Scene 2: Day

"Lucina."

She looked to the entrance of her tent as her younger sister walked in.

Without preamble, Kjelle declared seriously, "I think Morgan is in love with me."

Lucina felt the distinct sensation of a piece of the world tipping over, as if a boulder somewhere had finally received the last push it needed to go tumbling down the steep mountain.

"Why do you think that?" Lucina asked.

Kjelle sat down nearby, making herself comfortable for this visit. For once, she wasn't wearing the entire set of her usual armor, so Lucina could actually see it when she shrugged her shoulders in response. "He came up to me earlier today and started asking a bunch of questions. He wanted advice on 'strategies for talking to a woman' and 'how to steal the heart of a princess'. I think he was approaching it in basically the same way he'd approach a tactical problem. I guess we all go back to our old crutches when we're facing a new problem."

"Steal the heart of a princess? And that's you?"

"Well, he didn't mention a name. He didn't even say if he was referring to an actual princess. But while he was talking, he kept giving me this sort of weird look. I don't know why, but looking at him, I just got the feeling that he probably meant me."

Lucina pictured Morgan's face in her mind. She didn't know what a "sort of weird look" was supposed to mean, but if Kjelle had her suspicions, Lucina was reluctant to dismiss them. She didn't want to distrust the judgment of her own sister. Not even if she wanted to trust Morgan as well. Not even if just last night he had gazed at the stars with her, kissed her and locked up her heart in the space of one breath.

"And what about you?" Lucina's tone was still steady. She hid how uneasy the prospect of unexpected competition made her. "Did you enjoy his attention?"

"Are you kidding?" If the sword-sharp edge in Kjelle's voice hadn't been obvious enough before, it certainly was now. "I'm engaged already. How do you think I would feel having a different guy flirt with me? I should go back and challenge Morgan to a duel."

"No, no, this army needs to remain united . . ."

She'd delivered speeches about bonds and comrades so often that she could recite one to her sister automatically, practically without thinking about it. That left her mind a little too free to think of other thoughts. What was she going to do about this? Even as she talked Kjelle out of going for a duel, she began questioning if that was maybe something she should do herself.

No, she shouldn't have to duel Morgan, nor did she even want to. But Lucina did want to talk to him, at least.

Hopefully that wouldn't be an overreaction. What was she to him, anyway? She had cared for him for so long that she felt like they'd been together for ages, but in reality, she'd revealed her feelings to him only last night. In fact, she hadn't even stated them explicitly. They were supposed to have been implied.

When it came down to what actually happened, she had done nothing to hold onto him other than exchange two brief kisses. Maybe he hadn't read into them nearly as much as she had. Maybe she didn't really have the right to feel this instinctive hurt in her chest, as if he'd broken a rule that she had never even established.

But then, maybe he really was on the same page as her, and his talk with Kjelle had been innocent. He could be awkward sometimes, and give impressions that he didn't mean to give. In any case, if Lucina questioned him too much she may end up appearing crazy to him. She wondered if she should still go.

What was she thinking?

She was thinking too much, that was what. She was a princess and a warrior. She'd outlived a ruined world and hacked apart hordes of Risen by her blade. Talking to one boy ought to be child's play. And damn it, she should hardly care if he or anyone thought her crazy. She could make her own rules about what crazy even meant.

After Kjelle left, Lucina went on her own to Morgan's tent. The sun was very bright this afternoon, almost hurting her eyes as she walked across camp, but nothing could deter the energy thrumming though her – the spirit of being on a mission. When she reached the destination, even her hand seemed to be filled with a sense of purpose as it rapped on the tent flap.

Several moments passed without response. She called his name a few times but heard nothing.

Logically she should conclude that he wasn't in his tent at the moment . . . but something kept her feet rooted to the spot. No shift had happened in the scenery – not in the air, not the simmering sun, not the immobile tent – but something, something, must have changed. That sense of purpose was giving way to a sense of foreboding.

Setting concerns about rudeness aside, she carefully leaned over until her ear brushed up against the tent flap. When she held still, she could detect the sound of breathing. Quite loud, erratic breathing. No, it was sniffling.

"Morgan," she said.

No answer.

She sighed, and then summoned an unrelenting tone. "Morgan."

"Not now."

Finally, a response had come from inside the tent – and it replaced all her previous worries with new ones. Despite the shortness of his answer, she still noticed that his voice shook.

"Sorry," she muttered, and then barged straight into the tent. As she came in, he rushed to cover his face with his hands, but he wasn't fast enough. She saw it in time – the fact that there were tears running down his face. She'd already suspected as much, but nonetheless it sent a shock through her to see him huddled in a corner of his tent, sniffling and quivering like that.

This is the wrong picture.

Her mind always saw him as unstoppably cheerful. He was meant to be the dazzling daylight to her somber night. Who was he, if he wasn't a living ray of hope?

She shook her head quickly. Those were selfish thoughts to have. She felt upset to see him like this, but she needed to put aside her own distress to assist him with his.

She went to sit next to him. When she placed her arm around his shoulders, he stiffened, but then relaxed a moment later. With slow deliberation he shifted so that his body leaned into hers, and his head rested on her shoulder. She looked at him and couldn't help noticing that his face was flushed, his forehead damp with the exertion of crying.

A hundred questions were dying to be heard, but she kept silent, waiting patiently as his demeanor gradually calmed. It looked almost as if he was falling asleep. Her world seemed to stand still, to disappear in increments and reduce itself until there was nothing else but this place. There had never been anything but the space of this tent and the warmth of the afternoon and the boy she held now. It was a small world, and yet it felt large enough to hold everything in her soul.

"Heh." Morgan's voice eventually filled the quiet, although his eyes remained softly shut. "He asked me to stop crying about it. He said it didn't really matter. But I still can't stop this sadness."

"Who are you talking about?" Lucina mumbled.

"My father."

He released a colossal sigh. Lucina tensed, thinking he might start with tears again, but he merely kept talking. "I don't understand it. All my memories of Mother are clear. I'm sure I loved Father just as much, but I hardly remember a thing about him. Just that one tiny memory of him calling my name and smiling at me. It's better than nothing, sure, but it seems so little compared to how much I've probably lost. I've been trying so hard to remember, but I just can't. It's like grasping at thin air. I . . . I am failing him, Lucina."

"Don't say that." Her grip around him tightened. "No one, least of all your father, considers you a failure."

"I do."

"Gods, no . . . It's not your fault." Her mind searched for the right words to say to him. What would she want to hear if she were in his position? But in asking herself that, she was forced to consider a scenario in which she'd forgotten her own father. That treasure box of childhood memories, the cherished moments that had sustained her spirit during many dark years . . . She couldn't imagine forgetting them all. Her own horror ended up silencing her.

In the end, it was up to him to speak again. "Lucina, can you tell me about my father?"

His question pulled her away from her despairing thoughts. "I've talked so much about him to you already, I'm not sure if I could say anything new. I'd hate to disappoint you."

"Repeat it. Repeat everything. I don't want to forget a thing."

"Very well." Preparing for a long sit-in, she shifted her arm because it was going slightly numb. "The first time I met your father, I was a little girl and my parents had decided to bring me to a meeting of the Shepherds. A lot of the soldiers were in attendance, and a lot of them had brought their children with them too. I remember my first impression of him was . . ."

She tried to tell him everything she knew about his father, summoning all the memories she could. They welled up in her mind in a jumble of images. She talked and talked, and he listened, as her scattered recollections took them back and forth in time.

Finally, she stopped, her voice exhausted. She'd spoken so much that it felt as though a whole world of air had left her chest.

"I love you."

He hadn't moved, gave no warning at all, before making that declaration.

She was caught off guard. "Huh?"

His head had been resting on her shoulder for a long time, but now he finally moved himself so that he could look straight at her, face-to-face. "Why do you look so surprised? I thought you knew already."

"I'm afraid I don't see the logic in you saying 'I love you' after I've spent an hour talking about the character of your father."

"Maybe I like the way you talk."

Gazing into his dark eyes, and seeing the focused way that he stared at her, caused her face to heat up intolerably. She had to look down, at her lap, away from him.

"Will you not say it back to me?" Morgan murmured.

"I . . . I don't even know if you mean it." She'd abruptly remembered the reason she came to his tent in the first place. She'd wanted to ask him about his conversation with Kjelle. But it seemed wildly inappropriate to bring it up now, a surely trivial matter compared to his family distress.

"Of course I mean it. What . . . ?" His question faded, incomplete.

She was still trying to think of a tactful reply when she felt his hand under her chin. His fingers were a bit clumsy, unused to performing this intimate gesture, but exceedingly gentle as he tipped her face up, so that their eyes met again. Apparently able to detect something from her expression, he said quietly, "Tell me what's troubling you."

"It's not important, Morgan."

"All of your thoughts are important to me." His mouth formed a determined frown. "I won't let you out of this tent until you tell me what's on your mind."

"Is that a threat?"

"Um. N-no, I guess not. I wouldn't want you to feel threatened by me . . ."

She winced. She hadn't meant to make him feel as though the tables had turned against him. "Look, I'll tell you, but it's really not a big deal. The original reason I came to visit you was because I wanted to tell you that Kjelle thinks you're in love with her."

With him so near, she could feel his jolt of surprise. "Why?"

"Something about a conversation you had with her. How to steal the heart of a princess? She was concerned you meant her." And Lucina was concerned about him attending to other girls when he'd kissed her only last night – but she decided not to mention this. She'd prefer to keep that thought to herself, even though he'd likely guessed already.

He blushed, but his eyes remained on her. "I was . . . left a little unsure of myself after last night. It was my first kiss, you know? At least as far as I can remember. Well, it's the first that truly counts. And I was kind of worried that I was getting out of my depth. I just, well, I figured we might start going places unfamiliar, and I feared disappointing you along the way. I went to your sister because she's close to you and I hoped that talking to her would give me a better idea of how to talk to you."

Lucina couldn't help raising an eyebrow at this. "I doubt you needed the advice. You didn't have to ask how to steal the heart of the princess because you've already done it. Also, you already seem to be fine with talking to girls."

He shook his head. "No, apparently I am not fine with it, since I gave Kjelle a false impression when I talked to her." He paused. And then, unexpectedly, a warm smile spread over his face. "You're right, though, that it was pretty dumb and unnecessary of me to go to her. You're here now, and I remember that being with you is the easiest thing in the world. Talking with you is like breathing."

Once again, her face grew hot, but this time she kept looking at him, without turning away. "Then I suppose Kjelle also misinterpreted the 'sort of weird look' you were giving her?"

"Huh? I have no idea what she could've meant by that . . . Oh, actually, I guess when I think about it, I might've looked afraid while we were talking. I mean, I was tackling a pretty nervous topic, and Kjelle in general has an intimidating way of carrying herself."

"You're saying that she mistook your look of fear for a look of love?"

He laughed with mild embarrassment. "Why not? There are times when fear and love can feel kind of similar."