How long had it taken for them to come in? Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years had ticked by as slowly as physically possible, summers spent and wasted in idle dreams of the days when we would grow up. Facing pressure from my mother and my friends alike, I too longed for the day when my body would finally become that of a woman, and I would be stronger, more elite, and fit for a suitable husband. We had always loved our little fantasies.
Now, horror had stricken me like a plague. My heart was fit to burst, and despite the heat of the smothering darkness, I trembled. Standing thigh-deep in mild stream water did not bother me; it was the glassy gaze of the woman who stared at me from its depths that did. There she was, there I was. Finally, seventeen years of dreaming had accumulated into a nightmare. They had come in. I had become a woman.
It was wrong, everything from the delectable curve of my hips to the soft peaks that had somehow sprouted from my chest. When had this happened, and how had I not noticed the changes? I would have taken preventative measures, anything to stop this. It was hideous in the most beautiful way. Womanhood had taken me in the night like an assassin. Never had I truly wished for this. It had been my mother's dream, not mine. She wanted me to be the perfect little princess, a dame to swoon for, and though I had longed to grow up, I was never aware of the deadly cost. Perhaps, I dared to think, I did not want to be a woman at all.
"Take it back," I uttered, my gaze darting between the anxious reflection of what I had become and the glimmering stars overhead. "Gods, please, take it back."
This prayer, like so many others, went unanswered, and I found myself alone, dueling with unpleasant thoughts. Unfortunately, there was virtually nothing in my power that would reverse the effects, something that would change me back into the child I had been before. Returning to my innocence was impossible; the days when sex was hardly a distinguishable trait between me and my brother were long gone. Here and now, I had become the attractive piece of flesh that men lust after, and there was nothing I wasn't willing to sacrifice to be able to trade my body for that of my brother. The powerful limbs, smooth, angular planes of muscle as opposed to the seamless skin characteristic of my sex, that was the body I needed. Luckily, and for this I thanked the gods heartily, my chest had not become what I feared. With a little work, it could be tempted to appear flat once more. I could abandon womanhood, reclaim my ever-dwindling strength and confidence, and live once more without the pressure of knowing that men were staring at the pair of peaks residing on my chest. Long gone would be this woman named Princess Lucina, in her place, a lord of much higher power.
I splashed back to the banks, where my supplies awaited me. From my slim pile of gear I retrieved a long bandage and a handful of sturdy pins. My mother had taught me how to use the latter in order to contain my cascading locks in precise formations, while my father had guided me in the practice of binding wounds. Though I had no current wounds that required addressing, something would certainly be bound. I took the end of the sturdy fabric, and began to wrap. My chest was constricted within moments, and the sensation spread through my body as if my entirety was being compressed between the coils of a serpent. Yet, I did not mind the discomfort. Those growths were disappearing, contained strictly within the confines of my battle-made bandage. I ensured every aspect of the unwanted area was tightly concealed, and for fear of my careful work becoming undone, I repeated the process with another bandage. Skin crawling and lungs forcing air in and out with great difficulty, I tied off the end of this second wrap and dared to peek down at my handiwork.
Fortune had come my way at last; my chest was flat.
My hair, the second giveaway to the identity of my sex, was not quite so painful as compressing breasts into nothing. A clever decision to have my longer locks thinned a bit proved to be the savior of this operation; I twisted and folded the midnight strands until every last piece was hidden beneath my short hair. I used the pins here to keep everything tucked in properly, and for a moment I was stricken with the blinding realization that I could have just as easily cut off my hair rather than concealing it, but I could not bring myself to act upon that notion. I might have been harboring some bias towards remaining a woman, and in fact I was reluctant to part with the dark sheen of hair that my mother had adored so devotedly, but no matter the reason for my reluctance, I was not inhibited, stuck on the problem and unable to address the big picture.
The issue of my feminine waistline would have to wait. There was only so much manipulation my body could take before it would be unable to perform at peak excellence, and I did not have many bandages to spare. And there happened to be many men around me that sported delicate hips resembling those of women. I would not be regarded with added suspicion and lust. Now I would simply be one more human, neither blatantly female or definitely male.
Now, at long last, my clothes that had been tailor-made for a much straighter Lucina would fit properly once more. It was a relief; I pulled on every article without so much as a hint of the binding or the pins coming loose, and my garb clung to my altered body perfectly. Granted, those stupid, succulent hips still showed through the slits of my skirt, but that was miniscule compared to how drastic the change seemed to be. The stream, ever my faithful mirror, revealed the reflection of a much simpler figure, and I rejoiced.
Only one thing remained, and that was to pick a name to become my own. Lucina, though beautiful, did not carry the same sort of genderless air I required. In the back of my head, I repeated the name Marth over and over, convincing myself each time that such a name was as exalted as my father's blood, and using it would darken the great legend of the Hero-King. However, on the other hand, it would certainly affirm the sort of ambiguity I had attained; a masculine name on a semi-feminine body. A perfect plan to hide my imperfect body.
Never did I officially choose the name Marth. In the heat of the first battle, when my ability to breathe was tested for the first time in combat, and my vision was drastically declined due to the mask I wore to conceal my Brand, I did not have time to think of any backstory other than the fact that I was living proof of the legend of the Hero-King. I surprised myself with my ability to disguise my voice into something sharp, low, and unrecognizable from my usual tone, and when Chrom asked for my name, I replied with concealed pride and visible vanity that I was to be called Marth. Chrom, my own father, took it for the truth.
So it was to be that I remained Marth until the fateful night of my father's assassination. It had been weeks since I last removed my binding, even to bathe, and I could almost feel my bones collapsing into each other. Hoping my bout of constant athleticism had proved enough to stay the effects of womanhood, I removed the filthy bandages and took a moment too long in allowing my chest exposure to the crisp night air. It did feel fairly nice to allow my tightly contained body a few heartbeats of nudity, though later I would regret my vulgarity, and I laid back in the grass to stimulate the numb flesh into reacting once more to the soft caress of vegetation. Perhaps I fell asleep, or I had begun this little period of rest too late in the night, for when I was next aware of myself I realized the danger my father could be in. With the schedule I had forced myself into, there was no spare time for me to contain my chest in bandages. Rather than repeat the painstaking process, at the cost of my father's well-being, I threw on my smallclothes, those that covered a female body as opposed to the male I had become so accustomed to, and redressed in my garb that now squeezed my chest uncomfortably. The lack of pressure on my ribs was unwelcome, and breathing was effortless and painfully easy. I hated every minute of this reemergence into womanhood, but it would have to wait while I rescued my father.
Thankfully I had kept my hair and mask in place, though fairly loosely, so my rescue operation went according to plan, at first. Marth had appeared in the courtyard to save the life of Prince Chrom, and then the valiant young swordsman would continue to rescue Exalt Emmeryn from her demise. Just the minor detail of a second assassin was enough to throw me into chaos. Before I was aware of the situation, the tides had been turned against me. Chrom saved my life with a well-aimed blow to the second assassin, and my mask had been cleaved by the brigand's blade. Haste had proved my enemy. I should have bound myself, I should have readjusted the long locks that I had managed to hide so carefully, I should have known about the second assassin!
It all came crashing down. Chrom looked to me with his open book of a face, his curiosity, shock, and disbelief all evident. "Wait, you're-you're a woman?"
"And quite the actress, too," I snapped, furious with myself for allowing my façade to come crashing down so easily. My desperate attempt to remain calm and collected kept the edge from my voice, though I felt heat rising in my cheeks on account of my own sass. "Honestly I'm surprised you didn't figure it out until just now."
Chrom seemed unnerved by this, suspicious, even, but his concerns did not matter to me when we had such an important mission. Unfortunately, fighting on the same side as a mysterious female just so happened to bring out the spark of fatherhood within the great prince, and he protected me with careful commands. As Marth I had never faced such gentle orders. It sickened me, chilled me to my core, and made me want to return to the period of time in which I was conceived in order to prevent the travesty of my sex. This woman's body had accomplished nothing, and the man's body had failed.
My explanations to my father were vague from then on until the night when I referred to him by that family name. That was the night it truly fell, the night I honestly felt my ribs being crushed by an ultimate power. I was embraced by Chrom for the first time in many, many years. I admitted everything. I hailed from the future, in my time he was dead, and I was his daughter.
I was his daughter.
He did not ask me why I had chosen to masquerade as Marth for many years to come. My body remained frozen in the dawn of womanhood until the end of the war, which brought about a journey away from home for me. Then I truly developed, I grew into the body that characterized my sex, and when I next thought to visit the Exalt and his queen, Mother asked all sorts of questions to determine the delay of my physical clarification of gender. I answered to the best of my ability, then set in a fickle mood for the rest of the day, until that evening, when I walked alone with Father.
Such gentle words came from his lips that at first I did not believe they had been real. "Lucina, why would you dress like King Marth for so long?"
"It seemed easiest," was all I thought to say. In truth, explaining the circumstances behind the appearance of a historical icon now appeared more challenging than simply telling the truth of my origin, but revealing my identity had also led to the inevitable heartbreak that I was not the child of this man. I could have saved myself the pain and remained Marth for all eternity. Curse my sex that brought me to such weakness as to reveal myself to Father.
"Lucina." Repetition of my name usually indicated when he had become aware of my melancholy moods. He knew I was withholding information. "Why would you dress like King Marth? Of all the legends in the world, why him?"
I detected the subtle emphasis on the word "him", and I knew then that he had knowledge of my conversation with Mother. "Because… he is our ancestor."
"Daughter."
"Because," my voice quivered, and I failed myself yet again, "I never wanted to be a woman. I wanted… to be a man. Marth was the best name for concealing a woman's body in a man's identity."
"You… wanted to be a man?" he echoed, eyes fixed on the ground as his mind raced to gauge his own reaction. "It isn't all it's cracked up to be. I don't want to fight about it, but I think you're lucky to be female. Being as beautiful as you are would not serve you well in a man's shoes." He hesitated, lifted his gaze, and drew me in with the sincerity in his eyes. "Male or female, you are still my child, and I will support you in everything. You know this, right?"
I nodded, barely containing a flood of tears just as I had when I revealed to Chrom that I was his daughter. Now, with the admittance that I would prefer to be his son, he too adopted a familiar attitude, welcoming my sobs with open arms. He was warm, but his embrace was crushing, per usual. "Father, please, gentle."
"Sorry." Quickly he abided, and I took a shaking breath.
"Father." I copied his tactic of repetition. "I-I don't want you to call me Marth. I don't want to be called a boy anymore. Or-or a girl. I just want to be Lucina. And if you have to… I don't mind referring to me as female."
He nodded deliberately, meeting my eyes once more. "This is what you want?"
"Just Lucina."
A smile played at his lips. "Just Lucina, my wonderful firstborn."
The attempt at ambiguous reference was weak at best, and after a moment of consideration, I corrected him, "Princess Lucina, your daughter."
"Lucina," he repeated firmly, grinning fully at me with his heart of gold lying exposed on his chest. "My daughter. Lucina."