The Other End of The Telescope

I do not own Fire Emblem or any of its characters.

A post-war fanfic in which Leif fulfills his promise to find Raquesis... who is nowhere near the Yied Desert and very much alive.

Standalone sequel to the Azel-centric "While You Were Sleeping."

Contains Finn/Raquesis, Leif/Nanna, Ares/Leen, subkiddies and a bucketload of family issues.

Prologue: The Summer Queen

Agustria 779

When Alva told her that the rebel army seized Agusty and was now marching westward toward Silvail, she refused to care. How many rebellions had there been in the eight miserable years she'd spent in her shabby birdcage? Too many. When young Tristan repeated the rumors that Prince Ares himself led the rebels, Raquesis felt a wild, thrilling hope stab at her heart... but only for a moment. There'd been one False Ares already, some golden-haired boy plucked from the woods south of Nordion. He'd ended up dead like his "father" Eldigan, his head struck off after his inevitable defeat.

Raquesis didn't let herself believe any more. She'd stay here in Silvail, in the "apartment" that was really a gussied-up dungeon. Alva and his nephew Tristan would guard her, and Tristan's sister Janne would come to her for sewing lessons three times a week, and so it would go until the end of her days. A puppet queen in her miniature court, too high-born to send to the prison camps and too dangerous to be made a martyr— and therefore left to rot in the shadows.

Only when Tristan came to her one autumn afternoon, his face flushed and damp with sweat and his voice cracking in panic, did Raquesis think this latest pack of rebels might actually be a cause for concern.

"My uncle's surrendered," Tristan gasped, and Raquesis lifted one corner of her mouth at Alva's survival skills. The last of her retainers knew when to fold. "He… he told me to guard you until my last breath."

Alva's pragmatism extended only to his own survival, apparently.

"Just surrender," Raquesis said to Tristan. "Surrender to whoever it is this time; you'll be no help to anyone if you die."

"But Your Majesty…"

"The rebels might be better masters to serve than the Empire. Who knows anymore?"

She took a seat beneath the small and dingy window that illuminated her sitting room and put her needle again to the piece of embroidery she'd been working on the past few weeks. It was a segment of a heraldic tapestry of lions, crowns, roses and swords that her captors would never allow her to display, but annoying them with her sewing was one of the few pleasures Raquesis had left to her. After a few more moments of listening to Tristan's panting breaths, she said without raising her eyes from the needlework, "Go, Tristan. If this Prince Ares can hold Silvail for more than a day he can use your loyalty and strength."

From the corner of her vision she saw the youth kneel, yelp out a "Yes, Your Majesty," and withdraw to the hallway— where, by the sound of things, he remained.

"Chivalry makes such fools of men," Raquesis said as she threaded her needle with crimson wool. She didn't care if Tristan heard.

Raquesis didn't even have time to finish a single rose before she heard boots in the hall. Still she kept at her work, even as Tristan sent up pleas to the intruders not to cause harm to Her Majesty, but sound of the voice that answered Tristan, a request that he stand aside, did catch her attention. That voice belonged to neither Grannvale nor Agustria. Mercenaries from Isaach?

Her hand shook, just a little, as she sent the needle into the cloth again, but she steadied herself as a pair of boots crossed the worn carpet toward her. The boots stopped a few paces away.

"If I am to be executed I request a swordsman to perform the deed and not a clumsy oaf of an axeman," she said, her eyes fixed on the red wool in her hands.

"So it really is you, Mother."

This bizarre statement and the way it was spoken made Raquesis lift her head at last to stare at the newcomer. He was a young man of about Tristan's age, not as tall or well-built as Tristan, but impressive all the same in his gleaming white armor. A shock of brown hair, large dark eyes, the unmistakeable sound of Northern Thracia in his voice...she'd fallen in love with its sound, once upon a time.

"Leif?"

"I've grown up a bit since Tahra," he said, and his beautifully-colored lips formed a smile that was all Leif in its mischief. Raquesis didn't smile back. She felt the embroidery hoop would splinter in her hands.

"Leif, how did you get here?"

"By way of Belhalla. Never mind that, Mother." And he dipped down on one knee then, so his head was within easy reach, as though he were a child again. She almost did stretch out her hand to touch his lush dark hair, but Raquesis remembered that she had been a queen for the space of one summer, and so she gave him her hand to kiss and not for a loving pat. Leif nuzzled the back of her hand with his still-smooth cheek just as he had when he was a little boy. This softened her, and the embroidery hoop rolled away as Raquesis got to her feet to properly embrace Leif.

"My comrade here would like to meet you," he said, and Raquesis looked past Leif to see this "comrade" from Isaach who'd told Tristan to stand down. Another boy of an age with Leif or Tristan, tall and slender, with a shock of wheat-colored hair. Isaach did produce a few young men with fair hair and long limbs, but something didn't quite fit...

And somehow, looking into his eyes, she knew.

"Delmud."

"Mother." Not the childish "Mama" of their last parting, but "Mother," just like Leif and yet so unlike Leif.

They collided with one another like two drops of quicksilver flowing into one. His voice cracking, her throat closing on so many unspoken endearments, his tears hot and wet against her face and her own eyes blurred and stinging.

"My boy," she heard herself say. "My boys. You found me. My boys found me."

Even when she collected herself Raquesis couldn't bear to let either of them go, and so she stood between them, arm in arm with these lovely youths as she bade Tristan to get up off the floor to meet their liberators- the prince of Leonster and the prince of their own beautiful Nordion.

To Be Continued

A/N: Yes, we will find out why she's in Silvail and what's up with the queen of Agustria business. As for Leif being so familiar with her, given he pretended she was his mother as a child and is now technically her son-in-law, as far as he's concerned he's legit family.