Chapter 30

The amethyst-haired man kicked the older silver-haired man to the floor, cutting across his chest as he fell. He marched over to Sylvia, swinging his blade and cutting her staff in two when she held it up to protect herself. His next attack also found her chest and she shrieked to the floor. The future Morgan launched a bolt of lightning, but the clairvoyant avoided it, surged forward, and aimed his blade at her stomach. She guarded, but he punched her face in turn, then raised his blade to impale her as she fell. Her present counterpart threw herself forward, causing Nihilus to falter only a second before he knocked her down, too. Both versions of Leo fired arrows, but these were also dodged. The amethyst-haired man surged up to each of them, snapped the bows in half, and drove the splintered wood into their arms. The future Sylvia whipped a vortex of wind at him in a desperate effort to stop the onslaught, but he endured the magic without moving, leapt forward, and stabbed her promptly.

Nihilus was panting, "Now... are you all just about done? As I said, you've only wasted your time. There is nothing—do you hear me?—nothing that can restrain me now! I am untouchable!"

"Gods... shut up," Morgan spat, rising.

The amethyst-haired man smiled, "Ah, this is so wonderfully amusing... That defiant look on your face, masked by all the dirt and blood, the vague terror at not knowing what, exactly, you're up against... I've seen that before, haven't I? It was way back when this all began. Such an innocent time, just a little bombardment of one port... and look what all it's wrought. Why didn't you convey my request, girl? Why didn't you tell your father and Chrom to lay down their arms? This could all have been avoided."

"My father," she breathed, "would never bend the knee to one as cowardly as you."

He scoffed, "Such undeserved arrogance. Why do you fight on, anyway? Certainly not for your father, yes? Goodness, dear, you don't even like him."

"I..." she hesitated, thinking on the remark.

"No matter," he decided, "your time is at an end. A shame; you could have simply walked away. A thief could make a decent life in my new world. I just don't understand... I gave you every chance. Even when I was prepared to kill you that day, I thought better of it. I decided to give you that message just to frighten your stupid family into relenting, instead of fighting with such stubbornness. Unfortunately, it seems I encouraged the very behavior I meant to quell. You, my dear, make pitiful little sense."

"Sorry," she said, "a product of my heritage, I guess."

"Indeed," Nihilus sighed, smiling. He pointed his sword, "and now, if you're ready?"

Morgan shut her eyes and braced herself, unable to lift her own sword. She croaked, "It really doesn't matter who it is... me, my father, anyone... one day, you're going to die. And then all your rhetoric and your pomp about the way the world ought to be... it'll die with you."

Nihilus frowned and ran at her, sword raised.

She heard the sound of a door bursting open.

[*]

The little redheaded girl descended the stairs, hair bouncing along her back as she hopped down. She smelled her mother cooking, steam wafting from a pot just on the edge of her periphery. More importantly, however, she scanned the remaining rooms and found her objective: her father was sitting in a heap of dark clothing, bent over a book in his armchair with silver lenses adorning the bridge of his nose. A common position.

The girl skipped over quickly and greeted him, waving to emphasize her mood, "Hi, daddy!"

His eyebrows jumped up a second before his eyes from the book, and his face shifted into a smile as he saw her face, "Hullo, Morgan. I wasn't aware you had come back in."

"You never hear me come in," she put her hands on her hips, "I'm not tiptoeing, or anything, you know."

He chuckled, "Maybe just my old ears, then. Anyway, did you need something?"

"Oh," her face brightened again, "As a matter of fact, I wanted to ask you something."

"By all means," he offered his hand.

"When did you become employed as Chrom's tactician?"

The smile disappeared from his face, "It was when I was eighteen, give or take. Hard to remember, exactly. It was an odd time."

She nodded, "So, I wouldn't be violating precedent..."

"Morgan," his brow tightened, "why are you asking?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she shrugged, "Inigo's been asking me. He says Chrom's going to be leaving the throne before long, and so either he or Lucina is going to have to succeed him. In either case, he said he'd feel most comfortable having me take up the position."

"Why's that?" the Grandmaster demanded, "He's not planning to get involved in any wars, is he?"

"Well, no, of course not, but it's better to have a plan ready—"

"'But' nothing, you don't need to have anything to do with that."

"I want to help Inigo and his family!"

"You can help them while staying here."

"I've been studying your manuals for years!"

"I know, I read them to you, against my better judgement. But the question isn't one of experience, though you sorely lack that, too."

"How dare you! You're so full of it! You just don't want the last precious little chick to fly the coop! That's what this is all about!"

"Morgan, believe me when I say you have no idea what you're talking about."

"Shut up! Steven, Leo, and Sylvia all got to leave and do what they wanted!"

"And I watched each of them leave with a heavy heart and the utmost apprehension. But they were all older than you. And none of them were signing up for military service."

"Neither am I!"

Robin shook his head, "You haven't a clue what you're signing up for."

"Maybe, but I know I want to help Inigo, and if this is how I can do it, this is how it'll be done!"

"No, it's not," he stared at her intently, "Morgan, let me be very clear: becoming a tactician... isn't in your future."

Tears welled up in her eyes, "It's about Inigo, right? Or maybe it's me? Nothing I've ever done was good enough for you! I can tell, you always hated me! Just because I'm the youngest, because I couldn't talk well, or dance, or climb a building... you think everything I do is worthless! You don't care what makes me happy, you just want whatever makes you feel good about yourself!"

The girl spun around and stormed over to the door, flinging it open and slamming it shut. She sprinted out over the hill, her eyes blurry with tears.

"What I want," Robin said to himself, "is to avoid having to judge whether or not I can live with myself if my youngest daughter is killed by following in my footsteps."

Anna traipsed in, "Going to be one place short at dinner?"

"Looks that way," he sighed, "I may be able to run after her..."

"It's okay," she touched his arm, "She'll come back. She just needs to sort out her feelings."

"Quite," the Grandmaster rubbed his eyes, "she has a good many of them."

[*]

Morgan felt herself being picked up. She tried to open her eyes, but only the right one would respond. It opened halfway and squinted in the light, seeing a shadow hunched over her. "Gods damn it," the figure swore, "she's bleeding. ...They all are."

"I've got my staff," a voice from a different part of the room answered."

"Go to it," the figure closest to Morgan commanded.

Another voice shot up, "Ahem. I'm over here, if you don't mind."

"I'll deal with you in a moment," the figure looming over Morgan shot back with a definite edge, "Right now I'm speaking to my daughter." Morgan tried to open her eyes more. The figure seemed to take note, "Can you hear me, Morgan? It's your father."

"D-Dad" spilled out of her slackened lips.

"That's right," he said softly, "Listen, it's going to be okay. I've got your mom here, and we're going to put a stop to this."

"He's... so fast..." she breathed, "I... I'm feeling... really cold..."

His grip on her tightened, "It's okay, Morgan. Please, just hold on. You have to be there to take daddy's place if he's not good enough, okay?"

"I-I can't..."

"Yes you can. Your mother will be here to help you in a second, okay? Please, just stay awake."

"D-Dad... I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Robin said, gently lowering the head of ruby-red hair to the floor. He kissed her forehead, "I love you, honey." He stood and stared at the amethyst-haired man.

He was grinning, "Finally, a real challenge. Grandmaster Robin, I don't think you have the faintest idea how long I've been waiting for this."

Robin said nothing.

"It really is a shame I have to end your life," the clairvoyant lamented, "Although I relish the opportunity. Matching your wits in Lieben was quite amusing. It will be a privilege to overtake you in person."

"What's your game?" the Grandmaster finally asked.

Nihilus laughed, "Have I not adequately explained it? I'm going to overthrow the world's governments and start a new regime... or a lack of one, more precisely. I'm going to allow total anarchy, so that the truth of human existence can be validated: id est, the strong will bury the weak. No classes, no money, no politics, just one man's strength against another's."

"Why?"

Nihilus paused, "You know, it's funny, you're the first person to ask that. You understand me so well... How to describe it? For years—all my life, really—I've been shunned for reasons other than my nature: for my birth, for my poverty, for my choice of profession... The only thing that ever consistently supported me was not a person, but an ability. My ability to exert power over others. No one respected me as a human, but when there was a sword pointed at their throats, their tone changed so quickly. Amusing, exhilarating, and utterly disgusting. Still, that hardship made me who I am. As such, I got to thinking I'd like a world like that. One where everyone would have to endure the same trials as me to even get a chance at life."

"You're an egomaniac," Robin spat, "You think you're the only one who's been poor? Who's been the victim of prejudice?"

"No, just the opposite. I know many others are suffering and have suffered similarly. But in my world, that suffering will give them the strength to be at the top of the food chain."

"You can't see the madness in a world of perpetual personal wars?"

"Don't lecture me about perpetual war; you're naught more than a stepping stone to that very notion. Think about it: what made Ylisse a superpower in today's world? Its economic prowess was notable, but didn't make up for the modest lives of most of its people. It was launched into power when Exalt Chrom attacked and conquered King Gangrel. And it grew when he "liberated" Valm by killing the Conqueror. And all that was built on the previous Exalt's crusade against Plegia. And you've played slave to it all, Grandmaster Robin. Hundreds of thousands, if not millions of deaths around the world, all in the interest of one nation, or, more accurately, one man. That's perpetual war. Because Ylisse can't live without it. Because Plegia can't live without it. Because Valm can't live without it. Because their leaders can't govern a country without the distraction of war, else they would be deposed immediately. Do you understand? You're all more bloodthirsty than I've ever been. All I desire is a world where people can choose to enter into those conflicts. In your old world, they have no choice. It's a damnable thing, Grandmaster Robin: I took you for a lone wolf, but now I see you're merely another sheep to be shepherded."

Robin cracked his knuckles, "I'm finished talking to you."

Nihilus shook his head and shrugged, "Unfortunately, this battle will be much less interesting than I'd hoped: I already have the power of Naga at my side. Combined with my natural skill, I'm consummately invincible."

"You seem to know a lot about me, Nihilus," Robin said, "Tell me: how much of my story do you know?"

"Up to your last major achievement," the man stroked his amethyst hair, "before you disappear from the history books: your triumph over Walhart and subsequent return to Ylisse."

Robin smirked, "So then... you don't know everything."

"What?" the clairvoyant cocked an eyebrow.

"The funny thing about history books," Robin stepped forward, drawing his sword, "is that they can be so unreliable... whole chapters of a man's life may go unrecorded... Nihilus, you have no idea who, or what, I am."

"A grand boast," the clairvoyant smiled, "but bravado and bluster will last you only so long. He rushed forward and brought up his sword, vision going white for a moment. He saw the Grandmaster jump back to dodge his attack, and so he leaned forward to carry his momentum further.

He lurched forward and felt his feet skid: the opponent had blocked the strike with his own sword. He had misjudged. Robin pushed back on the blade, sending the clairvoyant stumbling back. The amethyst haired man shifted into a guard to block his opponent's incoming attacks. He halted a few in rapid succession, but the Grandmaster continued swinging, hitting his blade and pushing him back, inch by inch. At one moment, he saw the Grandmaster draw back and strike left. He changed his guard, only for Robin's blade to become embedded in his right shoulder. He shouted and kicked himself out of the hold, placing a hand on his bleeding shoulder. His panicked eyes must have betrayed him: "Something the matter? What happened to being invincible?"

He smirked, "Very well, I should have known not to to underestimate you. I won't hold anything back now." He leapt at the Grandmaster again and was blocked. The older man kneed him, punched him in the face, and slashed at him again, though he managed to weakly guard it. He growled and swiped at the Grandmaster rapidly, but heard the sound of metal reverberating with each strike. He shoved all his weight and power into one blow, which the Grandmaster also rebuffed, albeit with great effort. Robin pushed the attacker back with the extent of his own force, throwing the amethyst-haired man on his back. The man stood and dusted himself off while Robin was recovering. He stared at the Grandmaster a moment, then exuded a flash and disappeared. Robin heard footsteps behind him and turned blocking an overhead strike. He punched the flanking assailant in his stomach and cut him near his waist.

"Okay," the amethyst-haired man growled, "I'll bite: just what the hell are you doing?!"

"What do you mean?" Robin was smirking.

"D-Don't give me that blasted look! Why can't I see you?! Why are the visions..."

"Visions?"

"Yes, visions, dammit! Since I was a child, I've been honing my ability to anticipate people's actions before they make them!"

"So, I was right about your tactical proficiency. But what are you telling me? Are you saying these visions... aren't working?"

"N-No... but I should... I should... There's no way for you to be so fast!"

Robin shrugged, "We seem to be moving at a pretty normal pace to me."

Nihilus's eyes narrowed, "W-What...? But..."

"I have a theory," Robin drew his sword once more, "Maybe that little 'ability' of yours... maybe it's really a handicap. You've learned to rely on it, like a crutch. You don't know what it's like to actually anticipate an opponent, you just count on your 'ability' to do it for you. In short, you never learned to see with your own two eyes."

"Enough!" Nihilus shouted, "You! You're nothing, you hear me?! Your self-confidence is nothing but a façade!" He ran forward and struck at the Grandmaster several times more, this time hitting him successfully near the ribs. "There!" the clairvoyant grinned, "See? I'll admit you're more of a challenge than anyone I've fought before, but you can't escape my sight!"

Robin smiled, "Or maybe this is your first time fighting on even ground."

Nihilus growled and sprung forward, matching blades with his opponent once more. He varied between horizontal, diagonal, and vertical slices, but these were all duly impeded by the Grandmaster. They broke apart and Robin leapt forward this time, aiming a stab at the amethyst-haired man's heart. He dodged it and sent the old man sailing with a kick. Robin got to his feet in time to block another strike, hit his foe with an uppercut, and slashed along his arm, making him howl and drop back. They closed the distance again as Robin regained his footing: Nihilus now extended the Emblem to halt his opponent's strikes, giving him a speed advantage in raising his weapon, which cut along the back of Robin's shoulder as he missed a strike due to fatigue. They crossed swords again, Robin forcing his weight onto his opponent to keep him at bay. When the clairvoyant tried to duck, Robin slashed at him: a rivulet of blood streaked down the amethyst-haired man's cheek. He rose again and swung at his opponent's back, though Robin whipped around in time to stop the blow. Nihilus smashed the old man's face with his shield and stabbed him in the stomach. Robin groaned and kicked the clairvoyant's feet out from under him. He tried to stab in the same spot, but was deterred slightly by the man's own sword, which deflected the blade toward his hip instead. He kicked up and backed away.

The pair stared at one another, grasping at their wounds, red-faced and panting. Nihilus's fist shook and convulsed wildly and he took off toward Robin in a furious charge. Robin tried to block the incoming attack, but his opponent struck repeatedly with more force and momentum. Robin felt himself being pushed toward the wall. He inhaled deeply. As the amethyst-haired man launched forward with a snarling thrust, Robin stuck out his own sword. Nihilus realized the intent of the move too late to redirect his momentum: the pair met and their swords broke through each other at chest height.

[...]

Rain poured down as thunder clapped overhead.

Occasional clanks of metal were still heard from soldiers fighting. Bodies piled up in the mud. Though the conflicting forces continued to cut and stab with the same ferocity and vindictiveness, their movements were heavy and sluggish. One man would strike and miss, only to be planted in the ground in short order by two behind him. Groans of the dead and dying began to drown out the sounds of fighting.

The children looked to their parents, who were looking at each other, their cheeks red and their eyes ashen. Water soaked every inch of their clothes and skin. More bodies fell with a splash. The air was getting cold.

The dead Shepherds had been moved, but were still becoming colder and being soaked through by the rain. Mud congealed around them.

The thunder rolled on.

[...]

Robin gasped. He felt the blood ebbing from his chest, but also felt a warm sensation around it. He assumed it must have been Anna trying to mend the wound. He looked forward and saw Nihilus several feet away, fallen, but with his eyes open. The Grandmaster glanced at the Emblem on his arm and saw a gleam. He inhaled deeply and crawled forward.

"Robin," he heard, "stop! I have to fix this now!"

He continued crawling forward, pain stabbing into his chest with each tweak of his muscles. His arms burned. His breath died in his throat. He kept reaching for handfuls of the floor.

"Robin!" the chiding voice issued again, "Stop! What are you doing?! You'll die!"

Nihilus moved, too. He put his hands down to the sides, eyes daring the Grandmaster.

Robin inched forward more, hands shaking, cold running down his neck.

He felt Anna try to hold him, arms on his shoulders, "Stop it, you idiot!" Her voice was stained by her tears, "Quit moving! You're gonna bleed out!"

Robin kept moving. He dragged himself out of his wife's grip and pushed forward. He was pinned to the floor by his own weight. He stopped and cried out in pain and a spasm of breathing. Blood spilled onto the floor. He kept moving.

"Robin!" she pleaded "Stop!"

He put another hand forward and dragged himself. Nihilus's eyes tensed.

"Forget about him! You'll die if you don't stop, don't you get it?!"

Robin shoved himself half his body's length forward, in arm's reach of the clairvoyant. He reached out.

Chrom, Inigo, and Lucina, two of the three of them limping, burst into the room through the metal door. Robin tried to shout, but the words simply gurgled in his throat. Nihilus moved his arm. Chrom stopped and shuddered, moaning sharply. A knife had left Nihilus's hand and entered the exalt's chest. He fell and Lucina shrieked. Robin's vision became black, hearing the cries of his wife and Chrom's daughter.

Morgan's eye stared as her mother frantically knelt before her father.

[...]

The port was still, save for the sounds of the rain and thunder overhead. If anything, the ambience kept everything quieter, though no one would dare to utter a word during the somber occasion. Black, funereal vestments adorned every body in the small space. A monument stood before them all, and looked over them. A simple stone, it was etched with names. Several hundred names. Florists. Priests. Sailors. Soldiers. Bakers. Friends. Parents. Children.

They said their goodbyes amid the ruins of the destroyed town.

[...]

Robin's eyes flitted open again. His senses returned. He was walking. Shakily, he was walking. He was supported under each arm by two other figures, who were walking in tandem with him. He looked ahead and saw a rainbow of mirrored faces: two Stevens, two Sylvias, and two Leos. He felt compelled to smile. Both sets of faces were familiar, albeit for different reasons. Or, he would have smiled, if he were able. His vision was clouded, and he was completely deaf to the outside world. He saw a few of the faces glancing back at him happily. He felt rain pour down on him. He felt cold. Shadows were moving far down along the plain, where the water was surging. More faces gradually joined the group, faces he could not see. But on each side he could see two heads of ruby hair. Anna held him from the left, and Morgan did the same on his right. It seemed she had managed to save them. He was ineffably gracious.

They were all of them joined in exiting the castle in a wide group. If not for the purple-black visage of the sky casting indigo shadows on the sod below, they would have looked like a veritable parade procession. The Grandmaster stood at their center, of course, bordered by his youngest daughter and wife. He was walking heavily, although he wouldn't be walking at all without the help of the taller and shorter redheads. He had grown accustomed to the feel of his wife's touch upon him, but the girl's... The feeling of her little fingers struggling to wrap around his hand, or any part of his arm, was a sensation he hadn't felt in... he couldn't remember how long.

But though he wished that feeling created joy, it did not. Any positive sentiment was replaced with an abject horror, seeing the young girl half a step ahead of him. He heard an eagle cry overhead, and dutifully looked up to a white and gold break in the dark clouds. He examined the hole, predicting that the bird would pierce it, but saw nothing. Instead, as his eyes fell back to the ground, the images of his family were submerged in water for this instant; separate, vague shapes without fixed forms that clung to an invisible periphery. When he looked forward now, he saw grave faces. A rash man with blue hair, bulky, but with a fair-hearted look about his youthful eyes. An older man with silver facial hair and a gleaming mane on top, lamenting a fallen helmet. A sneering youth with leaf-green hair: he pulled out a sword, gauged it, and threw it away, frowning. A boy with snow-white hair crying, kneeling at the feet of an old, chrome-haired figure who shook his fist at something unknowable in the air. A woman, staunch and frowning, whose rose color drained away to black; she scowled in detestation before looking on to the next figure. A young man with amethyst hair, smiling, surrounded by the faces of friends laughing, quibbling, and smacking each other roughly on the back. The man's face sunk in the ash-gray of the grave as he clutched his heart. And when the Grandmaster looked down, his hand held a blade that pierced the man's flesh. But now the man was a boy, tears cleaning his dirtied face. Robin froze and stepped back.

Anna and Morgan both felt themselves lurch forward, hair falling over their faces with the backward momentum. Each turned their heads to the Grandmaster as the procession marched on without them. "You okay?" his wife giggled, jostling his arm. Robin didn't hear the words, but he did see the glow of her smile, centered between two scarlet eyes. His shoulders sagged.

"Coming, dad?" Morgan imitated her mother, yanking his arm. "Dad" came through, finally, and Robin watched as his youngest daughter's face also lit up with a smile.

Maybe that was enough.

The Grandmaster felt his legs weaken and his eyes became unbearably heavy. A film coated the world, but he could still see the little redhead's smile.

Robin fell forward into the mud with a heavy thud, and an accompanying splash. Morgan yelped as she saw him fall and rushed to help him back to his feet. But the limbs were yielding, drained of spirit.

Morgan furiously shook her father as her mother knelt down and a few others began to gather. Morgan felt the corners of her eyes, followed by her cheeks, grow hot and wet.

[...]

Morgan was wringing her hands, more out of boredom than worry. She was too anxious to be upset or concerned. At least, that was what she told herself. It was difficult, waiting as she was behind that curtain. She knew when it opened that there would be hundreds, if not thousands of eyes on her. She also knew that it had been less than a week since her father had died, and already so much had changed. Among her family, everyone had taken the news hard. No one more so than her mother, of course, but only Morgan knew that. For everyone else, Morgan included, she put on her clinical saleswoman's smile and thanked people for their sympathy. But Morgan heard her deep into the long nights where she mumbled muffled cries and sobs into her bed. She never mentioned anything the next day, of course.

Tension was rising from the other side of the curtain, she could feel it, even though she could see nothing beyond it. Her mother had returned from off-stage and was presenting her with a purplish-black coat. She didn't understand what she was being given until she stared at it more closely: three eyes trailed up each sleeve, the sign of an ancient deity in a religion forgotten to her time, gold stitching and buttons along the front, and a collar that rose almost beyond the neck. She hesitated to take it from her mother's fingers. "Are you sure you're ready?" Anna asked.

Morgan took a deep breath, "Yes. I'm ready."

"All right," Anna presented the cloak, "be careful with it, but wear it with pride."

She accepted the gift and flung off the greenish jacket she had been wearing to replace it with the cloak over her tan cotton shirt, looking every bit her father when the ensemble came together. She noticed, with both mild contentment and disgust, that the item smelled like her father. It seemed as though a warm aura overtook her as she donned it, and her mother smiled when she turned around to model the costume. She could see tears in the corners of her mother's eyes.

Anna redirected her daughter's attention to the stage, where the curtains were beginning to shift. The redhead scooped up her daughter's clothes and hopped off the edge of the dais, turning around to watch her from behind. Morgan slowly stepped out onto the half of the dais that had been blocked by the velvety curtains, seeing the faces of a few of her friends out in the crowd, including Inigo, who was doing his best to beam at her from the front row. She understood why his smile looked forced. She looked to her right and saw the coffin that contained her father's body and sighed.

"My father," she began, was a curious man."

"He was an enigma to everyone he knew, no one could quite parse him. His best friend, his wife, even his children... Not a living soul could ever understand what my father wanted from his life. Maybe he was still deciding for himself. I freely admit that we had our disagreements; no family loves each other unflinchingly at every moment. It's normal to get upset. We fought, and I regret it."

"But the one thing I know for a fact my father never desired was pain. Not for himself, of course, but also not for anyone else. I read through every one of his journals, so I know his thoughts as if they were my own. He never took pleasure in ending another life, even from the baleful King Gangrel. Every drop of blood was a poison to him. The death of each man diminished him. Perhaps that's why there was finally so little left."

"He was a man who didn't talk much, at least, not when it was unnecessary. He loved a good steak. He despised the taste of beets, but he would eat them anyway in his growing age to appease the henpecking of his wife. He loved her, too, more than I could ever claim to describe. Those feelings are best left between them."

"If I knew anything about him, it was as a father. He took good care of his children. He made sure they attended school, gave them wonderful meals, studied with them and worked on assignments into the late hours, groaning all the while, but never hesitating to help those young folks he welcomed into his home. And he waved a teary goodbye to each of them when they parted, some on better terms than others. All the same, whatever our relationship, we would return to him, because he had given us our very lives, and he was a man you simply did not say 'no' to. We could always return, but we could never truly leave him."

"And," her voice wavered," I know that he'll never leave me. Even when I might want him gone, something from him dwells within me, a voice, not quite a conscience, but a guiding sound, a warm tone that lets me know someone out there is listening, and he wants to help."

"My father was a curious man, and none of us who knew him may ever understand what it was he really wanted out of life, but I can say this much in confidence: he loved all of us... even me, above all else."