Archive of Our Own

Kamui casts from her first tome at three. Mikoto isn’t aware of what’s happened until Ryoma comes crashing into the nursery, where she and Sakura are having tummy time. The boy’s clothes are slightly singed, and he’s carrying Kamui by the armpits. The toddler is stubbornly clutching at what Mikoto recognizes as a mid-level Nohrian tome, Arcfire.

She wasn’t even aware that Kamui could read. Much less understand the runes from an advanced magic tome.

For all that Mikoto likes to coddle her daughter, going from a mother of one to a mother of five, not to mention the newly minted queen of a country full of strangers, involves quite a bit of culture shock. She’s got her hands full with establishing herself as a trustworthy and dignified queen, and learning a new set of court politics gives her a headache. Of course, bonding with her new children takes priority over all. It takes a lot of time and effort: to get both the children and the country to realize that no, she is not an interloper who wishes to erase the previous queen’s existence and overtake her. To get them to realize that what she wants is to be simply another figure, parental and otherwise, they can trust.

It’s been so long since Mikoto’s had a family this large. A part of her mourns the one she lost –Arete and her king; little Azura who Kamui might never know; a man as fleeting as the wind but with a strong embrace; and all the people of Valla who now suffer in cursed eternity, lost under a mad dragon’s control. Sumeragi, bless him, is kind and understanding for all that she cannot tell him. He eases her soul, and she is grateful. For him. For their newly combined families. She’s determined to keep this one together and happy.

It’s not as easy said than done. In the midst of bonding with her step-children, Mikoto can’t help but feel she’s neglecting her biological one. They have their family time all together, but out of all the children, Kamui is, surprisingly, the least requiring of maintenance despite being in a new country surrounded by foreign faces. Ryoma requires a determined and forthright approach, having been wary of Mikoto replacing his mother. Hinoka is a typhoon of emotion and Takumi is fussy and energetic; both of them require constant attention lest they get into trouble. Sakura is but a babe, and in the absence of her late biological mother Mikoto finds herself taking over many of her maternal needs.

Kamui, by contrast, is quiet, thoughtful; almost analytical in the way she acts. It was almost as if every move she made was thought out before execution. The child does even the silliest of things in a methodical, strategic way. Saizo* once caught her in the kitchen trying to retrieve snacks for herself and Takumi from a high perch. The two had stacked several stools on top of each other in a sturdy pyramid. Bedding from the futons had even been placed around their makeshift structure in case they fell, and the two were wrapped in cloth that would cushion their fall. Sumeragi had laughed when he learned, but Mikoto couldn’t help but acknowledge the maturity of the plan.

Mikoto’s daughter might be a genius. But that simply made it harder to notice when she was doing something dangerous.

Dangerous, like casting highly destructive fire magic from a foreign country in a palace made of more wood than stone. Kamui had no magical training; she could have set herself on fire without the proper protections of a class seal**

“Goodness! Kamui, where did you get that?” Mikoto exclaims, standing. She hefts Sakura onto her hip and approaches the spot where Ryoma is trying to pry the tome out of his new sister’s arms.

“C’mon, Kamu, let go!” Ryoma urges,

Kamui shakes her head stubbornly, curling inward. The girl is stalwart, something Mikoto is unused to seeing with her daughter. She’s usually so agreeable and amical, always looking for compromises. A diplomat in the making, Mikoto is sure.

What could elicit such a response?

“Kamui,” Mikoto speaks softly, bending down. Sakura coos, and Ryoma, ever the dutiful brother, holds his hands out to take her from their new mother and rock her against his small shoulders.

Kamui peers up at her mother with wary, wine red eyes. For a second Mikoto thinks her daughter is anticipating what her mother will ask of her and how she might get out of it. The thought of a three year old having that kind of affinity in problem solving and evasion unsettles her a bit, though she’d never admit.

“Kamui,” Mikoto starts again, “what have you in your hands, little one?”

“A book,” the girl mumbles, shifting her head so her gaze meets the floor. Her hair, a mix of Mikoto’s own black and unusual, almost silver-white strands, falls around her face, hiding the majority of her face from view.

“A book? What kind of book? Can I see?” Mikoto prods, holding her hands out.

“It’s pretty and it’s warm,” Kamui stumbles over pronouncing her words like most three-year olds, but Mikoto knows her use of language can be fairly advanced when she wants it to be.

“Really?” Mikoto leans in and feigns curiosity, “can you show Mama, Kamui? Can I touch it too?”

Kamui pouts, “but I found it, and it works for me. It didn’t work for Ryoma-n-nii.” She stumbles over the unfamiliar honorific, but Ryoma looks rather smug regardless. The elder boy offers his own account,

“I think Father was having stuff from a raid moved to the weapons place. They must have dropped this thing. What is it, Mikoto-san? Kamu picked it up and said some weird words and then there was this bright drawing in the air and fire!”

“It’s called a tome, Ryoma-kun. Mages, usually in Nohr, use it to cast spells. You’ve seen Orochi’s mother do it with her scrolls, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think they could make fire appear,” Ryoma scrunches his nose, “How lame, scroll spirits are much better.”

“They’re just different, that’s all,” Mikoto tries to assuage. Though tensions between Hoshido and Nohr may be high, Mikoto knows their citizens aren’t as different as propaganda would have them believe. She tries to instill this when she can, but pushing too hard at this point will only be met with criticism and distrust.

“I guess…but Mikoto-san, everything just look like scribbles to me. How come Kamu could read it?”

How indeed. Mikoto redirects her attention back to her daughter. Kamui meets her gaze with a firm stare. It seems her daughter has a stubborn streak.

“Kamui, dear, can you read this book?”

Kamui doesn’t respond a first. Mikoto can practically hear the gears turning in her head, thinking of possible answers. She doesn’t say it out loud, but silence unnerves her the slightest bit. Children of three years do not normally have such skills of anticipation and decision making.

“…No.”

“Kamui,” Mikoto starts again, a little firmer this time. If her daughter –her three year old daughter- can really read such a high level tome, Mikoto needs to know how.

“No, I can’t.” Kamui reaffirms a little more resolutely. Her grip on the tome loosens minutely, before her arms go slack and she extends the book to Mikoto. She doesn’t make eye contact as she continues, “I just…repeated what I overheard from Yukimura-san before. He was looking at a book like this with one of the diviners. I didn’t think I could do it, but I did. I’m sorry, Mama.”

Kamui continues to avoid eye-contact, and shifts her attention to Ryoma. She shoots a toothy grin at him.

“Ryoma-nii was really cool, though! He rushed in and put out the sparks super quick! And then he lifted me really high into the air!”

Kamui throws her arms up for emphasis. Ryoma puffs out his chest, obviously pleased with being called cool. Sakura babbles excitedly.

Mikoto, meanwhile, has a dilemma on her hands.

Kamui, three years old, barely up to Mikoto’s thigh in height, has just lied to her and even attempted to divert the conversation. Yukimura, while a young prodigy in his own right, has never shown an interest in magic. Furthermore, while he throws himself into his studies about Nohrian tactics and fighting methods, he utilitarian to a fault. The time it would take to learn even the basics of Nohrian spellcasting would be a largely inefficient endeavor. The chances of Kamui learning how to cast spells of this level in such a manner are low. Her child is very obviously lying, and right to her face at that.

A part of Mikoto wants to admonish her for this. As her mother, it should be Mikoto’s responsibility to instill moral traits like honesty in her children. For all that she cannot speak of certain matters to others, she herself has never outright lied. But even more concerning is what this –her three year old lying to her with such aptitude- means.

Three-year-olds rarely have such skills in misdirection and deceit. Even if Kamui was easily seen through, it’s unusual. Ryoma, who is five years older than his adopted sister, cannot bluff so easily to authority figures.

A rush of anxiety and foreboding comes over Mikoto in that moment. What could this mean?

Mikoto has tried several times to use her Sight to gain insight into Kamui’s fate. When her daughter was born, when they first fled from Valla, and even once after Mikoto and Sumeragi were wed. It’s often futile: Kamui’s future is obscured by flashes and static incomprehensible to Mikoto’s eyes. They only way Mikoto can glance at Kamui in her Sight is though the divination of others who are connected, and even then Kamui often only appears tangentially. Her daughter is no doubt destined to make waves (there is no doubt about it, considering the power the man who was her father exuded), but Mikoto can’t help worrying what kind of future awaits her.

Could Kamui’s advanced cognitive abilities be something more than simply a sign of a precocious child?

…Maybe she’s overthinking this.

Mikoto sighs and takes the tome from Kamui’s hands, not commenting on the slight resistance she feels.

“Kamui, do you understand how dangerous that was? What would you have done, had Ryoma-kun not shown up to help you? You could have gotten hurt!”

“Sorry, Mama…”

For what it’s worth, Kamui’s apology is genuine. Since her daughter is only three, Mikoto is willing to let her go, although her unease is not quelled.

She resolves to consult Sumeragi and Orochi’s family later about the matter. Though it troubles her, Mikoto knows Kamui is a sweet child, with a strong sense of morality –albeit with a mischievous streak a mile wide. Her proficiency with spellcasting, although unexplainable, is not cause for much concern. Currently, that is.

Mikoto sighs.

“Dear Kamui, it’s alright. If you’re interested in learning spellcasting, I will ask if there is a Diviner willing to teach you. But,” Mikoto aims a firm look at Kamui, who meets her eyes with a steady resolution, “I expect that you won’t attempt to cast without supervision until you are much, much older.”

Mikoto brings her arms around her daughter’s small body. Her greatest treasure and reminder of her homeland. Her hands thread through Kamui’s soft hair, faintly smelling of the parchment and ink her daughter is so fond of drawing on.

“I want you to be safe.”

“Okay…” Kamui acquiesces. She takes one more look at the tome, then grabs Ryoma’s hand and starts dragging him out of the room, babbling nonsense about wanting to play a game.

Somehow, Mikoto doesn’t think this is the last of the trouble Kamui will get into as she grows up.

Robin’s existence in this world is an abomination.

It wasn’t as if she dislikes her new(?) family. Given that her last family included the likes of Validar, her new mother and father are almost too good to be true. Everyone here is just so kind. Ryoma and Hinoka are always looking out for her, and Takumi and Sakura are refreshing in ways she never expected, having never had younger siblings before.

The only thing is that she isn’t who they think she is. She doesn’t deserve this.

Robin doesn’t know how she came to be called “Kamui.” She doesn’t know whether she overtook the original Kamui’s body (like Grima had once done to her; the thought makes her sick to her stomach) or whether she is Kamui. The last thing she remembers is oblivion. Her existence shattering in the wake of her confrontation with Grima. Chrom and the Shepards crying for her.

The trembling arms of her husband, son, and daughter as they held her close and she dissipated before their eyes.

This world is much different than Robin’s own. She feels displaced, like a single mismatched piece of cutlery in a full set. Magic thrums beneath her skin with no outlet. Her mind races with possibilities, trying to make sense, trying to strategize how to return to her original world.

If returning is even possible. Robin loathes to think of the alternative though. Her love for this world is but a bud grown from pretense. She enjoys her interactions with the people who seem to truly care for her (for this body she inhabits, the person they think she is), but the love she holds for them pales in comparison to the family she left behind. Not only the bonds of her Love and the twins she had in her original lifetime, but also the love she held for her comrades, the Shepards. Bonds forged through years of hardship together, stronger than any silver weapon. Than even the Falchion.

Here, she plays the part of the naïve child, pampered and spoiled by her current family. She loves and hates it in equal parts.

Robin does not belong here, known only as Kamui the princess with no grit to her. The faster she can find a way back to her world, the better.

It wouldn’t do to grow too attached.