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“Sigurd!”
The blue-haired knight tsk-ed at the call of his name, the sound barely cutting through the cacophony of the battle. He cut down the Corrupted in front of him, the animated corpse screeching as it fell. Yet as soon as it fell, another took its place. The new enemy forced him on the defensive, and he tsk-ed again, yanking on the reins as he delivered an overhead blow, slicing through the helmet and felling another body. His horse shifted underneath him, and he lowered his sword arm, taking far too short a moment to simply breathe in the overwhelming chaos.
Fierce winds and fiercer snow beat at the Elyosian soldiers; with every step they took, they were forced back two. Blinding white powder gleamed underfoot as well as overhead, whipping around them and occasionally cutting off all vision. Patches of ice covered the ground, coating the rocky ground with the slippery substance. The treacherous conditions caused every soldier to be wary of their every step, lest they misstep and tumble to an icy death. Obstacles lay in their path up the mountain, jutting and jagged rocks pointing off the ground, sharp enough to impale those unlucky enough to run straight into them with traps hidden among the snow. Casualties soared as vision was taken with the storm, as even the terrain tried to kill the many soldiers.
Screams intermingled with the roars of the Corrupted. They echoed in the chaos, bouncing off the walls of the mountains and reverberating throughout the pass. Shouted orders and commands attempted to cut their way through the symphony of battle, rarely penetrating the veil of grating sound to make it to the men desperate for order. Mainly cries of pain were heard, carried on the winds and bolstered by the never-ending battle. The clash and clang of metal ran underneath the sounds caused by flesh, weapons crashing into each other and against forged armour. Corpses of both sides hit the ground, soft thuds nestled by the roar of a massacre. The call of magic wove itself into the melody, explosions and tornadoes swirling through the ranks. Truly, it was a miracle as to how an avalanche had not been triggered by the overwhelming multitude of sound.
Sigurd did his best to cut through the endless ranks, the edge of his blade gleaming in the pale sunlight with every stroke. Every foe who dared to cross his path met Tyrfing’s edge, the sword falling and rising with every swing.
“Sigurd!”
“Lumera!” he called back, noting the pale blue hair of his partner through the fray. He continued fighting his way through the waves of Corrupted, doing his utmost to make it back to the Divine Dragon’s side.
Once he managed to reach her side, Lumera smiled at him, both at once grim and assured. “I was wondering where you had gone,” she said, ducking under a wayward swing. “It would seem this battle disorientates even the best of us.”
He chuckled, mirthless yet amused despite the corpses and violence surrounding them. “Then you will have to forgive my lateness,” he replied. He blocked a strike aimed at Lumera, pushing the axe towards the side as she finished off the Corrupted that wielded it. “Perhaps now is the time to change this battle’s direction.”
Lumera nodded, grinning though it seemed pained. “Emblem, ENGAGE!”
A rush of new, boundless energy flooded Lumera as they Engaged, a swirling show of blue light surrounding them. Even though both had Engaged before, with each other as well as with others, the seemingly never-ending surge of pure energy was something that would always remain new and no less exciting.
Vigour flooded Lumera’s, their, veins as the light began to fade, to dissipate. Everything she felt, he would feel. Everything she thought, he would know. Everything she did, they would do together. That was what it meant to be Engaged.
Around them, their soldiers rallied, gaining strength from the presence of both an Emblem of legend and a Divine Dragon there to guide them. With renewed fervor, the men and women charged back towards enemy lines, ready to stand firm and break through those who stood in their way. Even should they be beaten back, they would simply charge again, not ready to lose a battle of such significance, unable to leave their fallen comrades to the snow and wind, to the open sky and enemy lines.
Lumera raised her, their, sword, pointing it towards the shining sky, as she called to those around her. “For Elyos!”
“FOR ELYOS!”
Their call echoed, picked up and repeated by the Elyosian soldiers stretched out across the battlefield and carried along by the wind. The Corrupted who fought against them shook at the sound, a sign of faltering faith. Those who heard and believed in the Divine Dragon took it as a sign of the changing tides. After all, this battle would not be lost, not without tremendous loss to sway them.
More floating than truly walking, Lumera guided their forces, her now-pink hair flowing in the wind. She, they, cut through the Corrupted, moving swiftly with the gales, their movement more akin to a cavalry unit rather than the infantry. It was almost too easy to fall into the pattern they had long since cultivated, too many drawn out battles a catalyst for the ease with which Sigurd and Lumera ended Corrupted after Corrupted after Corrupted.
Yet, even the most successful of rallies can be turned around.
“LEIF! SISTER!”
And Sigurd panicked.
When an Emblem is engaged, they are able to sense everything their partner can, yet the same can also be said for what their partner can sense from the Emblem. That meant Lumera could sense, and feel herself, the sheer panic and terror that flooded the normally composed and wise knight, the fear of losing yet another Emblem to the forces of the Fell Dragon. But there was something else hidden beneath that fear; there another thrummed, more fierce and protective in its layered terror.
She, they, turned focused now on the where battle was thickest, where the roar, the enraged, mournful scream had originated from, and were greeted with an utter, absolute massacre.
The Corrupted had punched through Elyosian lines, their bellows victorious in sound. And there, in the midst of blackened metal and burning orange eyes, lay a body, dressed in dirtied white, no golden ring shining on her finger.
“No,” Lumera whispered, so focused on the brutal sight that she almost did not dodge the blow to her head. “How could this have happened?” she murmured in a grief-filled daze, staring listlessly at the prone corpse that had clattered to the ground in front of her. “This cannot be!”
Lumera, focus. Do not let yourself get distracted; the others will get him back, Sigurd said, as if he himself were not panicking as well.
A flare of fire burst into the air right as he said that, curling into a wave only Roy could manage. Burning, green arrows plunged dowards from the sky, seeking their many targets as Lyn fired shot after shot. Magic in the form of a fierce, violent firestorm swirled alongside Lyn’s Astra Storm, Celica’s Ragnarok tearing through those in her way.
“GIVE HIM BACK!”
Lumera!
She shook her head, turning back to the mayhem before them. Out of the corner of their eyes, vibrant red light flashed, but she tore their gaze from the sight, agonized screams tearing into their heart. Instead, she fixed their focus on the battle ahead. “Let us finish this.”
And I am at your side. Come now, let us end this battle before any other loses their life unnecessarily.
Sigurd sighed, rubbing at his temple as the aftermath of battle set in.
While the battle may have been a victory, it was a costly, hard-earned one – a victory that may have well been considered a defeat. Too many deaths, too many lay slain on the field that now shone in ice and frozen blood. The corpses had piled up along the mountainside, the once-gleaming metal of Elyos’ soldiers fallen alongside the blackened, twisted armour of the Corrupted. Both were stained with dried maroon.
“Sigurd!”
He glanced backwards, twisting his entire body around to see who had called. “Lumera,” he greeted softly, tiredly, once he saw the flash of pale hair and kind eyes, inclining his head in a short, respectful bow. “Do you have need of anything?”
She grinned, though it was weak and strained. “Must you be so formal with me now, friend?” she teased with a smile that did not reach her eyes. She huffed a laugh, her gaze softening. “Am I not allowed to check on my allies?”
That brought the hint of a genuine smile to Sigurd’s lips, and he chuckled quietly. “Who am I to refuse you, Divine Dragon?” he replied, taking in her slouched form and dirtied armour, the weary and distant joy of seeing her falling from his eyes.
Lumera chuckled as well, though exhaustion darkened her gaze. She gave him a reassuring smile. “Check on the other Emblems for me, will you?” she asked. “Especially Leif. He may have spent only a little time corrupted, but he was still corrupted nonetheless.”
“You . . . need not remind me,” he murmured as he reached up to rub at his temple, the flicker of searing, blood-red light forever burned into his memory. He looked up, meeting Lumera’s eyes – and he offered her a mirror of her own reassuring smile. “I will make sure the others are doing fine.”
Because you asked, but for my own reasons as well.
“Thank you,” she replied, a bright smile lighting up her face with genuine warmth. Both lifted their heads when someone called out Lumera’s name and she sighed, her visage darkening once more at the sound. “I wish you well, Sigurd. Prepare for what lays ahead.”
He nodded wordlessly as she left before turning and floating off in the opposite direction. He made his way through the tents, listening to how the wind whistled through the camp. It didn’t take too long as he drifted between the tents, finding most of the other Emblems without much fuss.
Celica and Lyn were nowhere to be seen, no doubt helping around as much as they possibly could with the wounded. Meanwhile, Lucina and Leif appeared to be discussing something by the campfire, most likely what had occurred when Leif had been forced to turn against them if Leif’s mournful expression and Lucina’s worried look was anything to go by. Roy lingered by the tents, quietly talking with a healer there.
“. . . was not your fault, Leif. No one could have expected what had happened then, much less yourself . . .”
Snatches of the conversation meandered with the wind, audible as Sigurd made his way over, unable to miss how Lucina seemed to beckon him over. He exhaled slowly, gently when he paused behind Leif, tilting his head to the side to look at Lucina.
Of course she noticed, a subtle upward tilt to the corner of her lips when she turned back to the redhead in front of her. “I may not be able to convince you entirely, or at all,” she said, giving Leif a gentle smile, “however you may rely on me whenever you wish. Though, I truly hope you eventually come around. Perhaps, instead of me, you might listen to your uncle?”
Leif blinked at her, before following where she looked over his shoulders. His eyes widened as soon as he spotted Sigurd, almost flinching back once he had turned around. “I-” He glanced over at Lucina who merely offered him a comforting smile before floating off in the healer’s tent’s direction. He bit his lip, unwilling to meet Sigurd’s gaze. “Uncle Sigurd,” he said by way of greeting, surprise causing him to drop formalities as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “What are you doing here?”
Sigurd sighed. “Leif,” he encouraged softly as he reached out to rest a hand on his nephew’s shoulder, “look at me. I will not answer you unless you can look me in the eyes.”
Leif bit his lip harder, hard enough to draw blood if he had a body. “Uncle,” he whispered, lost and almost afraid, “Uncle, I . . .” He trailed off, though he glanced upwards. Something akin to tears pooled in the corner of his eyes, blue light flickering around him.
“Oh Leif,” Sigurd breathed, gaze softening in an instant. He moved his hand, reaching up to cradle the younger’s cheek before pulling his nephew into a tight embrace. “It was not your fault she lost her life, nor was it when you were corrupted. No one blames you; the fault lies with Sombron and this war. Whoever does blame you could not be further from the truth.”
A hushed sob escaped Leif and he buried his face into the crook of Sigurd’s neck, clinging to the elder with a sort of child-like desperation.
Sigurd let him.
All the while, he murmured gentle reassurances as he stroked the back of Leif’s head, carding his hand through the red-brown strands while whispering soothing comforts. Here and now, Leif could have been a child all over again, crying over something entirely out of his control, yet the major difference lay in the fact that he cried in the arms of his uncle, in the arms of a man he never knew while alive yet now trusted with his entire being.
Eventually, somehow, Sigurd found them sitting on the ground, his back pressed against a log as he continued to hold Leif. He watched the campfire flicker and burn, almost feeling the small blaze’s heat though it was incomparable to the warmth he felt cradling his nephew against his chest.
The soft sobs faded over time, becoming sporadic and spaced out before shifting into quiet hiccups. Leif quieted after a little longer, his grip tightening on Sigurd then loosening after barely a second as he leaned back.
“Sorry Uncle,” Leif apologized, hands flexing as if he wished he could hold onto something as he stared down at them, blue light flickering in rapid patterns around him. “You . . . you should not have had to . . . deal with my outburst.”
Sigurd smiled reassuringly. He reached out, taking hold of his nephew’s hands with his own. “It’s alright, Leif,” he told him, a soothing tone intertwining his words as he rubbed the back of Leif’s hands with gentle strokes. “I do not mind at all when you come to me for comfort – truly. This war has been hard on all of us; do not blame yourself for losses you could not have prevented. None of us are all-knowing, least of all you or me. Even in this world, we are still human in the ways that matter – and that includes making mistakes. Please, Leif, listen to me. Do not allow her death to be in vain.”
Instead of answering, Leif simply tucked himself back against his uncle’s chest, burying his face back into the crook of Sigurd’s neck. And for some time, he just breathed, even patterns of in and out as he leaned against the older Emblem.
A gentle huff of a laugh left Sigurd at the sight, and he allowed Leif to do so, content to simply hold his nephew rather than continue to say anything. Even then, Leif’s breaths evened out more, smoothing over into the subtle rise and fall of sleep as slumber overtook the younger Emblem, and Sigurd gave a quiet, fond sigh. He shifted his nephew off his chest, settling Leif on his lap as he set about taking off the various pieces of armour the younger had on. It didn’t take too long and soon enough, the only pieces of armour that remained were secured around Leif’s legs. Sigurd smiled at how peaceful Leif appeared, carding his fingers through the reddish-brown strands, brushing the hair out of the younger's face before he reached up to his neck, unclasping his own cloak and draping it over Leif’s prone body.
One might have called him selfish for doing so, the way his “protectiveness” seemingly extended only to his fellow Emblems and yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Existing in a spirit-like form with only eleven others younger than him to understand made him protective of them, leaving him unable to stand aside and watch them hurt: physically, mentally, or emotionally. And it wasn’t to mention that quite literally all of the Divine Dragons’ army were adults, and parents themselves.
Sigurd sighed once more, a puff of air slipping through his lips. He leaned his head back, all the way until he hit the log with the back of his head as he stared at the starless night sky. Minor clouds drifted down like the burning snow that had fallen down from the sky, white specks against a black canvas. Smoke rose into the air, mingling with and dirtying the pure white of the clouds already there, grey hazes rising from the yellow-orange glimmer of the campfires.
If he concentrated, he could hear the subtle clatter of metal, armour clanking against armour, or the strike of a hammer on the blade of a weapon. The murmur of hushed voices drifted on the Elusian breezes, carried along by the frigid winds throughout the entirety of the camp. Other sounds broke through: the splashing of water or some liquid, the creaking of lanterns, the crackle of fire, the booming yet quiet laughter of soldiers talking . . . It was a pleasant mix to listen to.
His eyes slipped shut, and he exhaled softly.
“Lord Sigurd . . . ?”
His eyes shot open, and he blinked, lifting his head to see who had called out to him.
Bright orange-red hair appeared on the edge of his vision, and Sigurd huffed fondly under his breath. He turned his head, offering a warm smile to where the second of the youngest of the Emblems hovered, almost sheepishly, along the faint glow of the fire. “Hello Roy,” he greeted in a hushed tone. “You need not keep up formalities around me. I told you that, did I not?”
Roy gave a nervous, hesitant chuckle in reply, reaching around to run his fingers through the back of his hair. “Yes, you did,” he agreed, another tired and reserved chuckle accompanying his statement as a shaky grin crossed his face. “Sorry about that.”
“Please, you have no need to apologize,” Sigurd assured, his smile shifting into something more welcoming and comforting, parental in a sense, in an attempt to soothe the sheer anxiety radiating from Roy. “But enough of that now. Do you have need of anything from me?”
Blue eyes widened in surprise before scrunching up as Roy winced, no doubt at how easily he had been read. “I . . . do – sort of,” he admitted softly, twisting his fingers deeper into the brightly coloured strands. He looked away, if only for a moment, though he glanced back with a miserable, mournful expression. “It’s just that . . .” The redhead trailed off, helpless to find the correct words with which to answer.
Sigurd sighed, sitting up as straight as he dared without waking the one who slept so peacefully on his lap. He beckoned Roy over, motioning for the other to come over and sit next to him, instead of standing so far away. “Take as long as you wish,” he encouraged though, gentle and patient. “We still have time ahead of us yet.”
A soft, nervous laugh escaped Roy and his lips tilted upwards into a hesitant grin, yet he accepted the invitation anyway, sitting down a fair distance from Sigurd, but close enough for the elder to reach out and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Thank you,” Roy murmured when Sigurd did so, pulling his legs close to his chest as he seemingly curled in on himself, resting his head on top of his knees. He fell silent after that, silently staring at the fire ahead.
Quiet settled as neither spoke, however for different reasons: one because he was either unwilling or processing his thoughts, and the other waiting for the first to voice said thoughts. It was simply them, sitting by the fire, waiting.
Time ticked by, apparent by the quieting noises of the camp. Voices began to fade, no longer distinct or separate from other sounds as people began to head off to their tents, preparing for sleep. No longer could the clank or clash of metal on metal be heard echoing throughout the entirety of the camp, yet the creak of lanterns remained just as loud. The rustling of cloth replaced the earlier sounds, tent flaps being tossed about as the soft crackle of the campfires began to be silenced, the small blazes being put out in systematic order.
“Sigurd?” Roy said, hesitant but unwavering, breaking the fragile quiet.
“Yes Roy?” he replied, gaze flicking away from the fire to glance at the one who called to him, before looking back at the alight embers, unwilling to make the younger Emblem any more uncomfortable than he already was.
Some more time slipped past, and Sigurd worried that the redhead wouldn’t answer, merely testing the waters before entering.
“Do you . . . do you think Leif will forgive me?” Roy asked, muted and so incredibly unsure, a far cry from his usual attitude, picking his head up off his knees to look the elder in the eyes. Another moment, and he hesitantly scooted over, nestling into Sigurd’s side with a content sigh.
Sigurd let him, a low, affectionate laugh sounding for a moment before he responded. “Of course he would,” the blue-haired Emblem said, squeezing Roy’s shoulder comfortingly. He sighed, his lips tilting upwards into a fond, soothing smile. “Though, I doubt he would understand why you are apologizing. Would you mind telling me why you wish to apologize to Leif?”
Roy’s eyes widened, then he blinked, going back to curling in on himself before answering. “Do you . . . you remember what happened in battle, correct?” he asked. “With Leif?” He continued only when Sigurd nodded, the older Emblem’s face darkening at the recent memory. His voice quieted. “It was my fault he was taken and why . . . why she died. If I had been any faster, stronger, it wouldn’t have ended like that-”
“Do not agonize over such things,” Sigurd interrupted, cautious yet gentle, knowing yet understanding. He withdrew his arm from around the younger’s shoulders, unable to miss the slight furrow that appeared between Roy’s brow and the soft noise that seemingly escaped the redhead. With a fond huff, Sigurd reached out towards where Roy had tightened his grip around his arms, gently taking a hand into his own and began to run his thumb in comforting circles along the back of Roy’s hand. “If I must, I will tell you what I told Leif,” he said, firm yet quiet, still aware of how Leif slept relaxed against him. “I would very much rather not do so, and I know you do not want to listen to that.”
A muffled sob escaped Roy and he tightened his grip on his arm. “But it is my fault,” he insisted, eyes shimmering even bluer with bright, pale blue light akin to tears. “I- We- I could have saved both of them, and we almost lost Leif entirely because of me-”
Once more, Sigurd interrupted him, low and gentle. “Then tell me, what would you have done differently? After all, you prevented another life from being taken needlessly – and you managed to get him back. I am sure Leif would not blame you; in fact, he blames himself for what happened then.” He gave a small, comforting smile when Roy’s eyes widened again. “Trust me when I say that. I had much the same conversation with him earlier.”
Roy let out a wet chuckle. He glanced down at Leif, a trace of liquid blue light sliding down his face. “You say that as if you expected to have that conversation with him. And yet . . .” He scoffed, tucking his head back into his arms, though he squeezed Sigurd’s hand, seemingly to seek out more physical comfort. “Without Lyn and Celica there to aid me, I would not have reached Leif in time. In the end, the fault lies with me, even if I somehow managed to reverse my mistake.”
“Reverse your mistake?” Sigurd repeated, eyes furrowing at the statement, another sigh leaving him when Roy covered the entirety of his face in his arms. “I was unsure that you . . . you had made this so-called mistake. Forgive me for being so harsh, but Roy, it was not you who made the mistake; I would go so far as to say no one did. And for you to think that . . . This is war, something you are well acquainted with, as us Emblems all are. Battle is unpredictable; that is the simple truth. Yes, they can follow what the tacticians have planned, and yet they still go awry. Nothing is certain – least of all in such chaos and mayhem.”
Recognition flickered in the younger Emblem’s eyes, and Sigurd knew what he said rang true. Both had experienced the horror known as war, had lost loved ones to the maelstrom, had sacrificed too much to end their respective wars – and in Sigurd’s case, lost his own life in attempt to stop it. And yet, here they were, fighting in another for the peace of a world not their own, but no less precious.
Too often had Sigurd so desperately wished to spare his fellow Emblems the pain of losing friends and allies once more. Too often had he seen Micaiah try only in vain to save a soldier whose life ended up yet another casualty, another number on the page. Too often had he seen Ike attempt to protect those who simply could not be saved. Too often had he seen Corrin offer advice on choices that lay ahead, only to be ignored and more lives needlessly poured out like water spilt onto the ground. Too often had he seen Byleth provide guidance, only for that guidance to be rendered obsolete by a battle turned massacre. Too often had he seen Celica pray for a swift end to the drawn out war, or beg her god for a peaceful rest to await those who had given up their lives.
Roy chose not to respond with a statement, instead choosing to ask, almost childishly, “When will it end?”
And there, Sigurd’s heart ached. It did not matter if both of them, all of them, knew war so intimately, if all had led armies to fight in innumerable battles, or had given up uncountable sacrifices for the greater good. Even the most battle-hardened could not fight forever.
“I . . . would not know,” Sigurd replied, hushed, distant, and patient. He let go of Roy’s hand, wrapping his arm around the younger’s shoulders and began to pull him that much closer. Roy went willingly, resting his head on Sigurd’s shoulder as he stared ahead, gaze fixed on the burning blaze. “And yet, this I know: it will end. I simply do not know when.”
Neither said anything after that.
More time passed, only a few minutes at most, leaving even breaths in its wake. Though, to the eldest of the Emblems it felt as if an eternity had passed; because, in a way, time held no meaning for him, and yet . . .
Sigurd huffed, a wealth of emotion contained in that single sound. Twin weights pressed against him, pleasant warmth radiating from both, a warmth that could never be replicated by the fire that cheerfully burned away in front of him. Even if he had wanted to move, he wouldn’t have been able to find the will to do so, the sheer urge to protect washing away any such notion.
He laughed, melodic yet sorrowful, discordant yet affectionate, and he found himself staring once more at the starless sky far above. “If only I could have spared you, all of you, such pain – pain that you should never had to have known or suffered in the first place so that you could have had a childhood, no matter how brief.” His eyes slipped shut. “No child should have to face the cold reality of war.”
Lumera should have realized.
She huffed, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she watched the peaceful scene unfolding before her. She really should have realized when Sigurd, Roy, and Leif were nowhere to be found when she attempted to call them from their rings, whereas Lucina, Lyn, and Celica slumbered deep within their respective jewellery.
Sigurd sat with his back to a log, a seemingly unconscious smile on his lips as he rested his head atop of Roy’s; the blue-haired knight nestled his cheek into the fiery red strands as he watched over the youngest of the Emblems. Leif curled up on his uncle’s lap, a blue cloak pulled up all the way to his chin while the young lord slept, peace and bliss apparent on his face. Roy had tucked himself into Sigurd’s side, his mouth parted half-way as he breathed in, resting his head in the crook of Sigurd’s neck.
Lumera was loath to disturb such a tranquil scene, but she did so all the same. “So this is where you were.”
Blue eyes shot wide open as Sigurd picked his head up off Roy’s, disproving what Lumera had thought about him being asleep. Both the redheads remained largely undisturbed from the motion, though Roy made a quiet noise when Sigurd moved his head. A soft, fond huff escaped Sigurd when he heard the sound, gaze flickering back to Lumera and back, undeniable sorrow and regret filing his eyes. He shifted Roy’s headband, pressing a light kiss to the newly exposed skin, before he moved the blue fabric back into its rightful place. Turning his attention to Leif, Sigurd sighed, a subdued and restrained familiarity mixed with gentle affection and devotion filling the breathless sound. He brushed the hair out of Leif’s face, fingers lingering, if only for a moment, before he let both go.
“Sigurd?” Lumera asked, unable to miss how he stared, almost listlessly, at the space where Leif once lay, fingers still hovering mid-air. “Are you alright? I was looking for you, Roy, and Leif if you were wondering.”
A soft exhale answered her as Sigurd began to roll the shoulder Roy slept on, fingers digging into his skin. “I would have thought so,” he said, a vacant glaze over his eyes before it vanished, sharpening back into focus. He released his shoulder, bending over to pick up his fallen cloak, though he paused as he did so, grip digging into the rich fabric, only for him to toss it back over his shoulders.
Lumera watched him through it all. Concern filled her gaze when the blue-haired Emblem said nothing, merely floating there as if he were waiting for something. She sighed. “Are you alright, Sigurd?” she asked again, walking over to where the campfire burned and the Emblem waited – and for once, Lumera wished she could touch the Emblems.
“Yes . . . yes I am,” he replied, lifeless and absentminded. He turned to face her, his regular, impassive expression back on his face. “Why do you ask?”
There was little to no conviction behind his words and she tilted her head to the side, studying the being, friend, in front of her. “Is that so?” she questioned him, noting the way he broke eye-contact, if only briefly. She sighed yet again. “Sit, please. It would seem you and I have something of some importance to discuss, Lord Sigurd.”
His eyes narrowed at the statement, no doubt realizing the direction the conversation would be heading in. Nevertheless, he sat, waiting for what would come next. “Who am I to deny you, Divine Dragon?” he murmured. Then he raised his voice, saying, “You have no need to do this, Lumera. I see no point in you doing so.”
“Perhaps not,” she agreed, taking a seat beside him on the log, “but in my eyes, there is a point to everything.”
Sigurd chuckled, low and exhausted, gaze focused on nothing and everything all at once. “Is that so,” he mused aloud, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Is that so?”
She shrugged as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Choose to take it how you will,” she said. She smiled. “Though, that would not be what I wish to discuss with you, my friend. Perhaps another time, but no tonight. Tonight, you and I have to talk about something else entirely.”
“ . . . I suddenly find myself dreading this new development.”
A tired laugh of her own rang out. “You care much for your fellow Emblems – in the way a parent would their children,” she stated, ignoring the build up in the conversation and going straight to what would have been the heart of the entire matter. “Only a fool would be blind enough to ignore the signs – and you and I know quite well how protective you are of them. I think it would be suffice to say that regrets from your life haunt you even now, even as an Emblem housed in a ring.”
Sigurd blinked, then he exhaled, a faint, mournful smile ghosting across his lips. “I left my son behind in death,” he said, distinctly present, but also not. “No child should be forced to grow up without a parent, yet no parent should have to bury their own child. And,” he chuckled again now, “looking at my fellow Emblems, you come to realize they are only children. Children that have prevailed in their own, vicious struggles yes, but children nonetheless. It also does not hurt when I see parts of Seliph in all of them as well.”
“And they are the ones you will spend an eternity with,” she added softly. “I do not think they mind your more . . . parental aura. In fact, I would suggest they rather enjoy having a father-like figure in their new existence.”
“I would not consider our existence ‘new,’” he said, learning back so that he could look up towards the sky, “nor would I consider our existence ‘old.’ And yet, I find myself feeling far older than I would expect.” He exhaled, slow and gentle. “Time, as it stands, holds no meaning for me, and in that sense, my regrets will follow me far however long I remain.”
“Nor does time hold any meaning for me,” Lumera reminded him. “I am a Divine Dragon, and I will be there to watch generation after generation of humanity ebb and flow, live and die. You need not allow time to dictate how long your regrets of parenthood, of fatherhood haunt you. As I said before, the other Emblems seem to enjoy how you watch over them, especially Leif and Roy. I daresay Lucina, Eirika, Ephraim, and Marth also enjoy it just as much as they – and all would be greatly amiss if you were to stop.”
Sigurd smiled, though trace sorrow and sadness marked the edge, the mention of Marth, Ephraim and Eirika still a fresh wound. “Would that not be selfish of me?” he murmured, eyes closing for a moment, then opening to reveal unending, undying grief, guilt, and regret lurking beneath glimmering blue. “Would that not be selfish of me to do so?”
“I am unsure how that would be selfish,” Lumera said, her eyes closing as well. “The others would agree, no? They adore the way you dote on them, and they chose you to rely on. Perhaps others might call it selfish, but if you were to ask, I am sure they would not mind.”
She sensed rather than saw his smile, felt rather than heard his laugh.
“Yes, well. I don’t suppose I would mind all that much either.”