Chapter Text
She kept sneezing, and wasn't entirely sure why.
It was fairly rare for her family to get sick.
Friends of her father's had often joked that he never got ill, that the illness just seemed to bounce right off of his broad frame – apparently, mother had been even stronger.
Though she liked to think of it, and smiled at the thought, a hacking cough warned her that such immunity hadn't found it's way to her, apparently.
An attempt to clean the musty vases her father set out and then promptly forgotten about (for years!..) had turned in an attempt to clean the entirety of the house.
Which, as it turned out, had put her in a bit of a pickle –
Several trips, crashes into priceless mementos, and other unspeakable accidents later, Sieglinde had decided with certainty that she wasn't cut out for anything more domestic than drinking domestic beer.
“... A terrible defeat...”
Her whisper felt like a concession, too! It would've been something nice to do, to surprise him!..
And since he'd always been so eager to do the same for her...
Father rarely left to pursue deeds of heroism and knighthood, anymore.
As a Knight of Catarina, his name was still spoken of with a degree of reverence that always felt slightly forced, to her.
Like the people saying it couldn't believe how the jovial and encouraging man they saw, somewhat rounded by age, was the hero they'd heard of.
Of course, heroism was far more than defeating villains and righting great wrongs.
The hero she respected was the old man who seemed bewildered and charmed by the fact that stray cats existed, even as they attempted to maul him with more ferocity than a dragon!..
And still left out food and drink for their ravenous hordes, every night.
“Lin! I've returned! Oh, but it was a story, a true story! Would you believe that the local dry-goods merchant was... Oh, it's simply too terrible to put into words!”
“Father... Nnf, I'm sure it was. Do not get too close. Please. I feel as if someone – my head...”
Raising her fist to her face and stifling a cough, Sieglinde managed a bright smile.
The various items poking through canvas seemed to be – not entirely related to curing illness, or bringing good luck, or even – anything in particular.
“Did you truly have to make so many purchases, father...”
“Oh, well, naturally! First, I consulted with some augers about what incenses brought good fortune. Amazingly, they're rarely asked about such matters, and so I bought several kinds – this one comes in a purple case, Lin!”
He held up the eggplant-coloured wooden case, and she shut her eyes and shook her head – smiling, even as she coughed.
“You... They just wanted to sell you more than one...
“Mmn, possibly! And yet, if it would restore the health of my little girl – I would have bought twenty, ahahaha! Of course, that's not all I got.”
She pretended to groan. He went through money quite recklessly, and was a bit reckless in general.
But sometimes that was part of heroism, too; living frugally for yourself, while giving anything to those you cared for.
Even if it was irresponsible, if she were asked if she respected it...
“There's chicken bones, for soup, and some fresh apples from the orchards down the road, and! I'm rather proud of this, but there was a man selling little wooden puzzles, and I thought... Lin loves puzzles, so – “
“Father... I can't stand, puzzles...”
Siegmeyer acted as shocked as if he'd been pierced through the heart – and then they both laughed, until she felt like she might grow more sick, still.
Mother – her mother had allegedly loved puzzles, all the ornate hand-painted wooden pieces that created images when put together.
Occasionally, she would see her father staying up late, putting them together by himself.
It was peculiar, but he rarely seemed lonely; for though he missed her terribly, he felt certain they'd meet again.
And she worried, so, which was she'd decided to clean the damn house in the first place, and oh, no...
But soon he'd left the room, and she could hear the fire under the stove.
He'd... Truly...
The smells of burning incense, chicken broth being stewed, and something else that might have been an attempt at tea all were punctuated by a very quiet (and equally surprised) murmur of “oh. heavens!..” that only barely filtered through the door.
Sickness being what it was, she faded in and out of sleep.
When she awoke, however, the night filtered through their small house as silver spears.
Her steps felt uneven, but her head felt better; and a bowl of strong chicken broth had been left, still somewhat warm, against the countertop.
It appeared that someone had attempted to burn all the incense at once, and she laughed – cleaning up the ashes in a pale imitation of what had led to it all in the first place.
And she could hear her father's loud snoring, and see the unfinished attempt at the newly started puzzle.
Quietly, she removed several uneasily fitted pieces and placed them were they belonged, threw a blanket over the divan he'd collapsed on, had her soup – and returned to her room, to dream of knighthood and heroism.