Chapter 11: Rogues & Redeemers

"…You're mad at me."

Cynthia brushed her hair over her ear. "What?" she whispered absently, not facing him. "No… No I'm not."

Inigo sighed. Unlike Cynthia, whose eyes (like everybody else's) were trained on Old Hubba lecturing at the front of the room, Inigo kept his attention on the young pegasus knight. In Inigo's study of Cynthia's expression, he could clearly see a harsh rage barely hiding underneath.

"Yes you are. I know you too well, Cynthia… you're upset."

Cynthia shook her head. "Well, it's not at you," she said under her breath. "Now drop it. I really can't deal with this right now."

"If it isn't me, then why are you being so curt?" Inigo asked quietly. "Is… Is it about this morning?"

"Gods, Inigo—"

"Because I'm sorry I took a chance," Inigo continued, a little defiant. "Victory tasted so sweet, I wanted to see if a sweeter taste existed. So to your lips I tried to take an adven—"

"Shut up!" she hissed. "Can this really not wait?" Sighing, she leaned her forearms against the conference table and resumed glaring at Old Hubba.

Inigo pursed his lips. For a moment, he simply watched Cynthia.

On an impulse, he lunged for her hand.

The smack of Cynthia deflecting Inigo's advance momentarily quieted the room and drew stares, but Old Hubba soon resumed his lecture, and the event was forgotten.

Chrom glanced aside at her, watching her seethe quietly. Cynthia didn't even seem to notice when a disgruntled Inigo stood up and moved to another seat, rubbing his smarting hand; her intense, hateful stare at Old Hubba blinded her.

She and her sister have different ways of dealing with this situation, I suppose, Chrom thought, as he turned to the young tactician on his other side.

Since the moment she had sat down, Morgan violently shivered with fear and anxiety. She seemed unable to bear to look at Old Hubba, settling instead on furtive glances in between writing.

Chrom accepted a note she handed him and had to resist the urge to whistle in surprise. The quality of her handwriting was decreasing exponentially with each passed note. He glanced at her to watch her so-called 'writing' in action, to find that her unsteady hand was at fault.

"So r we gonna do sumthin bout him?" the note read.

Chrom replied, "Not yet. We still can't be sure."

"4 gods sakes, capn, pls just abbrev ur words"

"No."

Morgan sighed when she read the response.

"Fine. I believe HK. OH needs 2 face justice."

"I said we can't be sure. HK had plenty of reason to lie."

Morgan exhaled in quiet irritation.

"Like WHAT?"

"He was alive for 100+ years. People go senile in less."

"He isnt just "people.""

"That's what OH thinks."

Another irritated snort.

"Not what I meant, and dont compare me to him. He tried to kill Dad."

"Allegedly"

"Youre being infuriating. What if HK told the truth? Did you miss the part where HE TRIED TO KILL DAD?!"

"Do you WANT to believe that our benefactor for so long has been a murderer all this time?"

"Gods, Chrom. I want to believe that Dad is alive."

Chrom's eyes narrowed. So that IS what this is about.

"So, what? Want us to arrest OH? Kill him, even? On a STORY? On the mere mention of Robin's name?"

Morgan tapped her pen against the page, taking a while to compose a response.

"I dont want to abet a killer any longer than I have to. Im not ok with working for bad guys."

Chrom sighed.

"That I can agree with. What I can't agree with is acting on mere suspicions."

"I guess youve got a point."

The conversation seemed over, so Chrom leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He caught the tail end of Old Hubba's lecture:

"…an' this last guy's name is Eldigan. Jugdrali dude. Neat, huh?"

Chrom's eyes narrowed. It IS Eldigan…

Old Hubba clasped his hands together. "So! Any questions?"

"Y-Yes." Morgan swallowed her fear. "Um… have you scouted the Outrealm?"

Hubba nodded jovially. "Sure have, dearie! It's a little fort on the south border of Crimea. Or, the north border of Gallia. Eh, let's go with Gallia."

"Oh man, Gallia's cool," Morgan said dejectedly. "It's all trees and beast-people…"

"I know! I've always been a fan of Tellius lore." Old Hubba winked. "Wouldn't mind talkin' about it sometime, if yer interested?"

Dammit, that sounds really fun, Morgan thought. I wish I was still allowed to like him. "Ahem… yeah. I was just… just wondering… uh…"

Uh-oh, Chrom thought. She's searching for words. She's about to push our luck.

"I was wondering if you've recalled all your spies?" Morgan said nonchalantly. "You said you had people out scouting… but if this'll be the last battle, then your people must all be on their ways back, huh?"

Old Hubba hesitantly nodded. "Yeah, I s'pose."

"Thing is, I was hoping we could use some of them," Morgan continued. "It's evening now, so if we're gonna fight in a nighttime environment, it'd be handy to have people with great eyesight, like thieves. Mind if we… borrow Leila?"

Chrom winced.

"Oh… Oh, I dunno if that'll be possible," Old Hubba said slowly. "She'll take awhile ta get home… Most o' my helpers will, seems like."

Morgan shot Chrom a look.

Old Hubba brightened. "But it's not like you guys need any more help! What's a few more Einherjar when we've got the mighty Shepherds? Eh? Eh?" Old Hubba cleared his throat. "Well, if there's no more questions, guess y'all should head on over to the Gallia Outrealm, then, huh? Last fight! All the remainin' Einherjar! Ooh, ahh!"

The reaction from the Shepherds was mixed. The strongest responses were begrudging sighs.

Stahl looked around, utterly flabbergasted. "Seriously? Is NOBODY going to say what we're all thinking?" He faced Old Hubba. "We just got back from a fight. We battled Ephraim in the Dragon's Gate this morning, and no one came out of that fight unhurt. I mean, look at Chrom!"

Stahl gestured, and all eyes fell on the Exalt.

"Even he got injured! Just look at him; he's pale and tired. Not sitting normally. Clearly still feeling his wound from earlier. Honestly, he probably shouldn't even be up and about!"

Aaaand Chrom lied to me, Emmeryn thought, sighing.

"I concur with Stahl," said Miriel. "We have scarcely recuperated from our previous, dare I say grueling, conflict versus Ephraim. We require a bit of…"

"Of R&R," Ricken finished.

"Indeed."

Next to Emmeryn, Frederick scratched his chin. "R&R… Rest and relaxation. That sounds good to me." He turned his attention to the current Exalt. "Sire, I recommend we postpone our final confrontation with the Einherjar until tomorrow at the least. They are not going anywhere, and we are not at full fighting strength at the moment. …You are not at full fighting strength, milord."

Emmeryn nodded her agreement. "Well said, Frederick. You shouldn't push yourself, Chrom…"

"Yes, yes, you all have hammered that point home," Chrom sighed. He steepled his hands as he contemplated the matter.

Tempting. Very, very tempting. The lasting injury Ephraim had buried deep in Chrom's side maintained a constant burn, and the promise of sleep—and more importantly, those delicious, delicious pain-killing vulneraries—was nothing less than a heavenly thought.

Mm…

Chrom forced himself back to reality: allowed himself to feel Ephraim's rage more sharply. This wound was temptation incarnate. "Go to sleep," it urged. "Throw caution to the wind."

Chrom took a breath. The weight of everyone's gaze rested squarely on his shoulders, and with it, the temptation. Their eyes said, "We would love you for this."

Then, his eyes met Old Hubba's.

Chrom shifted in his seat, watching the old man. With this, Chrom was in the state to ask himself the important question:

Do I trust him?

Chrom cursed Marth and Marth's story. Had the Hero-King not arrived in Chrom's room two hours ago, there would be no question here. Chrom would have put it off until tomorrow, slept like a child, and awakened fresh in the morning, content in his brief R&R before facing in top form what would surely, surely be the final battle.

And yet, Chrom could not blame his ancestor. If Marth was telling the truth… unpleasant as it was… then whether he had told Chrom would have changed nothing. Old Hubba would still be the villain Marth claimed him to be.

Chrom glanced aside at Cynthia, and then to Morgan—perhaps for help? Both replied with equally conflicted stares.

He turned back to Old Hubba.

Do I trust him?

Chrom had always considered himself an optimist. A trusting person. It was that very belief in people that birthed his friendship with Robin, even; were it not for his faith, the world might be naught but ash and blood by now.

Chrom watched Old Hubba, and, with all his heart, he wished he could answer that question with a "yes."

Chrom closed his eyes, and his heart sank. He was about to become very unpopular.

Chrom slowly pushed his chair out, and, staying strong through the pain, he stood up to properly address the room.

He breathed in… and out. Dozens of his allies watched him expectantly.

Chrom braced himself. "…We make for Gallia tonight."

The responses were predictable. Sighs, moans, groans; all loud. A muttered "For gods' sakes" interspersed, perhaps a few expletives Chrom would later chastise them for using in his presence.

"You've gotta be joking!" Lissa exclaimed, standing. "Chrom, c'mon! Why can't we just have a little bit of time to relax, huh? Don't be dumb, you need the rest just as much as us!"

Unpopular indeed. "I'm sorry, everyone. We're going." He raised a hand to halt further objections—"But! We aren't going to fight Eldigan tonight. Rather, we're going to scout the area, get a feel for the terrain, and make camp a safe distance away. We'll wage the… final battle… in the morning anyway, as Frederick suggested."

Lissa pouted. "And we really can't stay here, and sleep in actual beds?"

Chrom sighed.

"Jerk."

No one else had the required station (or gall) to vocalize their agreement with the princess, but Chrom could see the echoed sentiments in his Shepherds' eyes.

Chrom let their discontent fester for a moment. He leaned against the table, staring down.

Finally, he commanded over the mutterings, "That's enough." The room fell silent. "Shepherds, get ready to sortie."

Ylisse's finest unenthusiastically got to work.

Chrom caught many a sharp glance from his allies as they relocated from their comfortable beds and gathered tents for tonight's little camping trip.

"Don't mind them, Captain," Morgan said under her breath. "They'll understand sooner or later."

"I know," Chrom sighed. "We can't spend another night sharing a roof with a mur—with a potential murderer."

Morgan caught his slip of the tongue. "So you do buy Marth's story, then?"

"No… Well, I'm not sure. But I did say 'patience and caution,' and I'm not going to risk anything by spending another night here."

"We should tell everyone the 'why,' then. They'll get where you're coming from."

"I don't think so. If we tell them, and we're wrong, then everyone will distrust the old man when we shouldn't. No, this should stay between only a few of us for now."

"A few…" Morgan scratched her chin. "Okay, I can agree with that."

"Heh. You better; this isn't a democracy."

"Guess not. But hey, at least I'm sittin' pretty with our lord and dictator, huh?" Morgan shot Chrom a wink. "Cutie."

Chrom turned beet-red. "S-Seriously? Is there no situation too serious for you to tell a joke?"

Morgan's smile disappeared. "Who said I'm joking?"

"Wh… Wait, what?!"

But a tiny grin emerged from Morgan's expression, and Chrom looked away, huffing irately. Oh, good. Another layer to her sense of humor. How far is she going to take this joke? …W-Will she ACTUALLY start flirting at some point? I don't even want to know how Maribelle would react.

"Gods, Morgan, have some boundaries," Chrom muttered. "Anyway, go pack or something. I have to gather the others."

Morgan saluted. "Yessir."

When Morgan left, Chrom took an impatient breath. I bet these errands are gonna be fun…

"What? Really? I can go with you? Psh." Severa stood from her bed. "Wow, that was easy. I didn't even have to apologize."

"You're not off the hook," Chrom said sternly. "I don't condone violence on our allies; it's not what the Shepherds are. Your punishment will come later."

"I was wondering if that was ever gonna happen," Severa snarked. "All things considered, house arrest is a pretty cozy prison." She crossed her arms. "Though having nothing to do is pretty lame…"

Chrom shrugged. "If you'd like a worse punishment, I'd be happy to give it to you. Anyway, you're missing the point: you're still not fighting, you're just tagging along."

"Oh, so I guess you'd be fine with me leaving my armor here?" Severa's smirk indicated that she already knew Chrom's answer.

Chrom's eyes narrowed. "Bring it. Just in case."

"Whatever." Severa moved to collect her clothes, while Chrom started to leave.

Chrom lingered in the doorway. "Oh… and you'll be sharing a tent with your mother." He smiled coldly. "Report to the Outrealm Gate in ten minutes."

Severa scowled.

Chrom left, feeling a modicum of petty satisfaction.

Aaaand the satisfaction was gone.

"No! Absolutely not, milord. I couldn't possibly allow it."

"My hands are tied, Say'ri. The Manaketes can't stay here, and that includes her."

Say'ri pointed sharply at Tiki, who sat cross-legged atop her bed. "Need I remind you what transpired the last time Tiki passed through the ancient portal?"

"No, you… needn't," Chrom said, frowning. "But we really do have no choice. It's…" Chrom glanced over his shoulder, and lowered his voice. "It's not safe here."

Tiki frowned. "Say'ri, if we must go, then there is nothing to be done. I will weather the strain, just like I've done before."

Nah and Nowi exchanged a concerned glance. "We'll go, too," said Nowi slowly. "I mean… sure, going through the Gate sucks, but if we've got to, then what's the sense in complaining?"

"That's the sort of reasonable answer I needed," Chrom said, smiling in relief. "Go ahead and—"

But Say'ri stepped in front of Chrom, still wearing a defiant glare. "Sire, forgive me, but I must put my foot down. Do what you will with Ladies Nah and Nowi, but Lady Tiki is my ward. I cannot allow her to go through such pain again. I will…" She cast her eyes aside. "I will do what I must to protect her. That includes protection from you."

"Say'ri, did you not hear what I just said? It isn't safe here!"

"Then I will safeguard her myself," Say'ri challenged. "I have been remiss in my duty of late. Fie, I allowed Tiki's condition to remain a secret from you for nearly two days, when we could potentially have acquired aid! I cannot continue to go against Lady Tiki's best interests, even if it means I must disobey an order… from you, or her." Say'ri planted herself between Chrom and Tiki. "Apologies, milord. But I must refuse."

Chrom grimaced. "Say'ri… You cannot protect her all on your own. Not from the dangers here."

Tiki cleared her throat. "I don't… exactly know what is going on," she began, "but, Say'ri, I trust Chrom. If this mansion is no longer safe, then which would be more certain: the Outrealm Sickness inflicted by following Chrom, or the death Chrom promises will come if we stay? Say'ri, you know how much I appreciate your service, your loyalty… I could not ask for a better guardian. But think: which is the lesser risk?"

"There's no winning solution here," Nah said somberly. "The only way we Manaketes could have won was by never entering the Outrealms in the first place."

Nowi and Tiki nodded in grim agreement.

Say'ri clenched her teeth. "Lady Tiki… I cannot allow you to suffer such agony. I cannot."

"Oh, Say'ri… It'll be alright." Tiki smiled. "I know I'll still be okay, because I'll have you to take care of me, like I always do. Right?"

Say'ri hesitated, conflicted. "I… Yes… Of course, Lady Tiki. I'll always…" She trailed off.

Chrom looked around the room. Some sort of vague consensus seemed to have been reached. "…Good," he said. "Let's get going, then. The others should be waiting."

"Ah, man. This was so dumb."

As he had done many times before, Chrom forced down the inexplicable, primal fear that the Outrealm Gate inspired in him without fail. The Gate always stared back, coldly.

Chrom worked up his nerve. "Bad idea. Gods, what was I thinking? Three times in one day? I should be slowing down how much I use this damn thing, not picking up the pace!"

Morgan frowned. "Sorry, Captain. But there's really no other choice; you know that."

"Yeah, I do…" Chrom took a breath. "Okay. Here we go."

"Gah!" Chrom fell to a knee, wincing at the sharp pain. He felt warm liquid spreading across the side of his shirt. Great! Now I get to have these gods-damn stitches done for the THIRD time.

"Chrom, you alright?"

Chrom waved away Sully's concern. "I'm… fine. Get me Maribelle."

"Sure thing."

Chrom clutched his side as he slowly rose to his feet, flinching at the sharp reminders accompanying each movement.

He stood lopsided, favoring the uninjured hip, as he watched his Shepherds exit the portal. He soured; they all made it look so easy.

Well, until Nah. The moment she exited the portal, her eyes rolled back and she crumpled like so much paper. Morgan was quick to catch her.

Likewise, Libra was there to halt Nowi's face-forward collapse. Nowi's eyelids fluttered, and she murmured incomprehensible words to herself as Libra carried her away.

Then, in stepped Say'ri. Maribelle came soon after, led by Sully, and Say'ri stepped aside to allow them passage. Say'ri then waited patiently by the Gate, wearing a concerned grimace.

At last, out of the Gate came Naga's Voice herself—Tiki. Tiki did not follow precedent by immediately falling unconscious, no; rather, she fell to all fours, loudly dry-heaving into the dirt. Say'ri knelt by her, rubbing the Manakete's back.

Maribelle approached Chrom, frowning. "You pulled your stitches again, dear?"

"Yeah. You know me; I just hate 'em."

Maribelle laughed. "I suppose that must be the 'only' reasonable explanation for why you so often lose them. Anyway, Lucina and Brady should have completed our tent by now; let me repair your injury there."

"Sounds good."

As Maribelle led Chrom away, he glanced over his shoulder at Tiki, concerned. The Manakete was no longer strong enough to even hold herself up on all fours. Tiki coughed repeatedly, and in between heaves, she moaned quietly. She eventually succeeded in vomiting blood.

Several healers crowded around the semiconscious Manakete. The last glimpse Chrom caught was of Say'ri shooting him a hateful glare.

The tent was momentarily quiet. Chrom sat shirtless in a chair while Maribelle tended to his red-stained hip. Chrom glanced down at the wound; there was a little more scar tissue than the last he had seen of it, but he suspected this would plague him for longer than the few days Emmeryn had promised.

Lucina and Brady sat in different chairs, pointedly looking away. Brady seemed a little irritated—even more so than his usual expression.

Chrom knew why they were both so quiet. They didn't approve of Chrom's decision, either. He sighed. To be expected.

So he broke the silence. "You know how you run into people at the weirdest times?" He tried for a casual tone, break the ice. "Like, you're just walking around town, and boom, you run into someone you knew from years ago?"

Lucina blinked. "I-I suppose?"

"Well, I had a little encounter with an old acquaintance today," Chrom said. "Marth."

A beat passed. Maribelle's handiwork paused.

"Marth?" Lucina asked; her knuckles were clenched white. "As in—as in our Marth?!"

"Same one. Had his memories and everything."

"Bull," Brady stated irritably.

"I'm telling the truth, I'm afraid. Marth showed up a few hours ago and explained everything to me, Morgan, and Cynthia. I think you all should know, too. Now…" Chrom chose his words carefully. "I… want you to know, before I tell the whole story, that I have my doubts in it. It's possible that…" He trailed off. No, I should leave it at that. They can form their own opinions. "…Never mind. This is a long story, by the way, so Maribelle, if you could continue on the stitches…?"

"Oh! Certainly, dear."

Chrom sighed. "Okay. So, Marth's story started over a hundred years ago, when he first woke up from his card…"

The emotional journey repeated itself before Chrom's family. Gasps, shock, horror, tears… and that was just Brady.

"Old Hubba… is a villain… Marth is alive… and so is Robin." Lucina was standing, her hands limp in surprise. "Father… this story is unbelievable."

"I'm just relaying what Marth told me," Chrom cautioned. "I'm not certain if it's entirely true."

"But it must be," said Maribelle, who had finished Chrom's stitches partway through the story. "It all fits together."

"Gotta be honest, Pa…" Brady dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief. "…I don't see what's hard ta believe about this. It's an awful truth, sure, but it makes too much sense ta be a lie."

Chrom's temper flared. "I'm not going to immediately believe that Old Hubba, of all people, is our enemy!" he exclaimed. "It's—ridiculous! Not to mention that he has been our ally all this time. You all seem so eager to toss that out the window!"

"Validar was our ally, once," Maribelle murmured. "We accepted his aid during the Valmese War."

"That was different," Chrom spat. "We all distrusted him from the get-go. We took his help because we had to."

"Regardless, we cannot ignore this," Lucina said determinedly. "We must return to the mansion at once."

"Not an option. The Einherjar need to be contained, regardless of what Old Hubba is." Chrom crossed his arms. "Right now, everyone is safely out of the mansion. When we've dealt with Eldigan, we can figure out our next move."

Lucina sighed, finally understanding Chrom's decision. She took her chair, defeated.

The tent flap rustled, and a mess of brown hair poked through. "Um—Chrom?"

Chrom frowned. "Morgan?" He slowly adjusted in his chair to face her, careful not to mess with his fresh stitches. "What's the matter?"

Morgan took a step inside, staring down at her feet. She hugged a bundle of papers to her chest. "Um… I was just wondering if… you still wanted to look over that after-action report?" She glanced up at Chrom hopefully.

Chrom laughed. "Morgan, by this point, that really doesn't matter. Get some rest."

Morgan didn't budge. She wiggled on her toes nervously, and didn't meet his eye. "I mean… I… there's some important stuff on it, and Katarina didn't have too much to offer in… um… tactics… and strategy, you know…?"

Chrom frowned, watching her. She's shaken. Marth's story… it really got to her. "…Okay, Morgan. It seems pretty important."

Morgan lit up. "Uh—G-Great! Thanks, Captain. We've got lots to talk about."

"Heh, all right, Morgan," Chrom chuckled. "So long as you let me get some sleep tonight."

The tent paused. Brady facepalmed, and Maribelle couldn't resist a tiny smirk.

Chrom suddenly glowed bright red as he realized his error.

Morgan shook her head. "Dude… you're walking right into these."

"Walking into what?" Lucina asked, looking around. "I don't get it."

Chrom's eyes shot open, and he quickly sat up, intending to leap to his feet and investigate the commotion outside.

He was delayed, however, by a searing pain shooting down his hip, forcibly reminding him of yesterday morning.

Or was it still today? Chrom thought hazily. He slowly picked himself up. It's still dark out… How much sleep did I get?

Another jolt of pain as he stood.

Well… I'm awake now.

Maribelle was already dressed and reaching for a healing staff.

"Captain: here." Apparently Morgan was there, too. She wiped some drool off of her chin as she handed a vulnerary to Chrom. "Before you ask, your desk is not very comfy. I'm not gonna make a habit of sharing a tent with you."

"Now's not the time, Morgan!" Chrom hastily applied the painkilling salve to his wound as he made for the tent flap. "What's happening?"

Chrom pushed his way out of the tent. Though the clamor around him demanded his attention, he was instead distracted by the light overhead.

A ball of Fire hung in the air, slowly fizzling away as it drifted on the breeze. It had been launched as a flare, apparently; even now, much of the camp glowed a pale red from this artificial sun.

Was this one of ours? Chrom thought. Is this flare a warning, launched by a Shepherd… or is it a call to arms, launched by our enemy?

Chrom grabbed a nearby Shepherd. "Gaius! What's going on?"

"It's them, bud," Gaius said grimly. "They found us."

Gaius hurried away, leaving behind a sleep-addled Chrom trying to puzzle out this turn of events. "The Einherjar…? How did they find us? Did they catch our scouts? Or did they stumble upon our camp by luck…?"

"Chrom!"

Chrom faced the urgent cry. "C-Cordelia? What's the matter?"

Cordelia alighted nearby and dismounted from her pegasus. She grimaced. "Milord, it's the enemy leader… Eldigan. He wishes to speak with you."

Chrom threw his hands up, frustrated. "Can I get a status report, at least?"

"Of course. My apologies." Cordelia gestured around the faintly-glowing camp. "At approximately zero-five-thirty-five hours, a flare was launched from the center of camp. Within a matter of minutes, the Einherjar had the entire encampment completely surrounded."

"Completely surr—?" Chrom shook his head. "Wait, center of camp? How did they sneak in?"

Cordelia flinched. "I led the night watch, sir. I have only myself to blame, and will accept any punishment you deem—"

Chrom waved it away. "Later!" He faced Morgan. "Now what?"

Morgan looked around nervously. "I-I-I need time," she stuttered. "I need… numbers, a headcount, time to plan our formation…"

"Get ahold of yourself, Morgan! We don't have any time, and I need your tactical expertise!"

"Expertise? I-I'm just… I'm an amateur! I haven't lead a real battle yet! I'm not—I'm not—"

Chrom growled angrily. "This is no time for a meltdown! Morgan, go find Nah, and get in the right state of mind! You are leading this today, whether you like it or not!"

Morgan recoiled in fear. On wobbling legs, she turned and ran.

"Milord," Cordelia repeated, retaking Chrom's attention. "Eldigan."

Chrom blinked. "Right… He wanted to speak." He ran a hand through his hair and glanced over his shoulder at the direction Morgan had fled. That was in the vague direction of Nah's tent, so it seemed that she had understood his order. Was I too harsh? …No, of course I wasn't. He turned back to Cordelia. "Very well. Take me to him."

"Of course, milord."

Eldigan's black horse slowly trotted forward. The regal man was composed and serious, and he politely dismounted to greet Chrom.

Chrom gestured for Cordelia to back away, and he stepped forward to welcome the newcomer. He briefly adjusted the straps on his shoulder pauldron, hastily thrown on as he had (metaphorically) leapt out of bed.

"What is your name, sir?" Eldigan asked.

"I am Chrom," he answered. "Exalt of Ylisse, and leader of the Shepherds."

"I see." Eldigan placed a hand on his chest. "My name is Eldigan, King of Nordion, the most ancient and proud province of Agustria. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise, Sir Eldigan." Chrom would normally have offered a hand to shake, but he deemed the action inappropriate here. "Your Highness… would you mind if I asked you a question?"

Eldigan frowned, but nodded his approval.

Chrom adjusted to ease weight off of his wound. "How would you feel about surrendering?"

Eldigan raised an eyebrow. "…Pardon?"

Chrom put up a hand. "Now, I know that's a pretty odd request. You definitely have the advantage here, what with all your soldiers using the woods as cover. We're pretty well surrounded."

"Then why ask the question, if you know my answer?"

"Because there is much that you don't understand," said Chrom. "I need you to hear me out."

A little smirk appeared on Eldigan's face, and he crossed his arms. "Haha! Very well, you have my ear, Sir Chrom."

"We are not your enemy," Chrom insisted. "Your true enemy was Algol; he had been manipulating you for months, bending you to his whim without you even knowing it. However, Algol is now dead; we killed him yest…" Yesterday? Wait, was it today? …Oh yeah, Cordelia said that it's morning now. "—Yesterday. With him dead, there's no reason for you to fight anymore."

"How am I to believe that you are telling the truth? Perhaps you are the manipulator."

Chrom chuckled. "I guess you raise something of a good point. But, Eldigan, I am a very trusting man. I have faith that you can find it in your heart to discern the truth: do you truly believe that I am deceiving you? Remember, you are the one who came here for a fight, not the other way around."

Eldigan's expression flickered. "Th-This… Algol. This man was our leader."

"Was, but no more. You are no longer under his scheming thumb. You have the freedom to take a side, Eldigan; which one do you choose?"

Eldigan paused silently for a long moment. He cast his eyes aside, frowning thoughtfully.

The crimson flare in the sky finally faded away, and the camp returned to darkness.

"Exalt Chrom… You raise a convincing argument."

A glint of morning sun shone through the trees. Eldigan's hair was revealed as a bright gold.

Eldigan chuckled. "Ah… And of course your hair is blue. You are so like him…"

Chrom frowned.

Eldigan's smile very gradually withered. "However… I cannot give up so easily. I…" He grimaced. "I would be throwing away my pride… vanquished, by words? And words I could simply choose not to believe…"

Chrom's heart fell. "So… you do not surrender?"

Eldigan bit his tongue, and continued to think for a moment.

"Your Highness…" Eldigan tested out the words, searching his feelings. "I… I can think of only one way to resolve this."

Eldigan gestured over his shoulder, and a young blue-haired squire came forth to guide Eldigan's steed away.

Eldigan's expression drew a hard determination. "If your words are true, then your blade shall be truer. I challenge you to single combat. The stakes: our surrender, or yours."

Chrom paled.

Last night

Morgan's pen hesitated over the parchment. "Captain…"

Chrom peered over her shoulder at the troop positions Morgan had laid out so far. "What's the matter?"

Morgan bit her lip. "I know, we've had this argument already, but I've really gotta insist this time." She met his eye. "If it comes to a fight with the Einherjar tomorrow, please sit it out."

Chrom's hand absently rested on his hip. "Morgan… I really couldn't agree more. I'll let the others handle it; they've proven themselves time and time again. They can handle this one fight without me." He raised a finger. "But! Soon as I'm able, I'll be back in action for good, okay?"

"Heheh! Fine, fine." Morgan let out a relieved sigh. "You just made this a whole lot easier on me, Captain."

"Heh. Easier on myself, too."

Now

"Single combat," Chrom echoed. "Just you… and me."

"Of course." Eldigan's hand rested on his sheathed sword.

Chrom breathed in. Oh, boy. He exhaled. "And if I refuse?"

"Then we attack," Eldigan stated plainly.

Chrom analyzed his surroundings. Plenty of woods… dozens of tents… twenty-nine Einherjar, forty-six Shepherds. Gah, forty-three; no Manaketes, he thought, kicking himself. But then again, I don't know how many Einherjar we have on our side… and I guess I could add Severa to make it forty-four…

He collected his thoughts again. This is a fight we could win, almost certainly. We've had close shaves before… but…

There were whispers of movement in the dark woods: rustlings from the unseen fighters within.

Nearly thirty hidden warriors, attacking from the shadows on all sides. Could we win? Yes. But would everyone make it…? The odds of losing a Shepherd are horrendously unfavorable.

That's not a chance I'm willing to take.

"Okay, Eldigan… You have my attention. What happens if I lose, and we surrender?"

Eldigan hesitated. "My orders… are to kill trespassers. If you surrender, then there is no guarantee that I could keep your people alive. And this is a duel to the death, Chrom; your loss ensures your own death."

Chrom sighed. So… CERTAIN death if I lose, PROBABLE death if I refuse. Winning the duel is the only safe option.

Chrom adjusted his stance, and winced as his hip helpfully reminded him that it existed. "Is there… any chance that I could substitute?"

"Are you not a knight?" Eldigan challenged. "That gilded sword astride your hip tells otherwise."

A voice erupted from the crowd at Chrom's back: "Allow me, then!" Lucina stepped forward. "I will duel you, Eldigan, in my father's stead!"

"You would pass off your duty to a descendant, then?" Eldigan spat. "This duel is meant to test your word, Sir Chrom. Do you mean to tell me that hers is stronger than yours?"

Chrom's pride flared. "Were I in top form, this conversation would not have happened. I would've already proved just how strong my word is."

"Ahaha! Excuses, now? Lovely." Eldigan turned away. "Very well then, Chrom. You've shown your true colors. Prepare yourselves."

Chrom kicked himself. Why would I mention the injury? Idiot! "Hold it, Eldigan! I accept your challenge. I'll defeat you regardless."

Eldigan paused, and glanced over his shoulder at the Exalt. "…Very well. Our duel will settle this." He gestured, and the same blue-haired squire ran over, assisting Eldigan in removing his excess armor.

Chrom, likewise, returned to his Shepherds. Though the others watched him anxiously, only Lucina and Maribelle approached him; Maribelle immediately went to work tightening and correcting the many pieces of armor and clothing Chrom had haphazardly equipped as he had stumbled awake.

"Father, this is a terrible idea," Lucina hissed. "Do you know that weapon he wields?"

Chrom furrowed his eyebrows as he watched Maribelle's handiwork. "No…"

"I do," she continued irately. "I have a certain cousin who has gushed over its invincibility for years. Eldigan wields the Mystletainn, Father—and it is likely the original Mystletainn, containing all the power it has lost over the millennia. Eldigan the Lionheart was nigh unstoppable in his time."

"That was a long time ago."

"Dammit, Father!" Lucina snapped.

She rarely swore in front of Chrom; surprised, he faced her, to find frustrated tears in her eyes.

"Even if you were in top form, this man would be one of the toughest battles you've yet fought! You—You cannot possibly stand a chance with such an injury. You will die, Father!" She grasped his arm tightly, ensuring she had his attention. "Listen to me, Father! You will die! I refuse to let that happen again!"

"Lucina… I'm not going to die." He placed his hand on hers, gently removing her grip on him.

"I've gotta agree with Lucy here, Captain."

Lucina and Chrom faced Morgan as she approached.

"You're back," Chrom said proudly. "Glad to see you've calmed down."

"Y-Yeah, well… enjoy it while it lasts," she said, laughing shakily. "Anyway: Chrom, I heard all of it. You really don't need to do this. We can take them in a fight."

"I know, and I know we can win, too. But I'm not going to risk losing anyone. With the tree cover they've got, there are just too many avenues for them to attack from."

Morgan bit her thumbnail. She had considered that, herself; statistically, she predicted upwards of a ninety percent chance of losing a Shepherd. And while she would love to gamble on a 10% chance of something awesome happening, now was not the appropriate time.

…If Chrom had not also considered that likelihood, she would have kept it from him. "Sure, we've got this!" she would've said. And she would have lain in bed that night, unable to sleep for knowing that that life lost, or those lives lost, could have been prevented. She'd had enough sleepless nights lately…

But still, allowing Chrom this duel seemed an equal gamble. And if Chrom lost, so did the rest of the Shepherds—unless they decided to resort to less-than-honorable deeds, which Morgan definitely would do if Chrom lost.

Still… Chrom losing meant losing Chrom.

She couldn't voice any of this. Most of it was too horrible to say.

So Morgan looked Chrom in the eye. She placed her hands on both of his cheeks, and she narrowed her eyes as she forced Chrom to meet her gaze.

Chrom's eyes widened. What is happening. For the love of Naga, please don't give me a good-luck kiss.

"Chrom, this is a terrible idea," Morgan said. "I think it's really, really risky what you're doing. But… there is no good solution here. The only way we could've won…" She averted her gaze. "…would have been by never entering the Outrealms in the first place." She met his eye again. "Your decision is crazy, and is likely to end in failure as not. But it's the right choice. You're doing the right thing."

Lucina tensed.

"Remember, Chrom," Morgan said. Her voice carried a serious weight to it, such that Chrom had never heard from her. "Eldigan is playing for keeps. You can't hold back anymore, or you'll get a lot worse than what Ephraim did to you." She took a breath; her face was so close that Chrom could feel the warm exhalation. "Chrom, you have to kill Eldigan."

Chrom's lips parted in surprise. Then, his expression hardened. "…You're right, Morgan. I won't hold back."

Morgan broke into a feeble half-smile. Her hands on his face began to tremble. "Okay. C-Captain… Good luck."

And then, just as he predicted, she planted a tiny, platonic peck on his forehead before hastily retreating back to the crowd.

Chrom shook his head, grinning. Of course she'd end with that.

Maribelle stood up from lacing Chrom's boots. "I hope you know that I don't approve," she said softly.

"Oh, I definitely know."

"Of course. I'll save my harsh words for after your victory." Maribelle forced a smile. "Best of luck, love… We all fight at your back."

"I can feel your strength." Chrom accepted a brief kiss from his wife.

Maribelle left, leaving Chrom and Lucina to stare down.

"Father…" Lucina began hesitantly. A hundred more arguments crossed her mind; a hundred more ideas smarter than this one, certainly! …But she swallowed her concerns, and she offered a hand for her father to shake. "…Good luck."

Chrom accepted the handshake. "Lucina… I will come back. This is not your future; I always come back, I promise."

A tear ran down Lucina's cheek. "Father…"

Chrom cupped her cheek in his hand, brushing away the tear with his thumb. Lucina was suddenly, forcibly reminded of a similar scene from over a year ago. Chrom inviting her in, her hugging him tightly…

"You deserved better from me than one sword and a world full of troubles."

Lucina suddenly backed away. Chrom dropped his hand, surprised.

Lucina panted. "No… No, this… this is not goodbye," she murmured breathlessly. "There's no need for tears…" She forced a smile. "Because, Father, you are going to win. I believe in you."

Lucina turned and marched away.

Warmth welled within Chrom, as he stood on his own—but not alone. "You're right," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "I can feel it, Lucina… I feel your belief. I feel everyone's belief…"

He turned around to face the Lionheart Eldigan. Eldigan strode closer, dropping his black sword's sheath into the dirt.

Chrom unhooked Falchion from his hip and extracted the golden blade from its cage. He tossed the covering aside.

Fire Emblem and Falchion in hand, Chrom faced his opponent. Eldigan readied his legendary weapon.

"My allies' convictions are as true as mine," Chrom declared. "I carry their strength as my own. Eldigan… you will soon bear the brunt of it."

Eldigan twirled Mystletainn. "If you can live up to those words, then you will have earned that victory. En garde!"

The clashing of two legendary swords resounded loudly through the Shepherds' camp. Though many of the Shepherds were elsewhere, preparing for a hypothetical engagement with the enemy, a sizable crowd remained to spectate.

Eldigan swatted Falchion aside and twisted his sword at Chrom's head. Morgan bit down on her knuckle unconsciously—but thankfully, Chrom dodged. Morgan took her hand away from her mouth before she could draw blood.

"He is doing rather well."

Morgan glanced aside, acknowledging the unmistakably deep voice. "Hey, Priam."

Priam nodded at her respectfully, though his eyes did not leave the fight before them.

Chrom deflected the Mystletainn off of his shield, and he shoved his elbow into Eldigan's gut. Eldigan responded with a punch to Chrom's jaw. Chrom snarled, and their swords met once again.

"I have a question, Priam," Morgan said under her breath.

"Ask away, tactician."

"Why didn't he lead with Aether?" she asked. "I know Chrom. He's practiced that skill to hell and back; he knows all kinds of ways to set his opponent up for it. Why wouldn't he try to end this fight as quickly as possible?"

Priam scoffed. "You know little of Aether, small one. Allow me to educate you." He crossed his arms. "Aether is no… no instant-win button. It is a powerful technique, yes; it does have the potential to turn the tide of a fight. However, it will not win your battles for you." He gestured at the two warriors locked in combat. "Watch them for a moment, and tell me what you see."

Morgan squinted closely, studying their technique. Ah! There… Falchion's edge glowed orange, and Eldigan parried the strike; it then gained an azure hue, and Eldigan sidestepped.

"He's been using Aether all along," Morgan breathed.

"Indeed," Priam noted. "He did lead with Aether, young lass. It was not enough. In his state, he is no match for the Lionheart; his constant use of Aether is all that keeps him afloat in this battle."

"So we're screwed." Morgan was pale. "He can't win, then."

"Perhaps."

Morgan stared down at her hands. She could still see bite marks on her knuckles. "Then I have to do something… I need to start preparing a way to save him."

Priam glanced aside at her. "Do you mean to interrupt their fight?"

"If I have to."

Priam's eyes narrowed. "How dishonest."

"Sorry, Priam, but I'm not like you," Morgan said aggressively. "I'm a tactician, not a warrior. I play to win. And if that means I have to be dishonest? Who cares! Everybody lives. Chrom lives. If he dies, then the whole point of coming to the Outrealms is moot."

Priam watched her quietly, thoughtful. A smile grew. "…I see. I suppose I've never thought of it that way." He turned back to Chrom. "However… I think you are counting our leader out too early. He has some fire left in him."

Morgan grimaced. Her mind told her that she needed to get moving, but her feet were planted, and she was unable to look away. She unconsciously returned to biting her knuckle.

Chrom bore the brunt of the Mystletainn on the Fire Emblem, and he shoved forward. His sword acquired an orange tint.

Priam leaned over to Morgan. "Chrom needs to fight more cautiously. If he continues to set up the technique the way he has been, then Eldigan will catch on, and will exploit this to claim victory."

Priam the soothsayer. Chrom readied Falchion for another bout of Aether, but Eldigan immediately challenged the setup and drove his knee into Chrom's wounded hip.

A spray of blood; Chrom cried out in agony and fell to a knee.

Eldigan twirled his sword, ready for the kill.

Morgan's breath vanished. She began to reach for the tome underneath her robes.

A few minutes earlier

"En garde!"

Chrom grimaced. I'm short on time. My hip is numb for now, but it won't be long before the vulnerary wears off… and when it does, I'm a cripple again.

He squeezed Falchion's hilt with both hands. I have to end this quickly. I can't hold back.

Aether ran through his blade. Chrom took the fight to Eldigan, closing the gap quickly.

Sol! He brought his orange weapon onto Eldigan. Eldigan parried the blow.

Luna! The blue sword honed in on Eldigan's midsection.

Eldigan's eyes narrowed. Is that—?

The Lionheart's eyes widened in realization, and he sidestepped the attack just in time. Luna, he thought. The Isaachian sword skill… There is more to this man than I thought.

Chrom growled in frustration. Well, there goes that plan. Crappy luck.

Now Eldigan had forced a normal fight, and Chrom had already shown his hand. Eldigan would be wary of Aether from now on.

Falchion and Mystletainn struck again and again. Chrom found Eldigan's sword style rather… textbook, rather… practiced? No, that wasn't the word…

Chrom suddenly realized Eldigan was in a position for Chrom to set up Aether. Chrom's heart rose, and he threw himself into the technique.

Sol successfully landed on his opponent. Though Eldigan was again able to dodge Luna, he still recoiled from the minor wound.

Chrom's spirits fell. He had recovered disappointingly little stamina from Sol. I may not be able to feel my injury, but it's still taking its toll, Chrom thought bleakly.

Eldigan touched the blood Chrom had drawn from him. His eyes narrowed, and he returned his attention to the Exalt.

That's another failed Aether, Chrom panted. If I keep this up, he'll start finding my setups… predictable…

Chrom's eyes widened. Predictable…

Chrom remembered stories from his childhood. His studies he had oft ignored—yet despite Chrom's best efforts, his tutors still succeeded at teaching him some things.

He remembered stories about Jugdral. About Sigurd of Chalphy; about his campaign, about his allies. About Eldigan.

Chrom grinned. He knew who Eldigan was. He knew exactly what he had to do.

Chrom soon found another opening for Aether, and even though he knew it wouldn't touch Eldigan, he launched it anyway.

Chrom had learned Aether long, long ago. He still remembered the early days: he would often forget that he had the skill in his repertoire, so he would let simple opportunities go unnoticed. At the time, he had felt that the skill was almost entirely chance; that all it took was dumb luck to have an opportunity to use, and it was not a tool he could rely on in battle.

However, after Aversa's fall at Origin Peak, and Grima's subsequent entrapment, Chrom had found himself with months of practice ahead before the final battle with the fell dragon. With all that free time, he decided to put hard work into testing Aether's limits, training to find ways he could reliably use the skill. Versus Grima, he reasoned—versus a god—he would need every tool in his arsenal on hand at all times.

Chrom could reasonably say that he had mastered the skill. He found possibly dozens of ways to reliably set up the technique; he could practically launch the skill at will versus even most competent opponents.

Dozens of setups… yet versus Eldigan, he only used one.

He caught glimpses of opportunities to use Aether differently, to mix things up, and he refused to take them. He simply did the same thing, every time: block with the Emblem, launch Aether, get thwarted by Eldigan's defensiveness.

Chrom parried an attack from Eldigan, and his confidence wavered; a minor jolt of pain ran down his side. Vulnerary's wearing off, he thought grimly. C'mon, Eldigan, do the thing.

Chrom readied Aether yet again, but this time was different. Eldigan closed in, aggressively challenging Chrom's setup. The Lionheart weaved past Falchion and the Fire Emblem, and he struck with his knee, right where it hurt: in Siegmund's burial ground.

Chrom roared in pain—a kind reminder that his painkillers had thoroughly worn off. He clenched his teeth into a grimace as he saw his blood fly, and felt his stitches tear yet again. That's four! Do I hear five?!

Chrom was forced to fall to a knee, panting in pain. He numbly heard a high-pitched cry from behind him; was it Lucina? Maribelle? …Brady?

Chrom looked up at Eldigan, who was readying a killing blow.

"Do it, you bastard," Chrom muttered through his teeth.

Eldigan brought the Mystletainn down.

Chrom squeezed Falchion. Finally, the time had come to mix things up. Aether ran through his blade.

Sol! He slashed upwards with surprising ferocity, deflecting Mystletainn; in the same motion, Chrom regained his feet.

Eldigan staggered, and Chrom saw his opportunity. For the briefest instant, he was reminded of the fight versus Ephraim: the opportunity to seize the kill and end the fight quickly.

This time, Chrom took it.

Luna!

The azure edge of Falchion sliced a clean, horizontal line.

Eldigan's head swiftly left his body. After a brief sail through the sky, it rolled onto the grass nearby.

All was silent. Eldigan's torso fell sideways, limp, into the dirt.

Particles of midnight-blue flame began to rise.

Chrom grimly watched as the two pieces of Eldigan burned away; Eldigan's empty eyes still held tempered shock.

Chrom looked away.

I guess I'm a killer again.

Eldigan's Einherjar all surrendered, as promised. Chrom watched them grimly file through the camp, one by one.

Chrom glanced down at the card of Eldigan in his hands. His eyes narrowed.

Morgan cleared her throat. "Ahem. Chrom?"

"Yeah?"

Morgan crossed her arms. "Mind explaining how you did it?" She paused. "Wait, that sounded like I'm not impressed." She forced a wide smile. "Ohmygawds, Chrom, that was INCREDIBLE! How did you do it?!"

Chrom shrugged. "Eldigan was a legendary warrior and everything. He even had that sword, Mystletainn; that's one of the strongest weapons I've ever fought against. Even Sigurd wasn't that bad, since I had backup at the time."

"Okay? That doesn't really answer my question."

"Right. Thing is, unlike Sigurd, or Seliph, or Ike, or Ephraim, or… almost any other Einherjar we've faced, Eldigan's missing something critical. He has never, ever fought in a war, while I've fought in… what… three and a half?"

"Is 'versus Grima' the half, or the Einherjar War?"

Chrom shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Point is, Eldigan was very powerful, and he was definitely well-trained, but he had never fought actual combat a day in his life. All he knew were the… the textbook ways of fighting. He was predictable, and would fall for even minor deception in combat; no amount of sparring can prepare you for someone who will do anything to kill you." Chrom scratched his chin. "To be honest… I probably didn't need to resort to trickery to defeat him. I have so many setups for it, I could've constantly mixed up Aether, kept him on edge; he couldn't have dodged Luna forever. But this way was probably faster."

Morgan took a shaky breath. She subtly wiped a small tear from her eye. "Gods, Chrom… You're… You're actually amazing."

Chrom smiled.

"You must make my dad so happy."

"There it is." Chrom shook his head. "Anyway… Morgan, I'm sorry if I was harsh to you earlier."

Morgan waved it away. "Don't worry about it, Captain, you were totally in the right."

"I know I was right. That's not what I was apologizing for."

Morgan's jaw dropped. "Whaaat? Sass? I am so proud of you, Chrom!"

"Heh. It's not sass if I'm your superior. But thanks." Chrom crossed his arms; his cheer slowly faded away. "So… we've won. Guess that means…"

"Yeah."

"I'm not sure what to do, Morgan."

"Me neither. …Still having doubts in Marth's story?"

"Some, yes."

Chrom and Morgan fell silent.

"Ahoy, Chrom!"

They turned to face Anna as she approached.

Anna stopped next to Chrom, grinning. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah." Chrom sighed. "Did Maribelle tell you everything?"

"Nope. What's up, handsome? You seem awfully gloomy for being the new Champion of All Einherjar."

"Anna…" Chrom grimaced. "Have you been keeping secrets from me?"

Anna's smile flickered. "What?"

"Anna." Chrom met her eye seriously. "Anna, who is Old Hubba?"

Anna glanced at Morgan, as if asking, "Is he serious?" Morgan, however, was similarly grave, so Anna turned back to Chrom. Her smile was gone. "I don't know what you're talking about, Chrom…"

Chrom took a step closer. "Don't lie to me, Anna."

"I'm not!" Anna backed away, putting up defensive hands. "I swear, I don't know anything about him. Why? What's going on?"

"I…" Chrom sighed. He turned away and backed off of Anna. "To be honest, I'm not sure, either."

Anna frowned. "…I should get in touch with my sisters, then. Maybe even Mother."

Chrom stopped. "That's… That's a great idea, Anna!" He faced her, enthusiastic. "Yes! Reach your family; they'll be able to tell us the truth. And then, we'll figure out our next move."

"How long will it take?" Morgan asked.

"Couple hours, prolly." Anna beamed. "Well, I'll get right on that! Rest up, Mr. Champion—you've earned it."

Anna hurried away.

Chrom smiled slightly as he watched her go. "The Annas are an odd bunch… but they're always so reliable, aren't they?"

Morgan grinned. "You betcha. Now, Chrom—even if it turns out Old Hubba is innocent, we need to prepare for the worst. Let's figure out some kind of strategy to take him by—"

"By surpriiiiise?"

Chrom and Morgan both flinched at the squealing, high-pitched voice from behind them.

"Uwee hee hee… I don't know how we feels about that, little tactician! Roro, roro…" This time, the voice came from the other side.

Chrom reached for Falchion, alarmed. "Who's there?"

"Just meee! Little ol' meeeeee… and me, and me, and…"

From yet another direction, the voice finally showed itself. It was a tall, muscular man, hefting a weighty axe on his shoulder. His face was obscured with a horned, green and white mask.

Chrom drew his sword. "Who are you?" He looked around. "How did you—?"

"Ohoho, don't you worry," the berserker squealed. "You could never keep all of me out… I is everywhere, yes, yes…"

"He's a madman," Chrom muttered. Louder, he called, "What is your name?"

"Hee, hee… Roro, roro…"

"Sounds like it's Roro," Morgan said. She turned to face Chrom. "I'm not familiar with—" Her eyes widened. "Chrom, behind you!"

A second axeman loomed in the shadows behind Chrom, and Chrom readied for an attack—however, the man stood still.

"Another one?!" Chrom exclaimed. "How many are there?"

"Jussst one," Roro hissed. "And yet, so many…"

"Yes, yes, so many," said the second one. "Roro, roro…"

Morgan looked around, spotting three more identical axemen approaching. "They're—they're all Roros!"

"That's not possible, Morgan. They're just… brothers, or…"

"Yes, yes, not possible!"

"Uwee hee hee, yes, impossible, mm!"

"Roro, roro! It doesn't understand… We are Legion! Hee hee…"

"Roro, roro…"

"Legion?" Morgan murmured curiously.

Chrom shook his head, but the chattering refused to cease. "Fine! Why are you here? What do you want, Legion?"

"Uwee hee… Mutterings, we heard mutterings…"

"Discontent…"

"The redhead, the redhead…"

"Start making sense!" Chrom commanded. Glancing around, he noticed more Shepherds appearing, having noticed the commotion; they began to coalesce there, in the center of camp.

The Roros—rather, the Legion decided to part, allowing the Shepherds through for fear of inciting combat otherwise.

"We… we wish no harm." Its snide manner of speaking robbed the Legion of its credibility.

"Your allies, we have been… Yes… uwee hee…"

"But yet, the mutterings!"

"Mutterings, mutterings!"

"As if you feel ungrateful… as if you… suspect!"

"Suspect, yes, it suspects…"

"Hey, anybody else remember the part where I said start making sense?!" Chrom shouted. "What are you here for, Legion?"

A familiar voice responded in lieu of the Legion: "Ah, sorry 'bout that! Oy, chill out, you guys."

Supported by his cane, Old Hubba appeared. Though wary, Chrom sheathed his sword.

"Hoo boy!" said Old Hubba, beaming. "Long walks really take it outta you, huh? At least it ain't Warp Powder; now THAT stuff is potent. Still can't find it, by the way—any luck on that front?"

Morgan coughed.

The old man waved it away. "Anywho, stand down, Legion. No need ta bite their heads off over nothin', huh?"

The Legion was quiet. They all stood beside Old Hubba, facing the mass of Shepherds.

"Don't be scared o' this big galoot." Hubba patted one of the Roros on the breastplate. "He can be friendly, honest! He's one o' my guards. Though I guess I'm stretchin' the meaning of 'one' a little."

"Guards?" Morgan murmured, surprised. The word triggered a memory.

Marth never explained what those three cards were, she realized. Old Hubba's "guards"… Well, regardless, here's one of them. Er, "one" of them.

Old Hubba continued. "Well, Chrom, I am mighty proud of ya. These were the last Einherjar, right?"

"Yeah," Chrom said. His eyes carried distrust.

"Good work! 'The last of the Einherjar,' hoho. An' the end of the Einherjar War! Excellent work, boy, excellent work!"

"Thank you." Chrom's eyes narrowed. "We were just… doing the right thing."

"It suspects," a Roro hissed under its breath.

"Now now, what's with that tone? Why so glum, Chrom?" Old Hubba asked jovially.

Chrom closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, before finally opening his eyes and smiling. "I'm sorry, Old Hubba. I suppose this has just taken a lot out of me. Anyway, what brings you here? We would've been back in just… a few hours, probably."

"I got all excited, though! I couldn't stay cooped up in the mansion when I knew y'all were out winnin' the war!" Old Hubba rubbed his hands together excitedly. "So, that card in yer hand is Eldigan the Lionheart, right? Wielder of the Mistolteen! Mistoltin? …Missiletainn?"

Owain sneezed.

Old Hubba waved it away. "Whatever! Anyway, we're done here, eh?" He outreached a hand. "Hand 'im over, and we'll go celebrate back at the mansion!"

Chrom hesitated; his hand reflexively clenched around Eldigan's card.

This was the moment of truth.

Do I trust him?

If he handed this card over, it signified his trust in Old Hubba. This amounted to handing Old Hubba a weapon.

Chrom glanced at Morgan. She silently, subtly shook her head. Don't do it.

Chrom looked over his shoulder, searching the crowd. Cynthia quickly caught his eye: her fury from last night had returned, and she wordlessly echoed Morgan's sentiment. Don't give that bastard a damn thing.

Chrom faced Old Hubba, whose bright smile had faltered in mild confusion.

I don't have a valid reason to refuse, he thought. After all, the objective of this Einherjar War was always "return the Einherjar to Old Hubba." If I say no, it would only be out of defiance.

It all came back to the same thing.

Do I trust him?

Chrom closed his eyes again. Deep breath: in, out.

All his Shepherds were here to listen. And listen they would.

"Is it true?"

Old Hubba blinked. His hand slowly fell. "Pardon?"

Chrom opened his eyes. Anger welled in his heart, and he clenched his hands into fists. "Dammit, Old Hubba, you know exactly what I'm talking about!" He jabbed a finger at a Roro. "He—It—They heard everything! Is it true?!"

The Legion chattered quietly among themselves. Their consensus seemed to be "It suspects, yes, roro!"

But Old Hubba put up a hand, quieting them. He then placed both hands atop his cane, and he sighed deeply, leaning on the stick for support.

"Chrom… I can't lie," the old man began quietly. "I'm… very disappointed. But I suppose I always knew it was only a matter of time before you found out."

Chrom's fingernails dug into his palms. "So it is true."

"I knew I recognized Seliph," Old Hubba mused. "Didn't hit me until just now, but he was one of Bea's, wasn't he? Heheh. Guess that explains that."

"You've been our enemy all along," Morgan spat.

"That's really too bad. I actually liked you, lass. So spirited! So knowledgeable! So… adorable!" Old Hubba chuckled. "I've always preferred sexiness over cuteness, but you're just a delight."

"That! That's just creepy! Stop being creepy!"

Old Hubba shrugged. "Sorry."

The mass of Shepherds exchanged confused glances. Chrom heard some concerned murmurs from the crowd.

Old Hubba smiled, and he started striding closer to Chrom.

"See, when I got all loud 'n' proud about how Einherjar are just automatons… about how Celica's so gullible… just to egg her on into fighting you? That, sure, that was kinda weak. I mean, eight Einherjar ain't gonna do much to ya! Yer the Shepherds. Legendary warriors of the Inrealm!"

Movement from behind Old Hubba caught Chrom's eye. More Einherjar, appearing from the shadows. Chrom's hand wrapped around Falchion's hilt.

Old Hubba continued. "But I thought, surely, Ephraim's gonna be a real challenge. And if you talked 'im down first, where'd the fun be? So I, y'know, expedited things, had another one o' my guards make sure Eirika couldn't run crying to 'er brother. But hoo-ee!" Old Hubba shook his head, stopping for a moment to place his hands on his hips. "I'll be damned if you didn't impress me there, too! Odds were stacked against ya, an' still the worst that happened was that there hip injury. But!" He raised a finger. "But then I thought, "Ya know what'd really get Chrom's goat?" And I told the Legion this; I told 'em, "If we got Eldigan to ambush Chrom while he's a-sleepin', there's no way all of his prized Shepherds could get outta that in one piece." The Legion were all, "I dunno, mate," but I was SURE." He clasped his hands together, beaming at Chrom. "But here we are! Goodness gracious, not a harmed hair on any of yer people's heads. Guess I shoulda counted on Eldigan's personality, huh? Shoulda guessed he'd be willin' to do what he did?" He glanced at a Roro for confirmation, but the masked man just shrugged. Old Hubba rolled his eyes, disappointed, and turned back to Chrom. "Anywho, moral of the story is, you've got guts, kid. An' I applaud ya for all you've done to keep everyone breathin', despite my best efforts."

Old Hubba's smile flickered. "But… somethin' you've gotta know is that it ain't never possible to save everyone. If you haven't learned that lesson yet, I'd be happy to be yer teacher."

"What happened to Beatrice was unfortunate and tragic," Chrom said, a fire growing in his heart, "but it doesn't excuse murder!"

The old man's smile disappeared outright. "Don't you dare think you understand what happened that night. If you'd been there—held her like I did, felt that same anger at someone who could never really be punished—you'd know that everythin' I've done has been for that."

Chrom frowned grimly. "So, you blame Roy? …No… you blame all of the Einherjar."

Hubba clenched his teeth. "My patience is runnin' on fumes," he warned. "Chrom, yer gonna hand over that card. My card."

"I can't," Chrom stated. "You've been abusing the Einherjar for far too long. I won't let you continue."

Old Hubba was seemingly taken aback. "Y—YOU won't LET me?!"

"How many?" Chrom demanded. "Can you tell me how many people have died, staining Beatrice's name? …Can you tell me how many is enough before you are finally sated?"

"Hold yer tongue, whelp!" Old Hubba shouted, and he stomped closer.

The ancient man stopped just before Chrom. Chrom refused to back down, and he met Hubba's eye.

Old Hubba's bushy eyebrows contorted downward into a dark glare. "I was an old man when Tiki drew her gasping, nascent breath! And in another heartbeat, yer grandchildren's grandchildren will be long forgotten by the pages of history." He leaned in close, his large nose nearly touching Chrom's. "So, sonny, it's probably in your best interest if you listen to ol' Hubba. Now be a pal, and give me that card."

Chrom glared defiantly at Old Hubba. "Make me."

Old Hubba held Chrom's glare for a moment, but it soon became clear to him that Chrom would not yield.

Old Hubba sighed, and he backed away from Chrom. "…I'm sorry it has to be that way."

The old man glanced aside at Morgan. He gave her a curt nod.

Morgan frowned. What, does he think I'll act diff—"Guh!"

An arm wrapped around Morgan's throat, accompanied by a warm light glowing inches from her face.

"Morgan!" Cynthia exclaimed, elbowing her way to the front, but Morgan's captor halted her with a command:

"Don't move!"

Morgan's eyes widened. She knew that voice. "Katarina?!"

Katarina ignored her. She tightened her grip and walked her prisoner several paces away from the Shepherds. Thunder magic glistened in her threatening hand, aimed at Morgan's cheek.

When at a safe distance, she whispered into Morgan's ear: "I'm really sorry, Morgan…" Morgan briefly wrestled against Katarina, but the assassin tightened her grip. "Please don't fight me; I don't want to kill you."

Old Hubba laughed. "Good work, Reese! Well done!"

Spots flashed in Morgan's eyes. So she's the second guard, she thought hazily. Who's number three…?

Old Hubba turned back to Chrom. "Well, you did tell me to make you. Is this enough? Or should my assassin here finish the job?"

"No!" Chrom said quickly. "…No." He glanced down at Eldigan's card.

Morgan gasped for air. Katarina—Reese—did not loosen her chokehold.

Reluctantly, Chrom lifted the card. He handed it to Old Hubba.

Hubba laughed as he pocketed the card. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Listen." He placed both of his hands on the cane and smiled simply. "It's fitting, I think. Or… ironic, rather? Hee hee. The Outrealms are beautiful. Beautiful! Stunnin' scenery, fantastic locations… There are inhabited 'Realms, y'know. They hold the best Harvest Festivals. An' the Annas, they host some o' the nicest vacation spots you'd ever see. But no! In yer search for yer missin' companion, you run across the one, worst possible Outrealm."

Old Hubba's smile disappeared. He leaned closer, and hissed: "Mine."

He leaned back. "Chrom, you've been trespassin' in my home for far too long. It's intruders like you that cause problems: Algol, Bea's killer, Robin…" He turned away. "But still, it ain't as if we haven't had fun! I really had a good time these past couple days. I'll treasure these memories 'til the day I die. You folks are so helpful…" He glanced over his shoulder, smirking. "I—and really, I truly mean this, from the bottom o' my heart—I thank you for your service."

Old Hubba turned away and began to walk. "In lieu of a Marth ready to fight ya personally, I've got the lovely Clarisse here to pick up the torch." He raised his hand over his head and made a circle. "Take the shot, beautiful!"

Chrom's eyes widened.

Clarisse took a knee and eased the string back, breathing deeply. From her vantage point, she could see all of the Shepherds and Einherjar gathered below.

She picked Chrom out of the crowd. Sitting duck. Well done, Reese.

She closed an eye, taking aim.

Clarisse held her breath.

"Enough."

Clarisse started, quickly turning to face the voice behind her.

Marth stood over her, his radiant weapon at the ready.

"I'm finally a master of my own fate," Marth stated. "It's time I begin making amends."

Clarisse's breath was rapid. She hastily raised her bow, readying a point-blank shot.

A glistening trail followed the swing of Falchion as Marth slashed the bow in half. He followed through by burying the sword into Clarisse's chest; a great heaving gasp came from Clarisse.

Marth knelt beside her, grasping the sword tightly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her ear, as she wheezed in pain. "You will soon awaken anew."

He removed his sword from her, and she collapsed, dissipating into flames.

Katarina's eyes were wide. Her breath was gone.

Old Hubba paled as he sighted the blue figure atop the hill. "Marth," he breathed.

Light magic burst on Katarina from behind. Morgan fell out of her grip, and Cynthia didn't miss a beat: with a roar, she drove her lance into the assassin's gut.

Two of Old Hubba's Einherjar threw off their cloaks, revealing themselves to be Seliph and Leif. They immediately drew their swords and slew those nearest to them.

Old Hubba looked around, panicking. "K-Kill all of 'em!" he shouted, as he began to retreat.

He hobbled away as fast as he could, hiding behind his wall of Einherjar.

Chrom turned to face Morgan. "I need you to get me through," he said. "I'll deal with the old man, I just need you to keep them off of me."

Morgan wanted to argue, "You're wounded, let someone else do it!" But she hadn't the time, and she knew Chrom's answer. So, she replied, "Got it, Captain!"

Chrom glanced up at the hillside—Clarisse's former sniping position. Marth stood atop the hill, his sword reflecting the dawn sunlight.

Marth raised Falchion into the sky.

"I'll be back at the end," indeed, Chrom thought, grinning.

Chrom drew his own Falchion and aimed it skyward. "Shepherds, rally here! Clear me a path! This is our final battle—hold nothing back!"

And so, the Shepherds went to war.

Next time:

Chapter 12 – Einherjar Heaven

Author's note:

[HELLA LATE EDIT: FE Heroes officially named Clarisse, so I changed all instances of "Kleine" to "Clarisse;" likewise for Katarina's real name, which I changed from "Eine" to "Reese." I'm still going to leave this here though.]

Biggest dilemma I've faced in this story so far was whether to call a certain sniper "Kuraine" or "Kleine." There's no official name for her.

To be honest, I preferred Kuraine. I like the name more. Not to mention that there's a guy from FE6 named "Klein," WHO IS ALSO A SNIPER. Confusion City, population: FE fans.

However, Kleine is what the fan translation used, and I'm not doing anybody any favors (or winning any OG points) by continuing to use Kuraine when Kleine should really push that out of favor. It's like if I still clung to "Celice" and "Cuan" and "Leaf."

…The difference is that those characters have OFFICIAL names, unlike Kleine, but…

Whatever. I don't have to seriously worry about this sort of thing until I write something FE4-related.

(And hey, there's a nice theme going with Kleine and Eine's names… though that leaves out Roro/Legion and Eremiah.)