ii.
Morgan could feel his sister's warmth through his coat as she pressed her back against his. Her presence gave him strength, and he lifted his killing edge a little higher.
"Be careful, little brother," Lucina said as the Risen crowded in around them. "You're not a swordsman."
Her words weren't unkind, but they stung him nonetheless. Before he could protest, a Risen axman lunged forward with its lumbering bulk; Morgan flashed out his sword and swiped at the clumsy creature's arm. Its wrist was severed, and its hand disintegrated to ash. Before the ax fell to the ground, Morgan spun, using his momentum to slice through the Risen's neck. Its head tumbled off, and its body lost stability, sinking to the ground.
A glint of metal caught his eye, but before the Risen pike-man could stab at his stomach, Lucina darted in and sliced the spear in two before doing the same to the enemy. The princess immediately slid back into a ready stance, keeping her eyes on the undead foes.
"You're not meant to be in the thick of things all the time," Lucina called back to Morgan. "You can manage it - but you're one of the most powerful mages I've ever seen! Use that to your advantage!"
The praise lit a bright smile on Morgan's face. "Aw! Thanks, sister!"
Lucina spun and blocked a strike aimed for Morgan's head. She kicked at the Risen, sending the creature sprawling backwards.
"Don't get distracted!" she snapped, only sounding so harsh, Morgan knew, because she cared.
"Sorry, sister," Morgan said before sending a rexcalibur spell into the fray, scattering and instantly felling a handful of their foes. "But only if you promise to make me a better swordsman!"
Lucina laughed, bright and clear. "All right, it's a promise. And here's your first lesson: Use your magic to send these brutes straight through your sword!"
"All right, teacher!" Morgan chirped, and as a sword-wielding Risen came charging at him, he sent a well-aimed wind spell at the mindless creature. Its arms were pushed apart, and it lost its grip on its sword. As inertia brought the Risen toward him, Morgan held his killing edge in a two-handed grip, then stabbed forward to hit straight through its stomach.
He didn't need to pull the sword out; the Risen disintegrated.
Morgan suddenly felt slim fingers roughly rubbing his head and hair. "Good job, journeyman!" Lucina said, laughing, and Morgan's chest felt bright and warm.
Even whilst surrounded by enemies, he was happy and his sister was happy, so long as they were by each other's sides.
()()()
The walk to Ylisstol is longer than Morgan would have liked. His hands are bound, as that was the only way Frederick would allow him to accompany them to the capital; the man holds onto his spell book, and Chrom has the second-world Falchion, which is now wrapped in cloth, strapped to his back. The only possessions worth to Morgan that he still has are his cloak and his mask, and even then only because Chrom decided to return the favor for saving his life.
Frederick walks directly behind Morgan. He's holding his silver lance pointed between the young man's shoulder blades. At such a close distance to the powerfully-made weapon, the wards on the coat have no effect. Unless Aunt - unless Lissa stepped in, Morgan could surely die at even a jab if left untreated, especially if Frederick thinks he can save the Halidom by killing a mere boy.
They've been joined by Virion - at this point in time, a newcomer to not just the Shepherds, but Ylisse - and Sully, accompanied by her stallion. Upon reaching Ylisstol the two make for the barracks as per Chrom's orders, taking Frederick's mare with them.
Ylisstol is much the same as it was in the second world before the advent of Grima. No one in the street is panicking. There are smiling faces and happy looks between couples and families. People are cheering in the distance as a procession heads back to the castle.
"So that is Exalt Emmeryn?" Robin says as they approach. "Your sister?"
Morgan heard his mother tell him, in the second world, about her surprise to learn about Chrom and Lissa's heritage. Here, along the way to Ylisstol, the topic came up much sooner.
"The best sister anyone could ever have," Lissa says. Along the way she kept staring at Morgan, and yet again she turns to him. "Mark, have you ever been to Ylisstol?"
She keeps asking him questions too - and as much as Morgan loves his aunt, his patience is starting to wear thin. "This is my birthplace," he says as evenly as he can, speaking for one of the first times on their journey. He has to consciously keep himself from saying I was born here, because that's a lie - he will be born here - and for some reason he can't lie about this.
"I suppose we won't find a simple 'Mark' in the birth records," Frederick grumbles.
The crowd that had greeted Emmeryn is long gone by the time they reach the castle gates. Morgan gazes up at the large, tall walls surrounding the fortress. They're grand; somehow they inspire greatness and trust rather than fear, which the gates of Walhart's castle in Valm do.
The guards nod to Frederick and bow to their prince and princess. Chrom motions for a few of the men to come over.
"Take this man to north end sitting room," he instructs. "Do not let him out of your sight, nor near anything that could be used as a weapon. Make sure he is fed, watered, and comfortable, however."
The guards both let out an "Understood" and grab Morgan by the arms. He complies easily with their leading him; but before he goes, he can't help but glance back toward his mother. The woman's dark eyes are narrowed in suspicion, but also intrigue. He's a puzzle now, instead of a happy-go-lucky open book, despite his memory loss. Not that this Robin has ever known him in such a way.
Being inside the bright, colorful halls of the castle instantly makes Morgan feel out of place. He doesn't remember how long it's been since he's been inside. He thought he would be happy to return home - albeit in a roundabout manner - but he doesn't feel that way at all and doesn't know exactly why. He doesn't want to think about it.
The guards lead him through several underground corridors before coming back up into a hallway lit by a large window. They open a door; inside is a cozy room, filled with several plush chairs arranged around a low table. An ornate, oak bureau of sorts sits against the far wall and houses a tea set imported from Valm. The window reaches almost completely up and down the length of the wall. Morgan takes a step forward, and his filthy boots sink a little into the rug.
When he sits down, one of the guards retreats from the room, closing the door behind him. The remaining one keeps a hand on his steel lance and stands midway between the door and the window, as if expecting Morgan to bolt in either direction like a spooked pegasus.
Morgan considers lowering his hood, but refrains. He notices the guard tug at his collar.
"Hot, isn't it?" he says.
The guard gives a start. He fidgets, as if trying to remember whether he was told to keep prisoners quiet. "...Yes."
Just a bit of his old curiosity rises inside Morgan. He looks straight at the guard through his mask. "How long have you been in the service of my - Exalt?" he asks, nearly slipping. He almost said father, but in this world Chrom is neither his father nor the ruler of the Halidom.
"Almost one year." The guard stands up straighter. He looks back at Morgan, but keeps awkwardly quiet.
Morgan hates being looked at in such a way. He opens his mouth to speak up, to say something cheerful, but nothing comes out.
The other guard comes back at this point, bringing a plate of bread, a small portion of meat, and water. He takes care putting it in front of Morgan, as if watching for an aggressive move of some sort, but he does nothing of the kind.
"Thank you," Morgan says before eagerly digging in, filling his empty stomach. It's a bit plain, but better than anything he's tasted in a long while.
He doesn't try to speak to the guards again. The heat of the room, combined with the warmth of his coat and his comfortably-full belly, makes him drowsy. He does his best not to sleep, lest somehow someone takes off his mask or does something to harm him, but within a few minutes he is dozing in the chair, spent.
He's half-aware of what's going on around him and also half-aware of his own dreams. At first the catnap is peaceful, but all at once images come to his mind. Falchion is flashing in great, wide, frenzied arcs. Someone is screaming. Several people are screaming. He is screaming.
He wakes fully with a start, digging his fingers into the armrests of the chair and tensing.
"Are you all right?"
Morgan doesn't recognize the voice, but he does recognize the inclusion of warmth, kindness, and concern. The only nicer melody of speaking he's heard is from his own mother.
He turns to the door and sees that a woman has joined him and the guards. She is tall, stunning - her clothes, which cover all but her head and hands, are a sort of green that can only be described as calming or healing. Her hair is blonde, like Lissa's, but styled into elegant curls that fall around her shoulders. Her face is soft, her eyes are gentle, and the Mark of the Exalt, Naga's symbol, rests on her forehead.
Morgan's mouth drops open and he almost calls her aunt. "Your Exaltedness," he manages to stutter out. He realizes himself belatedly and stands to bow.
Many things dash through his mind at once. The woman before him has died twice. Not here, not yet, not really, but he can't help but think about the stories Lucina told him about the night of the assassination, and the day the Exalt plunged toward the Plegian ground.
She smiles. "And you are Mark, I presume?" She motions for him to sit back down and takes a seat herself, across from him. Her posture is straight and regal. She almost seems to glow as the sunlight streaming in through the window falls on her. "After the tactician of old?"
Morgan sits down and simply nods, unsure of how to answer. Emmeryn watches him for a moment, but there is no suspicion in her eyes, or distrust.
She dips her head, only slightly. "You have my thanks for protecting my brother."
"It - it was nothing." For some reason he can't get the imagined picture of her lifeless body out of his mind.
"We will have you brought to another room shortly for questioning. Unless you are tired?" Emmeryn glances toward the window. The summer light is still strong, but the sun is sinking lower and lower. "You are more than welcome to rest for the night beforehand. I apologize in advance; we must keep guards watching you at all times, especially if you still wish to keep your identity from us."
"The guards are fine," Morgan says at once, but turns a thought over in his mind. "...I'm afraid what I have to say should be heard as soon as possible." He's still exhausted from the trip and would have appreciated some sleep and more time to gather himself together, but there's no time to waste. "In fact...I would ask you if you would like to rest before this."
Emmeryn smiles at his offer but shakes her head. "If what you have to say is for the protection of my people, then I will listen for as long as needed."
She stands, but doesn't take her kind gaze away from Morgan. "Young Mark," she begins, "We will not inquire as to your true identity unless it is absolutely necessary, in return for your rescue of my brother and, in turn, my sister. If anyone tries to force you to reveal yourself, report to me at once, or my brother or sister. We shall protect you."
Morgan stands to bow once more. "Thank you, Exalt Emmeryn."
Emmeryn nods and walks toward the door. She speaks quietly to the guards, then looks back at Morgan. "I shall see you soon, then."
"Of course."
She leaves, and Morgan stands motionless, still shell-shocked. After a moment, he sinks back into his chair.
Is she destined to die here, too? Morgan wonders. His father and mother spoke nothing but praise for his late aunt, though he thinks that maybe the woman's excessive kindness might not be practical to match the harsh realities of war. Still, there's no denying her importance. In the first world, as Lucina had told him, Ylisse was socially devastated at her assassination and the war against Plegia had just barely been won. In the second, Emmeryn's suicide weakened the Plegian's resolve to fight.
Morgan closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. Perhaps he should have asked to have that audience in the morning.
So I think I've decided that this will just be a fun side-project for me if I ever have the time/feel like writing. Chapters will be short and probably very sporadic. (When I start a new story, I have a habit of doing nothing BUT writing, so in the beginning it may look like I have all the time in the world to do this when I really don't.) That being said, I only have an idea of how I want this story to end - I dunno what's gonna happen in-between. It'll just be a make-up-the-plot-as-I-go-along-thing, but I'll do my best to keep out plot holes, etc. (If I even finish this.)