Resolution

DISCLAIMER: Fire Emblem belongs to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems.

I always felt your encouragement. Your support. Your strength. Your trust in me.

And in turn, I always trusted you.

I still trust you. I trust that you've made the right choice for both of us. I trust that the aftermath of whatever comes now will be better than whatever would have happened had you stayed. I will rise to become the ruler that Crimea needs, the beacon that will light the way to the nation's reconstruction, while you will help me in your own way, out among the people.

You said to me that you would support me no matter what I go through. I trust you will, because you always have.

The first time I felt your strength was when we entered Gallia. You were determined to see me to the capital safely. At the time, I believed it was because your father had placed me under your trust and you thought to fulfill his wishes, but I later realized that it was your own convictions and will that drove you.

I admired that. If I were to truly become Queen Crimea, I would need that sort of conviction.

You expressed your support in all sorts of ways, but it was always your own kind of way. When the Begnion nobles played their games, you yelled at them for my sake. You later apologized when you realized the potential effect that those words could have had on our cause, but I told you that I felt honoured to have someone defend me like that. I acted diplomatic, trying to take the neutral stance when I answered you. Inwardly, though, I felt happy that someone among my people would so willingly jump to my side. I hadn't even done anything for you that merited your aid, yet you did it anyway.

When in Daein I would stay awake late into the night, driven by the thought of being revisited by nightmares of Crimea's fall. You saw the light of my lantern still shining from my tent and would see how I was faring, give me words of encouragement and stay with me until I fell asleep. One morning I woke up to find that you had stayed with me all night when I had had a fitful rest. You only said that it was your job to make sure I was well.

When I stepped out onto the battlefield, I didn't know what to do, but rather than protecting me you showed me how to help. As I grew more competent on my own, you ventured further off to aid our comrades, but if I was ever in trouble you would be at my side as fast as you could. I knew that I could put my life in your hands because I had so many times and never been let down.

It wasn't that I had never experienced this sort of fidelity – Geoffrey, Lucia and Bastian possessed it in spades and I never thought I deserved them – but somehow, seeing you so devoted to your duty to me was different.

Much different.

It didn't take me long to realize why, though it took much longer for me to accept it.

"Are you ready, Elincia?"

You walked towards me as I sat in a chair in my room, trying to breathe calmly. I was nervous – I was supposed to give a speech that day officially thanking Gallia for their help in Crimea's reconstruction, but I knew I hadn't completely removed discrimination from my nation just yet. I was scared of how everything would happen.

"I suppose I must be, correct?" The response I gave was more for myself than anyone else; I think you expected me to give a similar answer anyways.

You smiled slightly and nodded, with the directness I was so used to now. It was reassuring to find that stability when everyone around me was worried. I felt safe and empowered at the same time by a simple thing like your smile. Like I could do anything.

Still, the one thing that I wished I could do – no, I couldn't make that wish. I still denied it.

I smiled back, willing myself to stay in the chair, restraining myself from this urge to fulfill my desires.

Someone knocked at the door.

"Come in," I said, trying to keep myself dignified, fearing that my face was betraying some sort of emotion that shouldn't belong.

Lucia and Geoffrey came into the room, dressed in the finest befitting them as my retainers. Something strange was etched on Geoffrey's face as he walked in, but when he turned to me it was gone. If Lucia noticed this strange exchange between us, she said nothing of it.

"Are you well, Your Majesty?" Geoffrey asked. He often asked this question. I answered it with varying degrees of honesty, though I like to think I leaned towards the honest side.

"A little nervous, but I will be fine." I smiled at Geoffrey, partly to make my answer convincing to him and partly to alleviate the urge still tugging at me.

Lucia was also concerned for me, but she knew when not to ask me. I usually told her of my own accord when I needed her.

Except with this.

Lucia and I enjoy talks at night on a regular basis. We talk about anything that comes to mind – the nobles, swords and training, my newest dress, the maids. Talks between us were like talks between sisters; after all, we were essentially that, sisters.

One night, I felt particularly angry about thoughts that certain nobles were casting your way that day in council. I couldn't very well voice my anger in front of my subjects, so I waited until night to talk about it in private with Lucia. She understood me perfectly, like she always does.

"They never saw him in battle, how would they know how he treats others on the field?" I ranted. "They just say these things because he's a commoner. They're practically admitting it all the time!"

After I finally vented out all of my anger for the night, Lucia posed me a simple question.

"What do you think of the general?"

"Of Lord Ike?"

The question was simple, but the answers that came to mind were not.

"He truly cares for the people," I started. "He treats everyone equally and gives them the respect that they deserve. He's blunt and might come off harsh, but it's his way of being honest…" After a while, I realized that I had been rambling, and about you, no less.

Lucia smiled.

"He's invaluable as part of our court," I added, trying to douse out whatever ideas she had in her head. Yet the mere thought of you was enough to bring a smile to my face, warmth to my heart. From Lucia's perspective, it probably looked suspicious enough to take a good guess. But she didn't say anything.

She knew me well enough to know when not to prod the issue. It must have been some sort of confidence the thought of you bred in me, though, that let me prod another.

"And you, Lucia…?"

It was always amusing to watch you at balls.

I don't mean that in a cruel sort of way. I know you disliked them. Your discomfort in a suit, your wishing for your simple clothes, your awareness of the members of the court, they gave you away easily. You complained at times, but you endured it all. I wondered why, aside from your dedication to your duty. Your strength, your support.

Yet, seeing you dance your way around the room, cautious and careful not to step on feet, made me laugh.

"Are you uneasy, my lord Ike?" When dancing, when everyone was off in their own worlds and thoughts, I felt safe to talk with you. To be a little more loose and free with myself.

"You know it's 'Ike'," you answered, almost as if your response was instinctual. I know my using a title was. "And you also know that I'm not good at dancing."

"You learn fast," I said, trying to encourage him. "You'll get used to it all."

After a while, you said, "I don't think I will."

I knew why, right away. "I never thought you would ever be swayed by the words of those you don't even hold in regard."

"Not if I'm dragging you down."

"You think that your being my general is what causes dissent among the nobility?" I smiled. "If it were only that."

"They are calling you incompetent because they judge everything based on preconceptions. Preconceptions that I helped create. They don't like me, I don't like them."

Then why did you stay, I wanted to ask. I knew the answer.

The thought of your belief in me made me happy.

"Let's not engage in such talk tonight, shall we?" I suggested. "So we can enjoy ourselves a little?"

You looked up from watching our feet to nod briefly. For a few moments we were both silent, but then some unexplainable urge took hold of me and I laughed, quietly at first, but later more and more. After a while you joined, and the two of us waltzed our way around the ballroom, ringing of joy.

I can say I was happy then. Can I speak for you and say we both were? I don't think it was my illusions that made me think that you could be happy at the castle.

But although we were both happy, others were not. And what sort of queen is a selfish queen? Not only would I disrespect the people, but I'd disrespect Geoffrey, Lucia, Bastian and everyone who gave up so much to put me on the throne.

And were you always happy? I can't say yes, though I don't want to say no. But I know that I was not always happy.

Every thought of you leaving added some sort of sadness to me.

"Are you well, Your Majesty?"

I didn't need to turn around in the hall to know that it was Geoffrey walking up to me. If, after all these years I have spent with him, I didn't know to recognize his voice and conduct, I would have felt terrible as a friend.

"I am well, Geoffrey," was my response. I turned around out of courtesy to meet his gaze, and saw him looking concerned.

"You don't look well." He raised an eyebrow. "Do you need any help?" His concern touched me, but I didn't feel that he would be able to help me if my problem was with the nobles. Politically, his position didn't allow for him to speak against them.

I shook my head, not wanting him to drag him into my troubles.

He looked at me suspiciously. Perhaps my face belied my thoughts, like it usually does. After all, one of the nobles' constant criticisms of me is that I am too easily read to stand up in negotiation.

"The nobles, they bother you with their words, don't they?" Sometimes, I think Geoffrey learns this from his sister, though it probably comes from our long friendship. "I can't do anything about this! Why can't I even help my queen, my friend, my…" He paused, like he was looking for words. "I feel powerless." He looked dejected, disgraced, defeated, yet he looked at me like he wanted some confirmation of his worth.

It was hard to comfort him.

"Regardless, you are my steadfast and reliable friend," I told him. "No one will ever take your place."

Geoffrey looked visibly happier – he stood taller, his head was raised higher and he looked more confident. And at that moment, I realized just how much my place in his life was.

At least, I thought I knew.

A third figure joined us in the hall. Geoffrey saw first, his abrupt shift of gaze prompting me to do the same.

It was you, dressed in your simple clothes – a shirt, a belt, trousers, boots, your modest red cloak attached at your shoulders and your slightly frayed headband sticking out like a sore thumb. Compared to Geoffrey's shining armour plates and seamless livery, as well as my own white gown and emerald necklace, I felt like there was a wall between us.

A wall made of boundaries that should not be crossed.

"Elincia," you greeted, and at once I saw that wall shatter when you reached out for me. I felt a wave of happiness, perhaps even elation, that I had not expected at the sight of you.

No, such a thing should not exist. I restrained myself from accepting that happiness.

"We need to talk tonight."

It didn't matter whether I was happy or not, because the joy immediately vanished, only to be replaced by misery. It was because I knew what you wanted to talk to me about.

Geoffrey may not have known just what we spoke of, but I think he sensed my sadness. I watched him clench a fist at his side.

It often started like that. Some sort of event would happen during the day, one of us would request a meeting, and by night you would come to my rooms.

No, I never fulfilled those desires that tugged at me each time you came. Those feelings that lacked refinement, restraint, composure – feelings unbecoming of a queen, feelings that did not belong. Sometimes I wondered whether you had such feelings as well, though if you did you never seemed to make it known. Or perhaps you didn't know they were there at all.

Talks in my room were just that: talks, where you sat in a chair in front of my desk and I sat in a chair behind it.

This day was like almost all the other days. As usual, I invited you to my rooms. And as usual, you said these words:

"I'm leaving."

You had said this so many times, so many times before, that I thought this time might have been a bluff, too. But every time you had said this, I also thought deep in my heart that you were telling me the truth, that it was the last time we would speak of this.

"Tomorrow?" Every time you spoke of leaving, I never openly questioned you; I was always either resigned to the fact that you really were leaving or still denying it.

"I don't know," you said after a pause. "Tomorrow, a week after, a month – I just know that this isn't my place to stay in and that this place doesn't like me anyway."

"But there are people who would want you to stay." I didn't need to say who, and you probably guessed anyway. "And the general public wants their hero."

"And the general public also needs a queen with the assent of everyone. Fighting petty disputes like keeping me here tarnish the image of the queen they need to lead Crimea."

You looked at me from where I sat, with the desk separating us. As we gazed into the other's eyes, I felt that urge again, to reach out for your hand, to lean and rest my head on your chest –

I told myself that it wasn't happening, that there was no such feeling.

Oh, how I lied to myself.

When I looked at you, though, you were also of the same uncertainty as me, unwilling to cross that line. Or you were just unaware of what it was.

As usual, you left wordlessly. And as usual, you didn't leave me.

Yet.

But, of course, all good things come to an end.

Or was it good at all? I suppose it wasn't good for you, and if I really think about it, it wasn't good for me, either. All those selfish feelings, those unwanted thoughts, they had no object if you were gone. When you suffered, I insisted you stayed. That was selfish of me, wasn't it?

We decided your leaving the castle was the best choice that could have been made, and in doing so, you gave me the best choice for myself.

… in theory, that was how it was supposed to work. Life is not so simple.

Everything was over and done with.

The old general left, the new one was named and everyone in court who thought they had been called because of an actual crisis left in peace. It was easy to tell what the people thought of the whole ordeal as I watched them leave from my throne; it was written on their faces. Some were annoyed, some were happy and some could care less, like this wasn't the issue that should be resolved.

It was hypocritical that I could read their faces and they complained of my transparency, but it was not my place to point it out. It would sound like a weak retaliation from me.

All because I was the queen.

I couldn't show weakness now, not when the problem was supposed to be solved. According to everyone else, I had sent off the old general, I had brought in the new one, I should have fixed everything. To everyone else, I had made what was wrong right.

You and I thought that everything had been fixed, too.

"Your Majesty?"

It was Lucia, ascending the steps to the throne, looking worried. Looking out for me, as usual.

"I'm fine, Lucia. Shouldn't you be with Geoffrey? After all, he is your brother."

"I do believe the queen should be with her general now. Yet you haven't left." She sighed. "That was my pretence for coming. You don't look well at all."

"I'm fine, Lucia. I just… the past few days' events have been a little hectic, that's all." I was never very good at bluffing, but Lucia knew when not to touch a subject. It hurt, though, when she saw this and thought I couldn't trust her.

But I couldn't tell her about you. Not when the wounds were still fresh.

Not when it would undo everything that your departure was supposed to accomplish.

We were naïve to believe that our intervention into each other's lives would have come away with such a simple solution. The feelings that were supposed to leave didn't, and although all our other problems were solved, this plagues me the most.

Yet it's not like I can just call you back. Wouldn't that only elicit more of this… passion?

Now that I've labelled it, it seems wrong for me to associate myself with it.

It's taking everything I have in me to keep this to myself. At times, I'd be tempted to go to Lucia and just tell her everything – every moment that passed between us, every time I felt that urge to do what was not right for me – but all the comfort she could give me would not give these feelings rest.

Maybe she knows that I have to deal with this on my own. After all, she knows me best.

But I still trust you, even after this, even after our plans to separate ourselves have failed. You said to me that you would support me no matter what I go through. This is the time that I need your help, your support, your strength.

Isn't it strange, then, that I need this very strength to let go of the one I take it from?

"Good morning, Elincia."

Direct, concise, maybe brusque. Very much like you. A chance encounter in a castle hall would only require such a greeting. However, you stopped, like you were going to continue the conversation.

"Good morning, Sir Ike."

It's easy to slip back into habits I never really tried to break. Saying your name without some sort of title in front of it bothers me. Maybe it's for the better that you're aren't just 'Ike', that you have some defined place in my life rather than something unknown, or mysterious, or with the potential to turn into something I do not want.

You don't tell me to greet you otherwise. Perhaps you understand my need to make something definite of you. Or maybe you, too, fear that if we open our conversations again into the past, they will undo what barriers we have made and everything we have done will go to waste.

"My mercenaries and I will be leaving. I thought to tell you so you didn't think we just vanished."

"Thank you," I say absently. It's so easy to call you back, to pick up everything between us right where we left off and continue, to not care about anything anyone else says and keep fooling myself into believing that this world allows me to… be with you.

"Until we meet again," you say, a sign of a farewell.

"May the goddess light your way," I reply.

I watch as you turn and walk down the way you came, your tattered headband and simple cloak fluttering behind you from your brisk step.

And that's it. Just a conversation. A conversation we don't take any further than necessary, because it will risk too much.

But it feels better to talk to you than not to at all. Now that I know that those desires will stay in me whether you are with me or not, I know it's better to confront them rather than run from them. Maybe it's the fact that I think you're trying to let go, too, that gives me the strength to go on.

See? You do give me strength when I need it. My trust is not misplaced.

If calling you will help me let go, perhaps I should not be so afraid to.

I'm still not very satisfied with this, but I don't know what else to do with it. I get the feeling that Geoffrey should have appeared more often, but such is what happens with my Ike/Elincia stories.

-EmbeRin