Title: A Future Undone - Part 3
Description: Two days into their journey Marc awakes from a nightmare, one born from his days as Grima's servant. Can his mother really help him come to accept his past and begin to move forward? Or are some wounds too deep to ever truly heal?
Note: Third chapter of Marc focused mini-arc. Takes place one month following the events of A Future Disowned. Spoiler Warning, if you have not read A Future Disowned and wish to avoid spoilers for that story, turn back now.
Marc awoke with a gasp, eyes snapping wide open. Sweat drenched his face, cold and sticky in the frigid air. For a panicked instant, he reached for his sword, mind working to recall where he was and how he'd gotten there. Then he remembered setting up camp, and the day's march before. He exhaled, letting his hand drop back to his side, having been less than an inch from Falchion's hilt.
Night had fallen, the forest around him was still and quiet. A small fire burned at the center of the clearing mixing with the luminous silver sheen of the stars and moon that shone from distance in the sky. The last thing he could remember was his mother going to gather firewood. He must have dozed off.
It felt so real… Marc shuddered, unable to tell from fear or by the cold. The dream had been one he'd had so many times before. A silent battlefield strewn with the corpses of his friends, dead by his own hand with blood staining him. Grima loomed overhead, casting a shadow that consumed the last light of a dying world.
A wolf howled in the distance.
Marc tensed, sucking his a breath. His eyes fell against his sword, fighting the instinct to go for the weapon.
"They won't trouble us. The wolves, I mean. They are far from our camp," his mother's voice cut in before he could do more. Turning his head, he spied her sitting some distance away. Her back was against a fallen log, Falchion's naked blade across her lap and a cleaning rag folded in her palm. "Even were they closer, they would not approach us with the fire burning, I think," she continued, her gaze lingering on the flickering flames before turning to him.
"I…" Marc frowned, exhaling as he forced his body to relax. "It startled me. In my future there weren't many wild animals left. Now that I'm here I guess I still need to get used to this sort of thing." He shrugged, lowering his gaze.
"I know."
Marc's gaze snapped back up to his mother, eyes widening. How could she know what he- Oh.
If she'd noticed his reaction, his mother showed no sign, continuing the thought as if nothing had happened. "It was much the same when I came back to this time. The owls and the insects were the worst, the constant buzzing and hooting kept me wide awake the first couple nights." She laughed softly, shaking her head as she recalled some far off memory. "Even after I could hardly sleep long. In the future even the softest noise could be the only warning we got before an attack."
Marc shuddered, images of Risen descending on the camps of survivors. Of blood and screams splitting the night. The attacks he himself had led. "I'm sorry," he choked, the words escaping him before he'd realized he'd spoken out loud.
"What? You didn't do anything wrong," his mother said, her voice tinged with confusion. "If anything it is I who should be apologising. I was the one who was supposed to protect you, to ensure that my future didn't befall anyone again. And I failed it seems, failed you and Morgan. I'm sorry."
"It wasn't your fault. None of it was…" Marc's voice faltered. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the tides of memory. "Besides, none of that happened here. You didn't leave me..."
"Even so, no matter how things may have transpired differently, I still feel as though I owe you better," His mother told him. Setting Falchion aside, she scooted closer to him, placing a hand on his arm. "You're right, perhaps I'm not at fault, but it is still my duty to help you now to make up for what the me of your time could not."
Marc nodded. Turning his head he stared into the fire, willing the flames to consume the visions lurking at the edge of sight. For a long while neither of them spoke, only the rustle of leaves and the occasional pop as water trapped deep within wood fueling their fire was released, dissipating in wisps of steam.
As he sat in silence Marc slowly became aware of a question that had been nagging him since the start of the journey. "Mother, when we set out you mentioned the reason you accompanied me instead of father or Morgan was because you had more experience with Falchion. But… there is another reason isn't it. Not that I'm complaining it's you, just… I don't really see how who came with me really changes things." He looked up at her as he finished. His mother's gaze was on the fire. Even as silence fell once more she made no answer, her expression having grown suddenly distant, as her mind was on matters no longer present.
. . . . .
"This is all my fault," Lucina whispered, lowering her face with her hands.
"Hey, don't talk like that. I thought we both agreed not to blame ourselves for our other selves' failings," Robin said softly. Hands gently worked their way between hers, prying from his face so that she'd look at him. "You didn't abandon, Marc, Lucina. And the other you never wanted any of this.
"I know, but… " Lucina shook her head, her gaze passing over their bedchamber. It was late, a single candle burning at the center of her husband's desk, casting long, flickering shadows that did nothing to dispel the gloom of their conversation. "Even so, I should have realized it sooner. I knew Marc was going through the same things I had, but to this extent…"
In the ghostly light Robin's features were difficult to make out, but eventually Lucina picked out the lines of knitted brows, his expression thoughtful. "I know. And that's why you're going with him, Lucina. You understand what he's going through. Far better than I could."
It was true, she did understand what it was like to lose one's parents at a young age and grow up in a ruined future. But still, how could she be the one to help him? Robin was so much better at this than her, he always made it so easy. Besides, what he'd said before...
"Robin, you said before that the problem still hasn't come to terms with his mothe- my death, but I still don't fully understand." Lucina frowned, staring at her hands as she worked out how best to explain her jumble of uncertain thoughts. "I know he would see it as the biggest moment in his life. The moment where everything went wrong… Like for me… when my father died."
Even as she spoke Lucina's mind wandered the moment she first met her son. Him sobbing in her arms as she held him in the rain. 'You promised that you wouldn't die too.' Those simple words said everything.
Robin dipped his head in agreement. "Exactly. Here you have a scared little boy. Something happened to his father, something he's too young to understand. And now his mother's leaving, and she promises him that everything will be alright. That's the last time anything was alright for him, for a long, long while."
"Yes, but… there must be more than that. If anything being here with us should have helped heal those wounds. Such as meeting my parents again did for me," Lucina whispered, her breath coming short as she considered the thought. Did he blame her? Resent her for leaving? But no, that wouldn't make any sense. He'd shown no resentment towards her. It was almost as if-
"He blames himself," Lucina said, the realization hitting her before Robin could reply. "Deep down he's made himself believe it's his fault I left. His fault that I didn't return." The more she thought about it the more sure she was with her guess. How? How had she failed to realize this.
While she had blamed herself for her parents deaths at times, it had never truly consumed her. Perhaps it was merely because she'd been older, better able to understand the cruelty the world could bring outside your control. Perhaps she'd had too many other things to worry about, the task of simply keeping everyone else alive chief among them, to truly blame herself. Even still, she'd should have considered this, considered how easily this blame could consume you. For while Marc had not acted quite in the nature she had, he had acted just as Robin would have in those circumstances.
Robin nodded. "I'm afraid if there is one thing Marc and I have in common it's our ability to find a way to blame ourselves no matter how irrational." He laughed softly, the sound bitter and devoid of any real mirth. Reaching next to him, he picked absently picked up the quill sitting at the center of his desk, passing it through his fingers. Then he sighed, setting aside once more before continuing. "I talked to Morgan yesterday, and what Marc said to her while they were fighting during the battle in their own world matches up. 'You can't promise me everything will work', was what he said to her."
"And he thinks it's his fault," Lucina finished, his voice barely more than a whisper. "So many broken promises, and he thinks it's because of him. That something's wrong with him. That they left him on purpose, and it was his fault." Lucina blinked, tears welling in her eyes as the thought of the crippling loneliness Marc must have gone through, loneliness he'd thought he'd caused. It's no wonder he blames himself for everything else he did as Grima's servant. After all that it would have taken much to convince himself he was truly a monster.
Marc… I'm so sorry. I let this happen to you, all of it.
Robin nodded again slowly, wrapping a hand around her's. "Yeah." he whispered. The word seemed to hang in the air, the weight carried by that confirmation baring down on them. "That's the problem, Marc can't heal because he still can't bring himself to accept that we won't abandon him at any moment. A part of him is still that same scared little boy, who lost his parents and thinks it's all his fault."
Lucina nodded but did not answer, her own thoughts turned to figuring how she could possibly help Marc. How she could show him that she wouldn't leave him again. How she could help him understand that it wasn't his fault he'd ended up alone for so long.
. . . . .
"Mother?" Marc asked at length, breaking the still that had fallen over them. "Are you okay?"
She turned her head, her eyes falling on him. Her expression slowly changed, becoming something that was both pensive and understanding. "Marc, are you afraid I'm going to leave you?"
"What? No. No, I don't…" his trailed off, his voice failing him. Did he honestly believe that? And did it even matter if she meant it or not? Promises, meant or not, could still be broken. And for him they were always.
It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault. None of them wanted to leave you. You didn't cause it. It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault.
"Marc… you can talk to me... I know it's hard, but you can tell me anything," his mother said, her voice piercing the chant he repeated to himself again and again.
"I-I…" Marc whispered, wrapping his arms around his knees. "I don't know. I'm scared. Scared something's going to happen. Scared you'll leave me too."
"I'd never want that."
"And I… know that, but… why did you leave me before? Why'd you have to go? I was so afraid… and… you never came back."
The hand she'd placed on his arm squeezed him gently, her touch assuring him she was still there. "I'm sorry I didn't come back before, but you know that it wasn't on purpose. Your mother tried as hard as she could to protect you. I tried as hard as I–"
Snap.
Marc stiffened, his breath hitching in his throat. His mother had heard it too, her hand moving towards Falchion. It had grown far too quiet, even the wind having fallen still. Exchanging a rapid glance they began to stand, reaching for their weapons.
Twang.
An arrow sunk into the log next to them, missing Marc's hand by barely an inch. He froze, breath escaping in a sudden hiss.
"That was your warnin' shot," a voice called out, coming from somewhere in the treeline. "Now, don't move or we'll fill the lot of you with arrows. Yer surrounded and got nowhere to run to." The sound of bow strings being drawn punctuated the threat.
Marc fought the urge to swear. Bandits. They must have been drawn by our campfire and surrounded us while we talked. From the trajectory of the arrow, the unseen archer had hidden himself in one of the trees. The trap had been well executed too, clearly these were no amateurs. Probably former soldiers, scouts more likely, taken to banditry with no other work to be found in the times of peace.
Still, the irony of the situation was not lost on him either. Both her and mother had talked about how even the smallest sound put them on alert, yet they'd been too occupied to notice the ambush until it was far too late.
"Now, if you value yer lives any you'll best not be making any moves. We'll be taking yer weapons, supplies, and any coin you may have. Hands up, step away from your camp, and we might not take your lives," the man continued.
Marc exchanged the quick look with his mother, following her gaze as it darted to where her Falchion lay, then to fire.
Nodding, Marc stood, raising his hands up to shoulder level, his mother following suit. She stumbled slightly, bringing her ever so slightly closer to Falchion. As she straightened their eyes met and his mother nodded once, the motion so small he barely caught it.
Once again the same bandit from before spoke. "You heard me, step away from your weapons and hands up! This is your last–"
"Elwind!"
A crescent wave of wind leapt from Marc's hands, aimed not the treeline but their campfire. Burning coals and ash erupted into the air, embers dancing in the air. Bows twanged, arrows buzzing through the space the two of them had stood an instant before. However they'd already sprung into action, their movements covered by the make-shift smokescreen created by Marc's spell.
Metal rang out as his mother's Falchion cleared it's sheath. In a blur of movement she whirled, deflecting an arrow before it could hit it's mark.
"There!" His mother shouted, Falchion's tip darting to point in the direction the missile had come.
"Arcthunder!"
Blinding white light split the night. Forked tongues of lightning struck at the treeline, dry leaves and branches igniting like a brazer. Agonized cries cut short in a roar of flame, two charred corpses falling from the branches.
For an instant Marc could only stare. He didn't know what was worse. The sight of the gruesome deaths he'd dealt without a second thought, or the fact that a part of him felt nothing more than satisfaction. Pleased even. Yes, he'd done well, Master Grima would be pleased. Father would be–
No! That's not who I am! I'm not!
Sudden pain jolted Marc back to reality, a stinging line drawn on his face. Lifting his hand, it's tips came away red, his cheek grazed by an arrow.
Before he could unleash another spell in retaliation a battle cry sounded, a trio of swordsmen charging out from the treeline. Metal clashed as his mother met them, Falchion practically dancing as it met the avalanche of oncoming blows.
Counting on his mother to keep them occupied, Marc threw up his hands, forming a wall of wind between himself and the remaining archers still positioned in the trees. Arrows struck the dirt wide of their targets, thrown off course by the vortex. Sweat dripped from Marc's forehead, stinging his eyes.
"Marc, look out!"
Marc turned just in time to see one of the three swordsmen slip past his mother, blade held high. Throwing himself back, he narrowly avoided being bisected by the blow, the blade's tip drawing a painful across his shoulder.
"Elwind!" The arcs of wind slashed at the man, throwing him to the ground before he could follow up the attack. That should buy them some time, just need to–
The twang of bowstrings behind was the only warning Marc had. Whirling, Marc knew he wouldn't be able to get out of the way in time. He couldn't.
Something hard slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. Then there was a dull thunk of an arrow hitting flesh and a cry of pain.
Author's Note: Bleh, another chapter coming out far later than I would like. Classes have been killing me with work lately, making it really hard to find the time to write as much as I'd like to. Oh well, at least I'm still getting stuff out once a month at the latest, which is better than some I suppose. Still doesn't feel right XP
As always please leave your thoughts, suggestions, and comments in a review. It really makes my day to hear from you guys and often times can be just the motivation I need to keep going full force. Since when I know you guys are out there reading this it makes me think "damn, I need to get this chapter out sooner, as I don't want to let any of my readers down." Silly, I know, but I just can't help but think that sometimes :D