Chapter 17: Infinite Regalia, Part II

As Morgan had surmised during her expeditions into the dark, the now well-lit Outrealm was laid out in a grid, into which they had entered from the southernmost room. Of the many square rooms ahead, thirty-six Deadlords, each boasting strength greater than any of the Shepherds alone, awaited the Shepherds' approach. Morgan had opted for a cautious strategy, deploying her units in pairs, never letting a Deadlord be fought by fewer than two Shepherds at once.

At first, this worked well. The Shepherds were limited by the close quarters, but they still were able to populate the Deadlords' rooms with more than enough fighters to handle them. Slowly, but surely, they would be able to work their way further in.

Until, after about a minute of smooth combat, more Deadlords began to approach from rooms further beyond, intending to enter the fray alongside their embattled brethren. At that moment, Morgan realized that they just weren't going to play her game. She wanted to be patient, tackle one room at a time, but if more Deadlords entered the tight space, they would soon be able to overwhelm the Shepherds. Grimacing, she gave the order for the Shepherds to spread out, take their battles to more rooms.

The Deadlords, being fewer in number but greater in power, would benefit heavily from chokepoints, as those would enable them to face fewer Shepherds at once in battle. If Morgan spread their numbers thin, that advantage was minimized. So what she had hoped would be a straightforward room-clearing operation instead turned into a chaotic brawl quickly spreading across Infinite Regalia as more and more Shepherds, more and more Deadlords, entered the fray in the many rooms throughout the Outrealm.

"There are twelve Deadlords," Morgan thought aloud, surprise repressing her combat anxiety. She and Laurent were facing off against Ovis at the moment, while Cynthia and Cordelia were fighting a paladin, Equus, on the other side of the same room. But when she had found a moment of not slinging spells or having spells slung at her, she stole a glance of an adjacent room, and found Tharja and Noire fighting… another Sage, identical to Ovis.

"Always twelve," Morgan muttered. "I thought the numbers changed… Leif told me he only fought five, but Seliph fought twelve, and so did we. It's always twelve. Leif just didn't fight all of them at once." She scratched at her hair. "Twelve Deadlords, but three of each… What does that mean for—?"

"Morgan!"

Unyielding thunder magic crashed onto the position Morgan had been just a second prior, had Laurent's warning not come in time. The tactician panted, staring wide-eyed at the crater Ovis had left. "Th-Thanks, Laurent."

"Pay attention," he replied crossly. "Do you see his tome?"

"It sounded like Mjolnir," Morgan said. "Felt like it, too. Kinda nostalgic; I almost forgot what it feels like to be on its business end, haha!"

"Enough of that. We need to get ahold of it."

"I was just gonna say that." Morgan readied her tome, watching Ovis cautiously. "Any plans?"

"One, yes. Hopefully you don't mind the risk in it?"

"Boy, I live for risks. Hit me."

"Do you have Thoron at the ready?"

"Yeah. And you've got Rexcalibur?"

"Indeed. So you get the idea."

"Yeah." Morgan began to draw electric power from her tome. "…If I don't, I'm gonna look pretty stupid, but eh."

Laurent pushed his glasses up, focusing. Ovis had held off on attacking, placing himself on the defensive to judge the two mages' next move, but he now seemed to be getting the idea that Laurent and Morgan were not going to attack. Thus, he summoned forth the unadulterated power of his mythical tome and cast another barrage of holy lightning.

With an impressive amount of power heading their way, Morgan and Laurent enacted their plan. They unleashed their own magic—not legendary, but the top of their class regardless—together, challenging the strength of Mjolnir.

Mjolnir was the most powerful tome Morgan had ever wielded. With it, she had been able to level swaths of enemies during the war, but even still, it had its limits. It hadn't been able to harm the fake Robin, after all, but merely stall him. Laurent had studied its capabilities as well, and so both knew what they would have to do to stop it: put all of their strength behind redirecting the attack, so that they could put pressure on Ovis and ultimately take advantage of the inefficacy of strength over strategy.

Except, this time, strength won.

The blast of Mjolnir did not hesitate. It swallowed their most powerful bursts of Rexcalibur and Thoron and continued unimpeded, crashing between the two mages and throwing them from their feet. Sparks cascaded from the blast, raining down even after the explosion had dissipated.

As Morgan shook her head clear, ears ringing, a number of explanations crossed her mind. Did we put too little strength behind it? Was Ovis able to put further power into the attack? Is his Mjolnir simply differ—

Different. Yes, that was it. The Mjolnir that Morgan had wielded was not the same Mjolnir. Borne of their world, Mjolnir had survived millennia, and just like Gungnir, just like Mystletainn, it had lost much of its power in its vast life. Contrarily, Ovis's Mjolnir bore the might it had once held in the age of Seliph and Leif.

Morgan absently wiped the blood dripping from her mouth and stood, facing Laurent as he too regained his footing. "He has the original Mjolnir," she called. "We can't challenge it head-on!"

"So it seems," Laurent said. "What do you propose, then?"

"I propose we find a change of scenery," Morgan said. "That is, book it! There—Cynthia and Cordelia! Head for them!"

"As you wish!" Laurent responded, and he dashed away; Morgan followed closely behind, very conscious of Ovis's sights still trained on them.

Laurent didn't want to be a naysayer at the moment, but he couldn't help but notice that they were just running from one Deadlord to another; Equus had already noticed their approach. Ovis would surely pursue, as well. "What is your plan, Morgan?"

Morgan laughed. "Plan? You're making a lot of assumptions right now!"

"No plan? Then why did we retreat?!"

"I'm kidding! Sorry! My timing gets worse when I'm nervous!"

Laurent groaned.

Quan had wielded this same weapon during the fight at Jungby, Chrom was now remembering. Mus was swinging that massive lance, undoubtedly the Gáe Bolg, in a wide arc to keep the two lords at bay.

Chrom and Lucina had to fold under Mus's demand and back off. The unbelievably powerful weapon, in the hands of a Deadlord, had already proven impossible to parry. Chrom glanced down at the Fire Emblem, and thanked Naga for having made it unbreakable even under such a superhuman assault; he only wished his now-sore shield arm could have been as durable.

Chrom looked at Lucina by his side, who was in her usual battle-ready stance, her eyes measuring the Deadlord. "Any thoughts?"

"Its—his? His defense is overwhelming." Lucina squeezed her hand around the parallel Falchion's hilt. "He outmatches us greatly; this may be a battle of attrition."

"I have a plan."

"Is it Aether?"

"Am I that predictable?"

"I just wouldn't call that a 'plan,' Father. Perhaps if you had an idea of how to land a hit on him, then we could call it a—"

"Lucina!"

Lucina jumped aside thanks to Chrom's warning, dodging Mus's downward swing of the Gáe Bolg. It impacted heavily into the ground, cracking the tile floor, and the lords suddenly had their opening.

"Now!"

Orange light raced through Falchion, and Chrom saw the same from Lucina's. They each dived in, the first hit of Aether at the ready. The warm luminosity of Sol rammed into the shoulders of Mus's armor from each side—

And harmlessly bounced off with loud clangs.

Unprepared for such a solid defense, the two lords lost their footing from their rebounding weapons. But while Lucina called off her assault and jumped back, Chrom gritted his teeth and found the willpower to push on. Now, his sword shone with Luna's cool light, and he struck again.

This time—and Lucina's shout of "Father!" confirmed she noticed the same thing—he saw a faint red glow swiftly encase the Deadlord. It had blended in with the color of Mus's armor before, but now there was no mistaking that a magical skill was at play.

Luna struck true, and left a sizable crack in the shoulder plating—but nothing more. Mus's Pavise took the brunt of the hit, not even flinching the Deadlord, and he then jabbed Chrom in the gut with the brunt of the Gáe Bolg.

The powerful strike forced Chrom to a knee and sent him sliding across the smooth floor; he stopped himself by stabbing Falchion into the ground, scattering sparks and shards of tile. Now a few safe paces away from Mus, Chrom stood, dislodging his weapon and facing his enemy. Chrom nodded at Lucina as she came to his side. "Well that didn't work," he panted. "Now what?"

Lucina glanced at her father. "Falchion is strong, but not strong enough," she said. "We need a way to dig underneath that armor."

Chrom nodded, catching her meaning. "Rapiers." He sheathed Falchion, as did Lucina, and both reached for their second scabbard lying beneath each Falchion's.

Armor-piercing rapiers aloft, Chrom and Lucina faced Mus, confidence rising. "Now, we have to—"

Lucina had always been the faster of the two, and before she could even call out a warning, her feet were taking her away from the danger. Chrom's instincts were more suited to holding his ground, however, so he raised his rapier as some measure of defense against Mus's attack—

But Mus, as he lunged forward with his great lance, showed that he was never aiming to kill. The holy blade of Gáe Bolg plunged through the rapier in Chrom's hand without receiving an iota of resistance from the fragile blade.

Chrom watched numbly as the pieces of the weapon seemed to fall in slow motion to the ground. His eyes drifted up to Mus's—the Deadlord was inches away, his momentum carrying him past Chrom, but his burning red eyes hidden underneath that sturdy helmet were fixated on the Exalt. Taunting him for his error.

Chrom hastily backed away, exchanging a worried glance with Lucina, while Mus recovered and faced them once again.

It turned its scarlet gaze onto the rapier in Lucina's hands: the lords' last hope at victory.

"So you do have a plan?" Laurent shouted to the tactician running alongside him. "Then what is it?"

"We weaken Equus!" Morgan answered. "If we can kill one of them, we've got this in the bag!"

Laurent supposed he'd have to trust her, because they'd arrived. Equus, massive lance in hand, faced them as they lined up next to Cordelia and Cynthia. The two pegasus knights were already panting, and didn't seem excited at the prospect of Laurent and Morgan bringing a new opponent to bear. Ovis was thankfully not as quick a runner as the two mages, though, and would need time to catch up.

That buys us about a minute, Morgan thought determinedly. "Laurent, same plan. Combination attack."

"Are you sure? Equus will not be easily defeated by magic. That one's resistance is noteworthy."

"He's right," Cynthia panted. "His defenses are too strong. We just need more time to pick his guard away, Morgan!"

"No!" Morgan corrected. "You need momentum! And we can give you that!" Morgan gestured around the battlefield; "I've figured this out, everyone! This is a battle of momentum! If you two can kill one…" She pointed declaratively at Equus. "Do you guys get it?"

If we can kill one… Cynthia thought, exchanging a glance with Cordelia. Pegasus knights. Both nodding, the plan becoming known to them, they faced Equus together.

"Then let's do this!" Morgan commanded, summoning a ball of thunder into her palm. "We'll attack in unison, Laurent!"

"As you command."

"And once we've launched it?" Morgan said, and the two Falcon Knights nodded back in wordless confirmation. "Good!"

She held the stored Thoron close to her heart. "We can do this. I can do this. I'm the Shepherds' tactician, and I've earned that spot! Time to show what I can do!"

Roaring with unleashed confidence, Morgan shoved her palm forward, throwing a heavy beam of lightning at the horsebound Deadlord just as Laurent cast sharp blades of Rexcalibur the same way. The powerful magic struck the Deadlord head-on, staggering him but not removing him from his horse, or even causing much visible damage. Though Equus began recovering, no sooner had the magic struck Equus than two pegasi were upon him, silver lances embedding in his chest before his bearings returned. Removing him from his seat, the pegasus knights followed him to the ground and dug their weapons in, burying within Equus until the blades halted against the tile floor.

No time to waste, however; Ovis had arrived. Before the fallen Deadlord could even begin to dissipate into purple smoke, Cynthia snagged Gungnir from his dying hands, and both Falcon Knights turned on Ovis.

The magic of Galeforce racing through their pegasi, Cynthia and Cordelia exercised the momentum of their kill by immediately leaping at the remaining Deadlord before the mage could even react.

Morgan couldn't contain her cry of excitement as Cynthia's new lance cleaved Ovis in two. The Deadlord was naught but miasma before it touched the ground.

"Excellent work," Laurent said, and quickly began running for Ovis's corpse. "Now, come! We must acquire Mjolnir!"

"Exactly," Morgan said. "With it, we'll turn the tides!" She chased after Laurent. "It's like a really big Galeforce! Now that we have our kill, we push on to the other rooms!"

"…Whatever you say!"

Morgan slid to a halt, tripping over herself in her haste to grab Mjolnir. As her fingers wrapped around the tome, she felt its ancient power wash over her—a familiar feeling, if much more intense, but it didn't abate the anxiety in her stomach.

Thirty-four left.

Mus had just demonstrated his speed in addition to his overwhelming strength and defense, and when he leveled his lance at Lucina—or rather, at her weapon—her eyes were wide and her feet were stuck.

Of the many hundreds of battles Lucina had faced over time, never had she considered the action of unhanding her weapon being her best chance of survival until this moment. "Father!" she called, and she tossed the rapier to Chrom, over Mus's head.

Mus tracked the rapier as it soared overhead, and he skidded to a halt rather than capitalize on Lucina being now unarmed. He recognized that she was no threat without that rapier, and neither was Chrom.

The Exalt, though bemused, did catch the weapon, his eyes focusing on it as he grasped the logic behind Lucina's decision. This rapier was their lifeline. They could not hope to defeat Mus without it. His hands squeezed the hilt securely, holding it with the weight it deserved.

And Mus, legendary weapon in hand, was slowly approaching. This was it; Chrom had everything he needed. He spread his feet into an aggressive stance, and he charged at Mus, letting out a roar.

Mus swung the Gáe Bolg in a wide, horizontal arc, intending to catch Chrom's approach unawares, but rather than attacking directly as anticipated, Chrom dove feet-first into a slide across the smooth floor, slipping between the massive Deadlord's wide-legged stance and coming out behind Mus. He spun on his heel and hastily stabbed at Mus's armored back, and though the quick behemoth twisted so that the blade did not penetrate his abdomen, the rapier pierced Pavise to leave a significant crack in Mus's side and flinch him.

Chrom backed off here, knowing he couldn't press his advantage further without allowing Mus to retaliate. He eyed the two cracks in Mus's armor; one on the shoulder, one on the hip. Virtually identical surface-level wounds from each approach.

If the rapier and Aether couldn't do the trick separately, then…

"I have a plan," said Lucina.

Chrom nodded. "I agree: let's put our hands together."

"Father." Lucina put her hand on his shoulder, smiling encouragingly. "Save your prayers. We can do this; we need only combine our strengths."

Chrom was baffled by that. Took him a second to realize what she meant. "…Lucina, I didn't mean literally."

Lucina quickly removed her hand. "Oh! Right." She looked away and coughed once. "Yes, of course. I was making a joke."

"Don't lie to me, young lady."

"R-Regardless!" To Chrom's amusement, his daughter was flushed with embarrassment. "You know what I mean! Let's combine our strategies so far."

Chrom's reply was cut short when Mus tired of waiting and charged at the two lords. Chrom and Lucina scattered, letting the massive Deadlord slam into the wall behind them. Quick to recover, Mus immediately went after Chrom, demonstrating plainly that the rapier was still his target.

Chrom grimaced as Mus charged once again. "Lucina!"

She didn't need the heads-up, already raising a hand for the rapier as he began to toss it. Mus was quick to catch on, and without breaking his step, he changed course for the princess with an expectant twirl of its lance.

Mus's footsteps were heavy, deafening, threatening. Lucina held her breath and dove out of the way as he crashed into the wall behind where she had once stood. Gracefully picking herself up from the dive, Lucina spun around to face the recovering Deadlord and squeezed the rapier tightly. Sunlight raced through the blade—

But when a giant, armored fist came racing from below, striking Lucina in the gut, that light dissipated.

Lucina felt her feet leave the ground, followed by a rough collision into the wall.

A wall? But I was…

When she gathered her bearings (coughing once to spit out blood), she found the Deadlord standing halfway across the room, lowering its fist. G-Gods… I was standing over there a second ago. The way her legs were reluctant to answer her commands seemed to corroborate this fact.

Mus returned to gripping his lance in both hands, and he began to inexorably lumber toward Lucina once again. She found she had fortunately not lost hold of the rapier he seemed to fear so much.

Grimacing in pain, knowing that adrenaline was most of what powered her at the moment, Lucina pried herself off the wall. That a small amount of rubble fell from the wall as she left it didn't escape her. A strong urge to vomit was present; that punch had gotten her in the diaphragm.

"Lucina! Are you all right?!" Father was still across the room, his face wrought with worry; Lucina gave him a tired wave to assure him she was still able to fight. He extended his hand toward the rapier. "I can take it from here!"

Lucina was inclined to agree, but when she took a step in Chrom's direction, she noticed sudden movement from Mus. Still watching her, the Deadlord was already charging toward the Exalt, ready to intercept. She was suddenly reminded that Mus was not some mindless Risen; he could understand them and react accordingly. Seemed that Father was having trouble wrapping his mind around that as well.

But experience had taught Lucina that, while understanding language was a boon in most instances, it also makes one susceptible to tricks that a dumb beast wouldn't fall for. Risen couldn't be tricked in her future, but bandits could.

This would confuse Father as well, she knew, but it was a gamble she had to take: "Father, catch!"

Chrom's hand was raised aloft expectantly, and Mus was almost in position to intercept—but Lucina didn't throw the rapier. Rather, she charged directly at Mus, allowing Aether to race through once again.

Mus realized the trickery at play at the same time that Chrom did. While Mus prepared to defend, Chrom decided to draw Falchion.

Chrom wouldn't be able to hurt Mus, he knew, but surely the fact that Mus had needed to use Pavise showed that Falchion could be a threat here. Just as Lucina was activating Aether, so too did Chrom.

Chrom's first hit, as expected, rebounded harmlessly off of Mus's Pavise. However, the behemoth didn't so much as flinch; with lightning-quick reflexes, Mus seized Chrom's wrist, holding Falchion in place.

Lucina's breath caught.

Chrom scrunched up his face and awaited what was surely a good amount of pain to come.

"Let—go!" Lucina cried, and with both hands she brought the rapier down.

Mus deftly spun Chrom around, placing Falchion in the way of her attack. Lucina's eyes widened.

The first hit of Aether deflected harmlessly off of the unbreakable sword. Lucina cut herself off before she could initiate the Luna half of the move—she'd surely do more damage to the rapier than to Falchion. She let go of the rapier with one hand to steady her balance.

Low and to the side, movement; the Gáe Bolg. With Chrom's Falchion serving for Mus's defense, Mus was free to aim his lance straight for the princess's left hip.

Lucina's balance wasn't ideal, but she didn't have options. With her open hand, she reached for the blade sheathed at that vulnerable hip. Falchion would have to be a shield today.

Her improvisation worked; sparks flew from the collision of blades, and the Gáe Bolg redirected in a harmless direction.

Lucina's eyes widened. A chance! His weapon was away! Forget sheathing Falchion for now, forget Aether too, there's no time—she lunged in with the rapier.

If the Deadlords had shown one consistent, overpowering trait, it was their calmness. Judging this situation with a cool head, Mus was quick to react; he forced Chrom's wrist to shove Falchion in the way once again.

G-Gods! These were no ordinary Risen, indeed! To recognize that it could not wield Chrom's blade, and to therefore use his hand to hold it—she had to respect its resourcefulness. "F-Father, let it go!"

"What?!"

"Do it!"

Without further hesitation, Falchion fell from its owner's hand, its divine hue fading when it lost Chrom's touch. With that shield gone…

Mus immediately released the fully disarmed Exalt, and that same hand went for Falchion as it fell.

Let it waste its time. Perhaps it wasn't as insightful as she'd thought. Aether's sunlight glowed from her blade—

Falchion was a longsword, with room for two human hands. Just one of the Deadlord's massive steel gauntlets engulfed the entire hilt.

And when it did, the sword sprung to life once again.

Rising in an upward arc, the Exalted Falchion raced to intercept Lucina's strike. Her instincts, in this very lucky case, overpowered her disbelief, and she moved her own Falchion in place to block the attack. Mus's more powerful weapon repelled hers; the potent blow did not relieve her of her footing, but the sheer force pushed her back, her feet sliding along the smooth tile floor before stopping a few paces away.

Her chance was gone, and her head was spinning. Chrom was backing away as well, wearing his shock just as plainly.

Mus stood in the center of the chamber. In one hand, he clutched the legendary Gáe Bolg; in his other, the fully-Awakened Falchion. Burning red eyes were fixated on Lucina, Mus's only opponent.

"Im… Impossible…" Her arms were limp, her two swords hanging loosely from her grip. "You can wield…? Gods, even I cannot…"

The Deadlord exhaled a small cloud of violet steam.

"WORTHINESS."

He raised Falchion, his eyes turning to examine it.

"HOW FICKLE IT IS. YET ITS FAITH IS UNSHAKABLE, IT SEEMS."

Lucina blinked. "It seems…?"

The Deadlord himself is surprised?

But judging from the way his eyes were refocusing on her, returning to the battle at hand, she didn't have time to give this any thought. The Deadlord was now armed with two weapons that separately overpowered either of hers, not to mention the Deadlord's already-greater strength. Meanwhile, Father was completely unarmed.

Lucina wiped her mouth on the heel of her hand. Odds weren't in her favor. With all of their overwhelming victories in the Outrealms so far, she'd almost forgotten what fear of defeat tasted like.

Not that she could ever truly forget.

She tightened her grip on both weapons, and she raced forward. Nothing else to do but that.

Lucina slid to a crouch as the Gáe Bolg came to intercept her; holding Falchion over her head, she let the lance glide harmlessly away, and in the same motion Lucina pushed to her feet and dashed in.

Mus's Falchion was the question mark in her little attack here. She'd been playing it by ear, dodging and deflecting as felt natural, but now, faced with the weapon as he was swinging it at her, she realized that she really should have consciously planned around it. She probably couldn't block with the rapier in a fight like this, after all.

Rapiers aren't even that fragile, she thought irately, forced to dodge and give up ground. We're just dealing with weapons beyond human creation…

She attacked again, and was repelled again. He always defended with the Gáe Bolg first and Falchion second. She couldn't get in to attack, and only by the third attempt did she remember that getting close wasn't the only task; she hadn't even been using Aether yet.

And Aether was taxing. Her father seemed able to do it at will, but especially considering the stamina she'd expended already—her diaphragm ached—she couldn't imagine she had more than two or three left in her.

Then it was up to him. She glanced aside; during her attacks, it seemed Chrom had been strafing around to put himself behind Lucina, to make it easy to pass the weapons off.

"I leave it to you, then," Lucina whispered to herself, and she quickly backed away from Mus. The Deadlord realized what was happening, however, and charged after her.

When his daughter arrived, Chrom was quick to accept the rapier from her. "I have a plan."

"I'm all ears, Father," Lucina panted. Her eyes were locked on Mus; he had slowed his approach, wary of the royals' unity at the moment. After a while, Lucina noticed her father wasn't clarifying, so she glanced at him curiously.

Chrom was holding the Fire Emblem and patiently waiting for her to accept it.

Gods, it was close. Lucina's eyes widened. Argent was glistening from its proper—

"Wh-What are you doing?"

"You've seen it yourself, Lucina," Chrom asked. "He's got the Gáe Bolg, and even my Falchion. With Mus wielding them like that, we can't get through his guard, not separately. I need you to be a shield while I hit him with Aether."

"Then, then you should perform that role," Lucina insisted, pushing the shield back at him. "Give me the rapier back…"

"No, Lucina. This won't work first try. I've got the strength to try Aether a few times, but you'll collapse if you push yourself much harder." Again he offered the Fire Emblem to her. "Lucina."

Lucina hesitantly reached for it, cringing as her fingers touched the cool metal. She eased it out of Chrom's hands to hold it with both of her own.

Chrom frowned. He hadn't expected her to be so reluctant.

Lucina slid the shield securely over her arm. Gods, her hands were shaking. Don't think about it. This isn't the same.

She and Chrom both faced Mus. "W-Well then," she said, drumming up her courage. "Let's not waste time."

"Right."

Lucina took a breath. Gods, with the legendary Falchion in one hand and the Fire Emblem in her other, she should have felt unstoppable. Instead she was just a distraction. Chrom, with his conventional, flimsy, man-made weapon, was the true threat.

No amount of preparing could make the Fire Emblem feel any less uncomfortable on her arm, so she exchanged a nod with her father and dashed forward, him trailing just behind.

The Fire Emblem is, is unbreakable, she thought. With it, I… I should be powerful enough to…

The Gáe Bolg came in first; Lucina raised her shield, pushing her weight against the attack. Where she usually deflected attacks, this one she directly blocked, placing her faith in the Emblem—

Oh, gods, it hurt.

The Gáe Bolg bounced off of the unbreakable shield with a deafening clang, sparks scattering across the floor, but Lucina too was sent sprawling onto her back, the Emblem clattering from her grip as she felt something in her arm painfully give way.

Dazed by pain, she numbly heard a call of her name, but her eyes were fixated on Mus. The Deadlord towered over her, inhumanly huge, its eyes blazing yet somehow—cold, chilling.

And Falchion, her father's Falchion, was falling with the intent of removing her head.

She tried to spur willpower into her sword arm, but fear paralyzed her.

This was the same. The same as back then.

She should have known better than to lay hands on it again.

"Lucina!"

Clearer, louder this time, and punctuated by an unearthly clash of arcane metals. When she blinked, her father was standing over her, wielding the Fire Emblem she had dropped and powering away his own Falchion with an agonizing shove.

His eyes were on her. "Lucina, are you alright?! What the hell were you—" He stopped, noticing Mus was rearing back for more. Clenching his teeth, Chrom turned and summoned Aether into his blade.

Lucina's ears were ringing as she picked herself up into a sitting position, clutching at her aching head. She felt blood in her hair.

Turning her eyes upward, she saw Chrom locked in fierce battle with Mus. Constantly on the defensive; like Lucina had, Chrom was placing his faith in the Fire Emblem to keep his guard, but unlike Lucina, he knew the limits of the shield. He would let the attacks slide off, minimizing the pressure exerted on his shield arm.

Lucina formed a fist. Gods… I'm such a fool. I am holding my father back! My own doubts are crippling the both of us…

Lucina clenched her teeth, grasping Falchion and leaping to her feet—though unsteady for a moment, she quickly regained her balance and charged in.

I refuse to be a liability!

Chrom sidestepped an attack from Mus, his eyes flicking to Lucina in the meantime. Her eyes were blazing with determination—such confidence he hadn't expected, but it drew a grin from him regardless.

"Now, Father!"

The plan hadn't unfolded the way they wanted it to, but this was workable. Chrom held the Fire Emblem at the ready, covering Lucina from the Gáe Bolg.

With his other hand, he tossed the rapier lightly in the air.

Mus's eyes followed the weapon. The Exalted Falchion flaring with life, he swung the blade with the intention of shattering the Ylisseans' last hope.

Orange light sprung forth from Lucina's Falchion—then it flashed, replaced by blue. She lunged forward with the moonlit blade, putting her unbreakable weapon in Mus's path.

The power of Aether scattered azure sparks across the ground. A clattering of metal, and both Falchions were flung from their wielders' hands.

Unyielding, Lucina let her momentum carry her forward. As her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the rapier, orange light, then blue, shone from the armor-piercing sword.

Lucina let out an uninhibited battle cry and stabbed at Mus with the Luna-empowered blade.

A harsh, deafening sound of buckling metal. She felt it give underneath her attack.

Mus fell backward, Lucina still on top, her sword piercing through the Deadlord's shoulder. She hadn't had the chance to aim somewhere vital, but with the monster helpless underneath her, that was about to change.

Cracks had spread throughout most of Mus's breastplate, originating from his right shoulder; the shoulder pauldron was obliterated, pieces of scarlet metal having been blown across the room. Mus's skin was unnaturally pale, like a corpse's, Lucina could now see: just like the rest of the Deadlords. In place of blood, the undead monster leaked purple miasma from where her sword penetrated his skin.

Panting heavily, Lucina yanked the sword out. She angled the pointed blade at Mus's neck, meeting the Deadlord's eye.

It simply stared back, impassive, making no attempts to fight her off.

"Lucina…"

Lucina didn't dare break eye contact with the Deadlord, but she tilted her head towards Chrom in acknowledgement. "Wh… What is it, Father?"

"His shoulder…"

Adrenaline slowed Lucina's thoughts, but slowly, she did register his words, glancing very briefly down at Mus's newly-revealed right shoulder.

"What's the… matter?" Lucina squinted. "Is there someth…"

Her eyes widened.

His skin was mottled, almost seeming to be rotting. Discolored. For a moment, Lucina could not see past these flaws; they masked the faded insignia on the Deadlord's shoulder.

But it was certainly there. Once she could finally make it out, she couldn't see anything else. The Brand of the Exalt.

Numb with horror, Lucina looked at where her father stood just next to her. His eyes were already on his own Brand, his hand moving up to touch it.

"Impossible," Lucina breathed. Time seemed to be hanging still. "This is impossible…"

A flash of light and a rush of wind suddenly stole away the calm; Lucina shielded her eyes with her arm until the brief gale faded.

Lowering her arm, all of her hopes faded.

Two more armored behemoths, each fully-encased and wielding new lances, stood before the two lords.

"ALWAYS TWELVE HERE," the Mus on the left rumbled.

"YET: THIRTY-SIX," said the copy on the right.

The dots connected. "Three of each," Lucina breathed.

"Lucina!"

The two newcomers thrust their lances in a pincer attack on Lucina, but her father grabbed her by the collar and yanked her off of the downed Mus. She ended up on her back, breathless yet again and sore from head to toe.

Her father's hand instantly came to help her up. Though her thoughts were sluggish, she accepted Chrom's aid and returned to her feet.

Three Deadlords stood before them. The center one was damaged, but not critically; he carried himself with the same oppressive aura that the other two did.

Lucina wordlessly accepted when Chrom handed her the parallel Falchion, while he took hold of his own as well.

"Alright," Chrom growled. "Now what?"

Lucina didn't have anything to say. Her head was spinning. She had two swords in her hands. When did I get the Falchion back? She stared down at it. Where did it come from…?

"Lucina?"

Lucina shook her head, trying to focus. "We—we… need to, ah… target the wounded one."

"Sounds good to me, but how do we do that?"

Lucina's eyebrows furrowed. "Well… um…" She looked up at Chrom for advice.

His face was sweaty, and though determination lined his brow, she could see worry in his eyes.

"G-Gods…" Lucina shook her head again. "I, I don't know, Father…"

His hand was on her shoulder. "Lucina, stay with me. I need your help."

Lucina's eyelids were heavy. She could tell the three Deadlords were slowly approaching, but she couldn't make herself feel fear. "I just, I need… Give me some rest, please…"

Chrom combed through her hair with his fingers. "Gods, that's a lot of blood… Lucina! Lucina, stay awake. Give me the rapier."

The rapier? Her grip on it tightened. No, I… I need that. I can't let go of it…

"Lucina, listen to me." His eyes were shifting between the inexorable Mus trio and his wounded daughter. "Lucina! Give me the rapier!"

She blinked rapidly. "Nnn… Father, I need it…" She kept the sword out of his reach.

"Fine!" Chrom moved between Lucina and the Deadlords, brandishing his Falchion and the Fire Emblem. "Stay awake, Lucina—I'll be back in a minute!"

Aether flared to life along Falchion. He winced at the exertion; he'd expended more energy than he'd thought.

Lucina's vision was blurry. She vaguely saw Chrom charge in; three massive weapons aimed at him. He ducked one, but blocked a second, staggering him; Aether let him repel the third, and he regained his feet. Orange sparks cascaded from the center Mus's armor; then, blue sparks. The other two Deadlords grabbed Chrom by either arm and threw him off of the wounded one. She noticed him sliding across the floor to stop near her; after regaining his feet, he said some unintelligible words in her direction, paused for a moment, and then charged back at the Deadlords.

These swords sure were heavy. She felt Falchion tumble from her grip, though she hadn't meant to drop it. She stared at the other weapon, the rapier. She held it with both hands in order to keep her grip on it. This thing was important, she knew. Though she wasn't sure why.

She looked up. What was that white thing? It was soaring over the Deadlords. She could barely make it out. An angel? It had wings. The Deadlords were stabbing at it. Wasn't working. Yellow light was accumulating from whatever was riding the angel.

When,

the silence was taken away.

A cacophonic explosion, a burst of blinding golden light, and a rush of wind. All of Lucina's senses were suddenly stimulated, and fear struck her once again.

Lucina tried to back away, to find she was already standing against the wall; she leaned against it for support. Her breath was deafening in her ears. The combat was on the other side of the room, she could tell, though that explosion had raised a light cloud of dust.

Both of her hands clamped around the rapier.

Father…

Her expression filled with clarity. Moonlight brightened the blade.

I will not fail you! Not now! Not when we're so close!

Sudden vitality burst through her, and her feet were taking her into the fray before she knew what was happening. The dust cloud had cleared; she caught the whinny of a pegasus, someone barking orders—pieces of a fallen Mus's armor were scattered where the Deadlord had stood moments ago…

"Lucina!"

She didn't break stride as Chrom began running alongside her. The central Mus, the one whose armor Lucina had damaged, was waiting for them, Gáe Bolg intent on running through its approaching prey.

Then, Chrom's hand was on hers, gripping the rapier underneath her palms.

"AETHER!"

Lucina and Chrom bellowed the word as one. Their strength shone together.

Mus's lance was a nonissue. Chrom's shield covered them both. All that mattered was that their rapier struck true.

Shining blue sparks rained as their combined Aether disintegrated Mus's breastplate, then the flesh underneath, before breaking all the way through.

Purple miasma violently burst from Mus's back as all of his defenses buckled to Ylisse's strength.

Lucina's hand was steady at first. She watched as Mus fell to his knees. His scarlet eyes seemed to flicker, soften; he stared at the ground as his undead blood escaped him.

It was then, with victory becoming known to her and her heart rate gradually calming, that Lucina's strength faded. She looked around, assuring herself that the other two Mus clones had been disposed of, and she then fell to her knees, just as Mus had.

Chrom knelt beside her, looking her in the eye. "Lucina, are you all right?" He cupped her cheek in his hand, inspecting her face.

"Yes," she answered without hesitation, smiling weakly. She placed her hand over his. "We… We did it, Father."

"Not without help," Chrom chuckled, nodding over his shoulder at whoever their saviors had been. "If it weren't for Cynthia and Morgan, we would've—whoa whoa, Lucina!" Realizing she was drifting off, he lightly smacked her cheek to keep her awake. "Let's have Lissa take a look at you, alright?"

"Y-Yes, Father…" She let him ease her arm around his shoulder so he could help her walk back to safety.

As Chrom and Lucina limped off together, Mus's red eyes slowly closed.

Chrom wore a wide smile as he, and the others, waited. No Shepherd had escaped without injury, with some even needing immediate medical treatment (such as Lucina), but Chrom still couldn't help it. No casualties, no critical wounds. Morgan's 'Galeforce' plan had worked; by steamrolling the Deadlords on stolen momentum, the fight as a whole shifted in favor of the Shepherds. As they acquired more kills, and therefore more legendary weapons, the momentum became harder and harder for their opponents to stop, culminating in Robin's twin daughters defeating the Mus clones and sealing a victory for the Shepherds.

And here I thought I was contributing so much, Chrom thought with a chuckle. Turns out I was just bait! Hahaha.

He glanced at Morgan, standing next to him, and Cynthia on the other side. Morgan was trembling with excitement, her mouth screwed shut in some vain attempt to hold in all that energy.

"Good work, Morgan."

She stopped shivering in order to grin up at him. "Th-Thanks, Captain! You too!"

"We really did it," Chrom said.

"As a team," Cynthia added, grinning and giving a thumbs-up.

"Now, all that's left…" Chrom, as well as Cynthia, Morgan, and the rest of the Shepherds present, faced ahead, where the Deadlords stood in a calm formation, peacefully still. Just twelve; no clones. Only Mus moved, standing at the forefront, his eyes coolly surveying the Shepherds.

"Mus."

Mus's eyes locked onto Chrom. "…YES. IMPRESSIVE, SHEPHERDS. IMPRESSIVE INDEED."

"Thanks," Chrom said dryly. "If this wasn't a fight to the death, it would've been a lot more fun, I'm sure."

"BUT YOU HAVE PROVEN YOUR MIGHT," Mus said. "IT WAS AN HONOR TO TEST YOUR STRENGTH."

"An honor?" Morgan murmured.

"YOU HAVE EARNED THE TREASURES OF INFINITE REGALIA," said Mus. "WHAT REWARD DO YOU SEEK?"

"I guess you're asking us what questions we need answers to," Chrom said, and Mus nodded. Chrom took a breath. He had a lot of questions on his mind, that was for sure, and he'd only come out of this fight with more. But as much as he'd like to indulge his curiosity, he knew where he had to start. "You said Robin was here. Is this true?"

"YES."

Murmuring from the Shepherds.

"And you're sure that it was our Robin, not an alternate one?"

"UNEQUIVOCALLY."

The murmuring grew more excited. Chrom turned his head to glance at the Shepherds, and they fell quiet in anticipation. He then turned back to Mus. "Well then. When did Robin come here, and why?"

"HE CAME TWICE," said Mus, his gravelly voice echoing throughout the halls. "THE FIRST, BY MISTAKE. THE SECOND, IN SEARCH OF SOMETHING HE'D LOST."

Chrom frowned. "Alright… I'll ask you right now, do you mean that he literally lost something, or are you being metaphorical?"

Mus paused, seemingly mulling it over. "…YES."

The Shepherds grumbled discontentedly.

"BUT HE DID NOT FIND WHAT HE WANTED HERE," Mus clarified. "NEITHER LITERAL NOR METAPHORICAL."

"…Fine. I don't need the details on that; tell me, where is Robin now?"

Chrom slowly became aware of a low rumbling emanating from the Deadlord. He couldn't tell what kind of noise it was supposed to be; a sigh? A thoughtful groan? After a moment, Mus finally answered: "YOU KNOW WHERE HE WENT."

Chrom's eyebrows furrowed.

"THE MOTHER HAS THAT ANSWER, NOT US."

"Mother?" Chrom, Morgan, and Cynthia stepped aside for Anna to move to the front. "You know about Mother?"

"YES."

Anna waited expectantly, but she soon realized that that was the Deadlord's whole response. "…Hm. Guess I was expecting some kind of cool explanation."

"SHE IS THE LEADER OF THE ANNAS, OLDER THAN THIS ERA," said Mus. "HER DESTINY AND YOURS ARE… ENTERTWINED. SHOULD YOU HEED HER DIRECTIONS, YOU WILL FIND YOUR MISSING FRIEND EVENTUALLY."

More excited muttering from the Shepherds. Chrom couldn't deny he also found the information thrilling. "That's… That's great news, Mus. Thank you."

"YOU ASSUME I TELL THE TRUTH," Mus rumbled. "WHAT MAKES YOU SO CERTAIN?"

Morgan scratched her head. "Well, to be honest, we don't have much to go by. It's not like your advice is especially offensive, anyway; you've only told us to keep doing what we're doing."

"And besides," Chrom said, crossing his arms, "far be it from me to distrust someone sharing my bloodline."

Confused murmurings from the Shepherds this time.

"Who are you, Mus?" Chrom asked. "How can you wield Falchion? Why do you have the Brand?" He gestured at the other eleven Deadlords. "Who are all of you?"

"WE ARE THE DEADLORDS," said Mus. "LOST WARRIORS FROM A BYGONE WORLD."

"Are you Einherjar, then?"

Mus paused. "…YES."

Morgan frowned. "So you guys aren't Risen?"

"YES, WE ARE."

Morgan and Chrom shared an exasperated look. "Wha, well… Fine." Chrom gestured at Mus. "Are you me? Rather—are you Chrom?"

Again, Mus paused, mulling over the query. "…NO… NOT ANYMORE, IF EVER I WAS."

More mutterings.

"I see." Chrom frowned thoughtfully. "So you wouldn't remember even if you were? Then, how do you know what you are?"

"IT IS DIFFICULT TO EXPLAIN TO ONE WITHOUT A FRAME OF REFERENCE."

"Do you remember anything from before you were a Deadlord? How did the twelve of you fall in battle?"

"YOU MISUNDERSTAND," Mus declared. "WE ARE LOST WARRIORS, NOT FALLEN ONES. NEVER DID WE LOSE A BATTLE." His eyes burned into Chrom's. "OUR FAULT WAS SUCCEEDING WHEN WE SHOULD NOT HAVE."

Chills ran down Chrom's spine. The other Shepherds were all silent.

"Wh…What do you mean?" Morgan asked.

"YOU WILL LEARN." Mus's eyes were on her now. "SHOULD YOU STICK TO THIS PATH, THAT IS."

Morgan and Chrom exchanged another glance. "…Well, we plan to," Chrom said. "No helping that."

Mus didn't react.

"Well then. Anything else we should know?"

"Oh!" a voice piped in. The others let Nah reach the front. "Mus—what is Outrealm Sickness? How do we beat it?"

"OUTREALM SICKNESS." The Deadlord fell quiet for a long moment. "…I DO KNOW THE ANSWER, BUT I SUSPECT YOU WILL NOT WANT IT."

Nah frowned. "What? Why?"

Mus paused again. "…I NEEDN'T GIVE YOU THAT ANSWER. YOU WILL FIND IT ON YOUR OWN, I FORESEE."

Nah soured. "And you can't just save us some time and tell us now?"

"YOU WILL LEARN," said Mus once again. "THE EINHERJAR WILL PROVIDE THE SOLUTION."

Eyebrows raised from most of the listeners.

"The Einherjar?" Chrom asked. "And you said you are Einherjar."

"FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VIEW."

Chrom growled. "I'm getting sick of this ambiguous nonsense." He turned to Morgan. "Clock's ticking on the Bath Elixir. We should go."

"Right."

Mus shifted; the scraping of its armor plates caught Chrom's attention and silenced the room. "GUARDIANS OF THE INREALM," the Deadlord boomed. "CAUTION IS YOUR ALLY. TAKE THIS WARNING TO HEART: THE EINHERJAR YOU HAVE FACED SO FAR ARE CHAMPIONS OF YORE, BUT THE RESURRECTION OF THE DEAD AS EINHERJAR WAS NOT LIMITED TO HEROES OF OLD. THE ROGUES OF ANCIENT ERAS ROAM THESE OUTREALMS UNTAMED."

Chrom's eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about?" He glanced at Morgan.

The tactician was pale. "Oh gods. Oh gods, that makes sense." She faced Chrom. "Chrom, Old Hubba's assassins weren't part of the family a hundred years ago. Katarina, Clarisse, Legion. They were extra."

"Really." Chrom frowned deeply. "Why am I only just hearing about this?"

"I only just learned. But Chrom, that corroborates what Mus is saying. There are more Einherjar." Her eyes were wide. "We've only encountered heroes so far. But he's saying…"

"The villains," Chrom said grimly.

"HEAR ME, SHEPHERDS," Mus declared. "BEWARE OF NERGAL. HE WILL BECOME YOUR GREATEST THREAT VERY SOON."

Chrom and Morgan shared a dire look. "…Understood." Chrom nodded. "Thank you, Mus."

"SHOULD YOU FIND YOURSELVES LOST," Mus said, "PERHAPS THE INSIGHT OF THE ETERNALLY LOST WILL BECOME USEFUL TO YOU AGAIN."

"I'll be sure to send you postcards," Morgan joked.

Mus didn't react.

Lucina awoke in a quiet room with a ceiling overhead. Though she needed a moment to gather her bearings, she soon realized where she was. Back in the Springrealm, it seems. Attempting to sit up revealed that she was sore all over. Every part of her was whining for rest, but judging by her mental alertness, she resolved that she'd slept for long enough already.

She paused. Her clothes were folded at the bedside table; she was dressed enough for modesty, but was mostly covered in bandages. She noticed her stomach was discolored, a bit distressingly so. Mus's punch must have broken a few things. Her arm, too, felt as if it had recently been broken. Her negligence with the Fire Emblem must be to blame for that.

Flexing her arm, she sighed, mentally thanking the Shepherds' healers for their diligence. She reached for her tunic to begin dressing herself.

With a creak indicative of old wood, the door opened, and in stepped someone Lucina could thank personally. "Good afternoon, Aunt Lissa."

Lissa beamed. "Heya!" She walked closer, staff in hand. "Glad to see you awake! How do you feel?"

"I'm sore," Lucina sighed. "But, I can move just fine, thank you. I need to stretch."

"Right-o." Lissa stopped at her niece's bedside, gesturing with her Mend staff; "Do you mind?"

Lucina paused to let Lissa run the glowing staff over her. When Lissa was done (indicated by giving Lucina a cheerful thumbs-up), Lucina started reaching for her tunic again.

"Hold up, Lucina." Lissa's hands stopped her. "Did that Deadlord you fought use some kind of fire magic?"

Lucina frowned. "No, he didn't. Why do you ask?"

"Because of this." Lissa poked at Lucina's collarbone. "And this," she poked another spot, "and this, and…" She trailed off, waiting for Lucina to answer.

"I don't see anything."

Lissa pouted. "C'mon, Lucy, you can tell me. They're hard to see, but I know a burn scar when I see one. Chrom's got a bunch of them, and so does pretty much everyone else. Heck, even I do; fire magic doesn't discriminate! But nobody's burns are like this."

Lucina tensed.

"Any idiot with a staff can heal a burn no problem," Lissa said. "But, look." She rubbed one spot on Lucina's arm. "It's too smooth. Like all the hair has been burned away. Like hair can't grow here anymore. Bad burns usually turn out like this, but only if they never get treated by a staff."

Lucina looked away. "W-Well, that must be it, then."

Lissa's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "…You don't know much about healing, do you, Lucina?"

"Wh… What do you mean?"

"I saw the burns when I brought you here," Lissa said. "I was surprised to see burns like that hadn't been treated yet, but I was like "whatever, I'll just do 'em while I'm here." Doesn't matter if it happened yesterday or years ago, I should be able to fix you up no problem." She leaned in. "But I couldn't!"

Lucina willed herself to stay calm. Her heart was beating far too quickly.

Lissa crossed her arms, grinning a bit. "When I thought about it, I realized that I've never had to heal you before," she said. "I mean, if I'd treated you before this, I definitely would've noticed these burns. They're all over you, too; I found some on your shins, on your hands and arms… and on your butt!"

Lucina flushed red, making Lissa laugh.

"Okay, I didn't look there. But you've gotta know how curious I am! …Not about your butt, about the burns. What are they?"

"I, I don't know."

"Holy moly. You're a worse liar than Chrom. I'd say it runs in the family, but I'm a great liar. And Owain's an actor, which is pretty much socially-acceptable lying."

"Aunt Lissa." Lucina met her eye seriously. "I don't want to talk about it. That's… That's final."

Lissa frowned. She could see perspiration on Lucina's face, and she seemed to be shaking. Wow, I didn't think it was such a big deal. "…Sure thing, sweetie." Smiling, she placed her hand on Lucina's. "Can I get you some water?"

Lucina looked away. "…Y-Yes, please. Thank you."

"Then I'll be right back. Don't stand up too quickly, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thirty-five… thirty-six."

Morgan's eyes didn't seem to be obeying her. C'mon, thirty-six holy weapons right in front of her, just piled on her bed as if they weren't mighty objects of legend? There's no way that was real. And Lyn surely wasn't just finishing counting them off for her. Maybe was just saying numbers for fun?

Morgan scratched her chin. No, that's even less believable. That seemed to do the trick. Imagining something that unrealistic made it easier for her to believe the sight before her.

"Thirty-six weapons accounted for," said Lyn, "not counting the duplicate Sol Katti you and I gained this morning. I can't personally identify every weapon here, but I'm sure you have books on the subject."

"I sure do," said Morgan cheerfully, patting the stack of tomes next to her on the desk. "I've got a fun afternoon ahead of me!"

"Oh, you've already completed the after-action report?"

Morgan's eyes flitted away nervously. "I, uh, well, no. B-But I mean, this needs to go into it, right? We've gotta account for all the new… acquisitions!"

Lyn smiled genuinely. "Don't worry, Morgan, I can do that myself! You can go finish the rest; we can be more efficient that way."

Morgan clutched her books protectively. "I—but—" She sighed, annoyed, and backed off. "Fine, you can do the only fun part." She turned away, waving. "I'll go try to not die of boredom. Later, Lyn."

"Farewell!" Lyn obliviously waved with cheer, and she went for the books.

Morgan exited her room to find herself face-to-face with Chrom, who seemed as though he had been about to knock. They stared down for a moment.

Except Chrom was already smiling, and soon Morgan caught that as well.

"I was just looking for you," Chrom said. "Congratulations on today, Morgan! I was actually pretty worried about our chances for a minute, but you were able to pull it off."

Morgan blushed. "Th… Thanks, Captain. Uh, listen, about last night—"

"Don't worry about it!"

He'd said that so genuinely, with such a wide smile. Morgan blinked. "Geez, you're in a good mood."

"I know!" Chrom said. "Running on the heels of such an important victory, we finally get some good news about Robin, and not just from the Annas for once! Honestly, I'm more surprised that you aren't as excited as me!"

"Heheh… Yeah, that, that IS pretty cool, isn't it?" Morgan scratched her head. "Wow… I didn't think of it that way. This is really great!"

"Listen." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Have you finished the after-action report yet?"

Morgan sighed, her spirits dropping again. "No, I was just about to—"

"Put a pin in that." He looped his arm around her shoulder. "Let's go get something to drink, Morgan. You've earned it."

She blinked. "Gosh, Captain." She looked up at him as he started to lead her away. "I think I am in love with you after all…"

Chrom laughed.

As Chrom held the door to allow Morgan to enter the tavern, she froze. Practically every Shepherd was already in here. Many sported bandages and bruises, but all gave a cheer when Chrom and Morgan walked in.

Chrom patted Morgan on the back, urging her forward. She wore a blank look on her face, looking at all of the Shepherds as they all smiled back.

She turned back to Chrom, clinging to his sleeve. "I, I didn't even do much," she stammered. "Cynthia, she did way more work than me—and Laurent, him too… I barely even fought, while you and Lucina and a bunch of other people got hurt!"

"Nonsense," Chrom said kindly, ruffling her hair. "It was your strategy that won us the battle. Take pride in that, Morgan."

Morgan sniffed. "…Okay, I know what you're gonna say, but can I please kiss you?"

Chrom chuckled. "Those jokes are only allowed for today."

"Jokes?"

Chrom turned Morgan around to face the tavern. Cynthia and Nah were both approaching, and took Morgan by her hands.

"Come on, sis." Cynthia grinned. "We're heroes, remember? That means we get to celebrate sometimes, too!"

"We just had a party two days ago, Cynth. And yesterday was all vacation."

"Because we keep doing cool things to earn that! Gimme a break!" She tugged on Morgan's sleeve. "C'mon, let's drink!"

Chrom smiled as the three walked off, with the twins refusing Nah's challenge of a drinking game. "Like we can compete with your metabolism…"

Chrom leaned against the bar, smiling down at nothing.

"I can't recall the last time I've seen you glow like this, milord." Chrom found that Frederick was the speaker; the knight captain slid a drink across the bar to him.

Chrom accepted the drink. "Cheers," he said, lifting it; Frederick responded in kind, and they both downed a short gulp.

Chrom set the mug on the counter. "…It has been a good day, Frederick. Well—no, actually, most of today was awful. But it ended on a high note. And…" He patted his mended hip. "I think this has me pretty happy after all."

Frederick smirked. "Just this morning you were vomiting blood, and now you're perhaps sunnier than you've ever been. To be certain, you did eat enough after that episode, didn't you?"

"Ha! Yeah, I did, don't worry."

Both men chuckled.

"…So." Frederick tilted his head. "You trust the Deadlords?"

"I can't bring myself not to," said Chrom. "I can't imagine a reason they would lie."

"Well…" Frederick began. "The last Deadlords we fought were under the control of Aversa, so I wondered if they were perhaps just telling us what we wanted to hear. After all, they didn't say much outside of 'continue on your current path.' I suspected they were under control of a greater power; whether ally or enemy, I of course wouldn't know." He took a swig of his ale.

Chrom frowned. "…I can't say I don't appreciate your skepticism, but it's a bit of a mood-killer, Sir Frederick."

Frederick chuckled. "Fear not, milord. I interrogated Aversa, and she insisted that the Deadlords she controlled were mindless precisely because of her control. If those Deadlords had a master, they would not have been so verbose."

"So in short, we're probably in the clear."

"…Probably."

Chrom smiled. "I'm sure I can count on you to bring any more doubts to my attention."

Frederick laughed. "Oh, most certainly, milord."

Chrom and Frederick clinked mugs.

Emmeryn, sitting on the other side of Frederick, smiled…

"Ahh… I'm so sorry, milady, I…"

"Oh, you're fine, Frederick…" Emmeryn patted his arm. "I can't blame you."

Frederick stumbled again, but Emmeryn caught him. She looped his arm over her shoulder so she could help him walk. Even the night's cool air didn't seem to be doing much for his sobriety.

"How much did you drink, exactly?" She hefted him a bit; Frederick had thankfully removed his armor, or else this feat would be beyond her.

"A… A lot." The knight captain had the good sense to stifle what could have been a mortifying burp. "I had a drink for every Shepherd present… I believe? S'what it felt like, at least…"

Emmeryn giggled when Frederick trailed off. She found she was at the door to their lodgings already, so she let go of him with one hand to open the door, then all but dragged him through.

"Sounds like… everyone was having fun."

Frederick laughed weakly. "Hahaha… yes. Mor, morale, it uhhh, was very… squeaky." His brow furrowed. "Squeaky… squeaky."

"Squeaky…?"

"N-Not squeaky…" Frederick scratched his head. "But, uhhh, it's a different word that's… good."

"'Squeaky' is good? I always thought it was a… a rather neutral adjective."

Frederick's eyes widened. "…Good! Good is a good word. Morale is good."

Emmeryn laughed. "I see, I see… I'm glad. Which room was yours, by the way?"

"F-Fourth floor… at the end of the hall."

"I don't think I can carry you that far… My room's on the ground floor, so I'll drop you off there."

"Ah…" Frederick shook his head, seemingly overcome. Emmeryn, thoroughly amused, wondered if he was going to burst into tears. "I-I'm truly grateful, Emm…"

Emm. Excitement shot through Emmeryn's spine. She had to take a breath to calm herself.

Wow, that… I didn't know I wanted to hear that. She looked down at the heavily inebriated knight leaning on her arm. He's only ever called me 'Lady Emmeryn,' or 'milady'… Well, or 'Emily,' but only in front of strangers. But 'Emm'?

She smiled. He was so vulnerable-looking, and using such intimate words… It was a pleasant change of pace.

"Here we are." With some difficulty, she managed to work Frederick through her bedroom door, and another minute of effort had her successfully, if haphazardly, land the loyal knight captain face-first onto her bed. Spent, she sat against her bed, catching her breath, while Frederick clumsily moved the rest of his lead limbs onto the mattress as well.

Ah, but this was comfortable, sitting here. Part of her knew she should probably make up that couch in the corner into something she could sleep in, but it had been such a long and stressful day; she could just fall asleep right here…

She heard movement from Frederick rolling over in her bed. "Emm… Are you… excited?"

Emmeryn's eyes closed. A tired, if content, smile played on her face. "About what, dear…?"

"…About Robin coming back."

Emmeryn's brows furrowed, though her eyes remained closed. "Of course I am…" His tone wasn't exactly enthusiastic. "…Aren't you?"

Frederick was silent for a bit, and soon it became apparent that he was going to ignore her question. Too tired to think much of it, Emmeryn shrugged her shoulders and tried to sit more comfortably.

"…How excited?"

"Hm?"

Frederick was quiet again. "How… excited… are you?"

"I think… very?"

"Mmph."

What a negative noise. Emm didn't know what to make of that. "What's wrong…?"

"Are you just excited because… you're in love with him?"

Emmeryn's eyes shot open. "F-Frederick!"

"Well… aren't you?"

"N—Frederick, I don't—" She huffed. She was fully awake now, so she stood and faced Frederick. He was lying on his side, facing away from her. "Why would you say that?"

"You said so."

"What?"

"Don't pretend. You said… You said you loved him."

Emmeryn clenched her hands into fists. She'd almost forgotten he knew. "Frederick, that, that was a long time ago. I've let go of that."

"So easily?" Frederick murmured. "It's been eight months since you lost him. That was just like the other guy…"

"What are you talking about, Frederick?"

"The Valmese man," he said. "Jer… Jeremiah. You were together… Then you thought he was dead… Then, almost a year later, you find out he isn't. Then you go back to him intending to resume your relationship."

Emmeryn didn't know why she was so upset by Frederick's words. He was drunk. He was stating facts and asking genuine questions, he didn't mean anything by it, but her temper was running away from her. "That's—That's—different! Jer and I were in love! We were together for the better part of a year! Of—of course I wouldn't just LOSE my feelings for him!"

"Tell me, Emm." He finally turned his head to see her; his eyes were serious, unflinching. She would have sworn he was sober if it weren't for the red flush to his cheeks. "Is it actually different with Robin?"

"Robin was married," Emmeryn spat. "My feelings were one-sided. It was never meant to last, so it didn't."

Frederick's expression suddenly softened, and he couldn't meet Emmeryn's eye anymore. "…I'm sorry, Emm… I know that, that you don't like to think about that."

It was him saying that that made Emmeryn realize she was trembling. On the verge of tears. She wiped them away, taking deep breaths to calm down.

"I-I'm sorry, Emm…"

She sat on the edge of the bed, and patted his knee. "I-It's okay, Frederick. You didn't mean anything by it…"

"Emm…eryn."

Emmeryn winced.

"Do you…" Frederick began, but trailed off. "Back then… in the gardens of Ylisstol… you said you didn't want to accept me."

Ah.

"B-But, you didn't say… You didn't…" Frederick's breath was shaky. "Emmeryn… I know you don't want to, to be with me, at least not now. I'm, I'm fine with that, I can make peace with that. But—Emmeryn… I never asked. Do you love me?"

Emmeryn went sheet-white. "Frederick…"

He was looking at her again with that same almost-sober look. "I don't want—to—have that question answered."

She was utterly lost.

"I hope that—No—No, I don't." He shook his head. "No, I don't hope that…"

Emmeryn frowned deeply. "What… are you talking about, Frederick?"

He looked away, hiding his eyes. "If Robin doesn't come back… then… the question… of me or him, it's, it's not answered."

"Frederick!" she urged as loudly as a whisper would allow. "That's—You don't actually mean—"

"No…" Frederick said. "We're friends… I want Robin back…" He shook his head. "I didn't mean it, Emm, I promise…"

Emmeryn was on the brink of tears again. He's drunk. He's drunk. He doesn't mean it. He's not himself.

Or is this just bottled-up doubt?

No. Frederick would never think this. Frederick loves Robin the same as any of us.

"Frederick," she murmured. "Frederick, listen to me."

Frederick didn't shift to acknowledge her. She leaned over him to see if he'd fallen asleep, but his eyes were open.

"Frederick?" She tapped his shoulder, and his eyes shifted to look at her. "You need to sleep. You'll feel much better in the morning."

"Emm…" He rolled over onto his back. "I, I want you to know. I think you—you do, already, but." He stared her straight in the eye. "I do love you, Emmeryn. I've always loved you. But now more than ever, I—this you, the you that lived through amnesia—I love you. More than I ever loved her."

Emmeryn was frozen. A shocked tear raced down her cheek.

Frederick's hand weakly rose to cup her cheek. Clumsily, his thumb brushed away the tear.

"Just… wanted to say that," he said, smiling a bit. "I think—I feel like I'm not talking like… me. Not sure if I'm even thinking like me…" His hand fell away. "I'm—I'm going to—to sleep." His cheeks were a full red. "…G-Goodnight, Emm."

Emmeryn's mouth hung open uselessly, until finally, she was able to respond in kind. "Goodnight, Frederick."

Frederick rolled over onto his side, while Emmeryn still knelt atop the mattress, numb. He fell asleep at some point while she was sitting there.

"Frederick loves me." She said the words aloud. She knew this. He'd confessed as much not long before they entered the Outrealms. But he didn't say the words. He didn't say 'I love you.'

And the rest…

She suddenly noticed that Frederick was uncovered. A blanket was folded next to the bed, so she climbed off, lifted and unfolded the blanket, and slowly, carefully draped it over Frederick's unconscious form. In hindsight, she realized she needn't have exercised such caution; Frederick was sound asleep.

She patted Frederick's shoulder, adopting a soft, kind smile. "Maybe you have a point," she whispered. "When I think about it… maybe, on some level, I thought things would be different. I know, I know Robin is out of my reach…" She shook her head. "Frederick, you're so special to me. I don't know—if—if it's like that. It might be. I just don't know. With Jer, it was so natural. I didn't know anyone else then. And I think part of why I fell for Robin was—was that he reminded me of Jer in many ways. Little things. How he walks, the way he sighs…" She sighed. "With you… I don't think of anyone else. I just think of you, Frederick. And I don't—I'm not used to, I mean, dealing with feelings like that. I'm so sorry."

She leaned over her brave, sleeping guardian, and she placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. She lay down beside him, lost in thought. "Sir Frederick…" She hesitated. "You have to know that there isn't a 'question.' There's no… no 'you versus Robin.'" She breathed in and out, slowly. "…I certainly love you. I just haven't figured out… what kind of love, yet."

She was exhausted, and cold. She didn't want to go back to leaning against the bed. Compared to where she was… where she was so comfortable…

Next to Sir Frederick, Knight Captain of Ylisse, Emmeryn sleepily wiggled under his same blanket, and drifted away.

Next time:

Chapter 18 – Quintessence

Author's note:

I split Infinite Regalia into two chapters mainly due to length. Hypocritical, I know. I've already demonstrated with Chapter 15 that it really isn't a big deal to me if chapters get too long, but I found that Infinite Regalia had a very nice breakpoint halfway through, which Chapter 15 did not. If I'd split Chapter 15 in two, then I would've ended up with two weak chapters rather than one strong, if lengthy, one, while splitting Infinite Regalia made for two solid chapters, with the benefit of being short enough to be easily palatable.

This is going to be my metric going forward if I'm ever considering splitting one chapter into two or more, which I already know will come up again.