11-18-2016, 12:40 AM
Exalt Lucina stares out of the stained glass of the Royal Throne Room. It is like they just... vanished into thin air. She had heard the stories her late father had told her about when he had first met the mysterious Plegian in a field. It almost seemed like something out of a storybook. But, it certainly wasn't a story. The scars of the war against the Fell Dragon still burned. Ylisse and Valm had suffered greatly, but Plegia suffered the most. The collapse of their government, their priesthood, their support and treasury, their very way of life. It was an unpopular decision to lend aid to the people of Plegia, but her father had made it and stuck with it until the end of his life.
"Your Exalted Grace," a voice said. It was Aunt Freyja. While Aunt Lissa was always the voice of cheer and kindness, Aunt Freyja was always one of stern, but compassionate, wisdom and grace. Freyja was very distant in Lucina's early youth, but through her father's insistence, she become more active in Lucina's formative years. Chrom had always told Lucina that he wanted her to grow up to be brave and strong as Freyja, but as optimistic and helpful as Lissa. And so, she's tried. Oh, she tried. But seeing the sorrow on her Aunt's face as she knelt before her was... trying, to say the least.
"Please, Aunt Freyja," Lucina started, "you know there is no need to use such formalities with me. I may be the Exalt, but we are still family."
"Of course," Freyja says. She looks up to the Exalt. "My apologies, Lucina. I just wish to give you the respect you deserve." Freyja slowly stands, brushing a stray strand of blue hair from her face. Ever the pragmatist, Freyja kept her hair quite short, so as to not interfere with her perceptions both in and out of combat situations. Somehow, Lucina was always a little jealous... but Aunt Lissa had *insisted* that long hair was more "Ladylike."
"Aunt Freyja..." Lucina starts, "if anyone deserves respect, it is you. You have done more for us - for me - than anyone else. After Father died from illness, it was you who kept me sane and grounded. It has been nearly ten years since I had to take up the crown, but I can scarce imagine that I would not have been crushed by it had you not been here to support me." Lucina smiles, fiddling with the crown woven through her hair. No matter how hard she tried, the Royal Circlet always made her head itch when she wore it for too long. Her eyes wander over to the massive, immaculate portrait of her late aunt, Emmeryn. Always so regal in her every visage. She secretly wondered, in quiet moments, if Emmeryn had suffered from the same trivial problems like she was.
"Oh, spare me the praise," Freyja says, smiling faintly. "You certainly have a knack for words I never had. But what could I expect from my little butterfly?"
Lucina's face reddens. "Perhaps I spoke too swiftly about formality. Call me whatever royal titles you wish if it means you won't tease me!" The two women share a laugh, though Lucina can't help but feel it is somewhat one-sided. Pain is written clearly all over her face. In fact, now that she is this close, her eyes seem puffed around her brilliant blue eyes. The shimmering Mark of the Exalt that shone in her eye like a lighthouse in a storm contrasted with the red sadness that enclosed on her face like a swarm of locusts.
Silence falls over the throne room once more, and Lucina steels herself for the conversation that needs to happen.
"...I take it you still have found nothing of Uncle?" A wave of cool washes over Freyja, as if a chill has halted every bone in her body. The older woman shakes her head, slowly. Agonizingly; as if the very act has slain her. "Neither he, nor... nor my daughter. We've... searched most of the continent thrice over, but..."
The silence is deafening.
"Aunt Freyja... I don't know what else we can do, but you know you have my full support." Lucina rises from her throne and makes her way towards her aunt. "We can request ships from Ferox. Perhaps Sey'ri and her people can assist us in searching Valm. 'Tis a dangerous time in the Republic's rebuilding, but I have no doubt that she can at least spare us a few ninja to act as guides for our men. Or, perhaps we can search Plegia again? I understand it is dangerous, but it would make sense that they may still be there. We also can't rule out the possibility that they have been captured by dissenters who still follow the Old Ways, but I just know there have to be people there that support us, and our temporary occupation."
Lucina continues thinking, glancing at the map of the known world upon the royal rug beneath them. "I know that I am still a young ruler, but I am not my grandfather. Hells, I am older now than my father was when he took on this burden! That there are still people who follow the Fell Dragon, even to this day... have they no sense??"
Freyja reaches out a gloved hand and places it on the young exalt's shoulder. "Please, Lucina. You'll work yourself into a fit. Some habits die hard. The resistance in Plegia sees the occupation as an invasion, like the one that my... father orchestrated. I do not remember the events myself, but Chrom had told me stories that he heard from Emmeryn. Father... was not a kind man. Those wounds still fester, I imagine. The Fell Dragon is an answer, an eye for an eye. Even in the wake of his death, some still cry out for salvation beneath his ruinous wings."
"Apologies, Aunt," Lucina says, withdrawing for a moment. She crosses her arms and looks down at the rug, a sad expression dominating her face. "I just... I just feel like I am not up to this sometimes. Even though it has been the better part of a decade, I cannot shake the feeling that I am going to disappoint everyone. That I am going to fail everyone, like I have failed you. It has been years, and still I haven't been able to find Uncle Robin or Morgan." Lucina's fists begin to ball up, and she begins to grit her teeth. "How am I supposed to rebuild a fractured nation and mend the wounds between two entire peoples that despise each other if I cannot even help you find your husband?!" she shouts. Her last word echoes throughout the hall, and within Freyja's mind.
A shiver runs down her spine.
"Lucina," the older woman says, a sentence all its own, echoing with the same vigor off of the halls that had seen so much.
After a few moments, the young exalt signs. "I know, I know. 'Do not blame yourself,' 'There is nothing more you can do,' 'I need not take the weight of this burden upon myself, for it is my cross to bear.' I know. I know. I'm sorry. I guess I'll always have a bit of my father's bullheadedness after all, no matter how hard Maribelle and Frederick tried to beat it out of me as a child."
Freyja tries to smile. "Oh, child, you aren't the only one."
Lucina smiles at her aunt once more. So courageous, she thinks to herself, Even after so much loss, she keeps fighting. Would that I could be so strong.
"But do not worry, Lucina. I do not need you to waste any more precious Ylissean resources on this fool's errand of mine. I will make do with my companions. We have been together through a lot or hardships, and I have no doubt that we can succeed here, as well."
Lucina beams at her aunt. "I am afraid that I will still worry for you, dear Aunt. But I believe you. It is just like Uncle Robin always said - 'Believe in the invisible ties that connect us all, and there's nothing you can't accomplish.'"
Freyja's heart skips a beat at the words. She remembers them. Oh, she remembers them. "You're right," she manages, swallowing the sorrow that swells up her throat. "You're right. If you'll excuse me, Lucina, I must away for a moment. I... I..."
Lucina steps tentatively towards her aunt, who has started losing the fight against her wracking shoulders. Sobs eke their way from her stoic form. Lucina closes the gap between her aunt and throws her arms around Freyja.
"I... I miss them so much, Lucina. I... I."
Lucina holds her as tightly as she can.
After what seems like a millennia, Freyja calms herself. "Thank you," she says. "Thank you."
"That's what family is for, right?" Lucina offers a sorrow-filled smile
"Yeah," Freyja manages. Then, almost as if it had never vanished, her stoic veneer returns. "I will send reports if I find anything. Though I will be out, do not hesitate to send summons if aught goes amiss in my absence."
Lucina chuckles. "Don't worry, I think the Plegian resistance may have given up on the assassination attempts for a while now, at least," she laughs sheepishly. "And Freyja," she says, with a calmness that evoked the selfsame woman on the grand portrait she had looked at only a moment ago, "it isn't if you find anything. It is when."
"Right," Freyja says, stone-faced. "Right."
"...Today was her birthday, wasn't it?" Lucina asks. A right hook to Freyja's soul, but she does not balk. She merely nods. "...Then I guess I'll just have to keep saving these presents for when you find her then, won't I?" She smiles, then gestures away from herself. "Alright. I've kept you long enough, Aunt Freyja. Go with Naga's blessing. Be safe out there, okay?"
Freyja smiles as best she can, hand gripped across her Falchion's hilt as if it was the only thing keeping her anchored to this mortal coil. "Of course. And you as well, my little butterfly," she says with a smirk as she spins and exits the throne room.
A 'Hey!' echoes down the chamber, followed by "That's no fair!'s and 'I'm not a kid anymore!'s, but Freyja's mind is elsewhere.
"Happy birthday, Morgan. Wherever you are," she says under her breath. "Happy birthday."
"Your Exalted Grace," a voice said. It was Aunt Freyja. While Aunt Lissa was always the voice of cheer and kindness, Aunt Freyja was always one of stern, but compassionate, wisdom and grace. Freyja was very distant in Lucina's early youth, but through her father's insistence, she become more active in Lucina's formative years. Chrom had always told Lucina that he wanted her to grow up to be brave and strong as Freyja, but as optimistic and helpful as Lissa. And so, she's tried. Oh, she tried. But seeing the sorrow on her Aunt's face as she knelt before her was... trying, to say the least.
"Please, Aunt Freyja," Lucina started, "you know there is no need to use such formalities with me. I may be the Exalt, but we are still family."
"Of course," Freyja says. She looks up to the Exalt. "My apologies, Lucina. I just wish to give you the respect you deserve." Freyja slowly stands, brushing a stray strand of blue hair from her face. Ever the pragmatist, Freyja kept her hair quite short, so as to not interfere with her perceptions both in and out of combat situations. Somehow, Lucina was always a little jealous... but Aunt Lissa had *insisted* that long hair was more "Ladylike."
"Aunt Freyja..." Lucina starts, "if anyone deserves respect, it is you. You have done more for us - for me - than anyone else. After Father died from illness, it was you who kept me sane and grounded. It has been nearly ten years since I had to take up the crown, but I can scarce imagine that I would not have been crushed by it had you not been here to support me." Lucina smiles, fiddling with the crown woven through her hair. No matter how hard she tried, the Royal Circlet always made her head itch when she wore it for too long. Her eyes wander over to the massive, immaculate portrait of her late aunt, Emmeryn. Always so regal in her every visage. She secretly wondered, in quiet moments, if Emmeryn had suffered from the same trivial problems like she was.
"Oh, spare me the praise," Freyja says, smiling faintly. "You certainly have a knack for words I never had. But what could I expect from my little butterfly?"
Lucina's face reddens. "Perhaps I spoke too swiftly about formality. Call me whatever royal titles you wish if it means you won't tease me!" The two women share a laugh, though Lucina can't help but feel it is somewhat one-sided. Pain is written clearly all over her face. In fact, now that she is this close, her eyes seem puffed around her brilliant blue eyes. The shimmering Mark of the Exalt that shone in her eye like a lighthouse in a storm contrasted with the red sadness that enclosed on her face like a swarm of locusts.
Silence falls over the throne room once more, and Lucina steels herself for the conversation that needs to happen.
"...I take it you still have found nothing of Uncle?" A wave of cool washes over Freyja, as if a chill has halted every bone in her body. The older woman shakes her head, slowly. Agonizingly; as if the very act has slain her. "Neither he, nor... nor my daughter. We've... searched most of the continent thrice over, but..."
The silence is deafening.
"Aunt Freyja... I don't know what else we can do, but you know you have my full support." Lucina rises from her throne and makes her way towards her aunt. "We can request ships from Ferox. Perhaps Sey'ri and her people can assist us in searching Valm. 'Tis a dangerous time in the Republic's rebuilding, but I have no doubt that she can at least spare us a few ninja to act as guides for our men. Or, perhaps we can search Plegia again? I understand it is dangerous, but it would make sense that they may still be there. We also can't rule out the possibility that they have been captured by dissenters who still follow the Old Ways, but I just know there have to be people there that support us, and our temporary occupation."
Lucina continues thinking, glancing at the map of the known world upon the royal rug beneath them. "I know that I am still a young ruler, but I am not my grandfather. Hells, I am older now than my father was when he took on this burden! That there are still people who follow the Fell Dragon, even to this day... have they no sense??"
Freyja reaches out a gloved hand and places it on the young exalt's shoulder. "Please, Lucina. You'll work yourself into a fit. Some habits die hard. The resistance in Plegia sees the occupation as an invasion, like the one that my... father orchestrated. I do not remember the events myself, but Chrom had told me stories that he heard from Emmeryn. Father... was not a kind man. Those wounds still fester, I imagine. The Fell Dragon is an answer, an eye for an eye. Even in the wake of his death, some still cry out for salvation beneath his ruinous wings."
"Apologies, Aunt," Lucina says, withdrawing for a moment. She crosses her arms and looks down at the rug, a sad expression dominating her face. "I just... I just feel like I am not up to this sometimes. Even though it has been the better part of a decade, I cannot shake the feeling that I am going to disappoint everyone. That I am going to fail everyone, like I have failed you. It has been years, and still I haven't been able to find Uncle Robin or Morgan." Lucina's fists begin to ball up, and she begins to grit her teeth. "How am I supposed to rebuild a fractured nation and mend the wounds between two entire peoples that despise each other if I cannot even help you find your husband?!" she shouts. Her last word echoes throughout the hall, and within Freyja's mind.
A shiver runs down her spine.
"Lucina," the older woman says, a sentence all its own, echoing with the same vigor off of the halls that had seen so much.
After a few moments, the young exalt signs. "I know, I know. 'Do not blame yourself,' 'There is nothing more you can do,' 'I need not take the weight of this burden upon myself, for it is my cross to bear.' I know. I know. I'm sorry. I guess I'll always have a bit of my father's bullheadedness after all, no matter how hard Maribelle and Frederick tried to beat it out of me as a child."
Freyja tries to smile. "Oh, child, you aren't the only one."
Lucina smiles at her aunt once more. So courageous, she thinks to herself, Even after so much loss, she keeps fighting. Would that I could be so strong.
"But do not worry, Lucina. I do not need you to waste any more precious Ylissean resources on this fool's errand of mine. I will make do with my companions. We have been together through a lot or hardships, and I have no doubt that we can succeed here, as well."
Lucina beams at her aunt. "I am afraid that I will still worry for you, dear Aunt. But I believe you. It is just like Uncle Robin always said - 'Believe in the invisible ties that connect us all, and there's nothing you can't accomplish.'"
Freyja's heart skips a beat at the words. She remembers them. Oh, she remembers them. "You're right," she manages, swallowing the sorrow that swells up her throat. "You're right. If you'll excuse me, Lucina, I must away for a moment. I... I..."
Lucina steps tentatively towards her aunt, who has started losing the fight against her wracking shoulders. Sobs eke their way from her stoic form. Lucina closes the gap between her aunt and throws her arms around Freyja.
"I... I miss them so much, Lucina. I... I."
Lucina holds her as tightly as she can.
After what seems like a millennia, Freyja calms herself. "Thank you," she says. "Thank you."
"That's what family is for, right?" Lucina offers a sorrow-filled smile
"Yeah," Freyja manages. Then, almost as if it had never vanished, her stoic veneer returns. "I will send reports if I find anything. Though I will be out, do not hesitate to send summons if aught goes amiss in my absence."
Lucina chuckles. "Don't worry, I think the Plegian resistance may have given up on the assassination attempts for a while now, at least," she laughs sheepishly. "And Freyja," she says, with a calmness that evoked the selfsame woman on the grand portrait she had looked at only a moment ago, "it isn't if you find anything. It is when."
"Right," Freyja says, stone-faced. "Right."
"...Today was her birthday, wasn't it?" Lucina asks. A right hook to Freyja's soul, but she does not balk. She merely nods. "...Then I guess I'll just have to keep saving these presents for when you find her then, won't I?" She smiles, then gestures away from herself. "Alright. I've kept you long enough, Aunt Freyja. Go with Naga's blessing. Be safe out there, okay?"
Freyja smiles as best she can, hand gripped across her Falchion's hilt as if it was the only thing keeping her anchored to this mortal coil. "Of course. And you as well, my little butterfly," she says with a smirk as she spins and exits the throne room.
A 'Hey!' echoes down the chamber, followed by "That's no fair!'s and 'I'm not a kid anymore!'s, but Freyja's mind is elsewhere.
"Happy birthday, Morgan. Wherever you are," she says under her breath. "Happy birthday."