"Ha ha, oh, Marth… How can a man who faced the Shadow Dragon be so desperate to avoid facing his own feelings?"

Marth started. "I—my—what? I don't know what you are talking about."

Nyna smiled knowingly. "You wish to send Caeda home to Talys, then, and return to Altea alone? That is what you want?"

"Well, that's where we both belong."

Marth's expression grew stern. Such a childish game of feelings and drama was behind a man with the responsibilities he had now inherited.

"I don't see what my wants have to do with anything."

Chapter 10: Marth's Betrayal

Over a century ago

Marth slowly blinked himself out of thought, and faced the one he had been speaking to. "Mm. Ah, yes. You asked for me, correct?"

"Yes. Yes we did." The elderly lady smiled warmly up at Marth from the bench on which she sat. She turned to the man seated next to her and patted his knee: "Oh, say something, dear!"

The bald old man shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, what am I s'posed ta say? "How's it goin', Einherjar? Wanna toss around the ol' pigskin?""

"Come now, be nice." The lady turned to Marth. "Sorry, dear. He has a bit of an attitude sometimes. What's your name, young man?"

"I am Marth," he said, smiling in kind. "Prince of Altea."

"Oh, would you look at that!" the lady said, tapping the man on his chest. "It is him!"

"'Course it is," the man said sourly. "They've been in my family for generations. Didja think I've been protectin' trading cards all this time?"

Marth frowned, confused. "Yes… I am Marth. …What were we speaking about again? I believe I zoned out for a moment."

"Oh, sweetie…" said the lady. "We weren't speaking. You just woke up."

Marth blinked. "What?" He didn't feel tired; in fact, he felt as if he had been up for hours.

"Goodness, excuse me! Where oh where did I place those manners?" the lady chuckled. "Oh, here they are. Let me just put those on…"

Marth watched, amused, as the elderly woman pretended to place an invisible hat atop her head.

"There we are. Now! My name is Beatrice, but you can call me Bea." She patted the old man on the back. "And this here is my husband, Old Hubba. Say hello, Hubba!"

Old Hubba waved, wearing a small, forced smile. "Heya."

"Now." Bea's expression turned serious; she adjusted her horn-rimmed glasses. "I—we—have something we have to tell you. It starts like this… Marth, do you remember where we called you from?"

Marth chuckled. "Well, that's a silly question." He began to think. "Of course I just came from…"

A wall. He hit it hard.

As moments of thinking passed by, Marth slowly began to grasp that he had no idea where he had been even five minutes ago.

"…I… I don't know," he was finally able to admit.

Beatrice and Old Hubba smiled wanly.

Marth swallowed his disappointment; repelled his shock; ignored his sorrow, until all that remained was a lonely, doleful word.

Einherjar.

"Ya see, the Einherjar are my family heirlooms," Old Hubba continued. "There's tons of ya; even I don't know how many there are. For generations—and these generations are long, lemme tell ya—the Einherjar have been in the safekeepin' of my ancestors, an' finally me." He nudged Beatrice. "When, all of a sudden, my darlin' wife here has herself a little idea…"

"I'm not going to bore you with the details," Bea said, still smiling, "but, long story short, me and my husband… well… we can't have children."

"And where others would say 'woohoo, no protection ever,' Bea had a different thought," Old Hubba muttered.

Beatrice ignored her husband. "The Einherjar!" she exclaimed giddily, clapping her hands together. "So many of you… we could have such a large family! Such a loving group… Perfect! A perfect use for the cards, instead of letting them just waste away!"

Marth processed this information. "A family…" he murmured.

"What do you think, Marth?" Bea asked. "You're an Einherjar yourself. You tell me: would you be a part of this family? Do you think the others will be, too?"

"So I am the first?" Marth asked.

"Yes! It seemed only fitting. After all, you're Marth! THE Marth!"

Marth tilted his head. "The Marth…"

He was tempted to ask, "How long has it been? How long since the war against Dolhr?"

But he found he did not want to know the answer.

"Right now… it seems lonely," Marth began cautiously. "Me, alone… But with others to share this with…?"

He looked around. The sun was bright in the sky; verdant planes stretched as far as the eye could see in most directions. Humble woods sprawled to the south, and on the western horizon, snow-capped mountains towered; a river ran from them, which narrowed into a creek as it neared the southern woods.

Marth turned around, facing the single piece of architecture to be seen: a solitary mansion in the middle of the plains. Several stories high, and twice as wide.

"It's an awfully big house for just two people," Beatrice said quietly.

Marth turned to face her, smiling. "…With others, we could be a real family."

Bea brightened. Though he didn't want Marth to see it, Old Hubba felt some excitement as well.

"Then today is a very momentous day!" Beatrice cheered. "Today is the day our family begins!"

It was an itch in the back of Marth's mind. One he could never scratch.

Einherjar.

But for that day, and the next, and potentially every day after, he had plenty of things to take his mind off of that itch.

The family.

"Yes, welcome, welcome!" Bea said excitedly. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Sigurd."

"So yer name is Celica, right?" Old Hubba said gruffly. "Welcome, I guess. Ya know yer an Einherjar?"

"Good morning, Florina," Marth said. "Could you tell me where you came from?"

Florina's young face twisted into a confused look. "Um—Um—"

Marth smiled. "That's quite alright. I actually have something to tell you about yourself—something we both share, in fact. Now, this may come as a surprise, possibly even a little disturbing, but I swear I am your friend, and I am here for you. I will understand your feelings. Florina… are you ready to hear the truth?"

Florina nodded determinedly. "…Y-Yes! Yes, I am."

A new life unfolded. One hundred Einherjar: the children of Old Hubba and Beatrice. All lived together, under the same massive roof of the solitary Outrealm mansion.

One hundred. A hundred heroes of ancient times, now united as one family.

The early days were awkward as the Einherjar grew accustomed to their new lifestyle—one not of armor and war, but of loose clothes and gardening. Those who could hunt took to the job with gusto, those who could cook did so, and those who could build added more rooms to the mansion; even it lacked enough space for a hundred new guests.

But the family, indeed, settled into its new life. Marth grew close with many people he could never have possibly even met before, separated by incomprehensible time and distance.

As the weeks went by, and soon the months, Marth could occasionally close his eyes and not remember Archanea. With this new family, he didn't even remember the war.

"Could you fetch me the azalea seeds, dear?" Beatrice asked, removing her hands from the dirt in order to point.

"Yes, ma'am." Marth began to sift through the piles of seed bags. "Hmm… Here we are."

Bea smiled brightly as she accepted the bag. "Thank you, sweetie." Then she paused, looking over Marth's shoulder. Marth followed her gaze.

Ephraim and Eirika were approaching. Eirika's face was bright with a smile, and she gestured eagerly behind her, almost breathless with excitement. "L-Lady Beatrice! We found… we found…"

"We found a door," Ephraim said, only somewhat more calmly. "Well—not a normal door. A… a portal, a, uh…"

"Oh!" Beatrice's smile returned. "So you found it, didja? I suppose it's time. You fellas have been here long enough; I should explain the Outrealm Gate." She brushed off her hands and slowly stood. "Marth dear, would you gather everyone outside the front door? My husband included of course."

"Yes, ma'am." Marth nodded at his fellow Einherjar and left.

"The Outrealm Gate was the door to our pasts. Not our true pasts, mind you; like us Einherjar, these Outrealms were merely facsimiles, flawless recreations, but without the true substance behind them. In this case, that meant that these lands were empty of all inhabitants. I recall wandering through an empty Aurelis, a vacant Daein, a hollow Thracia…"

Marth trailed off, smiling at the memories.

"Truly, the lands were breathtaking spectacles. You, my friends, may not have had the opportunity to explore these Outrealms you've entered, but let me tell you that they are truly magnificent. I remember… field trips, of sorts, where we would journey to the many worlds for the sole purpose of sightseeing." He sighed. "Those were… simpler days."

A peaceful year had passed.

"Florina," Marth called.

The violet-haired girl turned away from her pegasus, smiling at him. "Y-Yes, Prince Marth?"

Marth entered the stables, looking around at the plethora of mounts. "How is Huey doing? Is his leg better?"

Florina stroked her pegasus's snout. "He's doing m-much better, thank you. I was just about to take him for a little workout, fly him around a bit…"

Marth smiled. "By all means! Do you mind if I watch?"

Florina shrank. "Um… o-okay, I guess, but I get real nervous when I'm watched."

"Nonsense. You used to fly in combat, didn't you?"

Florina clutched Huey's harness. "That was a long time ago…"

Marth sighed. "Okay, then. Come see me whenever you're finished, okay? I found a wonderful little clearing in the southern woods. I thought you might like to see the wildlife there."

Florina brightened. "Y-Yes, of course! Thank you, Prince Marth!"

"Haha!" Marth waved it away. "Please, Florina, we are close friends. You may call me Marth."

Florina nodded. "R-Right—Marth! You know… I can't really think of anyone I'm as close with as you here. I mean, you've been with me since I came out of my card! …Y-You're my best friend, Marth."

Marth tilted his head. "More so than Lady Lyndis?"

Florina looked away. "…O-Okay, second best friend."

She and Marth both laughed.

"All right then." Marth waved. "See you later, Florina."

"Bye."

Marth departed the stables.

He walked around for a bit. Checked by the gardens, but Bea had more than enough helpers there. Checked by the kitchens, before he remembered he had no cooking talent.

Marth stood outside the front door and slowly began to grasp that he had no task. He didn't want to wander too far from the mansion, or Florina wouldn't be able to find him, and there was otherwise nothing else he wanted or was needed to do.

Marth sat on the mansion's front steps, rested his elbows on his knees, and cradled his chin in his hands thoughtfully. He stared at the woods to the south.

Some time alone, he mused. That's quite unusual. Several of the Elibeans are visiting their homeland, a few others are taking an afternoon nap, and everyone else has some kind of task. Everyone but me.

"…aven…"

Marth's eyes narrowed at the memory.

"Pardon, sire?"

"I am a craven."

Marth winced. He had said those words in regards to his flight from Altea, and the cowardly pit of self-hatred that had festered in his heart as a result. Poor Frey.

Marth had no idea how long it had been, but there was no doubt in his mind that his crusade against Dolhr had ended long, long ago; centuries perhaps, but possibly millennia as far as he knew.

He knew he was an Einherjar, and that he, himself, had never actually spoken those words. However, like in any other moment he had alone with his thoughts, the same self-hatred appeared.

Why am I here, alive again, and doing NOTHING? There are kingdoms to save… causes to fight for. Yet instead, I sit on stair steps and wait to look at a nice little clearing.

Marth shook his head. …This is the sort of peace we strive for. Days where I can sit on stair steps are the days Frey sacrificed himself to let me have.

It's not that I wish to fight. It's that… there should be more for me than this. I want to be the Marth I'm supposed to be… But I don't see what my wants have to do with anything.

Marth's eye was caught; someone approached, running. "Florina?" No… Est?

Marth stood and procured a smile for her. "What's the matter, Est?"

As Est drew closer, Marth suddenly noticed the tears running down her face, and her quivering lip, and the anxiety in her movement. Marth's face fell.

"P-Prince Marth," Est choked. "It's… It's…" She shook her head. "It's terrible…"

Est explained what had happened.

Marth's hands fell limp. His eyes were wide with numb surprise.

"The azure fires were still clearing from the air when I arrived. All that was left behind was a massive crowd of somber onlookers, and a lonely card.

"It was Huey. His leg hadn't been in perfect shape; he had bucked in pain and thrown Florina off, forty meters in the air. Her neck had broken, and she slowly, silently faded away for a quarter of an hour, before finally succumbing and returning to her card.

"None of us had experienced such a death. The final blow, however, came when I resurrected her. I had hoped that… perhaps she retained her memories, perhaps she remembered all of our time together…

"But, of course, she hadn't. She was an Einherjar.

"The mansion was quiet that day."

Marth wandered aimlessly. The Florina he knew was dead. This new one looked just like her and talked just like her, but was a year younger than the Florina who had fallen from her horse today.

Marth could taste bile in his throat. It wasn't fair. This was peace. This was… nothing. And yet he must still experience loss. It wasn't fair.

He stepped into the Outrealm Gate, not caring where it took him.

The island was small and uninhabited. Mostly woods.

Marth sat on the beach, hugging his knees. He stared out into the ocean; to the north was a black line across the horizon, signifying some unfamiliar landmass. Perhaps I should try swimming, he thought bleakly.

"Marth?! What are you doing here?"

Marth looked over his shoulder. Beatrice, of all people, was rushing over, seemingly panicked.

Marth slowly tried to stand. He hadn't the drive to do even that, he thought, but he heard a nagging voice in the back of his mind saying that he must always, always keep his bearing; thus, his politeness overrode his grief, and he faced Beatrice.

"Oh, dear—you can't be here," Bea said quickly. She took Marth's hand and began leading him back toward the Outrealm Gate. "Come along now…"

Beatrice knew Marth did not want to return to the manse just yet. He needed more time in peace.

So, Marth soon found himself sitting along the creek running through the southern woods. Beatrice took a seat next to him.

The two were quiet for a long time. The creek rustled along, providing pleasant ambience.

Marth slowly broke the silence; first by clearing his throat of emotion, then with words. "Where… Where was I, Beatrice? …What Outrealm am I forbidden from?"

Bea's eyes were filled with pity. "That… was not an Outrealm." She glanced over at Marth. "That was the real world, honey."

Marth looked at her, alarmed. "That—That was the Inrealm?! There were people there—that was a thriving world, the one I left?"

Bea smiled, rubbing Marth's arm consolingly. "Yes. It's the one you left long ago, darling. That place you were in used to be Archanea."

"Used to be…?"

Marth bit his tongue. This was the question he'd never wanted to ask, and he still didn't want to.

…Or so he would like himself to believe. The curiosity ate at him.

"What… is it called, now?"

"Ylisse," Bea said pleasantly. "Run by a beautiful young Exalt… She has a bright future ahead, I'm certain."

Marth looked down, smiling. "I see… Ylisse. That is my homeland's future…"

"You mustn't go back there," Bea warned. "If the legendary Marth were to return… it would cause heartache and drama the world over. Nobody needs that, right?"

Marth's smile slowly decayed. He stared into the flowing creek pensively.

"Right."

Bea patted Marth on the back. "Oh, honey…"

She pulled Marth into a hug, burying his face in her shoulder. She quietly shushed him, stroking his back with motherly affection.

Marth still fought the tears. Even now, he couldn't let his weakness be known. He squeezed his eyes shut as a last line of defense.

Footsteps came from behind, and Beatrice finally released Marth. Both turned to see Old Hubba approaching, cane in hand.

"Talkin' to him like he's yer child," Old Hubba scoffed. "You know he actually ain't blood, right?"

Bea rolled her eyes, smiling. "Oh, come now, Hubs. Lighten up a little!"

"Hmph."

"Old Hubba was always like that, really. He was never entirely on board with the whole 'Einherjar family' idea, and Florina's death only seemed to convince him more that we were not human.

"It was a lot of little things. Tiny little slights he would sneak into his sentences to remind us of what we were.

"His favorite word was 'automaton.'

"I grew to hate that word. It is a reminder of everything I am, and everything I am not.

"But, I could never hate Old Hubba. He always treated me as an exception. As if I were Old Hubba's true son. As if I were Old Hubba's favorite."

Marth and Old Hubba sat on each end of a small canoe, holding small fishing rods. The lake was still and tranquil, and the birds in the surrounding woods chirped in the distance.

"…Listen," Old Hubba began slowly. "I didn't mean to insult ya earlier. When I call you guys automatons… Er, automata. Automati…? Whatever. When I call ya that, I ain't tryin' to hurt yer feelings. …You know that, right?"

Marth forced a smile. "I'm… certain you don't have malicious intentions. Honestly, Old Hubba, you don't seem the type to bear ill will."

Old Hubba laughed. "Haha! I dunno about that. Thanks, though."

"Anytime, sir."

"Say, Marth…" Old Hubba leaned in closely, conspiratorially. "Mind if I ask ya a question?"

"Not sure why you would ask about asking, when you've had no compunctions before. …Er, that is, I do not mind."

"Two questions, actually. Still good?"

"Haha… Of course."

Hubba pointed at the weapon on Marth's hip. "Ain't that uncomfortable?"

Marth touched the hilt of his rapier. "This? Oh, not really. Certainly something I got used to during the war."

"You know it's not wartime anymore? Ya don't need that here."

"I know," said Marth uncertainly. "But… I feel naked without it. Not in the sense that I must be armed, that I must always have something that can kill on my person… Rather, it gives me the security that I could protect you, should the worst happen." He pointed at the lake. "Were a monster to burst out of this water right now, I could defend you from it, thanks to this rapier."

Old Hubba laughed. "Ohoho, fine, fine! I can't argue with logic like that. You carry that weapon, mister; an' while yer at it, tell the other Einherjar to do the same! Hell, maybe I should start carryin' a tome around, myself."

Marth was fairly certain that the old man was joking, but the idea struck him as a fantastic one. I'll be sure to tell everyone, then.

"Now, on to my second question!" Hubba grinned from ear to ear. "Got yer eyes on any of the womenfolk around here?"

Marth blinked. "What? Like—the other Einherjar?"

"No, Bea," Old Hubba snarked. "'Course I mean the Einherjar. There's some cute lasses among ya! Mm… Personally, if I was you, I'd go for Shanna. She is cute. An' y'all match."

"Short blue hair, right," Marth muttered. "No, I haven't. And I have no intention of pursuing Shanna either."

"Way I see it," Old Hubba pointed out, "is that, all these gals here, and you not wanting to pursue a one of 'em, ever? …Seems kinda lonely to me."

He then went back to fishing.

"Romantic advice. Old Hubba used to love giving that to me. Any time we went fishing—which was fairly often; it was our preferred pastime together—he would talk. And who was I to argue? He and Beatrice loved each other so dearly. More than once I happened upon them… well… appreciating each other, very loudly." He smiled. "I could really only think, 'Wow, good for them.' Being so elderly, and…"

Marth realized he had caught strange looks from his audience. He flushed red. "Th-That was a rather personal detail. I apologize."

"Like me for Old Hubba, Beatrice also had a few favorites she kept around. In fact, these few Einherjar were the only ones under her command; the rest of us belonged to Old Hubba. Beatrice reasoned that her favorite Einherjar were the only ones she would ever need. And this whole 'ownership' thing was just a formality, anyway.

"Leif… Lena… Micaiah… Seliph…

"…And…"

Marth paced nervously, biting his thumbnail. Days of planning, of working up his nerve—he had to stay in motion just to keep his mind from putting this off for another day, as he had done the last three days.

"Ah!" he said, accidentally out loud, as the one he was waiting for finally turned the corner. He hurried over to her, putting on his best smile. "Caeda, hello!"

Caeda smiled. "Prince Marth! Hello. How has your day been?"

"Good, good." Marth began walking alongside her. "I went fishing today."

"Again?" laughed Caeda. "Isn't that the third time this week?"

"Y-You've been keeping count?"

"Haha!" Caeda stopped walking. "So, to what do I owe this conversation?"

Marth hit a blank. "I—er—I just wished to… speak! Yes, speak with you. Like old times."

"Old times," Caeda chuckled. "I suppose you must be referring to your time on Talys, after escaping Altea?"

Marth nodded. "I suppose… or our time during the war."

"Oh, Marth…" Caeda's face fell. "You know as well as I do that we rarely spoke during the war."

"Ah. Well, I… with you… just being next to you, I mean… The thing is, I never felt the need for us to speak."

Caeda blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"N-No, I meant—! I meant, when I was with you, I never felt I had to say a word." That's how that should have come out.

"I see." Caeda smiled. "Well then… shall we continue the practice?"

Marth hesitated. "…Are you telling me… that you don't wish to speak with me?"

"Hahaha! Oh, of course that's not what I'm saying, Marth." She'd dropped the honorific, Marth suddenly noticed. "All I mean is… we don't speak of it."

"Don't speak of… what?"

"You know exactly what," said Caeda coyly. "This. This—in the air, right here. Your words cannot make the leap, and to be honest, I do not trust mine either. What I understand, is that you understand; and now, I trust that you understand that I understand."

"I understand," Marth said. A smile dawned on his face. "I… understand."

Caeda tilted her head, smiling. "…Good. Now… we both understand what this is. We needn't speak of it any longer."

"But why not?" Marth insisted. "We—we both understand—so why not take the next step? Why not… voice it? Make the leap?"

"Because," Caeda explained, her smile dimming somewhat. "Marth… we have so much time. The future is forever… We will have so much time then. What we will not have again, is what we have now. Even though we both understand… I don't believe we are ready. Marth, I wish to savor every moment, every step of the way… forever." She smiled. "If you are patient… Marth… we will make the leap."

A lump caught in Marth's throat. "Caeda…"

We both understand; so why voice it? We are already together, forever…

"Four years. Four.

"Four years of a happy, quirky family. Old Hubba, Bea, me… and Caeda…

"As you may have guessed by now, this is not how it would always be."

"It's a beautiful night." Bea smiled as she peered through the window's blinds. "Mm… Such a bright moon. I imagine the stars look wonderful." She turned around. "Marth, dear… would you mind going for a walk with me outside?"

Marth looked up from his book and smiled back. "Of course. I would be happy to." He closed his book and stood.

"Let me get out of these pajamas and I'll meet you out there by the woods," Bea said cheerfully. "Go on, now."

"Certainly. I will wait for you there." He inclined his head respectfully, and he left the study.

Marth breathed in the cold night as he walked. The moon was bigger than Marth had ever seen it, and the stars were as bright as Beatrice had hypothesized. Wonderful night for a walk.

Roy often walks this path, Marth thought, smiling slightly. He and Lilina frequently explore the woods together.

As often occurred, Marth happily thought of Caeda. I should take her for more walks. Talys's Outrealm would be ideal, sometime…

Marth reached the edge of the woods, and halted. He casually paced along the path as he waited for Beatrice to show.

Perhaps tomorrow, Marth thought. Yes… Tomorrow would be perfect, as a matter of fact. The sunlight should be beautiful along Talys's waves.

A reflection of moonlight off of the grass caught Marth's idle eye. He approached the wet patch.

As he drew closer, he became more and more curious about the grass. It was wet, certainly… just a small spot. And, though the moon was bright, the night still made it hard to tell… but, was it discolored? This wet patch… was it…?

A warm light began to grow. Marth's waking thought was 'sunlight,' but his four-year-rusty combat instincts quickly dismissed that thought for the truth.

Marth rolled to the side, and the magical fireball flew overhead.

Marth was back on his feet, rapier drawn, in an instant. He searched for his attacker, who seemed to be striking from the woods.

A flash of magical runes, signaling another spell being cast, alerted Marth to his attacker's position; after dodging the second fireball, he charged at his enemy.

He heard footsteps from his shadowy opponent—whether approaching or retreating, he couldn't tell.

It soon became apparent that it was retreating. Marth was briefly tempted to let the attacker run, but then he realized: I can't allow someone this dangerous to escape!

Marth chased the mage deeper into the woods.

He kept his rapier at the ready as he moved, looking around constantly. The deeper he went, the thicker the woods became, and the more hiding spots became available to this assassin.

Blue and red suddenly flicked before Marth's vision, and the mage pressed a palm against Marth's chest before glowing with magical runes again.

Marth's eyes widened in surprise. The fire burst point-blank, throwing Marth off of his feet.

Marth landed on the soil, winded. He couldn't remember the last time he had been in a fight, and he certainly hadn't prepared for this one.

But he couldn't afford to waste so much time lying around. He clambered back to his feet, readying his sword.

His breath caught. "Lilina?!"

Lilina stood ahead, glaring at him. She stood in a fighting pose, holding a Fire tome under her arm.

"Lilina, what's going on?" Marth pressed. "You could've hurt me!"

Lilina didn't speak a word. She spun on her heel and stomped into the earth; a fireball coalesced over her head and quickly descended upon Marth.

Marth dodged the attack. "Lilina! Answer me!" he demanded.

Lilina didn't reply. She instead expunged another bout of Fire onto Marth, who dodged once again.

She can't hear me, Marth thought. Why won't she listen?

He gritted his teeth. Well, I'm not going to stand here and take it.

Marth charged at Lilina, weaving through the patchwork of Fire she greeted him with. Though she tried backing away, he was soon on top of her. He shoved his elbow into her ribs and tried dislodging the Fire tome from her grip.

Lilina twirled away from his attempt to disarm her, and struck Marth with another direct burst of Fire.

Marth fell to a knee, groaning in pain. He could taste blood. "Lilina!" he shouted hoarsely. "Don't make me fight you!"

Lilina answered with another fireball. Marth sluggishly dodged out of the way, still shaking off the previous hit.

"Fine!" Marth called. "You leave me no choice!"

He raised his rapier and dashed at her.

Marth swung twice. Lilina deflected each with small bursts of fire, and she jabbed two fingers forward to direct an attack at Marth.

Marth seized her wrist, cutting off the flames at the source, and pressed his rapier against her throat. "Yield!" he commanded.

Lilina's face drew into a determined scowl, and she blasted Marth's sword away with her free hand. She pressed her palm against Marth's chest once again, and he (still having a grip on her other wrist) brought his elbow down on Lilina's arm, directing the fireball into the earth.

The burst of fire threw off Marth's balance; he staggered forward, on top of Lilina.

Lilina silently struggled against Marth; tiny, useless flames sputtered from both of her hands.

Marth released her wrist and grabbed her throat instead. He pushed down against her, his physical strength far outmatching hers. She fruitlessly grabbed at his arm as she choked.

If I can at least get her unconscious, Marth thought, grimacing as he applied more force.

Both of Lilina's hands grasped at Marth's shirt. Marth winced, guilty; Lilina's eyes were wide and directly focused on his.

Lilina's eyebrows furrowed. For a moment, Marth thought she was concentrating.

Oh, gods, she is, Marth thought blankly, looking down at her hands on his chest.

Both of Lilina's hands glowed red-hot, and a fireball shot forth. Marth felt a searing pain across his abdomen, and not much else until the slamming of his back against dirt.

He wheezed for air, trying what he could to get a glimpse of his opponent. Lilina was rising to her feet, rubbing her aching throat; soon, however, she locked her eyes on Marth, and she staggered over, wielding her Fire tome.

Marth hazily reached for his rapier. It was somewhere nearby…

Lilina stumbled on her path over. Small embers flickered from her fingertips; she couldn't seem to conjure another fireball. She glanced at her Fire tome, which was evidently running low on power.

A few more tries, and she managed to get something going: a small stream of flame, about dagger-length. She wrapped her hand around the weapon and turned back to Marth.

Marth's fingertips brushed against his rapier.

Lilina staggered to a knee. She needn't get up again, however; she was certainly close enough to reach Marth's heart.

Marth grabbed the rapier as Lilina raised the weapon over her head for the kill.

Lilina fell forward, about to run the dagger home. Her momentum, as well as the force Marth applied up at her, drove her abdomen roughly halfway down the blade of Marth's rapier.

The dagger of flames petered out. Lilina's hands cupped the blade of the rapier as she stared down at it, disbelieving.

Marth slowly sat up. He put a hand on Lilina's shoulder to steady her, and he started to lay her down on her back.

Her eyes were focused on him as she trembled silently. Her lips quivered, as though trying to form words.

Marth finally eased her onto the grass. He swiftly removed the rapier from her stomach; aside from the pain drawing a sharp breath from her, Lilina remained silent.

Lilina's hands were clasped over the wound, and she continued to stare up at Marth. Her eyes seemed to be conveying words—but none that Marth could comprehend.

Soon, Lilina's jerking hiccups and quiet tremors slowed to a halt. She finally relaxed, and released one last, final sigh.

Marth looked away. Lilina…

He tensed. Bea! I have to make sure she's safe…

As bits of midnight-blue flame began to rise from Lilina's body, Marth quickly retraced the path he had taken through the woods.

"I still remember her face. I'll never forget the look she gave me."

Marth didn't make it very far before a flicker of movement caught his eye. He turned, raising his sword in time to deflect a bronze weapon.

Marth readied his guard, but the hooded assassin relented.

Marth frowned, lowering his sword. "…Who are you?"

"Doesn't matter." The thief's voice was raspy and high; this man was no Einherjar, for sure. Nobody Marth had ever met. "I'm… the end, you could say. Heh heh heh."

"The end?" Marth muttered. "What are you talking about?"

"I've been stalking this mansion for weeks," the thief chuckled. "Watching, waiting… waiting for a time I could pick this place apart, Einherjar. And I finally found it tonight."

Marth tensed. "What?! Explain!"

"Your red-haired friend and his girl—they came by this way all the time," the thief said smugly. "All it took was a little surprise from the trees, and they both fell like rocks."

Roy and Lilina, Marth thought, his blood chilling. He killed them.

"So after I pick up their cards and bring 'em back, I swear 'em to silence and send 'em off to kill anyone they can." He shrugged. "You took care of the girl damn quick. She didn't even get to kill anyone."

Roy is unaccounted for, Marth thought suddenly. I have to find him before anyone else does!

"Now, I can't have you making too much more trouble," the thief said. "Roy's my best bet against you folks, and the more he takes out by surprise, the better; all of your losses become a gain for me."

"I won't let you—"

The thief was waiting for Marth to start speaking, and lunged for him as soon as he did. Marth quickly sidestepped, grabbed the passing thief's shoulder, and ran him through with his rapier.

Marth removed his sword from the thief's back, causing the thief to fall forward into the dirt.

"Heh… heh… heh…" the thief sputtered.

"You've failed," Marth stated. "You didn't gain anything."

"Y-Yeah… but at least… I ain't dying… for nothin'," the thief cackled.

A chill ran down Marth's spine. Bea.

He continued backtracking through the woods, leaving the thief to his fate.

"I never learned that thief's name," Marth said solemnly. "I suppose… it didn't matter, in the end."

Marth broke through the tree line, immediately slowing down to a walk. The red-haired youth was crouched not far ahead.

Marth staggered a step forward. "Roy…"

Roy glanced over his shoulder. He stood up from Beatrice's motionless body and turned to face Marth.

"Bea," Marth rasped. "You… You…"

Roy wiped his bloodied steel sword on his sleeve.

"You'll pay," Marth hissed. "I know you're not you… I know you're being manipulated… But I am going to kill you, Roy." He drew his rapier. "Get ready. It ends now."

Roy readied his sword. Marth didn't give him another moment; he immediately went on an all-out offensive. He forwent his training, his defense, his thoughts, and simply allowed his sword arm to work.

Roy retreated before the assault, not having an answer to this unbridled aggression. Marth landed several significant hits without Roy even getting a chance to retaliate.

Marth relented for a brief moment, lulling Roy into a false sense of comfort that Marth's assault was over. Roy prepared his attack.

Marth backed away in anticipation, and sure enough, Roy's attack sailed empty. Marth spun on his heel, bringing his rapier in an arc over his head, and the tip of the weapon traced a bleeding line down Roy's face.

Roy grasped at his eye, grunting in pain.

As Roy staggered away, Marth noticed several of the mansion's windows lighting up. The bashing of metal was drawing attention at last.

Marth and Roy continued to duel for several more minutes. Silhouettes began to exit the mansion in search of the disturbance.

Roy made one misstep. He was ever at the disadvantage, but all it took was one mistake to end this fight. Whether it was dodging incorrectly, or losing his footing, or poor spacing of his attack, Marth would not remember.

All he would remember was how he had run Roy through.

Marth stepped closer, catching Roy and stopping him from falling. Marth shoved the sword in deeper, twisted it; whatever it took to elicit noise from his silent opponent. Roy dropped his weapon, with his hands futilely gripping at Marth instead.

Marth finally released Roy and allowed him to collapse onto the ground. Roy's expression was already blank, and no sooner had he touched the earth than he began his fiery decomposition.

"No! No! NO!"

Marth's satisfaction in his kill instantly burned away. As he turned around, he saw a number of Einherjar circling around a small, elderly man, who was simply holding his wife in the middle of the grass.

Marth glared back at Roy; the flames had disappeared, and all that remained was a card.

Marth left it behind.

"We found it later."

Marth was sitting in a chair in the center of the room, and had taken to staring at the ground.

"My treatment of Roy was not fair," Marth said quietly. "He… he… was manipulated. It wasn't his fault."

"Marth…" Morgan said quietly. "I'm so sorry…"

Marth looked up at her.

"When you said this would be a sad story, I didn't know how sad," Cynthia murmured.

Marth smiled. The painful memories this story had dredged up had thoroughly removed his humor, but he still found Cynthia's statement so horribly funny.

"Cynthia, was it?" Marth asked.

She nodded.

Marth leaned in closer. Whispering, in such a tone that it was practically a hiss: "I wish that was the worst of it."

Old Hubba howled into the sky, clutching Beatrice in his arms.

Marth sheathed his rapier, grimacing at the pitiful sight. "Sir…" he murmured. The rest of the Einherjar looked on sadly.

But Hubba was inconsolable, and he pressed his face into his wife's sleeve, continuing to moan in despair.

For several minutes, Old Hubba did not budge from his pained position. Marth waited, uncomfortable but patient.

"Marth!" Old Hubba roared, suddenly looking up from his dead wife.

Marth blinked, surprised. "Y-Yes?"

Old Hubba's eyes brimmed with tears, but Marth could sense a deep-seated fury hiding behind the ancient man's pain. "This can never happen again," Old Hubba hissed. "This will never happen again. I'll make sure of it."

"I swear to help in any way I can," Marth replied determinedly. "I swear it upon the name of my ancestor, Anri."

Old Hubba slowly placed Beatrice's body in the grass and stood. "I-I believe you, Marth." Hubba wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "I… believe you. You, Marth."

Old Hubba looked around at the other Einherjar. His jaw slowly set, and the anger began to rise to the forefront. "This… this li'l family here… This's over. I can't keep track of so many of you… things. You… automatons." He reached into his robe, drawing an Arcthunder tome.

Marth's eyes narrowed.

Hubba looked around the crowd. His eyes slowly settled on a random Einherjar: Cain.

Cain's combat instincts began to fight at him. "M-Milord, what's—?"

Hubba loosed a powerful jolt of Arcthunder, striking Cain in the gut and flooring him.

"Cain!" Marth cried, shocked.

The crowd of Einherjar broiled in alarm, many reaching for their weapons.

"Do not move! Sheath your weapons!" Hubba commanded, and every Einherjar's hand stayed. Marth found himself rooted to the spot, unable to reach for his rapier. He struggled fruitlessly against his invisible bonds.

Hubba turned back to the fallen cavalier. Cain's breastplate smoldered from the magic blast, and he gasped for breath, blood trickling from his mouth.

Old Hubba leveled his palm at the cavalier's head. Cain raised an unarmed hand—he was too far gone for words, but his eyes still pleaded for mercy from his master.

Hubba's eyes narrowed, and he fired another bolt into Cain. The Einherjar disintegrated into midnight blue flames, leaving nothing behind but a card.

The rest of the Einherjar watched in horror.

Old Hubba slowly reached down, picked up the card, and placed it in his satchel. He eyed the crowd, shaking lingering sparks from his palm, and chose his next target.

"Need to keep this number… manageable!" He aimed another bolt at Lex, making quick work of the axeman.

"Need to keep it… simple!" He killed Rebecca.

"I always knew this was a bad idea!" He finished Lyn.

"I told Bea! I told her!" He murdered Celica and Wrys.

"This was always too fragile! I knew this would happen!" Old Hubba's eyes burned with a rabid fury as he slaughtered Seth, and Quan, and Eirika.

Florina trembled as the old man loomed over her. "P-Please… I promise, I'll never—"

He disposed of her before she finished her sentence.

The Einherjar could only stand still, shaking with terror as their inevitable doom approached.

"You monster," Eliwood growled. "You murderer!" He glanced over at where Lyn had previously stood. "You'll pay for this, old man. I swear it!"

Old Hubba snorted. "…You things pretend to be alive, but yer not. You die, you come back. You forget everything. When we speak next, you'll be chummy as the day we met. You won't know nothin'. You ain't real, and this ain't murder… This is cleaning."

Old Hubba fired a bolt through Eliwood's chest, killing the lord.

Marth gritted his teeth, helplessly watching as Old Hubba systematically executed the rest of the family.

It wasn't long—and on the other hand, it was an eternity—before all that remained of the area was Marth, the body, and a littering of cards. The final blast of Arcthunder rang in the air.

"This isn't what she would've wanted," Marth said. Rage built up within him—rage at Old Hubba, rage at his own helplessness.

"What she wanted got 'er killed," Old Hubba stated flatly, as he began collecting the cards from the ground. "I ain't lettin' this happen again. From now on, we're doin' things my way."

"Old Hubba…" Marth pleaded. "It doesn't have to be this way."

"It shoulda always been this way, kid. My only mistake was listenin' to Bea four years ago."

Old Hubba stowed all of the cards into his pocket, and turned to Marth. "Now listen here, sonny. I'll let you move, but you are never, ever allowed to wave one o' them weapons at me. Y'hear?"

Marth grimaced. "…Yes, sir."

"Good."

Old Hubba raised a hand, causing Marth to flinch.

Hubba's hand wavered, but after a painful, contemplative moment, he finally placed it on Marth's shoulder. Marth looked into Old Hubba's eyes, and he saw desperation. Grief.

"Marth," Old Hubba breathed, with a quivering lip, "tell me I can trust you. Tell me… you'll always be there, okay? You'll always be by my side?"

It was sudden. Marth had never felt such pity. It engulfed, it consumed; for just a moment, he thought he could even feel the old man's pain.

"Sir," Marth said. A pained tear ran down his cheek. "I'll… always be your friend. Always."

Old Hubba's eyes closed, and he looked down, as if in prayer. He stood there for a long time, still gripping Marth's shoulder firmly.

"You're the only one I can trust," Old Hubba murmured. "That's… always been true." He released Marth, and turned back toward the mansion.

Marth painfully watched Old Hubba walk away.

I have to do something.

Marth took a step.

I can't save everyone.

But I can save some of them.

Marth broke into a run.

The mansion was a mess. Scorch marks lined the walls where Old Hubba had missed his targets; broken objects lay everywhere. Footsteps and screams could be heard from upstairs, where the old man was unquestionably continuing his genocide.

Marth quietly slipped through the halls. Such stealth was unnecessary, given the clamor upstairs, but he couldn't risk being discovered.

To the kitchen Marth slunk. He knew of a few hiding spots in there, and he knew he wasn't the only one who did.

Marth knocked on the stove a few times. "It's me," he whispered.

A head peeked out from behind it. "…Prince Marth?"

Marth sighed in relief. "Lena. You're all right."

Lena left her cover. "Prince Marth, what's going on? I heard screams—magic—I thought…"

"It's Old Hubba," Marth said grimly. "He's murdering… everybody."

"What?!" Lena exclaimed in horror. "Wh-Why?!"

"There's no time, Lena! You have to get out of here."

"I can't go alone!" she said. "Wh-Where am I even supposed to go?"

"I don't know," Marth said. "Anywhere but here. I shouldn't even know where; Old Hubba could get that information out of me. The important thing is, you need to get out of here. If Old Hubba finds you, he will kill you."

"Well… Why hasn't he killed you?" Lena asked.

Marth sighed. "B-Because… he trusts me, still. But he won't for much longer, if he sees me with you."

"How could he possibly be killing everyone? There's no way he's stronger than everyone here!"

"He freezes you with words," Marth sighed. "We're Einherjar; we can't refuse his orders. He just says 'stand still' and we…"

Marth trailed off. Wait.

He looked at Lena. "You… You're not under Old Hubba's command, are you? You were one of Beatrice's…"

"Y-Yes, I am," she said.

Marth broke into a smile. "I-I can save you! Anyone under Bea's command… doesn't have to obey his word! You can fight back…"

"He's not alone anymore," Lena said. "I heard him walking with a few others… they were helping him kill."

Marth scowled. "What?! He's using the Einherjar he's killed to help him…!"

"I know where the others are," Lena said hopefully. "Micaiah, Seliph, Leif, Caeda… I know where they are. I can go get them, and we can escape."

"Do that," Marth said. "I'll try to keep him off of you."

"B-But what about you?" Lena stammered. "How will you…?"

She could already see the answer in Marth's eyes.

"Old Hubba needs me," Marth stated. "He's not himself. Even if he doesn't know it yet… he needs me."

Slowly, Lena swallowed her fear, and she nodded. "Okay. I trust in you, Your Highness. Good luck."

"And better luck to you."

Marth and Lena went their separate ways.

"Sir."

Old Hubba, as well as his small cadre of Einherjar, turned to face Marth. The Einherjar readied their weapons, but Old Hubba stayed their hands. "Marth?"

"I'll help," Marth said. "I told you… I am your friend."

Old Hubba's smile widened. "…Well, I'll be damned! Welcome to the party, Marth."

As Old Hubba turned his back, Marth squeezed his eyes shut and choked back his disgust. Thus composed, he followed Old Hubba.

Morgan's bedroom was quiet.

"Did…" Morgan hesitantly began, breaking the silence. "Did you… kill any Einherjar?"

"Yes." Marth looked up at her; his eyes were bloodshot. "Yes, I did."

Marth pulled his rapier from Marcus's chest. The dying paladin stared up at him; his eyes carried a heavy look of betrayal.

"Lord Marth," Marcus panted. "Why…? Why…?"

Marcus's head lolled, and he began to disappear.

Marth moved to the bedroom's window and peered past the curtain. To his surprise, he saw a number of Einherjar fleeing the building—evidently Beatrice's Einherjar, given their refusal of Old Hubba's standing order of "don't leave the house."

Elation arose in him. They might actually…

One of the Einherjar split off from the pack.

Marth frowned. What? No! Why? Why would they…?

Footsteps came up the stairs, causing Marth to hurriedly close the window curtain.

Once at the top of the stairs, Titania shouted into a nearby room, "Sir, I just heard the front door! It's possible one escaped!"

One, Marth thought, chuckling to himself. He stepped out into the hall to catch the exchange.

Old Hubba seemed perplexed. "What? How'd they disobey…?" His face slowly settled into a scowl. "Beatrice's." He sharply gestured in the direction of the door: "Go kill whoever it was, and guard those exits! Don't let any more of 'em escape."

Titania nodded. "Of course, sir!" She disappeared down the steps.

Old Hubba and the rest of the Einherjar whirled into action, leaving Marth alone once again.

"Well—did the others escape?" Cynthia asked. She was on the edge of her seat.

Marth put up a hand. "I'll get there, Cynthia."

"Y-You can't just leave me hanging!" Cynthia insisted. "C'mon—"

"Cynthia," Chrom said sternly; the first word he'd spoken so far. "…That's enough."

Chrom stood leaning against the door, lacking his usual regal bearing. His face was somewhat sweaty, and he favored one side; he had clearly taken some severe injury recently.

Cynthia frowned, yielding.

"Okay," Marth said. "Now…"

Morning eventually dawned following the longest night of Marth's life.

His eyes wore gray bags as he and Old Hubba sat in the office. A massive pile of unorganized cards sat on one side of Old Hubba's desk, while the other side had neat stacks of counted cards. Old Hubba plucked a card from the first stack, wrote its name down on a piece of paper, and neatly placed it atop the second stack.

He's making a manifest, Marth thought. So he can keep track of how many Einherjar he has, and if any are missing. Which means… if they've escaped, then Beatrice's Einherjar aren't going to be a part of that list. He had to fight a smile.

It became much easier to fight when he saw the next card Old Hubba drew. All of Marth's spirit died, because of five characters jotted down on a piece of paper:

Caeda.

Place on second stack.

Marth's grip tightened on the arms of his chair, and he squeezed his eyes shut, controlling his temper.

She couldn't get away.

All that time, gone. Our future, our 'forever'…

"This can never happen again."

This was the second time Old Hubba had said those words. He was still writing, adding names to the manifest, as he spoke, and he didn't meet Marth's eye.

"This is the start," Hubba said, tapping on the manifest with his pen. "I'm gonna keep a much closer eye on the Einherjar from this point on." He added another card to the second stack. "Keep 'em organized… keep 'em close. Keep 'em useful…"

Old Hubba let that hang for a moment. He quietly continued to fill out the Einherjar manifest.

Marth waited tensely. Sharing a room with a murderer. If he were to say the words, I could be dead in a moment. A chill ran down his spine.

"I think Bea was right, in a way," Old Hubba mused. Take card; add to manifest; place on second stack. "All these Einherjar, just sittin' around, gatherin' dust for all of eternity? Nah, that's a waste. …Know what I'm sayin'?"

Marth didn't answer. Old Hubba sighed, disgruntled, and continued.

"I've been squanderin' all this potential." Card, manifest, stack. "Why let 'em sit around, when I could be doin' somethin' productive? Well, Marth, I've got it: the reason Fate gave me these cards. Their true purpose." His eyes twinkled darkly. "Keeping an eye on my Outrealms. Keeping 'em safe."

"Your Outrealms?" Marth said at last, reflexively. Had he not felt threatened, he would have followed through with, "No one man can own them." As it was, though, he held his tongue.

"Marth." The corner of Old Hubba's mouth turned up into a wrinkled, deadly grin. "No one will ever threaten my legacy again an' live to tell the tale."

Marth frowned, uncertain of what that meant.

"I'll tell you what it meant, my friends," Marth explained. "Lord Chrom… when coming to the Outrealms, you must have heard stories of its danger, yes?"

"Yeah." Chrom shifted uncomfortably; his side continued to pain him.

"I'm sure you have," Marth said dryly, nodding. "Accounts of powerful warriors, constant strife and combat…"

Of course Chrom had heard this before. One of the first things Anna had ever told him about the Outrealms was a warning of its danger.

"The Outrealms are a dangerous place," she had said, back in Ylisstol's hospital wing. "Crazy, crazy stuff happens out there."

"How… odd, then," Marth said, with feigned curiosity in order to prove his point, "that for four years of living in the Outrealms, I never once needed to pick up a sword, even when traveling to distant worlds. How odd indeed."

The three Shepherds shared a glance.

Morgan slowly turned back to Marth. "Then… are you saying… Old Hubba is…?"

"Old Hubba is the reason that the Outrealms are so dangerous?" Cynthia finished.

"Correct. He was the original Outrealm pirate. He was the one plaguing travelers with his Einherjar warriors. He did it all in the name of protecting himself and his inheritance, and of precluding another tragedy like what befell Beatrice. I have the dubious privilege of not being one of Old Hubba's assassins; I was always his personal guard instead."

Marth stopped before the corpse Rebecca had left behind, and leaned over to inspect it.

The woman was carrying a massive backpack full of supplies. The pack had taken many arrows in the woman's stead, but Rebecca had found her mark eventually.

Marth crouched, brushing the woman's red hair aside to get a look at her face.

His eyes widened. "Old Hubba…" He stood and faced his ward. "Sir, this is an Anna!"

Old Hubba gestured at Leila to search Anna's backpack. "So?"

"Sir, you know what the Annas are," Marth warned. "They are everywhere, and they have a hand in everything. We don't want them as our enemy."

Old Hubba waved it away. "Marth, here's somethin' you gotta understand." He placed both of his hands atop his cane, and he smiled simply at Marth. The cheerful expression almost gave Marth the illusion that he was back with the old family, where everyone was happy and nobody was a murderous psychopath.

Old Hubba gestured at Rebecca. "Go kill yourself, honey. Leave your card on the porch." He then turned back to Marth. "What you gotta understand," he repeated, "is that I am the threat, here. The Annas will learn, soon enough, that they can't just pass through MY home and get away with it."

"They aren't threatening us! They don't need to die for it."

Old Hubba's smile disappeared. "Bea never needed to die either."

"That was always his excuse. 'Bea never needed to die.' As if that justified everything he did.

"Three more Annas died before they stopped coming."

Years. Years. YEARS of pillaging, and piracy, and murder, tearing Marth apart each second without a way to even resist.

He tried. He did. Anything he could passively do to subvert Old Hubba without being noticed, he would. At first.

It soon became too difficult. Too difficult to care. After all, Marth had never made any meaningful differences, and he never would.

At night, he would dream of the War of Shadows, and wish he were there instead.

He wasn't without free time; in fact, as more and more Outrealmers caught wind of the threat of Old Hubba, Marth was more and more infrequently on the job of helping Old Hubba murder them.

Whenever he could, he took long walks through the woods. He missed fishing.

A sharp bird call caught Marth's attention. He looked around, surprised and confused; he placed his hand on the hilt of his rapier.

"Psst!"

Marth's head snapped in the direction of the voice. "Who's there?"

A blue figure stepped out of the brush, smiling. "Hello, Marth."

Marth's jaw dropped, as did his hand from the rapier. "Wha—Seliph!"

Seliph smiled.

Marth hugged him, relieved. "I can't believe it… you're alive!"

"Yes," Seliph said, as Marth pulled away from the embrace, "we all made it out. Lena, Leif, Micaiah, and I."

"What happened that night?!" Marth urged. "Why didn't Caeda make it?"

Seliph grimaced. "She split up with us… She realized they would know at least one of us had left the building, and she chose to sacrifice herself. Titania killed her, but she thought Caeda was the only escapee; the rest of us were able to disappear into the Outrealm Gate." He frowned somberly. "…I'm sorry, Marth. She didn't give us the chance to talk her out of it."

Marth shook his head. "Don't… blame yourself, Seliph. You did well." He crossed his arms. "So… why are you here?"

Seliph sighed. "Marth… All I came here to do was to let you know that we are okay. We are still your friends, and someday, I hope we are able to free you and right the wrongs Old Hubba has committed."

"That's not possible," Marth muttered. "No one… no one can clean that much blood off of our hands."

Seliph watched Marth carefully. "Marth… you are being manipulated. You can't blame yourself for everything he has made you do."

"I know what I've done. The only way I could ever forget is with my death."

"Don't say that," Seliph insisted, taking a step closer. "Marth, remember our family! Remember me; remember Lena; remember Caeda, and Florina, and Beatrice, and what Old Hubba used to be! Those are beautiful memories, Marth, and you don't want to throw those away. This can turn around. There will be happiness in our future, I promise you that."

"Trust me, Seliph…" Marth murmured. "I don't wish to die."

"Seliph was ever the idealist. I appreciated that. The years became much less painful when I had visits from him and the others to look forward to."

Marth took a breath.

"Years turned into decades. Decade after decade, with no victory in sight. Eventually, these decades turned into a century: the first of many, I would despondently think. I anticipated an eternity of despair.

"In the end, however, that wasn't the case. More than a hundred disillusioning years—that's how long it took."

"For what?" Morgan asked.

"Hope." Marth smiled. "You see, my friends, this is the story of how I met my greatest ally."

Eight months ago

A shadow slipped in the door. "Sire."

"Hm? What is it, Leila?" Old Hubba asked, looking up at her. Not quite up at her eyes, but still.

"Someone is here," Leila said coldly. "South, just outside the woods."

Marth frowned curiously. "Why would anyone come to this Outrealm? There are enough warnings abound to avoid the mansion."

"It seems to be an Inrealmer," Leila stated.

Old Hubba brightened. "An Inrealmer?! Oohoo boy, that's a rare treat!" He grunted as he eased out of his chair. "Marth, c'mon!"

Marth frowned. "…Yes, sir."

It was a young man, lying prone in the dirt. He was just coming to as Old Hubba and his posse of Einherjar approached.

The man shook his head dazedly, grasping at the dirt with his hands—when suddenly, he froze. His eyes locked onto the back of his right hand.

A slow smile dawned on the man's face.

"Hey," Old Hubba said imperiously. "Black coat. Whaddya think yer doin' here?"

The man grasped his head as he eased into a sitting position. "Urgh… I'm sorry, who are you? …Should I know you?"

"You should," Old Hubba snorted. "What's yer name, kiddo?"

The man grunted as he stood. He ran a hand through his silver hair. "M-My name is Robin."

"…Robin, huh," Old Hubba muttered. "Like the bird? Well then, Mr. Birdman, lemme make this simple. See that mansion back there? That is my home. An' right now, yer trespassin'."

"Trespassing…?" Robin shook his head. "I-I apologize. I don't even know how I got here."

"Don't matter to me," said Old Hubba. He nodded at Celica, off to his side. "Hand all yer belongings over to my associate here. Consider it a toll."

Robin's eyes narrowed. He knew what this was; this old man would enact his toll in blood.

"I don't have anything on me," Robin said truthfully. "Just the clothes on my back."

"Hm. Don't believe you." Old Hubba gestured Celica forward. "Hands up, Birdman, or yer gonna take an arrow between the eyes."

Robin sighed and placed both of his hands atop his head.

The air was quiet for a moment as Celica drew nearer.

Robin watched her as she approached. A tiny grin appeared on his face. "That's a nice tome you have there," he said.

"Hush." Celica stopped before Robin. "Take off your coat."

Robin shrugged. "Okay." He started to remove the Plegian cloak.

"Slowly."

Robin paused. "Fine then. Slowly."

Robin eased out of one sleeve, and then the other. He placed his hands back atop his head, still holding the cloak. "Better?"

Celica ignored him and took a step closer, looking him up and down. "If you have any weapons, tell me where they are."

"Well, I have an Arcfire tome," Robin mused.

Celica glanced up at him. "Where?"

Robin nodded at her. "In your hand."

Robin ducked and threw his cloak in Celica's face, blinding her. He swiftly lunged at her and jabbed her in the gut and throat. As she staggered backwards, he relieved her of the Arcfire tome and recovered his cloak.

Old Hubba's smirk vanished. "K-Kill him!" He turned around, gesturing at Rebecca. "He's askin' for it!"

Robin spun around, obscuring his figure under the shroud of the billowing cloak in his hand. He raised his palm, and a stream of Arcfire spouted from him as he spun like a pinwheel.

"Behind me, sir!" Marth pulled Old Hubba back and stepped in front of him protectively.

Under pressure from Old Hubba, Rebecca took a shot into the confusion, and missed. As she reached for another arrow, Robin took the opportunity to make a break for the woods.

Rebecca nocked the arrow, but just as she took aim, Robin disappeared into the foliage.

"Blast!" Old Hubba shouted angrily. "I'm not about to be made a fool of by this guy! After 'im!"

The other five Einherjar in Old Hubba's consort moved into the woods.

"You too, Marth," said Old Hubba. "I ain't takin' chances."

"I can't leave without you," Marth said. "You need protection."

Old Hubba frowned, biting his lip. "…Aw, hell, yer right. I'll go with ya."

Marth hesitated. "Sir—"

"That'd be an order, Marth."

Marth sighed. "Very well."

Marth and Old Hubba followed after the rest of the Einherjar. They were soon ensconced within the trees, separated from the other Einherjar, stalking through the foliage for their target.

A rumble and a flash echoed through the woods, as well as a brief cry of surprise.

"That way," Old Hubba said unhelpfully, and they chased the sound.

The pair soon reached the scene, but nothing remained but scorch marks along the trees and earth from Robin's Arcfire.

"Who is this guy?" Old Hubba muttered.

Another flash, another scream. When Marth and Old Hubba arrived, they again found nothing but signs of strife.

"There's only Arcfire marks," Marth noted. "The Einherjar haven't even been able to fight back…"

"He's a sneaky one," Old Hubba chuckled. "Gotta say… this is really rufflin' my jammies."

The two returned to the hunt.

Several minutes of silence passed by. No more combat was heard for an uncomfortably long time, when Marth slowly realized something.

Old Hubba seemed to realize it at the same time. "No cards," he said.

"No cards," Marth concurred. "He has been picking them up as he kills them."

Hubba's eyes widened. "The mansion…!"

Old Hubba broke into a surprisingly fast hobble toward the mansion. Over his shoulder, he shouted, "Cover the Outrealm Gate! Do not let that piece o' garbage leave!"

Marth sighed impatiently and obeyed, dashing in the other direction.

Morgan and Cynthia were brimming with questions. Each held such a light in their eyes…

Undeterred, Marth resumed his story.

"Halt!"

Robin slowed to a walk as he neared what appeared to be some kind of portal. He looked around curiously.

Marth stepped out of hiding, holding his rapier aloft.

Robin was taken aback. "Lucina…?" He stopped. "No… Who are you?"

"My name is Marth. Put that down."

Robin glanced at the sack he held over his shoulder, chock-full of cards just like those dropped by the 'people' he had ambushed in the woods. Sure was nice of the old man to leave these on his desk. "Mm… Sorry, Mr. Hero-King, but no."

"Hero-Ki—?" Marth shook his head, letting it go. "Sir… Robin, was it? I'm afraid I can't let you leave with those."

"Seems to me that your master is misusing these," said Robin plainly. "I can't let that happen."

Marth frowned. "Wh-Why not? Who are you, exactly?"

"I'm the man who's picked up the mantle you left broken in the dirt," Robin spat. "Sorry, 'Marth,' but if you won't be the hero, then I will."

The words struck a tender nerve. Marth's temper flared. "I have had no choice!" he shouted. "You don't understand! For a hundred years I've—" His mouth suddenly, forcibly closed, and he remembered an order Old Hubba had long ago given him.

"Now don't go spillin' the beans to just anyone ya meet," Hubba had said. "If I want people to know the truth, I'll tell 'em myself. Definitely don't want ya just warnin' people willy-nilly."

Marth pursed his lips. "Robin… Hand over the Einherjar. Last warning."

"No," Robin said resolutely. "I can't just do that, Marth. How many people have died? How many people have you killed?"

Marth grimaced in pain. He squeezed the hilt of his sword.

Robin hefted the bag. "I'm ending this now. Get out of my way, Marth."

"I cannot! Don't you see, Robin? I don't want to kill you!"

Robin smirked. "Don't worry, Marth… you won't. I didn't kill a god just to lose here."

Marth lunged at Robin, but the tactician proved faster, as he sidestepped the stab and sprayed Arcfire across Marth's feet.

Marth collapsed to all fours; his feet cried out in pain. He looked around, and grunted as he spotted his target approaching the Outrealm Gate, having already dismissed Marth.

"R-Robin," Marth slurred, as he began an agonized crawl towards his opponent.

Robin glanced over his shoulder at Marth. To his surprise, Marth managed to regain his footing.

"Robin… give me… those cards," Marth growled, stumbling on charred feet.

Robin pursed his lips sadly and faced the Hero-King.

Marth roared and stabbed at Robin; Robin countered with a burst of fire to disrupt Marth's balance. Marth sliced horizontally, and Robin narrowly ducked the attack.

Marth took a step closer, but his seared feet faltered. Robin did not press the advantage, so Marth picked himself up at his leisure.

Robin backed away from Marth as they fought, edging closer and closer to the Outrealm Gate. When his back was practically against the blue abyss, Robin took his own offensive. He sidestepped Marth's attack, caught Marth's sword arm, pressed his palm against Marth's chest, and let loose a quick burst of Arcfire.

The small explosion tossed Marth off of his feet; as he landed on his back, he felt the rapier roll out of his grip.

Murky thoughts swelled. No… no… Agitation and hatred came rising to the surface. Not at Robin. Not at Old Hubba.

Marth shook his head rapidly. Against everything in him—against the loud voice in his mind telling him that he must always keep his bearing, always, always—he finally lost control.

Tears streamed down his face. He grasped at the dirt, contorting in his agony and self-loathing. "Kill me," he said hoarsely. "J-Just kill me, Robin… Let me… Let me be free…"

Robin watched him quietly. He knelt over the fallen Hero-King.

Marth closed his eyes and awaited the end.

"Do you want to die?"

Marth laughed weakly. "Hahaha… Oh, Robin… I don't see what my wants have to do with anything."

Robin was quiet for a moment.

"…I'm not going to kill you."

Marth's eyes opened. He shivered with broken sobs. "Wh-What? Why?!"

Robin met Marth's eye. "Marth… I'm not going to kill you because you are going to be free someday. Eventually, when you break free, I want you to remember everything it took to get you there." He smiled warmly. "Marth… You are a legend. A hero. If anyone can overcome this, it's you." He placed his hand on Marth's shoulder. "I believe in you."

Marth stared up at the tactician with disbelief. "Robin…"

Robin stood and turned toward the Outrealm Gate, cards in hand.

Marth closed his eyes as he lay still, his burns and injuries stinging.

A voice suddenly came from the distance. "It's him! Marth—Marth, do something!"

Marth's eyes snapped open, and he saw Robin standing in the Gate. The tactician glanced over his shoulder at the sound of Old Hubba's voice.

Marth sat up, lunged for his rapier, and did the only thing he could try to do: throw it.

Robin flinched and turned towards the Outrealm Gate, swiftly entering the azure portal. Though the rapier was not a sword designed for throwing, the throw was still surprisingly accurate, and cut across Robin's arm.

The last thing Marth saw of Robin was him losing his grip on the sack of Einherjar cards, and both him and the sack heading in different directions through the Outrealm Gate.

Marth panted for air, unable to think straight. He swayed from side to side and collapsed.

"Losing to Robin was the last straw," Marth murmured. "It took him to expose my weakness. Even after a hundred years of torture, I had clung dearly to life—I could never let life go, even such a horrendous existence as that one. Only Robin could finally break me, push me over the edge, to where I would finally ask for death…" He shook his head. "…And then he refused." He met each of the Shepherds' eyes. "Robin is alive, and he is wiser than I'll ever be."

Cynthia had grown a bright smile. Her eyes watered. "D-Dad…"

Morgan sniffed. Quiet tears ran down her face, and she mopped them up with her sleeve. "Dad…"

"Marth… I hate to say it, but that was eight months ago," Chrom said somberly. "I assume you haven't seen him since?"

Marth shook his head sadly.

"Then… continue your story."

Marth nodded. "It was just me and Old Hubba for a long time. We searched the Outrealms for the bag of cards Robin had dropped, but it was nowhere to be found. It wasn't until two months ago that they resurfaced… in Algol's possession. And he… was… worse. Actively searching for people to kill, hunting down Annas—though to my knowledge, he never killed any. Worst of all, however, was a time he ventured into the Inrealm and butchered a small town in Ylisse."

Chrom frowned. "That never happened. Must have been a different Ylisse."

Marth's eyebrows furrowed, confused. "Different…?" He shook his head. "Very well; a different Ylisse. Regardless…"

The giant mansion was virtually empty.

Old Hubba sat at his desk, his hands clasped before his mouth.

"So," Marth murmured. "That was the last of them."

The old man nodded solemnly.

"Who were they?"

Hubba dismissed the question with a wave.

"And… how did it happen again?"

Hubba sighed. "…nna…"

"Pardon, sir?"

"It was Shanna, okay?" Hubba said, throwing his hands in the air irritably.

"I wasn't there to witness the thievery of Old Hubba's last three Einherjar, so I don't know exactly how it happened. However, he insists it went like this. …Take it with a grain of salt."

The door to the mansion burst open.

"Wha—Hey!" Old Hubba exclaimed. "What are you doinnnnnng whoa."

Shanna strutted into the center of the chamber, wearing a floor-length ballroom dress, red lipstick and bright earrings. She brushed her blue hair over her shoulder; she had let it down for this special occasion. "Listen," she purred seductively, "I hear that bed upstairs has been preeetty cold for the last hundred years… Need someone to share it with?"

"B-But I'm married!" Old Hubba stuttered, covering his mouth with his hands in horror. "I could never do that to Beatrice!"

"Oh, it's no big deal," Shanna cooed. She touched Old Hubba's chin with her index finger. "She's been gone so long, I'm sure it's okay. But, for this to happen… All—I—need—" She tapped his nose to punctuate each word—"is those last three Einherjar cards. Okay?"

"Curses!" Old Hubba exclaimed. "Beatrice, I wish I could remain faithful—however, her feminine wiles are just too impossibly great! How can I combat such youthful vigor? Such excitement? Such sexiness? Alas—like the flag I laid over beautiful Bea's grave, I must now fold! Here—take them!"

Shanna accepted the three cards. "Thank you, dearest. Now… ha ha… hm hm ha ha ha… HA HA HA HA HA!" She threw her head back in malefic laughter. "You fool! You truly believed one as sexy as I may ever throw herself at you in such a way?! Perhaps your stupidity explains why your mother never loved you, and reveals that Bea was always faking, and also you have asymmetric earlobes! Fool!"

Shanna disappeared in a burst of black fire.

Old Hubba fell to his knees. "NOOOOOO!"

…

Morgan's bedroom was silent.

"Well," Morgan said dryly. "That took a turn."

Marth cringed, embarrassed. "…I should have just left that whole part out."

Cynthia and Morgan agreed.

Marth cleared his throat. "It… won't happen again. …Anyway…"

Marth and Old Hubba sat quietly in the office.

Marth leaned forward, tentatively breaking the silence. "Old Hubba—"

"Wait."

Marth paused in his story. "Er, yes? What is it, Morgan?"

Morgan tapped her chin. "Shanna… Three Einherjar… 'Feminine wiles'…" She tilted her head. "Those were the Einherjar we rescued back on Talys when we first arrived. Right?"

Marth hesitated.

"Who were they?" Morgan asked. "When we were talking to Old Hubba, before we knew what Einherjar even were, he called them his 'guards.' We never met them, right? What Einherjar were they?"

"How does she remember all this stuff," Chrom muttered.

"I-I'll get to that," Marth stammered. "Just—Just let me continue the story."

Morgan raised her hands defensively. "Okay, okay. Just thought I'd put that out there."

Marth leaned forward, tentatively breaking the silence. "Old Hubba… We are alone."

"Yep."

"There are no more Einherjar. There is no one to help us. …If Algol finds this mansion, we will not be able to fight back."

"I guess."

Marth sighed impatiently. "…What I'm getting at is that we have no friends. Everything we've done for the last century has done nothing but breed enemies. Don't you see? This is karmic justice."

Old Hubba met Marth's eye. "What're you tryin' to say?"

Marth put up a peaceful hand. "I… I am hoping… that now, with everything taken from us, and nothing left to get it back… that you might… repent. You've seen everything Algol's done; he's an even bigger monster than we were! This can only be a message from Naga. Algol is our mirror."

Old Hubba closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Marth…"

Marth winced. He was pushing the line, he knew. Borderline disrespect.

Old Hubba's eyes opened. "…You're right. Algol is a bigger monster… and this must be a message."

He stood from his desk. "Marth: I'm gonna get those Einherjar back, for the last time. And I'll end this."

"For the last time?" Marth asked. "What do you…?"

Old Hubba walked to the door. "Marth, I'm headin' on over to Talys. I know Shanna's there, an' I'm gonna stop her."

"What?! No!" Marth exclaimed, standing as well. "Y-You can't!"

"I can and I will," Old Hubba stated. "You stay here, son. I'll be back."

Old Hubba left.

"I don't know what his plan was," Marth said. "Was he actually about to go fight Shanna's party on his own? Was he really going to throw his life away like that?" He shook his head. "…It doesn't matter, because you know what happened next. You did."

"…Marth? As in THE Marth?" Chrom said skeptically.

"Wow!" Morgan exclaimed, and rushed forward to shake Marth's hand. "It's an honor, Mr. Hero-King!"

Mr. Hero-King, Marth thought, and was jarringly reminded of Robin. This girl's clothes, even…

"Th-The pleasure is all mine."

"…This isn't a decision I should make rashly," Chrom interrupted. Lucina raised an eyebrow, impressed. "I'm calling a meeting. Shepherds only. We need to discuss this first before we take action."

"I wholeheartedly agree," said Lucina.

"Me too," Morgan added.

Old Hubba sighed. "Well…" He shrugged. "Celica ain't going anywhere. Take your time."

Chrom exchanged nods with Lucina and Morgan, and they left the study.

The door slammed shut, leaving Marth and Old Hubba alone in the office.

"There you have it," Marth said simply. "They might say no. What then?"

"They won't say no," Old Hubba chuckled. "They'll realize how bad Algol is, an' they'll help us for sure."

Marth sighed. "So… you really are dead set on recovering the Einherjar, and returning to the way things used to be." Resuming this eternal, tortuous cycle.

"Not exactly."

Marth frowned curiously, but Old Hubba did not clarify.

"Anyway, I'm gonna need ya to study that lordly guy. Chrom, was it? He seems like a pretty capable fighter."

"I suppose. …Study him how?"

"His fightin' style, of course. He seems to be one of the strongest of the lot, an' he's the leader. If you know how to fight him, then when the time comes, you can take him down real quick an' make the rest of the fight way easier."

"Fight? …Take him down?" Marth's eyes widened in shock. "You can't be serious! You want to kill them? Even if they promise to help us?!"

"They've seen the mansion. They know who we are. How long 'til they learn about all we've done, huh? I don't think they'll be particularly understandin'." He placed his hands on his hips. "Marth, they've got an Anna. They're gonna find out."

Marth clenched his hands into fists, trembling with rage; but he could not argue.

"You must have noticed during our fight that I had studied your technique," Marth explained to Chrom. "Did it occur to you why? Did it seem out of place that I, for some reason, was not just paying attention to, but studying the way you fight?"

Chrom crossed his arms. "It didn't, no. I didn't have much time to ponder it afterwards, what with the alternate Shepherds showing up."

"Alternate Shepherds…" Marth murmured. "Hmm…"

A brief pause followed.

Marth suddenly snapped out of his reverie, remembering his limited timeframe. "Right. So, you were still contemplating whether to help us or not…"

"Hey, Marth. Wanna see a magic trick?"

Marth frowned. "Sure…?"

Old Hubba grinned and produced two Einherjar cards: one in each hand. Marth squinted as he examined them.

"Two cards of me…?" he murmured. "No—that one is fake." He pointed at it.

"Easy to tell when they're right next to each other, huh?"

Old Hubba hid both cards behind his back, shuffled them where Marth couldn't see, and showed him one card. "All right: real or fake?"

Marth concentrated. "This one… it's… Hmm. I think this is the fake one… Yes, yes it is." He nodded.

Old Hubba sighed. "Okay, yeah, it's got some flaws to it, but you already know one of 'em's fake! If ya didn't know, you'd have a lot more trouble noticing."

"So I'm guessing you're going to give that fake card to Chrom," Marth said dejectedly. "And tell him he has control over me…"

"'Course, he won't actually," Hubba said. "But I need ya to follow his orders when ya can, y'hear? Long as it don't conflict with ones I've given ya."

Marth sighed. "Yes, sir."

Old Hubba stored the real card in his chest pocket.

"Soon after, you agreed to participate in the Einherjar War, and we headed out for Talys." Marth smiled. "Here's where something very special happened. You see, it was a very little thing—a miniscule thing, one that neither you nor Old Hubba realized the gravity of. This little thing was the first piece of true hope I had had in a long, long time. And this wasn't a fleeting hope, such as the setbacks Robin had inflicted; this was an actual, tangible grasp at victory. Victory, Chrom! Where I could finally walk free again, as I can now!"

"All right, you've got the buildup," Morgan said. "What was it?"

Marth raised a finger. "This insignificant little detail… was the revelation that Einherjar don't have to die in order to change hands."

Marth let that sit for a moment.

Finally, he resumed. "This meant I would be able to switch sides, and be outside of Old Hubba's orders, while still retaining my memory in order to bring him to justice! All I needed was to be defeated. But, I was under strict orders from Old Hubba not to surrender to you, but instead pretend I was under your control.

"So: we had returned to Talys, defeated Celica's party, and spoken to Algol. After hearing what he had to say, I began to form a plan."

First things first. I need my card.

Marth turned around, glaring at Old Hubba.

The Shepherds are all around; Old Hubba won't do anything suspicious in their sight. I can get away with this.

Marth began to storm out, bumping shoulders with Old Hubba; in the same motion, he slipped the card out of Old Hubba's chest pocket. His heart thumping with fear, Marth continued marching out of the building.

As he stormed outside onto verdant Talys, Marth finally allowed himself to breathe.

No sooner had Marth alighted on the Old Hubba's Outrealm soil than he heard a soft bird call from the woods.

Marth fought with all he had to curb his enthusiasm. He soon found a chance to separate from the rest of the Shepherds.

"Marth!" Seliph whisper-shouted. "You're all right!"

Marth huddled in the bushes next to Beatrice's Einherjar, smiling at everyone. "Lena, Seliph, Micaiah… I'm so happy to see all of you. It's a good thing you're all here already, so I needn't gather you myself… Where's Leif?"

"He's been keeping tabs on Algol for the last couple of months," Seliph said. "A-Anyway—What's happening?! Micaiah, she—"

"I had a vision," Micaiah interrupted. "I saw you, Marth… dead."

"Dead?" Marth asked. He shivered with excitement. "H-How so?"

"The Falchion," Lena said. "That lord's Falchion—the one heading the Inrealmers. He stabs you, Marth!"

Marth breathed in and out; a smile dawned on his expression. "…Perfect."

"What?!" Micaiah hissed. "Did you hear me, Marth? I said you're going to die soon!"

"Everyone, I have a plan," Marth said. "Micaiah, this relies on more than a little luck, so we will need your future sight as much as possible. Okay?"

Micaiah frowned. "O-Okay?"

"Now. Here it is." Marth leaned in close.

"…I'll skip the whole 'planning' part, and just cut right to the execution," Marth added.

Chrom, Cynthia, and Morgan nodded in approval.

"…Remember those key words, everyone," Marth finished. "They are 'find Seliph, and tell him of my fate.'"

Seliph, Micaiah, and Lena nodded.

"Okay." Marth took a shaky breath. "This will be close… and there is no margin for error. If we fail, then Old Hubba wins. We cannot let that happen. Understand?"

Find Seliph, and tell him of my fate: Phase I

"…Remember this, Lucina, if I do not have the chance to say it later: find Seliph, and tell him of my fate."

Outside, Micaiah and Lena exchanged a nod and moved to the arena.

Soon, Marth left the mansion behind and headed north.

Of course, Marth couldn't actually surrender to Algol, or at least not so easily; Old Hubba's orders precluded that. Just like his servitude of Chrom, Marth would only pretend.

Marth stopped in the center of the arena. "Algol!" he called out. "I have arrived!"

"Hm!"

The voice came from behind. Marth turned to face the brutish Grimleal.

Algol smirked. "The Hero-King, in the flesh," he mused. "…Defeated by the promise of a girl."

"Caeda is more than that to me," Marth stated. He was tempted to back away from this foul man, but he was firm in holding his ground. "She's…" He clenched his hands into fists.

Everything I've planned may be for the purpose of stopping Old Hubba and freeing ourselves, except for this.

Algol produced the Caeda card from his pocket.

This—THIS is for me.

"The Heart of Talys yet lives," Algol chuckled, waving the card. "Ya made the right choice, kid. Honestly, when I found that bag o' Einherjar way back, the first one I was hopin' to find was you. Imagine my disappointment! Heh heh… but that ends now, huh?"

"I have two demands, if I am to surrender to you," Marth said commandingly.

"Demands?" Algol laughed. "Heheh! You forget that I'm the one with the bargaining chip, boy."

Marth forced a smile. "I think you'll find these demands reasonable—to your benefit, even. Maybe even entertaining."

Algol raised an eyebrow. "Well, you've got my attention. Lemme hear it."

"I want Caeda's card," Marth said. "I want to carry her in my pocket."

Algol frowned. "That… ain't any of those things you said."

"No—but it's a guarantee that I'll perform my second demand." Marth took a breath. "Allow me single combat with the wielder of Falchion. I want to kill Chrom myself."

Algol blinked. Slowly, his lips curled upward into a wide smirk. "Now THAT'S what I'm talkin' about! You've got a beef with yer descendant, huh?"

Marth's smile twitched. "…You could say that."

"Well, I'm not gonna lie, that sounds like the most fun thing to watch ever," Algol said cheerfully. "Okay, okay. You can take the card."

Algol handed Caeda over.

Marth wrapped his hands around the card. A lightning sensation traveled down his spine; he looked at her painting, and suddenly he was back on Talys again.

"Thank you," Marth said, smiling genuinely.

"Before I forget," Algol said, catching Marth's attention, "I promised you a neat little present, didn't I?"

Marth blinked. "I-I suppose so."

Algol grinned widely. "Ohoho, boy. This should make it even more interesting. Canas! Bring it over."

The shaman approached, carrying a long object wrapped in cloth.

Algol took the item and offered it to Marth. He folded back a part of the wrappings, revealing gold underneath.

The sight took Marth's breath away. "Falchion…!"

"The original, too," Algol chuckled. "Found an Outrealm that practically spawns legendary weaponry; I've got nearly everybody outfitted. Myself included." He gestured at Garm, slung over his back. "Of course I'd get you your sword, too."

Marth grinned and accepted the gift. I wasn't even planning on this. Gods… this will be one good fight.

"Within the hour, Chrom will be lying in a pool of his own blood, right in the center of the arena," Marth said confidently.

So there Marth was, lying in a pool of his own blood, right in the center of the arena.

It was Lucina's Falchion, not Chrom's. Figures; Marth wasn't sure if Chrom could even beat him, and Marth couldn't just throw the fight, lest they catch on.

He wasn't pretending anymore, though. Marth was as close to death's door as he could possibly be, and it was thanks to Lucina.

Marth was defeated.

He could practically feel the pressure of Old Hubba's orders fading away: white noise.

He was free.

But now wasn't the right time to tell the truth. Not yet. Old Hubba and Chrom still needed each other, and Marth needed them working together. Algol was still the greater threat; when the time came, Marth could reveal the truth.

Marth reached into his chest pocket and produced two cards. With as much strength as he could muster, he lifted his hand, offering the gifts to the Shepherds.

"M-Marth… and Caeda," he wheezed.

The Caeda card was real. With her in Shepherd hands, she was finally safe. The thought soothed Marth.

The Marth card, however, was not. Not even two hours ago, the same card had been in Chrom's pocket: Marth had pilfered it prior to his escape.

"Tell Old Hubba… that you lost me." Marth coughed; he could feel his life draining away. A sort of panic set in—panic that he would be too late to be saved, that he was wasting too much time, that he was losing too much blood—but he still had more to say.

I don't want to die, he thought breathlessly. He closed his eyes, trying his hardest to suppress the panic. I don't want to die…

"Old Hubba would believe that I was lost. When Einherjar die, our cards disappear from elsewhere and re-form at the spot of our death. With the card gone from Old Hubba's pocket, the old man would assume that Chrom was telling the truth, and that I had died."

Chrom frowned, remembering Old Hubba's reaction to the news of Marth's death. Gripping his chest, shocked… Chrom had thought he was giving the old man a heart attack.

Marth made up some mumbo-jumbo about "you have to wait a full day" or some such nonsense, to buy himself time, all the while preoccupied by what Brady had said:

"I don't think a staff's gonna do anything."

Marth squeezed his eyes shut. Deep breaths. Don't be alarmed. All was going according to plan. He moaned in quiet pain; the stab wound was utterly excruciating.

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

"I've always been his favorite," Marth said. The pain was starting to numb from shock, and a sort of peaceful clairvoyance arrived in its place.

The years passed by. Not the century of suffering, but the few years that truly counted—the years that Seliph, that Robin, wanted Marth to remember.

Death, almost without fail, provides one final gift to those on its doorstep. Perspective.

A tear ran down Marth's cheek. "And I… have always loved him like a father."

A smile twitched into being on his expression. I can't die… Not today. I won't.

"Don't grieve for me… My time passed, long ago…"

Find Seliph, and tell him of my fate: Phase II

Marth could feel his life ebbing away. Practically inaudible, he whispered into Lucina's ear: "Remember… Find Seliph. Tell him… tell him…"

He began to black out from exsanguination.

Outside the walls of the arena, Micaiah shook Lena's shoulder. "That's close enough! Do it, quickly!"

Lena focused her energy on the Rescue staff, searching for Marth. There.

Runes of light encircled the Hero-King, and he warped out of the arena.

Marth contorted in agony as he alighted on green earth, and he sputtered blood. His peaceful expression disappeared.

Lena grimaced. It had been far too long since she had seen a man suffer such a wound. In her experience, this had always been fatal.

"Micaiah, no staff can heal this." She faced Micaiah. "It's up to you."

Micaiah nodded, pursing her lips anxiously. She brushed her silver hair behind her ear.

Micaiah knelt over Marth and placed her hands on his chest. A blue glow began at her heart, traveled down her arm, and spread to encompass all of Marth's body.

The healing began.

Lena clutched her staff closely; terror gripped her, but for now, there was nothing she could do.

Micaiah's eyelids began to flutter as Sacrifice took its toll.

"Micaiah," Lena said, putting a hand on Micaiah's shoulder, but Micaiah brushed her off.

"I-I'm… fine." Micaiah furrowed her eyebrows as she focused.

As the silent, agonizing moment resumed, the grimace atop Marth's unconscious expression slowly faded away. Though his garb was stained red, the gaping stab wound in his chest began to mend itself shut.

Suddenly, Micaiah fell forward onto Marth, and a rush of blood came from the wound. Alarmed, Lena grasped Micaiah's shoulders. "Micaiah!"

Micaiah weakly blinked awake. "I… I can…"

"You must stop," Lena said softly. "You'll kill yourself and him if you push yourself so. W-We can… we can do the rest without Marth if we must."

Micaiah shook her head. "So… heartless." She looked up at Lena. "Tell me… Lena. If… your friends were in danger… and you had to resort to evil to save them… would you?"

"Evil?" Lena murmured, shaking her head in confusion.

"I would," Micaiah said, chuckling faintly. "I've set my morals on the line… endangered thousands… in order to save a precious few. …I can't stop, Lena… Nothing can make me stop… trying to save my friends. You are all… so precious to me."

At that, Micaiah summoned forth the will to sit up, and she resumed the Sacrifice. Lena winced, but she did not interfere.

Micaiah's strength persevered for a full minute more. Her head was spinning, and she could hardly even see, by the time the wound finally closed.

"That's enough," Lena said, pulling Micaiah away from Marth. Micaiah barely clung to consciousness, and deliriously fought against Lena's grip in an attempt to continue healing Marth.

"That's enough!" Lena repeated sternly, and she tightened her grip on Micaiah. "He's going to be okay. You did it, Micaiah. You did it."

Micaiah stopped fighting. As soon as she did, all her vigor abandoned her, and she panted weakly for breath in Lena's arms. Lena slowly placed Micaiah on her back, whereupon the Silver-Haired Maiden's eyes closed.

"You did well, Micaiah. I'll take things from here."

Lena smiled slightly as she monitored her two unconscious patients.

Marth gestured at himself. "Once we woke up—and I got a change of clothes—the plan was now in full swing. It was the Jugdralis' turn now."

Find Seliph, and tell him of my fate: Phase III

"Prince Seliph. I have a, um… a message from Lord Marth."

Seliph frowned. Since he had left for Jungby to reunite with Leif, he hadn't heard from the others. For all he knew, Marth didn't make it. As such, he kept his tongue, and waited for Lucina to continue.

"Last night, he… died. Lost his memories, returned to his card…"

Seliph flinched. His heart beat rapidly; it was all he could do to keep his bearing in front of her.

"Before he disappeared into light, he told me: 'Find Seliph. Tell him of my fate.' …So, here I am."

Ahhh. Seliph's eyes closed. Never before had his willpower come this close to yielding—a smile threatened to break through.

"That's… the whole message, short as it is," Lucina concluded uncomfortably.

"Disappeared into light…" Seliph murmured. Light. The warping bit worked. …Whether Marth survived his wounds is another matter, but this does mean the plan can continue. If Marth died, he died far away, so no one has his card; if he didn't die, then he's under the command of whoever almost killed him, and they don't know it.

Everything's going according to plan.

Seliph remembered Marth's instructions: "Keep them in the dark as much as you can. Remember, we need them and Old Hubba working together for as long as safely possible."

"I'm afraid I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about, milady," Seliph lied.

He saw the hope drain out of Lucina's face. "What?" She looked down at her hands. "B-But… Marth, he said…"

Pity grew within Seliph. The way she was dressed, the Falchion on her hip… This woman idolized Marth, no doubt about it. To let her think that Marth's last words to her were meaningless…

"I'm sorry," said Seliph quietly. "I wish I had something to tell you, but…" He inclined his head. "Excuse me, milady."

Seliph started to turn away, when suddenly a thought occurred to him. They need doubt, he thought. Doubt in Old Hubba. Not enough to turn them against the old man, but enough to trust us, later. And if… if I seem in control here, like the one with secrets—which I am—then they might come to the conclusion to just let things play out, when they realize Marth's card is fake.

Seliph winked at her, and saw a drastic change in her expression.

The rest was history.

"With that, Seliph went into action. His job, as well as Leif's, was to keep a close eye on Old Hubba—obviously not too close, because neither of them were on the manifest, and Old Hubba might eventually recognize them as Beatrice's Einherjar were he to catch them spying."

"Spying on him for what?" Cynthia asked.

Marth gestured around. "This. This conversation. Seliph was my pair of eyes on the inside, so that whenever he received confirmation of my survival—thanks to Lucina relaying my message—he would notify us if Old Hubba left for a long enough amount of time."

Chrom frowned. "…And… you just knew Old Hubba would be gone for hours?"

"Micaiah has been the one leaving breadcrumbs for his spies to find," Marth explained. "She's very stealthy; apparently she used to sneak around the occupied capital of her homeland, and became quite adept at it. Anyway, it's thanks to her that you fought Algol's Einherjar in such a convenient order, and also thanks to her that Algol is now dead. …Although the Shepherds are owed due credit for their flawless execution."

"We are pretty great," Morgan said, nodding.

"That is nearly the entire story." Marth sat forward, his expression turning grave. "But… just before I arrived here…"

A few hours ago

"Mm! Leila." Old Hubba smiled pleasantly. "You got news?"

Seliph peeked his head from around the corner, watching the two speak. He wore a tiny, smug smile. They found the breadcrumbs.

"Yes, sir. It's a group of twenty-nine Einherjar, led by an 'Eldigan,' in the Tellius Outrealm. They should pose little problem to the Shepherds."

Old Hubba nodded. "Good, good! In fact, excellent! There are very few Einherjar left after that, hm?"

"None, actually," said Leila. "With Algol dead, these are the final Einherjar remaining. When they are defeated, the war is over. …Good news, yes?"

Old Hubba nodded, smiling. "Yes… Yes, that is very good news, beautiful."

Leila sighed. "Sir…"

Old Hubba placed his hands atop his cane. "Sorry, dear. It's a habit. Anyway, I've got a question for ya."

"Anything, sir."

Old Hubba's eyes twinkled. "Do you remember who you were? Who the actual Leila was?"

Leila hesitated. "…Yes? I recall my service to Ostia, I recall Matthew… Is there something you would like to know?"

"Yeah. My question is, didja know that you died?"

"Of… Of course. That must have been eons ago."

Old Hubba silenced her with a gesture. "No, no… I mean you died during Eliwood's quest. Towards the beginnin'. Rather meaninglessly, in fact. Terrible; just a waste."

Leila shifted uncomfortably. "No. No, I did not know that."

"It's fitting, I think," Old Hubba mused. "Leila, you've only ever had the destiny of being a sacrifice, in life and out. I—and really, I truly mean this, from the bottom o' my heart—I thank you for your service, beautiful."

Old Hubba reached into his pocket, digging for a brief moment. Leila grew more and more confused, and was on the brink of voicing her concerns, when:

"Here it is." Old Hubba produced Leila's Einherjar card. He smiled pleasantly. "I wonder. Is there an Einherjar heaven? Or… are you things really just machines?"

Leila didn't have time to speak a word.

Old Hubba tore the card in two.

Leila vanished. No fire, no light, no… anything. Anticlimactic really. As though she were snatched away…

Gone.

Seliph's blood chilled.

Old Hubba pocketed the remains of Leila's card, and he walked away, whistling to himself. Off to scout that Outrealm.

Seliph blinked life into his limbs. I—I have to get Marth, he thought numbly. I have to… get…

Slowly at first, then in a panicked run, Seliph's legs carried him to the agreed-upon meeting place.

Marth took a deep breath. He began slowly.

"We are so… so close…" he murmured, not meeting his audience's eye. "The plan is reaching its fruition. You've heard my story, and now you know everything. All I ask from you now is patience—patience and caution. Algol is defeated, yes, but there are still a few rogue Einherjar left. However, once those Einherjar are out of the way, Old Hubba can finally face the justice he has eluded for a hundred years."

At long last, Marth stood. He met each Shepherd—Cynthia, Morgan, Chrom—in the eye. "It seems that I am out of time. Lord Chrom… I will be back at the end. Trust in me."

With a decisive swish of his cape, Marth turned and exited Morgan's bedroom.

…

For the next eternity or so, the room was entirely silent. The three Shepherds could only ponder the massive story Marth had just laid at their feet.

The silence was finally broken with a knock on the door, startling everyone. "Morgan?" came a voice.

Morgan sighed with relief. "Oh, good. It's just Lyn." She started to stand.

Cynthia caught her arm. "Morgan! What if she's under Old Hubba's orders?!" she whisper-shouted.

"She isn't!" Morgan assured her. "She's mine. She, and Caeda, and anyone we fought at the Dragon's Gate. I hadn't handed any of them over to Hubba yet."

Cynthia frowned. "…That still leaves a lot of Einherjar working for Old Hubba, though."

"Yeah. Fifty-ish."

Morgan and Cynthia fell silent.

More knocking. "…Morgan?" Lyn repeated, with a touch more concern.

"Oh! Come in, sorry."

Lyn opened the door slightly and poked her head in. She smiled. "It's Old Hubba. He's returned, and he says he has news of the last Einherjar."

"Oh," Morgan said. Then, she realized she was supposed to be excited, so she forced a smile and clapped her hands together. "Oh, goodie! That—ooh, I'm just so happy about that!"

Lyn's smile wavered. "…Are you okay, Morgan?"

"'Course I am, bucko!" Morgan said, increasingly less convincing. "We'll be right down, okay?"

"Okay…"

After giving Morgan a strange look, Lyn left.

Cynthia glanced aside at Chrom. "…You're being awfully quiet."

Chrom shook his head. Wincing, he pushed away from the wall, and he limped toward the door. "I'm just mulling this over. To be honest… I don't fully buy Marth's story."

Morgan was taken aback. "What? Are you kidding? You can't seriously think that he just made all of that up!" She crossed her arms. "Well then, why not? Doesn't it all make sense?"

"Yeah, I say we trust him," Cynthia added.

Chrom waved it away. "Girls—you're being distracted by what he said about Robin. I understand that you want to believe he's alive, but it's easily possible that Marth was just pushing buttons he knew would garner sympathy."

Cynthia crossed her arms, looking away. "…You sound like Laurent."

"But of course I can't rule all this out," Chrom continued. "Marth said 'patience and caution.' That's advice I do intend to follow. Morgan—gather the Shepherds in the conference room. You and I will discuss this further during Old Hubba's lecture."

Morgan frowned. "S-Sure."

Chrom eased the door open and limped out of Morgan's bedroom.

Morgan exchanged a glance with her twin sister. Though brimming with trepidation, they both followed him out.

Next time:

Chapter 11 – Rogues & Redeemers

Author's note:

This is one of those chapters you build up to forever, and when it's finally ready, you're like "ahhhhhhh, that hit the spot."

P.S. Hey-o, did anyone bring a bottle of wine, because it's time to celebrate! As of this chapter, Into the Outrealms has just surpassed my now-second-longest story, Miracle, in word count!