Chapter 9: Legend of the Radiant Hero
That morning
"…What goal could Algol have that would involve Marth dying?" Chrom was saying. "He gained nothing from that. He even lost Caeda."
The other three—Lucina, Morgan, and Brady—all fell quiet, contemplating this predicament for a moment.
"I hope I'm not interrupting…"
The four Shepherds turned to face the voice.
Seliph took a step closer, smiling courteously. "…But I have some information that I believe you will find very helpful in the battle to come."
"Seliph?" Chrom said skeptically.
"What is it, Seliph?" Lucina asked.
Seliph nodded at her courteously. "I have information regarding Algol."
"What kind of information?"
"All of it." Seliph's eyes twinkled.
The Shepherds were quiet.
"O…kay," Morgan said slowly. "Well, I'm all ears. Let's start with, where is he? What's he up to? Why?"
Seliph smiled at the suspicion in her voice. He supposed he deserved as much. "Very well. Algol is, right now, in the Outrealm you are heading to."
"Really?" Lucina asked. She seemed to believe him entirely.
"Yes. He rests in the main chamber of the building, with upwards of twenty Einherjar in the entrance chamber guarding him. This is the group Old Hubba mentioned, led by Ephraim; however, Algol is closed off from Ephraim, and is personally protected by a much smaller group of Einherjar—this group could not be more than five Einherjar strong."
Chrom crossed his arms. "…Fine. I'll bite. Suppose I believe you, and that Algol is actually in the… the Whatever-Gate Old Hubba mentioned. Why is he there? What could he possibly be doing?"
Seliph winced. His confident smile finally wavered. "Okay… perhaps saying 'all of it' was a bit presumptuous, because I do not know Algol's motivations."
"As I thought," Chrom muttered.
"I swear I am telling the truth," Seliph said earnestly. "I would not lead you astray, Lord Chrom. You must believe me; this is finally a chance to take down Algol, and end his plaguing of the Outrealms."
"Okay, fine, whatever," Morgan said. "Even if we believe you—and trust me, Seliph, I'd like to—we need more than just 'hey Algol's there, go nuts.' We need something a little more concrete, y'know?"
"Of course." Seliph took a breath. "The battle versus Ephraim, assuming there will be one, will be fought in relatively close quarters, limiting the number of Shepherds you can bring. This means that the fight with Ephraim will be a fairly long one, and by the time you break his ranks, Algol will likely have escaped again. The solution: send a more covert team ahead to attack Algol directly while Ephraim's forces are distracted."
"This being Plan B, of course," Morgan added. "Plan A is talking them down. If my hunch is right, then that should work even in spite of an Einherjar's standing orders."
"Okay," Seliph said. "I'm merely offering a backup solution, in the case of poor fortune. Although, it wouldn't hurt to sneak the squad in first, regardless of which plan you go with."
Ooh! Ooh! Morgan bounced on her toes excitedly. I'm TOTALLY calling them the Sneak Squad.
"And you really don't know why he's locked himself in the main room?" Lucina asked.
Seliph chuckled. "Milady… In your battles versus Einherjar the past few days, have you ever asked yourself, 'why are these guys even HERE?' Have you wondered why Algol left the Einherjar where he did?"
The question hung for a moment. Morgan chewed on her thumbnail, puzzling it out.
"Alright, we cave," Brady muttered exasperatedly. "Just tell us."
"It's because Algol is a massive idiot," Seliph stated. "He is no tactician, and has no idea what logistics and planning are. He leaves the Einherjar behind him in the hopes of wearing you down, or slowing you down perhaps, but he also tries to be conservative in how many Einherjar he leaves, for fear of running out—and in that way, conflicts such as the one versus Sigurd yesterday occur, where the mere twenty Einherjar fell as leaves in the wind before your onslaught.
"Not only did Algol lose those twenty soldiers, but in the same manner he bolstered his enemy's ranks with those same Einherjar. And on top of everything, these Einherjar are acting as bread crumbs that have finally brought us to him.
"As for his personal cadre, though he is constantly protected by a small group of Einherjar, they are all mages. He seems to believe that he is the brawn of the group, that he only needs the mages to complement him, and that other physical fighters would be extraneous. Miss Morgan, I'm sure you know that this is—"
"Pretty dumb, yeah," Morgan finished. "You can't have a team full of just one type. That means it just takes one mage killer to take down your whole group."
"Exactly," Seliph said. "I was often the mage killer in my time; the Tyrfing empowers my magical resistance to a ludicrous degree, so I had the burden of eliminating enemy mage teams."
"Neat."
"This means that you can respond in kind," Seliph continued. "A team of magically-resistant warriors accompanying a fighter to take on Algol." He gestured at Morgan. "You would be ideal, in fact. You seem to fight with both swords and magic, and would be a versatile tool for that fight."
"As much as I enjoy being called a tool," Morgan said dryly, "I'm sitting that one out. Maribelle can do it instead; she takes magic hits like a tank." She glanced at Chrom. "If, IF, it comes to blows with Ephraim, I'll be needed more there. …Shouldn't come to that, though."
"See, ya probably just jinxed it," Brady said.
"Shoot, you're right."
"Anyway," Seliph said, "that's all I have. The others are waiting for you at the Outrealm Gate. Please consider what I've said: I swear on my life I am telling the truth."
"I'll hold you to that," Chrom snarked.
"Thank you for the help," Lucina said.
Seliph watched as the Shepherds walked away. He crossed his arms uncomfortably. Gods, I hope they believe me.
"Fighting fire with fire is a poor decision."
The deep voice made the hair on the back of Seliph's neck stand up; he turned around.
A giant of a man stood there, watching Seliph patiently with stony eyes. He had a hand resting on a massive sword on his hip; his other hand fiddled with a small, simple puzzle, seemingly for the sole purpose of keeping said hand in motion.
Seliph crossed his arms. "Who are you?"
The man grinned. His teeth were shockingly immaculate compared to the many scars he wore openly. "My name is Priam. I fight with Chrom."
"W-Well… it's a pleasure," Seliph said warily. "What did you mean by that? Fighting fire with fire?"
Priam gestured after Morgan. "You just told Morgan to make the same mistake as Algol. Imagine if Algol adds even one more physical warrior to his cadre; the team would crumble instantly. If she follows your advice, she will be fighting an ill-chosen team with an ill-chosen team."
Seliph's eyes narrowed. "Are you a tactician?"
"Are you?"
Seliph and Priam stared down for a moment.
"…Very well," Seliph said. "I admit, I am no strategist."
"I live battle," Priam rumbled. "I breathe it. Before I joined Chrom's cause, I hadn't one of my own: all I ever did was fight, and train, and test my arm against those like me. I am not a tactician, no—I could not hold my own against the likes of Robin or Morgan in a battle of wits. But a battle of strength I could never lose. And if Morgan attacks Algol's conclave with such a lopsided team, the only options are defeat, or a far too narrow victory."
Seliph blinked. He hadn't expected this gorilla of a man to speak so elegantly. "Well then, follow Morgan! Tag along. It seems she will need you, if your strength is truly what you say."
And it probably was. Seliph admired Priam's inhumanly massive arms. My gods.
Priam nodded. "Seliph, was it? …I am not a complex man. I seek strength, and those who are worthy of strength. That is all there is. I do not lie." His eyes narrowed. "Nor do I tolerate liars. If you are truly leading my friends astray… then Ragnell will taste your blood."
Priam whirled away with a heroic swish of his cape, and stomped after the departing Shepherds.
A chill ran down Seliph's spine. What a presence. He took a shaky breath.
December 10th. Priam remembered it well—the closing act of last year had been an eventful one. The Garden of Giants had housed him and his army of warriors, fifty strong. 'The Radiants,' he had named them. 'Enough to topple a small country,' he would brag.
Priam was a simple man. He had had everything he had ever wanted, except for the never-ending goal of finding someone stronger. His loss versus Robin was an enlightening one; he had never been so joyous in defeat. It opened his eyes to the fact that there is no ceiling to strength, and there is no end of stronger warriors. And with the promise of toppling a god, Grima? Priam had found the perfect end to his quest.
Enlightenment, he reasoned, was all he truly had left to find. Meditation. Priam had often toyed with the concept during his time at the Garden of Giants, but upon joining the Shepherds, he threw himself fully into the act.
Such as now, for example. Everything seemed to happen at a brisk pace here in the Outrealms, leaving little time for Priam to attend to personal hobbies. He made do: walking meditation was not terribly difficult.
He filled his lungs of air, and released a peaceful breath.
December 10th
Priam grinned at the sight before him. The town was filled to the brim with celebrators, Shepherd and Radiant alike, many of whom had already fallen under the stupor of their drinks. Priam did pride himself in his alcohol, but it would take far longer for him to succumb to the same.
The word, "Priam," caught the attention of the name's wielder. He looked around in search of the voice.
It happened that the word was not directed at him, but in fact, was contained in a conversation of two nearby. One a Radiant, one a Shepherd.
"Ssso, this... Priam guy," said the Shepherd—a horseman of green armor, seemingly to match his hair. His delivery gave the impression that he had had too much of Priam's prized drink. "He goes by, like, the Radiant Hero, right? Is he actually descended from Ike?"
The Radiant bobbed his head noncommittally. "Honestly?" He lowered his voice. "I dunno… I mean, he's got the blue hair, he's got Ragnell, but in the end, that's not really what matters, y'know?" His inebriated lips turned upwards into a confident grin. "Priam, he's… more. He's humble, he's charismatic, and boy is he strong. Like… insanely strong. Have you ever arm-wrestled a wall?"
The Shepherd stared in drunken awe. "Nuh-uh! No way is he a wall…"
"I've seen 'im punch a wall in," the Radiant boasted. "Fist. Wall. Gaping hole, right through it."
Priam chuckled quietly, reminiscing. That wall had had it coming.
"But! But." The Radiant was serious now, and released his mug to more directly focus his words at the Shepherd. "He's got all that, but, Ike, he had one thing that Priam's never had."
"What's that?" the Shepherd asked, echoing Priam's thought.
The Radiant's expression was stone. "Ike's prized technique, the one that elevates him from great to legend in the eyes of strength-seekers like ourselves… Aether." He leaned back, crossing his arms, allowing his words to hang.
"Aether," the Shepherd breathed.
"Aether!" Chrom had roared, as he'd struck at the first opponent to warrant the skill's use in a long time.
Priam laughed loudly as he succumbed to the surprise technique.
December 11th
"Aether," Priam echoed.
Chrom's room was sparse, as most of his things were packed; the Shepherds were mobilized to travel back to Chon'sin come noon.
Chrom frowned as he leaned against the wall. He hadn't expected a visit from the Shepherds' newest recruit so soon. "What of it?"
"I have trained for years to discover the technique," Priam explained. "I mastered Sol easily; Luna, though a greater challenge, came just the same. Yet the combination of the two—the ancient amalgamation, Aether—eluded me. Eludes me still. I thought, perhaps, I need learn my opponent instead; and though I now cannot be touched by sword, lance, or axe, this was not the correct path to choose." He shrugged, conceding, "Not correct for learning Aether." He did take a great deal of pride in his practical immunity to conventional melee weapons.
He eyed the sacred blade on Chrom's hip. Not fully immune, however.
He blinked his digressions away. "Yet, after all my failures, it happens that I needed only consult the wielder of the legendary Falchion! It makes all too much sense that one with a genealogy as rich as yours would be my eventual tutor." He coughed. "If it is not too presumptuous to ask for your tutelage."
Chrom crossed his arms uncomfortably. Priam could already see a disappointing answer in the Exalt's eyes.
"I doubt I'll be able to help you," Chrom said. "I have no experience in teaching, and I don't have the time. There won't be a dull moment between now and when we reach Origin Peak on the twenty-second." He sighed. "I'm sorry."
"A… perfectly reasonable explanation," Priam agreed. "I will make do with the resources I have, then."
"Trust me, knowing Sol and Luna is useful enough," Chrom solaced. "You're already an incredibly valuable addition to the Shepherds."
And by the twenty-fifth of December, when both the war and the postwar festivities had ended, Priam had found himself devoid of his resolve to achieve Aether.
He had played a part in overthrowing a god. His quest for strength was at an end.
Not that he wouldn't keep himself in top shape… he would be no victor if he ended his journey without a warrior's mentality for fitness.
To the Garden of Giants he would return, until, months later, word would reach him of the legendary tactician's return…
Present day
"Glad to have you on board!" Morgan said. Priam had caught her just outside of the mansion, thankfully.
Morgan shrugged sheepishly. "I was just thinking that I should bring someone physical along. Just Lucina seemed like not enough." She glanced at Lucina. "…That came out ruder than I meant."
Lucina put up a peaceful hand. "I took no offense."
"Awesome." Morgan turned back to Priam. "Anyway, thanks for volunteering! It seems like, with a group this small, you'd be ideal for it, anyway. You're probably the strongest Shepherd in a one-on-one fight." She tapped her chin. "Except Walhart, maybe…?"
"Makes me wonder why ya don't always field this guy," Brady added.
Morgan rubbed her head sheepishly. "Well… it's… uh… synergy, and…"
"I fare less well as a team player in larger battles," Priam stated bluntly. To address the blank stares: "I am not too proud to admit my faults."
Maribelle nodded. "Yes, very admirable. Now, Morgan, you were briefing us?"
"I have a question," Lucina said. She gestured in the direction of the Outrealm Gate. "This portal takes us to the entrance of the Dragon's Gate, right? How are we going to sneak into the main room if there's a massive chamber full of Einherjar in between? You showed us the layout of the Dragon's Gate that Lyn provided you; there don't seem to be any hidden paths from the entrance hall to the main chamber."
"Right," Morgan replied, a confident twinkle in her eye. "That's why I got you this."
Maribelle, Lucina, Brady, and Priam leaned in to get a look at the item in Morgan's hand.
When offered, Lucina accepted the small bag from Morgan. Lucina frowned curiously. "Okay? What is it?"
Morgan giggled. She seemed uncharacteristically excited (even for her); she practically bounced on her toes in her enthusiasm. "It's a piece of our history," she said coyly. "Warp Powder."
"Warp Powder? How did you get your hands on this?"
A red tint hit Morgan's cheeks, though her wide smile didn't budge. "…It fell off the back of a carriage."
Lucina's eyes widened. "Y-You stole it?!" She shook the bag emphatically. "Is this Old Hubba's?!"
Morgan nodded rapidly. "Uh-huh!"
"Well—why?! And why didn't you tell that to Chrom when he mentioned it?"
"I didn't want to tell him what I did," Morgan said. "Could you keep this a secret from him, too?"
Lucina's jaw dropped. "Would people stop making me keep secrets?! Do I look like the type to want to keep secrets, or something? Because I'm not!"
"You prolly coulda just asked him," Brady said. "Stealin' it was a bad idea, I think."
"I didn't want to risk getting a 'no'," Morgan said. "If I asked, and then stole it, Hubba would know it was me."
The Sneak Squad groaned.
"Anyway, bygones are bygones: you're going to need this powder today. Luckily, there's pretty much exactly enough for the four of you to take a one-way trip."
The others seemed disapproving, but Priam didn't mind terribly. This was merely a game of wits—Old Hubba was the weaker of mind if he allowed himself to lose to Morgan. Thievery and lying Priam tended to keep separate in his view of morality.
So, while the others were so irritable, Priam asked the necessary question. "How does it work?"
"Glad you asked!" Morgan bubbled. She didn't let the attitude of Maribelle and her children get her down. "I've already tested it all myself, so don't worry, the stuff is safe and works."
Last night
Morgan groaned as she slowly lifted herself off of the floor. Her papers were still floating down from the air after her graceless landing in the pile.
Morgan grabbed a stray piece of paper, and she noted with an unsteady hand, "Be… sure… not… to warp… into the air."
"…And that's how you operate this stuff," Morgan finished. "Remember that it saps away your strength for a bit after you use it."
"Thanks," said Lucina. She still seemed to be a little sour about the stolen Warp Powder, but Morgan's spirit proved, as ever, that nobody could ever stay mad at Morgan. "We'll make good use of it."
"Cool! Now, I've gotta go catch up with Chrom." Morgan gestured with her thumb. "Good luck, you guys! I know you can do it."
"You too, Morgan," said Maribelle. "Hopefully, you don't see combat."
"I'm hoping that too," said Morgan. "I don't know why, but I'm just sure it'll work out this time!"
About thirty minutes later
Chrom screamed as Ephraim stabbed the blade of Siegmund into his side.
Now
"Yeah, I've got a good feeling about this," Morgan said cheerfully. "Anyway, see you on the other side! Give Algol one from me!"
Morgan hurried after Chrom.
The other Shepherds waited outside the Outrealm Gate as Lucina, Maribelle, Brady, and Priam went first.
Lucina held her breath and stepped in. Bright lights swarmed around her; she closed her eyes and weathered them.
Lucina stepped out of the light and onto the green tile floor of the Dragon's Gate. She calmly released her breath, and turned to face the portal. Within a moment, Brady and Priam walked out as well, and Maribelle, astride her horse, did the same.
"Roomy," Brady said, taking in his surroundings.
"Lady Lyndis was right about the amount of leg room," Maribelle said. She sat up in her saddle, reaching up to try (and fail) to touch the ceiling. "Should be ideal for larger combat, if it does come to that."
"We should not waste time," Priam rumbled. "The others will arrive shortly. We must execute our plan as quickly as possible."
"Right." Lucina plucked the sack of Warp Powder from its place on her belt. "We know where we're going, thanks to Lady Lyndis. Let's get there." She gestured at the others. "Gather close."
The four Shepherds huddled. To Priam's chagrin, they joined hands.
Priam flushed red as he waited for Lucina to cast the powder. Maribelle and Lucina had each of his hands; he couldn't remember the last time he'd—
"Ready?" Lucina whispered.
"Ready," echoed Maribelle and Brady, and also Priam a moment later.
"Okay." Lucina took a nervous breath. She gripped the bag tightly and threw its contents on the ground.
Runes of light encircled the four Shepherds, and the ground whisked away from under them.
In an instant, all four fell onto new ground, their muscles crying out for relief.
Brady lay on his back, wheezing, while Maribelle had fallen off of her horse—and her horse fell over too.
Lucina staggered onto all fours. She could feel her breakfast rising up to greet her.
Priam was the only one to keep his feet. He leaned against the wall, sweating and panting.
Priam glanced over his shoulder. "Are you three… all right?"
Brady gave a weak thumbs-up from the ground.
"Good." Priam turned away. "It seems… we are where we need to be."
Lucina felt the pain slowly meander away. After a moment of rest, her arms no longer cried out in pain. It was now more of a dull groan.
She climbed to her feet and looked around. Behind them was a set of massive, locked doors; they seemed to be identical to the ones at the end of the entrance chamber, meaning the Warp Powder was a success.
Lucina noticed Priam and followed his gaze. A stairway awaited them.
"L-Let's catch our breath… and then we'll go in," Lucina breathed. "Mother, are you okay?"
"Of c-course, dear…" Maribelle sat up, holding her stomach. "I propose we never do that again."
"Agreed," said everyone.
Maribelle stroked her horse's mane. "Oh, dear… You'll be fine, sweetie." She turned to Brady. "I hate to bring her into combat when she's so out of sorts, but…"
Brady sat up. "Yeah."
The four Shepherds relaxed for a moment. Lucina leaned against the wall.
Brady hummed a quiet melody. Maribelle crouched before her horse, stroking its snout.
Priam's sword hand twitched impatiently.
"All right, that's enough," Lucina said, causing Priam to sigh with relief. "We should waste no more time."
The group began to climb the steps.
The air was tense as they ascended. Lucina found herself gripping Falchion tightly in her excitement. This was finally it: time to end this, time to defeat Algol. If he fell, it would all be downhill from there; the Shepherds need only round up what remained of Algol's Einherjar and finally, finally move on to the actual reason they had taken their trek into the Outrealms.
Lucina caught a glimpse of Robin in her mind's eye. She trembled with anticipation.
"There," said Priam from ahead, at the apex of the stairs.
Lucina picked up the pace for the last few steps, and stopped at the top. Her breath caught.
Algol, as well as four other Einherjar, stood at the end of the room, roughly twenty paces away. Algol sat cross-legged before a massive gateway, though beyond the gateway's arches seemed to be nothing but blackness.
"The titular Dragon's Gate?" Maribelle mused.
The voice of an Einherjar drifted into earshot. "…st time it was opened by luring a dragon out," the purple-haired man was saying. "Do you suppose we could communicate through?"
"It's silent, Canas," Algol scoffed, waving it away irritably. "Can't even get a word through. Unless ya think I should start shoutin'?"
Canas pursed his lips. "…See, I believe you are being sarcastic, but that's not a terrible—"
"Oh, come off it," a younger, green-haired Einherjar sneered. "It's not gonna work. This 'Dragon's Gate' doesn't look like it'll ever open." He irritably kicked a rock through the archway; it fell into the bottomless chasm beyond.
"Now, now, that's just pessimism, Raigh. I'm certain we can get this to work." Canas turned to the third mage. "Do you have any insights, Lute?"
Lute was tapping her chin. "No… Or, not yet, rather. Fear not; we have the greatest mind of this generation, as well as you people, working on this problem. I will have a solution eventually." She cleared her throat. "Even if it amounts to 'no, this will never work'."
"Hey." The fourth and final Einherjar nudged Algol. "We've got company."
Lucina took the lead as the Shepherds approached the enemy.
Algol glanced over his shoulder at them and broke into a wide smile. He rose to his feet. "Well, well, well! If it isn't Miss Marth-Wannabe. I was wonderin' if you'd ever catch up."
"You made it easy enough," Lucina said.
She drew Falchion; Algol drew his own black axe.
Canas quickly moved to place a hand on Algol's shoulder. "N-Now now, Mr. Algol, let's not be so quick to violence! Perhaps we could work together to figure out the Dragon's Gate."
Algol's eyes narrowed. They were locked on Lucina. "…Sorry, Canas, but I bet these guys ain't interested."
"You're not wrong." Lucina twirled her sword.
Canas adjusted his monocle dejectedly.
"I'm curious," Brady called. "What is it that's got you so riled up here? What're you tryin' to do with the Dragon's Gate?"
Algol sighed exasperatedly. "Time travel! I know it's possible—I know it. You brats are the proof. But how?! I've been in the Outrealms for months, and I haven't been able to figure it out. I was hopin' that the Dragon's Gate was the breakthrough I needed."
Lucina's hands clenched into fists. "So that was your endgame. Your 'bigger and better' plan was to change the past…"
Algol cackled. "I told ya, the other day, that I'm more than a Grimleal. I'm somethin' beyond—somethin' much greater! Even Grima himself never spread his influence across multiple timelines. Heheheh… An' when I've figured things out, I'm gonna spread my Einherjar army into the past, an' I'm gonna make a better world—one where you lot don't stand in Grima's way. Heheheheh…"
"That will stay a dream," Maribelle stated. "You will fall today."
"No! I won't!" Algol snarled. "I have NOT come this far to lose to you! There's somethin' I'm missing—what is it?!"
A thought occurred to Lucina. "It's Naga," she said. "She must be the key. Without her blessing, you could never enact your plan."
Algol's eyes widened. "Naga… Yes… Yes, yer right… That must be it!"
His eyes flicked down to the golden sword in Lucina's hands.
"Falchion is her fang!" Algol hissed. He stepped closer, reaching out an arm desperately. "G-Give it to me, now!"
Lucina raised the weapon, keeping Algol at bay. "Do you honestly expect me to agree?"
Algol growled in frustration and slammed his axe into the ground. The massive weapon tore into the sturdy tiles and uprooted stone.
His Grimleal eyes widened insanely. "Then Garm will taste your flesh!"
Recognizing that combat was afoot, Lucina glanced aside at her allies. "Brady, Mother: mages! Priam—"
"Understood." Priam's eyes were coldly focused on his target, and he eagerly dashed ahead to engage with the fourth Einherjar, the reason Priam's presence here was exceptionally valuable:
The Radiant Hero himself.
Ike awaited Priam's attack. He knew he had the advantage of defense here, and needn't push himself to engage with his opponent.
Priam struck hard and with great strength, but the two swords clashed powerfully. Ike didn't so much as lose his footing.
Ike's eyes narrowed. His opponent's sword—it looked so much like his own, if aged and worn.
Can't get distracted, he reminded himself, and he shoved forward to push Priam away.
Priam attacked again and again. His Ragnell and Ike's were not evenly matched, but Priam's fighting prowess was indisputable. He constantly kept Ike on edge despite his inferior weapon.
Ike found himself sweating in no time. This man here was incredibly talented; Ike hadn't faced such a formidable opponent since Tellius.
Priam feinted at Ike's sword hand. Ike called the bluff and struck back.
Priam bared his teeth in a proud grin. Exactly as I would have done.
Priam lived combat, breathed combat. Now was the time to test: did Ike do the same?
Maribelle and Brady were outnumbered. Three mages versus two healers.
Yet, the fight was even. The three mages were magical powerhouses, and would have easily made mincemeat of other fighters, but Brady and Maribelle both strongly resisted magic.
Contrarily, Brady and Maribelle had decently powerful magic of their own, where two of the three Einherjar mages—shamans, seemingly—had subpar resistance. The Einherjar would take more damage than they could dish out.
It was a war of attrition, certainly, but one slightly skewed in Brady's and Maribelle's favor… in theory. In practice, that extra number on the Einherjar side was making all the difference, and two of them wielded dark magic—counters to the Shepherds' anima.
"Trade off!" Brady called hoarsely, and loosed another arc from his Bolt Axe at a new target as Maribelle weathered two magical attacks to cover him.
Maribelle grunted in exertion; she threw out a wave of Arcwind to distract her opponents. "Trade!" she commanded, and she and Brady switched opponents once again.
The fact of the matter was that the Shepherds had had far, far too much experience with being greatly outnumbered. Robin would have been proud of Maribelle and Brady's synergy.
"Urgh!" As Lucina dodged, she could feel the movement of the air that Garm cut through; the strength behind each attack raised a gust such that it seemed to pull her in.
Algol swung the massive weapon effortlessly. Spittle flew from his deranged lips as he leveled the axe at Lucina's midsection. She narrowly sidestepped the long blade, and capitalized on the momentum behind Algol's swing by attacking. She landed a small cut on his leg, accompanied by a much deeper one on his arm.
Algol didn't seem to care. He fought with the inhibitions of a berserker: that is, without any. Sure, he had little in the way of defense, but he seemed to shrug off any injury Lucina could inflict.
He gripped Garm with both hands, brought it over his head, and swung it powerfully down. Lucina could hear the whoosh of air following the incredible weapon as she rolled aside to dodge. Garm slammed into a green tile, smashing it in two and dislodging it from the floor.
Algol glared at Lucina. He lifted his axe and shook off the remainders of the green flooring.
That Garm, Lucina thought tiredly. That's the strongest axe I've ever seen. I literally cannot afford to get hit.
Lucina gripped Falchion tightly. She clenched her teeth. Then I'll be faster.
Priam touched a wound on his arm. He assessed the blood on his fingertips, practically grinning with glee.
"That's a fancy sword you have," Ike called. "Looks a lot like mine. Care to explain?"
"Long have I awaited the judgment of the Radiant Hero," Priam boomed, ignoring him. "Long have I wished to trade blows with one as worthy as he!"
He raised Ragnell horizontally, concentrating.
Ike sighed, realizing he wasn't going to get an answer. He took a defensive stance as he awaited Priam's attack.
An orange glow manifested on Priam's weathered blade. It shone with the warm radiance of the sun.
Priam remembered his training—the hours he had spent mastering the technique of Sol. He had conquered the skill within an afternoon of setting himself to the task. For one of his class, it was not terribly difficult to pick up on; the sword and the axe both were conducive weapons to the task, and the agility of an infantryman was key.
Priam applied the technique: he succeeded in slipping past Ike's guard and nailing a precise, if superficial, wound on him. Priam grinned as he felt the rush of his stamina returning.
Undeterred, Ike forced his elbow between Priam's ribs and followed through with his sword's pommel. Priam grasped his stinging sternum, still grinning regardless.
Ike scowled. Let's take that smile down, and let him know he's not the only one with tricks. He pointed his Ragnell at Priam and let Aether take over.
To Priam's surprise, Ike threw Ragnell into the air. The weapon simply hung in the air, spinning, for more than a second.
Further perplexing Priam, Ike leapt into the air and caught his sword.
Ah. Priam caught a glimpse of an orange tint to Ike's blade, and understanding, as well as pride, welled in him. The legendary technique in its purest form; he deigns to use it on me.
Ike brought the attack down onto Priam. Ragnell clashed with Ragnell, and Sol whiffed.
Crouching now, Ike tensed to leap upwards for the second half of the technique. However, Priam refused to make the same mistake he had made last December.
Priam knew blocking Luna would be a costly mistake. It could likely break his weapon; unlike Ike's, Priam's Ragnell was not unbreakable. Priam sent his thanks to Chrom of the past for educating him of Aether's lethality.
Priam ducked to the side. Ike's upward launch missed; Ike spun in the air, landed on his hands, and flipped back onto his feet.
Priam nodded in approval of Ike's theatrics. That didn't mean he would offer any quarter, of course; he raised Ragnell and concentrated.
A blue shine appeared on Priam's ancient weapon. It glowed with the cool luminosity of the moon.
Priam had spent days, weeks even, honing and refining the technique of Luna. It had not come easily. The skill was more characteristic of lancemen: mounted, armored ones in particular. Priam had had to adapt his swordplay to tap into the lance's elegance and finesse, and even his persistent dedication to the undertaking had still only yielded fruit after much, much error. …Granted, this was years ago, and with a younger Priam.
Priam twirled Ragnell elegantly and gripped it point-forward as a lanceman would. He dashed toward his opponent and kicked off into a leap.
Ike's breath caught as he barely dodged the jumping Luna. That was too close.
Priam bared his teeth. He is perfectly vulnerable, he thought impatiently, while he was stuck collecting his balance. Were this a dual-hitting technique, the Radiant Hero would already be defeated.
Yet Aether was still beyond his grasp.
A black flux encircled Maribelle. She grimaced in expectation and covered her hands with her head.
The darkness slowly closed in, until she was entirely covered by the shadowy veil. When there was nothing but black to be seen, the magic struck.
Maribelle cried out in pain. The tome hurt far worse than the others had. As the darkness faded away, she held herself, wishing it was a single wound she could tend to when instead everything in her cried for relief.
Brady didn't miss a beat, swiftly stepping forward and targeting the magic's wielder with his axe. However, Canas weaved a pattern of blackness from his fingertips, obscuring his opponent's sight, and Brady's lightning missed.
Lute and Raigh covered Canas's flanks. Fire and darkness raced at the two healers, who could do nothing but try to block.
It had become apparent that Canas was the hard-hitter here. He seemed to wield some sort of special tome—one that negated magical resistance.
Maribelle panted for breath, holding her limp arm. With her other, she weakly casted Arcwind in Lute's direction; the mage easily dodged.
Canas stepped closer eagerly. I'd imagine it shouldn't take much more to incapacitate that Valkyrie. His tome of Elder Magic glowed.
Maribelle saw the darkness begin to encircle her once again. She tensed; if this didn't work, she wouldn't be able to weather the attack.
She trained her eyes on Canas.
The darkness grew thicker; only a few seconds more and she would be blind once again.
When only a last sliver of light remained, Maribelle struck.
The blade of Arcwind slipped through the black, and Canas, with his guard left down, didn't have time to react.
The gale tore into him and threw him off of his feet. He landed on the floor, bleeding and unconscious.
With its wielder incapacitated, the dark magic surrounding Maribelle dissipated harmlessly. Lute and Raigh both turned to their fallen member with surprise.
Maribelle gave her son a sly glance. "'Time to tip the scales,'" she said dryly.
Brady laughed.
Algol swung his mighty axe again and again, never landing a hit but not needing to. All Lucina could do was dodge, it seemed; her own attacks did nothing to him, and she couldn't block. If Algol had to swing a thousand times to hit her, he would. He only needed one.
The two Ragnells locked together. Both burly swordsmen pushed at each other, grimacing as they put their all into the contest of strength.
When he felt himself losing his advantage, Ike finally yielded, and was forced to block Priam's brief offensive before the situation reset back to neither fighter's advantage.
"You're very strong," Ike said. "You've got to be one of the most capable fighters I've ever met hand-to-hand. Who trained you?"
Priam's smile had long ago died, and was since replaced with a stone-like expression. His eyes were hard when he answered:
"Time did."
Decades past
"Once more, Priam!"
Priam grimaced at the dirt, grasping handfuls of soil. "I…"
"Pick yourself up, child."
Priam squeezed his eyes shut, and though his body protested, he agonizingly returned to his feet. He faced the blue-haired warrior towering over him, and accepted the practice sword when offered.
"Now." The giant of a man smiled. "It remains to be seen if you can land a hit on me."
Priam scowled. "I will! I will prove myself a worthy inheritor of Ragnell, Father!"
"Then show me!"
Priam would show him. He knew. He would.
Years, and years, and years would go by, but nothing he ever learned could surpass his first true encounter with death, at a paltry twelve years of age.
Priam could hear the crinkling of leaves under his feet. The wind rustled the trees overhead. His breath was deafening in his ears. It was odd, really, that in such a petrifying moment, everything stood so crystally serene: that his senses were amplified in his state of heightened terror.
The bear slowly, menacingly reared back onto its hind legs, and exposed its fangs to the young trespasser.
Priam's empty hands clenched into fists.
Present day
Priam and Ike both attacked at once. They mirrored each other perfectly: both grabbed the other's wrist, halting the other's weapon. The Radiant Heroes butted heads, growling.
Priam introduced his forehead to Ike's nose.
Advantage: Priam.
Priam clubbed Ike with his weapon, and he swiped his Ragnell into Ike's. The younger weapon was dislodged from its owner's grip.
Ike watched, alarmed, as his Ragnell spun in the air and planted blade-first in the floor behind him. He turned back to Priam, awaiting the finish.
Priam's chest heaved with labored breaths. He glared at Ike with bloodlust; the fire in his spirit had reached a new level.
The smile finally returned to his face. He spun his sword and lodged the blade into the stone floor.
He approached Ike, bare-handed.
Ike blinked. Well, apparently THIS is happening now. He put up his fists.
Priam broke into a run and tackled Ike. Ike felt the air leave his diaphragm, and worse, felt his feet leave the ground.
Priam threw Ike off of his shoulder; Ike landed hard on the stone ground, not far from his Ragnell.
Though winded, Ike was soon back on his feet. Priam slowly drew closer, his hands raised warily.
Ike felt out of his depth. Hand-to-hand was no specialty of his, but even though Ragnell was nearby, it felt wrong to use it. This opponent of his could have killed him at any time, but he treated this duel with honor instead; it was only fair that Ike reciprocated.
The more Ike thought about it, the more he realized that his opponent was no enemy. This fight… it was merely a game, a contest of strength.
Ike grinned. Now that he could deal with.
Fists began to fly. Ike and Priam fought closely, though Priam was clearly the more knowledgeable martial artist. While Ike would try to take most hits in his armor plates, to minimize damage, Priam would simply brush aside Ike's punches, moving like water. His hands weren't even clenched into fists.
Wait, isn't that what you're supposed to do? Ike thought. He glanced down at his hands. Aren't I supposed to make fists? I think so. What's HE doing, then?
It took Ike longer than he'd like to admit to realize something.
"You're toying with me," he growled.
"So you see!" Priam bellowed, grinning widely. He sidestepped a punch, and caught the other fist in his hand. With his other hand, Priam applied pressure to said fist's elbow, and he swept Ike's leg. He twisted Ike as he fell, and soon had the Radiant Hero pressed face-first into the ground, with his arm pinned behind his back. "And now you admit defeat."
Ike's eyes were wide in disbelief. "What kind of… man are you?" he muttered; his words were slurred due to his cheek pressing against the cold tile.
Priam's face fell. "…One who never had your ideals. One who never knew anything but strength and contest. One who, now, does nothing but search for enlightenment, and will continue as such for the remainder of his days… and in the meantime, will stop at nothing to save an old friend. And that man, the master of wits, needs me—needs us. You… Ike, the Radiant Hero… my first ally… you are an obstacle that I must overcome if I am to save him." He applied further pressure to Ike's trapped arm, causing him to wince. "I am not the stronger of us in spirit, Sir Ike… merely the stronger in muscle. And I require your surrender."
There's no ceiling to strength, Ike thought. This is the man who spends all his days acquiring more—pushing himself, constantly, endlessly. I never stood a chance. Nobody would.
"You have it."
Priam smiled. "Excellent!"
Priam released Ike. As Ike rolled over onto his back, panting, he noticed Priam moving for Ike's Ragnell, which still stood protruding from the ground nearby.
Priam wrapped his hands around the hallowed weapon, and with a roar of strength, he released the weapon from its green pedestal.
Priam immediately turned and honed in on true Ragnell's first victim:
Raigh.
The blue shockwave erupted against the shaman. The force behind the wave flung Raigh high into the air, and he collided with the wall high up, before slowly returning to the earth.
Brady shot Priam a thumbs-up, and he and his mother encroached on the lonesome mage.
Lute looked around. "Hmm… things are looking grim."
"Yes indeed," said Maribelle.
Lute could only sigh as their magic honed in.
Lucina beamed confidently. The others had come through: while she occupied Algol, they were able to dispatch their opponents.
It wasn't long before all four Shepherds had Algol backed against a wall. Or rather, not; the Dragon's Gate loomed behind Algol, with nothing but blackness beyond its arches.
Algol hissed with fury. Each wide swing of the axe kept all of his opponents at bay; the fight seemed practically even in spite of the numerical dissonance. Brady and Maribelle in particular were already wounded, so it wasn't long before they both fell back.
Lucina and Priam both maintained pressure on Algol. Algol's swings, though powerful, were purely as acts of defense, to keep the two swords at bay.
Priam smirked. Algol could never touch him.
Priam weaved around Algol's attack and rejoindered with an elbow to the jaw. Algol staggered back; he nearly stood on the precipice of the bottomless chasm beyond the silent Dragon's Gate. Lucina followed through with a significant wound to Algol's leg.
Algol yelled loudly as he fell to a knee. He supported himself on Garm, trying in vain to halt the rushing of blood from his thigh. "Y-You… you… bastards!" he screamed.
Lucina panted. "You have done this… to yourself, Algol," she breathed. "You asked for all of this. We could not allow you… to enact your plan."
"Surrender," Priam demanded. He aimed the true Ragnell at the Grimleal. "Else, you will taste steel."
Algol stared at the ground, shaking his head furiously. "You—You—I haven't come this far to lose! Not after all this time!"
Algol shakily struggled back to his feet. He stood lopsided, favoring his unhurt leg.
"If you raise that weapon at us," Lucina warned, "then your life is forfeit."
Algol clenched his teeth. His eyes shifted from Shepherd to Shepherd with unwavering hate.
He let loose a primal, frustrated scream, and lifted Garm.
Lucina and Priam struck quickly and efficiently. Lucina ducked the axe and buried Falchion into the Grimleal's shoulder; Priam dragged true Ragnell across Algol's midsection and finished with a decisive slash onto his forearm.
Still clutching the black axe Garm, Algol's hand flew alone into the void beyond the Dragon's Gate.
Algol stared numbly at what remained of his right arm; slowly, his eyes drifted toward the sword still imbedded in his shoulder.
Lucina planted her boot into Algol's chest and kicked him off of the blade of Falchion. Algol fell back, past the Dragon's Gate's green arches, past the edge, past the event horizon of saving himself. He fell.
Without so much as a cry of shock, Algol disappeared into the shadowy abyss.
The four Shepherds stood before the silent Dragon's Gate, victorious.
"We… just won, right?" Brady muttered, scratching his head. "I-I'm not hallucinatin' or nothin'?"
"No, you aren't," Lucina said grimly, staring into the darkness below. Algol was gone; out of the Shepherds' story as quickly as he had entered. Nothing remained. "We have won."
"Later… I shall give a hearty 'woohoo' in celebration," Maribelle panted. She leaned forward in her saddle, resting. "But… right now… let us return home."
"I could not agree more," Priam sighed. "However… first things first."
The other three Shepherds watched Priam turn back.
Ike slowly stood to greet Priam. "It seems we were misled," he said quietly. "I must thank you for defeating us. For showing us how wrong we were."
Priam did not respond. Instead, he drew Ragnell; holding it in reverse, he offered the blade to its original owner.
"No," Ike said, refusing Priam's gesture with a hand. "You said that you wanted to earn my judgment? Well, you have. Keep Ragnell; it's yours."
"No, it is not." Priam nodded at his own sword—the Ragnell's mirror, still planted in the floor where Priam had left it. "That blade is my inheritance. It is all I have ever known, and all I will ever need." He closed his eyes peacefully. Neither do I need Aether to be your worthy descendant. I am the man I have made of myself.
Ike watched Priam's sword as well; there was no questioning that it was also Ragnell. The sword had already chosen Priam. "…Then I accept your gift." Ike smiled as he grasped the offering. "Thank you."
Four Einherjar, four Shepherds; all slowly trudged back from whence they had come. Ike opened the locked door at the base of the stairs, revealing the massive entrance chamber. At the opposite end was the Outrealm Gate.
The hall was completely empty. No Einherjar, no Shepherds, but many signs of battle. Scratches on the floor… uprooted tiles… blood.
The Shepherds grimaced and continued their silent march.
Past the Outrealm Gate, and back to Old Hubba's Outrealm. A sign of life: the cavaliers met them as they alighted on familiar ground, and filled them in.
"Chrom was hurt?!" Maribelle exclaimed, sitting up in her saddle. "I-Is he okay?"
Stahl calmed her with a hand. "He'll be okay. Lady Emmeryn tended to his wounds, and he's in the infirmary right now."
"We have one of those?" Lucina murmured.
Stahl and Sully took Maribelle's horse to the stables, and she walked with the others as they continued back to the mansion.
"Fear not," said Priam as they marched. "A true warrior like Chrom would never be felled by such opponents. From this, he will only come back stronger."
"Yes, yes," said Maribelle, who had heard the same thing (more or less) from Chrom countless times before.
Chrom leaned his head against the headboard, closing his eyes. "…So, you did it."
"He's done for," Brady said. "It's over."
"Almost," Chrom corrected. He opened his eyes and sat forward, taking care not to mess with his stitches. "There are still more Einherjar to be recovered, but with Algol out of the picture, it's all downhill from here."
"And then we can find Robin," Lucina said. A lump of excitement formed in her throat; she breathed deeply to curb her exhilaration. "We are so close."
"That we are," Chrom said, his eyes twinkling. "Now… you guys go get those wounds tended to, and wash up. You've earned all kinds of rest."
Priam inclined his head. "As you wish. Farewell, sire." With a swish of his cape, he turned and exited.
Lucina stepped closer and touched Chrom's hand. A little smile danced on her expression. "Get well, Father."
Over her shoulder, Brady concurred, "Rest up, Pa."
Lucina and Brady left the infirmary.
Maribelle limped closer and sat on Chrom's bed. Her eyes were concerned.
"Hey," Chrom said sternly, "you need some rest, Maribelle. Come on… worry about yourself a little bit, okay?"
Maribelle pursed her lips. "…Very well."
She still lingered for a moment longer, staring at Chrom painfully. On an impulse, she leaned closer and pressed her chapped lips against Chrom's forehead. Chrom closed his eyes peacefully.
The two remained in this position for a long moment.
Finally, Maribelle pulled away from his forehead, and kissed his cheek instead before standing. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
Maribelle reluctantly left.
"Chrom. …Chrom?"
Chrom blinked his eyes open. "Mmyep?"
Emmeryn giggled quietly. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to wake you. I was going to ask if… you wanted to join us for dinner. Never mind, then…"
"Hm? N-No, I'm awake, I'm awake." Chrom pushed the covers off. "…Are you saying I can get up now?"
"And walk to your heart's content," Emmeryn hummed. "But, please let me know if you feel the wounds too sharply."
"I'll be sure to," Chrom lied.
Chrom swung his feet out of bed, grinning, and he slowly eased himself into a standing position. "Ahh… It's been too long."
"It's been four hours? …And you were asleep most of it?"
"Daylight hours!" Chrom said defensively.
Emmeryn rolled her eyes. "Anyway… Dinner?"
"Definitely."
Emmeryn smiled, and Chrom accompanied her to the mess hall.
Chrom sat at the head of the table. It had taken him a full minute of adjustments for him to find a comfortable position that didn't set his hip aflame. Now, having found it, he sat comfortably, enjoying the general hubbub in the room.
All his Shepherds, gathered around the table. Laughing, storytelling… eating, of course.
Chrom smiled.
"Mind if I take this one?"
Chrom noticed Morgan holding the chair next to him. He gestured 'go ahead.'
Morgan beamed and sat. "So! That battle went pretty well, all things considered. No casualties on our side, and we got almost thirty more Einherjar. Plus Algol! Today was a pretty good day!"
"Agreed," Chrom said, raising a flask. Morgan clinked hers with his, and they both took a drink.
Morgan coughed, looking into her mug. "I-Is this alcohol?"
Chrom shrugged. "Probably. I guess you're not a fan?"
Morgan swirled the liquid. "I dunno… Never had it before."
"Really? Huh." Chrom took another sip. "…Guess I just assumed."
"Assumed? How come?"
Chrom glanced aside at her, and forced a smile. "It's nothing."
"No it's not. It's never 'nothing' when people say it is."
Chrom sighed. "I… used to share wine with Robin after big wins. And this, all this…" Chrom waved vaguely in the air, indicating the general attitude of the hall, "this really brings me back to then."
Morgan frowned. "Wow… You guys really did have the hots for each other, didn't you?"
Chrom flushed red. "What?! Not you, too!"
Morgan laughed. "Lighten up, Captain! You know, I took a look at the manifest. There are only twenty-nine Einherjar unaccounted for. Twenty-nine! We are soooo close to FINALLY getting to do what we came here to do: find your lover."
"Knock it off, Morgan."
"Whoops, sorry. I'm sure keeping that a secret makes it all a lot more exciting for you two."
"Gods, Morgan, stop!" Chrom said earnestly. He looked away, crossing his arms. "I've heard enough of this crap from Maribelle since the night we found Emm." He shot her a sideways glance. "And that's your father you're joking about!"
"Geez, I'm just teasing."
"I don't find it funny. It feels like you are bastardizing the friendship we had. Or should I start joking about you and Nah?"
"Fire away, my friend. I'd be happy to see you make fun."
Morgan smiled so simply that Chrom couldn't help but crack a grin himself. "Morgan…" He sighed. "…You're a nice person."
Morgan waved it away. "Oh, c'mon, Cap! Now you're getting all serious in the other direction."
"I'd argue that you should just take the compliment."
"Oh, fine." Morgan bowed theatrically. "I accept your compliment. Thank you, Mr. Exalt Man."
Chrom sighed. "Good enough. Anyway, don't you have an after-action report ready yet?"
"Nah. I started a draft, but then I fell asleep." She jabbed a thumb at the door. "It's in my room if you wanna see what I have."
"Yeah, sure."
Chrom slowly pushed away from the table, wincing at the pain shooting through his hip. He and Morgan excused themselves from the table.
Chrom stepped inside Morgan's room. It was much, much messier than he'd anticipated. Glancing at the beds, he could tell which one was Cynthia's: the one that didn't look as if it had been assaulted by a grizzly bear.
"How do you sleep so restlessly?" Chrom muttered. Suddenly, he felt something land on his head; he caught it before it slipped off. "Paper…?" He looked up. "What the—?! How did you get papers on the ceiling?"
Morgan hesitated in her search through the stacks of notes atop her desk. "…Which question do you want me to answer."
"Neither, please."
As Morgan continued to look for the after-action report, Chrom quietly waited by the door. He clasped his hands, rocking back and forth on his feet patiently.
"While you're here, we could go ahead and review the report together, once I find it," Morgan said.
"Sure."
"And we could probably talk tactics involving those last Einherjar, in case we can't talk them down either. After all, we know exactly who they'll be and what kind of fighters they are."
"Mm-hm."
Morgan paused to tap her chin. "Yeah, that'll take a while… Few hours at least, all night at most."
"Mm."
Morgan glanced over at him. "…You seem a little uncomfortable, Captain. What's up?"
Chrom frowned. "It's nothing, really. I'm just not used to being in your room."
"You always worked with Dad until the wee hours of the morning," Morgan said. "I'm your new tactician! Gotta keep up the tradition."
Chrom shifted. "Y-Yeah, but… it's not the same."
"Is it because I'm a girl?"
"What? No!"
Morgan's jaw dropped. "It IS because I'm a girl! You're uncomfortable spending the night here!"
Chrom scratched his chin. "I guess… now that you mention it, it would look bad if I did that."
"That is SO messed up!" Morgan exclaimed. "I'm your best friend's daughter! That sort of thing shouldn't even be CONSIDERED."
Lucina sneezed.
Chrom raised his hands defensively. "Look. You're right. You are the Shepherds' tactician, and I should be willing to discuss tactics with you as much as you need. Sorry."
Morgan shrugged, grinning. "Oh, I was just teasing. Of course you'd be antsy; I'm a really pretty girl, inviting you to stay the night! Naturally you'd be flustered. Honestly, if you were Inigo, you'd probably already be doing something stupid out of misunderstanding. My money's on 'getting naked'."
"Morgan! Do you think being inappropriate is funny? Because… it is. But it's still inappropriate!"
Morgan laughed. "Captain, if you didn't react like that every time, I don't know if I'd have the heart to keep teasing you. You're the best." She waved a piece of paper. "Anyway, after-action report?"
"Right."
The door opened just then. Cynthia entered, rubbing her eye groggily. "Oh, hey. What's up, Chrom."
Cynthia sleepily trudged across the room and flopped down, face-first, onto her bed.
Morgan leaned against her desk, smirking. "Hmhm, speaking of Inigo! Tired of getting so much attention, Cynth?"
"At least I get attention," Cynthia snarked back, muffled by the bed.
"But man, it's Inigo. You're one of his floozies, now! How does it feel to be a floozy?"
"Hey now." Cynthia pried her face off of the comforter. "I'm not the one bringing a guy into my room for some alone time."
"Hey!" Chrom said indignantly.
"Nah, she's right," Morgan said. "Hey, Cynthia. I'm practically Dad Part Two, wouldn't you say?"
"Yeah, what with all the lovin' you're feeling for the Captain."
"Hey!"
"Haha! Yeah, call me crazy, but I think he's into me," Morgan egged. "He got so shy when I brought him here! You think he has, like, expectations?"
"That's eno—"
"Nah, probably not," Cynthia rejoindered. "He probably isn't sure if you're a girl or not."
Both Morgan and Cynthia grinned widely at the color in Chrom's cheeks. "Gods, Captain, I've never seen you so embarrassed!" Morgan chirped.
Chrom sighed irately. "…Geez. You two are so alike. You could go back and forth like this all day, couldn't you?"
"You've got no idea," said Cynthia dryly.
Chrom crossed his arms, shaking his head. (And hoping the blush would dissipate soon.) "So…" He gestured at Cynthia. "…You and Inigo?"
Cynthia pouted. "No. Well, not really. Well, not at all. Haven't really had time to talk. I mean, we fought together today, but, eh, who knows."
Earlier
"Ha ha! Another fight under the belt of the Shepherds." Cynthia turned to Inigo and prompted a high-five.
Inigo accepted—he swiftly high-fived her. Then, to her surprise, he took that same hand in his own, spun her once as if in a dance, and dipped her low.
Cynthia blinked. She was basically in Inigo's arms, and her hands were grasping Inigo's shirt in surprise.
Inigo smiled down at her, and his face began moving closer.
Realizing what was happening, Cynthia quickly forced a smile, punched him on the arm playfully, and said, "Good job today, buddy!"
She hastily pried herself out of his grip and marched over to her pegasus.
Inigo sighed.
Now
Cynthia frowned. "Doesn't really matter, though. It's Inigo. Like THAT would ever work out." She waved it away, and rolled over on the bed. "Anyway… don't mind me, you guys do your tactical stuff."
"Right." Chrom faced Morgan. "What do you have?"
Morgan assessed the sheet of paper. "Okay. So, as far as the Einherjar we gained—"
Knock, knock. The room's occupants faced the door, surprised.
"Uh… who is it?" Morgan asked.
"An old friend."
The voice sounded familiar, but Chrom couldn't immediately place it. He exchanged glances with Morgan and Cynthia, but they seemed as perplexed as him.
"Well, come on in, I guess," Morgan said.
The door opened. A familiar blue boot stepped in, followed by another. For a very brief moment, Chrom thought he was standing face-to-face with a short-haired Lucina.
But no. He was not.
"Marth," Cynthia breathed.
"It's you!" Chrom exclaimed. "I can't believe…" He trailed off.
Marth closed the door behind him and moved to the center of the room. "Lord Chrom, we must speak," he said, in a grave tone.
Chrom eyed the Falchion on the Hero-King's hip. "Marth… you remember me?"
Marth turned on his heel to face Chrom. His eyes were deadly serious. "I do."
"Wha—Why—? When—? How?!" Morgan exclaimed. "You owe us an explanation, you know!"
"Marth…" Chrom clenched a fist. "You lied to us."
"I did," Marth said somberly. "I'm sorry… but it was unavoidable, I assure you. And it was all in your best interest. Now, I have precious little time to spare, but in that time, I will tell you everything. Everything. I promise you that."
"The truth?" Chrom asked.
"The truth. I swear it on my life, past and present." Marth grew somber. "But… Milord… this story is not a happy one. You will not like what you hear."
"But I have to know."
"But you have to know," Marth concurred. "What I am about to tell you is incredibly important."
Morgan's blood ran cold. "…Bad news, then?"
"Very, very bad news," said Marth.
Morgan swallowed her fear. "I guess… there's no sense in refusing, right? …G-Go ahead."
Marth looked to Chrom and Cynthia, and they both echoed Morgan's sentiment.
Marth took a deep breath. "…Okay. It all began long, long ago…"
Next time:
Chapter 10 – Marth's Betrayal
Author's note:
…I wonder if anyone actually ships Chrom/Morgan. Or if anything good has been written about that. After all, it's practically Robin/Lucina reversed, and that's pretty much the most dominant pairing on the archives. I could probably find out pretty easily, buuut I'm not sure if I want to know the answer.
Man, this was a fun chapter! It was nice to get a little purple for a change. It was a little exhausting, though.
Except for my handful of first-person stories, the narrator I usually write is some formless entity without a personality. However, to emphasize a character's thoughts or to get the reader (and me) in the pseudo-POV character's head, I sometimes have the narrator morph around their personality somewhat. For example, the purpleness of the descriptions whenever Priam's involved; the narrator's confusion regarding the Annas in Chapter 7; the dialogue-like paragraph describing Emily's first time drunk back in Miracle.
Fire Emblem Awakening, as a whole, does not have particularly dense text, so I usually go for more of a casual tone. Evidenced by the informal dialogue of most characters, especially Morgan or those with accents (Old Hubba, Brady, Algol, etc.).