Work Text:
In a dilapidated tent, Lucina failed to sleep. She felt horribly alone, even surrounded by the Shepherds’ children at their makeshift camp. With gentle strokes, she caressed the pendant looped around her neck, the sentimental jewelry embossed with her mother’s likeness.
Sometimes, Falchion offered no comfort, the reminder of her deceased father too horrific. Only her pendant could temporarily ease her grief. As she stared at the ceiling, Lucina felt herself beginning to reminisce, recalling memories both wonderful and depressing.
Recalling memories of her mother.
~
“Lucina!” Chrom winced, remorseful. She ignored her father, angrily flinging her wooden sword upon the courtyard’s cobblestones. Instead of resuming practice, she fled, the delicate skin of her knee scraped raw. Breathless and sobbing, she hurriedly searched for the sole person who could comfort her.
“Mommy!” Lucina cried, distraught. Across the courtyard where she sat, her mother stopped reading, alarmed by her daughter’s outburst. Setting her beloved book aside, Robin opened her arms, enveloping Lucina in an affectionate embrace. Lucina held fast, wetting Mother’s cloak with her tears. Robin soothingly rubbed her back, somewhat quieting her.
Robin pulled away, wiping Lucina’s nose. With slight difficulty, she knelt to her level, cautious of her burgeoning belly. “What happened, love?” She queried warmly. Lucina’s lip quivered, reminded of her pain. “I was practicing, and I fell!” She hiccuped, stammering. Mother frowned, empathizing. Examining her wounded knee, Robin pressed a tender kiss against the injury. Lucina sniffled, consoled.
“My poor baby,” Robin lamented. “Let’s take a break.” Lucina nodded in assent, allowing her mother to lead her by the hand, now seated beside her on a courtyard bench. Still irritated, and perhaps a bit frightened, Lucina scowled. “I don’t want to practice anymore,” she grumped, petulant. Robin held her, welcoming her daughter’s discordant emotions.
“It’s okay to be upset,” Robin acknowledged, patient. “But I know you love learning, Lucina. Right?” Despite her frustration, she couldn’t disagree. Sometimes, even Father disliked her overzealous excitement, begging for five more minutes of rest before beginning their morning sessions. Mother would laugh when Lucina pounced, disrupting their bedsheets and blankets, bouncing atop the mattress and jostling Chrom from his comfortable slumber. In an occasional game of pretend, Father would grab her, trapping a squealing, squirming Lucina in his arms in an attempt to force her to sleep.
“ . . . Yeah,” Lucina mumbled. “But I don’t like falling.” Again, her eyes watered, injury stinging. “I know, baby.” Mother cooed, stroking Lucina’s cobalt tresses. Alerted by her father’s footsteps, Lucina turned her head. He looked somewhat sheepish, unsure of what to say. Robin glowered at her husband, half-serious. Although she trusted Chrom and his teaching capabilities, having seen his masterful swordsmanship firsthand, she still felt their daughter was too young to begin practicing. Oh, how Lucina had pleaded, throwing borderline tantrums as a means of persuasion. Of course, Robin had relented, unable to refuse her precious child. Maybe, just maybe, they should’ve postponed these lessons . . .
Chrom sat, shifting Lucina onto his lap. “Are you okay?” He questioned, almost guiltily. “I’m sorry if you were scared.” Lucina sniffed, still processing her feelings. “It was scary,” she admitted quietly. Chrom nodded, placing a gentle kiss atop her head. “We don’t have to keep practicing today,” he suggested, considering an alternative. “You can read with Mommy, hmm?”
Lucina brightened, happier. “Yeah!” She responded with enthusiasm. Chrom passed Lucina to Robin, who lifted their daughter into her arms with a loving smile. Standing alongside them, Chrom watched closely, protectively. Touching Robin’s swollen stomach with a light caress, he was reluctant to leave. “You don’t need help?” He offered, ever the doting husband. Robin rolled her eyes, lighthearted.
“Chrom . . .” Robin warned jokingly. “Robin . . .” He teasingly mimicked, smiling before giving her a soft kiss. She gladly reciprocated.
Grabbing her book, Robin carried Lucina across the courtyard, headed indoors to the palace library. Chrom watched them disappear, returning to the practice grounds to tidy everything up.
~
Although Mother looked exhausted, she didn’t seem pained. Lucina watched, awestruck, as a newborn babe suckled at her bosom. Just hours before, Lucina had been terribly afraid, hearing Mother’s anguished cries and Father’s steadfast encouragement. Father reassured her, promising to care for Mother whilst she labored. Lucina had begged to stay, too terrified to leave her mother’s side. Father apologized before leaving her under Frederick’s careful watch, waiting out the agonizingly long hours in a separate room, the dutiful knight remaining at her side.
Now, as the baby nuzzled Mother, his appetite sated, Lucina couldn’t help but feel somewhat . . . jealous. As thrilled as she was, she couldn’t suppress her conflicting emotions. She wished she was small, given her parents’ undivided attention. Regardless, she controlled her impatience, her eagerness to hold Morgan. How exciting everything was, how confusing.
As Father returned, Mother handed Morgan to him. He was attentive, his touch delicate as he secured their son in a safe hold. “Get some rest,” Chrom muttered, considerate. He kissed Robin’s forehead, prompting his wife to smile. Then, he ruffled Lucina’s hair with one hand, eliciting a pleased giggle from his daughter before exiting the bedroom.
Mother relaxed, resting in bed. Lucina didn’t know what she needed, but she ventured a guess — she clumsily adjusted her blankets, ensuring she was completely covered. Perhaps she was cold? Robin smiled listlessly, appreciative. “Thank you, sweet girl.”
“Do you, erm . . . need anything?” Lucina questioned uncertainly. Mother shook her head, burrowing beneath her blankets. “No, no. I’m just tired.” She replied earnestly. Momentarily pulling aside the blankets, Robin offered Lucina a place at her side. Lucina clambered into bed, careful not to jostle her mother. Facing one another, Robin gesticulated, beckoning Lucina closer. She obliged, moving her head from a plush pillow to snuggle against her mother’s chest.
“Don’t worry,” Robin whispered, a genuine promise. “You’ll always be my baby.” Lucina smiled sleepily, eyelids already beginning to droop.
The two drifted off to sleep, comfortable and content. Outside their window, the nighttime sky was breathtakingly beautiful, filled with mesmerizing stars. All was quiet.
~
Lucina felt like a child, wailing and shrieking into a pillow. In truth, she was thirteen, desperate to fight alongside the Shepherds in the intensifying, worsening war against the neighboring Plegia. Her parents’ joint refusal was frustrating, but Father’s outright rejection devastated her. You aren’t ready. He seemed so certain, so sure of his daughter’s inadequacy. Her resulting rage was strange and unfamiliar; even as a toddler, her tantrums were rare, her temperament calm and easygoing. But now, in this moment, her sorrow and frustration were irrepressible.
She felt cheated. Years of diligent practice, of dedicated sparring, for what? Did Father’s countless encouragements and heartfelt praise mean nothing? Perhaps she was catastrophizing, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. She had never known heartache such as this. Sobbing, she could feel herself beginning to hyperventilate, too hysterical to breathe properly.
A knock sounded at her bedroom door. “Go away!” Lucina weeped, her cries muffled by her pillow. Even though she loved him fiercely, the last person she wanted to see was her father. She recalled how he had shouted at her, effectively ending their argument. Maybe that was why she was so inconsolable — she could count on one hand the amount of times Father had scolded her, let alone raised his voice at her. He was passionate, loving, occasionally stern when necessary . . . but never cruel. Never so openly disappointed.
“It’s me,” Mother said. Lucina quieted, embarrassed. “Come outside, love. Let’s talk.”
Silence. Mother sighed, sympathizing. Lucina heard her shift and seat herself on the floor, bracing her back against the bedroom door. “I know he shouldn’t have yelled. Your father does, too.” Lucina joined her mother on the floor, separated solely by the door. “It’s not fair,” she protested, repeating her argument from earlier. “He fought when he was my age.” It was a weak counterpoint, and she knew it.
“Lucina,” Mother chided, gentle. “That’s different, sweetheart.” Lucina pouted, feeling childish. “We love you and Morgan more than anything. We would never put you in danger, not by choice. Do you understand?” Lucina’s eyes pricked with tears, her irritation ebbing. Now, she was simply afraid.
“I . . . I don’t —“ She stuttered, overcome with emotion. “I don’t want you to go! I don’t want you to die!” Lucina bewailed, horrified. “Let me protect you!” Someone gave the doorknob a tentative jiggle, requesting permission to enter.
“Open the door, please.” Father asked, patient. After a brief consideration, she acquiesced. Hurriedly unlocking her bedroom door, Lucina rushed into her parents’ waiting arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Father shushed her, soothing his daughter.
“I’m sorry for shouting. You’ve done well, love. You’re very skilled, and strong. When you’re older, —“ Father began, remaining reasonable. Lucina interrupted, frantic. “No!” She cried out, unwilling to be left behind. Father continued, firm yet sensitive. “When you’re older, you’ll be an excellent warrior. But you’re too young. You’re still my little princess.” Lucina settled, whimpering softly instead of wailing aggressively. “I promise we’ll be safe.”
Lucina nodded disappointedly, still holding out hope that her parents’ minds would change. They only gave her saddened smiles, assuring her that they would return home soon.
Later, when the dreaded departure arrived, Lucina and Morgan saw their parents’ bodies disappear, watching from a safe distance as the Shepherds’ warriors exited Ylisstol, the Ylissean citizens shouting words of gratitude and prayers for their protection. Morgan clutched his sister’s hand, wearing a melancholic expression.
“They promised, remember?” Lucina reassured him, kneeling to meet him eye-to-eye. He gave her a halfhearted nod, unable to overcome his anxiousness. Shielded by devoted knights and esteemed members of the Ylissean royal guard, the siblings hugged. “You’re right,” Morgan mumbled.
Like the civilians’ cries, Lucina prayed she was not wrong.
~
Outdoors, a violent storm battered the castle grounds, rattling the windows with vicious winds and hailstones. Morgan thrashed in his sleep, suffering from horrendous nightmares. In rare instances, Aunt Lissa would rouse from her depressed stupor, providing Morgan with an herbal concoction to help him rest. She cared for her niece and nephew as best she could, simultaneously grieving her beloved brother and cherished sister-in-law. Most days, she spoke little and ate poorly, struggling with sleep deprivation from her own unspeakable night terrors. Despite her unintentional neglect, Lucina couldn’t stay angry with Lissa. After all, she was just as brokenhearted.
Morgan screamed himself awake, flailing his arms. As always, Lucina was there to remind him to breathe, to ease his trembling. An earsplitting crack of thunder boomed, causing them both to startle. Morgan started to cry, his lip wobbling. He feared the darkness, unable to sleep at nighttime.
“Hold on, Morgy.” Lucina consoled, fumbling for an unlit candle on the nightstand. After repeated attempts, Lucina cradled a small flame in her hands, exercising control to light the wick. Their parents’ former bedroom brightened, the flickering candlelight comforting them both.
Although Lucina was passable at magic, she wished her mother would’ve had the time to offer more lessons. Morgan was brilliant, inheriting their mother’s strategic and magical prowess with natural, effortless talent. But he was only a boy, traumatized by their parents’ deaths and embarrassed by his recent bedwetting episodes. Lucina worried for her brother, constantly fearing for his mental wellbeing. She lamented her inexperience, her lack of knowledge when it came to matters regarding children.
But I was never expected to know, she thought sadly. She was never meant to raise her younger brother; Mother and Father were supposed to be here, with them. Lucina felt like screaming, a heartrending keen to rival the thunderstorm. In the hardest moments, she despised her parents’ lies and false promises, wishing to rage against them face-to-face. Now, she simply ached for her mother’s presence, her soft lullabies and enchanting bedtime stories. Lucina knew she could never imitate her mother’s warm demeanor, could never channel her immense kindness or unfailing patience. But she needed to try.
Holding Morgan close, she stroked his head, smoothing his disheveled hair. Nestled against his sister, Morgan’s rapid heartbeat slowed. “Can you sing?” He requested shyly. Lucina swallowed, unsure. How could she possibly sing without suffering a breakdown? But she needed to try. “Yes,” she answered. Wobbly and off-key, she sang.
Morgan didn’t mind her poor attempt, falling into a peaceful sleep. Lucina finished the lullaby, making sure her muffled sobs didn’t wake her brother.