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“Alfred, Alfred! Look! Isn’t it pwetty?”
A small Céline, no older than four years of age, excitedly waddles through the flower fields to reach her older brother.
No matter where one looked in Firene, the eye would catch vibrant blooms at every corner—but many a sight paled in comparison to the views of Florra Mill Town, or the flower meadow village known for its peach tree orchards and vivacious, gorgeous fields. But even then, Alfred thinks the flowers are prettiest when his baby sister is frolicking among them, eyes bright and hair covered in petals, playing like there wasn’t a care in the world.
(She hasn’t smiled like this since Father.)
His chest rumbles with a cough disguised as a chuckle, the eight-year old grinning when Céline finally reaches him, a bundle of flowers spilling out of her arms.
“Etie says these—they’re too-lips! And too-lips mean love.” She thrusts them at him, “And I love you! Here!”
“Aw, that’s so sweet! Love you too, Céline.” He takes the flowers from her, face absolutely lit up. “They’re really pretty tulips, too. You’ve got a great eye!”
Céline giggles, standing up a little straighter. Prouder. Alfred reaches out to pat her head, like he remembered the king of Brodia doing during one of their visits. Except that guy’s hand had been HUGE—way bigger than Father’s, and definitely Alfred’s. He almost worried Céline would have been gobbled up by it!
He hopes to be that big and strong one day.
“Know what else means love? Here.”
Alfred holds out his hand for her to curiously peer into, showing the lone four leaf clover that sat on his palm. Finding it in this big field of flowers took some effort, but it was good exercise. And a good distraction from the heat in his chest.
“This is a four-leaf clover. They’re suuuuper rare, ‘cause most clovers just have three leaves, so it’s pretty special if you find one with four. Each leaf means something, see—faith, hope, love and luck.” He punctuates each word with a point to a single leaf, grinning, “They let you see fairies, too.”
“Fairies!?” Céline gasps, jumping excitedly. “Like—like an Em…blem? Emblem Celica!? The stories say she’s magical and pwetty like a fairy…!”
He laughs, “Yeah, like an Emblem!”
He knows how much Céline goes to the castle’s Ring Hall. Knows how much she stares at the Emblem ring there.
He also knows how she talks to it, sometimes. Cries. He keeps that secret, though.
“A small joy.”
Céline blinks. “Huh?”
“This clover? It’s a little piece of happiness, from me to you.” He slips it behind her ear, “Don’t lose it, okay? Having it brings you good luck, and makes all your wishes come true. And if we find more, happiness will never leave you!”
“Yeah!” Céline bounces, “Can we find more? Please? Pleeeeease?”
He smiles. “Of course.”
And so Alfred takes his sister’s hand so she doesn’t trip, and the two of them spend the rest of the afternoon searching for clovers in the meadow, until it’s time for Mother to finish her business in Florra, and the knights to take them back home.
“...Uh-huh. It was scary. So scary, Celica.”
Only silence follows, and Alfred arches a brow at the sound of his sister’s voice coming from the Ring Hall. He slows his step as he walks down cream-colored, candle-lit corridors, stopping just at the entrance of the grand hall. It was where Firene housed its Emblem Ring, along with other reliefs and relics from the war a thousand years ago.
He doesn’t step into the hall, but instead peeks his head around the wall, listening for her to say something else. Had she really said Celica? The Emblem?
“I—I…” She hiccups, and Alfred can feel his heart break in two. “I thought Alfred was going to—like… like Daddy…”
There’s a tightness in his chest, his blood running cold.
“...Daddy’s one of the stars now, I know. But I don’t want that to happen to Brother! Or Mommy.” She sobs, “I want them here, with me… I don’t want his face to look so white again, or for him to breathe so hard, or be stuck in bed all day…”
A nine-year old Alfred can only turn away from his sister’s cries, doing everything he can not to melt into a puddle of tears himself. A Firene prince was strong, like Father was. A future king couldn’t be weak. A king like that couldn’t protect anything.
He continues down the hall, only to return later.
Céline’s tears are all dried up by the time he sees her again, and one wouldn’t think she was crying at all. Alfred wears nothing but a lighthearted grin, laughing as his baby sister scolds him for the grass stains on his pants, and how angry Mommy will be once she sees how he ruined his outfit!
But no amount of scolding could have stopped him, not when he presents her with another clover, offering her another small joy.
Céline’s eyes go wide, and after a pause, she barrels into him for a hug.
He doesn’t see her welling tears. She doesn’t see a face flushed with exertion.
Later that evening, he goes to one of the castle’s knights, and asks them to spar with him.
“Whoa, there! Not so fast—”
Céline was fast on the offensive, the clang of steel ringing throughout the castle’s courtyard as she aimed swift and precise strikes at Alfred, all of them blocked by the shaft of his lance. These days he was a lot more comfortable fighting from horseback, but he always remembered his Father’s lessons.
If a time came when he needed to fight—if war came again—Alfred needed to be prepared for every situation. Losing his mount, being stranded on his own…
But the moment of reflection is cut short when Céline pushes her sword against his lance, attempting to push him into an awkward position. Alfred’s quick on the uptake though, using the angle she forced him into to sweep the butt of his lance at her feet, catching her off guard and forcing her to jump back.
Before she can lunge in for another strike, Alfred quickly spins the lance in his grip, stopping Céline’s advance with a blade held to her neck.
“And that’s game, baby sis.” Alfred, now a young man of eighteen, laughs off his win, resting his lance in the ground at his side.
Around them, castle knights and several courtiers are gathered, including their mother up in the castle’s balcony. Many clap and make noises of awe, complimenting their prince for his skill with the lance, cooing and cawing of how much he resembles the former king in his pride. Céline gets her fair share of praise too, most of it ringing with a tone of surprise.
Since when did the princess get so strong? And what was the need? It wasn’t as if Firene would be at war or anything—the queen had long hashed out the non-aggression pacts with mean ol’, ambitious Brodia.
There was no need for the princess to mar her hands with violence, when they had the prince to protect them.
Brother and sister hear and take notice of this—of the words left unsaid. The battlefield was not a lady’s place, certainly not a lady of Firene. Céline knows that Etie, ever since taking up Alfred’s training routines, faced much of these comments as well.
But if either of them felt a certain way about it, none of that showed on their faces. Instead, Alfred brushes off the praise and puts a hand to his hip, whistling. “You’ve gotten pretty mean with that sword, huh, Céline? Didn’t want to follow in our Father’s footsteps with the lance? Orrr…” He smiles, innocently. “Is it that you’re following after Emblem Celica? She was a priestess who used a sword, right? At least, that’s what the legends say. And I know how much you love those Celica stories.”
At this, Céline stammers a bit, “I-It’s not—emulating Emblem Celica, I just… I thought the sword would be better suited to my skills, that's all!”
“Mhm.” Alfred nods, “I hear you. Still, Emblem Celica sounds like she was an amazingly strong hero, and it’s pretty cool to see how far you’ve come. Magic AND swords? And studying staves with Mother, too? Keep it up, and you’ll be pretty much unstoppable! I sure am glad to have a sister like you in my corner.”
Céline, clearly embarrassed, can only fidget for a moment before sighing, as if she found Alfred and Etie squatting without chairs for their tea parties again. “...And I always will be, you know?” She smiles, “Forever at your side, supporting you.”
Alfred grins. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
They both glance up at the balcony, waving back to their mother who greets them enthusiastically from on high, and when the siblings look back to each other, they share a warm laugh.
This, too, was joy.
“Etie, have you heard the story of the blue bird?”
The princess and her best friend sit in a parlor in Firene Castle, sharing one of their usual teatimes. Since Etie had passed the knight examination and was promoted to retainer for her brother, she was around the castle much more often, giving Celine the delight to spend more time with her friend than she was previously able.
Even then, things were much different from their childhood. As girls, both sixteen years of age and recently introduced into high society, the trials and realities of life were gradually beginning to make themselves known.
Peering over her teacup, Etie quirks a brow. “...I don’t think so? Plenty of bird stories, but I don’t remember that one.”
Céline takes a sip of her own tea—a delightful blend infused with orange peels from the tea farming village to the south—and hums with some amusement. “It was a favorite of mine when I was younger, you know. Two siblings are tasked with finding a blue bird, traveling through fantastical dream worlds in their pursuit of it, only to wake up and find that the bird was in their home all along.”
Etie smiles, “That’s a sweet story. I guess they didn’t have to go far to find what they were looking for all along.”
Firene’s princess nods, “Happiness is closer than you think, or so the message goes.”
A pause, “...But, at the end of the story, the bird escapes when they attempt to give it to their neighbor’s daughter. So it makes me wonder… is happiness close? Or will it leave you, just when you think you’ve had it?”
Etie takes on a thoughtful look then, taking a moment of thought before setting down her teacup—that hits the table much more heavily than Céline expects. “Hmm… kind of a downer way to look at it, no? The kids went through all these dreams, only to realize that what they were looking for was always with them. If the bird leaves, that means it has its freedom, right? It’s given them happiness, now it can pursue its own.”
Céline smiles into the rim of her cup. “...Yes, I suppose. It’s a beautiful story, one that I shouldn’t mar with my dour musings. Though I can’t help but think parting with something you care about is just… sad.”
Etie shakes her head, “Then focus on what’s good! That’s what I do. Don’t be sad that it’s over—be glad that it happened. Enjoy every moment you have, I say.”
The princess laughs, “Or every moment you stumble into, in your case.”
“Hey!” Etie flushes.
“But you’re right, Etie. Perhaps I shall focus on that.”
And just outside of the parlor’s door stands Firene’s prince, a platter of macarons in his hands. He heard more than he intended to, but not wanting to leave without offering a gift to his sister and new retainer, he raps against the door anyway.
“Hey, Céline? Are you in there? Your big brother’s got treeeeeats…”
Tea and sweets. Another joy, he hopes.
Four years after the Fell Dragon’s defeat, Alfred is crowned as the new King of Firene.
A young, strapping man at the age of twenty-five, and supposedly the spitting image of his father in his youth. Ève—having happily stepped into the role of queen mother—could be seen tearing up often during the ceremony, while Céline had been given the honor of bestowing her dearest brother with his crown.
The princess was twenty-one now, and well into her adulthood—as the years went by, more and more rumors began to surface through the courts.
The noble heir of this house or that. The prince of Brodia, or Solm. Perhaps even Brodia’s king? (Who was, miraculously, still unmarried?) Which suitor she would pick, who would she give her hand in marriage to? King Alfred’s future heirs would need cousins after all, and the royal lineage must continue to thrive!
It only got worse as she shared dances with all three of the royal men at Alfred’s reception that night—not quite helped by her mother’s interest in her love life adding fuel to the fire—but it’s talk that Céline ignores, no immediate plans to jump into the world of romance.
Years after Sombron’s terror, Firene was still on the road to recovery, and she would have to dedicate every bit of her energy to support her people and her brother in his new role.
And when the endless platitudes of aristocrats and dignitaries begin to grow stifling, both siblings retreat to the balcony for a touch of fresh, nighttime air. Flutes of champagne are held in both of their hands, and with a delicate clink to toast yet another life milestone reached, they both take a celebratory sip.
“I must offer my congratulations again, Brother. I know that you will be a wonderful king for Firene.”
“Thanks, Céline. That really does mean a lot, coming from you.”
She blinks, “Really? Surely my faith in your ability has always been clear.”
He laughs, leaning back against the balcony’s railing. “Of course it has. I just mean—you’ve always been so… impressive? Focused. Strong, no matter what’s been thrown at you. I’ve always really admired that, you know.”
Céline could feel herself getting warm. Even with such a straightforward brother, she still found herself floundering at such direct praise. “W-well… I had to, you know? For—for Firene. For my family.”
Alfred hums, “Yeah…” Leaning back further, he glances up at the moon. Bright, beautiful and full. “I’d say this was the happiest moment of my life, but… that’s not really something you can measure, you know? Remember how we used to find those small joys as kids? Well, I don’t really see it like that anymore.”
He looks at her, “There isn’t really a small or large joy, it’s just—joy. The beautiful flower meadows that soothe the soul, the fertile land that gives us our food and drink, people living their lives? Working day to day, supporting each other and themselves. I got to see a lot of that, during the war. And helping to rebuild Florra. Just in those simple things, there’s happiness.” A smile, “My life sure has been full of it.”
Céline could feel her heart tighten at his last remark. She remembers that one attack he had during the war, making her promise not to tell anyone. Had it come back? Had he—?
“And plenty more to come, I’m sure!” He chuckles, and the sound eases her worst fears. “But no matter what happens, I’ll never lose my happiness. Because so much of it is in Mother, and you. My friends, Firene’s people… you keep me pushing! And no matter what, I know you all will be alright.”
Her lip quivers slightly, and she has to hold back the rising lump in her throat. Still, her voice trembles with her smile. “Alfred…”
Goodness, look at her. Resorting to that old crybaby she used to be.
But his words ring strongly, and reminds her of that conversation with Etie, years ago. The departure of the bird was not the loss of happiness… but proof that it was not tangible, not an object to be claimed, or easily lost. For happiness was—
“In the things around you.” She nods, “All of it, such blessings.”
Céline reaches out and grasps Alfred’s hand, not dissimilar to the way he tugged her through the flower meadows when they were children. “My time with Celica, exploring the world with the Divine One. Mother, Father, and you…”
She squeezes his hand. “You are my blessing, Brother. My joy, now and forevermore.”
And he always, always would be.