Chapter 4
"Father, should I be staying here?" Morgan said with a glum expression as they cut vegetables for that night's dinner.
"What do you mean? Did you forget to raise your tent or something?" Lon'qu asked.
"No, I meant here in general. With the Shepards. You know, I was traveling with Mother, not your Mother, but the older Mother, the one that raised me. And surely she must be worried as to where I am. Maybe I shouldn't be messing with the past and should focus on finding Mother. I don't really know...So I thought maybe I should ask for your advice. You know, fatherly wisdom and all that."
Lon'qu finished cutting the onions and turned to watch his son steadily peel the potatoes. The skin fell away in ringlets, just as he had shown him earlier. "So this is what has been bothering you the last couple days?" he said, careful not to betray how out of depth he was at the idea of "fatherly wisdom".
"I mean, I didn't think that much about it until Noire started asking me about my memories and I told her about my time with Mother. I mean the original Mother, no, that sounds bad…" Morgan dropped off to a mumble, furrowing his brow. His frustration became audible in his voice as he chewed on his thoughts out loud.
"Calm down, Morgan." Lon'qu said with a measure of alarm. The last time Morgan had been this upset, he had started crying. Even if the experience had given him some memory of his father, Lon'qu did not think it was worth his son's tears. Morgan regained a grip on himself and nodded.
"Right, okay, let's call her future Mother, that is, the Mother that raised me. So I was telling Noire stories, trying to piece my memory back together. And then I realized I left my poor, sweet future Mother completely by the wayside when I joined Chrom's army! We crossed an ocean, after all- there's no way she would be able to track me down unless she rode dolphins or whales for days on end. So I was thinking maybe I should...go back and find her?" he ended with a rising intonation, looking at his father hopefully.
"Morgan, we're in the middle of a war in Valm, a thousand miles from the coast." Lon'qu said flatly.
"Okay, after the war. Mother says it'll end in another three weeks anyway." Morgan said and the absolute faith in his mother's abilities shone in his eyes.
Lon'qu snorted in amusement. He had joined the Shepards not long after Haura did and had been there since the beginning, when she had still been figuring out her role as a tactician. He remembered how she fretted over her strategies and confessed she had no idea as to what she was doing. Not that he had paid special attention to her that early on! Of course, she had pulled through regardless of what her ego convinced her to believe. But Lon'qu wondered how Morgan, who saw the calm, collected, and victorious tactician of the Shepards, would react to Haura pacing in their tent, falling on the bed to make frustrated unintelligible noises, and then whacking Lon'qu with pillows when he told her to stop complaining.
His wife could be like a child at times, determined to wallow in her own misery.
He turned back to the cutting board, pulling out the dried ginger, and said with nonchalance, "Since we all have to wait until the end of the war, if you want to search for your mother, I will go with you. I am sure Haura will insist on joining as well."
"That sounds great- wait, but, what about rebuilding after the Valm Empire falls? And the gemstones and the Fire Emblem? Father, I'm not indispensible like the army tactician or best swordsman. You can't go off with me!" Morgan exclaimed.
The knives were getting dull, Lon'qu noticed, and made a mental note to look over the sharpness of all the blades later. The inventory was well managed by people like Cordelia and Frederick, but it was too easy to grow complacent to their dutiful natures. Lon'qu refused to be part of the slothful problem.
"Father, are you listening to me? You don't have to come with me."
"But I wish to come. I confess, I am curious and would like to meet this future version of Haura. And maybe we will learn something about your amnesia. My real question, though, is why you seem so insistent on leaving us. And don't make excuses." he said as Morgan opened his mouth too quickly. "If your mother cannot evade my concern, you certainly have no chance." Lon'qu said, looking over his shoulder with a stern gaze.
Morgan's knife slipped and he narrowly avoided cutting his finger as he looked up with distressed eyes. "Do I really have to tell you?" he said, deflating.
"No." Morgan was taken aback. Lon'qu had not finished, however. "But I would like it if you did. I am your father, after all."
"Well, when you put it like that… when I first joined the Shepards, it was a lot of fun, getting to know Mother and you and getting to make so many new friends and experiences. But recently, probably after Khan Basilio's death, something's been changing. ...Sorry for bringing that up again, Father."
Lon'qu knew what Morgan could only vaguely describe. The night the news was delivered by a grieving Flavia, he had felt the earth give beneath him. Living on the battlefield, Lon'qu would have thought he had accepted that death always lurked around the corner. But the sheer impossibility of his idol, his khan, the man he secretly thought of as his father, being gone forever created a fog that descended on his mind and body. Only once Haura had come over and put a hand on his shoulder did he realize he stood over a pile of destroyed training dummies with a snapped practice sword in hand and sweat running down his brow. She had stayed up with him the entire night, despite his listless protests that she needed rest, holding him. He had just buried his nose into the swell of her chest, shaking. Haura had run her hands again and again down his head and back and murmured into his hair while crying occasionally, "We're still here. I'm here for you."
But this was not about him and Lon'qu's momentary distress was quickly tamped down with practiced stoicism. "It is of no matter. Continue."
"Right. Well, the other children have been so worried after Lucina's prediction came true. They all remember their past and are working so hard to prevent it, and now they're all wondering if nothing has changed. Noire seems especially nervous whenever I try and talk to her now. She won't even look at me in the eye and snapped at me the other day when I tried to bring up butterfly catching. It feels like I don't really belong with them any more." Morgan let it out all in a nervous babble. He was usually full of energy and to see it be channeled into this frenetic worry that achingly reminded Lon'qu of his mother.
"And I feel bad trying to take up all of Mother's time just to get her to teach me tactics when she's been so stressed recently. And everytime I'm with you, I just feel like I need to get my memory back, like I've forgotten something really, really important to me. My memory doesn't bother me like this normally. Not to mention Severa's been saying something about kids not intruding on the honeymoon of all our parents and you just got married-"
"I think I understand now." Lon'qu cut Morgan off, before he would be subject to deep embarrassment from his own child. He walked over to sit by his son's side. They sat in silence for a small while as Lon'qu gathered his feelings into thoughts into words. His hand went reflexively to his hair, carding it in restless strokes.
"Your friends are just blinded by fear at the moment. It does not mean they do not want you around. I have also been at fault. I am... not the best at expressing my affection. But never think for a moment that Haura and I don't want you by our side. If you want to seek out your future Mother, we would be happy to go with you. Even if you decide to leave to seek your own life, you will always be our son and will have a place with us. You don't have to force yourself to remember me. Memories are as much a blessing as a burden, Morgan. They are not a requirement for us to want you in our lives."
Morgan surprised Lon'qu by dropping his potato and knife to hug his father and bury his face in Lon'qu's chest. His father put a steady hand on his back and patted his head awkwardly. Morgan's voice, slightly muffled by the fabric, wafted up. "...maybe not as eloquent as Mother, but I got the message. My fears sure sounded silly there, didn't they?"
"They always sound foolish when you speak them out loud. It doesn't make conquering them any less difficult." Lon'qu said, thinking back to his own fears. Morgan let go, careful to wipe his eyes on his sleeve, before making red-rimmed eye contact with his father.
"Right, maybe we'll go after the whole problem with Grima is settled." he said, picking up the potato and knife out of the dirt. "It will be like a family vacation after the war, just the three- well, maybe four of us! You are going to make me eventually, right?"
"Nngh-! Morgan, that's none of your business!"
They fell into comfortable silence afterwards as Morgan concentrated intensely on his peeling, hardly even looking up when Haura came by and greeted them. She wore a somber expression, her usual nowadays, but her expression brightened up when she saw her family. Haura touched her husband's shoulder and when he turned around, she went up on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. Lon'qu looked embarrassed but since Morgan was the only one around, he only grumbled a little.
"Wow, you're really going at the tubers. Your father's handiwork, no doubt." Haura commented. Lon'qu gave a grunt of assent. She walked over to ruffle Morgan's hair. "Can't wait to try your cooking tonight, kiddo."
"That's right, you've never eaten my cooking before. Isn't this exciting? Some of the best memories I have with you was setting the table up and rounding up your dinner." Morgan exclaimed.
"'Rounding up?' Was I dining on squirrels or something?" Haura replied, amused.
"I'm sure it was something...bigger." Morgan tried to think back to it, frowning and pursing his lips.
"Perhaps your hunger for bearmeat led you to gluttony." Lon'qu said over his shoulder and Haura elbowed him in the back.
"Not everyone eats like an ascetic like you. How do you expect to build any muscles if you keep shoveling your meat to me? Don't think I didn't notice!" Haura retorted. And there they went, Morgan thought with a smile. As his parents continued their mock-bickering, with a warm teasing lilt in Haura's voice and a lopsided smile from his father, Morgan racked his mind for more memories of this supposed meal.
He remember the action of serving, of trapping some animals to be killed for the meal, the praise of his mother for his cooking, but the details ran fuzzy. Morgan would have feared that he was only making up the entire memory, had he not clearly remembered his mother's pleased expression before the meal.
As he tried to imagine what the food and table looked like, rather than the customary roaring whiteness of no memory, pain began to assault the front of his head, much like when he banged his head against a post. Even when he tried to let it go, the ache persisted and he could not stop thinking about that table of vast flat stone and spiraling columns that led to an overcast sky. As he cast his thoughts upwards, to thoughts of clouds crackling with lightning, the image of a bolt flew down and a migraine split his head in pain. He groaned as he doubled over, bright spots flying in his vision.
"Morgan!" His father and mother's voices called out. Something sounded off. Everything felt far away. And Morgan let go, sinking into darkness.
She stood in front of him, covered in dirt and minor wounds, but cocky. Unbridled enthusiasm seemed to radiate off her form as she swung her sword and announced her presence. And she knew his name and lineage. Even her voice seemed warm and familiar. He was suspicious.
"Hold your lines!" He commanded and the undead armies behind him paused in confusion. They stood there swaying stupidly and cocking their heads with little understanding of the situation. Morgan hated them, the way they smelled, the way they moved, and how they massed together. He infinitely preferred the Grimleal, although boring and trite in their fervor, at least they were alive and mentally cognizant.
And this girl. The humans that Mother worked so hard to extinguish fascinated Morgan with their bodies full of contradictions and their minds full of spirit. Of course he would do anything to make Mother happy, but Morgan could not help being curious. He was a child in a sandbox of bugs, fascinated by how they scurried around and squirmed under his boot.
"Who are you? How do you know my name?" He demanded, pulling his hood back so to face her properly. Morgan approached cautiously, keeping out of range of her sword and with one hand on his tome.
"Your face even looks like mine!" she exclaimed in delight and Morgan unconsciously raised a hand to touch his face. The few mirrors around the Dragon's Table had long been cracked, but as Morgan traced the planes of his face with his gloved hand, he did feel as if he was seeing his reflection for the first time in years.
"Is this some sort of trick? I won't hesitate to cut you down, even if you do have a passing resemblance of my face."
"Don't say that! Our meeting would have been too short then. I have been looking for you for a long time. We are not enemies, Morgan. I think you know who I am." she said and stepped forward. The Risen behind Morgan stirred.
Morgan had never felt so intimidated by a single human before. "You're crazy. You're with them, Naga's brood. And I will never betray Moth- Master Grima! So we are enemies." he said with defiance.
"Oh, you don't have to pretend. We both know who our mother really is- or, rather, what she really is. Father was terrible at keeping secrets. How is Mother by the way? Angry? Full of hellfire and stale dragonbreath?" Every word this girl said drove a spear of uncertainty and confusion into Morgan's heart. How did she know? The Risen behind him could sense it and they started to move restlessly.
"...what is your name?" he asked again.
"Maybe the lack of social conditioning in your upbringing is making this harder for you. I can't imagine you got out much when you were so busy razing towns instead of talking to people." the girl said flippantly as she walked straight up to Morgan and grabbed his wrist, preventing him from casting a spell. Her eyes, Morgan noticed, were the same shape as Mother's, but without the searing red glow. Then she smiled and it was achingly nostalgic. His right side of his ribs, where the sacred Brand of Grima marked him, burned hot. "Do you see now?"
"...You are a daughter of Grima." The words came without Morgan having to think. The girl, his sister, frowned.
"I'd rather emphasize our paternal relation. But yes, I am-"
"Marc, daughter of Lon'qu and Haura-" Morgan breathed as his tome fluttered to the floor and his other hand went to her face, tracing out familiar features in the air.
"Your twin sister." she finished with a little expression of surprise as she released his wrist. "You did know me, you shrimp. And here I was, pulling all the dramatics to keep you from killing me before I could finish speaking."
"I could never-" Morgan started firmly and then stopped, "Perhaps I considered it. But, how and where- gods, I have so many questions. I mean, it makes perfect sense. Wait, no, it doesn't. But I know you-"
They leaned in simultaneously and gently rested their foreheads against each other. The contact felt reassuring and a little chuckle escaped Morgan's lips. Marc returned the laugh and soon they were clutching each other's shoulders, snorting and chortling.
"This is so strange. Do you understand? I feel like I've-"
"-known you my entire life. And yet we just met!" Marc finished and Morgan's grin was infectious. Their hair, the same shade of black, mingled together.
Behind them, the Risen, who only saw Morgan's disarmament, rumbled and charged forward. In a fluid movement, they both leapt back, Marc's sword coming up to defend.
With a hiss of flashing steel, Marc cut down the first Risen that reached her. The next came at her with a lance and she could only dodge backwards. "Undead dastards." she snarled. Out of instinct, she and Morgan fell shoulder to shoulder.
"Stop!" Morgan shouted, grabbing another tome out of his coat. When they still came, Morgan shot several large swaths of waste magic into the crowd. The Mark of Grima trailed out of the purple smoke and the Risen froze in place, looking dumbly at where several of their fellows had collapsed into dust.
"Does commanding them to stop work? Do they even understand speech?" Marc stage-whispered as they watched the Risen warily. They looked around in confusion before marching back into their lines, red eyes watching Morgan for commands. With a sigh, Morgan relaxed and slipped the tome back into his coat.
"I think so? I was testing it out one day but Mother told me to stop playing with the undead army and make her dinner, so I never did figure out." Morgan said with a straight face.
Marc stared at him in disbelief as she hesitantly sheathed her sword. "Right…and what is your mess duty like? Stewing humans in a cauldron? Roasting Risen on a spit?"
"She like the occasional baby pegasus baked into a pie." Morgan said with a laugh, finally standing at ease. Marc could not tell if he was messing with her or not. "But come, you must meet Mother! Think of all the years we'll have to make up. She would be so pleased, to have us both and the end of humanity all in one night. You will love her. She's the most brilliant tactician ever-"
"Morgan!" The playfulness was gone from Marc's eyes. "I can forgive you because you never had a chance to know better. But what she did to us, to Father-"
"What is there to forgive? It's Mother." Morgan said simply before latching on to another idea with excitement, "Oh, you should bring Father too! He's not dead, is he? I'm sure Mother would love to see him again-"
"Just...just listen." Marc said and all her swagger and bravado had vanished. She bit her lip the same way Morgan did when he was nervous. Trying to appear less confrontational, she held out her palms as to beseech him. "Mother- no, Grima is trying to destroy the world. She was the one who had Papa murdered, among millions of others. Whatever she brainwashed you to believe, it's hogwash. She's the embodiment of the world's suffering. You can't keep following her blindly like this."
Morgan turned his head to stare out to the army of Risen, avoiding Marc's desperate eyes.
"...Come on, Marc. I hope I didn't come off as being utterly dull to my twin." Morgan said and the weight of his voice turned heavy. For the first time, Marc could see her father in Morgan, from the crease of his brow to the tense way he held his shoulders, as if an immense weight rested on his collarbone. Then he smiled like she did when she wanted to shake the cobwebs of the world off her back. "I know Mother's done awful, awful things. When I was younger, I got really, really mad at her sometimes. Once I tried to befriend a kid in a village like I had read about in the books and she made me burn their houses and turn them into Risen. I don't like the Risen, Marc. They smell bad and can't do much else than kill things. And they're not really that good at that either."
The Risen in front of them did not even bat an eye at Morgan's cheerful hatred of them.
"Then you should have left and come find me! I spent my entire life looking over my shoulder for you, you know." Marc's voice rose an octave and Morgan turned to watch her expressions with great interest.
He had not realized how much every tic of the eye and parting of the lips contributed to a mesmerizing portrait of vitality. Marc's expressions were not limited to the Grimleal's adulating fear or the villager's terror of death. Her face was a breath of fresh air. After all, Mother rarely wore her avatar's form nowadays and it was awfully hard to tell any emotion apart from her ever permanent rage when her jaws were bigger than his body.
Morgan laughed at her logic. "How should I have found you though? I had no idea where Father was and that you even existed. Believe me, I poked through the corpses for a while, until I realized I did not know what Father looked like. And I didn't want to go into the big cities like Ylisstol after I was almost lynched the last time. I don't belong in the human realm after being raised by a dragon. But Mother loves me and teaches me tactics. I owe her so much. If I leave, who would set the table for her and round up the sacrifices for her? What kind of a son would I be then?" Morgan said and shot Marc an apologetic smile.
Marc looked conflicted, torn by her repulsion, outrage, and distress. Then her face settled into this one peculiar emotion and it took Morgan a second to realize Marc was worried on his behalf. It was a nice feeling.
His hand moved before he realized it and he grasped the crook of her elbow, where the sleeve ended and the gauntlet had not yet begun. Through his gloves he could feel how cool and firm her skin was, especially with the muscle underneath, not slimy like a Risen or rubbery like a corpse.
She looked at him as he looked at his hand and then brought her arms up to loop around his shoulders. Marc seemed to be latching onto him and Morgan stayed still, one arm crushed up between the armor on their chests and the other awkwardly hovering with tome in hand behind her back.
"Marc, um, are you okay?" he whispered in her ear.
"Just relax. I'm giving this hug to you because you're the one that's not okay. You stupid, self-sacrificing bastard of a brother. You're as stupid as Papa. And Mama. And me." Marc murmured. "I'll be here for you now. Forever. So you don't have to go back to that horrid dragon."
"Marc, Mother is all seeing. She must already know-"
"Morgan, listen to me. Naga's opened a portal back into time, to prevent our Mother from turning into Grima, to change the world's future to peace rather than the end of all life. Do you get it now? If we go back, if you leave this world's Mother, we'll have a human Haura who will love you and won't ask you to kill people on her behalf. And you'll get to meet Papa who is the best father in the world and he will love you-what's wrong?"
"No, no, you have to go." Morgan said as he broke out of her arms to stumble back a couple steps. His levity had vanished completely. "Go- join the rest of Naga's children. You're not safe here with me."
"I just said I wouldn't leave you behind ever again. Morgan, there's nothing to fear from the past. Everything is better over there, unblemished and still full of hope. And we can change this future! The Marc and Morgan of then will never have to part." Marc pleaded. As she stepped forward, Morgan retreated a couple steps again. His face had completely closed off to her, just like Papa's whenever Marc has asked him about the past, and Marc wanted to shake him in frustration.
So she did.
"Marc-augh! What are you-" Morgan cried out in genuine distress as his twin sister grabbed him by the front of his coat and shook him hard once or twice before knocking their heads together.
"Naga help me, I will drag you through that gate! We're all in the same hell, being burnt by the same flames, don't you realize? We can't eat, breathe, or shit without the fell dragon's shadow looming over us. You are not going back to that 'thing' that birthed us and just becoming another disposable tool for her to use and ignore. I can't allow my last piece of family to do that to himself." She spat out. Morgan looked up at his sister's searching eyes and scowling mouth. She was treating him like a dream gone wrong, one that she did not quite know how to deal with. Yet behind all that bluster and anger, he could see her fear as clearly as she could see his. He put his hand on hers, bunched up in the cloth of his shirt.
"Marc, I can't just leave with you. That Mother in the past, before she had us or accepted her Heart of Grima, isn't my mother or yours. I still have my mother. And I cannot abandon her. But you should go and find the people who became our Father and Mother and stop her from becoming Grima. And then the Morgan of that world will never have to make the decisions I made and continue to make." Morgan said and then smiled as he loosened her fingers one by one. "Go. I'll keep Mother from reaching you before the gate closes. If you stay, she'll consume you as well."
"It wasn't supposed to be like this." Marc dropped her hands and the pressure of her forehead on his increased as she sunk down a little. "We weren't supposed to meet and then part again. You're my twin. I can't leave you in her grip, in this hopeless situation by yourself."
Morgan's smile faded completely as he stared up into her dark eyes and he whispered, voice thick with emotion, "And because we are twins, from the same root, you understand why I can't flee. We are children of the fell dragon. There is nothing else. Now, let me help you and I'll distract her as you go for the gate."
"No. I've made my decision. I'll stay with you."
Morgan recoiled back as his face lost all color. "No- Marc, what are you going to try?"
"I thought you'd rejoice at me joining the Grimleal. Didn't you just say I should meet Mother? We're both children of Grima- where else could we belong?" Marc said and reached out a hand. Morgan looked at her and saw a crow's gleam, a trickster's eye in that steady gaze.
"Nothing I say will change your mind, huh?" he replied and took her hand in his. For that brief moment, as their eyes met, Morgan felt a doubt flare up to life and wondered if the ache in his heart was his own selfish desire for a comrade, a companion, a sister.
Marc smiled. "Just like nothing I say will change yours. Family stubbornness." Their chests rose as they took in a breath and the burn of smoky air matched the itch of their Marks. They stood to face the fell dragon that swam in the sky towards them.
She deposited her human vessel on top of the Risen army, crushing them all with the expiration that rained down with her. Morgan and Marc stood firm, palms sweaty as the resulting shock wave washed over them. Grima stood up amid the evaporating smoke, a small figure in the distance.
Morgan kneeled, but Marc had frozen in place in shock. She looked barely human with the gleaming scales running down her skin and the way her red draconic eyes glowed bright enough to make her hair glisten like firelight. The angles of her body were too sharp, from her jaw to her shoulders. But even under the veneer of inhumanity, Marc saw herself in her mother, from the way she strode across the ground to the way her hair fell across her back. She was familiar like Morgan, but in a way that Marc could distinguish as unique. This was not her wanting to find the missing part of herself- this was wanting to become small and safe behind the edge of her father's coat.
Grima stepped forward, black robes gilded in crimson and gold billowing, and Marc tried to step back, but Morgan's hand held her in place. Then, Grima warped in a flash of light and she solidified into being right in front of Marc.
Morgan noticed Mother was smaller than Marc as well. It did not stop Marc from bending her knees, shrinking into herself in front of Grima. Morgan squeezed her hand and he got to his feet slowly.
"Mother." They said at the same time, Morgan in familiar deference, Marc in a choked breath.
"So this is why you have been tarrying, Morgan." she said with her voice filled with ice before cocking her head and turning to Marc. "But oh, I can see why."
She pushed herself closer, nose inches from Marc's chin. Her eyes burned into Marc's and Marc trembled. It was as if Grima's every exhale washed acid across her cheeks. Then Grima smiled, lips pulled back to show her teeth.
"Child of mine, I knew you would come to me one day. My precious daughter, Marc. Show me how you have grown from a babe to this."
"Is it really you?" she croaked as she raised a shaking hand to reach for her mother.
Grima seized her wrist and pulled her close even as Marc raised her chin and tried to recoil back. The fell dragon's avatar smelled of poison, sulfur, and decay.
"Come, let me see your brand. Let me purify you in my flames." She purred into the shell of her ear and her free hand trapped between their bodies opened the collar of her father's old robe.
"Wait, Master Grima, she can't-" Morgan exclaimed and Marc could hear the fear in his voice, magnifying her own.
Grima ignored him as her nails scraped a line down Morgan's bound breast. Marc felt her body shrivel at her touch and her voice was stuck in a lump within her throat. Then her mother pushed the heel of her palm against the Mark of Grima.
"Mother, no-!" Morgan gasped as the brand came alive underneath the steady pressure of Grima's hand, searing through Marc.
Marc screamed. Her heart constricted, her eyes bulged, and her blood ran dizzyingly hot. Black and purple miasma licked her feverish skin and Marc's old wounds split open. The noise around them turned into a empty vacuum of white noise and her ragged breaths filled with void. Grima's triumphant grin swum in Marc's hazy vision as she fell to knees. Morgan had grabbed her elbow and his strong fingers digging into her skin was the only thing she could focus on throughout the pain.
"Shame I did not have you at the beginning. I suppose that is all the power you can hold with your thinning blood. I blame the useless man Haura chose to lie with- not a hint of cursed blood within him." Grima mused as Marc gasped and her hand clawed at her cloth covered chest. She needed to breathe but all her lungs could suck in was the poison fog. Morgan bowed his head and held his sister in his arms, muttering soothing phrases in her ear.
"Don't...insult him." Marc choked out as cold sweat dripped off her forehead and she struggled even to raise her head to look at her mother.
Grima ignored her and stepped past them.
"I'm here, Marc. Don't let your heart fight it- you'll hurt yourself and forget who you are. She gave you a portion of her power, binding it to our shared blood. Try to take deep breaths and let it settle in you." Morgan explained in a hushed tone and Marc's mind was filled with terrifying images of Morgan writhing on black marble floors by himself. That alone nearly made her vomit.
Grima's gaze turned to Naga's temple and she raised one arm with her trailing sleeve billowing in the air. There was a mighty roar and the fell dragon reared up. Grima watched with satisfaction as it shot a giant blast of purple flames towards the temple. Inside there were screams as the front wall and doors were blown apart, and debris caught on fire.
Then a brilliant column of light shot up into the sky, parting the storm clouds for the first time in months. The dragon rumbled in agitation as it shied away from it. The column flickered and then dissolved but they could all hear the eerie whistling noise, like wind along a long empty plain combined with the buzzing of ancient magic. Marc, who had finally gotten her throbbing heart under control even as her forehead was drenched in cold sweat, looked behind her to where the gate had opened. Its white light was visible even from here and she could see Lucina and the others now sprinting for the passageway. Risen, attracted to the light like moths, had also come from other streets, now unhampered by the fallen walls, and had started to pursue them.
"This little charade ends now, Naga. They will burn where they stand." Grima hissed to herself and her hand spread open. Above them, the dragon's mouth glowed purple and Marc could see her friends had formed a rearguard to beat back the Risen as Lucina charged alone. Even from this far, she could see the slender open stance of an archer, directly in line of fire. Grima raised her head, jaws agape-
Marc did not have to watch to know they would not make it through in time.
"Damn...you." Marc croaked. Morgan realized too late what she was doing as she broke out of his grip, her hand flying to her sword hilt.
"No-" Morgan scrambled up even as Marc rushed forward and she drew her sword in an arc to slash at Grima's side. It ripped through layers of her robe to scrape against Grima's scaled hide. Marc did not stop and, with a wild scream, she thrusted her sword forward again and again, nicking Grima's shoulder, legs, arms, torso, trying to find a weak point-
"This is Lon'qu's technique. A flurry of hits like a rain of meteors aiming for as many vital points as quickly as possible. Morgan, study closely. Your bladework could stand to be better." Grima said, not even turning around as Marc's sword jabbed into her back, only to deflect off some ridge off her shoulder blade. Marc roared.
"Don't you dare speak his name, you worm-!"
Then she swung for Grima's head and her sword snapped against Grima's neck. The broken tip flew off and embedded itself in the ground. Marc's eyes went wide as Grima tilted her head back and, to Marc's horror, she grinned.
"What a disappointment. You do not even have the strength required to take my head. Even with my blood and his teachings, you are but a shadow of your father. And if Morgan could break him-" she leered, "Well, your blood will save you now. It will be the highest honor, don't you think, to be the vessel for the power of a god? Shame your human pride and mind will surely shatter underneath it."
Grima stepped forward and the air pressure around them increased, smothering Marc's breath. She remembered the pain that small dose of Grima's essence had brought her. Fighting to swallow her panic, she gripped her broken sword and settled in a defensive position. "No...I will not let you win. And I will not let you use me to bring despair to the past. You can't...keep me down!" Marc said as she fought the tremendous urge to crumple before Grima's presence.
Then, there was the telltale hiss of magic behind her. Marc could barely turn her head in time to see Morgan, his outstretched arm wreathed with yellow sigils and his face bloodless. With a thunderous crack, purple lightning pierced her body.
Morgan saw Marc's lips part as if she wanted to say something. Then her body gave out and she fell face forward onto the ground.
"She attacked you." Morgan said blankly as he lowered his arm. The tome fluttered out of his limp hand. "I killed her. And Father. He was that strange man that wouldn't attack me at the Table, who cut down the Grimleal with that same move. And I-!"
Morgan dropped to his knees. His hands shook as he clutched his head and bowed over the fallen body of his sister. Then he keened, full of agony and grief, a wail to the heavens.
Grima looked away with condescension etched in all of her features. In the brief moment of distraction, the children had entered and disappeared into the white light of the gate.
"So that was her ploy… pathetic. I will simply have to kill those brats of Naga in the past." Grima growled.
She turned back to Morgan who remained stricken by his sister's side. When she called his name, he did not stir. With her boot, she nudged her dead daughter's shoulder with distaste.
"What a waste of my blood. With the two of you, I could have gnawed on your strengths in the past long enough to avoid all the limitations of this pathetic human body." she mused. Then, because she could afford to wait no longer, she raised her voice into a command, "Morgan, you will take responsibility for that now."
Morgan still did not move as he shivered in the dirt by Marc's body.
Grima strolled over and crooned, "Or perhaps you wish to kill me now after learning what I made you do?" She bent down to place both her hands on Morgan's cheeks and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Morgan closed his eyes and, gripping Grima's hands for steadiness, he rose to his feet. He breathed one shallow breath before opening his eyes to see his Mother's glinting red ones. Grima could see the hollowness in his gaze and she relished in it.
"I will take all your power and safeguard it. Let us go to the past together, Mother." Morgan said and Grima's smile widened.
"Accept my boon, my love, and my life, then." Her hands pulled off Morgan's tactician's coat, letting it pool to the ground around his feet, pushed up his shirt, and placed one ice cold hand against his Mark of Grima. Morgan closed his eyes and welcomed the darkness.
Morgan woke up covered in sweat in a dusty caravan. Judging from the jangling pots, pans, and food materials around him, he must be in the convoy's train. "What a dream." he said to himself as he rolled into a crouching position, careful not to hit any of the hanging pots.
"Oh, you're awake…" Noire said. Morgan turned to see her sitting underneath a blanket with several wadded up handkerchiefs by her side. "You've been asleep for the whole morning."
"The whole morning? But the last thing I remember was cooking dinner with Father…Wow, I don't think I've ever managed to sleep that long!" Morgan exclaimed as he rubbed his eyes. "What are you doing here then?"
"I don't know if passing out that long is a good thing…" Noire muttered. "I was getting dizzy from the sun, so Haura told me to come rest in here with you. ...um, how are you feeling, by the way?"
"Great! Well, hungry. And sort of dizzy too, now that you mention it. There's this weird ache in my chest as well and I had the most bizarre dream-"
"I think you should lie down again!" Noire exclaimed in a nervous flutter.
"But I want to tell Mother about my visions! There was all this weird stuff like these giant green-purple rooms filled with broken mirrors and these red eyes. Creepy, right? Maybe it's a hint to the future or to Grima's resurrection! And I saw Father again- fighting the Risen! It was definitely future Father too, because he looked a lot older. Angrier too. And there was this girl with a broken sword that was there that scolded me. A lot. And it was strange because I was kind of looking through her eyes for part of the dream," Morgan babbled on.
Noire pulled her knees up and pressed her back into the wagon side, as if trying to fade into the scenery. Morgan fell silent to ponder the thought and then he noticed Noire's discomfort.
"What's wrong? You look really pale! Should I get a healer?"
He reached out a hand to feel Noire's forehead and Noire recoiled. "You look like her." she whimpered.
Morgan withdrew his hand, hurt. "Sorry…I didn't mean-" he mumbled.
"It's not your fault. Or maybe it is. I don't understand anything anymore!" Noire said, pulling her blanket close to her chest and shaking her head. "You said you lost your memory and yet you have these weird visions that sound exactly like our future. And when I asked Mother about it, she said your memory is gone the same way Haura's is, into a darkness even she can't pull you out of. And I just assumed that had to do with the future we came from and what happened with Marc- and you look just like her but you don't even know who she is!" The last part came out as a sob.
Morgan was completely bewildered but tried his best to calm Noire down.
"Hey, it's going to be okay. I promise it's going to be okay."
His comforting phrases had the opposite effect. "You even talk like her. She made me promise to never tell anyone about your existence, but you were the one that came through the gate. I tried to put it out of my mind when we met because you had no memories but I just keep thinking back to that day more and more nowadays. Why are you here and she's...dead?" Noire ended with a whimper. It was as if a great dam had burst, and all the anxiety and stress Noire had built up over the last couple months rushed out all at once until she was dry of anything aside from crippling sadness.
Morgan searched long and hard for words even as his heart sank. Father had been wrong about him belonging here. Noire's words had sharpened the image of Marc in his mind, even as Morgan became sure he had never truly forgotten in the first place. After all, he knew now that perpetual ache in the hollow of his right chest belonged to her.
Marc had been by all the other children's sides, had fought Grima with them, and had laid down her life to protect them. Surely his sister could not have been so blind as to misinterpret Noire's feelings. And it would not just be Noire. Morgan remembered all the times he brushed off the strange gazes from Nah, Cynthia, Severa, and even Owain.
"I don't know why I'm here and she's not. I still don't remember much about what happened, like what I was doing at the time or what happened after I met Marc. It's all just a strange muddle of feelings. I can't even remember clearly what we talked about. But after last night, I can say with certainty that I know Marc better than I know my own past. Noire, Marc must have loved you as much as you did her and that's why she stayed behind, right? To make sure you could all get to this past safely." As Morgan said each word, he became more sure. "She wanted a future for all of you. To live in moments apart from the fell dragon. Marc would stand proudly by the side of the people she loved until her death, even if she didn't agree with them. At least...that's what I dreamed."
"...you are not so different, Morgan." Noire said softly.
Morgan looked up at her with wide eyes. And then he smiled with that soft chuckle of his. "Well, we are two halves of a whole, you know."
"I had known Marc since she was a little kid, trailing behind Sir Lon'qu's coat. She wanted nothing more than to meet you, she told me. I'm glad she got her wish. ...I'm sorry, Morgan. I shouldn't have unloaded all that on you. I really am grateful that you are here with us as… well, as cheerful and courageous you, with or without your memory." Noire said with a hesitant look in her eyes. "Can you forgive me?"
"Of course! Thank you for talking with me. It's good to hear I'm not completely flying off my rocker. Mother always says being a good tactician means you have to listen to your comrades and help them through mentally as well as physically. And you're my friend, Noire, even if you like my sister a bit better than me."
"Morgan, that's not-" Noire exclaimed, but they were both interrupted by the loud grumble coming from Morgan's stomach. Morgan started laughing first and Noire joined in with a nervous giggle.
"Are you awake in there?" Lon'qu's voice penetrated through the canvas flap. "How are you feeling?"
Morgan poked his head out to see his father walking beside the wagon wheels. "Much better! And I'm starving. I can't believe I missed our father-son dinner last night. And Papa, I remembered another memory of you- and I know you said it isn't important- but it's still pretty exciting, right?" Morgan rambled.
Lon'qu raised his eyebrow at his new title of address; Morgan had never called him 'Papa' before and it brought a faint smile to Lon'qu's face. "We'll have more opportunities in the future. Haura was worried sick about you. And all the Shepards have asking after you, especially the mothers-" Lon'qu suppressed a shudder. It had to be some instinct that meant all of them knew of Morgan's collapse by dinner time and caused them all to swarm upon him. He had snapped and fled the mess tent last night in an embarrassing display. Dismissing the memory, he addressed Morgan again, "If you feel well enough to walk, we can catch up to her and get you fed."
"I'll be back, Noire! Do you want something to eat?" Morgan called behind him.
"I'll be here…away from the sun. And no, I don't really share your tastes in food." Noire said glumly.
"Well, okay, you'll be missing out on prime leftover hardtack. I might even treat myself to Mother's week old bear jerky." Morgan said as he leapt down from the wagon. His father grabbed his shoulder to steady Morgan as his stiff legs nearly gave out.
"I am lucky to have such a courageous son." Lon'qu said with a snort. Then, without warning, Morgan threw his arms around his father's shoulders. Lon'qu pulled him slightly off his feet as he hugged him back. "Nightmares?" he murmured.
"Sort of. You were right. She didn't hate me. None of them do. Oh, Papa…She'll never get to hug you like this so I thought- no, I just am glad you're here with me. And all the Shepards. I'm just so relieved." Morgan blubbered into Lon'qu's collar.
His father was confused but simply patted Morgan on the back before setting him down. "Nightmares are nothing so easily dismissed. But chin up and clear your head. I'm here for you."
Morgan rubbed the tears away from his eyes. "And I'm here for you too. I'll be here for everyone. I'm going to take this new, blank slate and run with it. A chance of infinite possibilities." Morgan said adamantly and Lon'qu was taken aback. In comparison to the depressed state he had been yesterday, Morgan burned with newfound energy today, as if his ambition had been rekindled and the light in his eyes reflected a new resolve.
The impatient passion that seemed to fill his being now was not unfamiliar to Lon'qu at all. He smiled down at his son. Morgan grinned back, knowing Marc, like himself, had loved the way her father's eyes crinkled at the edges.
"Your mother is waiting. Come."
A/N:
And that's a wrap (well, there's a short heart-wrenching epilogue, but I thought I'd let you stew on this monster of a chapter for a bit)! It's the longest chapter by far, outstripping Chapter 2 by five pages.
This entire chapter is a lot of Morgan which proved to be rather challenging at times. One of the running themes of the story really was choice and self-sacrifice, especially in the context of future and past, and Morgan takes that with his relationship with Grima to a whole different level of intensity. I thought it was important that Morgan makes the choice to follow Grima, which was one of the many inspirations for this fic, that he be an actor, not a victim of Grima. Marc also is an actor, not a victim, although it may not look that way! I'll let you draw your own conclusions. ^^
Thank you for reading and coming on this wild ride with me. I certainly only intended for this to be a one-shot and not spiral into a giant exploration of the fell dragon family. Let me know how you took it! I want to hear your comments. ^^ Until the epilogue!