Chapter Text
Lucina grunted as she turned over on the plush bed, pulling some of the covers over with her. Slowly opening her eyes with a flutter, she saw the pre-dawn morning. Another peaceful morning. Another day of hard fought bliss. It still did not feel real no matter how many times she did not wake to the sound of soldiers in mismatched combat gear.
Forcing herself upright, still clad in the covers, she hazily looked around her room. The sun had not risen yet, but even in the dark, her brows furrowed. Everything looked to be where she remembered it being. And yet something felt wrong. As if something was out of place or entirely absent yet she could not say what.
Shrugging it off as morning haze, Lucina made her way over to her wardrobe. When she opened it, she found a nice, clean tunic where it should have been, but looking inside longer than necessary, she was hit again by a feeling of unease.
Dressing quickly, Lucina vacated her room with only a little less than a full run. Once she was able to clear her head in the training yard, she felt much better. Few things seemed to soothe her mind quite like the familiar motions of her drills with Falchion in hand. It was a steady comfort and one she clung to even in peace time.
By the time the sun was peaking over the horizon, she had finished a decent workout, and her earlier misgivings were nearly forgotten. Sheathing her blade, she remembered that she did have an appointment to keep. Grabbing a towel, she wiped some sweat from her brow and made her way inside for breakfast.
The castle was finally coming alive as she made her way to the smaller dining room employed by her parents for informal meals as Chrom thought the main dining room was too “stuffy” for regular family meals. Lucina did not wholly disagree.
Taking a seat next to Chrom at the head of the table and across from Sumia, Lucina found her brow furrowing again as she looked at the rest of the table. It did not go unnoticed.
“Is something wrong?” Sumia asked kindly.
“Sorry,” Lucina pulled herself out of her duldrum, “I’ve just felt a bit off this morning.”
“You’re not coming down with something, I hope.”
“No, no,” Lucina rejected the idea, “I feel fine. It’s just…something feels wrong and I can’t say what.”
“Do you need to cancel the diplomatic visit?” Chrom asked in concern.
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Lucina looked up before internally berating herself for forgetting.
“I’m sure the delegation would understand,” Chrom offered out of concern and sympathy, but Lucina shook her head.
“I’ll be alright. I would not want to disappoint.”
“If you’re certain,” Chrom acquiesced, “Just don’t push yourself. It may have been necessary at one point, but we’re beyond the need for that, aren’t we dear?”
“I should hope so,” Sumia smiled, “I just know you’ll love your trip. I know Cynthia’s having fun if her letter was any indication.”
Lucina smiled lightly, “Perhaps I’m simply not used to the peace.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Chrom smiled, “It may feel weird for a while yet, but we’re here for you if you need us.”
Their daughter returned the gesture, “I know. Thank you. I’ll remember that.” This felt real. This felt normal. It stayed that way so long as her attention did not drift away from her parents. They grounded her from her unease.
Over the next few days, Lucina adjusted to a routine that involved sleeping in a spare guest room as she could still not spend much time in her apartment without feeling like something was wrong, so she avoided it. She kept herself busy with her training routine despite the peace. It was not something she was ready to give up after all.
Instead, she threw herself into preparations for the upcoming diplomatic trip. While she believed she was on good terms with a noblewoman from the League delegation and at least remembered the other two, she still wanted to be familiar with the terms of the agreement. It was nothing major. Relations were good, and this was more of a formality and an excuse to visit. Still, it was something to throw herself into, and for a while, it worked.
She did wish Cynthia would have gotten back by now, but her tour was a bit longer. It was quite an expedition to send her on as one of her first diplomatic missions, but Ylisse finally lacked for enemies, so it was good training with peaceable allies.
As the day of her departure neared, she dreaded one last task though. Packing. She could have had a maid do it for her, but she was admittedly a bit embarrassed about the whole sleeping in another room business. The more she thought about it, the more childish she felt and knew she needed to face it head on rather than continually running from it.
Taking a deep breath, Lucina opened the door to her apartment and almost immediately, the unease set in again. Wherever she looked, it was wrong. The table looked almost too clean. Getting to her bedroom, the bare desk stood out to her as she went over to her wardrobe with hardly anything within.
She steadied herself as she grabbed what little clothes she had to pack. It was not until she closed the doors to the wardrobe and glanced over the room that something finally clicked. The reason why this room bothered her so much. Why the apartment seemed mismatched to her.
A wardrobe suspiciously empty for its size even accounting for her lack of clothes. A king sized bed. A well worn desk with nothing on it.
This room was not meant for one person.
It was hard. Wherever he was, it was hard and unforgiving. Not his first time being in such a situation. Not even the second. For several minutes, the white haired man just laid there as he tried to make sure his memories were intact. Despite being a bit groggy, his memories did seem intact. He remembered it all. Chrom finding him, the wars with Gangrel and Walhart and the battle against Grima. Most of all, he remembered his wife, and he felt a sense of relief wash over him that he had not forgotten that at least. Though a frown overtook him as he remembered his latest memories.
However, his recollection was interrupted by someone or something blocking the sun and Robin sighed, wondering if he was cursed to relive this scene time and time again.
He opened his eyes to see a blue haired nobleman, but it was not Chrom. He was far too finely dressed in his white and blue riding gear. Still, he wore a kind smile as he offered a hand.
“It’s good to see you alive and well, sir Robin.”
The tactician took the offered hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, “Likewise, lord Sigurd.”
A/N: I’m back. In an unusual twist, I’ve actually made an outline for this up to the end of part one where I plan to take another break to outline the next section. For now, I leave you to theorize what in the world is actually happening.