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“ Curses… the girl is crying again…”
Tharja had no delusions that she was a good mother. She had never seriously imagined herself serving in that role at any point in her life. And since being entrusted with a teenager from another reality, her suitability for motherhood in this reality seemed to be ever diminishing.
Abandoned to train in dark magic from a young age, Tharja had no real sense of what a good mother should do for her child… but whatever it might be, she doubted she was capable of it. She had yet to truly forge a connection with her daughter, despite her best efforts. Bonding over hexes and potions was a disaster. The girl knew as little of magic as her mother did of maternity.
“By the Dragon’s Table, she even brought a bow with her!”
Aside from feeling wholly incapable in her interactions with Noire, Tharja was deeply concerned by the girl's recollections of her birth mother. A woman who seemed disconnected from the world around her, who cared nothing for the well being of her family. A woman who, it seemed, had gone just as mad as the king Tharja had originally joined the Shepherds to defeat. A woman who, ultimately, could not protect her child. Tharja did not pretend to be a saintly woman - the very idea of such a label was detestable. But was it really possible that she could fall so low? That she could fail so completely? As a mother? As a wife? As a mage?
And so, when Tharja came across her daughter, slumped against a tree on the outskirts of camp, crying into her hands, she was deeply troubled. Naturally, she was troubled to see Noire upset - but she was even more troubled by her uncertainty at what to do next. The girl seemed to be inconsolable… or at least beyond Tharja’s very limited ability to console. Eyes moving quickly around the area, Tharja looked for the cause of her daughter’s distress.
Within moments, she found it. And, despite the situation, she giggled to herself softly.
“Now, this is a problem I can solve.”
No more than two dozen paces from where Noire sat, a group of men ( “No,” Tharja corrected herself, “a group of boys” ) were whooping and hollering, as young males so often do. They seemed hardly older than Noire, and by their clothes, to be locals. The tallest among them gleefully waved a small trinket over his head while the others jumped and jostled to try and grab it. Even if she hadn’t seen the green glow of the crystal from another world directly, she would have recognized the aura from Noire’s talisman anywhere.
Stepping out into the open, Tharja stared at the group until she had their attention. If looks could kill (and Tharja knew well that they occasionally could), the look she gave this group would be serving several millennia behind bars. Getting their attention took very little time, as was often the case with those who fancied themselves men. The boys seemed in equal measure terrified and excited by the attention of a woman. She couldn’t help but chuckle to herself lightly, “Tragically predictable…”
Speaking to the group in her most measured tones, she said simply, “You have something that belongs to my daughter. It would be in your best interest to return it immediately.” Her eye contact with the tallest boy communicated the threat that her words did not.
One rude hand gesture from the tall boy later, and their fates were sealed.
Tharja wouldn’t kill the boys, of course. Even for the crime of stealing her magic, that would have been far too cruel. Not to mention the work involved in disposing of the bodies… No, some simple transformation spells would be more than enough to humiliate them. Tharja raised a hand- no tome was necessary as she had developed this spell herself. She snapped her fingers. Once, twice, thrice… one snap for each of her daughter’s persecutors. One after another, the boys fell to the ground. And one after another, swine scrambled to their newly formed hooves. Tharja did not pay the creatures much mind as they were transformed, but given their screaming and squealing, she couldn’t imagine it was a pleasant experience. So long as none of them went squealing off to Robin, there wouldn’t be any problems at all.
“Robin…”
Snap. Snap.
As it so often did, the (self proclaimed) most powerful mind in the Shepherds found itself considering their tactician. Whispers had long been shared within their ranks of Tharja’s… obsession. Stalker, fangirl, creep, she had been called it all behind her back, and called most of it to her face as well. Still casting spells, she distractedly shook her head, laughing under her breath.
“They’ll never understand…”
Snap. Snap.
Limited as they were, her compatriots assumed her interest in Robin was romantic. Such a simpleminded assumption. That’s not to say she would be opposed to that kind of relationship - if the opportunity presented itself. But as appealing as Robin may or may not be, that was far from her true motivation.
At her core, Tharja was a truth seeker, not especially different from her fellow Shepherds, Miriel or Libra. But while Miriel sought knowledge in her books and Libra from his god, Tharja searched in something more real, more tangible. Tharja pursued truth in her magic, dark magic . And it was that magic which made Robin so uniquely fascinating. His aura, his presence, his very being were unlike anything she had seen in man or beast. It ebbed and flowed in strange, conflicted patterns. It pushed where it should pull, it laughed when it should weep, danced where it should decay. No, the souls of men did not move like his. It was, in a word, wrong. And much like a curse gone horribly awry, Tharja could not look away. She would be the one to unravel his mysteries. She would be the one to determine what he was. She would bring out the truth buried within him. It only made sense. Why else would she, a Plegian from birth, have encountered this strange man and his party? It was fate. If the others couldn’t see that, then all the better - they’d stay out of her way.
As soon as her mind returned to the subject of magic, Tharja suddenly realized she had turned the same boy into a pig three times over, and that the rest had scattered in her wake. It was an interesting case - would the boy take three times longer to be returned to normal? Or would the recovery time increase exponentially? She would have to investigate later.
But for now, she had more pressing concerns. Stepping out towards the last remaining (and extremely confused) pig, she picked up the talisman. Thankfully, the delinquents weren’t even capable of damaging it.
Swiftly walking back to Noire, Tharja placed the magical artifact at her feet. And, after the briefest moment of hesitation, she walked away. No sense in embarrassing the girl any further, she concluded. As she strode back into camp, a soft smile graced her lips - distinct from the wicked smile they were so often curled into.
“Maybe this motherhood thing isn’t impossible after all.”