Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Finally, after centuries of work, the Grimleal had succeeded. Their master had a new vessel and would soon return to the world. Morgan should be happy, ecstatic even that she had a hand in reviving Master Grima with the birth of her child. But she felt differently. She didn't feel happy. If anything, she felt uneasy, like she had just made a grave error.

She held the newborn in her arms, gently rocking them to sleep. Validar was prattling on about the child's purpose, all in preparation for when their master would return and claim his vessel, but Morgan wasn't really paying attention. Something about the Fire Emblem, but she was more concerned about getting the child to go to sleep so she might finally get some rest herself.

"Morgan, are you listening?"

She sighed and stopped her movements. "Validar, we have plenty of time. Why the rush?"

Validar sneered, "Have some sense, woman. We need to be prepared."

"You act as if the world will end if everything isn't ready by tomorrow when we have no real deadline!" she argued, then quieted her voice as the child began to fuss. "Gods' sakes, I haven't even given the baby a name yet!"

"Names are of no concern," Validar retorted. "The only concern is the purpose for which our child will serve. You will do well to remember it!"

The child started to cry. Morgan resumed rocking them, shushing softly. Then she glared at Validar. "Fine. Until then, could you leave so our child can sleep? Master Grima hasn't taken them yet and until he does, the child needs to be cared for by their mother and your yelling is doing them no favours."

Validar growled, then huffed in resignation. "Were you not the mother of our master's vessel, I would beat you senseless. Mind your tone from here on." With that, he left the room.

Morgan sighed again and slumped into a nearby chair. One of these days, these stupid spats with the high priest will give her a migraine from hell. The infant cooed softly in her arms and she looked down into their face. Those beautiful freckled cheeks and those big bright green eyes. The uneasy feeling returned, but she tried to push it down. She hummed a familiar tune, lightly stroking a cheek with a slender finger, and the baby began to quiet. Once they were lulled to sleep, she carefully stood, made her way to the crib, and placed them down.

As she stood before the crib watching her child sleep, her eyes landed on Master Grima's Brand and she froze. The uneasiness rose back up with a vengeance and it seemed as if all at once, the ramifications of this child's very existence hit her like a powerful Thoron bolt. They would grow up believing in only one purpose, the one they were born for, and they would bring about the end of the world, as the Grimleal planned. But they're just a child right now. How could such an innocent little infant grow up to be--

She gasped, a clarity she hadn't experienced before coming to her. She remembered the stories of the earth dragon Loptyr's resurrection some three thousand years ago, how his vessel had been a sweet boy before he claimed him, corrupting him, not allowing him the choice of what he wished to do with his life. Oh Gods, was that what was going to happen to her little angel? Was this how the Empress of Grannvale felt when she learned of her son's purpose, so similar to her own child's?

Her beliefs, her life's work, her loyalty, it all began to unravel as fear spread through her like wildfire.

"No," Morgan murmured. "No... Not my child."

She reached down and picked up the infant, taking care not to wake them, then grabbed a blanket to wrap them in. She hurried about the room, pulling out baby clothes and what other necessary supplies she could reasonably pack into a single bag. Opening a drawer in the nearby desk, she reached in and pulled out the lone Flux tome, placed there as a basic protective measure for the caretakers to use in the event of emergency. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it would have to do. Her own clothes were forfeit. She would have to make do with what she was wearing. The gold she had on her wasn't much, and she would have to make it stretch as far as she could if she wanted a chance at this spontaneous and half-baked plan working.

With the bag packed and her cloak hood pulled up to cover her long silver hair, she held the sleeping baby close and peeked out into the corridor. There was no one around. This was her chance. Now or never. Quietly, she slipped from the room and crept down corridor after corridor, hoping her child wouldn't wake and give her away. She ducked behind pillars to avoid passing patrols and hid in shadows when voices got near. All the while, her heart raced from fear and lack of sleep. The eyes of their god painted on the walls seemed to follow her, as if he himself was watching her every move. Before she became a mother, the eyes were a comfort, knowing her master was keeping watch over her. Now that comfort had turned into terror as the eyes bored into her, sharp and accusing. Grima knew what Morgan was doing, and he did not approve.

She turned the corner, mentally mapping out how much farther until she could make it out of the temple. Just a few more corridors and she'd reach the nearest exit. Just a little further...

"MORGAN!!!"

Validar! He knows! She gasped, readjusted her hold on the infant, and ran, glancing behind her every so often. There wasn't anyone behind her, but there was no doubt someone would warp nearby any second and put a stop to her escape.

"Find her and bring the vessel back!" she heard his voice echoing off the walls. "I'll thrash that damnable woman within an inch of her life for this!"

Morgan knew she needed to hurry. The baby was beginning to wake from the jostling, but slowing down was not an option. "Please, my baby, stay quiet...!" she begged softly. "Gods, please...!" The temple's acoustics amplified the sounds of Grimleal servants scurrying to obey Validar's barked orders. It felt like they were closing in, even though she knew it was simply a trick on the ears.

As she sprinted around the corner of the next corridor, a mage warped ahead of her. No! "Where do you think you're going, milady?" the mage sneered.

She didn't think, just brushed her hand over the bag where Flux rested and flung the spell at the mage, throwing them backwards against a pillar, and continued to run. She wasn't sure if the blow killed the mage or simply knocked them out, but it didn't matter. As long as it prevented the mage from reporting her location to Validar, she cared not whether they lived or died. All that mattered now was getting her sweet little angel out of this accursed temple and to safety.

Down one long corridor, down a short flight of stairs, and finally Morgan was outside, panting heavily, the only light coming from the moon above. She debated making a run for the Plegian-Ylissean border, but shot it down. She'd never make it on foot, even with the cover of darkness. She looked around frantically until she spotted the stables. Yes! She bolted for them, going for the first horse she saw -- a pegasus or wyvern would be too easily spotted, and she refused to risk her child falling from so high in the air. With difficulty, she flung a saddle over the horse's back. If only she could spare her other hand to make this faster, but she just knew if she set the child down for even a moment that-- No, she can't finish the thought. She'll do this one-armed if she must.

No one had come running out yet -- luck blessed by some god that wasn't Grima, but that luck was going to dry up any moment with how long this was taking. Gods, please, give me time...! She managed to secure the saddle, then kicked over a box to help her climb on. "Ooohhh," she whimpered, trying to keep from falling over as she swung a leg onto the saddle, then slowly scooted fully on. As soon as she got her balance, she grabbed the reigns with her free hand and urged the horse to trot out of the stables.

Time was running out. The voices inside were growing louder. She craned her neck around, staring at the temple she called home. No, this was no home anymore. No matter. She'd start over somewhere new. Ylisse? Regna Ferox? Across the sea to Valm or Jugdral? Worry about where you're going later, Morgan! Once they had gone far enough away on just a trot, she turned forward and gave the horse a swift kick. The horse neighed and raced away from the temple. She spared once last glance over her shoulder as the temple shrunk away before turning her attention back in front of her.

A soft cry came from the bundle in her arms. "Shh, it's okay, baby," she soothed as best she could on a galloping horse. "It's okay, Mommy's here. Mommy won't let anything bad happen to you..." Her voice cracked. "Gods, so long as breath remains in my body, I will not let them take you...!"

By the time the Grimleal began searching the temple grounds, it was too late. Morgan and her baby had disappeared into the night.

Chapter Text

If Morgan were at all honest, she hadn't expected to travel as far as she did, crossing not only water, but two different continents. Passing through Ylisse had been a terror-filled journey. The land was peaceful, but they were still Plegia's immediate easterly neighbour, and that meant the Grimleal could still follow them. Only when she boarded a ship bound for the Verdane coast did the terror and paranoia begin to subside, but not fully -- Plegia's navy was formidable, after all. But no warships came after her. No alarm was raised as she offloaded in Verdane, nor as she crossed the border into Grannvale. The further east she went, the more and more that fear ebbed away.

All the while, her child grew. They were still an infant, but she was constantly having to replace their clothes, often trading what she had for bigger ones. As for her own, they had gotten worn and her cloak was tearing in a couple of places, but not once did she spare a thought for buying new garments for herself. Food, travel, and her baby were all she spent her gold on. So long as her clothes still did the job and her washing techniques let the material last longer, that was all that mattered.

After travelling through Jugdral, she crossed the next ocean to a land called Dagda. She had only been vaguely aware of its existence, but had never learned about its geography or its politics, and getting a hold of a map was a hassle. Her funds had started to get low, so she picked up a few odd jobs here and there to get by, even picking up some mercenary work. The jobs didn't last long, given that she was unwilling to part with her child for extended periods of time, but she left each job with a slightly heavier purse than before, allowing her savings to stretch out more and more.

She had been a couple of weeks into her journey through a third continent, Fódlan, when her gold finally depleted. It amazed her, how far she had gone with so little to start. Perhaps she was a better bargainer than she initially gave herself credit for. Still, for all her amazement, there was panic. This strange new land was in the clutches of winter, and neither she nor her child would last very long camping at this rate.

It looked like she would be spending her third day in the snow -- how foreign it was to her, growing up in the sweltering deserts of Plegia -- when she spotted a building. She squinted to read the sign through the flurries. "'Ubert Inn'," she read. Hopefully the owner would let her at least stay the night. Most innkeepers tended to give new mothers leniency in their inability to pay for a short while.

Mindful of her child, Morgan pushed the inn doors open and sighed as she felt the warmth from a roaring fireplace. She ambled over to it and sat herself down. Her baby cooed, trying to sit up. "Of course," she chuckled, repositioning the child until they were sitting upright in her lap. "Let's get you all warmed up, baby," she said as she wrapped the infant's blanket tighter around them. She could already feel the heat banishing the chill from her bones -- no doubt her baby could too.

"Are you alright, ma'am?"

Morgan turned her head to see a tall, grey-eyed, rather handsome man standing before her. His black hair was combed to the side, framing his face in a flattering manner. What drew her in the most were his freckles, popping prominently against his skin. If she allowed herself to forget, she could easily envision this man was her child's real father.

She gave him a tired smile. "Long travel."

He stuck his hands in his apron pockets. "Long, eh?" he chuckled. "Where are you from?"

Her answer was cagey. "Very- far from here. I doubt you've heard of it."

He smirked. "Well, wherever you're from, you picked a hell of a day to brave a Faerghan winter, and with a kid to boot. Can I get you something to drink or eat?"

It dawned on her that this man must be the innkeeper. "I'm afraid I haven't any gold, sir."

"No worries," he said kindly. "On the house. What'll it be?"

Already she could tell this man was kinder than most innkeepers she'd come across. And she was quite hungry and thirsty. She met his soft grey eyes. "Hot chocolate? And some warm milk for my baby?"

His eyes crinkled as he smiled, and she felt her heart flutter. "Coming right up."

The man left, and Morgan gently bounced her child on her knee as the fire crackled. The baby reached up and grabbed a fistful of her silvery locks. "Oh! Baby, don't pull my hair," she giggled, trying to free her hair from the child's iron grip. "Ow! You silly thing, let go."

The innkeeper's voice floated in from the other room. "So what's your name, ma'am? What brings you to Fódlan?"

Questions she'd been asked many times since she fled Plegia. Her answer was no different each time. "A new start," she said as she finally freed her hair. "For me and my little angel."

The man returned with a tray and took a seat next to her. "No father?" he asked.

She shook her head. "He's- not in the picture anymore."

"Must've been rough, just the two of you."

You have no idea, she thought, and nodded. "As for my name, it's... it's Morgan. Morgan Daraen." They were far enough away from Plegia that the name would mean nothing here.

Raising a bemused eyebrow, the man replied, "Daraen? Almost sounds like 'Durand' a bit."

Blushing, Morgan ducked her head a little. She liked his accent. "I wouldn't know. I suppose it does, though."

"Heheh. Well, my name's Marc Ubert," he said, then handed her a tall glass topped with cream, marshmallows, and chocolate shavings. "And this here is the finest hot chocolate in western Faerghus."

Morgan smiled and took the drink with her free hand. "Thank you."

Marc inclined his head towards the child. "Need help feeding them?"

For all her anxiety about handing her baby over to someone else's care, she didn't seem to mind the idea of Marc holding them. There was just something about him that put her at ease in a way that others never did. "I'd appreciate it."

Eyes crinkling with that wonderful smile of his, Marc reached over for her child. "Come here, kiddo." Once the child was in his lap, they gazed up at him with wide eyes. They cooed and babbled before reaching for Marc's face with a tiny hand, then smiled and laughed in that way only babies could, bright and full of joy.

Morgan thought she might melt at the sight. "My baby likes you."

"They do, don't they, heheheh." Marc tilted his head as he squinted his eyes at something. "Hmm? What's this here?" He gently turned the baby's hand to get a better look. "Looks like a Crest."

Morgan almost choked on her hot chocolate when she saw what he was staring at. "A what?"

"A Crest," he answered, turning his attention to her. "Most nobles you'll run into in Fódlan have them. They say they're gifts from the Goddess. Gotta say though, I've never seen this one before."

"It's... not a Crest." Hell, she didn't even know what a Crest was. "At least I don't think it is." Perhaps Crests were what they called holy blood here. More like unholy blood.

"Something similar, then?" When she didn't answer, taking a sip of her drink instead, Marc continued, "Running an inn means I hear a lot of stories, and plenty have been runaways. Noble runaways wanting to leave behind their social responsibilities and cut their own path. I can guess you're in a similar situation." There was that disarming smile again. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

It relieved her to hear that. Marc may not know the exact circumstances, but it was reassuring to know he wouldn't tell anyone about her baby's Brand. "Thank you," she murmured.

"No worries," he replied, then adjusted the child's position on his lap. "Are you hungry, kiddo? I've got something for you." He picked up the bottle of warmed milk off the tray and began feeding them. Not once did they fuss. "There you go." He glanced over at Morgan. "Does your little one here have a name?"

Nodding, she thought back on how she chose her baby's name. A myriad of names had crossed her mind during her journey, but she could never really settle on one. While travelling through Chalphy, she had heard a very lovely name. It was a common name in that region in various forms, but when she looked at the little bundle in her arms and considered it, she knew right then that that was going to be their name.

"What is it?" Marc asked.

Morgan smiled fondly. "Ashe."