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The air in the Ylissean royal treasury was cold, she walked once again on the halls of her ancestrals. Lucina stood before the glass casing, her Brand-marked eye fixed on known shimmering white fabric within.
"It’s beautiful, isn't it?"
Lucina followed the voice and turned to see her mother, Olivia, standing by the door. The Queen of Ylisse looked small against the high stone arches, her pink hair a soft contrast to the heavy history of the room. Olivia looked at the gown with a faint, bittersweet wince.
"I wore it on my wedding day," Olivia confessed, her voice barely a whisper. "The legend of Caeda was so large... she was the Perfect Queen who never was. I thought if I wore her feathers, I might find the courage to be the Queen Chrom deserved. I didn't know better then. I didn't realize I was wrapping myself in a shroud."
Mother and daughter silently looked back at the gown, a relic of a Golden Ending that never was. In truth, the Hero-King Marth had become a widower before he was ever a husband. The tragedy had birthed the Curse of Artemis: a thing that the true loves of the Archanean line were destined to be torn away. It hadn't stopped with Caeda; it had haunted every generation of the Exalts, right down to the tragedy of Queen Emmeryn.
"And yet," a voice chirped from the shadows, "the line didn't end with a ghost."
Her brother Inigo strolled into the light, twirling a ring around his finger. He ignored the dress and looked higher, toward the massive oil painting hanging on the far wall.
Lucina followed his gaze. This wasn't a portrait of a stoic, ethereal queen. The woman in the painting—their true ancestral mother—was leaning forward with a mischievous, toothy grin. In one hand, she held the hem of a dress that was far too bright for Altea’s court; in the other, she gripped a staff that sparkled with chaotic, vibrant light.
Lucina’s eyes drifted between the portrait and the weapon standing in the corner of the room. There was the Falchion, Marth’s cold, legendary steel. And there, resting nearby, was the ancient Starlight Staff Marisha had once wielded. It was the twin to the one Lissa carried into battle, heavy, practical, and humming with a boisterous energy that didn't care for royal decorum.
"Queen Marisha," Lucina said, her voice shifting from somber to curious. She had always worshipped the image of Marth—the stoic, burdened King. To think he had come home every night to this woman—a girl who looked like she’d rather be at a festival than a funeral—was confusing, yet strangely comforting. "She looks... nothing like the stories of the Hero-King."
"Maybe that’s why he loved her," Inigo mused. "Marth carried the world. Marisha probably just carried the snacks."
He leaned against the wall, his expression turning uncharacteristically thoughtful.
"They say when Marth was mourning, everyone expected him to marry a statue like a political match to keep the peace. Instead, he chose the girl who made him laugh in the middle of a war. She broke the Curse of Artemis not with a sword, but by being too loud for fate to ignore."
"She tried to break it, you know," Olivia corrected, her eyes turning to the dark corners of the hall. "Marisha spent her whole life trying to outrun the Curse of Artemis with laughter and noise. She refused to be the tragic queen. But fate is stubborn. The wars didn't stop. The losses kept coming. The curse wasn't broken—it just found a way to live alongside her joy as your father says."
"So someone must have been brave enough to deal with this Great-Great-Grandpa Marth’s brooding. Every man needs a fiery woman to keep his cape from catching too much dust or his heart from turning into a block of ice. Honestly, Lu, if I had a girl looking at me with that much mischief in her eyes, I’d forget all about destiny and focus on which bottle of wine to open first. Truly, a woman is the ultimate maneuver, you can’t worry about the end of the world when your wife is busy trying to see if she can balance the Fire Emblem on her head like a tea tray and..."
While her brother talked no sense, Lucina touched the cold glass of the display case. She thought of the future she had come from the fire, the screams, the loss of her father. The Curse of Artemis simply waited for her generation to strike again.
"She fought it with a staff and a smile," Lucina said, looking at Marisha’s mischievous eyes. She felt a strange amusement bubbling up through her dread. "I spent my life trying to be like Marth. I never realized I had a queen like her in my blood, too."
She looked at the Falchion, then at the staff. One was for the duty, the other was for the heart.
"I wonder," Lucina said somberly, "what fate has waiting for us next. If it's more tragedy... I hope I face it with her stubbornness."
Inigo grinned, bumping his shoulder against hers. "Well, if you start wearing giant silk ribbons and yelling at the tactician, we'll know the ancestor has finally taken over."
Lucina looked back at the wedding dress, then back at the portrait of her true ancestor. The dress was a ghost, but Marisha was a flame.
"Then its settled. Mother," Lucina said, turning to Olivia. "When I marry... I don't want the legendary gown. I want ribbons. Big, ridiculous ribbons from Grust."
Olivia laughed, the sound bright enough to chase the chill from the treasury.
"I think Marisha would be proud of your fashion taste my daughter."