𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 , 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 . lucina could still remember standing on the parapets , watching for her father to come home . and then when he would return , limping and newly bruised , but smiling nonetheless , he’d ask her if she had watched for him – until the day that it wasn’t him who had returned , but a nameless soldier with falchion in his grips . she had cried into inigo’s neck all night , then pushed him away come morning .
even with all of her apologies and heated words , he had stood by her . then , she had thought it was only because frederick would have expected as much from him , and she was an exalt – there was no need for him to hover . on sleepless nights , wondering where in the world her knight could be , she would wonder – if his duty were something else , would he have still kept by her side ?
she wondered even more now that his father was alive and watching .
❛ perhaps … you’re right . but if we don’t defeat grima , then all of this will have been for naught … any moment that i’m not helping feels as if it’s a moment wasted . then , other things go to waste , too . mother bought severa and i dresses several towns back , and this is the first time i’ve worn mine . what do you think ? ❜
the words came out girlish , tinted with embarrassment as she steps away for the moment , allowing inigo a full view of it . the cloth had been dyed the royal blue and trimmed with gold , and the silhouette was kept simple , wrapped around her body and tied with a small belt ; the sleeves were the focal point , long and billowy and falling beyond her finger tips .
❛ that’s sweet of you , inigo , but you can’t waste your stipend on me . soldiers have to survive on so little already … i’m … i’m truly just happy that you could join me . it must seem strange for me to say . after coming back to the past , and separating from you for so long … i could truly feel the ghost of your presence at my side . it was as if i had misplaced my sword . ❜
HE REMEMBERED THE NIGHT that Chrom didn’t return home. Not long after his own father has fallen to the grips of the new world order. The flame, the backlash, the riots . . while he was a young boy himself, the memory never failed to remind him of when the world was nothing more than ashes in his fingertips -- akin to the campfire that kept them warm at night. The endless coughing fits that Brady would eventually have to remedy. They were getting sick, but who could stop to rest ?
Resting only meant death to them. They could rest when they were dead.
Yet here . . . they could rest and rest assured. They were forced to, more or less. It was amusing -- children outraged that they have to go have a good time instead of brandishing their blades like they have been all their lives.
So he completely understands her worries. They’d only come here for one purpose -- but they still couldn’t be too hasty. One wrong move and they’re already back to square one. There were too many variables, but it was best to let their parents take their children’s knowledge, and plant it in their efforts. It was already going better than expected.
But nothing could have prepared him for Lucina actually asking him how she looked. Usually, he would give that opinion all on his own, but she seemed eager to ask -- and he was just as eager to give.
❝ It’s lovely. ❞ Simple. For if he’s allowed to go on for too long, this outing will cease to continue, ❝ But I insist. I’d very much like to treat you to a night of your own delight. Just you and me, after so long. I have a lot to catch up on with you after two years. I must need to renew my oath by now, eh ? ❞
theartofmadeline
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