Note: In this, Morgan is from the same world as Lucina and the other future children.

iii.

"Morgan."

A chill went up his spine. He turned his head and smiled at his sister, trying to hide his nervousness. "Yes?"

Lucina put her hands on her hips. Her eyes narrowed and matched the stern frown on her lips. "You know what I'm about to say, don't you?"

"Um..." Morgan looked to the objects in his hands, then tried to win Lucina's mercy by flashing another smile. "Be sure to wash Falchion after I'm done cutting this apple?"

His sister stomped forward and snatched the Divine Blade from his hand. "Don't use Falchion to cut apples in the first place, you dolt!"

Morgan jumped; the half-peeled apple in his hand fell to the ground. "S-sorry, sister! I'm sorry!"

Lucina's fury abated at the sight of her brother looking so afraid, but she still grimaced. "You had best be more than just sorry. This sword is a national treasure of Ylisse and a final memento of our father. Would you use the last earthly remembrance of your dead father to cut fruit? You've shamed the weapon that built your very homeland!"

Morgan quickly hid the frown that threatened to show on his face. He could barely remember the father that Lucina had known so well; he felt much more comfortable and knowledgeable about this world's Chrom. But as for the rest of what his sister had said...he hadn't even thought about it.

"Well, you've seen for yourself how big the apple is," he said easily, trying to push his thoughts away. He hated dwelling on things like his sister often did. "And with no other knives around... B-besides, I've barely ever touched the thing before. I dunno... I got curious."

Lucina paused.

"So, um, a-are you...?" He studied her face and realized his efforts had been for naught. "Yeah, you're mad."

"You've never held Falchion before?"

The question surprised him. He blinked. "Not really, no. In the future, you always kept it by your side. And since we've been back here, I've maybe moved it from tent to tent once or twice."

Lucina was frowning. "Then we don't know if you have the potential to wield it."

"It takes a special person to use it?"

She nodded. "I see there is much you do not know - or remember, for that matter. This blade was forged with Naga's power and steeped in the Exalt's bloodline. Only a select few are able to wield it, even among the Ylissean royal house."

"Huh." Morgan cupped his chin in thought. "Well, I've never fought with it before - I don't remember, at least. I guess I wasn't deemed worthy."

"That's not necessarily true, Morgan," Lucina said, staring at him with a seriousness that unnerved him a little. "I never did give you a chance to try it before I traveled back here. Honestly, I'm mortified we've come this far without ever putting it to the test."

Morgan ignored the bad feeling in his stomach and smiled brightly. "It'd be pretty amazing if I could really wield it. A brilliant tactician wielding a legendary sword... Mother would be so proud! Father, too!"

Lucina didn't seem to share his train of thought. "Mostly, I'm ashamed I never stopped to consider it. If you are, in fact, among Falchion's chosen, that is knowledge we need. There may come a time when it proves necessary for you to take it up."

He laughed. "What, like if you're busy with Ini - ?"

"Like if I'm dead, Morgan."

The thought pierced his heart like a glass spear. He froze.

"Having someone able to wield it even after I'm gone would be a considerable asset," Lucina continued, ignorant of his inner torture. "We must use any means at our disposal to ensure the future is saved." She smiled. "Now let's go put it to the test."

He paused, then scratched the back of his head and looked away. "Aw, forget it. There's no way the sword would choose someone like me."

"You don't know that until you try," Lucina said encouragingly. "You yourself said you wished you were able to wield it. So let's -"

Morgan rounded on her. "I said no! I'm not doing it! Don't make me..." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Don't make me practice for your death, Lucina!"

There was a moment of silence that was filled only by Morgan's hard breaths and his sniffs as he tried to keep in his emotions.

Quietly, Lucina said, "I understand how you feel, but we must be practical about this." She came closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder, looking at him so that the gaze of the Brand in her left eye met the gaze of the Brand in his right eye. "We cannot afford to lose this war. No matter what happens or who dies."

"You think I don't know that?!" he snapped, but the sniff that followed made him sound pathetic to his own ears. "But it's not... It's just not that simple, all right? Think of all that Mother's doing to protect us! Would you betray that?"

Her eyes filled with sadness. "Not by choice, Morgan. Never by choice. But there are no guarantees in war."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?! If it means you dying, I don't want anything to do with Falchion!" He sniffed again and blubbered out, "And if you make me try, I'll only use it to chop up more apples, so there!" He pulled away from his sister. "This is pointless. I'm leaving."

He turned and stormed off.

I'll never take up Falchion. Not like that. Never!

()()()

The first things that Morgan sees when he's led into the room are the two Falchions lying on the long table. One is Chrom's; the other, Morgan's, lies atop the long cloth it was wrapped in earlier.

Then Morgan notices that his father and Frederick are already in the room, poring over the seemingly identical swords. Frederick is pointing out that Morgan's Falchion has a more worn handle, though only slightly, and Chrom is nodding. Morgan stares at his father, then hurriedly turns his gaze away.

"Ah, Mark," Chrom says in greeting, looking up. Though his eyes betray his curiosity toward Morgan, there is no trace of animosity or distrust like in Frederick's expression. "Please, sit down. Emmeryn should be here in a minute."

Morgan hesitates, then does as he is told. He looks around the room, hesitates again, then says, "...Where is - the other woman?"

Frederick immediately pounces upon the question. "What do you know about Robin? Do the two of you have some sort of plot against the Halidom?" he says, almost snapping, and Morgan has to force himself not to shy away. Before this day, he's never experienced Frederick's distrust.

Chrom puts a hand on Frederick's shoulder. "Calm down, it's all right. I firmly believe that Mark isn't against us. He saved my life, after all. And Robin, for that matter, could be your new tactician, so you'd better get used to her."

Morgan holds back a sigh of relief at hearing that his mother is still in the Shepherds. Instead, he says, "What I have to tell you involves her, too."

Chrom nods. "She's on her way."

Morgan nods in return, but doesn't say anything else. There's a tense atmosphere for a minute or two. Chrom sits down across from Morgan, and Frederick keeps glaring at the boy.

"For the record," Frederick says, almost randomly. "I am grateful for your assistance to my lord. However, I cannot allow any harm to come to the royal house of Ylisse. I will remain the ever-vigilant knight."

If he didn't sound so threatening, Morgan might have laughed. "Understood," he replies instead, reluctant to say anything more.

A door opens, and Morgan turns to see Emmeryn enter the room. She's followed by a much older man, probably an advisor, and last to enter the room other than another guard is Robin. Morgan's heart leaps to see his mother, but the emotion immediately plummets when she turns to him with a guarded expression on her face.

"Good evening," Emmeryn greets. Frederick and the guards bow to her; Morgan moves to stand as well, but Frederick throws such a fast and dangerous glare toward him that it almost physically knocks him back into his seat.

Emmeryn sits at the head of the table and the advisor sits at her right side so that there is a space between himself and Morgan. Robin hesitates, then hurries to sit beside Chrom. Frederick remains standing, as do the guards.

"Young Mark," Emmeryn says kindly, indicating the man on her right. "This is one of my advisors, Joran." Morgan dips his head to the man, who looks at him indifferently, and Emmeryn continues, "To start, I want to make things clear among all of us. Mark is to be treated with respect along with caution until further notice. He is not to be treated unfairly, nor must he be forced to reveal his identity unless I say otherwise."

Nods and words of approval occur around the table, although Frederick looks like he wants nothing more than to rip off Morgan's mask.

Emmeryn smiles. "Now, then... Chrom? What say you about Mark's sword?"

"It's Falchion, all right," Chrom says, though as he says it he looks and sounds perplexed. "It appears to have seen more use than mine, however. I can wield it and no one else can, except him."

Even before Chrom finishes speaking Morgan realizes his own mistake.

Chrom learns forward over the table on his arm, looking at Morgan. Yet, Chrom says nothing, but Morgan knows what must be going through his father's mind.

How could I have forgotten? That simply using Falchion labels me as one of the Exalted bloodline! I'm so stupid!

Morgan doesn't understand how he keeps his cool, but he does. He turns to Emmeryn. "May I be allowed to speak freely?"

Emmeryn nods. "By all means."

Morgan takes a breath. He catches his mother's eye - though he doesn't know if she can tell he's looking at her - a finds a bit more strength even if this isn't his true mother.

Finally he says: "I am not from this world."

There's a silence all around the room that isn't broken until the advisor Joran snorts. "You must be mad."

"I must agree, Milady," Frederick begins, but Emmeryn holds up her hand to silence him.

"That thing in the sky," Robin says. "That those creatures came out of... You came from that."

Morgan nods. "I could not fend off the Risen when I was journeying here. A few came through. However, the Risen will start to appear more and more, all over the continent. They would have come whether or not I did."

"Wait," Chrom said. "Before you keep going on that - where exactly did you come from?"

Morgan wants nothing more than to curl into a ball and hide from all the questions. He doesn't know where he could mess up - if one bit of information could tip the balance of fate in the right direction or not. He wonders how Lucina had managed.

"Originally," he begins slowly, "I'm from a world where the Halidom of Ylisse has almost ceased to exist. Plegia, Regna Ferox, and the countries in Valm were probably in the same condition, but there was no longer any communication between these places. The world...was overrun by Risen, which were ruled by the Fell Dragon, Grima."

Robin rubs the back of her hand. Only Morgan notices the action.

"Grima?" Emmeryn queries. "Naga's counterpart?"

Morgan nods. "I... When I was around seven years old, the House of Ylisse and the Shepherds were able to launch a strike against Grima." He pauses. "Most who went perished."

Chrom's frown is deep. "Who lead this expedition?"

Morgan interlaces his fingers tightly. "You did."

His father doesn't say anything.

"...So what happened to you will happen in our future," Robin surmises.

Morgan nods and takes another breath. "I was a part of a...second series of Shepherds, if you will. It took us a few years, but we managed to gather ourselves for whatever might come and went to Mount Prism. Naga lent us enough of her power to send us to another world - another time." He shifts a little. "In the process, we were attacked, and the spell caused us to be separated. I lost many of my memories of the first world."

"'First world'?" Robin echoes.

"You sound as if this is not the second world for you," Emmeryn says.

Morgan shakes his head. "This is the third, for me."

"Hence three Falchions - mine, yours, and that woman's," Chrom guesses, and Morgan reluctantly nods.

"The second world... we almost saved it, but it fell in the same manner that the original one did, only years earlier." He pauses. "The first battalion of Shepherds died to save my group. And of my group... I am the only survivor."

There is a silence and Morgan looks around the table. Frederick looks incredulous, as does the advisor, whose arms are crossed. Emmeryn, Robin, and Chrom are listening attentively, however, and all have serious expressions. Morgan silently thanks the gods that they are at least hearing him out.

"How did you try to stop the Fell Dragon?" Robin asks.

Morgan can't look at his mother, only off to the side. "One way to defeat the Fell Dragon is for Grima to kill himself, which isn't an option he would ever take. The most reliable way is for the holder of Falchion to perform the Awakening rite to become powerful enough to silence Grima for a thousand years. Both times, Chrom had been the one to do it. And both times... Chrom has been killed in the final battle."

Chrom looks a little stunned, his face turning a bit ashen. Then he frowns. "All right, then. If what you're saying is all true, then in the future I should just be more careful around dragons."

"It can't be that simple," Robin argues. "If fate has made those worlds go into chaos twice already, then time will still try to assume its natural course in this timeline. Am I right?"

Morgan has to force himself not to look at Emmeryn. "There have been...events...that we tried to change, but ultimately they weren't truly averted."

Chrom crosses his arms. "What kind of 'events'?"

Morgan hesitates. "Deaths," he says at last.

There's another silence, and then Robin asks, "What about that woman who attacked Chrom?"

"You seemed to know her," his father adds.

"She is an agent of Grima," Morgan says, a stern sound entering his voice. "Sent here to come after me and to kill all opposition that stands in the way. Eventually, Grima will gather enough strength to come into this timeline as well. Honestly, Grima could appear at any time, but if I had to wager a guess...at most we have a few years, due to his power being used on his agent."

He pauses. "The agent is imbued with Grima's bloodline. It makes it so that the agent is, essentially, a facet of Grima himself. She will do anything to achieve Grima's goals."

"An avatar, then," Robin says, and Morgan nods. His insides feel like ice.

Frederick grunts. "You have not said how you seem to know that woman, nor have you mentioned her name."

Morgan's hands ball into fists. His hands are trembling and he thinks his voice is, too. "Her name...is Lucina. But I cannot tell you more."

Frederick raises an eyebrow. "You cannot tell us about the woman who tried to kill milord's life?"

Morgan sits straighter, fighting off his intimidation. "I cannot."

"Why can't you?" Chrom asks seriously, though he is far kinder than his knight.

"I cannot tell you more," Morgan repeats. He looks to his mother and father. "I have given you very little reason to trust me, I know. For all you know, I could simply be deranged. But please, believe me when I say that not all of the information I have of the future is beneficial for you to know as well."

...I have mentioned that this is just really for my enjoyment, right? I'm very bad at plotting so I'm kinda not even bothering. Still doing my best, though.

(This is what I do instead of studying for finals, apparently.)