Part III

Robin could only see black. She had her eyes squeezed shut, cutting off her sense of sight. She couldn't take looking at what was in front of her. Her ears pounded with the rushing of blood. Rain was beginning to fall, pattering onto her hair and the dirt which surrounded her, sending a chill burst wherever it touched her skin. Her hands were still clenched around Arthur's – future Arthur's. His hands had long since gone cold. With her eyes squeezed shut, Robin was alone in the blackness of her mind. In here, she could almost control her emotions.

Robin's eyes peeled open, and there Arthur was. Still dead. Her eyes locked onto his corpse, and suddenly there was no controlling the emotions. No controlling the rage that filled her. No controlling the self-hatred, the sense of powerlessness.

Robin had never felt so powerless as she did now, kneeling in front of Arthur's body. She had never been so sure of her own monstrosity. She felt the certainty burning inside her, fueling her hopeless rage. How could I not be convinced? How could I not be convinced of my monstrosity – he told me he loved me, then told me he had to kill me. Arthur tried to kill me. He wouldn't do that unless he was certain of what I am.

No. This Arthur tried to kill me. Not my Arthur. My Arthur is alive, somewhere. I should look for him. She should, but she didn't want to. Will I even be able to speak to him? Will I even be able to look at him? The thoughts burned at her. And what will he think when he sees me… or when he sees this. Because it was not just future Arthur that had convinced Robin of what she was. There was more, unavoidable proof.

She had been avoiding looking at her right hand since she first saw the purple light, radiating out from the gap between her glove and her wrist. Hidden beneath the glove, something was glowing. Now that she had truly looked at it, she couldn't bring her eyes away. She pulled off her glove, and there it was. The Mark of Grima was glowing, six eyes alight, pulsating in time with the swells of rage that burned inside her. It felt… good. Looking at it, Robin could not feel powerless any longer. All she could feel was power – unimaginable power, coursing through her, innervating her. She had felt this kind of power before, in her dreams. It scared her. It was proof of the evil within her.

At that moment, Robin was not in the state of mind to care. The brand made her powerful. With it, she could protect herself, protect Arthur – by destroying anyone and everyone who threatened them. She stood up and turned from future Arthur's body, walking to the edge of the mesa. Above, dark gray storm clouds had begun to empty themselves onto the desert. Below, the camp was no longer asleep. She could hear bells ringing and horns blowing. The screening forces must have sent word that enemies were approaching, and the army of the Ylisse-Ferox coalition was pulling itself together to mount a defense. As the army's tactician, she would be needed below. She pulled her glove back on, covering her glowing brand, and then tucked the sleeve of her robe into the glove to fully block the glow from sight. With that, she hurried down the path from the mesa, leaving the body behind her without casting a backwards glance.

The coalition army retreated all night, harried by Plegian forces at their backs. The Feroxi Khans had taken charge of defending the rear, leaving Chrom and Robin at to lead the head of the army. The soldiers were beleaguered by a day of constant battle, but not so Chrom and Robin. Both of them were burning with anger, although for different reasons. As the rain continued to pour down, they marched wordlessly north – into the Midmire.

The Midmire was a treeless, muddy bog which lay on the path north from Castle Plegia to Regna Ferox. Thousands of years ago, before even the Hero-King Marth, it had been the site of a battle in the war between the tribe of Naga and the spawn of the Earth Dragon. Colossal dragon bones still littered the landscape, too durable to be broken down by natural means. A network of small Plegian fortresses dotted the landscape, meant to protect against Feroxi invasion. The fortresses had each been built into convenient sections of bone, exploiting the fact that dragonbone made a stronger wall than any stone.

One such fort commanded the road north, built into the rib cage of a particularly large earth dragon. The road passed between two ribs – a castle had been built on the western rib, overlooking the road, ready to shower down arrows as anyone passed. As their horses galloped closer, Robin could make out Plegian soldiers looking south from atop the walls. She grimaced, feeling her rage boil inside her again. We'll have to take them out if we want to bring the army through. Going around was not an option – the coalition's wounded were being carried in carts, which would never outrun the Plegian advance without a road to follow north. The fortress would have to be taken.

Robin found herself almost pleased with the fact. She could not see the glow, but beneath her right glove she knew that her brand was still alight. She had felt it the entire ride north, like an itch she couldn't scratch. It filled her with energy – it called out for her to use her power, to lay waste to those who stood in her way. She looked over at Chrom and saw that the brand on his shoulder was also beginning to glow as his eyes fixed angrily on the fortresses ahead.

The rest of the Shepherds were riding close behind them. The group pulled up as they came within bowshot of the castle walls. In the pouring rain, the Shepherds seemed in no mood for a rousing speech, and neither Chrom nor Robin were in the mood to give one. "Cordelia," Robin said. The red-haired knight was quickly at attention. "Take Ricken and a grappling hook to the top of the wall. Drop us a rope and we'll climb in."

Cordelia nodded sharply. The pegasus knight's reputation for genius was clearly no joke – she already had a grappling hook prepared within her pack for such an occasion. Ricken dismounted from his pony and Cordelia pulled him up into the saddle behind her. Ordinarily Robin would not have been so quick to send the boy into danger, but it just made sense – he was light enough not to affect the maneuverability of the pegasus, and his wind magic would help stave off arrows while Cordelia secured the rope to the wall.

"Whenever you're ready," said Robin. Cordelia simply nodded, then gave her pegasus a tap with her heels. Bunching its legs, the creature kicked off the ground and began to fly towards the Plegian walls. The Shepherds followed on the ground beneath it, and the plan went off without a hitch. Cordelia skewered a few Plegians atop the wall then dropped the rope. Chrom was the first up and over the walls, followed immediately by Robin.

Chrom had already begun running one direction down the ramparts as Robin pulled herself over the parapet. She turned and made her way down the other side. A Plegian soldier was there, looking at the Shepherds fearfully. He was blowing into a horn – rousing the rest of the fortress – but he dropped the horn and readied himself for combat as he saw Robin coming towards him. He pulled a wooden shield from his back and a sword from the scabbard at his waist, then dropped into a combat stance.

Robin approached slowly, giving her own sword an experimental swing. With the power of the brand coursing through her, it felt light as a feather. She smiled at the feeling, and the fear in the Plegian soldier's eyes grew. Driven by fear, he lunged at her. Robin parried his blow easily – his sword was ripped from his fingers by the force of her blow, flying over the battlement and clattering along the dragonbone below. The soldier was knocked over by the force of the blow, falling on his back onto the walkway of the rampart. He pushed himself back frantically, but Robin was already bringing her sword at him in a downstroke. The soldier raised his shield – Robin's downstroke cleaved through it, shattering the wooden shield in an explosion of splinters, slicing straight through the hand which held it aloft. Blood flowing from his stump wrist, the soldier pulled himself away desperately, turning his back to Robin and crawling along the stone walkway. Robin's lip curled at the sight, and she put him out of his misery with a blast of lightning to the back. Even her magic, however, was affected by the pulsating power of the brand. What she had meant to be a small blast of electricity came out of her hand as a full-fledged bolt of lightning, frying the Plegian soldier until his skin was black and crispened. A clap of thunder boomed through the fortress.

One by one, the rest of the Shepherds were pulling themselves over the parapet. In the castle courtyard below, a group of Plegian soldiers had gathered around a large, muscular man with pauldrons made of wyvern skulls. The man was clearly their commander – he was shouting for them to form up in a line. Chrom had already made his way across the rampart and down a set of stairs into the courtyard. Robin quickly followed him down, and the two of them paused when they were within speaking distance of the Plegians. The rest of the Shepherds formed up behind them.

The Plegian commander made his way out in front of their ranks, brandishing a massive axe towards the Shepherds. "Ylisseans!" he shouted. "I offer you mercy! Surrender to me now and live!" Chrom scoffed at this offer, his eyes burning with rage. The Plegian could see that surrender was not forthcoming. "Emmeryn would not have wished for this to come to bloodshed."

"Don't speak her name!" spat Chrom, his teeth bared with anger. The white glow from his brand grew more intense.

"Your rage is justified, prince," said the Plegian, his tone bittersweet. "But the meaning of your sister's final sacrifice was not lost on me. I suspect many Plegians who heard her final words would say the same. If you lay down your weapons, I vow to protect you as best I can."

"You want to avoid bloodshed?" said Chrom, taking a step closer to the commander. "Then get out of our way."

"I can't do that," said the Plegian.

"Then we have nothing left to discuss," said Chrom, gripping Falchion with both hands and settling into a fighting stance.

The Plegian commander sighed, resigning himself to his fate. He hefted his axe in front of him. "So be it," he said.

With that, the battle had begun. Chrom was the first to move, sprinting forward and engaging the Plegian commander. The Shepherds didn't need to be told to move – once Chrom had started charging, they weren't going to let him do so alone. The rain poured down on the battle, growing torrential now, so heavy that the combatants could hardly see each other. Underfoot, the courtyard's floor was off-white and rough, made of the raw dragonbone of the rib that the fortress was built on. The bone would not be stained in this battle – the falling rain diluted the spilt blood as soon as it touched the ground, running in barely-red rivulets down the courtyard's slightly curved surface.

Robin registered all of this as she fought, letting the heat of battle take over. There was no thinking here – when a Plegian came in front of her they died, usually in a single vicious blow. One here, two there, then another, and another, and another. She didn't bother counting. As the rain began to let up, her visibility increased, and she was shaken from her single-mindedness. Looking around the courtyard she saw Plegians running, dropping their weapons. The glow on Chrom's shoulder was losing intensity as he pulled Falchion from the Plegian commander's crumpling corpse.

Robin felt the power of her own brand beginning to fade, almost as though satiated by the victory. She pulled up her sleeve and peeked down into her glove. There was no glow emanating from within. Relief flooded through Robin – relief at their victory, but also at being relieved of the power of her brand. Gods. That was too much. Now that it was gone she felt more lucid, and with that lucidity came a sickening whiplash as she thought about how much influence the brand had over her. For someone like her, who spent so much time planning on how to win battles, the power of the brand had been euphoric – and for that reason, insidious. What bothered Robin most, however, was the feeling of a lack of control. Even while drunk, Robin had never felt so much like a bystander in her own body. While the brand had been active, she had been out of control. Like her nightmares – except that all the choices had been hers.

That thought was all Robin could take, and even in the pouring rain there was no concealing the tears that ran down her face. It didn't matter – the Shepherds would all assume the tears were about Emmeryn.

If only they knew.

Marth had not said a word to Arthur since their first conversation. That had been hours ago. Bound in the desert cave with rain pouring outside, Arthur had nothing to entertain himself with except his anxiety and his pain.

The long cut that Marth had dealt his face had stopped bleeding, but it still pained him every time he moved the muscles of his cheeks. His head, where this 'Tristain' character had hit him, was still pounding from the blow. Arthur's mind, for its part, was still trying to piece together the facts.

Tristain. The name was familiar – a character from Pyrathi mythology. Their stories were not well-known on the continent. Could he have been from Pyrath? But then… who? He had been from Marth's timeline. He had been fast enough to outspeed Arthur. He had named himself for a legend of Pyrath. A suspicion crept into Arthur's mind, but he had to be sure. He began pulling himself towards the mouth of the cave, shuffling with his back to the wall. Marth looked up at him and tensed.

"I just need to see my reflection," said Arthur. Marth didn't look happy about it, but she did not rise to interfere. With Arthur's hands and feet bound, she knew that he could not run. Arthur pulled himself slowly to the mouth of the cave, where a puddle had formed as rain leaked into the cave. The cut on his face was grotesque, but that was not what he was looking for. Above that, on his head – a streak of white ran through his gray-blue hair, exactly where he could feel the pain of Tristain's blow. Arthur had seen this sort of aging before, left behind wherever Rust had struck his enemies.

"Tristain," said Arthur, looking over at Marth with guarded eyes. "He was me?"

Marth pursed her lips and responded only with a curt nod.

Arthur leaned back, resting his head on the cool stone of the cave wall and looking up at the ceiling as he processed the information. "I thought I wasn't involved in all this last timeline," he said.

"I thought so too," said Marth, finally breaking her silence. "But then again, I only heard stories about this time period." She paused, looking Arthur over, seemingly weighing whether to say more. "I knew most of the Shepherds growing up, but I never met you. That's why I was so hostile towards you the first few times we met. I knew there was a traitor among the Shepherds, but all of these people… they were like aunts and uncles to me as I grew up. I watched many of them die. And then I saw you – a stranger amidst their ranks – and it was easier to assume that the traitor was you than one of them." She looked down, and Arthur thought she almost looked remorseful.

Arthur considered her words and decided they made sense. "And now?" he asked. "You and Tristain lured Robin to the top of that Mesa, and then he tried to kill her. I assume that means you think she is the traitor?"

Marth narrowed her eyes once more at the mention of Robin. "Tristain confirmed it," she said. "She has Fellblood. I knew Aunt R–" She stopped speaking suddenly, then corrected herself. "I knew Robin was from Plegia, but I could never have imagined that she was the spawn of Grima. Hiding under my father's nose all of those years."

"Your father," said Arthur, and Marth looked up at him with wild eyes – clearly the word had been a slip. "Chrom?" guessed Arthur.

Marth sighed and nodded, seemingly resigned to let the secret slip. "Tristain knew who I was," she said. "Traveling with him, I suppose I got a bit lax about keeping my identity a secret." Now Marth made eye contact with Arthur, her gaze piercing. "You can never tell him."

Arthur shrugged in agreement. It wasn't his secret to tell, and his mind was already going in another direction with this information. "So then Sumia… she's your mother?" he asked. "Is that why you were so unhappy about her and me?"

The mention of Arthur and Sumia's relationship clearly still did not sit well with Marth. She grimaced at his mentioning of it. "Yes, Sumia is my mother," she said, giving Arthur a glare.

"Well, you'll be happy to know that I'm ending things with Sumia as soon as I see her again," said Arthur.

Marth's face went tight. "If you hurt her…" she said.

"Well which is it?" said Arthur, growing a bit frustrated. Nothing seemed to please Marth. "Do you want me to stop seeing her or protect her feelings? I can't do both."

"I want you to stop seeing her," said Marth. "But I just wish that you had never started."

Arthur sighed. "So do I," he said. Thinking of Sumia sent guilt rushing through him. She was such a sweet person, and among the Shepherds she had been his closest platonic friend from the beginning. I should never have gone along with the betrothal. I should never have led her on. He certainly did not intend to continue the betrothal now – now that his father was dead, there was no one left to enforce it on him. Arthur felt a pang of grief as his father came to mind. In retrospect, his father had been right – Arthur would have been better off staying away from Robin and marrying Sumia. Even so, he couldn't bring himself to give up on Robin now. We lost in the other timeline. Robin betrayed the Shepherds and helped destroy the world. Any reasonable person would run away from her, but Arthur couldn't do it. If what Marth says is the truth, then Robin needs me even more.

Marth was looking at him. "You're thinking about Robin, aren't you," she said. It was phrased more as a statement than a question. Arthur nodded, a bit guilty for his thoughts having moved so quickly away from Sumia. Marth pursed her lips. "I do want you to end things with my mother, but… I also think you should give up on Robin."

This was not what Arthur wanted to hear. He gave no response, looking at the ground, and she continued. "She's a Fellblood, Arthur. It is her destiny to serve Grima. Destruction is in her blood. There's no future with her."

"You're wrong," said Arthur, looking up from the ground and speaking emphatically. "We can change our fate. I have to believe that. That's the whole reason you're here, isn't it? You believe that this world is not fated to darkness. I trust you'll forgive me for believing that same thing about Robin."

At this, it was Marth who turned towards the ground. After a long silence, she finally looked up. "Perhaps you are right," she said. "I must believe that the future can be changed, but in truth… I worry. I thought that I had prevented Emmeryn's death, but it seems I only prolonged the process."

Arthur was surprised – Marth had always seemed so certain of the correctness of her actions. He had never seen her express such doubt. Arthur felt a rush of sympathy for her. Here she was, totally alone, waging a war for the fate of the future. She seemed to be about Arthur's age, and yet she was carrying the fate of the world on her back, alone. They might have different beliefs, but there was a certain unmistakeable heroism about the woman – it reminded Arthur of Chrom, and Emmeryn too. Marth might have doubts, but he knew she would never stop fighting for a better world.

Marth eyed him for a few moments then looked away once again, peering out of the cave entrance. The rain was finally settling down, steadying from a full-blown storm into a softer shower. "There are still a few hours until dawn," she said. "You should get some sleep."

Arthur was not quite satisfied with ending the conversation there, but he didn't have the energy to probe further. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. He nestled his back into the rock wall, making himself as comfortable as he could in this scenario. Across from him, Marth continued to look out from the cave, ever vigilant. Arthur closed his eyes, and sleep was upon him at once.

Awaken.

Arthur's eyes slipped open, and he found himself in a familiar place. He was in the room in the basement of the castle in Pyrath – the room where Dialga had first appeared to him, and the setting of the last dream where he had spoken with them. The runes on the wall glowed a soft blue. Near the middle of the room stood the Time Dragon in their usual human form – androgynous features, sharp ears, long silver-blue hair, and a sharp-edged platinum crown. Dialga looked Arthur over, seeming uncharacteristically contemplative.

Where before I had two champions, now I have only one. Dialga's tone was mournful. The other Arthur – Tristain, as you know him… I was quite attached to him. He was a good man, but his experiences in his own timeline affected him severely. We are weaker without him, but I take comfort knowing that he is finally at rest.

"We?" said Arthur, taking a step closer to Dialga. "You say that like we were all on the same side, but what side is that? Tristain and Marth were trying to kill Robin – is that what our side wants? Because if it is, you can count me out." Arthur had never spoken so disrespectfully to Dialga, but at this point he was not in the mood for obeisance. "I've lost friends, my father, and now one of my lives fighting your battles," he said, steaming. "You owe me answers."

Peace, Arthur.

Dialga's words surprised Arthur – the Time Dragon usually referred to him as 'child', not by his name.

I do not seek Robin's death. Tristain sought this out of his own volition, and recruited Marth to his cause independently. Neither Naga nor I ordered it. Naga does not even know yet that Robin is a Fellblood, or that Tristain was my champion. In truth, Naga is quite underinformed – she is only now beginning to understand my involvement in the situation.

"How can that be possible?" said Arthur. "I thought you two made a pact to send Marth back in time?"

Naga has no memory of our pact, because it was not she who made it. Rather, the Naga of the other timeline made the pact with me. That Naga was defeated shortly afterward and sealed by Grima. It was then that I knew that another timeline would be necessary.

"I don't understand," said Arthur, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Dialga sighed. I was hoping I could keep this information from you, but I suppose now that you are my only champion, the time has come to explain. But Arthur – this, you cannot tell to anyone. The Grima and Naga of this timeline still know little of the truth. If either of them were to learn the whole truth, they would use the information to seize the advantage in their war and destroy the other.

"But… wouldn't a world without Grima be better?" said Arthur. "A world without destruction?"

It is not so simple. Yes, Grima is destruction, but he is more than that. He is the Dusk Dragon – patron of darkness and death, of endings and absence. My parent, the Primordial Dragon, created Grima for a reason – because without evil, there can be no good. Without darkness, light would have no meaning.

Arthur looked at the ground, pondering the Time Dragon's words. He decided that they made sense, and looked up with a more determined gaze. "Okay," he said. "So then, what do we want?"

We want to reach a balance. In the last timeline, Grima defeated and sealed Naga, sending the world into a state of overwhelming darkness – but not complete darkness, since Naga was still alive. The Grima of that timeline wanted to kill Naga permanently, but could not do so without one who carried Naga's holy blood. I sent Naga's blood carriers to your timeline to ensure that she could not be killed in that one.

Arthur made another surprised look. Dialga explained.

This is the drawback of the blood pact. When a true dragon like Grima, Naga, or myself creates a blood pact with a mortal, they give the holy blood carriers a piece of their divine power. We learned only from the deaths of Duma and Mila that these holy blood carriers also have the power to permanently kill their patron dragon. Permanently killing a true dragon is otherwise nigh impossible – they can only be sealed.

"Okay…" said Arthur, processing the information. "So Tristain – you sent him to my timeline?"

Tristain sent himself to your timeline. You have already stopped time, but this is only a shadow of the power made possible by your brand. The greatest of my powers, and yours, is time travel.

There are two types of time travel: travel within a timeline, and travel between timelines. Both of these forms of travel can only be done with the assistance of myself or by one with my holy blood.

Travel within a timeline is a far more difficult tool, because determinate events cannot be redefined. Whatever has happened will happen, and vice versa – one may be able to change the unknown details of how things come about, but they cannot change events that certainly occurred. This is why a second timeline had to be created. Once Grima had sealed Naga, no amount of travel within the timeline could change it.

Travel between timelines is only possible given our current circumstances. After Grima sealed Naga in Marth's timeline, I performed the Awakening ritual and created this second timeline, duplicating the circumstances of the world as they stood moments before I first contacted you on Pyrath. As the Time Dragon, I was the only being not duplicated by the creation of the second timeline.

Arthur tried to wrap his mind around it. "So there are only two timelines?" he said. "And they're what… just different dimensions?"

No. The two timelines are intricately connected. You may imagine time as a river which flows forward. When the Awakening ritual was performed, we went backwards in the river and created a second river which breaks away and runs parallel to the first. However, there is only so much water, and it will follow its easiest path. Eventually one of the rivers will dry up, and the other will persist. One of the timelines will be destroyed, its flow of time slowing until it pauses completely – the other will continue as if nothing happened.

"But… which timeline will continue?" said Arthur.

The one which possesses the Fire Emblem.

"The Fire Emblem?" said Arthur. "What does it have to do with this though? I thought it was created by Naga?"

Dialga almost laughed. No, child. Naga has stewarded the artifact, but even she could not create an item with such power. The Fire Emblem is a scale of the Primordial Dragon. It is a piece of the fabric of reality, an ark inside of which slumbers the very essence of creation. It was only by awakening the power of the Fire Emblem that I could create this second timeline.

"So…" said Arthur, mulling this over. "Then… aren't we in the clear? We have the Fire Emblem in this timeline, and everyone who can jump between the timelines is on this side. Doesn't that mean that we're safe?"

Well… said Dialga, showing uncharacteristic hesitation. There is… another. A servant of Grima who possesses my holy blood, who could come from that timeline to this one to recover the Emblem.

"But who?" asked Arthur, eyes flashing from side to side in rapid thought. "You and I are here, and my alternate self is dead. Who else has the blood?"

Your daughter… Morgana.

(Author's Note: Guess who's back? After a year-long break, I have returned with a Thanksgiving gift for you all. I'm back into Fire Emblem, and as such I am back to writing! It wouldn't be right to leave the story without an ending. Also, this chapter brings us above 100k words, so that's exciting.

Sorry if the writing in this chapter feels a bit clunky – I had a lot of information that I wanted to get out there, which resulted in Dialga dumping a lot of exposition. I haven't written much recently so I am a bit rusty, but I hope you guys will give me a bit of time to settle back into it. Let me know your thoughts and reactions in the comments!

Also let me know if you're severely put off if I use Morgana instead of Morgan. I like Morgana better, because I've been doing a whole theme with Pyrathi mythology being Arthurian mythology, and in Arthurian mythology Morgana le Fay is a powerful enchantress related to King Arthur. I think it worked out kind of perfectly, but if anyone finds it extremely jarring I could probably change it (or more likely, have Morgana be her full name and Morgan the nickname she goes by).

Song: Strange Love – The Unlikely Candidates)