Will
I do not own Fire Emblem or any of its characters.
A little bit of speculation on what might happen to Yumina, Princess of Grust after the War of Heroes. Written for the "woman king" challenge at fe_contest.
They said it couldn't be done, shouldn't be done. They recited a list of cautionary names, names she knew entirely too well.
Sheema of Gra. Minerva of Macedon. Nyna of Archanea…
It did not move her. What were their failures- a legitimized bastard placed upon the throne as a puppet, a career soldier incapable of handing the reins of state, a feckless creature ruled by the heart instead of ruling from it- to do with her? What were any of them to do with her sex, when a man could have failed as badly?
Jiol of Gra. Osmond of Macedon. Oberon of Archanea, Marcellus of Altea…
Did the failures of a dozen kings, of a hundred of them, serve to bar any prince from his birthright?
Ludwik of Grust.
They did not. And so, she would not be deterred.
-x-
"But, Princess-"
The words never left any tongue, but she saw the unspoken message in every pair of eyes.
Any hope of an independent kingdom died with your brother.
He would have been a good king, she admitted. A good king, but a weak one. They would have ruled together, with her will bolstering his kindness, his grace serving to mediate her fire. You must be stronger, she would have said to him, again and yet again.
She never could have left his side.
-x-
There was not even language in the rites to allow for a female monarch.
The king is your father, the land beneath your feet your blessed mother. They are joined in holy union so the bridegroom may protect and defend his bride.
For her to take the throne and wear a crown was thereby unholy, blasphemy, a mockery of sacred tradition. But the one person who might have put an end to her plans chose to merely look away, and so on the appointed day, she stood before her people at Olbern.
"Will you be the faithful shield and and protector of all who serve the gods?"
"I will."
The coronation chrism, bottled for so long, smelled rancid. She did not wince.
"Will you uphold and recover those rights and possessions of the realm that have been unlawfully usurped?"
"I will."
The scepter in her hands felt as comfortable as her own favorite staff.
"Will you protect the poor, the fatherless, and the widowed?"
"I will."
"Will you pay due submission to the throne of Holy Archanea?"
Her father's heavy mantle pressed upon her shoulders, a weight of cloth-of-gold and sable that he had not been able to carry. A weight that might have crushed her brother. She would not buckle beneath it.
"I will."
Her father's crown would have slipped down her brows had they not pinned it to her hair.
"And may I present to you, people of Grust, your sovereign..."
And no bolt of lighting, no wave of fire, fell from heaven to consume her.
"Yumina, daughter of Ludwik, King by the grace of the gods."
The End