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Seliph knows that he was thrust into heroism at a young age. He was aware of it in his mortal life, and he’s aware of it now. It’s even harder to ignore when seeing his reflection while carrying the knowledge of a whole lifetime within him; had life been kind, this would be the face of a young man learning politics, courting the daughters of his fathers’ allies, and training his sword against straw dummies.
What strikes him with the most unease, however, is seeing his father’s youth. Sigurd of Chalphy was not a fledgling knight by any means at the time of his death. He was old enough to be married, have an infant son, and ride into battle. Still, Seliph watches his father’s face and sees himself in those features. Any death is a tragedy, old or young, but Seliph can’t think too hard about his father’s demise without sending his nonexistent stomach into uncomfortable twists. This is his father, and yet they look so close in age that Seliph feels like a mirror reflects his own face back at him sometimes. At certain angles, it becomes more prominent. And it comes to a head one day when Leif makes a mistake.
“Uncle Sigurd? I had a— Oh .”
Leif looks utterly embarrassed when Seliph looks up from his book. It takes him a moment to process why. The silence of the Lythos Castle library has never felt so uneasy.
“I do not look that old, do I?” Seliph asks good-naturedly, and hopes to all of the dragons to ever exist that Leif will let this pass. Ten minutes later, the two of them are sitting on the couch with their heads in their hands. To Seliph’s dismay, Leif did not let it pass. At least they can talk about it without Seliph wanting to curl up and hide.
“I... truly am sorry,” Leif apologies for the fourth time since sitting down.
“I am not upset with you,” Seliph says. “I just...”
“I will be more careful.”
“Stop that.”
“But—”
“Leif, he is only six years older than me in appearance. Someone unaware of our relation would easily think us to be brothers .”
And therein lies the problem, the truth that makes it difficult for Seliph to look at his own father at times. It’s no fault of his father’s, or anyone’s, really; if Seliph felt truly vindictive, he could find something to blame. Arvis, for killing his father. The Divine Dragons, for summoning his father into Emblem form. Himself, for being bothered at all. All are pointless scapegoats that do little to change how Seliph feels.
“I am relieved to know that I am not alone in my discomfort,” says Seliph. “But I cannot exist forever with this... sadness for my father.”
There isn’t a fitting enough word to describe how he feels.
“I fear there is little that can be done. It was rather upsetting for me when I first saw him, but over time, I was able to accept this. In some ways, his appearance was a reminder that he understands the hardships we endured in our young age.”
“I wish I could hold your perspective.”
“It is not a matter of agreeing with me. I have fought two wars alongside your father. You have had little time to adjust to this world. Tell me, Seliph, do you find my appearance odd?”
“A little,” Seliph laughs. The last mortal memory Seliph has of Leif is as an old man, and being thrown back into their youth is... interesting, to say the least.
“Your discomfort is natural. Give yourself time to adjust. And, truly, I—”
“Leif, if you apologize again, I am telling Father and Alear.”
That is somehow an effective threat. Leif immediately stops speaking, but he does give Seliph a sheepish smile.
“Oh, that’s... unfortunate,” says Lucina.
Seliph grimaces and nods, lifting his teacup to his mouth to stall for time in responding. Roy gives him a sympathetic look from his side of the circular table. They’ve set up a little tea time near the well on the Somniel, just a folding wooden table and stools from the kitchens. It’s a haphazard meeting called suddenly between the three of them, under the guise of a quick break from training. Seliph doesn’t blame anyone but the incident in the library still sticks to the back of his mind like syrup on his soles; Roy had called for a time-out after Seliph dropped his practice sword for the third time in a row, and asked him what was going on.
“There is no-one to blame for it,” Seliph settles on saying.
“I understand. Seeing Lord Hector so young is strange to me as well. It is not the same as seeing my own father, but... knowing what happened to him...”
Roy trails off, then turns to Lucina.
“Does it ever bother you?”
“To be honest, I find comfort in seeing my father as he is now.” Lucina folds her hands together, elbows on the tabletop. “He is just as I remember him from my childhood. The father taken from me is gone, but the father I was able to save... I see him, and am reminded that he is safe.”
She smiles to herself just the barest amount with her chin tilted down, but her expression is wiped clean when she raises her head.
“But I understand your sadness, Seliph. I wish I had better help to offer.”
Seliph gazes into his own teacup, now empty. He reaches over to grab the pot and pour himself some more tea, but sets his hand down on the table instead after a brief pause.
“The day I surpassed my father’s age, I was inconsolable. It felt undeserved that I should be allowed to live,” Seliph admits, staring at the wood grain of the tabletop. He hasn’t told this story to very many people, and he wonders if he should do so even as he continues. “My friend Ares found me sobbing by the lake, begging my parents for forgiveness that I remained when they did not. I must have been a sight. A king, a grown man, wailing for his parents.”
Roy’s hand is laid atop Seliph’s. Lucina extends her arm as well, taking Seliph’s fingertips in hers in a gentle curl.
“It pains me, knowing that he never had a chance to experience the life he should have had. When I see him, I am reminded of his death. I am reminded that he is trapped in that moment, even as an Emblem.”
Lucina squeezes Seliph’s hand.
“You know, Seliph... I don’t think Sigurd feels that way about being an Emblem,” she says, dipping her head so that she can look him in the face. Seliph raises his head, just a little. “I think how you feel is natural. He will always look as he did at the battle that took his life, but he lives beyond that, now. I think he’s happy. I think he’s happier now that you’re here, too.”
“He has a chance to regain the time he lost in his mortal life. It may not be the same, but I believe he appreciates it, regardless,” Roy adds.
“Which is not to say that you should not mourn for him.” Lucina smiles when Roy nods in agreement. “I mourn my father, despite seeing him every day. That pain will never disappear, but I know that my father is still happy here with me now.”
“Please do not tell my father,” Seliph says, and both of his tea partners nod.
“Of course. If you ever feel overwhelmed by it, you can always talk to us.”
Lucina and Roy move their chairs closer, and Seliph is confused for a moment before both of them lean in to hug him. It’s awkward with too many limbs to comfortably settle, but Seliph places his hands over their arms to keep them there a little longer.
Sigurd’s arm is starting to complain, but he doesn’t dare move the weight curled up on top of him.
He’s actually late for training, but nothing other than the Somniel falling out of the sky would convince him to stand. He manages to turn the page of the book he’s reading with just one hand, dragging the paper’s edge across its surface with his thumb. His other hand maintains a grip on Seliph to keep him from sliding off of Sigurd’s lap. It’s rather difficult to read with a head tucked directly under his chin, but even the inconvenience of it all is endearing to Sigurd.
“Do you need some help with that?”
“No, but I would be greatly appreciative if you could relay a message for me. I unfortunately will not be available for training,” Sigurd chuckles as Hector approaches. The Brash General grins and takes a seat on the couch next to Sigurd, causing Seliph to bounce slightly at the sudden weight. He mumbles and turns his head closer against his father’s chest.
“Hard to believe that I saw this little guy decapitate a Corrupted the other day,” Hector laughs. “But hey, I can sympathize. Sometimes you need a good nap.”
“He was embarrassed at first, but I know that he has wanted this for a while.”
“Making up for lost time means doing some childish stuff sometimes. You need to let the kid inside get that chance.”
“Or the parent, in my case.”
“I’m glad.” Hector doesn’t elaborate, but the look on his face says enough for Sigurd. Placing the book down on the couch, Sigurd places his now-free hand against Seliph’s hair.
“He is so young,” Sigurd murmurs. “This is the hero who united a continent after I allowed it to fall apart.”
“I don’t think any of us were truly ready for what came for us,” Hector replies, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.
“My actions led to his journey, though. He should not have become a hero. It is a terrible thing to shoulder.” Sigurd kisses the top of Seliph’s head, lingering with his head bowed. “I see how young he is, and I see how I failed him.”
“I don’t think he blames you.”
“No, but he ought to.”
“What good would that do?” Hector asks. “I don’t understand why you would want your son to be bitter at you for dying.”
“I made grave mistakes that led me to such a demise. Those mistakes robbed him of his family and his happiness.”
“You know, I would say he looks rather happy right now. He wants to be here with you. You’re both free to be a father and son without worrying about saving the world.”
Hector leans over and ruffles Seliph’s hair. Somehow, that doesn’t wake him.
“I’ll let them know that you’re busy,” Hector says, rising to his feet again. “You should catch a nap while you have the chance!”
“Well, isn’t that sweet,” Chrom chuckles quietly at the sight of Sigurd and Seliph fast asleep together on the couch. “Where’s Rosado when you need him? This should get framed.”
A harsh “shh!” comes from behind him, and he stops talking. Lucina, Roy, and Leif are seated together at a nearby table, watching the sleeping pair like sheepdogs. Chrom decides it’s best if he doesn't linger for too long; he’s not sure why those three are being so protective, but there must be a good reason for it.