Archive of Our Own ^beta

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From the Shepherd’s campsite in the shadow of Origin Peak, Haura could smell the scent of the sea carried by autumnal trade winds. It brought back memories of those weeks during the long sea crossing to Valm. She had spent many days in the netting, looking out to the water, resting from a war meeting, and letting the fresh air scrub her face clean.

Now the aftertaste of the air contained a sulfuric tinge and in the distance, a dark mass, far away enough to be mistaken for an ill weather front, hung in the sky. Haura could feel a gnawing in her stomach that did not belong to her. Naga had been right and the beat of a coming tomorrow drummed in the heads of all the Shepherds.

Earlier, fringed in the rays of a setting sun, Chrom had given a speech that awoke the lionhearts within the Shepherds. With his own heart now forged in Naga’s fire and his sword burnished by divine power, he spurned fate and refused destiny. The earth the Shepherds stomped and cheered on had rumbled. Haura had clasped his arm with a platitude of survival on her lips and a promise in her grip.

Tomorrow, they would ascend the peak to slay a god.

As the calm of the night settled in and the memory of his passionate words cooled in their minds, unease crept back into the mouths of her fellow soldiers. Eyes strayed to the befouled horizon and a couple to Haura herself. She did not blame them and bit her tongue, hoping the pain would focus her eyes on the maps in front of her and make her forget her appetite.  

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Come dinner, everyone was hungry after a long march. Business was as usual, even if the chatter faded out quicker than usual. Everyone sat next to their immediate family tonight and even Gerome drew close to Cherche’s side.

Occasionally an outrageous declaration from Vaike or an exclamation from Nowi rang out, punctuating the air with a cacophonous, ill-fitting tumble of noise. Some shot them dirty looks, but others, especially the children, weary and grim beyond their age, looked relieved at the attempts for levity.

“So our last meal is going to be leftover carrot soup and stale bread? Wonderful.”

Cordelia looked torn between wanting to scold Severa and secretly agreeing with her. She settled for a mild, “Severa…”

“Everyone was thinking it! What if we get eaten tomorrow? We’ll give Hau- that stupid worm indigestion with this rabbit food.”

Underneath the table, Haura held tightly onto Morgan’s hand. The dissonance of being surrounded by her warm and living comrades and feeling the walking dead rise up made her head heavy. Morgan’s face screwed up with worry.

Nah asked Morgan what was the matter. While he tried to mimic his father’s stoicism and reassure her, he had one of the worst poker faces Haura had ever seen.

With a frown, Nah insisted he take her serving of soup. Morgan dropped her hand in a blur of motion to convince her, it’s okay, she needed her strength, look I’m eating right now-

Lon’qu made a motion to take her hand but, when Haura looked over, he turned away.

Across the table, her mother coaxed Lucina into leaning on Chrom’s shoulder. Chrom put his arm around his daughter, promising to keep her safe and that she could rest for now. The sight made Haura’s shoulder twinge and it was not from her old wound.

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“Olivia, do you need something? You’ve been staring at me blankly for the last ten seconds.” Haura raised her head out of the tub.

Olivia jumped. They were the only ones in the bathing tent tonight- most found little purpose in cleaning themselves if they were only going to march onto the grimy battlefield tomorrow. When Olivia had first come to the Shepherds, the idea of bathing in front of all her fellow soldiers sent Olivia into a nervous tizzy. Over time, she had grown used to it, especially when she found someone as confident as Cordelia was equally embarrassed. Yet, despite that only one pair of eyes were on her, Olivia could feel herself shrinking away in an attempt to hide.

She stammered, “N-no, I mean, I was thinking about how Panne usually helps me with my hair…” Panne on principle did not bathe before battles, claiming the water made her muscles soft. Olivia thought it had to do more with how her fur would always puff out like a cotton ball afterwards.

"…do you want help washing your hair?"

She knew it- she should have just stuck her head into the basin of water and drowned herself while she was ahead. “I’m fine-“

Haura pulled herself out of the tub, water running rivulets down her dark skin and sloshing over the side. “No reason why I can’t help.”

In the nude and with her wet hair plastered down her back, Haura seemed smaller and her movements were slower, albeit filled with the same methodical air she carried everywhere. It was not so beautiful as to be called elegance, but Olivia thought, along with the many scars on Haura’s body, it had a charm and worldliness of its own.

And then Haura’s footing fumbled, water splashed everywhere, and she knocked the soap dish over with a curse. Olivia bit back a giggle.

Haura huffed and squatted down to pick up the soap and Olivia noticed it was a soldier’s motion, inadmissible in dance as crude, but second nature when staying low on the battlefield. The branded hand that reached for the soap had killed hundreds. The eyes, of Grima gave Olivia the creeps- how did Haura not feel their gaze every time she raised her hand?- and she looked away.

Olivia wondered if the civilians that watched her dance knew she too swung a weapon to end lives. Haura’s hands carried weight in every motion. Did her own hands on a tambourine carry that same gravity?

“…Olivia, you should turn around so I can get to your hair and the water.” Haura said with an amused look when Olivia gave a little start.

“R-right!”

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Evening prayers had more attendants than usual, Libra noted. They milled in the twilight, murmuring to their neighbors or Naga. Rare was it to see Chrom so still and quiet as he knelt in the front, hands clasped to his forehead, the Awakened Falchion glowing by his side. Even Henry had wandered in, watched the proceedings with an ever present smile, and offered a hex-lit stick of incense. It smoked purple-grey and Libra thanked Henry afterwards hesitantly.

Henry let out a soft giggle and ran his thumbs around his collar where the golden eyes of Grima had been stamped on. “No problemo. But isn’t it weird for a Plegian dark mage to make offerings to Naga and to ask her to help me kill things better?” he replied. Despite the jolly expression plastered on his face, Libra thought he could see how the familiar anxiety had touched him as well.  

“No, Henry, it is not strange to seek guidance in these...troubling times, no matter who or where you come from.” Libra replied.

“Oh good. Because I promised the big lady that if I got to rip apart lots of enemies tomorrow that’d I’d make it up to her somehow. Can you imagine how much blood there’s going to be? What’d I give to make one of them explode.” Henry said through a low whistle of a laugh, turning to leave.

“Henry-” Libra began and the mop of silver hair bobbed up once.

“Yes?” Henry sing-songed.

“...take care of yourself tomorrow. I would not wish for Naga to take you just yet. You choose what you want; I will pray for everyone’s safety.” Libra said firmly.

“Awww, okay. I’ll make sure to kill anything that can hurt you too and then we’ll call it even. Thanks, Libra.”

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"Gaius, if we keep baking like this, even Stahl will have trouble finishing all the pies." Sumia said as she looked the assorted pies that now covered every available table, crate, and barrel. Gaius waved off her concerns with a hum as he slid another pie onto the last corner of the table. There were bumbleberry, custard, coconut cream, treacle, sweet potato, and rhubarb pies, all with golden brown crusts and glistening fillings peeking out of the steam holes. Most were dessert pies, but Sumia could see a pungent eel and liver pie cooling by a knish pie.

"Papa used to stress bake until he ran out of ingredients when I was sick. I’d wake up in the middle of the night and see him in the kitchen, half asleep in the candle light and trying to fold Mama’s snakes into a turnover." Noire whispered to Sumia in-between tiny bites of a pecan pie.

Sumia looked up just as Gaius held up a jar of beans and a dried beet.

“What?” Gaius exclaimed when Sumia could not wipe apprehension off her face quick enough. “No reason not to prepare the celebratory feast prematurely. Why postpone my chance to eat all this sugar?”

“But…Tharja’s snakes?” she asked, half-teasing, half-incredulous.

“Yeah, sometimes she would release them into the yard for us kids to hunt them down! Uncle Frederick always said one day we might have to scavenge food and we should learn when we were young.” Cynthia reminisced as she plopped down next to Noire with a custard tart in her hands. Noire eyed her warily as if her exuberance were a disease she could contract and scooted away with a cough.

Sumia winced at the reminder of those dark times yet Cynthia launched into her story between bites. “Severa and Inigo had a couple years when they were super mean and would practice their rabbit traps on Yarne. You got so angry with them, Mom. Noire, do you remember? Everyone thought you were the scariest parent until we messed with Gerome. I was so proud!”

“No way, Noire, we have the scariest parent, hands down. I’ll fight you for that title on my wife’s behalf.” Gaius slid over in the conversation with a sly grin and he handed Noire a glass of cold tea. Noire mumbled her thanks and sipped.

Sumia laughed as she hugged Cynthia from behind. Cynthia leaned back against her chest, lazily chewing with her mouth open. Weary Shepherds filtered in, some in their nightclothes, others in full armor, all drawn by the smell. Gaius and Sumia welcomed them all in, surrounded by pies, with soft sugar and velvety butter to smooth away the shadows under their eyes.