Disclaimer: I do not own Gaius nor Owain nor their context, Fire Emblem: Awakening.
"Victory has come!" Owain shouts from the corner of an old, open basement of a fallen lord.
Gaius smirks as he raises his own sword. Strangely, he does not doubt his son's words with the entirety he should; at eleven years old, Owain has shown the speed and skill of a fighter far beyond Gauis's caliber when he was young. Gaius at eleven was more concerned with learning to steal and get away with it than fend off thousands of undead warriors, so he supposes their strengths reflect in part their backgrounds.
Owain had chosen to live the life of a hero. He would never consider taking up Gaius's trade as a thief.
In a flash, Owain has darted across the room to disarm Gaius, who's moved over and pointed his blade to the side of Owain's neck.
Owain is gifted, but Gaius should remember how far he has to go.
"Looks like you're dead, kiddo."
"But only barely!" Owain moves back and puts down his sword as he says it with a grin. "By the time the we are next in peril, I will prove without a trace of doubt my worth as a fighter for our cause!"
"Heh," Gaius says. "Dream big."
Now Owain looks down at his sword, which is really a roughly-crafted wooden pole with a handle.
So is Gaius's. For a moment, Gaius thinks that Owain is lamenting the work he puts into such a piece of- well, Owain's always been one to hyperbolize the grandeur of weapons, but that's hard to do with a big stick.
"Father," Owain says after a pause. "This weapon underwhelms me."
"Yeah. It's a stick, Owain."
Owain raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth slightly in distress.
"It is a stick that shall see me through my fledgling years and leave me only when I have grown the talons of a true predator! It is my teacher, my companion! And," he stops and crosses his arms. "It is as good as a weapon to an amateur such as I. I must treat it likewise."
"So you're gonna mourn the loss of whoever you stab it with and sharpen when you have to?" Gaius asks with a slight twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
"No…" Owain is silent again as he crouches down to examine his teacher-weapon thing. After a few moments he speaks again.
"I will give it a name! Even the preliminary weapons must have a name, how do you fight without one?"
"Er-" Gaius says. "Like, Harry?"
"No." Owain looks at his father with disgust at his slowness. "A name that gives it soul. That's what names do, after all. Would you leave a baby, or a dog, or a pegasus without a name? I think not. It is what allows you to fully connect with its being. You impart love unto it…
"But I must dwell on what is right for my weapon for a substantial amount of time."
"...Okay. We should get some fresh air, yeah?" Gaius says. "We've been here for hours, Fledgling."
"...Fledgling?"
"Now you have two names, so I love you twice as much."
Owain does come up for some fresh air, which Princess appreciates and gives Gaius a kiss on the cheek for: apparently, Owain's training when Gaius is out in what's left of the city, doing what he's best at.
The older members of their party, the Shepards, a few civilians, and a handful of other fighters, seem to want some semblance of the normal life that they had before the Risen. But their children have grown up used to hardship, and maybe they could face the future with only hope of moving forward, without the burdensome memories and nostalgia that weigh their parents and elders down. And Owain would be one of the visionaries who could see a glorious future ahead of them.
Or, you know, maybe not, but Gaius liked to think so without strong evidence to the contrary.
And now Owain's sitting under a tree in the courtyard, looking at his practice sword with some serious concentration.
"So… A name? Like Steven?" says Lissa.
"I thought that at first," Gaius says, "but now I'm thinkin' something along the lines of 'Serpent-heart' or whatever."
"As long as he's happy." Lissa smiles. "Hey, maybe he'll really get better from this!"
"Heh. That's the spirit, Princess. Guess I should start supportin' him too- try not to roll my eyes at it."
It's evening and they've gathered enough food to stay here another week. The rations are slight, bread and vegetables and occasionally milk to make soup with, and again, it is their children who take it in stride while the adults exchange glances that all mean the same thing.
I'm sorry for this.
Gaius of course is in the kitchen with the vegetables. He has enough water to boil some carrots after he chopped them up for their distribution. That'll go with the bread.
"We have salt, by the way," says Elena, a former maid at this very estate. "We can use it as seasoning."
Salted carrots. He's never heard of that one before.
But just the same, he takes a small spoonful and is boiling the carrots a half hour later when a tall, muscular boy with bright red hair elbows his way into the room.
"Father! I've achieved the name of my weapon!"
"Uh, great. Owain, I'm bus-"
"You can listen just the same. I thought it best you know first, but I want to tell the others as quickly as possible!"
Fine. It shouldn't take long.
"Yeah?" Gaius says.
Owain looks to the ceiling and is, again, silent for a moment.
"Realm-splitter of the Middle World." he says.
"Great," repeats Gaius, "Can you-"
"Oh, Father-"
"Can you go tell someone else, Fledgling?"
Owain looks annoyed. "That name again?"
Gaius smiles.
"Yep. I'm busy right now."
Owain shakes his head. "No, you don't understand. I realized something. You need a weapon name, too."
Gaius turns back to the carrots, which have been boiling for over fifteen minutes.
"Yeah. I'll think of somethin'. How many others need a weapon name?"
"...Everyone."
And Owain is gone, and Gaius shakes his head at the food.
The next morning, Gaius takes his sword from the convoy for some polishing. He was facing another day of patrol. No Risen have made it past the city walls after the Shepards had fought them off almost a week ago, but they also had to take into consideration any that they'd missed. They were in a big place after all, and the… disease spread quickly.
"Father!" Owain's voice comes from behind him.
"Fledgling!" Gaius shouts back without turning around. "What's up?"
"Have you named your weapon yet?" Owain sits down next to Gaius, staring intently at his sword. "You are hardly the most skilled fighter in the party, and our perils grow stronger as the days greater in number!"
"...You mean that as the days go by, it gets more dangerous." Gaius raises his eyebrows.
"Yes. Have you taken one of the only steps you can to keep yourself safe?"
"I'm supposed to name my weapon," says Gaius. "like you named yours 'Realm-splitter of the Middle World'."
"Yes," Owain says, looking pleased. Maybe he's happy that his father remembered his toy sword's name. "I have requested names from all the fighters I came across, but… they seemed to be confused."
Gaius chuckles.
"Nah, can't imagine why, kiddo. Let's see…" He looks at his sword for a few moments. Then he smiles.
"You- you have thought of a name already?" asks Fledgling.
"Yep. Say hello to Pointy."
"Father! That is not a reflection of your longing for companionship of a weapon!" Owain cries. "That does not represent your heart! It is- it is-"
"Pointy." Gaius smiles. "It's my new best friend Pointy. Thanks for the advice, son."
"You are not welcome."
Three years later, and the milk and salt and carrots are even harder to come by.
Three years later, and they live in hastily constructed forts more often than not, anywhere that isn't absolutely crawling with Risen, no city being safe.
Three years later, and Owain is a fighter of the power that gives just a few of them hope. Most of the kids are, really. It's what keeps the parents going.
Now Owain and Gaius are out together, scouting as a team. Gaius wouldn't be letting his fourteen-year old kid out and about if he didn't realize what was coming.
Sumia is gone. Cordelia, too. Libra is dead. Frederick had died two weeks ago, and now Cynthia is without a parent. Two civilians remain with them, a brother and a sister under ten years old.
Lissa's a good fighter and a good healer. She would make it a while longer. But Gaius? He's a softie thief and a guy who needs to do things on his own to work a lot.
Gaius isn't letting his only child out in a world with one half of his parents gone not able to stand on his own two feet.
Owain walks ahead of Gaius, dutifully, his feet hitting the ground with as much force as he could without being counterproductive. He's walking with the confidence and strength of an epic hero. It wouldn't work so well altogether, and Gaius means to educate him more on stealth.
Gaius walks quietly, taking in his surroundings with twice the observation Owain is set to possess.
"Fledgling," Gaius quickly catches up to Owain. "Are you payin' more attention to the forest or yourself?"
"I am," Owain says.
Then a howl comes from behind them and Gaius spins around.
Iron clashes with steel, a screech shoots through the air, and there's also the Risens' screaming and Gaius's yelling at Owain.
"Kid! Move to the left!"
Owain moves, to his credit, quickly. Almost like reflex, and draws his sword, an iron one called, eh. Something flowery. He avoids a strike by a small thief who couldn't have been more than thirteen when she…
Gaius would have shuddered at the thought years ago. Growing up in the streets could be worse, he'd think, but now he's met so many people more unfortunate than him that they've blurred together.
Gaius steps behind the girl, who lunges towards Owain, catches her before his heart stops, and slices through her neck with ease. He's not thinking, because he's done this before and because it takes a split second and because when your kid's in trouble, no matter how much it's happened in the past, there's no damn time to think.
If she didn't hear him, then Gaius's stealth counts for something, by the way.
Owain looks shaken and holds his sword tighter. A soldier's coming from a few feet away, his boots filling in the silence after the kill.
He's targeting Gaius, who raises his sword to block his own. Again, metallic screeching is heard and Gaius panics in some small part of him at the soldier's strength.
The hold lasts a moment. Gaius is ready to take his chances and dodge the blow, but instead, the soldier's sword falls to the ground as its face soundlessly disappears in a cloud of violet smoke.
Owain is quick to return to fighting stance, now only a foot away from Gaius. Behind where the soldier was.
Owain grins at him. Gaius just looks shocked. His eyes are on the figure that had eluded them before, hiding behind the bushes or under the tree branches, or else it was a recently risen body itself, which might have been even more likely. An older, leaner thief with the looks of a real deal.
When your kid is in trouble, there's no time to think, but Gaius wouldn't have in a thousand years be able to think himself out of his next decision.
The Risen is fast, but Gaius is faster, and Owain is simply startled when he is pushed out of the way and his father once again clashes swords with another.
But this time, thanks to hastiness of the attack, or the skill on behalf of the Risen itself, or the fact that it was already prepared to strike, the Risen manages to break the hold by shifting his knife up and stabbing Gaius right along where the neck meets the shoulders.
Pointy has failed. He is victorious hitting the ground.
Owain gasps something that sounds like "father" and maybe he's going to kneel beside him.
Lying on the ground, Gaius is so close to death that he can't tell if the loosening in his chest is due to blood loss or the chance that Owai…
Pointy is shiny and that's the last thing he sees.
Owain sees his father die almost instantly. Gaius doesn't look at him, like he didn't have time to check that he was okay before dying.
All he saw was that dumb sword.
Owain's own sword is pressed to the ground, the the steel hilt digging into his knuckles, shaking slightly as his weight shifts against it. He's trying to stay balanced.
Father's face is so strangely calm, like the deaths of Cynthia's favorite heroes. Quiet. Maybe that's what keeps Owain on edge, the feeling that everything is said and done and his father is sleeping easily. Owain might have believed that, if he wasn't so used to acknowledging death nowadays. It had already hit him, like an arrow really had met its mark, that he had Mother now, and increasingly few other companions.
But why did he have to die, of all things, on patrol?
Why did he have to die, of all things because Owain messed up?
Owain stands up holding on to his sword, and his shoulders clench. He'll turn around. He'll tell everyone. He'll keep as composed as he can because that's what you have to do when you're dealing with death every day, and he'll keep fighting.
The energy from that idea comes out when he clenches his fist. His fingernails dig into his palms. There was a real question here.
Why did Father have to die?
Owain's fist and shoulders are tense and now his jaw tightens, trying to control whatever tantrum he might want to throw.
And what will they say?
"Gaius is a memory of bravery."
"We'll be here for you, Owain."
"We can't let this happen-"
"-again," says Laurent, his voice slightly tense but otherwise controlled. Laurent? Is someone looking for them?
Owain turns around, still stiff.
"He's dead," he says, stupidly.
"Yes," Laurent says, "And...I'm sorry."
Owain turns to look at him, his eyes narrow and hard like blue-green pebbles.
"I am sorry," Laurent repeats, and his face for a moment might betray real shock, real sorrow, because unbeknownst to most, unnoticed by Owain, he works to keep up a stoic front.
"...We have to burn to body," his voice stammers a little, and Owain exhales.
Father is lying behind them, still and stiff, but ready to pop up and kill them if time allows. And that would completely demolish the point of his death.
"Okay," Owain says. He trudges over to where Father is lying and sits down by him again. This is it. He'll be gone in flames a few minutes from now.
As Laurent explains that an earlier patrol had passed by this area and thought it was safe, that he was only a few minutes ahead of the rest and it really had seemed like a docile place, Owain looks at his father again.
It's weird, trying to say goodbye to someone who's already gone. But maybe he doesn't need to anymore. It's automatic by now. He might as well have made another scratch on his sword hilt for another death and been on his way, none of it would matter anymore.
Then, Laurent approaches. He kneels down and takes Father's sword from the ground, from the body that no longer needs it, and says, "Maybe you can keep this. As a memory."
It's not a memory if it's here, but Owain nods. He's really gone quiet now, hasn't he? He can't generate another flowery phrase at the moment, and speaking normally...it's useless. What's it supposed to mean?
"The fire goes out when I want it to," says Laurent. "Don't worry about a forest fire, it's very quick."
"Okay."
And so they stand back, having cleared any vulneraries or charms that might have spilled- Father was a thief, after all- out of the way.
"They should be back by now."
"They're fine." Laurent looks at Owain, half-pitying and half-annoyed.
With all he can think to say being said, Owain concentrates on Father's body, his corpse, evil's most petty, disgusting, despicable weapon. He is holding Father's sword in his left hand, and squeezes it. This is the most pathetic weapon, though. The hilt digs into his palm, biting back.
Laurent starts the spell, and Father is engulfed in flames. Owain watches the burning, watches his father being obliterated completely so that he won't be obliterated by whatever will the Risen have.
Watching the world do away with him. Watching him turn to nothing.
And if Owain thought he couldn't feel more empty about what happened today, he is very wrong. He feels something else, suddenly, something like the only thing Father left behind is going to destroy his memory with its foolishness. Something that will grow and obstruct what he really stood for.
Laurent is shocked and saddened when Pointy is hurled into the flames.