepherds scattered throughout Old Hubba's home.
Lyn hesitated, doing a double-take as she passed the open doorway. Inside the bedroom was a lone girl, sitting hunched over a desk and writing away, with her back to Lyn.
Lyn crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway and watching the girl for a moment. A small smile tugged at Lyn's mouth. The girl's posture, and even her clothes to a certain extent… it was a nostalgic sight.
"You must be a tactician," Lyn said, startling the girl.
The girl stood to greet Lyn, hastily combing her hair with her fingers. "Um—hi," she said.
Lyn raised a peaceful hand, still smiling. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. May I come in?"
"Uh, sure thing."
Lyn slowly entered the room, looking around at the lavish furnishings. Her eyes eventually settled on the tactician. "What's your name?"
"Morgan," the girl replied. "And you're… Lyndis?"
"Yes—but you may call me Lyn."
Morgan smiled. "Lyn it is!" She turned around and quickly crouched to scribble another note.
Lyn peered over Morgan's shoulder. "What are you working on?"
"These…" Morgan said slowly, still writing, "are my Einherjar notes."
"Einherjar notes?" Lyn pulled up a chair next to Morgan's and sat down. Morgan sat back down as well.
"Yep." Morgan dotted her last 'i,' or crossed her last 't,' or whatever, and started reviewing the rather long wall of text adorning the paper.
Looking around the desk, Lyn found more and more pages of Einherjar notes were littered about. Many of the notes were thoroughly scratched out.
"Y'see, Einherjar is a really complex concept an' stuff," Morgan muttered, grabbing a filled page and reviewing it as well. "There's tons of rules that don't really make sense separately, and there seems to be a lot of contradictions and redundancy." She glanced aside at Lyn. "I guess you wouldn't happen to be able to tell me exactly how Einherjar obedience works?"
Lyn blinked. "N-No, I don't think so…"
Morgan sighed. "Man, I should've just cornered Marth and asked him all these questions when I had the chance." She lifted a paper, squinting to read the small text. "I mean, just look at this. Einherjar can change hands if they're handed over by the owner, defeated, or killed. BUT, what constitutes 'defeat' is different for every Einherjar." She glanced at Lyn again. "Do you know what that entails?"
"I don't believe I do."
"This means 'defeat' is entirely based on the Einherjar's personality," Morgan explained, setting the page down. "It's whatever it takes to force that specific Einherjar to surrender. It's arbitrary and, frankly, not efficient!"
Lyn shook her head. An Einherjar herself, she wasn't sure if she should feel insulted by this analysis. "How so?"
Morgan was becoming enthusiastic. "So, take… you, yeah. Severa has to practically disarm you and put a sword to your neck in order to get you to surrender. 'Cause you're a fighter, y'know?"
"Yeah, I guess I am." Lyn didn't feel insulted anymore.
"But then, Marth, he's just all over the place," Morgan continued. "On the one hand, he just gave himself up to Algol—Algol was like 'hey I've got your girlfriend,' and Marth is all 'oh shoot, better change sides.' So basically, Algol talks him down." Her eyes were bright with interest when she turned to Lyn again. "That's really important! Einherjar can be talked down, and Old Hubba was lying! Or—no, he was just wrong. He didn't even know about 'defeating' until we came along, and thought 'killing' was the only way… And Moth—er, other-Robin must've been wrong, too, about her 'actors on a stage' analogy…"
She chewed on a thumbnail thoughtfully. It's too bad Hubba is so unhelpful. Obviously, if he was wrong about that, and he also didn't know that we didn't have to kill Einherjar, then he wouldn't be much help to me if I asked him about other Einherjar things.
Lyn clearing her throat snapped Morgan to her senses.
"But yeah! One hand, Marth is talked down quietly. Other hand, he's ordered to fight us! And boy howdy, was he determined. We couldn't 'defeat' him, because nothing would make him surrender. Lucina was forced to kill him to stop him. And since Caeda was safe, meaning he could have surrendered, I think that means Algol ordered him 'win or die,' and he was forced to comply. Which means Marth was forced to fight us to the death, unless there was something else at play." She sighed. "And it always seems like there's something else at play… After all, Marth did disobey Chrom."
Lyn nodded along. The new names coming and going with each sentence didn't help her comprehension, but she was following for the most part. I think.
"So! Recap." Morgan took a breath, her first one in a while. "What it takes to 'defeat' an Einherjar is based on the Einherjar's personality and personal motivations. This means that Einherjar are similar to real people: able to be manipulated and imperfect in judgment. They aren't the efficient killer bots I thought they were at first…" She pouted. "Oh! But most importantly, this means naïve Einherjar are automatically less useful than stubborn ones. You could literally just talk down a naïve Einherjar—they wouldn't be any good to Algol at all, since we could just convince them that they're fighting for the wrong side." Which would've happened with Celica if those misunderstandings hadn't happened… "Know what I'm saying?"
Lyn furrowed her eyebrows. Did… did that all make sense? Her eyes widened. It did! She nodded confidently. "Yes, I do!"
Morgan clapped her hands gleefully. "Did we just bond? I think we just bonded!"
Lyn grinned. "I think so too!" She sighed happily. "…This really brings me back, Morgan."
Morgan tilted her head curiously.
"I—er, in life… I was very close with a tactician," Lyn explained. "You very much remind me of him."
Morgan scrunched up her face, trying to recall her studies of Elibean tactics. "Was he… was he the Bernese tactician? The one who helped the heroes prevent the coming of Fire Dragons, but disappeared before the great Elibean War?"
Lyn saddened. The weight of the truth had not yet lifted from her shoulders; to hear her future spoken of like an excerpt from a history book was sobering. "…Yes, he is the one. Mark. He was a master tactician, an inspiration to me… rather lacking in social skills, but I was very fond of him."
Morgan's eyes narrowed. "…Did you like him? Like, LIKE like?"
Lyn blinked. "Wha—N-No, I don't think I…" She trailed off. Did I? Her memories only led up to the climactic battle with the Fire Dragon. For all she knew, she truly did end up married to Mark in the years after… and disappearing just like him. But there was no way to know the truth.
…The future she had thought was ahead was actually long behind her. Everyone she had ever known was long dead; her homeland, extinct.
Depression began to settle over her. She was much happier before knowing the meaning of that accursed word, 'Einherjar.'
Morgan frowned, noticing Lyn's somber expression. "…Sorry. I didn't mean to bring any harshmellows to this campfire."
Lyn blinked, and laughed at Morgan's unusual expression. Morgan soon joined in on the laughter.
Natasha accidentally bumped shoulders with a passerby. "Oh, please excuse m—"
"Would you watch where you're GOING?" the girl snapped. "Gawds!"
Natasha flinched in surprise. "What?" The girl's rudeness was astounding.
"You heard me. If I get a bruise from this, you're gonna pay." The girl brushed one of her long, red pigtails over her shoulder.
Natasha blinked. Never before had she met such an abrasive personality, and she had known some very uncouth people in life.
There had to be a reason for this temper, Natasha reasoned. "…Are you okay, miss?"
"Yes, I'm fine, no thanks to you," snarled Pigtails.
"No, I mean… something seems to be bothering you," Natasha said. Her quiet voice carried a peaceful allure. "I may not know you, but… if you would like an ear, I would be happy to help."
Pigtails hesitated, clearly tempted. "…You're a real quiet girl. Think you can take some yelling?"
Natasha smiled. "I've dealt with worse. What's your name?"
"S-Severa." Holy cow, that's a nice smile, Severa thought. It had a sort of charm to it. Severa wanted to say 'manipulative'—less cynically, it was more 'charismatic.' Severa practically wanted to open up to Natasha.
Severa crossed her arms. "Fine." I should go easy on her. "So, like, there was this guy… and I didn't really like him, but he had a thing for me, and… Well, it was complicated. But man, MAN, was this dense kid annoying! Infuriating, really! He was always so smug! Thought he knew me so well. Hmph!"
Natasha nodded along. She could definitely identify with obnoxious suitors.
"I hated him, but like, there was this sort of charm, y'know? He was annoying, sure, but he was sincere too. Even… kind of an all right guy. If someone was into that sort of thing, that is…"
"So this isn't all about him, is it?" Natasha asked.
Severa scowled. "Right. The real problem is my mother."
Natasha hesitated. "Did she… disallow you from pursuing the young man, or…?"
"No, she woulda loved it if I'd liked Linfan back," Severa muttered, looking away. "Probably would've planned the most perfect wedding. People would be all, 'who did the decorations?' 'Who bought the cake?' 'Who's way better than you at everything else in the world including relationship stuff because you're too caught up in yourself to even know the real reason why you hate Linfan?' …Garbage like that."
"Oh," Natasha said. "I see. You feel that you live in—"
"—in my mother's shadow, yes," Severa interrupted, waving it away irritably. "I don't know if anyone's told you about time travel stuff, but basically I'm from a future where my mom was dead. Died perfectly, too—what a damn hero, dying to save my dad. …Until he bit it himself less than a month later." Severa clenched her fists. "Leaving me all alone for years."
Natasha definitely didn't expect any of that. "So… you… traveled through time, somehow? And now that you're back, you can talk to your mother again?"
"I can," Severa said. "But why would I? She's not my real mother. And even if she was—ESPECIALLY if she was—I wouldn't want to talk to someone who would heartlessly abandon her daughter like that."
"So you refuse to use this opportunity to make amends?" Natasha asked, surprised.
Severa scowled. "Don't make this sound like my fault, cleric. She's the one who left me all alone during the apocalypse. I don't plan on dealing with Mother any more than I absolutely have to."
Natasha took a breath. "You're right. I apologize; I should've been more sensitive to your situation. I can't imagine what that must have been like, and honestly, I wouldn't know how to proceed in this situation were I in your shoes."
Severa looked down. "…Yeah. I guess it was pretty dumb to ask you for advice."
Natasha suppressed a giggle. Severa warmed up so quickly—Natasha had never offered advice. "I may not have a reference frame for your predicament, but I can offer more generalized advice."
"I'm all ears, healer."
"You seem to worry a great deal about this," Natasha said. "Your grudge against your mother interferes with your daily life—your love life, even. Your insecurities about not living up to your mother's legacy have plagued you long enough. If you speak to your mother—even if you both agree to never talk to each other again—then you can finally lay this to rest, and you can continue to grow as a person."
Severa scowled. "I said I don't want to talk to her. Have you even been listening?"
Natasha continued. "I once knew a man during the War of the Stones—a truly obnoxious man, with a terrible penchant for gambling. He was also a talented swordsman with strong morals, but I could not see that, I was so struck by his exterior." She shook her head. "He was difficult to work with… I thought I ought to avoid him. He would often seek me out, however, and he eventually wore me down enough that I finally held an actual conversation with him, so I could learn what kind of person he was. …That being, still a gambler, and still obnoxious, but with those good qualities too."
"Heh…"
"My point is, if I had never spoken to him, I would never have gained such a valuable companion," Natasha said. "I still count him as one of my greatest friends to this day, if not… more than that. But I was once so against the idea of even speaking to the man that I took the effort of avoiding him."
Severa slowly nodded. The story hit uncomfortably close to home.
She slowly composed a reply, taking in everything Natasha had said. "So you're saying… because I'm so insecure or whatever, I won't let myself like people?" She crossed her arms anxiously. "…And it's because of Mother that I'm like that?"
"Your mother did all she could to ensure you had a future," Natasha said peacefully. "She gave her own life to ensure that you would carry on. What more could a parent possibly do for their child? What could she have done instead to prevent you from hating her so?" She put a hand on Severa's arm. "You needn't concern yourself with how you live up to your mother's legacy. No one should preoccupy themselves so much with their accomplishments versus another's. If you lay this to rest, you will be the stronger for it." She squeezed Severa's arm reassuringly. "And the only way that is possible is if you talk to her. Tell her how you feel in no uncertain words, and in the end, forgive her. Let your hatred go." Natasha smiled. "Do you think you are strong enough to do that?"
Severa grimaced. She crossed her arms tighter. "I don't know."
"I wish you the best of luck, Miss Severa. I believe in you." Natasha gave Severa's arm one last, supportive squeeze, and dropped her hand. "Farewell."
"Yeah…" Severa murmured, while Natasha left. "…I'm not going to talk to Mother. Like I would crawl back to her on my hands and knees… Pff." She shrugged with forced nonchalance. "If she wants to come talk to me, then fine, I guess I could humor her for a little bit." She started to walk. "…A little bit."
"I am Catria."
Cordelia raised an eyebrow at the bluntness of the line's delivery. Catria stood straight, watching Cordelia seriously, but not unkindly; her blue hair seemed to accentuate the coldness of her sentence.
"Catria?" Cordelia mused. "…Of the Whitewings?"
Catria tilted her head. "So you've heard of me."
"Of course," said Cordelia. "Every pegasus knight in Ylisse is familiar with the legendary Whitewings of Macedon. You are Catria, the middle sister?"
"I am," Catria said. "The Whitewings…" She bit her lip; the first crack in her expression, "…became legendary?"
Cordelia smiled. "Oh, yes. The intuitive learner, Est; the strong leader, Palla; and the talented champion, Catria. The three of you practically write the bards' lyrics yourselves, your differences are so varied and perfectly complementary."
Catria blinked; the flattery made heat rise to her cheeks. "Y-You oversell me, Lady…"
"Cordelia."
"Lady Cordelia." Catria took a breath. "I couldn't possibly measure up to my sisters. You exaggerate my importance…"
"I'm doing no such thing. Lady Catria was always remembered as the strongest of the three Whitewings, with a raw skill and drive that put all flyers in Archanea's history to shame." She smiled. "Yet your humility is as boundless as history implies."
"H-Humility or no, that is simply not true," Catria insisted. "Est may have started inexperienced, but learned at an ungodly quick pace… and Palla was always the most experienced. Not to mention Lady Caeda, whose devotion to Lord Marth set her above and beyond…"
Cordelia frowned. "Lord Marth…" She tapped her chin. "…Lady Catria, may I ask you a rather… personal question?"
Catria blushed. She couldn't be asking about—? "W-Within reason, Lady Cordelia."
"Milady, there has always been one historical mystery that I have always wanted to know for certain," Cordelia stated. "In historical circles, a notion has always abounded that you… harbored an unrequited crush for Marth." Catria flushed a bright red. "Is there any truth to these suggestions?"
Oh no. She IS asking about that. Catria shook her head hastily. "O-Of course n—"
"Lady Catria," Cordelia murmured. "You have no need to be embarrassed… certainly not in front of me. I was once guilty of the same."
Catria was taken aback. "You were?"
Cordelia nodded solemnly.
Catria realized her previous sentence had already pretty much given away the truth—and her own behavior was suspicious on its own—so she slowly grasped that she had nothing to lose.
It is not MY secret, anyway…
"You are correct, Lady Cordelia. In life, I constantly held onto a pointless, immature crush for the man I could never have." Catria clenched her hands into fists. "It bothered me for a long time… and I could tell no one of it. This forbidden feeling, this terrible burden, with no solution in sight… I hated myself for it. It was horrible."
Cordelia winced. She had hoped for an interesting story, but instead received one that struck all too close to home. She remembered how debilitating her similar feelings had been—she had devoted all of her time to anything that would take her mind off of him. Working, organizing, training—whatever it took. She looked at Catria, and saw the same thing: a similarly hyper-capable person, motivated by whatever it took to distract them from their unliftable burden.
But was it unliftable, truly?
Cordelia no longer felt the pain of Chrom's absence, as she used to. She attributed this to the most important difference between herself and Catria.
Cordelia had found it in herself to fall in love with another, while Catria was ultimately consumed by her profession and died without an heir.
…But I shouldn't tell her that.
"I agree," Cordelia murmured. "It was horrible for me, too, and I also hated myself for it…"
This isn't Catria. This girl standing before me deserves some hope.
"But I was eventually able to let that hatred go." Cordelia smiled.
Even if the real Catria couldn't, this one can grow past this feeling. This is not meaningless.
Everyone is capable of letting go of their hatred.
"Lady Catria. You can do the same."
Cordelia offered a hand.
Catria stared numbly down at the red-haired pegasus knight's offer. Slowly, trembling, she reached out and shook Cordelia's hand. "Th-Thank you, Lady Cordelia… You are far too kind."
A second revelation struck Cordelia. Hatred… Is self-hatred the key? Is that the piece I am missing? Are Severa's feelings not truly focused on me…?
"…Thank you for this conversation," Cordelia said, smiling. "In spite of everything, you've a bright future ahead of you, milady. I believe in you."
Catria seemed woozy from emotion. "H… Have a nice day, Lady Cordelia," she murmured hazily, and slowly walked away.
Cordelia chuckled.
"Mmph!" Lucina grunted, snapped out of her reverie when she bumped into a passerby. "Oh! My apologies."
"Think nothing of it, milady."
Lucina's eyes narrowed. "You… What's your name?"
He turned around, smiling a cool smile. His hand rested casually atop the golden sword sheathed on his hip. "Seliph Baldos Chalphy, milady; heir to the throne of Grannvale."
Lucina stiffened. "Seliph, you said?"
Excitement ran through her. Finally.
Seliph tilted his head. "Yes. Do you know of me, perchance?"
"Y-Yes, I am familiar with your name, at least," said Lucina. "My name is Lucina."
"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Lucina. You know me from legends of Jugdral, I presume?"
Lucina blinked, pushing her most pressing thoughts back for now. "You hail from Jugdral?"
"I do. In life, I succeeded my betrayed father and eventually came to obtain the title of Emperor of Grannvale." He smiled wryly. "Though such postwar activities as ruling a continent were… after my time."
"Ah," Lucina said. "So you were the hero of Jugdral's legendary Last Holy War. Seliph."
It struck her that, no matter how casually she tried to speak such a sentence, it would never cease to amaze her that the many heroes she would meet as Einherjar were equally legendary to the Hero-King she so idolized.
"…And if you were that hero, then Lord Sigurd was your father?" Lucina continued. "Have you… met him?"
Seliph tensed slightly. "…No."
"Why not?"
"It's complicated, my lady. On top of some reasons I would rather not disclose, the fact remains that my father died when I was very young. I never knew him." He squeezed the pommel of his sword, and cast his eyes aside. "Even if I were to talk to him… what would I say? Would it be better for him to know of his grim future? And of the unspeakable hardships our homeland would endure in his absence? There are some stories of Jugdral's bloody history that should remain untold, in my opinion."
Lucina frowned. "I understand that feeling. I, once, was blessed with the opportunity to travel to the past to avert a bleak future, and in doing so I was forced to interact with my father of the past. Trust me, Sir Seliph, I experienced those same doubts."
"Yet you overcame them."
"Of course… I doubt even the strongest warrior could forever resist the urge to speak to a fallen loved one again." She smiled. "Even though one could argue that this Chrom is not, technically, my true father, he is every bit the man I'd hoped he would be. Your situation is hardly different, Sir Seliph; as an Einherjar, Lord Sigurd may not be your 'real' father, but he certainly counts. Technicalities and debates aside, we both get to meet our lost parents."
Seliph chuckled. "You have a way with words, milady. Put that way, it seems pointless to avoid speaking with Father." He met her eye. "Though, I still have yet to encounter my mother, Deirdre. I look forward to the occasion more every day." He squinted into her eyes curiously.
"Do you resemble your mother as much as you do your father?"
"More than I'd like to admit," Seliph laughed. "I recall my first meeting with Finn, back in the war, being a fairly awkward one. He told me that he had expected me to look like Sigurd, but, hair color aside, I much more closely resembled Deirdre."
Lucina chuckled. "I must admit you have a rather feminine look. I have received similar responses in the other direction, regarding my resemblance to my father."
Seliph and Lucina shared a brief laugh.
Seliph settled down and continued. "…The main characteristic of Deirdre's that I lack—again, hair color aside—is the Brand embellishing her forehead."
Lucina frowned. "Her Brand?"
"Yes, the mark of Heim, one of the Twelve Crusaders," Seliph replied. "More colloquially known as the Brand of Naga, necessary to wield Naga's sacred Book. …Not dissimilar from the very Brand in your eye, Lady Lucina."
"My Brand…" Lucina whispered.
"Not that I am lacking in a Brand," Seliph resumed. He rolled back his sleeve, revealing an unusual mark adorning his wrist. "I inherited my father's, instead: the mark of Baldr, another of the Crusaders. This mark enables me to wield my sword, Tyrfing… and burdens me with the responsibilities entailed by the wielding of a Holy Weapon."
Lucina frowned. Her hand unconsciously brushed against the parallel Falchion on her hip. "…And a very heavy burden that must be."
"It is," Seliph said grimly. "Milady… may I ask you a question?"
"Of course."
Seliph stared down at his wrist, distant. "This Brand of mine allows me to wield a divine blade that, evidently, led me to victory… and it is a piece of my family that I cannot lose, where I have precious little else to prove my genealogy by. Yet, it is also a constant reminder of all I have lost… and it cursed me to a lifetime of tragedy. My father's death, the perversion of my half-brother's soul—the horrors of the Last Holy War…" He grimaced, briefly overcome. "So much blood spilt over blood."
Seliph finally looked up to meet her eye again. "For my question. Tell me… Lady Lucina. If you found yourself able to cast away your Brand—free yourself from it—would you take that opportunity?"
Lucina's lips parted in surprise. "Would I cast away the Brand…?"
It was times like this that Lucina regretted the placement of her Brand on her eye. She wished she could make like Seliph, and stare down onto her Brand, losing herself in wistful thought while the mark stared peacefully back up at her.
As it was, though, the only proof she had that her mark even existed was by the word of others. She had nothing but her feelings to move her through this dilemma.
"I… No," Lucina said. "No, I would not. If anyone had to bear this burden, I'd rather it was me."
Seliph smiled wanly. "…Yes… I think that's the right answer, is it not? I would never wish my situation on anyone else. Memory of the Last Holy War should not burden the minds of others." He chuckled quietly. "Nor would I wish my current situation on anyone…"
"Your current situation…" Lucina murmured. She nearly kicked herself, having forgotten the reason for her initiating this conversation in the first place. She began to tense with excitement. "Hold a moment, sir. I have something to tell you. Something important."
Seliph crossed his arms. "Important, hm? Well, I am all ears, my lady."
Lucina took a breath. It had only been a day, but Marth's death felt like weeks ago. To finally fulfill his dying wish…
"Prince Seliph. I have a, um… a message from Lord Marth."
Seliph frowned.
"Last night, he… died. Lost his memories, returned to his card…" She breathed in, and out. "Before he disappeared into light, he told me: 'Find Seliph. Tell him of my fate.' …So, here I am." She crossed her arms uncomfortably. "That's… the whole message, short as it is."
"Disappeared into light…" Seliph murmured. "Hmm…"
Lucina wrung her hands.
"…I'm afraid I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about, milady."
Lucina blinked. "What? B-But… Marth, he said…"
"I'm sorry," said Seliph quietly. "I wish I had something to tell you, but…" He inclined his head. "Excuse me, milady."
Lucina nodded, swallowing her disappointment. Perhaps Seliph has lost his memory, or Marth was simply wrong. "I under—"
Seliph winked.
Lucina stiffened. What?! He just winked at me! He DOES know something!
"I suppose, if I did have something to say," Seliph said, not meeting her eye, "it would be something along these lines… And, the next time you are uncertain, milady, remember these words." His eyes twinkled—an impressive feat, given his otherwise-impassive expression. "It's fake."
Again, Seliph inclined his head, he repeated, "Excuse me, milady," and he left.
Lucina's mouth hung slightly open, astounded. What the…? Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. …There must be more to this than there seems… Why the cloak and dagger, if…?
She slowly moved to return to her room.
Perhaps this rabbit hole goes deeper…
Chrom's attention was caught by a courteous knocking at his room's door. Sitting at his desk, he pushed Morgan's after-action report aside and folded his hands expectantly. "Come in."
The old door creaked open, revealing the newcomer as Sigurd, who smiled pleasantly as he entered. "Good evening, Lord Chrom. Would you mind if we spoke?"
"Sure." Chrom gestured at a chair opposite his desk. "If it's all right with you, I'd rather you dropped the formalities. 'Chrom' is fine."
"As you wish." Sigurd left the door open and took a seat. "I have a question for you, Chrom. I have reunited with a few old friends recently—those whom I knew in life, such as Quan and Lex, and even my son from the future…" He trailed off. "…Or, not technically from the future, I suppose? He was mistaken."
Chrom's eyes narrowed. Mistaken. Yeah, right. He held his tongue for now, to let Sigurd ask his question.
Sigurd shook his head. "Anyway, my question is this: have you encountered a woman with silver hair?"
Chrom immediately thought of the alternate Robin, and then of the Silver-Haired Maiden of legend. "As strange as this is to say, that could mean a few different people."
"Her name is Deirdre." Sigurd wrung his hands. "She is my wife."
"Deirdre…" said Chrom, frowning. "I haven't met her. I could check Old Hubba's manifest later, but it's possible that there isn't an Einherjar of her."
Sigurd's heart fell. "…I see. Thank you, regardless."
Chrom tilted his head curiously. It was an oddly distraught expression that Sigurd wore. "I wish I could help," he said quietly.
"I don't doubt that." Sigurd forced a smile. "It has just been a very long time. I haven't seen her since Agustria…"
Chrom pursed his lips. I should probably change the subject… "So, Seliph is your son?"
Sigurd nodded. "Indeed. He certainly grew to be a fine young man."
"I suppose so. Anyway, I've been wondering about him. He seems so… shifty, I guess. Like he has some kind of ulterior motive. Could you shed any light on that?"
"I don't think so," Sigurd replied. "He came to me just before the battle in Jungby, alongside his friend Leif. He told us that he came from the future, and that we had to fight you. Other than that, I have had precious little interaction with him." Noticing the hardening look in Chrom's eye, Sigurd quickly added, "B-But of course he was under Algol's orders! He couldn't have known he was fighting for the wrong side. Please don't judge him too harshly."
Chrom felt he had little reason to reveal his trepidations to Sigurd. He would only distress the man more by disclosing them.
Sigurd looked down at his hands, a wistful smile growing on his face. "…To think, my son would grow up to become such a grand hero. I look at him, and I see only the child Deirdre and I held in our arms…" He shook his head. "When was the last time I saw him? After Agustria was Silesse, and then we… went to Grannvale, and…" Sigurd's face fell as he struggled to remember. "What happened in Grannvale…?"
Chrom winced, recalling what Marth had said about his memory of the War of Shadows. So that is where Sigurd's story ends.
"Did I ever find Deirdre?" Sigurd murmured to himself. "Did Reptor and Lombard pay for their treachery…? Why can I not remember?"
Chrom smiled wanly. "It was a very long time ago. Whatever happened then doesn't matter now."
"It does matter," Sigurd insisted. "I can remember nothing of my life after that point! Could you imagine, Chrom, if you suddenly woke up a thousand years in the future, and could only remember up to this very moment? And were told that you are a fake, and the real 'you' lived a full and happy life—and you can remember none of it?"
"I'm sorry, Sigurd. I can't imagine how it must feel, and I wasn't trying to trivialize your situation. All I meant was that the conflict you fought for has long been over, and justice has been served. You don't need to worry about that anymore."
Sigurd sat back, sighing. "You have a point. I just… it just pains me that I will never feel the joy of raising my son, together with Deirdre again."
Chrom suddenly thought of his daughter, Lucina, still back in Ylisstol. A sharp pain cramped in his heart, and for a very brief moment, he thought: I am wasting my time. We are all wasting our time. We need to find Robin, and go home!…
But he shook his head, brushing off those doubts. I can't be selfish. This cause is far too important to ignore. …Lucina, I promise, I'll be home soon enough.
"Chrom," Sigurd said suddenly, leaning forward. He had felt a similar ache in his heart for Deirdre, and could not keep this thought to himself. "May I ask a personal question?"
"Go ahead."
"Have you ever known true love?"
Chrom blinked. "What? I'm… married, yes." Oh man. I still need to speak with Maribelle after what happened this morning.
Sigurd shook his head. "I'm sorry, I could have phrased that better. I meant: when you met your wife, did you know how you felt immediately? When first you laid eyes on her, did you think, "this is the woman I must spend my life with, forever"?"
Chrom hesitated. "I… Hm." He thought for a moment. "…No, I didn't really fall in love with Maribelle at first sight. I knew her for years before either of us thought of each other that way, I believe. Our bond grew slowly as we fought side-by-side on the battlefield… the Ylisse-Plegia War. We both realized how we felt for each other, but Maribelle was the first to voice it, confessing to me at the end of the war." He smiled fondly at the memories.
Sigurd smiled. "Then I most certainly misspoke earlier by implying that love is not 'true' love. Your love for Miss Maribelle is as true as any other."
"Thanks." Chrom furrowed his eyebrows thoughtfully. "Though… as far as love at first sight goes, my friend Sumia would be the prime example. She was baking pies for Robin on the same day they met. And, come on, pies? Obviously means romance."
Chrom and Sigurd both laughed.
"I'd be interested in hearing more sometime," Sigurd said. "I'd like it if we became friends."
"I'd like that as—" A flutter of pink by the doorway distracted Chrom. After hesitating, he quickly stood. "Th-Thank you for this conversation, Sigurd. I've got to go."
"Right…" Sigurd curiously watched Chrom hurry out of the room.
Chrom closed the mansion's door behind him as he chased Maribelle outside.
"Maribelle! Maribelle, Maribelle," Chrom stammered breathlessly.
She turned around, frowning. "Chrom…"
Chrom caught up to her. "I haven't seen you all day, Maribelle. Are you okay?"
"I am all right, yes."
"Why have you been avoiding me?" Chrom's eyes narrowed. "You can't possibly still be mad, can you?"
"I am not mad," said Maribelle. "I promise, I am not. I hold no grudge against the alternate Robin." She looked away. "I just… have been caught up in my thoughts ever since we met other Shepherds."
"What thoughts? Talk to me, Maribelle. You can always confide in me."
Maribelle grimaced. "I… yes, I suppose I should. You're right." She looked up at him. "Chrom: I am upset. Not mad, and my feelings are not directed at you, or at anyone, truly. I think."
"Then what's wrong?"
"It's about us." Maribelle crossed her arms uncomfortably. "How… we did not end up together in the other timeline. I find that terrifying, Chrom. It made me wonder if our relationship was truly that fragile—that, were a few small variables changed, there would be no 'us.' That if our Robin was likewise female, she would have taken you away from me…"
"I don't care about those other timelines," Chrom said aggressively. "I don't care about what happened or what didn't, I don't care about the differences. In this timeline, ours, the only one that matters to us, we did end up together. Maribelle, in this very timeline, I love you more than you could possibly imagine. I see no reason for worrying when you already have what you want, and so do I."
Maribelle had no leg left to stand on, so, with no argument, she found herself forced to conjure a smile for him. "Thank you, dear." And she accepted his hug.
She rested her head on his chest, the irritation still gnawing at her heart.
Something was different. SOMETHING changed.
Her eyes narrowed.
Something is very wrong about all this.
Slowly, she pulled away from Chrom, while still wearing that forced half-smile. "You know just the right things to say."
Chrom shrugged. "It comes with marriage, wouldn't you say?"
"I'd say so, you sweethearts!"
Chrom and Maribelle turned to the newcomer—or rather, newcomers. Morgan and Say'ri both approached; Say'ri wore a serious expression, but Morgan, not so much.
"You two are adorable," Morgan cooed. "Love the whole dynamic you guys have going!"
"What's the matter, Morgan?" Chrom asked wearily. He nodded at Say'ri. "I don't see you two interact much."
"We are here to bring light to a much more dire issue than Morgan's demeanor implies," Say'ri said through clenched teeth. "Sire, this regards the welfare of Lady Tiki."
Morgan nodded, hastily dropping her smile. "Right! Follow me, Captain. This is important."
After exchanging a glance with Maribelle, Chrom followed Morgan and Say'ri. Maribelle trailed just behind, chewing on her thumbnail anxiously.
Tiki was peacefully asleep on the bed. Nowi lay down on the floor, resting her chin in her hands and absently waving her feet in the air, while Nah sat upright in a chair nearby with her hands clasped in her lap. Libra sat in the chair next to Nah's, wearing a grim expression.
After holding the door for the other entrants, Chrom entered the room, watching Tiki. He slowly realized that he hadn't seen anything of Naga's Voice since the Shepherds had entered the Outrealms.
"Is she all right?" Chrom asked.
"No," Say'ri hissed immediately, but Morgan overrode her with a more casual "Yeah."
Morgan continued, "According to Say'ri, Tiki's been really sick since we first entered the Outrealms, and got sicker each time she used an Outrealm Gate. …Which was only twice, and she apparently fell into a coma at some point." She handwaved Chrom's distressed look with, "She's over that. Just nappin' now."
Chrom looked around urgently. "Wha—Well—Why?! And why am I just hearing about this now?!"
"Because the Voice insisted," Say'ri muttered. "I know not why, but she forbade me from telling you the truth, Chrom." She glanced at Morgan. "…I soon found a loophole."
Chrom reeled. I wasn't ready for this. "So—she's like me? Going through the Outrealm Gate makes her ill?"
"Yep," Morgan answered. "Yesterday, I found out that this was happening to Nah. When I found out Tiki was having the same problem, I figured it might be a Manakete thing. So I asked Nowi, and it turns out she was having the same issue. So I gathered them all here and went to get you."
Libra waved. "Also I'm here."
Chrom shook his head. "So then why does it affect me? And why is Tiki affected so much more?"
"One of life's mysteries, eh?" Morgan said cheerfully. "Dunno, Captain. Can't really answer that right now."
Chrom crossed his arms. "Well then… what does this mean? How do we solve this problem? …Or are the Manaketes just out of commission, period, for as long as we're in the Outrealms?"
Nah tensed. "U-Unacceptable!" she exclaimed, a little bit louder than she intended. She blushed, and sat back. "…I don't want to miss anything, is all. I want to help find Robin."
"Me too!" said Nowi, pouting. "You can't just make me sit out!"
"Calm down," Chrom said. "We're only brainstorming right now. For all we know, this is a simple fix with an antitoxin, or something."
"Or a Restore staff, maybe?" Maribelle added.
"You know, if ONLY we had a resident of the Outrealms here—possibly a Manakete, himself—that we could talk to," Morgan snarked. "Somebody who would probably know what this is and how we'd solve it."
"You're right," Chrom said. "No use reinventing the wheel when we've got Old Hubba. I'll go find him." He turned to Maribelle. "If anyone else reports a similar illness, send them to me. In fact, could you hold a census?"
"Of course, Chrom."
Chrom nodded at Say'ri. "I'll get to the bottom of this." And he and Maribelle left.
Morgan immediately turned to the Manaketes. "Aight. No sugarcoating this: all of you are sitting out of combat for the time being. Indefinitely." She gestured at Libra. "You're good though."
"What?!" Nah exclaimed. "Morgan, I'm fine! After a few minutes, it wears off. I can still fight."
"No, you aren't," said Morgan. She also silenced Nowi's protests: "Both of you are liabilities, guys! I can't rely on you two when you're that sick. Nah, don't think I forgot that bloodlust you had when you were fighting Mia! And Libra told me about how you fainted right after."
Nah cringed, remembering her dream.
Morgan continued, "What if you'd fainted in the middle of the battle, huh? That could've cost lives!"
"What about me, huh?" Nowi said. "I haven't fainted in battle!"
"That's because I haven't fielded you."
"Oh." Nowi shrugged. "Okay, I give up."
"And it goes without saying that Lady Tiki is unfit for combat," said Say'ri.
"That's why I didn't say it."
"Fair point."
Nah found herself without a defense. "This is so unfair!" she said angrily.
"I know, but it's for everyone's good," Morgan said. Smiling, she walked over to Nah and took her hand. "It's for yours, too, buddy! I don't want you to get sick. It'd make me worry about you even more than usual."
Nah softened. "Thanks, Mor—Wait, what do you mean 'even more than usual'?"
Morgan patted Nah on the head.
Old Hubba scrunched up his face in thought, and scratched his beard as well. "Hmm… Yer dragons are gettin' sick, huh?"
"Yes." I wonder, are the Minervas okay? "Anytime they, or I, go through an Outrealm Gate, we feel ill. Very badly ill, sometimes. Can you offer any insight into this?"
Hubba sighed. "What we're lookin' at is a bad case of Outrealm Sickness, my friend. Tough luck."
"Outrealm Sickness?"
The old man nodded. "It's not a common thing, I tell ya. Myself, I've never met someone afflicted by it, far as I recall."
"Really? Haven't you lived forever?"
"Well, not 'forever,' but, heh, I guess it'd be forever to a mortal." Old Hubba chuckled.
Chrom's eyes narrowed. "But if you were so long-lived, wouldn't you have to be a Manakete?"
"Heheheh." Hubba changed the subject. "I can't offer ya any help, I'm afraid. I wouldn't know the first thing about treatin' Outrealm Sickness."
Chrom's heart fell. "Great… Thanks anyway, Hubba."
"Old Hubba."
Chrom rolled his eyes. "Old Hubba. I've never met someone so insistent on telling people that they're old…"
"Think of it like a title," Old Hubba said cheerfully. "Like 'Prince' or 'Lord,' but… 'Old.' Ladies love titles, almost as much as they love older men!"
"Not sure where you're getting that information."
Old Hubba laughed. "It's what ol' Beatrice used to tell me! Oh, she insisted I call myself Old Hubba. Got her into a right horny frenzy, it did."
Chrom winced at the agonizing mental image. He quickly blocked it out. "Who's Beatrice?"
"Oh, Bea? She was my wife. Beautiful as the sun is hot. And she was as hot as the sun, mm-mm."
"Was? What happened?"
Hubba waved it away. "Oh, she passed on a long time ago. 'Bout a century, I believe."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Chrom said.
Old Hubba smiled wanly. "She lived a long an' full life, yeah? …It's all good."
Old Hubba was smiling, so Chrom took this as an opportunity to change the subject. "Any news about more Einherjar yet?"
Hubba shook his head. "Nope, nothin' yet. Workin' on it, though—I've got Leila huntin' hot on Algol's trail."
Chrom glanced at the sky: the sun was setting, so any actual expedition would have to wait until tomorrow, anyway. No big deal.
"…Have I thanked ya for helpin' me with all this? Because thanks. This'd be a losin' venture without ya, an' honestly, it feels like we're winnin'."
Chrom chuckled. "It's all right, Hubba; this is to our mutual benefit. No thanks needed."
"If you insist."
A thought entered Chrom's head. With this free time, we could… "Old Hubba, I have a question for you. Last one, I promise."
"Fire away, my friend."
Chrom paused to carefully choose his words. "Yesterday… we had to defeat Caeda in order to return her to her card," he lied. "Last night at around midnight, I should say."
'…Not that you CAN summon me until a full day after I return to my card,' Marth had said.
"Is there some kind of cooldown period we'd have to wait for?" Chrom asked. "Or could we go re-summon… Caeda, right now?"
"Nah, no cooldown," said Hubba. "I've seen Einherjar defeated and resurrected on the spot."
"Hm." Was expecting another disappointing answer, Chrom thought. One for three. …Was Marth wrong? I guess he and Hubba have been misled in the past about Einherjar stuff. "Well then… I guess I'll go re-summon Caeda, then." He smiled. "Thanks again, old man."
Old Hubba two-finger saluted. "Anytime!"
Chrom had knocked on Lucina's door and asked her to gather her mother and Morgan, and to bring them to Chrom's room in ten minutes. With his daughter on-mission, Chrom took a brief diversion to a different part of the mansion.
Chrom rapped his knuckles against the door. "Anna?" Hearing movement inside, he asked, "Mind if I come in?"
"Sure thing!"
Chrom opened the door, took a half-second to process the sight before him, and made a noise somewhere along the lines of "Bwuh?"
Anna sat on the bed, cross-legged, while Anna stood across from her, leaning against the wall. Both looked at Chrom with identical grins.
Chrom shook his head clear. "One of your sisters, I guess?" he asked to the room, unsure of which Anna was his.
"Yep," both Annas said as one, and they then fell silent.
"Alright, joke's over," Chrom growled. "Tell me who's who or you're getting latrine duty for a week."
Anna on the bed pouted. "Oh, you're no fun. I'm the real Anna."
"Rude," said Standing Anna. "I'm real, you jerk!"
Anna winked. "Oh, you know what I meant, sis."
Standing Anna quickly dropped her offended pretense. "Oh, you. You see right through me!"
"So what do we owe this visit to?" Chrom asked.
"More intel on Robin," said Anna. (The Shepherds' Anna, rather.) "Basically, she's dropping off some news. When we're finally done with all these Einherjar shenanigans, we can set off our search at a nice, brisk pace. Knowing where we're going, an' stuff."
"Oh, and you'll need it," Standing Anna teased. "Sis has some problems with keepin' her bearings here in the Outrealms."
Chrom's spirits lifted. "Thank you, Anna. …Annas. This really makes it feel like we're not wasting our time."
Standing Anna (alt-alt-Anna?) winked. "Oh, trust me, you aren't! What you're doing here helps the Annas more than anybody, to be honest."
"What? Why?"
"I'll answer that question at a later date. You must be here for somethin', though—I'm sure you didn't walk all this way just to say hello to little ol' Anna."
"As bad as that makes me sound, you're right." Chrom faced the Anna on the bed. "Outrealm Sickness. Ring any bells?"
Anna's expression was blank. "Uh… no?"
Chrom furrowed his eyebrows. "But you're an Anna! What happened to, 'we Annas travel through the Outrealms, golding and otherwise spreading capitalism'?"
Anna brightened. "Is 'golding' catching on?! I knew it would!"
Chrom pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Listen," said Standing Anna (Stannda?), "I'm not really sure what that 'Outrealm Sickness' is, but I'll swing on back to HQ and see if we've got anything for that. If we don't, we'll make something." She smirked. "I'm sure Mother knows all about it, though."
Anna nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, of course she does! Say hey to her for me, other-me."
Standing Anna hesitated. "R-Right. Sure thing, sis." She nodded at Chrom. "Pleasure meeting ya!" And she left.
Chrom's room was dead silent. Morgan, Lucina, and Maribelle stood nearby, while Chrom stood in the center of the room, staring grimly down at Caeda's card.
Chrom took a breath. He had originally intended to do all of this downstairs in the office, but he soon realized that that office was Old Hubba's—once the Shepherds were done summoning Caeda, and moved on to Marth, they risked the chance of Old Hubba walking in and learning of Chrom's deception. The last thing Chrom wanted was to lose Old Hubba's trust. In Chrom's room, however, they at least had some privacy.
"Okay," Chrom murmured to himself. "Let's do this." He closed his eyes, concentrating.
Lucina crossed her arms uncomfortably. She could still feel Marth's card, heavy in her pocket.
Morgan kept her notebook at the ready, and finally plucked the pencil from her ear to hover it over the page.
"Princess Caeda, Heart of Talys," Chrom said. "Come forth and accept my command."
Morgan nodded, reviewing her notes:
How to summon an Einherjar from its card
-The specific words don't matter, as long as you say the specific name on the card (e.g. "Lex," "Caeda," "Prince Marth" (yes titles matter))
-Whatever order you summon them with is the first thing they'll do when summoned
-When done, set the card on the ground (will remain on ground after Einher. appears)
-Be ready for the awesomeness that will most certainly ensue
Chrom knelt down, gingerly placing the card in the center of the carpet. He then backed a pace away, while all eyes settled eagerly on the card.
The image of Caeda on the card slowly acquired a blue glow. White lines rapidly traced down the figure of Caeda's portrait.
At last, a midnight-blue flame erupted from the card.
-P.S. also bring fire extinguishing materials probably just in case
The fire shot upward, rising up to nearly Chrom's height and swirling outwards to form a wide pillar of flame. The four watchers were briefly alarmed—Morgan, in particular, reached for the bucket of water she had brought—but soon found there was nothing to fear, as the tall fire remained in the same spot for a long moment, and seemed to radiate no heat.
Then, just as quickly as it had arisen, the fire whisked away to disappear into the air. Left behind was a tall woman with long, blue hair; she wore the light armor characteristic of a pegasus knight.
She slowly opened her eyes and smiled at Chrom. "…You've asked for me, sir?"
Chrom crossed his arms, curious. He, like the others in the room, was still a little starstruck by the Einherjar's grand entrance. "Y-Yes… What is your name?"
She placed a hand on her breastplate. "My name is Caeda, sir. Princess of Talys."
Lucina's breath caught.
Caeda frowned slightly. "…I'm sorry, but I'm drawing a blank on your name, milord."
"Chrom," he answered, offering a hand (which she shook). "It's an honor to meet you, Your Highness."
"Likewise," she said, smiling. "So. Did you have need of me?"
"More like… I have a couple of questions," said Chrom. "Where did I call you from?"
Caeda shook her head, surprised by the silly question. "Well, of course I just came from…" She suddenly hit a block; her smile wavered. "Um… I was just…"
Chrom took a slow breath. "…I see. Thank you, Princess." He turned to Maribelle. "Could you take Caeda into Lucina's room and, ah… fill her in?"
Caeda's smile was gone. Her head hurt, and trying to catch this memory was like grasping at straws. Castle Dolhr, then…
"Princess Caeda," Chrom said firmly, snapping her out of it. "I need you to go with Maribelle, okay? You can trust her."
Caeda nodded, still uncertain. "V-Very well."
The remainder of the room watched Maribelle escort the shaken Einherjar outside.
When the door shut, Lucina didn't miss a beat. She quickly drew the Marth card out of her pocket and offered it to Chrom.
Chrom blinked, surprised by her forcefulness. "Easy there, quickdraw." He pushed the card down. "I'm going to need a second to take this in."
"Screw that," Morgan said, her eyes wide. She giddily set her notes aside and reached for the card. "I'll do it!"
Lucina reflexively flinched away.
Morgan pouted. "Hey! I'm the tactician, you know. If we're going to be fighting side-by-side with him, I'm going to need him to follow my orders. That won't work as well if the Einherjar are under Chrom's ownership."
Chrom scratched his head. "Ah… I guess you're right. I should give you Caeda's card, too. How would I transfer ownership?"
"Should work like this," Morgan said, picking up Caeda's card off of the ground and handing it to Chrom. "See, right now, the card is yours. And if I pick it up off of the ground, that doesn't do anything. BUT, if you hand it to me, then that'll transfer ownership. Like when Hubba gave you the Marth card yesterday, remember?"
"Oh. That simple?"
Chrom grinned and handed the card over.
Morgan daintily accepted Caeda's card, and did a small curtsy. "Tha~nk you, good sir!"
"Heh!" Chrom humored her by bowing in kind. "You are most welcome, madam."
Lucina was amused, but the nagging in the back of her mind refused to relent. "Ahem… We should work on awakening Marth, don't you think?"
Morgan rolled her eyes. "Fiiine." She reached for Marth's card again, mumbling, "'Lucina, slayer of moods…'"
Morgan grasped the card in both hands, and she took a long, deep breath. The faded text of 'Prince Marth' leapt out at her from the card's portrait.
"Let's do this, Marth!" Morgan said excitedly. "I summon you here to kick some ass, Shepherd-style!"
Beaming, Morgan placed the card on the floor. She backed away eagerly.
The three Shepherds all watched the card.
…
After a long moment… it became apparent that they were waiting for nothing.
Morgan grew distraught. "What?!"
"Did you do it wrong?" Chrom asked.
"N-No… At least I shouldn't have?" Oh wait, I didn't use his title. 'Prince' Marth. Pedantic card.
"Do it exactly like I did Caeda."
"Ha! Silly Captain, Marth does Caeda."
"Wha—That's inappropriate, Morgan."
"Alright, alright… Couldn't resist…"
Morgan soon had the exercise set up once more. This time, with a (very unenthusiastic) command of "Prince Marth, come forth and accept my command or whatever," Morgan placed the card back on the ground.
Once again, the card refused to budge.
"That's crap!" Morgan exclaimed.
"Maybe that time limit is real," Chrom noted. "We should try again in a few hours, once it's past midnight again."
"No, I've got to be doing it wrong," Morgan muttered, frustrated. "I'm messing up somehow, but—"
"Wait."
Chrom and Morgan both turned to Lucina. They were surprised to find the princess of a shocked pale complexion.
Lucina couldn't shake the words of Seliph echoing through her mind.
It's fake.
It's fake.
It's fake.
"It's fake," she breathed.
"What?" Chrom asked.
"It's fake," she repeated, louder. "That isn't Marth's card…"
"What?! Are you sure?" Chrom exclaimed. "How do you know?"
Lucina's eyes were wide. Seliph knew. How? What is this? What's going on?
But I should have known. It was so close to me all along, but I was blind.
She moved to the center of the room and quickly plucked the card off of the floor. Without hesitation, she turned toward Morgan.
"What are you—" But Morgan was interrupted as Lucina brushed past her. Morgan immediately saw Lucina's goal: the water bucket Morgan had brought.
"Whoa! Lucy, wait!"
Before Morgan could do more than reach out to stop Lucina, the princess had already fully submerged the card into the water.
Morgan's hand withered. "What the heck, Lucina?!"
Lucina stared at the flooded card in her hand. Her expression grew grim, and she slowly removed the card from the water. The paper was limp, and its ink ran—the portrait of Marth was thoroughly unrecognizable.
"Trash," Lucina spat, throwing the wet card onto the floor. "It's fragile and of normal ink. This isn't an Einherjar card." Her eyes narrowed. "We've been fooled."
"But by whom?" Chrom asked. "And how, and why?"
"I don't know any of those answers," Lucina stated. "We must get to the bottom of this as soon as possible."
Morgan knelt down and delicately picked up the soaked Einherjar card. "I don't believe it…"
"We can't ask Old Hubba. He thinks the Marth card was destroyed."
"Then where do we even start?"
Lucina pursed her lips. Seliph knows… but he'll tell me nothing. Whatever this is, it is part of his plan. Her eyes narrowed. Perhaps we should just let it play out.
"…There's no need to worry about it at this moment," Lucina said.
"Huh? What happened to 'as soon as possible'?" Morgan said dryly.
"We can worry about Marth when the time comes. There are many other Einherjar in need of rescuing for now." Lucina nodded at Chrom. "As of now, I'm famished. Excuse me, Father. Morgan."
Lucina departed.
Chrom and Morgan exchanged a skeptical glance.
Morgan tapped her chin thoughtfully. "She's right, though… we don't have any leads. We should just keep doing what we're doing for now."
"Sure," Chrom said uncertainly.
"As for me," said Morgan, stretching her arms, "I'm gonna go haze the new recruit. See ya later, Captain."
Knock, knock.
"Come in," said Maribelle pleasantly. Morgan entered.
Caeda smiled. "Lady Morgan, yes?"
"That's me," said Morgan, grinning. She sat in a chair across from Caeda, and touched the hilt of a bronze sword sheathed on her hip. "Just 'Morgan' though. Mind if I sharpen my sword while we talk?"
"Um… sure, go ahead."
"You're the bomb." Morgan placed the sword in her lap and began to grind a whetstone across the blade. Shhhink. "So, Maribelle filled you in?"
Caeda nodded. "Yes, she—" Shhhink. "Yes she did. The truth was hard to accept at first, but I am thankful Maribelle was such a kind ear."
Maribelle smiled, then winced at—Shhhink. "Is that necessary, Morgan?"
"Sorry, but yeah," Morgan said. "Anyway, Caeda. Tell me a little about yourself." She paused her whetstone. "Is just 'Caeda' okay?"
Caeda smiled. "Yes, of course."
"Awesome!" Shhhink.
"A-Anyway," Caeda resumed, "as you know, I'm the princess of Talys. Or, I was, rather. Now I'm a Hamsterjar."
"Ah, Einherjar," Maribelle corrected.
Caeda frowned. "What did I say?"
"That's cool." Shhhink. "I'm the Shepherds' tactician. If we get in any more fights, you're under my command." Morgan smiled. "I figured we should get acquainted."
"I think that's a wonderful—" Shhhink. Nails on a chalkboard; Caeda cringed.
Morgan smiled pleasantly, setting her whetstone aside and holding the sword up to the light admiringly. "Miss Captain?" she asked.
It took a moment for Maribelle to realize she was being spoken to. "Er, yes?"
Morgan set the sword down and faced Maribelle, smiling. "Would you mind excusing me and the lovely princess for juuust a moment?"
Maribelle frowned. "I… I suppose so." She slowly stood. "When you're finished talking, there will be dinner ready in the mess hall. Come join us there."
"You got it," said Morgan, saluting.
She and Caeda waited quietly for Maribelle to shut the door behind her. Even after Maribelle had left, a silent moment passed before Morgan finally turned to face Caeda.
Caeda sighed. She had nothing against Morgan, but she was definitely much more comfortable with Maribelle present. Morgan hadn't exactly made a stellar first impression, after all; Caeda glanced at the sword and whetstone.
Morgan was still smiling. It was a little unnerving. "So, Caeda. Buddy. I've got a question for you, if you don't mind."
Morgan's stare was intense. Goosebumps ran down Caeda's spine. "Y-Yes, ask away."
"Do you know how Einherjar obedience works?"
Caeda blinked. "N-No, I don't. How?"
Morgan hesitated. "Well, I don't know. I was asking you."
"Oh…"
Morgan shrugged, still cheerful. "Oh, well!" She stood, grasping the sword in reverse grip and offering the weapon to Caeda. "It was worth a try."
Caeda tentatively accepted the bronze sword.
"Okay, Caeda. Would you mind standing?"
"Sure…?" Caeda stood.
"Great! Thanks, love." Morgan backed away a pace and put her hands on her hips, beaming widely. "Aight, here's a perfect view."
Caeda shook her head, uncomprehending. "I think I'm missing something…?"
"Okay. As tactician, and your master, I've got a little order for you." Morgan gestured at the sword in Caeda's hand. "Take that sword, and run yourself through with it."
The command took a long time to run through Caeda's mind. A tingle ran down her spine. "Wh-What?"
"I want you to impale yourself on that sword," said Morgan matter-of-factly.
"I-I don't think I understand…?"
"Hm, really?" Morgan asked. Her expression was still bright, and she continued to smile morbidly. "Then let me be clearer. I'm ordering you to pierce your stomach all the way through. I want to see the tip of that sword," she pointed at the sword, "emerging out of your back." She pointed at Caeda. "I want you to hold it, and twist it if you can, and see how long you can go without screaming. And I want you to keep it there—keep pushing in, keep twisting—until you finally can't hold it anymore. Then, you'll die." She took a step closer, still smiling. "Do you understand, now?"
Caeda's eyes were wide, and her skin was pale. Her grip on the sword tightened. "M-Morgan! Why?! Why would you want me to do that?!"
"Because it would be hilarious," Morgan sneered.
Caeda started to hyperventilate. "P-Please reconsider," she whispered. A tear shook out of her eye. "Please…"
Morgan tilted her head. "Reasoning won't work with me, Princess." Her smile vanished. Her young face stared at Caeda with contempt—despite being smaller and less fit than Caeda, Morgan still held a darkly intimidating presence. "And I am losing my patience. Caeda, I give you twenty seconds to stab yourself in the stomach. Twenty seconds."
Caeda stiffened. Her sword arm tensed, and shivered, and trembled—and slowly, it began to move.
Tears started to run from her eyes. "Morgan," she breathed. "Please… Please…"
Morgan crossed her arms, watching the sword.
I can't stop, Caeda thought. I can't stop myself…!
Caeda grasped the sword's hilt with both of her shaking hands, and lined it up over her stomach. "Morgan!" she sobbed. "Morgan, please…"
But Morgan was silent.
She's like a child… beating a dog just because she can! Caeda thought in horror. I am merely her plaything!
She shook her head, tears streaming. "I don't want to…" she sobbed. "I don't want to…"
Her hands started to tremble more violently, but she involuntarily squeezed the hilt tighter.
"I don't want to, Morgan," she whispered. "I don't…"
Morgan's hand covered her mouth.
Five seconds…
Caeda's knuckles were white. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Please…"
Two…
Caeda let out a loud scream.
A sizzling hiss rang through the air, and suddenly Caeda's hands were free—the sword clattered away.
Morgan dropped her Thunder tome. Her eyes were red and moist. "Oh my gods…" she whispered, running a hand through her hair. "I can't believe you almost…"
Caeda immediately fell to her hands and knees and scrambled for the sword, all against her will. Her head pounded, and she couldn't even think—her twenty seconds were up. She reached for the hilt—
Morgan finally took notice; her eyes widened in alarm. "Oh my gods, stop! STOP! B-Belay that order!"
The pressure fell away—Caeda dropped her hand and collapsed forward. She lay prone, shivering with sobs.
Morgan rolled Caeda over and took her by the shoulders, sitting her up. "Are you okay?! Caeda, answer me! Are you okay?!"
Caeda dazedly nodded. Fear built in her chest, she stared into Morgan's eyes—this girl tried to murder her—
"I'm so sorry," Morgan choked. "I'm so sorry…" She threw her arms around Caeda. "Oh my gods, oh my gods…"
Caeda still shivered and gasped for breath. Her eyes were half-lidded, and her face was fully red. "Morgan… why…? Why would you…?"
Morgan pulled away. Her face was similarly red, and tear lines traced her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Caeda… you didn't deserve that. Any of that…" She gradually pulled herself together, and she stood. "But I had to know."
"Know… what…?" Caeda panted.
"This was…" Morgan averted her eyes. "…a test. I needed to see how far you would go on an order, what the limit would be…" She glanced up at Caeda, grimacing. "And it turns out, there is no limit, because your will isn't even involved. If you want to follow an order, then you'll do it of your own accord—like when I asked you to stand, earlier. …But if you don't want to… then the choice is taken away from you. You can try reasoning with me, you can question the order, but in the end, you have to obey… And there are no loopholes." Morgan shook her head. "There was no way Marth could disobey Chrom… not an order that direct."
Caeda was still too dazed to realize Morgan had just mentioned Marth. "So… I'm… a test subject…" She shook her head. "Ha… hahaha…"
"I'm so sorry," Morgan whispered. "I promise, I'll never ask that of you—or of anyone else—ever again."
She made for the door.
When her hand rested on the doorknob, she turned around to face Caeda. The pegasus knight still sat on the floor, catching her breath, where Morgan had left her.
Morgan looked down, melancholy. "I'm sorry, Caeda. I hope you can forgive me."
She left.
Morgan lay wide awake in her bed. Cynthia was silently asleep in the other bed, Owain's snoring could be heard through the walls, and Caeda's final scream echoed.
Morgan could not close her eyes.
Knock, knock. Chrom was jostled awake. "C-Come in."
The head of his tactician poked in from the doorway. "Mornin', Captain. Old Hubba's back."
"Morning." Chrom rubbed his eye, sitting up and glancing at the sunlight filtering in from the window. Next to him, Maribelle was stirring. "Old Hubba, you said? Does he have news?"
"Seems like," Morgan said cheerfully. She wore deep bags under her eyes—Chrom briefly wondered if she had gotten any sleep, but dismissed the thought. "He's calling us in for the meeting. Lucy's already up and at 'em, rallying the rest of the Shepherds. Think you'll be ready in fifteen minutes?"
"Give me ten."
"Sure thing, Cap." Morgan shut the door.
Bits and pieces of Old Hubba's lecture floated in Chrom's ear, and out the other. He clasped his hands in front of his mouth, staring into space.
"I would like to test your arm someday," Marth noted. "I'm certain I could learn much."
Chrom's eyes narrowed.
"I am not the Hero-King of which you speak… Merely a facsimile, of sorts."
Marth's words resounded. He had some kind of plan, Chrom thought slowly. Some ulterior motive… But what? And what was worth sacrificing himself for?...
A nudge at Chrom's leg startled him, and he glanced aside at Morgan. Morgan's eyes were fixed downwards on her notes, but she held a scrap of paper in her hand, and was offering it under the table to Chrom.
Chrom slowly accepted. He surreptitiously glanced down at the paper in his lap.
"Thinkn bout Marth?" the letter read.
Another nudge. Morgan was now handing him a spare pen.
Chrom glanced up at Hubba. The old man was jovially lecturing on, "Outrealm" this, "Einherjar" that, a small mention of an "Ephraim." He hadn't noticed Chrom and Morgan's exchange.
Chrom turned his attention back to the note, and appended, "Yes. Concerned about deception. Unclear details everywhere."
He stealthily returned the note.
After a moment, Morgan touched him again, and he accepted the new reply.
"Same. Sux. Maybe didnt die?"
Chrom furrowed his eyebrows. "You think?"
The immediate reply: "Dont worry bout it."
Without waiting for a response, Morgan handed him another one:
"Have u ever noticd that sum numbrs sound lik words?"
Chrom's eyes narrowed, and Morgan slipped another note under the table for him.
"OICU812"
Chrom tilted his head curiously. Oh… I… see… you…. Oh. I get it. He wrote underneath the line, "Your being silly, Morgan. We've no time for jokes."
After finally getting all that writing on the letter, correcting "your" to "you're", and sliding the letter to Morgan, he patiently pretended to listen to Old Hubba's lecture while waiting on Morgan's response.
Finally, he felt paper brush against his hand, and he took the letter. "Y r u writin evrythng corectly? Savs tim if u abbrev."
Chrom was already prepared for a well-spelled response, but Morgan's hand touched his again, and he accepted another letter.
"5318008"
Chrom frowned, perplexed. What could this mean? The numbers didn't seem to sound like anything. He ran through several tactical ideas in his head—troop placement, number of Einherjar, who knows—before he noticed more text underneath the string of numbers.
"Turn upside down. :)"
Chrom obeyed.
He was not amused.
Next time:
Chapter 8 – Smash Brethren