It wasn't about the facade. It never was, and never would be. It would never be about her cleverly constructed guise of a hero, or her shield of being the king's daughter.
In more ways than one, it had always been about the mask.
Lucina the Exalt's daughter, Lucina the hero, Lucina the leader, Lucina the time-traveler, all of these were but a mask to hide her true face. She was Lucina the coward, Lucina, the parentless daughter, Lucina, the girl who never laughed.
Every child dreamt of being a great hero; as someone who had been unexpectedly thrust into such a role, she would heavily advise against it. None should ever have to feel the pressure of leading those they love into possible demise. What was so heroic about that? True heroes don't get a happily ever after - they're the ones who make sure others do.
She recalled a scene that occurred but a few moments ago, in which Khan Basilio showed interest in her mask. She'd slapped his hand away in a panic, to which he laughed and said, "Only cowards hide behind masks. Though, your swordsmanship tells otherwise. Don't let me down, boy!" He then proceeded to heavily slap her on the back and walk away.
And so, she stood before the arena doors, about to march out and defeat - fight her father and his Shepherds. She'd see her mother with them, no doubt.
Would Lucina the coward run away and let her parents win? She'd give anything to see them again, even for a moment - except for how she was about to see them. It was as if Grima had returned to bark its chilling laughter in her face. Run, it would tell her, run away, little excuse for a Hero King. You cannot undo what I've done. Or stay, fight, and pay the consequences.
A chill danced down her back. Of course, she'd have to keep going and disregard her sudden overwhelming urges to run, to hide, to go someplace safe. No, she had a job to do, and she would do it. She'd make Frederick proud by sticking to what needed to be done.
Tears stung her eyes at the thought of the knight. While the other children often complained at his constant drilling and lack of cheer, Lucina admired his grit and intense willpower. Frederick was strong. Lucina was weak. She had no horse, and no gleaming armor, and no such strength. All she had was... A sword, and a mask.
If she admired Frederick, then she idolized Chrom. Her father was also strong, but in a different way - Exalt Chrom was made strong by those around him. In all honesty, she had never really been spurred on by people. Well, in a way, she had, but... Not like him, not like Chrom. He's just Chrom now, she reminded herself, you can't go to him. You can't. He can't be your father anymore, there's no more "daddy's little girl."
The mission was bound to her, and only her. Since the others were relatively safe, it was up to her to change their fate. She could not lose. She had to succeed for... For everyone. She had to know that there was some way it could be prevented. Even if the others blindly believed in her, and immense guilt tore at her heart, it was absolutely imperative she succeeded.
Hope will never die. She hastily spat those words to spur on who was left. Somehow, it worked, and the children of heroes rose up and sought out Naga, who granted them the ability to go back and make right the grievances that collapsed their world. Whispers of Lucina the hero wove their way into her ears. It broke her weary and worn heart. I'm not a hero, she wanted to scream, I'm not who you think I am! She had only made it so far by sheer luck. Without everyone beside her, without her team... She was nothing. Nothing but a girl without a family, nothing but a girl with a mask.
So, she was to depend on her sword and her mask yet again. Her only strength left. But she knew it was also a fatal weakness.
She unclenched her hands, the sweat on her gloves chilling from the sudden contact with the air. The hair stuffed into her collar itched immensely. However, nothing could be done about either of those things. Instead, she tried aiming her focus on the doors before her, but that alternative seemed no better. Who would Chrom bring with him? Would she have to fight her father? Would she have to fight her mother? What if she... Struck them down? What then? What if they killed her? What if she killed any of them?
She hadn't noticed she'd been breathing rather quickly until a warrior gave her a strange look. She resigned to simply concentrating on breathing; pulling in air, and pushing it back out, slowly, carefully... Her breathing still shaky, and her palms still sweating, she needed to push on. There was no other choice. Of course, she could've done anything she wanted. She could've run off to become anyone, anywhere. It wasn't like Naga was forcing her into it - nay, she was simply the only one who could possibly carry on the duty.
So, why was she fighting her way up to confront the Shepherds? Well... She supposed it was the only way to be sure they could win. A microscopic desire at the back of her mind wanted her to win, to surpass her father; she wished it wasn't there. She spent her whole life wanting to be just like him. However, going back in time brought a realization that flew into her face like a flaming wyvern.
Chrom was still only human. He was never anything more. He, like Lucina, had his doubts and flaws and problems, some of them likely to never go away. It both disturbed and relieved her, adding to the constantly piling guilt. She didn't want to be better than her father - rather, she didn't want to have that desire there.
Perhaps it was the expectation that took its toll. The dreaded expectation - the shackle enclosed upon her ankle, the tellings that Lucina would be like her father, that Lucina would be a hero. She'd come to despise the evil thing - the expectation, that is. Someone... Well, the feeling was strange, and she recalled Naga warning her that time-travel often added or removed random memories, or such things... She remembered someone raving to her about how expectations were the downfall of man. They made people think that they should be better than what they are. If one reaches an expectation, they are held in a sort of moment of false hope and glory; however, if they do not, the self-worth plummets to the ground.
Lucina recalled Severa's lack of reaching expectations with a grimace, and she suddenly understood the meaning of the mystery person's rant. Expectations tore people apart. They left people with a choice between what others want and what they themselves want.
Lucina battled expectations, and suddenly felt that much closer to Severa. When she saw her again - if they ever saw each other again - she'd give her a great big hug and tell her that she's marvelous as a person and doesn't need anyone telling her who she should be or what she should do. She'd tell her how strong she was, and that comparing her to her mother was pointless because of how different they were, and that Severa was her own person and being that made her beautiful, even though she was already gorgeous - oh, yes. If they ever met again.
She give them all hugs, and tell all of them how much she loved them. How juvenile, how childish, how... Sentimental of her. But she couldn't dwell on it. She had to keep going. People depended on her, and she wouldn't let them down.
Lucina the coward habitually checked to see if Falchion was still in its sheath. Lucina the parentless fixed up her wrinkled tunic and swept her bangs out of her face. Lucina, the girl who never laughed, smiled knowingly, for once content with her fate, even if only for a second. Lucina the weak pressed her hands against the arena doors and gave them a strong push.
Lucina the false hero adjusted her mask, and strode out among the crowds.