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As he lands on his back for the tenth time, Morgan begins to feel just a little discouraged.
“It’s no use, Lucina,” he says, wincing as he attempts to get up. “I don’t want to waste your time anymore—you could be helping someone who’s not completely useless when it comes to swords and actually achieve something—”
“Now, now. All you need is a bit of practice. Everyone starts off as a beginner. Although in your case, you’ve merely forgotten how to use a sword properly—still, you did prefer tomes over swords in the future.” A hand enters his field of vision and he tears his swimming gaze away from the sky to the face looming above him. His sister gives him a small smile. “Let’s try again, shall we?”
She helps him stand and steps back as he dusts himself off. He grabs the practice sword he’d dropped and sighs a little, sounding very much like Cordelia.
“I think I’d just be better off training with Frederick; he’s always open to taking a few more recruits under his wing. Or, er, would it be a horse in this case? Either way, I feel like I’m wasting your time. Father and mother need you—”
“They don’t need me at the moment,” she chides him, although gently. “Besides, father said it’d best if I taught you – what better way to learn the style of House Ylisse than from your own sister?”
Morgan worries his lower lip between his teeth before shrugging and taking a stance, albeit sloppily. “Alright, alright. It’s just… I thought we already established I can’t wield Falchion. What’s the point of me learning swordplay if I can’t use the sword needed to defeat Grima?”
She reaches over, adjusting his grip on the hilt and knocking his left foot back before answering. “It’s true you can’t wield Falchion, but this is to ensure you have a fallback in case you don’t have a tome on you should you be attacked. What if an assassin came after you and all that was nearby was a sword?”
“I’d… throw it at them?”
Lucina shakes her head, fighting a smile. “No, you’d defend yourself with it by fighting back.” Her lips tighten. “Hopefully that will never happen.”
Morgan cocks his head, looking inquisitive, but the moment passes and Lucina speaks no more of it.
“Now, come at me with what I just taught you.”
He tries again. And again. And again. Morgan attempts to knock his sister back at least fifty times before she finally calls for a stop under a darkening sky. On the other side of the field, Morgan swipes a hand across his forehead and grimaces. It looks like a bath would be in order later.
“Told you,” Morgan flops on the ground, drained. The cool evening air feels good against his heated skin, and he tugs at his collar. “I’m useless at this, Lucina. You might as well teach Inigo—it’s a wonder he manages to hit any Risen, with the way his attention wavers the moment he spots some milkmaid or village maiden in distress.”
Lucina stifles the urge to agree. “Owain taught him most of what he knows. Inigo’s father was—is—a mage, remember, so he didn’t use swords. Luckily for Inigo, Owain was very…enthusiastic to have a student.”
“I bet.”
Now smiling, Lucina reaches down and helps him up once more. “Inigo was rather hopeless at first but you’d never guess that, seeing the way he wields a sword now.”
The sparring continues well into the evening, and it’s only when Chrom comes to find them that they’ve come to a halt. The sky is bleeding red and orange when he steps onto the training field, and the smell of cook fires seems to rouse the two motionless figures lying on the ground.
“Hey, you two. Dinner is ready—” Chrom stops short, looking down at his two children. “Lucina? Morgan?”
“I’m sorry, father. We’re both just… tired.”
“Lucina spent all day practicing with me. Well, training me, really.” Morgan lifts himself from the dirt and gladly takes his father’s proffered hand. “We lost track of time.”
“It won’t happen again,” Lucina adds.
“No, it’s fine. I’m glad you took the time to help your brother.” Chrom turns to Morgan, “How did it go?”
He makes a face. “Not… well. In the end, I still think I’m more suited to tomes, like mother.” With his fingers twisting into his robe, Morgan bows his head. “Sorry, father.”
“What for? Morgan, you don’t need to be an expert at swordplay to make me proud. I’m already proud. Of you and Lucina both. Enduring so much, coming back to ensure everyone’s future is happier, safer…”
“Even if I can’t remember it?” Morgan quips, and Chrom laughs, ruffling his son’s hair.
“Yes, even then. I couldn’t be luckier, having children who have done so much already.”
“We’re both lucky,” comes Robin’s voice, and she seems to melt out of the growing twilight; her robe nearly blends in with their darkening surroundings.
She places a hand on both of her children’s shoulders. “We appreciate everything you’ve done and will continue to do. We may not say as often as we should but it’s true. Never forget that.”
“Your mother is right. Of course,” he adds, smiling when she raises an eyebrow at him.
“Now, let’s not keep everyone waiting. It’s bear stew tonight and Cordelia spent the entire afternoon cooking it. It’d be a shame for her efforts to go to waste.”
“Oh, good. I’m starved,” Morgan nearly moans.
Chrom catches Lucina’s eye over his shoulder. He winks. “Gets it from your mother,” he stage-whispers.
“I heard that.”
Chrom laughs, dodging Robin’s half-hearted punch before turning to Morgan. “Race to the mess tent?”
“You bet!”
The two are soon gone, ducking between tents and past a bewildered Stahl.
Robin watches them go, bemused. “I think the ravenous appetite runs in the family.” She turns to her daughter. “Shall we?”
Lucina nods. Before she follows, however, she stops and looks up. There are few stars out but there is one that shines more brightly than the rest.
Closing her eyes, Lucina offers up a prayer.
She hopes it will be her last.
Let this peace endure, despite all the hardships that will come.