Chapter 13: R&R
Ylisstol was a cold gray.
Nothing but clouds and rain since the Exalt had departed—gone from the world, as of this morning. The weather was calm for the moment, but storm clouds still hung over the city.
Deep bags adorned Sumia's eyes as she sat on her balcony, watching the bustling city below with disdain.
Sumia knew pain. She knew. Losing him once, yes, that was enough… yet Fate had decided to play her for a fool, tease her, and pull the carrot away a second time. "Neigh, Sumia. Neigh!"
Sumia placed her cheek atop her uninjured right hand. It hurt. It all hurt. It never stopped, not even for a moment.
Sleep? Ha. Sleep is for the strong.
She caught a glimpse of movement to the south. Pegasi—Ylisstol's guardians, out drilling.
Training new recruits, she recalled. Mm. More than usual, today.
A brief knock at the door, accompanied by the predictable "Milady?"
Though met with no response, the door creaked open anyway. A maid peeked in. "Lady Sumia, more bandages…"
Sumia didn't move. Her eyes were fixated on the flying beasts outside the city walls.
"My lady…?"
"Thank you," Sumia stated. Her voice was a dry rasp. "That'll be all."
The maid hesitated. Concerned? Perhaps. "Your bath has also been drawn, Lady Sumia. There is a clean dress, as well as fresh casts to change into afterwards…"
"That'll be all."
More hesitation. This time, the maid departed silently.
The pegasi continued to fly, free.
Sumia screamed at the harsh touch of the bathwater. Maids arrived to assist her.
She required their aid to get dressed afterward, as well.
She required their aid for everything.
No position was comfortable. Twist this way, and the comforter brushes her scratches the wrong way; angle that way, and her crippled leg lights on fire.
Sumia eventually lay still. The pain never left, would never leave, but perhaps she'd eventually get used to it if she just… lay… still.
Moonlight streamed through her window. She could spy the roofs of the nearby buildings from her vantage point, but little else.
She imagined the pegasi, still dancing in the skies.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn't prevent the tears.
They hurt, too.
Second day.
Well into the afternoon, Sumia continued to lie in bed. Servants had arrived out of worry, but she had politely sent them away. Not like she was missing anything.
She simply toyed with her hair, grasping it between her fingers.
Dull brown.
Sumia squinted, analyzing the hair, trying to determine if it had ever had color. If anything had ever had color. Perhaps it had all been an illusion.
She turned to the breakfast her assistants had placed at her bedside hours ago. On the right side of her bed, how considerate; had it been on her left, she would have ignored it, deemed it impossible to reach.
She loosely reached for the lukewarm plate with her functional arm and dug into the cold eggs.
It was only fitting; they tasted like they looked.
Gray.
Was it… blue?
Sumia limped through the castle, always with a servant nearby to catch her if she fell. "You must walk," they had said. "You must try, or you'll never get better."
But all Sumia could think was… "What was the color of Chrom's hair?"
She remembered his. Easy. Silver. Shade of gray, like everything else. But Chrom's was impossible.
She thought it was blue. She reflexively resorted to that color, but she couldn't remember what blue looked like.
All food tasted the same. All people spoke the same. All things looked the same.
It all certainly hurt the same.
She stumbled; when a servant moved to help her, she refused. Her legs wobbled as she tried to pick herself up.
However, they quickly failed her, and she collapsed fully. She lay still on the cold tile.
She didn't resist when the servant helped her back up. This was far from the first time she'd proven herself unable to perform the task.
It hurt as much as before, but she hadn't the drive to contort her facial expression into a pained one. A constant, neutral stare. Sumia wondered if the servants thought she couldn't feel any of it.
Heh.
Heheheh.
"Green…?"
The young pegasus knight smiled brightly; she trailed two fingers through her short hair. Most of her followers were smiling as well. "Mm-hm! My mom had green hair, too. And my mom's mom. It's kind of a tradition, haha!"
"Mm." Sumia entertained the thought of smiling. After all, these visitors all were.
Hm… Too much effort. No.
She glanced aside at the roses they had brought. 'Get well soon!' The card was huge—the vase's most notable feature.
Sumia tilted her head, analyzing the roses. "Red…" Her lips formed the word, without making the sound. Intuition told her that the rose was supposed to be red. Furthermore, weren't roses supposed to have a scent?
"Anyway," the recruit continued, "we just wanted you to know that you're always in our thoughts, Lady Sumia. We all really hope you get well soon."
Sumia's gaze slowly drifted over to the trainees. She watched them all, silent.
They itched uncomfortably under her mute gaze.
That about rounds it out. No color. No taste. No smell. Truly, the only sense she could rely on was whatever it was constantly burning at her skin. Whatever it was that punished her for twitching her broken arm an inch out of alignment. Whatever it was that refused her the comfort of walking unaided. Whatever it was that ached in her chest. Hm, but that wasn't even the same kind of ache, now was it…
…Sumia could only wonder, how long before even that is gone?
"How do you feel?"
Sumia's eyes were shut. Yes, the bath hurt. It could've been worse.
The maid interpreted Sumia's silence as… well, Sumia didn't care what the maid interpreted it as. But the maid was quiet, waiting, allowing Sumia to relax in the water.
How do I feel? …I don't.
Sumia hugged her broken arm to her stomach. The tepid water that was supposed to be hot lapped at her skin.
"Mm."
The maid took interest in Sumia's noise—the first one she had made since immersing herself in the water. "Yes, milady?"
Sumia's brown eyes slowly opened, and she turned her head to watch the maid. "Describe to me… what this room looks like."
The maid hesitated. Wonder what she makes of that question, Sumia thought, almost on the verge of a dour chuckle.
"W-Well…" The maid's eyes scanned the room. "I smell the candles… I smell soap? And… It's all very simple, I guess. It's only a bathroom, so…"
"Colorless?"
The maid frowned. "I—I suppose. Though, the candles paint everything a rather warm orange…"
"I see," Sumia lied. "…Thank you."
She closed her eyes.
His hair… is silver.
Morgan's hair… is mine.
Cynthia's hair… is his.
Her fingers tightened, grasping handfuls of bedsheet.
All so colorless… I suppose it's only fitting. The one thing I'd pass down to Morgan is my plain hair color… And nothing to Cynthia.
Tears traced savage paths down her cheek.
"Cynthia," she whispered to the darkness, with quivering lips. "Cynthia… C-Cynthia…"
She trembled.
Third day.
Quiet.
Of course.
Always quiet here in Ylisstol.
Sumia sat outside in the gardens. The wind irritated her skin, but she preferred it that way, because she was desperate—desperate! Anything, oh gods, anything, please—desperate to cling to anything she could still feel.
Before, she had subsisted on vulneraries. Painkillers. Numbed the pain, allowed her to walk for short bouts. She had been prohibited from them after seeing Chrom off, for fear of addiction. She used to miss them. Not anymore.
This was the south side of the castle. If she strained her ears, she could hear shouts. Training, of course. The knights of the sky.
Those who still had their wings.
"Hey there, girl."
When Sumia stroked her pegasus's snout, it nudged her other arm's cast.
"I hope you've been okay," Sumia said weakly, smiling. "I hope you haven't just been cooped up in this stable, and that they've let you fly, free… You've done nothing wrong, of course. You don't deserve the same prison I'm in…"
Sumia wrapped her arm around the beast's neck in a hug. "Oh, I've missed you… I hope you've missed me, too."
Her mount draped its head over Sumia's shoulder, as if reciprocating.
Sumia nestled her face into its mane, and she lost her inhibitions, weeping loudly.
She and her pegasus held the embrace for a long time.
Sumia stumbled on the last step, steadying herself on the doorknob. Like all the other times, she dismissed her servant and entered her room alone.
Her attention was immediately caught by the sole light in the dim evening room. Candles were already lit in her bathroom, and as she peered in, she noticed that the bath was already drawn.
Guess my schedule's predictable if they've already got that set up, she thought mutedly. She limped toward the bathroom, disrobing.
She eased herself into the tub. The water hurt, as usual, but this was no different. She lay back in the water, closing her eyes and losing herself. She would wait as long as she had to, she figured, for someone to arrive to help her change…
Her eyes suddenly shot open, and her face contorted into a look of surprise. Sharp, stinging pains fired through her body, from toes to shoulders, as far as she was submerged; she started to extract herself from the hurtful waters.
"Whoa whoa, hold up! That oughta pass in just a second."
Sumia hesitated, looking around in search of the voice—but she quickly halted the endeavor, as the movement only succeeded in eliciting more pain. Reluctantly, she submerged herself in the water again, wincing.
However, true to the mystery voice's word, the shooting pains gradually subsided, and Sumia was nearly able to relax.
'Nearly,' since she still did not know the origin of that voice, and she could hear movement coming from her bedroom.
Sumia hugged her knees to her chest, watching the door anxiously.
"Man!" A shadow moved to the doorway, face full of food. "Did you know someone sent you muffins? These are awesome!"
Sumia's lips parted.
Blue…
His blue.
She was chewing on the muffin as she entered the room, dragging a chair behind her. She placed the chair next to the bath, sat down, and crossed her legs as she leaned back to watch Sumia. The woman brushed her indigo ponytail to rest on her shoulder.
Sumia became very aware of the fact that she was naked in the presence of a stranger. "U-Um—"
The woman smirked through her full mouth. "Hmhmhm. Don't worry, I won't stare."
Sumia furrowed her eyebrows. "You… Are you…?" She paused. "You look like an Anna…"
The Anna swallowed. "Bingo! Good eye, Sumia. Though, to be entirely honest, I haven't gone by that in a long time."
"Then… what should I call you?"
Anna tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm… Well, my children call me Mother, but that wouldn't do here. After all, you aren't my daughter!" She giggled, having amused herself.
"You're the Annas' mother…?" That sounds important… Sumia looked down at herself, embarrassed. Why couldn't this be a bubble bath?
"Anyone I know not named Anna calls me Blue," Anna continued, "so, Blue. Nice to see you again, Sumia! My name's Blue. I'd offer a hand to shake, but, eh…"
"Again?" Sumia asked. This Anna may have claimed to be the other Annas' mother, but she held their same youthful appearance. "We've met? I-I mean, I'm sorry, but except for your hair, you Annas all—"
"Calm down there, racist. You've never met me before." Blue grinned. "But I've met you. Oh, I've met a hundred other Sumias. We've rarely ever gotten to speak face-to-face like this, but it's really always a pleasure whenever we do."
"…I see." Timeline nonsense. Of course. Sumia looked down at her knees. "What do you want, Blue? If you're looking for Chrom, he's gone…"
"Into the Outrealms, yeah," said Blue. "No, I'm not here for him. I'm here for you, Sumia. How are you?"
Sumia glanced up at Blue skeptically, and was surprised to see the Anna wearing a straight face. Blue had even set the muffin aside.
"Seriously," Blue stated. "Tell me how you're feeling."
"You… don't care." Sumia looked away. "Annas never take things seriously. Always money with you… Money and smugness." She shot Blue an irate glare. "You cornered me in the bathtub just so you could embarrass me while I'm naked."
Blue sighed, remaining silent. Sumia looked away again.
"Sumia…" Blue murmured, "I may be an Anna, but I'm also a mother. I know when my children are hurting, and I want to help them."
Sumia frowned. "So… what, I'm your child, now?" She scoffed. "I forgot to add 'condescending' to that list."
"Wow," said Blue softly. "You must be in a lot of pain. …Three days, right? Three days since the Shepherds left?"
Sumia tensed.
"That's a lot of time alone. A lot of time to suffer. That's the sort of thing that dilutes your sense of reality." Blue uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. "You miss him, don't you?"
"O-Of course I do," Sumia muttered. "I've missed him for months…"
Blue smirked. Sumia, looking away, didn't see. "…Yeah. Him."
There was a quiet pause.
"Blue…"
Blue tilted her head. "Yeah?"
"No, no… blue." Sumia's eyes turned to Blue's hair. "I forgot what it looked like." Her hands squeezed into fists. "I couldn't… remember…"
Realizing her place, Sumia sniffed, quickly wiping her eyes. "I-I'm sorry, I…"
"No, no, it's okay!" said Blue, smiling genuinely. "Please, let it out. I want you to feel better."
"I really, really don't want to cry," Sumia murmured. "It hurts to cry…"
"Does it hurt right now?" Blue asked, tilting her head and smiling coyly.
"I—I'm not—" Sumia hesitated, looking down at herself. "N-No… It doesn't." The answer suddenly clicked in her head, and her eyes snapped onto Blue. "What is this? What is this water?"
"Hahaha!" Blue threw her head back in laughter, rubbing her hands together excitedly. "The sleuthing! My dear, that water is an Anna invention. 'Bath Elixir,' I like to call it. Patent pending."
"Elixir… Healing water?" Sumia frowned. "How…?"
"Oh, you leave those little details to me," Blue said cheerfully. "How's the arm?"
"It's…" Sumia tried moving it; it resisted her, but not nearly as much as usual.
Blue's face fell a little bit. "…Ah, I guess that'll take a couple hours."
"A couple hours?!" Sumia exclaimed. "I—I could—this—I—"
Blue giggled. "Yep yep yep! The plan is to have you back in action by tomorrow morning. What do you think?"
"Back in action?" Sumia looked down at her arm. "You mean…"
Blue smirked. "Sumia, dear, you know I love you. But you know what I love more?"
Sumia sighed. "Money?"
"No! Heavens, no. I have all the money I could ever need! I leave all the golding to my daughters."
"Golding isn't a—"
"What I love more," Blue interrupted, wearing a wide grin, "is control. Ohoho boy, there's nothing I hate more than spanners in my works! …Okay, now that I say that out loud, that sounds lewd, so let's move on."
Sumia furrowed her eyebrows. "Control?"
"Yeah! As you've made abundantly clear, I'm an Anna, so I can't POSSIBLY have just done this for you out of the goodness of my heart." Blue winked teasingly. "Right now, the Einherjar War has gone entirely according to plan. But you're my most valuable chess piece, Sumia. My queen—as in chess, no pun intended."
"What pun—?"
"You're my trump card, Sumia, and the time has just about come for me to play you." Blue's smirk widened deviously. "Tomorrow, Chrom will need your help. And thanks to me, you'll be there to give it. Are you in, Sumia?"
Sumia wiggled her toes: flexed her crippled leg nearly effortlessly. Unbelievable. Unbelievable. Just… just…
"Yes," Sumia breathed. "Yes, of course I am…"
Blue placed her hand over her heart, relieved. "Thank goodness! That Bath Elixir is not cheap."
"I owe you so much!" Sumia exclaimed. "Y-You have no idea what this means to me. How—How could I possibly repay you?!"
Laughing, Blue waved it off. "Oh, stop it, you! There's nothing you need to do right now. However!" She put up a finger. "This sure as heck won't be the last time we'll meet. It may be way down the road, but I know I'll need your help again. Maybe that'll make us even." She waved it away, leaning back. "But enough about that! We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
"I see." Sumia wiggled her toes, unable to fight a small smile. She practically shivered with glee.
Orange, she realized. The candlelight… It's orange.
"Welp…" Blue twiddled her thumbs, looking around. "I've got some hours to kill while we wait on that bath to take effect, I guess. Got any books?"
"Er—yes," Sumia said. "After Robin returned… the fake Robin… I started reading one. Haven't touched it since the battle, but…"
"Neat! What is it? I'll read it to you while we wait!"
Sumia bit her lip, blushing slightly. "Um—um—no, that's not really—I mean, I don't know if you'd care for it."
Blue lit up, beaming from ear to ear. "Oh, please tell me it's erotica."
"It's…" Sumia hung her head. "It's erotica."
"YES!" Blue leapt to her feet and dashed to the other room. "Where? Where is it?!"
"Blue didn't answer many questions, but I owe her everything," said Sumia, her arms crossed. "She… gave me hope, when…"
She fell quiet, as with the rest of the Gallian fort.
Chrom was on his feet now, bloody but no longer bleeding; he still required the wall's help to keep his feet, and Maribelle was reapplying his stitches for the umpteenth time. Marth lay unconscious nearby, with Lissa as his steward, and Old Hubba was motionless in the corner.
Cynthia hung onto Sumia's every word. Morgan literally hung onto Sumia.
"I was under the impression that there was some sort of time dilation in the Outrealms," Chrom replied. "But, the way you've described it, time here flows one-to-one with Ylisse…"
Lissa laughed as she worked. "Yeah, guess I worried for nothin'! I thought we'd missed months." She glanced up at Chrom. "Could you imagine? What if we'd gotten home, and little baby Lucina was as old as the one from the future?"
Chrom's expression hardened. Maribelle reprimanded Lissa with a pinch on the arm.
Sumia smiled wanly. "Yeah… I mean, if I'd had to wait months to recover… I don't think I would've made it."
Chrom frowned. "What do you mean? Your injuries weren't—" He bit his tongue as he caught her meaning. "…Oh. Gods, Sumia, I…"
"It's okay, Chrom. It's okay." She turned to her children. "I'm here now."
"I-I guess you'll need a recap, huh?" Morgan said. She nestled her cheek on her mother's greaves. "You've missed a lot."
"I bet! For starters…" Sumia pointed at Marth. "What the heck?"
There was only so much Chrom could say. Explain the nature of Einherjar, sure… tell Sumia of Old Hubba and his malicious designs, okay.
But where to begin on the rest?
Doubts had now been cast on all of Marth's story. He'd exaggerated, lied— how much of the rest of it must also be fiction if Marth had fabricated such pivotal moments of the story?
So Chrom left out the story of Marth's betrayal, and silently indicated for Morgan to do the same. Not until we have the truth. Though confused, she had complied without question.
Chrom found his eyes focusing on Morgan several times during their exposition. Her bright smile, her cheerful optimism. The elephant in the room.
How could he possibly tell her?
With Sumia caught up, it was back to camp to lick their wounds. More Shepherds had arrived at the fort to help, and Old Hubba and Marth were placed atop stretchers. Sumia asked that Chrom use one as well, but, of course, the Exalt declined the offer.
"Morgan," Sumia sighed, "If I'm gonna carry this stretcher, I'll need to walk."
Morgan frowned. "So?"
"So please let go of my leg."
"Sheesh, fine…"
Sumia smiled as Morgan unenthusiastically pried herself away. "Thanks, sweetie. Would you mind helping out Chrom?"
"Okay…"
Reluctantly, Morgan left her mother behind and approached Chrom. He nodded in greeting, and accepted her aid as she looped his arm over her shoulder and helped him walk.
"I'm assuming it went well?" Chrom asked.
Morgan shrugged. "There's no after-action report ready yet, so I don't have casualty numbers or anything, but it's looking like another flawless victory."
Chrom smiled widely. "Gods, Morgan, you've done it again." He glanced aside at her. "I'm proud of you."
She laughed. "Th-Thanks, Captain. That means a lot." Her eyes twinkled up at him.
Chrom's face suddenly paled as he realized how close he was to her. "Oh, no. Please don't." He tried to put a little bit of space between him and his tactician—not easy to do while using her as a crutch. "Don't you think the 'you have a thing for me' jokes are getting a bit old?"
Morgan averted her eyes. "Yeah."
Chrom blinked, surprised. "What? Are you serious?"
When Morgan turned back to Chrom, he could see the sincerity in her expression. She was trying to maintain her usual cheer, but her smile waned a little bit.
She shrugged. "Well, it… I dunno. It just feels… wrong, y'know? It's like—it's—gross."
"So we're finally on the same page, then?"
Morgan rolled her eyes. "Geez, let me down easy, why dontcha?"
Chrom chuckled, and so did Morgan. It took a brief moment for them to settle down.
"So," said Chrom at last. "We now have all one hundred of the Einherjar."
"I guess technically not, since a handful are still under Beatrice's control," Morgan pointed out. "But, functionally, yeah. We're done."
Chrom frowned as he remembered what Old Hubba had said earlier: "That's not even countin' all the other ones…"
"Yeah," he murmured uncertainly. "…So now we've actually won. We can finally move on."
"Here's hoping," Morgan sighed. "With our luck, some new thing is probably gonna come up soon."
"Here's hoping," Chrom agreed.
They briefly walked in silence.
It wasn't long before Chrom was able to spy a light at the end of the musty corridors. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed that Sumia, Cynthia, and the others were a good distance behind, slowed by their weights.
"So," Morgan began quietly. "What're we going to do with the Einherjar?"
"I don't know." Chrom turned his eyes forward again, toward the exit. "We'll obviously keep them with us. I want to awaken them all and bring them into the loop. Would that cause any logistical problems?"
Morgan scratched her head with her free hand. "Hmm… I recall Marth saying that Einherjar don't have to sleep, but they seem to be able to. I have no idea if they need to eat or not. Regardless, there would be housing issues…" She shrugged. "I'll ask Seliph, I guess."
"All right."
Another silence reigned. The pair soon stepped out of the fort and continued their stroll back to camp. Chrom sighed at the touch of warm sun on his skin; the morning breeze was divine.
"Do we do ranks?" Morgan asked suddenly.
Chrom blinked. "What?"
"Like, ranks. Sergeant, Corporal, whatever. Ranks."
"Uh… No, not really. The Shepherds aren't like that."
"That's a bummer. I was gonna suggest we promote all the Manaketes."
Chrom tilted his head curiously. "Why?"
"They went… really above and beyond the call today," said Morgan, smiling wistfully. "Even with the whole Outrealm Sickness deal, they still jumped in when we really needed them."
"Even Tiki?"
"Especially Tiki."
Chrom's eyebrows raised. "Wow. Yeah, we should… I don't know, give them a medal or something. There's got to be a kind of Ylissean Medal of Honor I could award them."
"They already have those from the war." Morgan glanced up at Chrom. "Remember? All the Shepherds got that after we beat Grima."
"Oh." Chrom suddenly grinned. "Then I'll have to make one up, I guess."
"Spoken like a true Exalt."
They both laughed.
Chrom's was cut short when he disturbed the wound in his hip, and he stumbled with a pained hiss. Morgan caught him, and she assisted his return to his feet.
They continued walking, and soon were in the woods.
"The Manaketes are all in the medical tent right now," Morgan resumed. "We're keeping a close eye on them, making sure they're still all right."
She looked away, remembering Talys. The ferality in Nah's eyes. The way she didn't even seem to recognize Morgan for a moment.
"You know… in case of Outrealm Sickness doing something nasty."
Chrom nodded. "…I think I found our 'thing'."
"What? Chrom, mind your innuendos."
Chrom rolled his eyes. "No, the thing. The something that comes up, keeping us from searching for Robin."
"Oh." Morgan's spirits fell. "Outrealm Sickness. Right."
It had been bugging Chrom for a while, but only now could he put his finger on what "it" even was. Two days ago, when the party had gone to the Jungby plains to fight Sigurd, the thought hadn't crossed his mind that the other Chrom had passed through the Gate as well—seemingly with no trouble.
"The alternate Shepherds didn't seem to be affected by it," Chrom said. "If we can get in touch with them somehow, maybe they could tell us how they worked around it."
"Okay, but how are we even supposed to find them?" Morgan asked. "Gods know which parallel timeline is theirs. And that's assuming they aren't somewhere in the Outrealms instead."
"We'll ask the Annas. They've got people everywhere."
Morgan gave him a sideways look. "Is that your answer to everything? The Annas? Cynthia was right about them; this 'Blue' person notwithstanding, they are inconsistent and unhelpful."
"But they're all we have."
Morgan sighed. "Yeah."
They broke through the woods, and the Shepherds' camp was now in full view. Many tents were heavily damaged from the combat, and the sight of visible scuffs in the dirt as well as patches of blood sobered Chrom's expression. However, all was peaceful for now, and Chrom could see movement from the Shepherds in camp, prompting from him a quiet exhale of relief.
But Morgan stopped just on the fringe of the woods, lurching Chrom to a halt.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Chrom, we need to talk." Morgan eased Chrom's arm off of her shoulder, allowing him to stand on his own. She placed her hands on her hips and faced him. "What was that all about, earlier? When we were talking to Mom?"
Chrom evaded the topic skillfully: "I, uhhh… don't know what you're talking about."
Morgan hit him on the arm. "Captain!"
Chrom rubbed his bicep, frowning. "Hey."
Morgan leaned in, her cheeks puffed in an irritable pout. "What'd you learn, huh? What are you keeping from Mom?" Her eyes narrowed. "What are you keeping from me?"
"It's complicated," Chrom said, not meeting her eye. "I don't know the whole truth yet. Suffice to say that it, ah… it's less simple than the story Marth told."
Morgan leaned back again and crossed her arms. "And you can't tell me because…?"
"I said it's complicated." Chrom suddenly remembered himself, and he furrowed his eyebrows seriously. "…We're friends, Morgan, and I trust you. But I'm still your superior, and I wish to keep this to myself for now."
Morgan watched him distrustfully for a moment.
"…Fine."
She offered him a hand. Gradually, Chrom took it, and Morgan eased his arm over her shoulder.
"You'll tell me eventually," she said with certainty. "I'm sick of all these secrets."
Chrom sighed. "Me too, Morgan. Me too."
Before they could even take a step, Chrom heard a voice:
"Heyo! Over here, handsome!"
Chrom and Morgan looked around, baffled. "Where—?"
Suddenly, Chrom felt a tapping on his shoulder, and he turned around in surprise. The sight before him elicited a familiar noise of "Bwuh?"
Two Annas stood before him, smiling identically.
"Sup, Chrom," one said.
"Whaddup, Mr. Your Highness."
Slowly, Chrom eased himself off of Morgan, his eyes trained on the Annas warily.
One of the Annas laughed. "We're not animals, Chrom. You can make sudden movements." The other Anna snorted in amusement.
Chrom sighed irritably. "You've had enough fun with that, haven't you, Anna? Well, I'll give you the same offer. Tell me which one's which, or it's a week's latrine duty."
Both Annas seemed as if they were about to speak, but then decided against it as one.
Chrom crossed his arms, tapping his foot impatiently. "Geez. Do you want latrine duty or someth—?"
He hesitated. His expression soured as he slowly grasped his mistake.
The Annas both smirked at him.
Chrom pinched the bridge of his nose. "…Neither of you are my Anna."
Both Annas burst out laughing.
He glanced at Morgan, intending to exchange a "Can you believe these guys?" look with her, but the young tactician was practically doubled over in laughter herself.
Chrom sighed, shaking his head and waiting for the three idiots to stop laughing.
Morgan wiped a tear from her eye as she settled down. "M-Man, heheh… I take back anything I've ever said about the Annas."
Chrom rolled his eyes. "Anyway… Annas. Er…" Well, one was on the left, and one was on the right, so… Left Anna and Right Anna.
"You got us quick," said Left Anna. "But now that you mention it, we haven't seen Shepherd in a good minute, actually." She peered over Chrom's shoulder at the camp. "Mind if we say hi?"
Chrom frowned. "But… huh? Which Shepherd?"
"Oh!" Left Anna shook her head embarrassedly. "Shepherd is what we call your Anna. Sorry about that."
"Oh. Well, I guess nicknames are pretty inevitable when all of you look the same, act the same, and have the same name."
"I resent that," said Right Anna.
"Nah, no you don't," said Left.
"You don't like pickles. I LOVE pickles." Right Anna smirked. "See? Different!"
"And that's why we call her Pickles," Left Anna concluded.
"…Great?" Chrom said. "Then how do you tell all the alternate Shepherd Annas apart?"
"Ah…" Left Anna rubbed her head sheepishly. "Let's… Let's call that a trade secret, eh?"
Chrom frowned. "And now that I think of it… Anna said she only has one sister. You all are from alternate timelines, right? Why are none of you Shepherds?"
"Oookay!" said Pickles—No, that's silly—said Right Anna hastily. "Let's not get into that right now."
Chrom could already feel a familiar headache coming up, so yeah, best to change the subject. "Why are you here, then? I sent Anna—I sent Shepherd to go get you."
"You can call her Anna if you want," said Left Anna.
Right Anna nodded.
Chrom squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. "Fine! Anna! Now answer my question!"
Both Annas tapped their chins in an infuriatingly identical pose. "Hmm, why did we come here?" Left Anna pondered.
Right Anna nodded her agreement. "Drawin' a blank. Man, that Harvest Festival really took it out of us, huh?"
Left Anna beamed. "Yeah, that was fun! Remember the pumpkin carving?"
"Heck yeah!"
Chrom looked between the two Annas quizzically. "Harvest Festival? Why does that sound familiar?"
"Old Hubba mentioned it," said Morgan instantly.
"Right."
Right Anna's jaw dropped. "You haven't heard of the Outrealm Harvest Festival?!"
"No," Chrom huffed impatiently. "We're from the Inrealms. I'd never even heard of the Outrealms before a few days ago, much less any festivals held in them."
"Oh! Right." Right Anna cleared her throat. "Yeah, uh… It's the Springrealm. They have massive Harvest Festivals, bigger than any Inrealm ones."
"You've gotta see it," said Left Anna enthusiastically. "Look, once you're all in good shape, we'll take you there. Deal?"
Chrom sighed. Were it so simple. "Thanks for the offer, Anna. I'll think about it."
"Hold up," said Morgan. "What's this festival all about?"
"It's… It's a normal harvest festival, just really big," said Left Anna uncertainly. "What is there to say? Around the time of the autumn harvest, there's feasting and stuff. Good times are had."
"Huh," said Morgan.
The other three members of the conversation watched her quietly for a moment.
"Morgan…" Chrom ventured, "Have you… never been to a harvest festival?"
Morgan sighed. "C'mon, Captain. I only remember as far back as when you guys found me in the Ruins of Time. Unless there have been harvest festivals since the end of the war that I haven't been invited to—which I doubt, since we haven't had an autumn season since the war ended—then I haven't even had the chance."
Chrom pursed his lips. Some of the fondest memories of his youth stemmed from Ylisstol's Harvest Festivals, and the relative freedom he was allowed during those weeks compared to his stifling life in the castle. He knew for certain Lissa and Emmeryn felt the same way…
The thought then struck Chrom that Emmeryn wouldn't feel the same way. She had no memory of the harvest festivals either. A pain of loss shot through him, one that he hadn't felt since reuniting with his sister last November.
"Tell me more about it," Chrom insisted. "What's it like?"
Both Annas blinked, smiles growing on their expressions at the sight of Chrom's enthusiasm.
Left Anna spoke up first. "Gosh, where to start? Like my lovely sister said earlier, the Springrealm's Harvest Festival is big. Like, really big. Thousands and thousands of people show up to participate. And…" Her eyes glazed over. "The shopping… oh so much shopping. So much capitalism!"
Right Anna nudged her sister mischievously. "So much golding?"
Left Anna rolled her eyes. "I refuse to let that catch on."
"You and me are on the same page, then," said Chrom. "Thousands and thousands, you say? That's very impressive, but… where do they come from? Is the Springrealm its own massive world?"
"Well, yeah," said Pickles. "It's not like it's fall over there twenty-four seven, three-sixty-five. It's not called the Autumnrealm, you know… Though that's mostly because that name has, just, just NO ring to it."
"Yep, it's big," said Southpaw. "Probably the size of Ylisse or so."
"What do you mean 'the size of Ylisse'?" Morgan asked. "Does the world just fall away at the ends, or…?"
"Good question, not an easy answer," said Left Anna. "We'd have to get into space-time folding, and boy oh boy do I not want to start on that. You want a complex explanation, you'll have to talk to Mother. That's her forte."
Right Anna nodded in agreement.
"Right… your mother," said Chrom. "Blue, right? I need to thank her for what she did for Sumia."
The two Annas exchanged a glance and snickered. "Please. If you were gonna meet Mother, she'd find you first."
Chrom sighed. "Great. One of those types." He continued to think. "…Thousands and thousands, huh? And they all come from that one little Outrealm?"
"Haha! No, no, people show up from all over. The Springrealm is definitely not the only inhabited Outrealm." Right Anna chuckled. "Who knows how many of those there are!"
Left Anna nodded. "Yeah. The Outrealms are pretty freaking massive as a whole. No Outrealm is as big as the Inrealm, but the Outrealms just dwarf the Inrealm in spacetime."
"Sounds… incomprehensible," said Morgan.
"Ohoho yeah. But hey, it's crazy profitable!"
Chrom smiled at the Annas' exuberance. Hearing all this… well, the headache was back, but it still raised a sort of peace in him. Like… like, after all this time, the Outrealms were finally being introduced. Like he'd only gotten a taste of them so far.
It was, though. Incomprehensible, that is. The more he tried to wrap his mind around the Annas' explanations, the more he found his focus slipping. He glanced aside at Morgan, watching her hanging onto (and undoubtedly memorizing) every detail the Annas gave. Chrom figured he'd just leave this stuff to her.
But the thought of a Harvest Festival was no less than divine. The Shepherds needed that. He needed that. Morgan needed that.
One day, that's all. Tomorrow if everyone's up for it. Then, the search for Robin resumes.
But his excitement suddenly died as he remembered the Shepherds' predicament. It still wasn't that simple.
Morgan's conversation with the Annas drifted into Chrom's ear. "…aren't gonna run into any alternate versions of ourselves there, are we?"
"Probably not," said Right Anna. "The number of Inrealm timelines that have breached the Outrealms is… infinitesimal. Like, 'can count on one hand' infinitesimal."
Morgan's eyebrows furrowed deeply in confusion. Her mouth formed the word, "How…?" But the sound didn't pass her lips.
Infinitesimal, hm? Chrom scratched his head. How special we must be, then.
He laughed quietly. "Heh, with parallel timelines involved, it makes you feel kind of insignificant, you know? I'm just one of an infinite number of Chroms."
"Don't worry, dude," said Left Anna. "It's not an infinite number of universes."
Right Anna's smile quickly died, and she elbowed her twin scoldingly.
Left Anna's smile disappeared as well. "Ahem, I mean, yeah, infinite universes. Tough luck, bro."
Chrom looked between the two Annas, confused. "…Are you telling me there's a finite number of parallel universes?"
"I don't recall anyone saying anything about finite parallel universes," Right Anna stated, machine-like.
"Yes, I concur, no indication was given that there is any less than an infinite number of universes," Left Anna echoed, equally mechanical. "Oh no. It seems, we must leave. Because there is an important thing."
"Yes," agreed Right Anna, "the thing. The important thing. That you must attend to." She gestured over Chrom's shoulder—not far away stood Maribelle, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.
Chrom's shoulders slumped. We've been here for a while, huh? The others passed us up.
The Annas were both trying their hardest to maintain neutral expressions with unfocused eyes. "Farewell, Chrom. It—has—been—pleasant."
"Yes. Pleasant."
They both bowed out in a seriously robotic fashion.
"Wackjobs," Chrom muttered. Morgan nodded in agreement.
They turned toward Maribelle, and Morgan ducked under Chrom's arm to help him walk. Chrom offered his wife a weak smile as he approached.
Her expression was sharp, however. "Chrom."
"You said you'd save your harsh words for after my victory," Chrom pointed out. "Now's the time if you want to lecture me for my recklessness or whatever."
"Please. That would be like beating a stray dog." She sighed. "…For now, you're suffering enough. Come now, honey." She offered him her arm for further support. "Let's get you lying down."
Chrom smiled at her, accepting the aid. "I love you."
"I love you too." Her expression didn't change, though.
Frederick was standing guard outside the medical tent as they arrived. If the past seven months had been any indication, this could only mean Emmeryn was nearby. Probably inside the tent.
Frederick greeted the Exalt with a friendly "milord," receiving a "Good work today, Frederick" in response.
Chrom stopped in front of the tent. "Morgan, I can make it from here."
"If you say so." Morgan gestured a thumb over her shoulder. "In that case, I'm gonna go check on that after-action report."
"You mean hug your mother some more?"
"Yup. Peace."
Morgan gave Chrom and Maribelle a salute and walked away.
With Maribelle's help, Chrom entered the small medical tent. His eyes narrowed—This isn't the medical tent. Sure enough, there were unpacked crates in the corner indicating this tent's intended use of storage.
He sighed. The ACTUAL medical tent must be filled entirely with wounded, Shepherds and Einherjar alike. He felt a sort of painful nostalgia; the aftermaths of the larger battles against Valm had been like this.
As it was, Chrom was nearly alone in the tent. The only other occupant lay in a bed across from the one Maribelle led Chrom to; both of Chrom's sisters were working diligently on their patient.
Chrom's eyes narrowed suspiciously, not leaving Marth's semiconscious form, as Chrom approached a bed.
Gingerly—feeling the sting of his wounds very sharply—Chrom lay down, Maribelle easing him under the covers.
"I—I'm good, I've got it," Chrom murmured, waving his wife off.
He let out a heavy sigh as he lay back in the bed, finally relaxing. He felt disgusting—in need of a bath. Two baths. A lot of baths. The dirt and blood and sweat and… fear… The sheets were sticking to him.
Maribelle immediately went to work undoing Chrom's armor, relieving him of the uncomfortable steel, leather, and buckles. One after the other, she placed each piece beside his bed, before hesitating, looking Chrom over again and again as if in search of more armor to remove.
Chrom smiled weakly. "I'm comfortable, Maribelle. Thank you."
She smiled back, equally weak.
"Hey, Chrom?" piped in Lissa from across the room. The princess turned away from her patient and approached Chrom's bed, her hands on her hips. "I, uh… Marth isn't looking good."
She and Chrom both glanced over at the Hero-King. His eyelids flickered feebly in his struggle to stay conscious.
Lissa turned back to her brother, wearing a grimace. "Chrom—maybe—I mean—maybe it'd be better if… if, um…"
"If what, dear?" Maribelle asked.
"He's going to suffer a lot of pain," Lissa blurted quickly. "I mean, lots of pain, and it won't go away soon. But he's… not human, y'know? He doesn't have to go through that. Maybe it'd be better for him if we—if we spared him all that, and just let him return to his card."
"No!"
The cry came from in front of and behind Lissa: both Chrom and Marth had shouted with equal vehemence.
Chrom continued. "I need to talk to him. We can't afford to let him lose his memories. Not yet."
Lissa frowned and glanced over at Marth, who was fighting Emmeryn's attempts to make him stay down. The Hero-King collected himself into a sitting position and met Lissa's eye.
But Emmeryn was stronger for once, and she was able to force Marth back down onto the bed.
Marth coughed. "I—I don't… I…"
Lissa faced Chrom. "…I guess that settles it. Emm can handle Marth alone, though. The rest of the wounded need me more."
Lissa moved to the exit, but she hesitated there. "Chrom, what was the deal with Old Hubba? That whole deal really came out of nowhere."
Chrom sighed. "Look, I'll… release a pamphlet, or something."
"You and your pamphlets…" Lissa fidgeted on her toes. "But you were right all along, huh? Uh… sorry for calling you a jerk before. And for hiding frogs in your bed."
Before Chrom could get past "Wha—", Lissa was gone.
Chrom groaned and closed his eyes. "Great. If this is anything like last time, she found the greasy ones. I'll need to get a new pillow."
Maribelle chuckled lightly. "…Are you certain you are comfortable, dear?"
"As much as I can be, I guess."
"Does your wound still hurt?"
"Not especially." He smiled wanly. "Maribelle, I'm fine. I just need some rest, I think."
She started to reach over him. "If you'd allow me to look at it again—"
"Maribelle," he said sternly, putting a hand on her shoulder to stop her. "I'm fine. Really."
She slowly relented, her expression conflicted. She continued to linger painfully for another minute.
Chrom watched Marth carefully. The prince seemed to still be conscious, laying still and accepting Emmeryn's treatment.
"You know… I am pretty thirsty," Chrom offered, glancing up at his wife. "Would you mind getting me some water?"
"I…" Maribelle glanced over at Marth, a hint of suspicion creeping in her. "…As you wish."
Maribelle reluctantly departed the tent.
The tent faced another near-silent moment. Only Emmeryn was moving, analyzing Marth's wounds as she worked her Recover staff.
Chrom cleared his throat. "Emm."
"Hm?" She glanced over her shoulder at him. "What's the matter?"
Chrom smiled for her. "How is he?"
"Mm…" Emmeryn faced her patient. "It seems he will be fine… There's not much more a staff can do for him for now."
"I see. In that case, would you mind leaving the two of us alone?"
Emmeryn frowned. "What?" She turned back to Chrom, scrutinizing his expression. "…Why?"
"I need to talk to Marth in private."
Emmeryn's eyes narrowed. She could see through that smile Chrom was forcing—she could sense the animosity underneath. But she recognized that Chrom was hardly able to gain his feet, much less harm her patient.
"Chrom…" She stood and faced her younger brother. "Don't… Don't do anything rash."
Emmeryn left the tent as well.
Chrom's gaze settled on Marth, and his smile faded. Marth's eyes stared up at the roof of the tent.
"Marth, how do you feel?"
Marth coughed. "Not in top form, needless to say…"
Chrom's eyes narrowed. "Good enough shape to talk?"
Grimacing, Marth slowly propped himself up on his elbows. He adjusted his pillows somewhat, and then sat back, now elevated enough to meet the Exalt's eye.
"…Yes."
"Good." Chrom intended to cross his arms, but the wound precluded that for now. "I know where you're going to start. Katarina. You endangered all of us by not telling us about her."
"She wasn't the most important assassin," Marth explained. "We knew who she was, yes. We also knew who Roro was, and where. But Clarisse eluded us. I'm—I'm sorry to say this, but Clarisse was so stealthy, we didn't know how else to draw her out but by…" He trailed off, grimacing.
"By using us as bait."
"Yes."
There was a silent pause. Marth didn't try to evade Chrom's gaze; the Hero-King's blue eyes carried a sorrowful burden.
"You are right to distrust me," Marth said softly. "I did lie to you. There were several parts of my story that I fabricated, or at least exaggerated. However, I cannot emphasize enough the necessity of my deception. I was limited on time, and the story was based in fact—I accurately conveyed the most important part of the story, which was Old Hubba's true nature. I left the rest of the distracting details out, to be fully clarified after the fact." He gestured at Chrom. "Like so."
"Those were more than 'distracting details.' They were important."
"Then I'll tell the full story now," Marth replied formally. "I… must warn you. This does not paint me in a good light. I…"
Marth finally averted his eyes, looking down.
"…I wouldn't blame you if you wished to kill me afterwards."
Chrom denied nothing.
"Continue, then."
"Very well." Marth took a deep breath, and he met Chrom's eye again. "The beginning of the story was not falsified. Up until that fateful night—Beatrice's death, and the cleansing of the mansion—my story was the same. As you know, my first falsehood regarded the identity of Beatrice's murderer…"
…
Marth's rapier retreated slickly, casting the assassin's crimson blood across the grass. Her fingers had twitched as the blade had entered her skull, but she now lay entirely still.
Marth's breath was loud in his ears, his heart pumping, as he forced himself to return the sword to its sheath. He and Old Hubba both stood over the girl, glaring down at her corpse.
"That's that, then," Old Hubba muttered. He turned away from the body, and without another word, he slowly began making his way home.
Alone, Marth fell to his knees. Where was the catharsis? When he had defeated Roy earlier, he'd received intense—if brief—satisfaction. Satisfaction in stopping Beatrice's killer. When he'd run the lord through, he'd almost smirked.
But now, there was none of that. He stared at the young girl's disfigured face, and he felt… was it… was it pity? Pity and… hatred…
His fingernails dug into the dirt. This girl was so young. She had an adorable little smile, one she held onto even in death. Nothing about her indicated she was the type to kill. He wanted to feel bad for her. Her father—Robin? She was manipulated by him, most certainly.
But… but that didn't matter.
He hated her. He hated her. She killed Beatrice. She forced Old Hubba's hand. And now, everything Marth had loved about this new life was gone.
All because of this girl.
Who was she?
Thoughtlessly, rabid with hate, he moved to her, searching through her robes. Searching for anything. Anything he could use to identify her.
His breath caught when he felt his fingers brush against paper. He hastily pulled it out of her pocket and stood, squinting in the moonlight to make out the words.
However, it was far too dark. With one last glare down at the girl, he hurried back to the mansion, clutching the letter with fervor well beyond its value.
"This can never happen again." Card, manifest, stack.
Marth trembled. Partly from intimidation—this Old Hubba was not the one he knew. This one could murder Marth in an instant had he the slightest motivation to do so.
The other part was a similar fear. His fear of his own hatred. Because now, he was armed with a name.
He had found a moment to himself to read the letter. In the coming days, he would memorize every word on it. Burn them into his memory.
.
Dear Morgan,
I feel like it's been so long since I've been able to see you! I'm sorry, honey. Mommy will be home soon, I promise.
You know what? I'll make it up to you. Daddy and I will spend a whooooole week, just with you—and if you can get in touch with your sibling, then we can even be a whole family for a while!
I promise, I won't be in the field for much longer. Even Shepherds need a break sometimes!
Love,
Mommy
.
What a cute note. The letters were faded from the years, and it was wrinkled and fragile from the many times this killer—this MORGAN—must have read it. A memento. In the coming years, Marth would ponder this, and wonder if it was all Morgan had left of her mother. Of this Robin's, this… Grima's, wife.
It never changed Marth's feelings. Every twinge of pity he felt for Morgan would quickly be replaced with the image of Beatrice's body. Of the feeling of helplessness when Marth had stood and watched his friends be massacred. That pity would fizzle away into burning hate.
…
"A hundred years, Chrom. All that time, I was no different from Old Hubba. He justified his actions with Bea's murder. I justified my compliance with blame for Morgan. Each traveler I slew—each one I watched be slain—I would remember Morgan, and think the words, 'It's her fault.' Never my own." Marth took a shallow breath. "I suppose… it was all I could do to cope. Regardless of where I shifted the blame—whether to Morgan or to Old Hubba or to myself—I'd have to perform the action anyway. I am… merely an Einherjar.
"Of course, you were correct about the encounter eight months ago. Yes, we did meet Robin, apparently shortly following his vanquishing of Grima. The monster within, I presume." Marth's shoulders slumped. "The details… I'd sooner leave to the imagination. But Old Hubba was correct—I learned of his relation to Morgan, was consumed with a hundred years of catharsis-deprived, pent-up rage, and attempted to take it out on him."
"And?" Chrom asked. "What was the end result?"
"The same," said Marth. "He was able to sneak into the mansion, steal the Einherjar, and escape into the Outrealms with them. As in my doctored story, I left a minor wound as he entered the portal that separated man and bag. And of course, Algol found the cards, started pillaging, et cetera.
"Contrary to what I said before, I did not acquire an enlightening epiphany from my duel with Robin. I was left frustrated and impotent, suffering minor injuries from a man who had proven vastly my superior. I achieved no catharsis, nor a freedom from hatred and guilt. Instead, I gained… nothingness. Quietness. Lack of feeling. I… stopped. Virtually dead. I, I couldn't see color, I couldn't taste food, I…"
Marth choked.
Chrom frowned. A lack of feeling… I wonder how Sumia is doing. I need to speak with her.
"I didn't really care anymore," Marth continued. "We'd lost the Einherjar, so I had nothing to do. Just me and Old Hubba, alone… And when he lost the assassins thanks to Shanna outwitting him, I figured that that was just the end. Algol had learned where the mansion was, thanks to Shanna stumbling across it; it wouldn't be long before he sacked the place, took me, and killed Old Hubba. We were out of options, so Old Hubba went to try to get his cards back, and that was when he found you."
…
"It's an honor, Mr. Hero-King!" said Morgan, bubbling.
There was no mistaking it. Marth's chest ached with dread. It was her. He hadn't been sure at first—Was her hair always brown? I suppose it must have been.
He had to keep himself from staring. Tried to keep his focus on Chrom when explaining the concept of Einherjar. Had trouble facing her whenever she spoke. But Morgan was the elephant in the room, a weight constantly pressing on him in the corner of his mind's eye.
He didn't know what to feel. Conflicted would be the best word. He felt tingles of his hate, but this Morgan was not the one he had killed, of course. She seemed well-meaning, in fact. Like an entirely different Morgan. In hindsight, perhaps that was true.
But that didn't change the fact that this was Morgan.
"…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.
Old Hubba quietly closed the door behind them, and he turned to face Marth, one of his bushy eyebrows already raised in expectation. "…Well?"
"I'm not sure what you mean by "well", sir," said Marth, stone-faced. "The path is obvious. We obtain what we need from them, and then we kill them. Same as any other traveler. I'll begin studying their leader's fighting style as soon as possible."
Old Hubba rested both of his hands on his cane, quietly watching Marth for a moment.
Slowly, a smile broke on Old Hubba's expression. "…Son, that's just what I wanted to hear. Glad we're on the same page for once." He leaned in, his eyes twinkling. "Want dibs on killin' Morgan?"
"I don't care."
"Sure you do."
Marth didn't respond to that. His expression didn't even change.
"I don't know the truth," Marth said. "I don't know why there is a living Morgan inside our mansion right now. But that doesn't matter." A sudden fire lit in his eyes. "Because she is going to die, and I will finally have closure."
The old man tilted his head curiously. "And then?"
"That's… irrelevant." He looked away. "After that… you could kill me, if you wanted."
Hubba frowned. "Aw, don't be like that. If you died, who else would I have?" He chuckled. "You ain't gonna leave me alone, Marth. I don't wanna be the only one left who remembers Bea."
…
Chrom tried crossing his arms again, having forgotten the reason why he wasn't doing that already. After the pain faded, he addressed Marth. "But I suppose you changed your mind, given that this conversation is happening."
"Yes," Marth said. "I did. I assure you, I bear no ill will towards Morgan any longer. I… I regret everything. I know now that I was foolish to even think of…"
Marth trailed off. He reasoned that Chrom wasn't interested in apologies.
"…I suppose the why is what you want." Marth cleared his throat. "It was a few things in rapid succession. The first: realizing that the Einherjar do not need to die to change hands, of course. This was a solution I'd hoped for for a hundred years: a way to escape Old Hubba's influence without my death.
"The second…"
…
Marth parried a strike from Titania as she passed. He turned to the side, intending to shout a warning for Chrom, but the Exalt was already aware; Chrom placed his heel into the ground, hefted his golden sword, and struck when Titania did, blocking her attack and nearly removing her from her horse.
As Titania retreated, Marth found himself short on breath. Chrom grasped his weapon with valor, his powerful eyes scanning for his next opponent.
The sword hummed. The weapon Marth had been watching, studying—now, in the heat of battle, wielded by its owner, the sword's name revealed itself.
It didn't look the same. The hilt was virtually unrecognizable. But it felt the same. The way it called to Marth hadn't changed.
Falchion.
Chrom is my descendant, Marth thought weakly. Chrom shares my blood.
…
Marth paused to catch his breath. He winced, his hand grasping at the wound underneath his shirt; it seemed to be constricting him. He would have liked to be out of this tunic, but…
"So that's it," said Chrom. "You realized who I was, and… that's why the Shepherds are still alive."
"Yes," said Marth. "I became immediately disillusioned in Old Hubba's—in our plan, but I knew I had an out. That was when my plan formed in my mind, the one I explained before… or rather, a rough outline of it.
"I no longer wished to kill you. Even my desire for catharsis, to see Morgan dead again, had evaporated. My doubts from before had compounded, while my hate vanished. I even tried to picture Beatrice—tried to remember how I had felt—but all I could see was Morgan, your genius tactician. Her smile, her charm. She… She was not the same Morgan, and I was finally able to believe that. She did not deserve death. None of you did.
"So, I planned for one of you to defeat me. I didn't care who, but a part of me wanted to face you, Chrom. Something like… a final sendoff, I suppose. Especially fitting when Algol granted me my Falchion. Afterwards, I planned to disappear, perhaps to make a life in the Inrealm, or in another Outrealm."
"You didn't just want to die?" Chrom asked. "You told Old Hubba you didn't care."
Marth fidgeted. "But—But I did care. I DO care, immensely. I—I fear death, Chrom." He looked away, grimacing. "I never wanted to die…"
Tense silence hung in the air.
Chrom's expression never shifted from an unfeeling stare. "…So what changed your mind?"
…
No sooner had Marth alighted on the soil of Old Hubba's Outrealm than he heard a soft bird call from the woods. He soon found a chance to separate from the rest of the Shepherds, and he joined his allies.
As soon as he finished explaining his plans, he could immediately see the displeasure written on their faces.
"Marth, that's horrible." Seliph clenched his hands into fists.
Marth blinked. "…What?"
Micaiah leaned closer, a dire look in her eyes. "Marth—we have at our fingertips the only chance to stop Old Hubba that we've had in a century, and you intend to run away from it."
"Micaiah, this means freedom," Marth stated. "I've been in chains for a hundred years. None of you understand what this means to me! To be—to be finally free…" He trailed off, overcome. "The three of you, and Leif… You have been free for a hundred years. Never have you had to kill… Never have you been on the brink of losing everything you are." He met each of their eyes. "Just a few days ago I couldn't remember your faces. I couldn't remember what it felt like to be around you." He dug his nails into his palms. "I still can't remember what… what she felt like… What it felt like to…"
Silence fell.
"Prince Marth," Lena began softly. "I am so sorry… I know we could never understand. I know. But Old Hubba is a menace that needs to be stopped, and we can finally do it, together. We'd hardly even need to adjust your plan." She put a hand on his cheek; he put his hand atop hers, smiling wanly. "Marth… I would hope you, more than anyone, would know what it would mean for Old Hubba to be stopped."
…
"I still wasn't sure," Marth continued. "The temptation to ignore them was strong. Once I lay at the bloody end of Falchion, would I just take my freedom and leave? Forget everything about Seliph, Lena, Micaiah, and Leif; ignore Old Hubba, ignore the last hundred years?" He smiled slightly. "What convinced me was, again, my blood."
…
The clearing was silent and tense. Micaiah leaned against a tree, arms crossed nervously as she stared at Marth. Lena was calmly folding his bloodied clothes, to be discarded later.
Marth paused, holding a clean tunic in his hands. Impassive, he looked down at his bare chest; he traced a finger along the agitated scar running down his sternum.
"Caeda is safe now. You can come home."
Marth stared at Lucina's hand, pained tears welling in his eyes.
He winced at his finger's pressure. This wound would ache for a while more.
Marth glanced over his shoulder at his two allies. Lena's back was to him, but Micaiah seemed desperate to meet his eye.
Marth sighed. He couldn't blame her.
They had revived him, even with the uncertainty of Marth's cooperation. He was superfluous to the plan, after all. With or without Marth, Beatrice's Einherjar could use the Shepherds to the fullest. Yet, they'd saved him anyway. It was only natural that she would want an answer.
Lucina reflexively swatted aside Marth's sword and plunged her blade into the Hero-King's chest.
The Falchion lay nearby—sheathed, leaning against a tree on the fringe of the clearing.
Marth turned his attention back to the tunic in his hands, and he lifted it over his head.
"Wh-Why, Marth?! It didn't have to be this way!"
He straightened the tunic and began to buckle it down.
"Brady!" Lucina cried, looking around. "Mother! Anyone! We need a healer!"
He reached for his cape.
"Lucina! …I don't have much time left before I return to the card, so… just listen, okay?" Marth saw tears glistening in Lucina's eyes. Those eyes that had seen a fallen land… His gaze drifted to the sword she had dropped nearby in her shock.
Marth secured his cape around his shoulders.
"Don't grieve for me… My time passed, long ago…" He brushed his fingers against her cheek. She trembled underneath his touch. Such—such empathy, such…
"I'm unworthy of you," Marth whispered to the solemn air. He again turned his gaze on Falchion—the blade of light, the slayer of Shadow Dragons.
Resolve slowly began to grow on his expression, replacing his stony silence from before. Without hesitation, he strode forward; he grasped the golden blade's sheath and quickly affixed it to his hip.
With a whirl of his cape, he turned to face his two allies. Both Lena and Micaiah watched him expectantly—nervously.
"You were right all along," said Marth. "Micaiah. Lena. I'm in. Old Hubba must be stopped."
A light grew on both of their expressions.
"…My blood. Our blood. Your daughter—Lucina.
"She had come to me… Opened her heart… Begged for the judgment of the Hero-King she so idolized. It was then that I remembered who I was."
Marth's eyes lit with determination, and he smiled, genuinely, for the first time since he had begun his story.
"I am not an automaton," Marth declared. "I am more than that. I am more than an Einherjar. I am Marth! Prince Marth, descendent of Anri, the man who would become the legendary Hero-King! And Lucina—Lucina, champion from such a desolate world, twice the hero of anyone I'd ever met—deserves an ancestor she can be proud of.
"That's why, Chrom. That's why I could let it all go. It was Lucina who reminded me of who I am, who I should be. For Lucina, I changed my plans—I lent you my aid, even when you did not know it. All for her—all for you. All for the Shepherds, those who had picked up the mantle I left behind, and who carry it better than I ever could."
Marth was suddenly short on breath, and he sat back; his mounting pride had sat him up, which had succeeded in inflaming his wounds.
"And from then on… the story is the same," Marth panted. "You know the rest…"
Chrom tried for the third time to cross his arms, and failed yet again. He settled for a curious frown as he pondered Marth's story.
Marth's pride had mostly faded, leaving behind pain and fear. He anxiously awaited Chrom's judgment.
"You were right," Chrom mused. "That story was, indeed, less than flattering… But of course I have no intention of executing you."
Marth exhaled slightly.
"Even if I thought you deserved it, I wouldn't let you die," Chrom said. "That isn't the Shepherd way. That isn't my way. And, regardless of your deception, you did help us, and we did put a stop to Old Hubba thanks to you. I haven't forgotten that, and I won't soon." His gaze sharpened somewhat. "But you aren't just walking free, either. You're staying with me—with the rest of the Einherjar. I need to keep my eye on you."
Marth sighed. "…Of course, milord. I should be grateful." He gestured out of the tent. "As soon as I can, I will inform Seliph and the others that we will be traveling with you for the time being."
"Good."
Marth's eyes closed, and he let out a deep breath as he relaxed. "…Chrom… If I may ask… What is 'the time being'? What do you plan on doing with the Einherjar…?"
Chrom scoffed. "That's the million-coin question, isn't it?"
Marth chuckled, which turned into a short cough. He then fell silent. Within moments, Chrom could hear Marth's breathing steady into a deep rhythm, his chest rising and falling evenly.
Chrom wished he could do the same. But he was restless—fidgeting, both in the agitation from his injury and the discomfort Marth's tale had inspired in him.
I think I liked the other one more. He sighed. …But it's nice to know the full truth, for once.
Chrom stared out the tent, grimacing. He began to pull the covers off.
Geez… Maribelle's gonna give me an earful, but I hate sitting around.
He slowly lifted himself out of bed.
"Morgan!" Chrom smiled. "I thought you'd be with Sumia."
Morgan sighed. "Hey, Captain. I was, but she was all 'Morgan stop, I can't breathe.' Can you believe that?"
"Hardly." Chrom put a hand on his hip. "Do you have an after-action report ready?"
"Sort of," said Morgan, a little irritated. "But Cordelia formatted it all wrong…"
"What?"
"Nothin'. Anyway, if you wanted to look over that unorganized mess, I've got it back in my tent."
"I think that's less important right now," said Chrom. "Right now, we need to get everyone up to speed. We're going to make some pamphlets."
"Pamphlets?" laughed Morgan. "Seriously, we're making pamphlets again? Thought we saved those for Grima's returns."
"Yeah, well."
Morgan exhaled. "Alright, I guess. Let's get back to my tent."
Chrom's response died in his throat, while his eyes drifted over Morgan's shoulder. "…In a minute, it seems. That looks important."
Morgan turned to follow his gaze. The two Annas from earlier were hurrying over, both seeming rather embarrassed.
"Heyyy!" called Left Anna—was it the same Left Anna? They might've switched sides. "Sup, Chrom!"
"Hello." Chrom's eyes narrowed. "What's the matter this time?"
"We're sorry!" said Right Anna. "We got so distracted by all the nonsense you were talking earlier that we forgot why we came."
Chrom frowned. "That's right, you said our Anna wasn't the one who fetched you. Why are you here?"
"We're here from the other day," Left Anna said. "You guys were having trouble with Outrealm Sickness, weren't you?"
Chrom and Morgan exchanged a surprised glance.
"…Yeah?" Chrom said slowly.
Both Annas beamed identically. "Well, look no further! I present to you…"
Right Anna dug into her bag, biting her lip expectantly. She pulled out a jar—"No, those are my pickles… Aha!" She produced a small sack, shaking it excitedly. Based on the sound, the bag was filled with some sand-like substance. "I give you, Bath Elixir! Please imagine any sort of item-get jingle you wish."
Chrom accepted the gift. "…Bath Elixir?" He looked up at the Annas, his expression growing distraught. "Was it really this simple?!"
"Nooo," said Left Anna. "It really wasn't. That stuff's expensive. Had to make a lot of it to accommodate you and your Manaketes, PLUS Sumia."
A thought occurred to Chrom. "But this isn't new, is it? The alternate party didn't have any Outrealm Sickness issues, so they must have used that, right?"
Both Annas blinked. "No? This stuff's brand new. Not even a trademark yet."
"Then how…?" Chrom trailed off with a sigh. "Whatever. Thank you, Annas. This should prove invaluable. How do we use it?"
"Dump a handful of this in hot water. Bathe in it—let it really sink in—and you're good to go." Right Anna gave him a thumbs-up. "Granted, it's not well-tested, but according to Mother you should only need it once. Just don't dump the bathwater out, in case you need it again."
Chrom winced at the thought of bathing in the same water twice. Weighing that with fainting from the Outrealm Gate, though… "…Thanks. I guess I owe you now, huh?"
Left Anna winked. "You betcha! Mother'll collect that debt someday."
"Anywho, we're girls of our word," said Right Anna. "Whenever you're feeling better, we'll take you to the Harvest Festival."
"As it is, though, we'll go grab Shepherd and bring her back here; after all, you guys resolved the Old Hubba thing on your own, didntcha? She's got a terrible sense of direction when it comes to the Outrealms, so who knows where she is right now."
"Haha, yep, that is so her. See you soon!"
The two Annas left.
Chrom looked down at the bag in his hand, and he smiled slightly.
"Everything's turning up Shepherd today, isn't it?" Morgan said with a grin, nudging him.
"Seems like." He tied the Bath Elixir to his belt. "Anyway, let's get those pamphlets going. I'd imagine the others are going crazy wondering what even happened today."
He and Morgan began walking to her tent.
"It's been a long day," sighed Morgan. "And I'm tired of making after-action reports. I'm gonna try to make these entertaining. Sound good?"
Chrom grinned down at her. "Why do you think I'm enlisting your help?"
.
"OLD HUBBA SUCKS" – A MORGAN PSA
-x-
HAS THIS EVER HAPPENED TO YOU?
"Oh man, I sure do like this Old Hubba guy! He seems real swell! Wait, why is he trying to kill us? Oh no!"
Careful there, Average Joe! You've just been hit by good ol' Betrayal Syndrome. Little did you know, Old Hubba was actually a liar! And evil.
"B-But he seemed so nice!"
Yeah, well, he wasn't. Tough. He's killed a lot of people. Suck it up.
"B-But I liked him, and—"
Oh, I'm sorry, are you the one whose neck he had an assassin hold lightning to? I didn't think so.
A hundred years ago, his wife got offed, and he got so mad that he decided to become evil or something! I wasn't there, so I can't really judge, but man, what a jerk, right?
(Just kidding, loves. If one of you guys died, I'd totally go evil for you.)
(Still kidding!)
Long story short, we're done. The Einherjar War is over. We've got all the Einherjar, and we've got the old guy captive, so we're free to search for my dad. I mean Robin. Woohoo! (I dunno about you, but I'd like a break first.)
Lastly, we also learned that Outrealm time flows one-to-one with Ylisse. No time tomfoolery. So, you can update your calendars: today's date is August 8th.
.
"Huh."
Owain glanced over at his friend. "What is it?"
Inigo's eyebrows were raised as he skimmed the pamphlet a second time. "Today's the eighth of August, huh?"
"Yeah?"
Inigo faced Owain. "Yesterday was my birthday."
A bright smile dawned on Owain's face. "So it was! Say, do you hear that, Inigo? The sounds of festivities? The sounds of celebration?! They beckon!" He swiftly turned and started marching away. "Come now!"
Inigo blinked.
Chrom strained to get a good look at Owain and Inigo, but Maribelle was stubborn in keeping him pressed down on the bed. He couldn't really blame her, given his recent behavior.
Finally, Chrom gave up and sat back. "I think that sounds wonderful, Owain," he said. "The Shepherds could really use a morale booster. A birthday party would be a great idea."
"Aha! Excellent!" Owain proclaimed. "It shall be a celebration like no world has ever seen! We shall light the sky afire with—"
Chrom cleared his throat. "Let's… not forget that most of the Shepherds are in bad shape. We're going to keep things laid-back. We'll have a feast back at the mansion, and some relaxing festivities."
"That's more than I could ask for," said Inigo, smiling. "Thank you, milord."
"Of course." Chrom smiled back. "Happy birthday."
Chapter 14 coming soon
Author's note:
This was supposed to be less than half of a chapter but then it turned into 12,000 words *grumble grumble*
So there's a reason I haven't uploaded since September (today being early February, if you're from the future). The stars have aligned, and several side-projects I've been working on all happened to near completion around the same time. I've finally finished all of them, so over the course of February, I'll be uploading all of them sequentially. That includes another chapter of Into the Outrealms!
P.S.: Shoutouts to Robotortoise for providing me a shiny new cover image! It's the same thing but ~high quality~