Chapter 10
As a young woman in an oversized ankle-length black coat strolled through the merchant quarter of the ancient city she took a deep breath, savouring the scent of freshly baked bread mingling with the fires from the hardware smithies and a hundred other scents.
"Lady Morgan!" one of the grocers shouted out with a wave when he caught sight of the woman. "Good morning! Want to try the latest harvest?"
He indicated down to the crate full of pears grown in the orchards in the Ylissean Southlands, the crates bearing the seal of the Southern Merchants Guild, the fruits bright and no doubt full of delicious juice. It made Morgan's mouth water just thinking about it.
"Alright, Horace, you twisted my arm," she laughed, brushing a lock of the long chestnut hair out of her face and stepping lightly over to the man's storefront.
The big man laughed through his thick greying beard, holding his ample stomach as Morgan bit into one of the fruits. She made a satisfied sound bordering on ecstasy, rolling her eyes as the juice from the fruit hit her tongue.
Horace laughed louder, slapping one meaty hand on Morgan's shoulder as she tore into her pear without a care as to who might be watching.
"See!" he called out. "My fruit has the Grandmaster's Seal of Approval!"
"Half the market has the Grandmaster's seal of approval!" one of the merchants across the street called back, smiling as well.
Looking around at the happy and lively faces one would never be able to tell just how close the world had come to ending a few short years ago. Morgan grinned along, pulling out her coin purse and making to pay Horace, but before she could pull anything out of it she found her arms full of more fruit.
"Here! Take it and share it with the rest of the Shepherds!" he said, smiling down at her. "Make sure the princesses eat some, too! It'll help them grow up big and strong, just like their big sister!"
"Dammit Horace, you do this every time! Let me pay you!" Morgan laughed.
"It's your fault for walking through the market," the merchant insisted. "Now get out of here before the others notice you, too!"
She knew better than to argue with the boisterous man, giving the other merchants a hasty and awkward wave as she resumed her journey through the markets.
With a sigh Morgan mentally prepared herself for what happened every time she went to the palace through the markets as the other friendly merchants and craftsmen began to notice her.
Sometimes it was rough being a hero.
By the time she finally reached the palace again Morgan had been forced to remove her coat and convert it into a sort of basket-satchel hybrid to carry everything she'd been given. She loved going through the marketplace first whenever she returned to Ylisstol, but damn if she wasn't getting sick of the hero worship that was heaped on her at times.
However, Morgan thought with a smile as two excited pairs of feet came running at her down the Ylisstol palace's Great Hall, there were some people that were the exemption to the rule.
"Morgan!" Lucina cried, skidding to a halt just in front of the Grandmaster.
"Morgan brought presents!" Cynthia added, coming up just behind her older sister.
The grandmaster grinned as she knelt down to awkwardly hug the two blue-haired sisters around her burden. This Lucina and Cynthia, though, were the present versions of themselves, rather than the time-travelling versions that Morgan had grown up with. They were both growing up fast, Cynthia having just celebrated her fourth birthday the week before with her future self, the current Deputy-Commander of the Pegasus Knights.
"Lucina, Cynthia!" another voice called out from the end of the great hall. "Stop pestering Morgan! She's exhausted from her trip, give her some space!"
Queen Sumia, wife of the Exalt and another of the heroes that had saved the world stepped into the hall from the passageway behind her husband's throne, smiling happily when she caught sight of Morgan. Sumia had taken to royal life far better than her husband had, the people said. Where Exalt Chrom was the inspiring, indomitable leader of Ylisstol's armies and defender of the realm, Queen Sumia's gentle, caring approach to the common folk had won hearts and minds throughout the very same realm. She was said to be the perfect match for him, counterbalancing the hot-headedness of the Exalt that it seemed would never fade.
She had her hair down that day, the flowing brown locks reaching almost the entire length of her back now, cascading down over the elegant white gown she wore.
"Hello, dear!" the Queen added, crossing the space to give the younger woman a hug of her own. "How was Chon'sin?"
"Lovely," Morgan answered, returning the hug. "Miriel will be happy to know that she was right and I'm finally starting to get over my sea-sickness with all this 'immersion therapy'. Mom says hi, by the way."
Sumia's smile grew as she turned, beckoning Morgan follow her into the palace. The Grandmaster knelt quickly again, pressing a finger to her lips to shush the girls and quickly giving each of the young Princesses a sweet-bun before hefting her coat-basket and hurrying after Sumia. Grinning ear to ear, the two blue-haired girls raced off again, full of energy now that they had their spoils. Morgan followed the Queen into the palace proper, stopping long enough to hand over her gifts to one of the Ylissean Royal Family's chamberlains before putting her coat back where it belonged.
"How have things been here?" the Grandmaster asked as she jogged to catch up with Sumia.
"Oh, pretty much the same," the Queen said airily.
She smiled lightly as she realised that Sumia was leading them the long way, through the atrium that housed the palace's flower gardens. They stepped into the domed space, Morgan instantly being assailed by the sweet fragrances and bright sunlight through the clear glass ceiling. Sumia knew that this was one of Morgan's favourite places in Ylisse.
"It's as you've already seen. The realm is prospering. The girls are getting bigger, Chrom is getting grumpier from dealing with politicians all day, and we still rarely receive word from Robin or Lucina. How are things in Chon'sin?"
Morgan's smile turned wry at the mention of both her father and her old friend, but she decided to put those thoughts on the backburner to talk properly with Sumia. Her irritation at her father's lack of communication for the last year could wait until later.
"His Grace and the Knight Commander should already have copies of the reports," Morgan said, taking her time dawdling through the gardens. "Sei'ko went ahead to deliver them when we landed in Plegia."
Sumia nodded, waiting for Morgan to continue.
"Things are going well, though," she went on. "The Imperial Valmese economy is finally beginning to stabilize, which will make Mom's life a lot easier and take a lot of stress off of Chon'sin and Chengshi's markets. A lot of the smaller nations have amalgamated with the larger three, too, so there's always a lot of paperwork to do. Virion's doing well, too. Gerome is already beginning to learn to ride; it won't be too long before Cherche brings him to Wyvern Valley to pick out his own mount. And lady Tiki has officially returned to her slumber atop the Mila Tree. Apart from that, not much else has changed."
They stepped out of the atrium and back into the palace, angling now for the military wing and Morgan's office.
"That's nice to hear," Sumia said. "I'm glad things are finally looking up for the continent. For a while there Frederick and Chrom were worried we would have to deploy a peace-keeping force. We actually had to stop Basilio from leading one personally."
"Yeah, Mom's really scary when people are being irrational," Morgan said with a shudder.
It wouldn't be too far of a stretch to say that Say'ri had brought Lord Liung of Chengshi and the Imperial Council in Valm to heel with only her glare. In fact, the majority of the border-placement discussions had wound up being in Chon'sin because of it.
They continued to talk about inconsequential things until Morgan reached her office, stopping to give Sumia one last hug before they separated and she closed the door behind her. She crossed the room, hesitating only long enough to take off her equipment belt and hang it on the wall-hook next to her ancient nodachi Sol, before sinking into her chair and throwing her booted feet up on the desk.
She blinked, and suddenly there was a small steaming cup of Chon'sin green tea sitting on the table in front of her.
"Thank you, Sei'ko," Morgan sighed, sipping the fragrant tea.
"Of course, Princess," one of the office's shadows said, separating from the rest and bowing.
Sei'ko stepped around the desk to where Morgan could see her, the unassuming-seeming spy and assassin gripping a clipboard and a sheaf of papers. She was wearing the black robes of a clerk, officially employed as Morgan's personal assistant in her capacity as Ambassador to Chon'sin. However, unofficially Sei'ko was also Morgan's body-guard, the woman being an absolute terror in a fight. No doubt there were uncountable blades strapped to her person under those robes… Say'ri had insisted her daughter take extra protection, and Sei'ko had agreed, insisting she was getting too old to continue being a spy despite only being a few years older than Morgan herself.
"How long have you been back for?" Morgan asked, letting the fragrant steam from her cup waft over her.
"Barely two days, my lady," Sei'ko answered promptly.
Morgan nodded, taking a sip from her tea and making a satisfied sound. She glanced over at her assistant, quirking one brow in a way that her mother always said made her look exactly like her father.
"I trust whatever's attached to that clipboard can wait until I see my fiancé first?" Morgan asked, taking another sip of her tea.
"I can make it wait," Sei'ko said with a knowing grin. "He is in the barracks with the others."
"Good," Morgan said, getting to her feet and draining the last of her tea. "What would I ever do without you, Sei'ko?"
"Waste your afternoon looking for sir Yarne," the other woman chuckled. "I will keep Lord Frederick busy until you are done. Go and have your fun. And remember to draw up your hood if you're going to leave the palace again."
Morgan grinned, giving Sei'ko an appreciative wave before slipping out of her office.
After six months abroad it was good to be home. Or it would be when Morgan got her hands on Yarne's fluffy ears, anyway.
Across the sea on the continent of Valm a man let loose an arrow at the straw target more than a hundred meters away. The black and grey fletched projectile missed the bullseye by a few inches, and the man let out an irritated sigh.
Only a few short years ago he had been among the vanguard that had slain the Fell Dragon, saving the world from eternal darkness. Now he found himself hiding in the privacy of his villa's archery range from the incessant nagging of his court officials and the visiting envoys from other nations, unable to even hit the bullseye.
Virion, archest of archers and one of the closest confidants of the hero-tactician Robin, frowned as he lowered his bow. A shot like this should have been no problem for him. It had been far, far too long since he had trained properly.
Since the Valmese Empire had dissolved and returned ownership of the smaller countries it had subjugated back to their own lords the entire continent had been a hive of activity, Rosanne included. No more Imperial rule meant that free trade was once again possible, and the nobles were scrambling like mad to cement themselves in the newly forming hierarchy. Virion, however, wanted none of that, instead choosing to make the tiny nation his family lorded over a protectorate of the rising power in the east that was Chon'sin.
He hadn't been alone in his decision, either; many smaller nations had rushed to Chon'sin or Chengshi, some even opting to maintain Valmese Imperial rule. The Independence War had all but shattered the economies of the smaller nations that had survived on trade when the Empire had conscripted their workers; attaching themselves to the stronger nations that had weathered the storm seemed to be the more popular thing to do.
Not that Virion was a particularly popular ruler, though. He still had a long way to go to earn his people's trust back, even after Cherche had spent months trying to convince them he hadn't fled for his own sake. The citizenry was coming around slowly, and that was good enough. Virion just needed to be patient.
"Wow," a soft voice breathed from behind him. "Father, you're incredible."
Virion chuckled as he turned to his son, ruffling the boy's hair as he laid his bow aside. He hadn't even heard him approaching…
"I was once much better," the archer sighed. "I fear I have spent far too long playing at being a politician."
A younger version of Gerome looked up at his father with big, round eyes, nodding sagely at the man's confession.
"But come now, son," Virion said, practically bouncing as he stood back up. "Enough of my complaining. Why don't you retrieve your own bow, and we'll work on your form."
Virion grinned as the young boy ran off towards the Villa, turning and heading to drag the target much, much closer. It had, of course, been Robin's suggestion that the boy learn archery in addition to flying. The thought of a force of archers flying above the enemy and striking at key targets without ever coming into their range had appealed greatly to the tactician, and Cherche had leapt at the idea to get Gerome to spend more time with his father. The older Gerome, however, had refused to take up a bow, instead spending all of his time silently moping around Wyvern Valley in the south. Virion had vowed when Gerome had been born in this timeline that he would spare his son the trauma that had turned him into such a grouchy recluse.
He had to grin as he trudged out and dragged the target closer to the villa, recalling the way his friend Robin had been so unnerved at the birth of his own daughter in this timeline.
"How do you do it?" the ex-tactician had asked one night over a chessboard. "How do you just, you know, 'snap' and become a father?"
Virion had shrugged as he put his friend into check.
"We do it because we have to," he had reasoned. "I will, however, admit that we may have an unfair advantage over our future-selves. Our children have come back in time, and given us a first-hand account of all the mistakes we made."
Robin had nodded silently, proceeding to win the chess game in another three moves, cornering Virion's king with pieces that the other man hadn't moved since the start of the game.
"I'm sure you'll be a great father," Robin had said, grinning at his victory. "A better father than chess-player, anyway."
Virion shook his head, grinning at the encouragement as her returned to the present. Gerome was already running back towards him, clutching his half-sized bow tightly with a great smile on his face.
A better father than I was in the future, at the very least, Virion told himself, ruffling his son's hair again before they took up their positions.
That evening Virion checked the position of his cufflinks one last time as he marched towards the Villa's dining room, young Gerome following at his heel as he fidgeted with his own cravat. That night he was to be playing host to one of the most powerful and influential figures in all of Valm, a veritable paragon of the common man, and the woman he had placed all his hopes for Rosanne's future on.
As he stepped into the elegant and subdued dining room, he watched as Cherche and Queen Say'ri of Chon'sin shared a laugh, the two women obviously enjoying themselves. They both stood to greet him, though, his wife and his new Queen smiling warmly as he and Gerome approached the table. Virion gave Cherche a quick kiss on the cheek before bowing low to Say'ri, doing his best to seem sincere.
"Welcome, your majesty," he said in flawless Chon'sin.
Say'ri chuckled a little, returning his greeting with a gracious nod before smirking at the archer.
"Your accent is still terrible," she commented wryly.
Cherche covered her mouth, attempting to hide her laughter in the guise of a cough as she led Gerome to his seat. Virion just smiled and shook his head, showing Say'ri to her seat at his table's position of honour.
"I fear I may be getting too old to be learning new languages, my Queen," the archer sighed dramatically.
"Fie," Say'ri chided. "I am not asking you to learn it. 'Twas your idea."
Virion winced internally as he grinned at Say'ri.
"I have had bad ideas in past," he admitted, settling into his seat. "Such as… well, letting Robin get away with just about every mad stunt he pulled during the war."
They all shared a laugh at that, except for Gerome who simply looked bewildered at all this adult-speak, before the entrée was brought out.
"So how is Morgan?" Cherche asked conversationally.
"She should be arriving in Ylisstol any day now," Say'ri explained. "She is coping well with her new positions."
"Has there been any word on what her father has been doing in the last year?" Virion asked.
If anyone would have heard from Robin, surely it would have been his daughter. Say'ri sighed and shook her head, though.
"No more than any of us," she said. "Truly I wonder what it is that he has been so preoccupied with."
"What of his school?" Cherche asked curiously.
"The lady Aversa is currently running it for him," she explained. "And caring for his daughter in the interim. Fortunately he had yet to take on many students… Really, how both he and lady Lucina could simply disappear…"
"Knowing them, it was for a good reason," Virion interjected. "They would not simply drop off the face of the earth without a purpose."
Say'ri nodded again.
"I know," she said. "It is just… Fie, I wish they would have come to one of us for help!"
Virion smirked, sharing her sentiments. Robin and Lucina had both vanished more than a year ago with Owain and Severa, and nobody had heard more than word of them since.
"He knew we were all busy trying to rebuild," Cherche sighed.
"And you must admit, my Queen, that we have been busy," Virion added.
Say'ri sighed, setting down her utensils and giving Virion a wry glance.
"I should have known better than to think you would not take his side," she said jokingly.
"But of course!" Virion announced, a small flare of his old pomp coming to the fore. "For I, Duke Virion, archest of archers, have been one of Robin's best friends since his induction to the Shepherds nearly a decade ago! Therefore, I also have first rights to beat the stuffing out of him for abandoning us for so long without a word."
The three adults in the room burst into laughter again, leaving a confused Gerome to poke at his soup as he waited impatiently for the main course.
Morgan let out a piteous groan as she fell into the chair in the corner of her apartment, kicking her feet out before her in a vain attempt to get her boots off. How her father had worked like this for so long was beyond her… the reports never stopped, and there was always, always more paperwork to be done. Sometimes she wondered why, in Naga's name, she had thought it would be a good idea to be both Ylisse's Grandmaster and Chon'sin's Ylissean ambassador.
With a frustrated huff Morgan blew a stray lock of her shoulder-length brown hair out of her face, growling a little when the offending hair floated right back down into place.
"Hey, hon," a sleepy voice said from the direction of her bedroom.
Morgan's response was an incomprehensible mumbled gargle as she bounced her heels up and down a few times. Yarne laughed a little to himself as he padded over, the half-Taguel man shirtless and clearly freshly risen from bed.
"I didn't mean to wake you," Morgan sighed as Yarne leaned down to give her a quick peck on the forehead.
Her fiancé laughed a little as he straightened, pointing to his long rabbit ears protruding from the mane of thick brown hair on his head.
"Look at these ears," he chuckled. "The maids three floors down wake me up. But it's worth it to get to live here with you. I just… sleep in the forest while you're not here."
Before Morgan could respond she let out a contented groan as Yarne squatted down and pulled the boots from her feet.
"You know you've been working late like this a lot recently," he added, sinking into a cross-legged sitting position with Morgan's feet on his lap.
"Trust me, I'm not exactly happy about it either," she complained.
The young Grandmaster let out a small gasp, followed by a euphoric moan as Yarne shook his head and began kneading at her tired feet with his hands.
"I'm just worried you're working yourself too hard," he said as he massaged. "Even your father couldn't handle the kind of pressure you're putting on yourself. I mean, we were both there when he broke down in Valm."
"Because he… ahhhhh… didn't have… mmmmh… you to rub his feet," Morgan sighed, sinking deeper into her chair.
Yarne snickered a little before starting in on his partner's other foot.
"Yeah, let's just say that," he said as Morgan practically squirmed with delight.
"Ahh, if we weren't already getting married I'd make you ask me all over again," she groaned, arching her back as Yarne used his knuckles to rub the bottom of her foot.
"Hey, I required very little prompting to make that proposal," Yarne muttered, his hands stilling.
"Sure, Bunny," Morgan sighed, closing her eyes. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. Just don't stop rubbing yet."
"That bad a day?" Yarne asked sympathetically, resuming his massage.
"I swear Frederick… just sees me as a target… for his irritation without my father… around for him to bully," Morgan said, pausing every time Yarne's hands found a sensitive spot.
"Don't worry," Yarne soothed. "Soon you'll be far away from Ylisse for a whole month when the Khan-meet starts up north."
Morgan let out a groan of displeasure a moment before she launched herself forward and practically tackled Yarne to the floor.
"But I'll be away from you, too!" Morgan cried, wrapping her arms around Yarne until the half-Taguel could barely breathe.
"Morgan… too tight…" he gasped, slapping at her back. "Mor… gan… dying!"
"Whoop, sorry!" she laughed, sitting up and inadvertently straddling him.
"When you apologise you're supposed to at least try to look remorseful," Yarne sighed, taking a few deep lungfuls of air.
"Why don't I make it up to you…?" Morgan asked, snaking her hands up Yarne's chest as she leaned forward and pressing her lips to his.
The kiss only lasted a few seconds before she groaned and collapsed on top of him again, resting her head on his shoulder.
"I am really exhausted, though," she laughed.
"Then why are you teasing me!?" Yarne cried exasperatedly.
"Because I'm going to be gone for a whole month again!" Morgan cried in the same exasperated tone. "And I'm tired! And my boots don't fit and I still get seasick!"
Yarne let out another sigh before beginning to stroke Morgan's hair. Sometimes it was easy to forget that the all-powerful, super-important Grandmaster and ambassador only had a few years' worth of memories; one of the side-effects of which was her acting childishly in private like this. It was one of the little quirks that made Yarne love her so much, though.
"C'mon," Yarne said, sitting up and forcing Morgan up with him. "Let's get you into bed."
"But I'm too tired!" Morgan groaned as Yarne lifted the limp woman up in a princess-style carry.
"Normal people use beds for sleeping, not building pillow forts!" Yarne pointed out with a frown.
"I didn't hear you complaining when you 'stormed the walls'," Morgan pointed out with a laugh.
Yarne sighed, hitching his fiancé up a little higher against his chest as he carried her into her room.
"Don't make me find Lissa and have her knock you out," he warned her, blowing out the candle as he passed it.
In the deserts of Plegia six black robed and hooded figures strode through the dunes, the woman leading them in slightly more ostentatious robes setting a crippling pace as the five other mages struggled to keep up.
Tharja turned to cast a contemptuous glance over her shoulder, glaring at her would-be apprentices as they floundered to the top of the sand dune she was standing on.
"Come on, we're almost there," she snapped at the gasping student-mages.
She spun on her heel, her cloak flapping out behind her in the wind as she slid down the opposite side of the dune, revealing her signature black body-suit and golden trim. In the distance she had spotted their destination, the oasis town of Grima's Fall that had sprung up around her new Dark Mage academy, just on the edge of the badlands.
In the last five years she had dedicated herself wholly to restoring the order of Dark Mages, taking in any student that showed even an inkling of promise in the dark arte. It had been a learning curve at first; her social skills were less than terrific, even after spending so much time around Robin and the Shepherds. However she had persevered and the five acolytes struggling to keep pace with her were her first batch of soon-to-be graduates.
She hadn't told them that yet, though. That was a surprise for later.
"Moth-Master, w-we've been walking all day!" one of the acolytes called out in a timid stutter.
Tharja sighed, wishing that her daughter would hurry up and lose the stutter already as she signalled a halt in the shade of the dune.
"Five minutes," she announced.
The acolytes, as one, collapsed. They weren't physically exhausted, but rather mentally. This was a training exercise to improve their weight-distribution spells. In layman's terms, it was to teach them to prolong their walking on sand spells. The loose sand of Plegia's central desert was ruthless in the way it slowed any movement to a crawl, but over the centuries the Dark Mages had developed a means to combat that and move as if on regular ground over the loose sand. It consumed a great deal of mana, though, so Tharja was pushing her acolytes as hard as she could to toughen them up and build up their mana reserves.
Her own reserves were freakishly large, thanks to years of trying to keep up with Robin's casting, so she had no problem with a three-day hike through the desert. But her students on the other hand…
The three men and two women all shrugged their hoods back, fanning at their faces as they sucked from their dwindling water supplies.
Noire, who much to Tharja's hidden delight was the most advanced of the students, drank slowly, as if still afraid of earning her mother's ire for acting improperly. The girl really did have a natural gift, and without Grima around tainting dark magic Tharja hadn't seen any reason not to train her properly. She still carried her enchanted bow around everywhere, the one that Robin had made for her, even though she looked utterly ridiculous with a bow hidden under mage's robes. She'd let her hair grow out now, too, and it was almost as long as her mother's had been during the war.
The two students closest to her, the identical twin boys Asim and Lateef, were leaning back to back, holding each other up as they took turns drinking from their remaining waterskin. The only other girl besides Noire, Femi the teenage wonder-child from one of Plegia's oldest Dark Mage families, was lying on her back, desperately sucking in air as she fanned herself with her hand. Sitting a small way away from the others was her final student Badru, already having slipped into an ancient meditative technique to help control his breathing and increase his mana recovery rate.
"I hate the desert!" Lateef groaned loudly as he passed the almost empty waterskin back to his brother.
"I'm getting used to it," Asim sighed, before glaring back at his twin. "Did you seriously drink all the water?"
"You were too slow."
"You are so dead!"
"Enough!" Tharja hissed, halting the two boys mid-argument.
Asim and Lateef were from one of the northern border-towns, so they weren't used to the constant heat and dryness of the desert. They also liked to waste a lot of their energy arguing, but Tharja had watched them both work themselves to the bone dragging each other through her harsh training.
"Don't you two… ever stop?" Femi gasped, looking up a little at them. "At least… try to act… like proper mages…"
"I'm trying to meditate here," Badru muttered irritably.
Tharja rolled her eyes, deciding to let the acolytes bicker. They were all only teenagers anyway; Noire was the oldest by a few years now, the next oldest was Badru at twenty-one, making Femi was the youngest at seventeen. Besides, a healthy rivalry was good for Dark Mages. She knew they all considered each other as friends and colleagues, which was the best she could have hoped for. She had tried as hard as she could to quash the petty, back-stabbing nature of the old Dark Mage order.
Surprisingly Noire was the first one back on her feet, the pale and thin girl giving her mother a quick smile before she pulled her hood back into place.
"Alright, break's over," Tharja announced. "Back on your feet. Last one to the temple goes without dinner."
There was a collective groan of displeasure from the students as they climbed back to their feet, Tharja having to stop herself from cackling at the suffering she was causing, settling for a grin that she hid in the shadows of her hood.
Sometimes she really, really loved being a teacher.
Later that afternoon, as the sun was beginning to set into the dunes behind Grima's Fall, Tharja leaned against a stone column, watching as her husband gave a lecture to the younger acolytes.
"… so therefore Druidism is a form of Dark Magic, too," Henry was saying to an enraptured audience of young teenagers. "Its roots are closer to the Anima school of magic, but uses Dark Magic to commune with nature and bend it to our will rather than the quid-pro-quo relationship of Anima. That's why it's considered such a high-difficulty school of magic, because nature has a very strong will to bend."
The white-haired man glanced up, breaking into his trademark grin as he noticed Tharja watching him from the shadows.
"That's it for today!" he announced happily. "Teacher has some… naughty things to do, so go and get some dinner from the refractory before I hex you all! Scat!"
The students scattered, cramming their scrolls and quills into their book bags as fast as they could while running from the lecture steps. The Dark Mage Academy was in an old temple that Tharja had repurposed, calling on what was left of her family's wealth and influence after the war to lay claim to the building. The lecture area was a recessed amphitheatre off to one side of the main hall, where Henry usually held his theory classes.
The white-haired Dark Mage literally skipped up to Tharja, wrapping her in a tight bear hug once he reached her.
"'Something naughty', huh?" Tharja repeated as Henry stepped back.
"Yeah, but they just think I meant some weird experiment or hex," Henry chuckled. "However you and I both know that 'naughty' can mean a whole bunch of things…"
"I like the first option more," Tharja whispered in his ear, leaning her body against him before dancing back out of his grip.
"You are so evil," Henry laughed. "And I am still okay with that."
Tharja gave him a seductive smile as she turned, swaying her hips as she began to walk through the temple's open main hall. Henry followed, eager to be with his wife again after being apart for even a short period of time.
After the war Henry had found himself with severely limited skills in Dark Magic, as opposed to the ability he had possessed before. Tharja had thought it was something to do with how long he'd been under the Deadlord's curse of unhealing wounds. However, his knowledge had remained intact, so even though he had all the skills of a first year acolyte, he could still lecture and focus on the theoretical parts of Tharja's plan. He hadn't even seemed phased by his loss of power, simply adjusting to his new role and continuing to support Tharja's endeavours any way he could. Just the thought of everything he'd done for her in the last five years was enough to make Tharja blush happily. Not that she would ever let anyone see her like that, though…
"So didja hear from Lady older-Anna yet?" Henry asked brightly as he matched her pace.
Tharja frowned and shook her head.
"She should be here any day now," Henry continued, undaunted by his wife's mood-change. "Something about us 'being important customers' and wanting to take care of the restocking herself! Nya-ha-hah!"
"Brilliant," Tharja ground out.
"I know, I know, you don't like the Annas, I'm sorry," Henry tried to soothe, stepping in front of her and flashing his big Cheshire grin at her. "But they're the cheapest, and we're not made of money. I'll make it up to you and help you think of scary things to do to her entourage once she shows up."
Tharja took a quick, calming breath before grinning at her husband again and stroking his face as she stepped past him.
"Perhaps if you're really helpful I'll even try a few of those ideas out on you first," she promised, her cloak swaying with her movements as she walked towards the refractory. "But first, let's get some dinner to build your strength up."
Henry blinked, lingering and reaching up to touch his face where her hand had lingered.
"Well how am I supposed to eat when I'm this excited?" he muttered to himself, hurrying to catch up to his wife.
Cordelia let out a sigh as she watched the rolling countryside flashing by beneath her. She was on an important patrol mission in northern Ylisse, and she was bored. The Risen were gone, Frederick had rooted out any bandits that were hiding around the countryside after the final battle with Grima almost single-handedly, meaning her Knights had been reduced to glorified bodyguards and scouts.
Fortunately, in the last five years her order's numbers had swelled; from ten Knights to thirty, with another forty currently still in training in little more than a year.
At Sumia's urging the veterans of the Battle of Mount Origin were being granted the rank of 'Whitewing', a title that hadn't been used since Ylisse's founding. Each member of the squad, along with the manaketes and Gerome, all now had the symbol of white wings spread out as if taking flight emblazoned on their armour. Funnily enough, Gerome hadn't protested the symbol being put on his dark armour before he'd disappeared to Valm. As an afterthought Cordelia had also bestowed the rank upon the Pegasus Knights' quartermaster, Hilda, too. Hilda was the only survivor besides Cordelia and Sumia of the war with Plegia that had started events on the path to Grima's return, and it hadn't felt right not to acknowledge her staunch service that had continued even after she had been crippled.
Below Cordelia her wingman and Deputy-Commander, the Cynthia that had come back from the future with Lucina and Severa, let out a little whoop as she urged her mount into a barrel-roll, her long blue hair trailing out behind her head.
Usually such behaviour would have earned her a stern reprimanding, but it was just the two of them on this mission, so Cordelia just grinned and shook her head. Her best friend's daughter was spirited at the best of times, finding fun in the most mundane of tasks in a way that made Cordelia happy she had volunteered for this mission. The younger woman's exuberance was indeed catchy.
Cordelia urged her mount into a fast climb before swooping low just behind Cynthia and her mount Palla. The blue-haired woman, whose hair was now almost as long as her mother's had been during the war and tied back in a neat pony-tail, let out a laugh at the obvious challenge, and the race began.
The two pegasai whinnied happily, finally free to stretch their wings again after being cooped up in the roost for so long.
"That was fun!" Cynthia laughed, stepping off Palla and stretching her arms above her head.
Cordelia nodded, dismounting her own partner and giving her a grateful pat on the flank. Both creatures headed straight for the trough that their hosts had put out for them, drinking deeply from the nearly-frozen water.
Cordelia and Cynthia both walked along the top of the Longfort to meet with the Wall Warden Raimi, who was standing waiting for them.
"Hail, Wing Commander," she greeted.
"Greetings, Warden Raimi," Cordelia said. "You seem to be doing well."
The older blonde woman nodded and grinned, indicating they follow her with a wave of her lance.
"What can I say? It's a cushy posting, watching over the Longfort during this peace," she explained. "I just sit around, write up the occasional roster and train for the rest of the time."
"Yeah, that's basically all we're doing lately, too," Cynthia sighed.
"Are you both really complaining about the world finally being at peace?" Cordelia asked.
"Of course not," Raimi said with a shrug. "I'm just saying that when there was unrest, things were a little more exciting."
"It's a nice change, though," Cynthia went on. "It's nice to be able to go to sleep and know that there's a one-hundred percent certainty that the world's going to be there when you wake up."
"Not much heroism to be had anymore, though," she muttered under her breath.
"Really?" Raimi asked as she ushered the two women into one of the watch-houses on the wall. "Word has it that the tactician's gone and disappeared on some great heroic quest."
Cynthia winced, glowering as she fell into a seat at the simple table in the watch house.
"And he invited Owain instead of me!" the blue-haired Pegasus knight complained loudly. "I'm every bit as heroic as my cousin is! It isn't fair!"
Cordelia cleared her throat, giving the girl a short glare that shut her up. The Wing-Commander turned back to a chuckling Raimi, grinning softly.
"That's actually part of why we're here," she admitted, spreading her hands a little.
"Yeah, Khan Flavia thought as much," Raimi sighed, pushing a bundle of papers, each bearing the Khan's signet stamp, across the table towards Cordelia and Cynthia.
"These ought to keep your Knight-Commander happy. Oh, and Khan Basilio wanted me to pass on the message that the next Khan-Tournament is coming up soon. Something about 'wanting his bloody palace back'."
Cynthia let out a very unladylike snort as she burst into laughter, Cordelia just shaking her head and grinning at the old Khan's utter lack of grace.
"I'm sure not just Exalt Chrom, but most of the Shepherds will be overjoyed to hear that news," Cordelia said, lifting the stack of papers.
The saffron-tressed Wing-Commander knew that she, at the least, was excited by this news. It had been far too long since she'd had a real challenge, and the tournament to decide who was going to be reigning Khan-Regnant would be the best place to find one. Even Frederick would be excited by this news!
In northern Regna Ferox the seasons changed quickly. Summer gave way to a short Autumn, which in turn became a lasting Winter that saw snow cover the land for almost six months of the year. Life was hard, and without the regular delivery of supplies to many of the northern villages from the Anna merchant group, life would be almost impossible.
And it was in this unforgiving land that Robin had opened his school for tacticians.
Much to his adopted sister Aversa's dismay, he had even chosen to open it in a drafty old fort. However that fort was gone now, and the new one was bigger, sturdier and stronger than ever; a gift from the various nations that owed her brother for his service. Although really, the entire world owed Robin for his service.
In the evening as the mage-instructor and acting Headmistress of Robin's school desperately wrapped herself in blankets next to a fire, Aversa frowned at the fireplace. She was sitting in what would eventually be Robin's office/study, the one she had commandeered while he was on his little 'mission'. And, to make matters worse, in her arms was the tiny form of her four-year-old niece that was having trouble sleeping.
I will kill him, Aversa promised herself, shrugging her shoulders in an attempt to cover her neck properly without disturbing the child's rest.
When he gets back, and I can offload this child on her mother again, I will kill Robin with my bare hands.
Unlike during the Ylissean-Plegian war nearly a decade ago now Aversa's thoughts held no malice towards her brother. Just annoyance at playing nursemaid. They had admittedly grown closer in the last few years, despite their clashing personalities. Robin was just the sort of man that wouldn't give up on something once he set his mind to it, and Aversa had just had to accept that fact.
"Auntie Aversa…?"
The sorceress sighed and broke her cocoon of warmth to run a hand over her niece's cobalt hair.
"Are you ready to go back to bed yet, child?" she asked in a bored voice.
The little girl shook her head.
"It's cold," she complained in a small voice.
"I should hope so," Aversa scoffed. "It is snowing outside."
"It's always snowing outside," the little girl complained.
The young girl, the spitting image of the older time-travelling Morgan, pulled the blankets tighter around herself as she spoke, uncovering Aversa's shoulders.
"That is because your father is apparently fond of the snow," Aversa drawled, shuddering as the frigid air caressed her skin.
Since her blanket had been commandeered she made do with pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders instead. Aversa had long ago traded her more revealing desert clothes for the subdued robes and cloak of a simple Dark Mage. It had been stuffy at first, but she had grown used to it. The trade-off was that she could maintain her hair without changing its colour, because she could simply draw up the hood in her rare public appearances.
"Why do you think Dad likes the snow so much?" the little girl asked after a thoughtful pause.
"Because he hates the desert," Aversa said lazily. "He is a man of extremes."
"What's that mean?"
"It means he likes things cold rather than hot. Soft rather than hard. Old rather than new. He does not look for the thing in between."
The little girl's face scrunched up for a few moments as she thought about this.
In four years Aversa wasn't ashamed to admit that little Emm had kept her guessing, and impressed her immensely. As much as she hated to admit it, Robin was smarter than her. There was simply no arguing that point; Robin was smarter than most anyone. However, to Aversa it looked like the little girl currently trying to comprehend her aunt's example would eventually leave even Robin in the dust. At almost five years old now she was far more advanced than Aversa had ever seen in a child.
It was one of the things she was looking forward to rubbing in Robin's face when he got back: "Oh, look how much your daughter has advanced under my tutelage compared to yours! You're hardly fit to be a teacher, let alone a father!"
Then she would laugh, and Robin would say something snarky about her still being a war-criminal, no doubt followed by some sort of-
"So, does that mean Dad likes Morgan more than me?"
If Aversa had been drinking anything she would have spit it out at the absurdity of the question. As it stood she still burst into laughter, rocking back and forth as the child frowned at being jostled from her comfortable position by her aunt's antics.
"Oh child, trust me when I say that it's sickening how much your father loves you," Aversa said at last, wiping a tear from her eye.
That was another thing that the child did to her; she constantly made Aversa laugh, infuriatingly enough just like her father did.
"But… you just said Dad likes old stuff more than new stuff," the girl insisted. "If… if he does, then wouldn't that mean he'd like the old Morgan more than me?"
Aversa shook her head, still chuckling a little as she smoothed the child's hair.
"Yes, that would be a sound argument," the older woman agreed. "If, in fact, your name was Morgan, too."
Emmeryn looked up at her aunt with wide eyes, the mark of Naga shining in her left eye the same as her mother. After a moment of looking into Aversa's eyes with her piercing blue gaze the girl's face softened into a smile. Satisfied now, she spun back and snuggled into Aversa's lap again, hitching the blanket around her shoulders properly once more.
"Yeah, I guess that makes sense," Emm, the child's preferred nickname, agreed.
Robin had confided in Aversa that, even though his daughter was still technically 'Morgan', without Say'ri as the mother it felt somehow wrong to give her the same name. After some serious thought Robin and Lucina had settled on naming her after Lucina's late Aunt, the previous Exalt who had sacrificed herself to end the war with Plegia before it even began.
"You're really smart, Auntie Aversa," the little girl added with a yawn.
"Yes, be sure to tell your father that when he gets back," Aversa sighed. "But for now, I think it's time for you to go back to bed."
Emm let out a piteous moan, pressing herself further into her Aunt's stomach.
"Can I sleep with you tonight?" she pleaded, looking up at the older woman with those big, wide eyes again. "I miss Mom and Dad…"
Aversa sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose before sighing again.
"Very well," she conceded. "But this is the last time."
Emm let out a victorious sound, hopping up and almost yanking Aversa with her because she had forgotten that the blanket was wrapped around them both. The older woman shrugged the blanket over her head, wrapping Emm in it and giving her a small nudge towards the door with her foot. With a wave of her hand and a small wind spell Aversa extinguished the fire, following after the child.
"I could have done that," Emm complained, looking at the dead fireplace.
"I know you could have," Aversa said with a smirk. "But sometimes your Auntie needs to remind you she's actually a powerful sorceress. Not just your hot-water bottle."
"I knew that already, too!" Emm smiled, grabbing Aversa's hand. "And yeah, I'll tell that to Dad when he gets back as well."
Aversa smiled as she let Emm pull her along, careful not to let the girl actually see her smiling.
"You're learning well, child," she said with a small laugh.
Chrom resisted the urge to grin as a frazzled Lissa shuffled into the main parlour of the Royal Apartments, falling into the reading chair opposite him with an exhausted sigh.
"Now I know why they call it the 'terrible twos'," she groaned, looking over to her brother. "How did you and Sumia deal with it?"
Chrom lost the battle with his facial muscles and broke into a wide grin, shaking his head and chuckling at his sister.
"Honestly, Sumia did most of the work," he admitted. "I think Little Lucina was a little less excitable than Owain by far. Where's Lon'qu, anyway?"
"He's off doing some important Ambassadorial thingy in Regna Ferox," Lissa groaned. "If I could let Owain loose on his father right now, I would."
"That's right! Ah, a shame," Chrom said, feigning disinterest.
Lon'qu had officially taken on the role of Ambassador for Regna Ferox the previous year after four years of playing the part unofficially. The dour man was apparently a terror to behold in regional representative meetings, if what Lissa said was true. It probably didn't help matters that he still insisted on wearing his sword everywhere. Even Chrom opted to leave Falchion in his armoury most days, now, and the Shield of Seals was safely enshrined in the mausoleum beneath the palace again, the gemstones split back up among the nations of the world where they belonged.
"What about Cynthia?" Lissa asked desperately.
Chrom winced, going back to hiding behind the sheaf of reports in his hands.
"I… don't like to talk about it," the Exalt muttered darkly.
It was Lissa's turn to laugh now; both Owain and Cynthia pairs were inseparable, meaning a lot of their quirkier personality traits carried over. Of course, it didn't help their parents that both children had ridiculous amounts of energy, too, or that their future selves seemed insistent on turning their younger selves into clones of themselves. Cynthia was already desperately trying to rope Lucina into becoming a member of her new 'Justice Cabal'.
"I wonder where they get it from?" Lissa asked absently, letting herself relax a little more. "I mean, we were a lot more… subdued than that at their age, right?"
Chrom nodded, sighing and giving up on pretending to read Frederick's meticulous reports.
"I think Mother and Emmeryn were both a calming presence on us," he guessed.
"Yeah…" Lissa agreed, lapsing into silence before perking up again. "But what does that say about us as parents?"
"That we're a lot more fun?" Chrom asked with a shrug, earning a chuckle from his sister.
"Besides," he went on after a moment. "We've both seen how good a job we did raising our kids. Kind of takes the pressure off, right?"
"Yeah, I guess," Lissa agreed half-heartedly.
"I could pull some strings and get Lon'qu back early," Chrom offered.
"Really!?" Lissa asked, perking up in her chair.
"Why does everyone keep forgetting that I'm the Exalt?" Chrom laughed. "Robin did say that I don't abuse my authority enough last time he was here."
Lissa nodded excitedly before her face fell and she let out a sigh, sinking back into her chair.
"It's only another couple of days," she groaned. "And it sounded like a pretty important meeting. Apparently they're planning the next Khan-meet already."
They sat in silence again after that, staring into space. Chrom began to feel himself nodding off, and just as he was about to get up and excuse himself for bed, Lissa said something that cut through the fog of his fatigue like a knife.
"Hey," she ventured tentatively. "Do you… miss the old days? Like, when we were all together, in the barracks and on the road? When… Emm was still alive? And Robin was still here with us?"
Chrom looked at his sister, taken aback by the far-away look in her exhausted gaze for a moment before breaking into another grin.
"Are you asking if I miss marching and the thought of a giant dragon destroying the world?" he asked jokingly.
"You know what I mean," Lissa huffed. "Why do I even try talking to you…?"
Chrom laughed, pretty sure he saw Lissa turn her head to hide the grin on her own face. She could act like an adult, but she was still the same sister he'd always known.
"I do," he admitted at last when he stopped laughing. "I miss our old life. But that's what life is, sis. Robin said it best when he left."
"'Life is just a series of greetings and farewells'," Lissa chuckled, quoting the Shepherds' former tactician. "He said that the night before he left, right? Lucina also promised that it wasn't goodbye forever… I wonder where they are right now?"
"Knowing Robin and Lucina?" Chrom scoffed. "They're probably up to their necks in trouble and are being too stubborn to ask anyone for help. Then, they'll show up when everything blows over all smiles and laughter, just like they always do, telling us more stories of their adventures while we pine for the road again."
Chrom leaned back into his chair, grinning into the fireplace as his thoughts turned to his eccentric amnesiac tactician and his daughter that had come back from the future to save humanity from destruction. An odd pairing, if ever there was one, but one that had his full support. Chrom loved his daughter, no matter what time period she was from, and Robin was like his brother. They were family.
The Exalt ran a hand through his hair, letting out another sigh.
For all his forced cheer, though, he was worried about them. They had gone silent after the school had been destroyed, not contacting anyone for aid. A few others had joined them, apparently, and judging from Frederick's last report Robin had a sizeable group traveling with him now, including a number of Shepherds. However, Frederick's people had lost the group at the Plegian border when they had disappeared once again, becoming lost in the sand-dune sea of Plegia.
"It's frustrating that he didn't come to us for help," Lissa grumbled.
Chrom scoffed, running a hand through his hair as he sat up a little straighter.
"I'm sure a lot of people feel that way right now," the Exalt chuckled.
The Shepherds were a family, in more than one sense of the word. Any and all of them would have jumped, had Robin said the word. Nations' armies would have marched. That was the strength of their bonds. But that was no doubt why Robin wasn't involving the others; knowing his old friend, the tactician was afraid of causing another war so soon after they had finally found peace again.
"What about you?" Lissa huffed.
Chrom started, snapping out of his reverie before he shrugged, grinning self-depreciatingly.
"At this point, it probably helps him most to just stay out of their way. If they need help, they'll ask. All we can do is wait and be ready when the call comes."
Lissa sighed, sinking a little deeper into her chair, her head lolling to one side in exhaustion.
"C'mon, sis," Chrom chuckled again. "You're too old for me to carry you to bed. Go get some rest."
AN2016: This chapter seem familiar? Well it should, because it's from the Interlude and the old Prologue. *sigh* I wanted to have this story done before Fates came out… Oh well. At least I'm working on it again. Sorry about that. I haven't forgotten you all. I've just been busily putting the finishing touches on my first novel. Which is almost done. I'm sure it'll be on, like, the Kindle store or something soon. So look out for it! Yay!
I've also just started a new job working nights, and shifting my body clock is killing me…
So I've finally started playing/reading Clannad's official English release after Kickstarting it last year. This VN is making me feel feelings and I DON'T LIKE IT! A grown-ass man should not cry like this!
EDIT: Couple of little changes made to this chapter. I thought I had already made them, but apparently sleep-deprivation makes me stupid. If it looks like I've missed anything else, or screwed up the timeline again, just let me know in a review or a PM. Cheers!
Remember I'm also doing a podcast? CAB Anime and Gaming Podcast, new episodes fortnightly! Find us on Soundcloud and ITunes!