iv.
Severa was hugging her knees and crying. Owain sat beside her. He'd been trying to comfort her, but now he stared off into the distance.
Gerome sat on the other side of camp, tending to Minerva's front leg. Nah leaned against the wyvern and rubbed the beast's snout, but she looked as lost as Minerva's low crooning sounded.
Cynthia, Laurent, Brady, Noire, and Yarne sat together. No one made a sound, except when Cynthia and Brady sniffed. Earlier, they'd been crying loudly, but had since quieted. Not even Yarne had been quivering or muttering about becoming extinct, probably because now it was a definite reality.
The only ones standing were Kjelle and Inigo. Kjelle was on one side of camp, facing the woods so that no one could see the tears dropping from her face. Most of her armor had been torn away by a horde of Risen, but she still had a lance gripped tightly in her hand, which was trembling.
Inigo paced back and forth on the other side of camp. He kept muttering to himself and glancing off into the woods, like his mother would come running or his father would appear out of the night with a pack of crows as per usual. But Morgan could also hear him whispering, "Lucina, Lucina, please no, not you too, not like this."
The young tactician sat alone, his legs crossed beneath him. Falchion lay across his lap. Dried blood encrusted the blade, hilt, and handle. His tears splattered against the metal, liquefying some of the blood but not washing it away. He wanted to wash it away, but then he would have no trace of his parents left at all.
Morgan only looked up when a pair of boots entered his vision. Gerome stood above him. Part of his mask was chipped, revealing the slightest bit of redness around his eye. Still, Gerome's quiet, rough voice betrayed nothing of his own emotions.
"We've rested long enough. We need to move out."
Morgan stared at him without speaking, then turned his head back down.
"Morgan."
"What's the point?" he whispered, staring at his reflection in the part of Falchion's blade that wasn't bloodied. "We've failed."
Gerome's voice came out as a growl. "Yes, we have. But we're still alive."
"We'll only fail again."
"Don't say that!" Inigo snapped, overhearing the conversation. Morgan looked up again and saw that the white-haired boy's eyes were red-rimmed, and his voice was rough and nearly broken. His mouth was set in a deep frown. "Our parents - our parents died saving us so we could escape and try again!"
"...'Our parents'?"
Inigo didn't seem to hear the younger boy's murmur. "As hard as this is, Luci - Lucina wouldn't want us to give up!"
A violent trembling overtook Morgan and he sprang to his feet, gripping Falchion with one hand on the hilt and the other on the blade.
"'Our parents'?!" he roared. "'Lucina'?! My parents didn't protect me! Lucina didn't protect us!" He could feel Falchion cutting into his hand. "Your parents died protecting each other and us and my mother killed my father!" He panted and felt lightheaded, but everything was overridden by hot, hot anger. "My mother killed - !"
SLAP!
Morgan reeled back, his cheek stinging. He lifted his hurt hand to his face, unaware of the blood on his palm.
"Do you think we don't care about that?!" Severa snapped. Her red, filthy pigtails flew about as she shook her head. "Morgan, you think we don't understand?! We've seen this twice now, and you don't even remember the first time!"
Owain came jogging up. He held his hand out to try to calm the girl. "Severa, stop - !"
"Shut up, glory hog!" she yelled at him, then turned back to Morgan. "You can't just - !"
Severa broke off.
Morgan could barely see her. Tears were rapidly streaming out of his eyes, down his face. His breath came in gasps. "M-my mother...!" It sounded like he was taking his last bits of air. He shook. "Father and s-sister...!"
Tears appeared in Severa's eyes again. "D-dummy," she said, but there was nothing in the word but empty air and she hurried to embrace him. "I-I'm sorry."
Morgan buried his face in her shoulder. More people crowded around him - maybe everyone, even Minerva - but he couldn't make out their voices over the sounds of his own sobbing.
()()()
Emmeryn decides that what Morgan said was enough for the night, and sends everyone off to get rest so that in the morning they can continue with the questioning after breakfast. Morgan balks a little at the thought of continuing the interview for longer than necessary, but he can't convince himself that he wouldn't appreciate sleep.
The guards lead him off to a guest room, far from the room he kept in the second world. This room is spacious, with a large, plush bed and enormous windows that reveal the night sky and a section of Ylisstol. Off to the right is a door that leads to the bathroom.
Morgan stands still for a moment, taking in the silence of the room and the slight shuffling of the guards remaining outside his door. Emmeryn promised him privacy while he rests, and though he trusts her it takes him a moment to convince himself that it's safe enough to go bathe. Even still, he makes sure the doors lock before he confines himself in the bathroom and removes his clothing. He hesitates to remove his mask even in this solitude, but manages to do so - telling himself he'll put it back on as soon as he washes his face and hair - and draws a warm bath.
I can't believe I'm acting like Gerome, he thinks jokingly, but then grimaces and gets in the water.
Morgan's muscles relax for the first time in a long while - he can't remember how long it's been since he's bathed. He probably stunk but didn't realize it. He scrubs at his arms, legs, and face and is thankful that his clothing covered his filthy skin. His neck stings a little and he remembers the cut, though it's nothing deeper than one acquired from paper. He rinses his hair and a bit of the brown dye he bought from Anna as a joke diffuses into the water. If everything here goes on for a while he's going to have to get more somehow, or permanently fix the hood of his cloak to his face. Both ideas just make him sigh.
When he finishes cleaning himself he puts his cold mask back on but sits in the water for a while longer. He slowly swirls some of the liquid around with his fingers, dully watching the motions.
Morgan gets out of the bath and drains the water. He would try to wash his clothes, but without his tome he doubts he could muster enough mana to dry the garments in time for morning. Instead, he does his best to shake off the dust and dirt into the empty bath and dresses into his underclothes.
When he goes back into the bedroom, he finds that he missed seeing something. Just to make sure, he checks the lock on the door. Finding it still secure, he goes back to the bed, where a set of silk pajamas lay on the covers. They're just like the ones he used to wear when he lived here. The blue pattern seems familiar, though he can't place an exact time when he's seen it, and tries them on.
They're far too loose and too cold, so he takes them off.
Morgan wraps his cloak around himself without putting his arms through the sleeves and crawls under the covers. He sinks into the mattress and the down pillows nearly swallow him up. It's more comfortable than he can believe.
"Wouldn't Severa be jealous," he mutters, staring up at the ceiling and begging for sleep to take him.
()()()
If he has dreams, he doesn't remember them when he wakes up.
In fact, for a moment, he doesn't remember anything at all.
Morgan stares at the ceiling, perplexed. Morning sunlight filters through the large windows, lighting the crimson curtains on the bedposts. There's too much space in the room. It's too quiet. Is everyone else awake already? ...Why am I here…?
At once it feels like he's been slammed with a hammer. His breath leaves him. He sits straight up and rips the suffocating mask off his face. His gaze rifles across the room.
He's in the palace. His fingers grip the soft covers on the bed. He's really in the palace.
Memories of yesterday flood his mind. Emmeryn is alive. He saw his father. He saved his father. His father is alive. His mother is alive.
Mother's alive…!
Laughter starts to escape Morgan's mouth. It's quiet, but still there. He can barely believe it. His parents are alive. Not really the ones who had him, not really the ones he grew close to, but it's them. Alive.
Morgan gets out of bed and hurries to put on his clothes and mask. He's smiling brightly when he opens the door and finds two guards in the hallway - not the ones from last night, but these men do appear to be tired since it's early morning.
"What's for breakfast?" Morgan chirps, startling them, but then they quickly get in his way.
"You aren't allowed out until the meeting," the taller man says. "Someone will bring you food."
Morgan pouts. "That's a bit lonely, but I understand. Thank you!"
He retreats into the room and closes the door, then hurries to the window. He can see the sun peeking up from the far mountains in the distance. Ylisstol lies outside the palace walls, and he can't see individual people, but he thinks he can spot movement.
Someone knocks on the door a few minutes later, and the guards come in with a maid, who puts a tray of food on the table. Morgan thanks her profusely, sits down, and eats quickly. He didn't realize how famished he was.
It's still too early for the meeting when he finishes, but the guards say they'll inform him when it's time to go. He's left alone again in the room, so he lays on the bed and smiles at the ceiling.
"It's real," he murmurs. "They're real. Alive."
About an hour later, the guards knock, and Morgan springs to his feet to answer the door. They're confused at his cheeriness, but lead him through the hallways.
The castle seems to be a flurry of activity in the morning. He remembers it being so. Knights-in-training are led one way, clerics another. A woman with a tight bun and a beauty mark leads a squadron of women toward the south end of the castle, and Morgan realizes they must be the pegasus knights. He watches them go by, but a flash of color catches his eye, and his blood turns cold.
Severa?
But it isn't her.
It's Cordelia, talking to Sumia as they walk along in line.
I should be happy, he tries to tell himself. The women are alive, after all. All of the Shepherds are. But their children aren't.
Morgan becomes quiet and unaware of his surroundings as they continue on.
When they get to the meeting room, he sits down where he sat the previous night. For about ten minutes he and his guards are the only ones in the room, but then, all at once, the others enter. Except this time, Emmeryn isn't accompanied by her advisor; instead, it's the woman from earlier who was leading the pegasus knights.
The woman bows slightly toward Morgan. "Young Mark. My name is Phila, commander of the pegasus knights and Emmeryn's bodyguard. I would like to personally thank you for saving Lord Chrom's life."
Morgan shifts a little uncomfortably. He's been thanked too much for that now, he thinks. He can only nod back to her.
"Are you going to tell us your name today, Young Mark?" Frederick asks pointedly as he takes his place standing.
"No, Sir Frederick," Morgan replies, but there's no cheek in his voice like there might've once been.
His parents take their seats across from him again. Morgan watches them, finding it surreal to see them alive - he doesn't think he'll ever get used to it. Not only that, but the two of them are at the beginning stages of their relationship. In both of the other words Morgan remembers his mother telling him how much she implicitly trusted Chrom from the start, but here he can't gauge anything about them.
Only that it seems unlikely that Robin will ever kill the man she's sitting beside.
"Young Mark," Emmeryn begins, and Morgan turns to her. "For now we have decided to believe you. After all, your Falchion is proof enough of your words."
"...When will I be able to have it back?" Morgan asks. "And my tome."
"She didn't say anything about trusting you," Frederick says at once.
Phila nods. "Please understand us. We cannot give you our full trust, at least not yet."
"I understand," Morgan replies. "But please understand me when I say that I do not feel safe without my weapons."
"I'll give them back to you as soon as possible, Mark," Emmeryn assures him.
"...All right," he concedes. He's powerless to do anything, anyways.
"...First of all," Robin begins a moment later. "Why do you have my cloak?"
"...In the first world, you made a replica," Morgan says slowly. "This is the replica." That part is the lie; his mother gave him her own cloak before going on to face Validar.
Robin frowns, but doesn't pursue the issue.
"We want to ask you more about Grima," Chrom says, and Morgan forces himself to nod and answer, "I'll tell you if I can."
"You said that this 'Lucina' has Grima's blood," Chrom continues. "How is this possible?"
Morgan thinks it over, and finds that he can speak without revealing his sister's origins. "It's much the same how Naga made a pact with the Ylissean royal family. But a sect of the Grimleal dedicated themselves to creating an avatar for Grima to house upon his return. They've bred a whole line to lead to the avatar."
Robin's frown deepens. "There's an avatar in this world?"
Morgan's blood chills, but he forces himself to nod. "Yes. An unused one, as of yet. So the avatar here hasn't been awakened with Grima's power."
"So Grima could come to this world and take control of the avatar?" Robin presses.
"...Yes."
"Is it this Lucina woman?" Phila asks.
Uneasiness is growing by leaps and bounds in Morgan's stomach. "...As of yet, she is not born here."
"He called her an 'agent,' not an avatar," Frederick points out. "Yet that means there is a progenitor alive. From what Young Mark has said, this 'avatar' could truly prove to be a threat."
"We can stop Grima without involving the avatar," Morgan protests weakly, but he doesn't know how that could ever happen. "It isn't the avatar's fault they were bred for this."
Chrom grimaces. "I have to agree with Mark. As of yet, the avatar isn't guilty of anything."
Robin glances to Chrom, then studies Morgan. She's thinking, but doesn't say anything.
"Do you know the identity of this avatar?" Phila asks, her voice becoming taut.
Morgan doesn't answer.
"You must tell us," Frederick demands. He looks to Emmeryn. "Milady, we must at least find this person and keep them imprisoned. If the worst comes, we'll execute - "
"No!"
Morgan slams his hands on the table and shoots to his feet, glaring at Frederick through his mask.
"You can't do that to an innocent person!" he shouts. "And it won't even work! It'll only make things worse!"
I can't believe I spent all day writing this instead of my history paper and studying for my finals. (Oh yeah. I can believe it. Because I'm an idiot.)