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“Uh, sorry but who are you?” That one question, that single damned question. It haunted Lucina’s every thought for the last pair of weeks. Every moment she was not in battle it rang through her head, even in her dreams she could not escape it. The sight of her little brother, whom she’d thought long lost, the joy of finally being reunited, and he didn’t know her. It was odd, she thought, that Morgan didn’t remember anything but their mother, not just for the oddity of forgetting all but a single person, but because their mother had disappeared when Morgan had only just celebrated his tenth birthday.
He had spoken as if he’d seen mother just moments before they found him in that ruin, but could it be that it was simply his most recent memory so he only thought it had just occured? Whatever the case, her brother was back and Lucina would have to let that be enough. When he had returned to them, she decided that if he didn’t remember their past, then they’d simply need to forge new memories. Hence why she was looking for Morgan at this very moment, he hadn’t been in or around his tent, so the next best guess was the tent that the Grandmaster’s tent, where their mother did most of her working and sleeping.
In theory she was supposed to sleep in the tent she shared with their father, but ever since she was a child Lucina had known her mother was prone to sleeping wherever she sat at the time. Or even at times, wherever she stood, Lucina could recall more than one time where the overworked queen had simply fallen asleep while standing and thusly falling upon the floor. Sometimes she’d fallen asleep in the middle of conversations. She remembered on time when she was a girl that her mother fell asleep in the midst of a summit with Regna Ferox. Khan Flavia thought it hilarious, the other Ylissian nobles did not.
Lucina set the thought away and resumed her search for Morgan. To her surprise she found him, not at their mother’s tent, but Tharja’s. She initially thought he might’ve been there to see Noire, she had spotted them together the day before, but instead he seemed to be having a conversation with Tharja himself.
Lucina found that the dark mage had been rather protective of her since she was revealed to be Robin’s daughter, but it seems something about Morgan was charming aside from his relationship to his mother. ‘Aunt Tharja’ as he called her was surprisingly affectionate in a way that even in the future she had never been with Lucina.
Either way Morgan and Tharja were having a conversation, but she couldn’t tell about what. She sat down on a nearby barrel and simply listened. She quickly realized that she couldn’t really understand what was being said, because the conversation was being held entirely in Plegian, and at a speed that Lucina couldn’t keep up with. It was astonishing, she simply had no idea where her brother learned the language. She herself only knew the very basics until recently. But he was carrying out a very complex conversation with Tharja in her native tongue without even the slightest hesitation or delay.
And she listened, all the while staying her tongue, avoiding the question she’d asked for years. Morgan was fourteen years now, but when she’d last spoken to him before reuniting in the ruins, he had been a mere ten years old. “Where did you go? Why did you disappear?”
Ten year old Morgan ran through the castle, looking for a place to hide from the monsters. Lucina was in the main hall fighting alongside all the soldiers who had stayed behind instead of going to Plegia with mom and dad. But the shambling, stinky monsters had not been the most frightening sight that awful night. The most frightening sight was the was big six-winged dragon. He’d seen it wrapping around the castle with the full length of its body and just looking at it made his hand hurt.
Finally he found a hiding place, just as he heard the dragon roar and felt the castle shake. The scared little boy had nothing he could do except cover his ears and close his eyes and wait for it all to stop. Eventually the shaking did stop, and the young prince opened his eyes. The nook he’d crawled into had held firm. Crawling out of his hiding place, Morgan saw his home reduced to a ruin. He could see monsters shuffling about, but no sign of any people.
Carefully he moved around until he spotted a familiar head of silver hair. “Mother!” he called out.
His mother turned to face him, and something seemed different about her. Had her eyes always been red? She stared at his slightly for a moment then made a weird expression with her face, then she talked. “Oh, Morgan dear, there you are.” She knelt down and took Morgan’s hand, “Come, let’s get away from here.” The way she talked was weird, a little bit different than usual. But Morgan didn’t care, because he was a small, scared child, who wanted to be held by his mother.
As Grima looked down on the little prince she prepared to wipe him away, just as its vessel had done to his useless father. But then, just before it let loose its unspeakable power, a voice echoed from the back of its mind, the boy could still be useful. He carried the blood after all, even if it had been tainted by Naga. Grima took the boy’s hand and smiled as the Brand of the Defile glowed upon his skin.
Grima had decided to make use of the boy, and so it had to play the role of the caring mother. At every moment it poked and prodded at what remained of its vessel’s original soul. Pulled apart her memories and stitched them back together to learn what she would do. Often it proved useless to Grima’s plans, but it did learn how to mimic her well enough to keep him under the illusion that he was with his mother. Irritatingly, playing the role meant that it had to travel west by cart to return to its nest at the Dragon’s Table, instead of merely flying.
As they crossed into the Plegian desert nearly at midnight, the temperature rapidly dropped and the vessel’s spawn started to shiver from the cold. Grima ‘offered’ him the coat that it was currently wearing. It let him keep it as well, a keepsake to keep him thinking positively to keep him controllable.
Eventually they returned to the Table, and Grima began putting the spawn to use. The blood made him particularly adept at controling Grima’s hoards, it made him useful for striking against the humans in their small hiding holes where it could not reach them. The humans would take the small, terrified child into their camp, and then the spawn would summon the risen directly on top of them. The spawn was also useful for managing what few human followers Grima still had, once he’d been taught their language.
Grima chuckled to itself, Naga had her voice and now Grima had its own voice. And so it went. The spawn at first had questions and didn’t always like what Grima commanded of him, but in time he stopped questioning it. All the boy needed were small scraps of affection to maintain his loyalty. Let him keep thinking his mother was still present.
With these duties established, they’d fallen into a routine. Between Grima’s returns to the Table to rest and the spawn’s time spent there in between other duties meant they actually met on occasion. ‘Three times each month, half a day each time’ Grima recalled the spawn saying once.
How tiresome those days were, when Grima acted the mother. Today was one such day, two years after taking Grima took the spawn for itself. In the last month Grima had erradicated all that remained of the land of Valm, a tiring endeavor that would require more rest than usual.
The Fell Dragon laid upon its alter and waited for the spawn to appear. It took longer than usual, albeit not enough for Grima to even pretend to care. The spawn entered the chamber, his face and coat were stained with blood and cuts in his clothes showed recently healed.
“What has happened child?” Grima asked in the nearest approximation of a loving mother’s voice as it could produce. Truthfully it neither knowed nor cared if the spawn was still convinced by its act, but he was still loyal so that’s all that actually mattered.
“The survivors are learning to recognize my tactic, I believe should study them and devise a new tactic.” He looked to Grima expectantly, he needed the Fell Dragon’s blessing. Gtime didn’t actually care how he did it, but it helped keep a tight leash on him.
“You have my permission, I believe you may find some valuable tombs in the remains of Plegia’s royal palace.” The memories Grima could gleam from the vessel told it that Validar had had a sizable library, of course Grima had no clue how much of it had survived.
The spawn bowed, “Thank you mo-Master Grima.” The Fell Dragon smiled as he corrected himself. The child was learning. “I will begin my preparations for travel.” His answer was simple and efficient, too much so. It was the spawn’s connection with the vessel that kept him in line.
“No, rest first, in fact you may rest alongside me for the night.” The spawn looked surprised by the offer, but nonetheless accepted. He soon laid upon Grima’s alter next to the dragon, and Grima, borrowing once more from the vessel’s memories, the fell dragon wrapped its arms around the boy just as his mother once had. Grima didn’t care for this arrangement but the spawn was too useful to allow to lose faith in the fell dragon.
And so the Grima and the spawn drifted off into the night.
This is how things would be until another two years later when Grima noticed the little princess and her friends making for Mount Prism. So, they sought Naga’s aid then. Grima could not set foot on that accursed mountain itself, but soon it realized that Spawn’s own divine blood would allow him to set food on the mountain accosted in spite of the blood that he had inherited from Grima. And so it dispatched him to the sacred mountain, his orders were kill to everyone he foud there.
Morgan felt sick to his stomach as soon as he set food on the Divine Dragon’s mountain. He suspected he’d feel worse were it not for Naga’s brand on his hand. From his pocket he pulled a small wooden box, from which emanated a wretched smell than even after years of being around the risen still made him want to puke. Carefully he removed the box’s lid, his eyes watering the moment some of the box’s contents were exposed to open air. Once the lid was off, Morgan threw the box away from himself.
Grass died and rotted around the box as the a force of Risen burst forth from the ground. Morgan averted his eyes from their putrid faces as he moved to the front of the pack. And with a simple command spoken through ancient Grimleal magic, they followed him to the peak. Near the mountain top Morgan saw a magical gate of somekind, it’s shape was like a giant, unblinking eye. That’s where Naga’s followers would be, he gave the risen another command, to kill whatever they found up there.
He let the horde go before him, he didn’t like watching them work. He heard fighting, and screaming, but perhaps not as much dying as he expected. As he approached the battle, he removed the hood from him head, there was something going on and he wanted to see it clearly.
His risen horde was battling a mismatched band of warriors, all older than him, but not by much. A few of them looked familiar, the ginger haired swordsmen in particular seemed familiar, like he’d seen him before the world changed. Morgan found it easier not to rember things from before.
But then he saw the warrior’s leaders, and it was someone he couldn’t forget no matter how he tried. Long blue hair, a regal tiera atop her head, wielding their father’s sword. “Lucina?” He regretted the words even as they fell from his mouth. There were days when he wished she had found him instead of Master Grima. But it was far too late for thoughts like that. She turned, and locked eyes with Morgan. She opened her mouth to speak, only to be cut off by an attack by one of the risen.
The moment she was no longer looking at him, he slipped away. With any luck she’d think him a mere mirage. Not that it mattered, a dark voice reminded from the back of his mind, his order was to kill her and he would follow his orders. Morgan watched the battle from afar. Lucina kept looking for him until one of her companions forced a mask into her hands and all but pushed her through the gate. Morgan frowned he knew he’d lose if tried to stop her and her companions himself, but failure to act would lead to punishment.
He launched a fire spell at them at a distance, only for the tall mage, Laurent to block the spell and the archer in the tight shirt responded with an arrow that imbedded itself in Morgan’s shoulder.
Morgan hissed in pain as he retreated, he’d stay longer, but the only risen he had that could heal his arrow wound was also the one he’d prepared to have pull him away from the battlefield with a rescue staff. Reluctantly he gave the command and was teleported to the bottom of the mountain. He dropped to the ground, leaned against a broken stone wall and ripped the arrow out. He clenched his teeth as the risen healed him, although the risen usually retained all their skills from life, the healers always seemed to have trouble, maybe it was because they’d forgotten what pain was like.
He wasn’t surprised when Grima appeared, stopping just short of stepping on the mountain itself. “Come here,” his master said. Morgan obliged, crossing over the threshold that Grima could not cross. “You have failed me.” Grima’s expression hardened, Morgan flinched. Grima’s placed a hand on his shoulder and gripped so hard as to place it at the very edge of pain, a place with which Morgan had long become accustomed. “But that matters not, I know where the exalted brat has gone and how to prevent them from interferring with my plans.”
Master Grima took him to a place in the north of what was once Regna Ferox. A ruined temple of some sort. It was oddly beautiful, the walls and floors seemed to be made of some kind of crystal and in the center was a large pool of water that almost seemed like a mirror. “In this place I can perform a ritual that will send you to the same place as Naga’s servants, I will then transport myself after you.”
“I understand, my master.” It was only half a lie, he understood he and Master Grima were going to chase after Lucina and kill her, what he didn’t understand was were she had gone and thus where they were going.
The air in the ruins changed as Master Grima spoke an ancient spell, commanding forces that were ancient and unknown to even the dragons of old. The ground shuttered under Morgan’s feet and strange lights danced at the edges of his sight.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, it felt strange, not the harsh touch he’d become used to from his master but rather something gentle that seemed familiar somehow. He turned back and saw something he’d not seen in years. He saw his mother’s soft brown eyes in place of the burning red eyes of the monster that wore her husk. Morgan was under no illusions as to his master’s nature, he knew what Grima was and he know that he wasn’t looking at it now.
“M-Mother?” He struggled say, as if acknowledging her would make her disappear.
“Yes, my little prince, it’s me.” She smiled sadly as she pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t save your father, I couldn’t protect you or Lucina. But there is one thing I can do for you, and I am so sorry.” Morgan wanted to ask his mother what she meant, but he suddenly found his eyes feeling so heavy.
“Wha…” was all that escaped his mouth before he collapsed to the floor. Robin stepped away from his as Grima’s ritual finished its work and he disappeared into the past.
It was sad that all Robin could do for his son was make him forget, but it still meant he would be free from Grima. Robin let out one lasst sad smile before her mind and soul were assaulted by indescribable pain and her body was taken from her once again.
Grima stared at the spot where the spawn had vanished from and cursed. To think the vessel still had so much as strength as to steal control of Grima’s body away. It had only lasted a minute, and Grima would repay the indignity a thousand times over. When it was done, Robin wouldn’t even remember her children’s faces. In fact, that would work better for its plans than the spawn ever would. But, nonetheless the spawn would have to be dealt with. Grima conjured a squad of risen and repeated the ritual to send them after the spawn before departing to readjust its plans.
“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for your memory.” Aunt Tharja finally concluded, still speaking Plegian. Morgan frowned, but for only a minute.
“That’s alright, I’m sure they’ll come back on their own. But until then I just have to make new memories, just like Lucina said.” Morgan got up and turned to leave, only to notice Lucina watching from a distance. “Hey Luci!” he called out to her, causing her to jump just a little bit before walking.
“Oh Morgan, are you done speaking with Tharja?” she asked, as if she hadn’t been listening to their entire conversation.
“Yeah, I was talking to her about my memory, she said she can’t do anything to help bring it back.” Morgan said with a shrug.
“Oh, is that what you were talking about?” Lucina tilted her head in a way that was absolutely adorable.
“Like you weren’t listening to the whole thing.” Morgan said as he put his hands behind his head.
“I wasn’t, or rather I couldn’t,” Lucina started to look embarrassed, “I can’t speak much Plegian so I couldn’t keep up with your conversation at all.”
Oh, Morgan hadn’t expected that. “Oh, I can speak it just as easy as I speak Ylissian, I suppose it never occurred to me. Well I guess I know what we’re gonna do today.” Morgan started to smile.
“What?” Lucina raised an eyebrow.
“Helping you learn Plegian, duh!” Morgan retorted with a laugh before gesturing his sister towards his tent. This sounded like fun, and also it was a way to keep his mind off his memories. He didn’t want to say it, but as desperate as he was to remember his dad and sister, sometimes he wondered if there wasn’t a good reason he couldn’t remember.
Whatever, Lucina was right, he should focus on the now, not the past, and certainly not the future-past.