Life after Grima had been easy.
Our days had been spent lounging around our quarters in the palace barracks, laughing and happy. After Morgan was on the way, we moved to new, spacious quarters in the castle, a stone's throw from the baracks if we were ever needed to be there. As Head Tactician, I spent most my days there.
My husband, being the doting spouse and father figure that he was, would shadow me on my walks to and from the castle, as well as train amongst our men as diligently as he had fought atop the back of the fell dragon. When Morgan arrived, he'd come too. Plopped in with baby Lucina, Cynthia, Gerome and Severa in the nursery for the day. Once Marc arrived, she followed her brother to the same toy stuffed room, away from the clatter and clang of the weapons below.
Our small life was a happy one. Despite being offered the Plegian throne after my father's death, I had renounced the lands and titles and wealth to spend it with the ones I truly cared about.
I never before had looked back on the life we used to lead at home. Morgan and Marc knew we had something to do in the Great Wars against Plegia, Valm and the Fell, but both my husband and I had decided to keep it a secret from them until they were old enough to understand decisions we had made; such as Emmeryn's death, or that of their own Grandfather.
That was, until Morgan and Marc asked for a specific bedtime story.
"What story do you want tonight?" I asked, smiling at the two.
Marc was tucked up in her pink laced bed, a pillow pushing the little girl up so that she was pretty much sitting. The four-year-old's eyes and hair were the exact same shades as her fathers, a feat he was extremely proud of. Morgan has a similar hair colour too, and his six-year-old mop of hair had just been as freshly brushed to a similar standard as Cordelia's Pegasus' mane. His eyes, however, were a similar red as mine. Clad in leaf green pyjamas, he sat on his bed opposite his sisters, just not as delicately tucked up as she was. He'd already mussed it around so much his foot was sticking out and his hair was already resembling a pile of fall leaves.
"You're bad at stories." Marx whined. "Why can't papa read to us?"
"Papa's at the castle." I sighed. We'd been invited to a small feast with the rest of the shepherds, and he'd agreed to go ahead to help set up whilst I put the children to bed. With the security around, every family who had a place in the quarters needn't lock their door at night, so leaving the two here whilst they slept wasn't much of a problem.
"Why can't papa read us a story?" Marc repeated, her big round eyes blinking up at me. "He's better at stories!"
"What's so bad at my stories?" I asked, looking at my slightly sadistic daughter.
"Papa does voices!" Morgan grinned.
"I can do voices!" I smirked. I grabbed the nearest picture book. "Hello Mr Taguel!" I read in the squeakiest voice I could. "I'm Mr Mouse!" I continued, and was about to change to Mr Taguel's gruff voice when I saw my children. Morgan was laughing, his sides splitting underneath his smooth hands which had never held a weapon – a fact I was silently grateful for with every passing day. Marc was looking at me like I was the stupidest mother in the world.
"Why don't we think of another story…" I mumbled, putting 'Hello Mr Taguel' back down. "I know a good one about your father…." I sighed, leaning back against the wall behind Marc's bed.
"If it's about the time he fell into the pond at Christmas we've heard it." Marc mumbled.
"Oh! Oh! What about how you and papa met?" Morgan grinned, his toothy gaps a much welcomed sign.
"I don't know…." I sighed, not wanting to open the can of worms that came with telling them the story of how I met their father.
"Please, mama?" Marc asked from beside me, eyes wide with anticipation. I sighed.
"I wanted to save the story that comes with it until you were much older."
"We're plenty old!" Morgan sprung up, pretending to flex like he'd seen various soldiers do. I laughed and ruffled his hair.
"Those who are plenty old stay in bed when their mothers ask." Morgan paled and quickly dashed back to bed, pulling his covers up to his cheeks and looking at me with his wide, impatient eyes. I sighed.
"Alright." I relented, smiling at my children. "Kids, this is how I met your father…."
A/N: I own nothing!