A/N So… anyone else playing Fire Emblem: Heroes? It's pretty fun. That game combined with Bob Ross videos made me think that it might be okay to come back to this, despite not knowing what's going to happen or how it's all going to turn out. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.
It is only an hour after they leave the town that the little princess makes her requests. The first—to ride his back—is quickly denied on account of his having 'squishy mage arms,' whatever that meant. Robin tried not to let the comment, or the way Chrom slides him a knowing look, bother him too much.
The second—to train her in the basics of tactics—is a solicitation he is happier to oblige to.
"Well, it can be a little tough to explain without losing you in all the technical bits," Robin replied thoughtfully. Lissa frowned in disappointment. "So, you can't teach me then?" she asked. Robin shook his head, the corner of his mouth angling upwards in a knowing grin. "I never said that, didn't I? Hand me a piece of paper."
As he speaks with the princess, Robin feels Frederick's watchful gaze from behind. The knight had insisted on going leading the way for Chrom, but still mistrusted the tactician too much to allow him to bring up the rear. Thus, the party had ended up with Robin and Lissa leading, followed by Frederick and occasionally Chrom when the prince desired some conversation. Robin ignores the knight drilling holes in the back of his head and instead tries to focus.
With practiced motions, the snowy-haired tactician drew a neat grid that spanned the entire length of the parchment. He made a thoughtful noise as Lissa watched over his shoulder, clearly enraptured with the process. "Ah-ha…" Robin muttered to himself as he fleshed out the grid with scribbles to represent trees, adding some squiggly lines to resemble a river as an afterthought. "This," he murmured to the young princess, "is a typical battlefield. I tried to make it look like the place where you found me. You've got your trees here, a little water obstruction here, and a bridge over the water. Still with me?"
"Yeah!" Lissa nodded vigorously, clutching her staff. "But where's the people?"
"I was just going to add them. Just… like… this." Robin covered the blonde's view of the paper briefly as he sketched out four little people at the bottom of the map to represent Chrom, Frederick, Lissa, and himself. Drawing out the people was not a critical aspect of strategy—he could have just as easily scratched out some stick figures—but the tactician found that he enjoyed this part of the process the best in his own private way. A few minutes flew by as he perfected his drawings, pausing every once in a while to swipe at a too-close Lissa playfully, much to Frederick's chagrin when Lissa's mock cries of pain grew too realistic.
Satisfied, he pulled away only to catch a rather unladylike snort and a chuckle from over his shoulder. Robin's mouth thinned. "Yes, Lissa? Is there something you'd like to say?" he asked dryly.
Another snort. Another burst of laughter. "You really didn't pull any punches with this one, did you, Robin? Is that supposed to be me? And… is that Frederick? Oh my, ahahaha!" Lissa laughed, a large grin threatening to split her face in two. She withdrew from him briefly to hold her aching sides. "You should—haha—stick to—ahahaha—trees and rivers—bahaha!"
Her sounds of amusement drew the attention of the other two men in the group. "Lissa, what's so funny?" asked Chrom, a curious smile playing on his face. Robin turned away quickly to hide the flush on his face.
"Nothing," he responded briskly as Lissa helplessly pointed to the paper in his hands. "She's crazy. Personally, I blame the heat." Then, to himself more than anyone, "I worked really hard on those…" Lissa continued gesturing wildly at the paper, and eventually Chrom snatched it up from a slightly-miffed looking Robin.
The prince's eyes crinkled in amusement. For a moment, his mouth quivered, as if trying—and failing—to disguise the urge to laugh. Then, giving up, the prince smiled indulgently. "It's obvious that you regard us well. Thank you, friend," Chrom said, his voice sounding guilty and entertained at once.
Robin rolled his eyes. "You're too kind," he remarked sarcastically, then took the drawn map back. "Now then. Lissa, the basics…"
She sees them long before they come close.
Morgan is well aware of the selfishness of her actions, but she can't restrain herself from a small indulgence here and there. Prince, princess, knight, and tactician—she follows them all through the eyes of the hidden Risen, and she watches. Her eyes are drawn to a certain tactician.
He grins happily at some joke. She pretends that it is she who has made that smile appear. He pats the head of that Ylissean princess. She imagines his warm hand softly ruffling her own hair. And, when they get closer, she makes out the odd bit of strategy that no one seems to get but her. She fantasizes her own presence next to him—oh how they would debate on the tactic's merits!
Morgan knows full well that she is being greedy, but still she pretends that she is by this Robin's side, once again soaking up his experience and his joys and his love. In this moment, she is a child again, still learning the basics of strategy. It was too tempting to just abandon her mission and live vicariously through the scenes in front of her. Was this, perhaps, how Mother felt when she first came back and saw her father? To see your father so close and so lively, but ultimately out of your reach. She felt a stab of painful nostalgia, followed quickly by searing hate. Morgan smiled ruefully at the latter—the past wasn't all as grand as she was making it out to be, but glorified it would remain.
And it wasn't as if this were truly the past. This universe's Robin was very different, she decided. Where Master Grima's vessel had been stoic and apathetic, this vessel was open and eager to please. If it weren't for their shared features, she could never have believed that this was supposed to be Robin.
Was it for better or for worse? Morgan couldn't say. The dark mage supposes that all timelines must differ in some way. She wonders if this is all that's changed from the previous world, or if there were more discrepancies in store. As she continues to watch, she doesn't quite know how to feel if that were the case.
They were getting close. Hidden behind a copse of trees on a hill, it would only be a matter of time until they came her way, unless something happened to disrupt their path.
And that something is me.
She took a deep breath and focused within, on the magic that flowed within her veins. Her inner reservoir was overflowing with arcane energies, though most of it was not generated from her own strength. It was a cheap tactic, this foreign, chaotic mess, but she had been told enough tales about this event to know exactly how it was supposed to look like.
There had been fire and brimstone and lava. A large portal had appeared in the sky, inscribed with ancient runes and symbols. Flaming meteors had crashed down from the heavens. Morgan was powerful for a human mage, but these forces were decidedly cataclysmic in scale. Far beyond her own power. At least by leeching off Grima's arcane energy, she could do a poor man's impression of that fateful night.
The things I do for you, Father, she inwardly sighed, but lifted her fire tome. The sheer power lent her the strength she would need to follow history, but it didn't come without a cost. It surged against her walls of willpower, battering at her mental defenses, but as of yet she was physically unscathed.
Morgan figured that would change soon, but not quite yet. She still had some time. To herself, she breathed again and held her head high. "I hope you're ready."
And the earth shook.
Robin muttered another incantation under his breath.
On command, a wind projectile neatly sliced the head from the enemy's shoulders. That… thing took one, two more steps before buckling. Before it could hit the ground, the body and head disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.
Another swung its axe at him, and Robin dropped to the ground. Where his head had been whizzed the edge of a blade, but Robin didn't take much time to reflect on that fact before he pulled out his sword and stabbed it clean through a purple foot. Part of the blade was buried in the dirt, rooting whatever that thing was to the spot as he rolled away. With reflexes fueled purely by adrenaline, Robin retrieved his fallen wind tome and eviscerated the trapped enemy with his magic.
Another puff of smoke.
He huffed in exhaustion as he stood, his lungs burning from the exertion. There were so many of these red-eyed monsters that it was all Chrom and he could do to stay alive.
It was just the two of them. When the ground had ruptured and cracked into two under their feet, Frederick and Lissa were on one side while he and the prince had been on the other. As the ground rose, it brought molten lava from deep in the earth. The lava had splashed dangerously close, preventing a last-second jump on by the former two Shepherds.
Then, from seemingly nowhere, two of these strange enemies had appeared, distracting them from finding a way to immediately regroup.
Robin remembered clearly their stocky builds and the unnatural speed at which they ran at them. When Robin blocked a sword swing from one with his own bronze sword, he could still see the black smoke curling from its open mouth, still smell the stench of death it carried. Despite Chrom's coming to his aid, it had taken an exorbitant amount of effort to kill even just one.
It didn't help that, on occasion, a thunder spell would strike at him or Chrom, forcing Robin to counter the attack with his own magic. Whenever the tactician looked to the source of the spell, there would be nothing there but another melee walking corpse. At least the numbers were finally thinning.
"Damn," he panted, checking his tome. There were only a few more runes inscribed within its pages. As he shot off another wind spell, the ink on the paper shriveled up and vanished. At this rate, he'd have to switch to his fire tome—in a forest no less. Though, Robin thought, thinking back to the lava cataclysm they had fled from, there were worse things.
The tactician glanced at his friend and saw a dark shape charging towards the prince. "Chrom, on your left!" he yelled, and the prince nodded. After dispatching of his current enemy, the blue-haired man spun blindly, trustingly in that direction with his sword, cutting down yet another of the purple-skinned abominations.
As the last of the red-eyed enemies fell to Chrom's blade, the darkened figure that had been casting the occasional spell in their direction sprinted off. At once, the two men gave chase. They leapt over fallen trunks, crusted with moss and dotted with various fungi. They tore through gnarly branches and burly bushes, giving no heed to the scratches received. In hot pursuit, Chrom pulled out Falchion and cut a dead tree in two to provide a shortcut to the fleeing enemy.
Finally, their pursuit came to a sudden standstill as the magic user slowed down with a muffled, breathy curse. Catching his own breath, the white-haired tactician thought he could make out a half-baked prayer in the string of expletives, to some unknown deity.
Robin watched as the enigmatic mage glanced behind at the tall edge of the cliff, and the looming shadow it cast. The earthen walls were steep and unforgiving—a challenge to climb even if one was properly equipped. The only way out was behind Chrom and himself. "Tch," the figure scoffed disdainfully. "Figures that—hoff, hoff—this would still be standing. I thought I would—hoff—last a little bit longer." The voice was low, but undeniably female.
She turned to face the two Shepherds, seeming to accept her fate. Her hood still obstructed the upper half of her face, but the lower half was plain as day to see. And right now, the woman's lips were pursed in slight irritation.
"Surrender. You're outmaneuvered with nowhere to run. If you give up now, your life will be spared," Chrom commanded imperiously. Falchion rested in his right hand and pointed resolutely towards the stranger. If it had been anyone else, the glint on the foreboding blade would have been enough to make them think twice about fighting, but this mysterious woman wasn't just anyone. Her lips arranged themselves into a deliberate smirk as she placed one hand on her hip, the other hand still wielding a dark tome.
"Who says I'm—heh—outmaneuvered?" she drawled, "From my point of view, it is you, dear prince, who has been routed. Though, I'll give you a break. There's no way any of you could have ever faced someone like me."
"Wha—" the Ylissean prince made to say, but as if on cue, a frightened, girlish scream resounded through the woods. Chrom stilled, the color draining from his face. The woman chuckled quietly.
"I thought… Frederick…" he murmured, dumbfounded and momentarily disarmed.
That's right, the knight should have been there to protect the healer. To suddenly lose her like that, something must have happened—has happened. The same feeling of dread that seemed to have overtaken Chrom threatened to do the same to Robin, but the tactician managed to maintain a clear head.
Think fast, think fast. Ignoring his friend briefly, Robin rounded on the cloaked mage. "What have you done with Lissa?" he barked, allowing his anger to ground him. The mysterious figure shrugged. The action was so careless, so inconsiderate of Lissa's life that it set Robin's teeth on edge.
"Nothing. Yet. Just summoned up another Risen and it looks like it found itself a new toy." A slow, wry curve of her lips as the two men took in the information.
She raised a finger. "Rule number one for fighting against a summoner: never expect it to be over until the summoner is dead, or has surrendered," she finished offhandedly. She made a vague gesture in the direction of the scream. "Best be on your way now, Chrom, and stick to the side of the cliff to avoid the lava. From the sounds of it, your dear sister shouldn't have very long before she gets chopped into little princess-sized pieces." She paused. "Oh! If you leave your newest charity case with me for a nice chat, I'll even let you go for free."
The two men shared a glance, weighing her words. It could be a trap designed to further split them apart, but there was always the possibility that she was telling the truth, for some unknown reason. "Robin, I don't like this…" Chrom began.
"…but we can't risk it. There's too much at stake. Go," finished Robin in a hard voice. "Save Lissa and find Frederick. I'll take care of this one."
Chrom nodded and bright blue eyes shot him a look that cautioned be careful. The snowy-haired tactician tilted his head at his comrade, signaling that he saw. I know, the action replied.
And he was gone in a flurry of bright white from his cape and deep navy from his hair. After a few seconds, even the conspicuous figure the prince cut against the dim trees disappeared. Alone, the Shepherd tactician rounded on the woman.
"All right, it's just the two of us. Who are you and what do you want?" Robin demanded, glaring daggers. Questions danced on the tip of his tongue, but he held himself back. The sooner this conversation was over, the sooner they could end this little chat.
And, Robin thought to himself, the sooner I can see the others safely.
She was quiet for a second. There was no sound except for the howling of the wind through the trees. Robin half-expected the voice in his head to pipe up, but nothing from that end either, so he studied his opponent pensively. With a start, he took note that her outfit was almost an exact mirror of his, from the golden embellishments on the cloak, to the make of the striped shirt, and the shape of her boots. Added to that fact was that the longer he stared at this woman, the more familiar she seemed. But she was not familiar in the way that past acquaintances were, rather, she felt like a forgotten dream. She was the first to break the silence to answer his question.
"I am Morgan. Despite your… issues with memory and dislike of me, I trust you can remember at least that," the woman—no, Morgan—responded. Careful to give him an angle, she purposefully stashed her tome inside her clothes and shifted to reveal her still-sheathed smallsword. As she spoke, her easy, sarcastic smile seemed to Robin a bit strained. "And I meant what I said. I actually wanted to speak with you, Robin, as an old friend."
The tactician's eyes widened at her words before narrowing in suspicion. Her actions thus far suggested otherwise, yet here they were, talking, and here she was in a cloak that greatly resembled the one he wore. "How do you know my name and that my memories are gone?" he queried, keeping his spellbook drawn. Questions, questions, so many questions.
Though the female dark mage had yet to resume her attack and had even assumed an almost cordial stance, Robin remained on guard. He didn't like the strangeness surrounding this woman, but she seemed to have answers to the questions he'd been asking himself. It seemed best to hear her out, at least for now.
She seemed to be debating with herself on how to answer, before eventually one side won out and ended with her shaking her head lightly. "Right now, the ah, how doesn't matter. It will all be revealed in due time. Let it suffice that I just do."
"I'm here to warn you: you may think you have allies in the Shepherds, but be careful. Your enemies are closer than you think. Don't give your trust so easily to others, least of all to yourself." Morgan's breath caught on a couple of words and she looked considerably paler than she had just a few moments before. Her skin was as close to alabaster as it could probably get, and a drop of sweat dripped from her chin. Robin thought he caught her wince a touch.
And her words… they were certainly ominous, but at the same time decidedly vague. He didn't know quite what to make of this woman.
Morgan tilted her head up and sighed at the sunny sky. Her hands dug into the cloak's many pockets, and her posture took on a tired stance. From this new angle, Robin could see the strong jut of her chin, and the frown that rested on her lips. Her eyes remained obscured in the hood's shadows, but Robin had the feeling that if they weren't, he would be privy to a great melancholy.
However, there was something strange about the woman that had nothing to do with her manner of speaking and acting. Robin couldn't quite place it, even as his eyes searched from the top of her head to the bottom tips of her cloak, a covering that very much resembled his own.
Then the moment passed as Morgan straightened and donned that same sardonic smile. "Well, we should both get going," she stated, already backing away even though there was nothing behind her but the cliff. Her impromptu dismissal irked him. And there was that peculiarity again, pestering him from the corners of his mind.
She was quiet—too quiet in a forest littered with fallen twigs, cracked leaves, and moist earth. Where her footsteps landed came only silence.
Momentarily ignoring the oddity, Robin murmured a few incantations and arcane flames flickered to life between his fingertips. They danced wildly inside his left hand, begging to be released, but never once did they singe his glove. It was with a hard look that he addressed the retreating mage.
"No, you are staying right here. We're not finished yet. You say you're a friend, but last I checked, friends don't try to kill each other. I cannot forgive you for putting the others in danger," he said darkly, preparing to fight.
"Then it's a good thing that there's nothing to forgive me for." At his raised eyebrow, Morgan's lips thinned and continued, "Don't you know? In the great plays, the major players never die in the beginning." Her tone was sarcastic and biting, resentful, even, but her words gnawed on an unseen enemy, rather than him. "And, if my theory proves to be correct, another player should just have appeared. Good bye, Robin. Think on what I've said, for this will not be the last time you see me, Morgan."
In a blink of an eye, the woman vanished, but not before Robin shot off a particularly potent blast of fire. The projectile went straight through her image and puffed out into nonexistence, and Robin realized that the female mage, Morgan, had never been there at all.
He thinks he hears a faint chuckling.
A/N I had a funny thought while writing this: the strangeness with Morgan was that she had no feet, ha-ha. Other than that, this chapter didn't feel as good as the previous ones, but that's what I get for not writing in a long time. Rusty.