A/N There is a pattern in the updating, one that I don't particularly like. After I passed the first horizontal line break, this song seemed appropriate: /ilmX2IwAAw8. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms. I also don't own that other game or any of its alternate timeline forms.
I also didn't edit this. Or proof it. Or reread.
Adriane sighed. Surrounded by the charred and smoking ruins of the town, she should have felt happy, but… She closed her eyes. What happened with the mother was out of her control. She felt fine. Once more, she was filled with determination to serve Grima.
Concerning her master… he must be warned. Adriane surveyed her Risen. Yes, one of them could be sent ahead to warn Master Grima about the attack. But what if a mere message wasn't enough to deter the Ylisseans' attack? Her force of Risen, while comparatively small, was nothing to scoff at either. In a full out clash in their enemy's own capital, a single soldier could mean the difference between victory and defeat. The image of her master sprawled across the castle footsteps, stained with the blood of his enemies and his own filled her with an unfathomable anguish and she trembled slightly. On the other hand, there were the orders of targets and battle plans in the saddlebags. No. Adriane could not take any chances, not at this stage in the war. She made her decision.
She cleared her throat loudly, and the red eyes gravitated to her form. "There has been a change of plans. This threat against our master is unknown, and he must be aided immediately. Risen! March towards the capital!" she commanded. However, to her surprise, none of the undead so much as budged. The clearing was deathly silent, until a familiar voice cut through.
"You will do no such thing, child." Out of the corner of her eye, Adriane spotted a cloaked, blue-haired figure approaching her from the rubble. Though the tactician appeared a little worse for wear with cloudy dust clinging to her clothes and several cuts and slashes in her clothing. Her left arm hung limply and blood was running freely from a wound on the same side's shoulder. On her right cheek was a thin red line, not deep or wide enough to bleed heavily, but just enough to be noticeable. Adriane would have normally been impressed by the one to deliver the cuts -there was only one she knew of that could even manage the feat-but in this moment, that wasn't the case. The commander was more concerned with why Morgan was here, and why she would ignore a potentially very dangerous threat.
Morgan walked towards Adriane, her steps making small crunching noises in the stone and dirt. She stopped about four feet from Adriane's steed and met the commander's steely grey eyes with her own brown. The former student gave the other a questioning look, tinged with the slightest irritation.
The tactician's lips thinned and she responded, "Grima already knows. He's known for months." Adriane instinctively tightened her hands around the reins, but Morgan continued. "I came along because there were rumors of the Chon'sin ruler in the area, making her way to Ylisse." The wounded woman on the horse, Adriane thought. "I had her, but an archer woman intervened and she managed to escape," Morgan gritted out, a murderous expression shadowing her face for a fraction of a second. The tactician clutched her shoulder in an attempt to inhibit the bleeding, and said, "But it's all for naught on their side. By the time those two reach the capital in their conditions, there will be no capital left to save, much less a force that can rival Master Grima's."
Morgan's eyes took on a dreamy and relieved expression. "Grima is marching towards the capital with the whole of the Risen forces as we speak. The time is ripe. Soon, the Ylisseans will fall, their precious capital and family reduced to ashes, and finally, finally…" Her voice trembled slightly. "Finally my f- Master Grima's dream will come true. It will finally be over."
Adriane could not believe what she was hearing. "And no one deemed it fit to tell me of this development?" she quipped coldly. The pieces slid together before Morgan could explain.
This whole mission, about proving herself to her Master, for repaying him… it was a diversion of some sort, something to keep her away from her final revenge against Ylisse. For what purpose, she did not know. The injustice weighed heavy on her mind. Why? Why keep her from the march? She had been training all of her life for a moment like this! All of the instruction and conditioning had been geared towards eradicating the enemy. She was strong! She could be a useful tool! So why exclude her from the finest hour when even the lowliest unit had a place in the slaughter?
Her knuckles turned bone white and Morgan gave her an unreadable expression. "It was in the plan initially for you to spearhead the onslaught, but circumstances don't permit that anymore. Grima's orders. You were not to know nor take part, and everyone followed them. I suggest you do the same in this situation." Morgan pointed towards the saddlebag that held the maps. Looking for answers, Adriane tried but could not read the other's expression. The tactician had put up a wall and would not meet her eyes.
After a moment's worth of tense silence, Morgan said, "I will stay with you temporarily to ensure compliance before departing. The next target should be Southtown, no?" The older woman then beckoned to a Risen sage and gestured to her shoulder. The two disappeared in the folds of the crowd, leaving Adriane with a million questions and one determination.
She was dying to know what her Master's motives were in removing her from the position. He knew how much it meant for her to see the dying gasps of the monarchs who ordered her parents' death. To repay him for his work towards making that happen.
Morgan would be leaving tonight, presumably to hunt down the Chon'sin woman. Adriane knew that her former teacher was never one to retreat for long, and if the escaped woman was given even half the week, Ylisse would have what it needed to down Master Grima.
To search the forests for a warrior duo or to head straight for the capital and Grima? The commander had never been one for tracking. In the unfamiliar forests, it would be all to simple to lose the two and burn time. No, better to ride directly to the capital.
As she ordered her troops to move out, the when, where, and how was formulated in her mind. It would have to be tonight, while Morgan was occupied in the healing tent. There was a higher risk of being caught in her escape, but Adriane knew that if she delayed her leave any longer, she and the Risen would be much too far away from the capital to arrive before the archer and the Chon'sin woman.
She thought of the patrols and mentally grimaced. Risen were not like living creatures. They did not tire, they did not take breaks, and they did not switch out on watch. Adriane estimated that she would only need a minute or two to retrieve her steed and enter the forest, but how would she be able to distract both Morgan and the surrounding Risen at once?
As she pondered on the situation, her undead horse misplaced a hoof, causing her to jostle slightly on its back. As the commander recalibrated, her eyes landed upon the ground. Loose dirt, moist and capable of housing life. A memory emerged. An idea sprang into existence. Adriane privately allowed herself a smile.
(A/N If you have the music up, this is the part I was referring to. Feel free to stop it once you hit the next line. Or not. It's good up until the end.)
It was a dark night, black as pitch and full of bad memories. Alone in her tent, with only a small lit candle for company, Morgan slouched against a desk. The Risen sage had departed her for a bit when the tactician had complained of a pain spike in her left shoulder, but really, there was no pain. Morgan just wanted some time alone.
A small part of her knew that alone time wasn't the best idea, now or ever, for someone like her. The silence and the dark invited too many memories, doubts, and fears. Things she would usually rather safely tuck away in a box to forget came back in small tidbits, plaguing the rare moments of time she wasn't occupied with something or someone. Yawning, she tried to focus her thoughts on the bright flame across her. With enough concentration, she could get past this terrible decision and last until the Risen returned.
But the night is long, and quiet. Try as she might, Morgan could not free her mind of Adriane's face when the commander had heard of the upcoming assault on Ylisse. She felt her sins weighing down on her, but she ignored them. 'It's for the best,' she thought, as visions of red-soaked blue swam in her mind. The familiar feeling of thunder at her fingertips.
She sighed.
...gan. The woman buried her face in the crook of her right arm.
Mor...gan. She shut her eyes.
… to me. So precious, my… She wished she could shut her heart the same way.
"...I really wish you had talked to me before you decided to do-" A woman gestured to a small lump on the young girl's forehead "-this." The bump was a discolored purple, with splotches of red where the wall had scraped off bits of skin. The woman poked it experimentally, and the girl couldn't hold back a wince.
"Now why did you do this to yourself, hmm Morgan?" the woman asked. The girl couldn't see the other's expression, but she just knew that it was a look of worry, without a trace of disappointment. At the question, she fidgeted and refused to meet her eyes. "Well?" the woman prompted.
Morgan let out a small sigh. "I was… I was trying something," she mumbled. Perhaps if she played her cards correctly, Mother wouldn't have to know the truth.
A hand stroked back Morgan's loose bangs. "Yes dear? What?" Morgan still couldn't see her mother's face. She took a deep breath and finally let it out. "I was trying to remember you," she confessed sadly, with a hint of frustration.
She could almost see Mother's bemused expression as the woman asked, "...by hitting your head against a wall? I…"
Morgan shook her head. "I need to know, Mother. I need to know more about you, Father, us in my past. I can't go on with just knowing that I am your daughter." She hugged her form in shame. "You and the other future children came to your parents knowing exactly who you are. Me? I have no identity, I've failed Ma-my father and you."
At this, Mother knelt down and gathered Morgan into her arms. "Sh, sh, it's alright. I do not fault you for your lack of memory, my child. But perhaps it is better this way. The past… is not always a thing worth remembering," Mother said. "On the other hand, the present and future don't have to be the same way. You, your father, I can make new memories. Happy ones. Would you like that?"
Blue. Blue were her mother's eyes as they gazed lovingly down at Morgan. Blue like the clear, clear sky on a shining day. Blue and alive.
Morgan nodded, and Mother closed her eyes and beamed at her daughter. The child guiltily glanced down. Liar, liar… As Mother reopened her eyes, Morgan quickly said, "Tell me about your life here until you met me. I want to know all about you." She offered a quick smile, and her mother launched into a hilarious and captivating story, that blurred out, lost to time.
Throughout it all, a darkness lurked in the back of her mind. It listened to her words and laughed and jeered. It condemned her for the facade she had pulled up. 'Take it down,' it suggested. 'Show them all who you really are.' Unwillingly, Morgan had come to face with the memory that had resurfaced, of a tactician mounted atop a wyvern.
The tactician wore a Plegian cloak, and held a tome that reeked of magic. In the memory, Morgan was pointing to separate parts of a battlefield as she flew. Everywhere she pointed, a group of Risen made their way to that area, ready to eliminate the enemy. Once in awhile, the Mark on her back burned unpleasantly, yet her face would light up and she would begin animatedly speaking to the one by the name of Grima. Her father.
In sync, the voices said "...my child."
Only one continued. 'You have returned.'
With a start, Morgan awoke. The candle was running low, yet the undead healer had yet to return. She stretched out from her slumped position and grimaced. A wonderful surprise was waiting for her to notice. There was actual pain in her left shoulder now, a throbbing that persisted after her stretches.
Where was that blasted Risen?
"I should just get some sleep," she grumbled. It was better to have a bad time sleeping just a little than no sleep at all. Her hunt of the Chon'sin princess required an early wakeup. However, as she was shuffling towards her small cot, a skitter of movement caught her eye. Morgan's blood froze. Every muscle was tense, wary. No… it couldn't be? A monstrous shadow flashed across the side of her tent. Moving only her eyes, she looked down, and saw it.
A cockroach.
And Morgan, grandmaster tactician of Grima's army, spellcaster of the highest caliber, ruthless harbinger of death, screamed.
Adriane had been waiting for quite a while. Getting the cockroach into Morgan's tent and disemboweling that sage was the easy part. The endless waiting, knowing that every second that slipped by could have been used to overtake the Ylisseans… that was the true struggle.
As soon as the Risen stationed in the area rushed to Morgan's tent, she quietly sprinted to where the undead horses were kept. She wore a simple black ensemble-black trousers, black shirt, black cloak-anything that would help her blend into the night. A dark leather bag was slung around her shoulders carrying a wedge of cheese, a large heel of bread, and a couple of potions in case of emergencies. Her sword she wore sheathed and attached to a belt.
When she arrived at her steed, the undead horse looked at her as questioningly as it could with its unearthly red glow. She shook her head at it and silently tightened the saddle and harness onto its back. One minute left, tops. Her heart hammered against her chest as she clumsily undid the horse's tie to the tree.
Silence. The screams had stopped about ten seconds ago. Soon the Risen would discover the broken vials of health potions on the path between Morgan's tent and the healer's, if they hadn't already. Finally getting the tie free, Adriane threw herself onto the saddle and dug her boots into the sides of the undead horse.
In the dark, her grey eyes shone with determination. No matter what, she would stand by Master Grima's side. She would show him. He would know that she was strong, and deserving of the honor, the honor of avenging the past and righting the future.
Under the cover of the same night, a heavily cloaked figure snuck into the Ylissean palace through a hole in the wall. She trespassed through a decrepit garden long abandoned to nature. She traipsed through empty hallways in the same dreary state. A voice stopped her in the final hallway.
"Halt! Who dares to step foot in this sacred hallway? I must warn you, fiend, my sword hand is not easily contained," boomed a theatrical voice. The stooped woman was hit with a sentimentality that tore at her heart. She turned around and let down the hood, letting the moonlight illuminate her aged features.
Immediately Owain abandoned his pose. "Aunt Flavia," he said. He gravely nodded at her and gestured towards the door to his right. The khan of what was left of Regna Ferox approached the gilded door. Even in the pale moonlight, the signs of undermainance was evident. The golden filigree had flaked off and the paint had cracked in several places. More disturbing however, were the shallow scratch marks and uneven lumps in the wood, as if someone had tried to claw and break down the door.
The door opened ever so slightly. Twitching, gloved fingers peeked out over the edge of the door. "Owain..? Who are you talking to?.." a meek voice asked. Flavia tilted her head to the left for a better angle and met the eyes of an old ally.
"Lissa," she greeted warmly.
"..." Lissa said nothing, just looked at her as if not really believing that she was there. Dark circles ringed her eyes. Dull, ash blond hair fell haphazardly to her shoulders.
Flavia sensed a Owain nodding slowly from behind her, and Lissa's face flooded with relief. For a moment, the Ylissean princess' face morphed into that of a girl who, seventeen years ago, could brighten and inspire a whole army with just her presence. The moment passed quickly, and the room seemed to have gotten colder. With a smile, Lissa said, "Come in, come in! I'm so glad you made it here safely!"
The door opened a just a bit more, and the gloved hands disappeared inside. Flavia turned to Owain, who gave her an almost-imperceptible shake of his head. She nodded in return and, carrying a gemstone, followed the princess.