A/N: I'm back, and trying something new! After months of trying to map this story out and meticulously combing Fates supports, I give you this. This story will be 5 chapters in all - the prologue from Gunter and then one chapter for each Nohrian sibling.
Warning: The whip Garon gave Gunter plays a role in one part of this chapter, though only to prompt some afterthoughts. If the word alone freaks you out though, this warning's for you.
It was a perfect lie.
You were one of us.
But you never belonged here.
And all those years, somehow – deep down – you knew.
But in spite of it all, we were a family.
And in spite of it all, we still found ourselves here.
Unsurprisingly, it was another eerily dark evening in Nohr. The Northern Fortress was left to be shrouded in fog and the shadows of the clouds above, a near-full moon casting its pale light over their gray masses as it lay amongst dim stars. Within the mountains of Nohr's northern lands, the fortress provided the only burning light between the steep peaks and dying forests that surrounded it. However, despite being a source of light, the fortress was growing darker and darker from within by the minute – figuratively speaking, that is.
"What do you mean 'she won't leave her room?'"
King Garon could be heard from most corners of the fortress as he yelled. He had a voice that, when anger found it, boomed through every hall and pierced each heart that it crossed with fear. It was the voice of a man who'd felt no other emotion in far too long – hollow, gravelly, and completely possessed with an anger far too large for any given situation.
Gunter flinched inwardly from where he stood before the king. His ears were met with the echoes of Garon's shouting as the stone walls of the entryway reflected the sounds. The knight suspected it was this very voice that had sent the young princess scurrying to the safety of her bedroom. Just as it had in the times before.
"Your Highness, if I may," the guard began with his head bowed, sure to keep his voice as level as possible. He knew all too well the extent of the king's wrath when he felt slighted. "I think it wise to wait for the princess to come to you."
Garon's gaze flared, the chandelier's light from above them turning haunting as they reflected in his cold, red eyes. His brows lowered and twisted with rage. His stare carried a burning and unrelenting indignation, boring through Gunter with an ever-present fury that none could ever speak out against.
"I am the king!" he bellowed, his voice echoing up the store stairwell. A young man who stood guard at the foot of the steps flinched, gripping his lance a bit harder in fear. No doubt this voice was reaching the young princess as well, scaring her to her very core. "Am I expected to wait on the whims of another?"
With a shallow sigh, Gunter resigned. With what respect he could muster, he replied, "No, milord."
He feared for the child, for if her father – or rather, simply the king, to be more correct – were to find her while he was in such an agitated state... Well, a guard was in no position to judge the actions of his king, but to lash out against a child would be needlessly cruel, would it not?
Thankfully, Garon followed his feelings of exasperation rather than rage. He turned on his heel and beckoned to his personal guard with a commanding wave of his hand, and he left the Northern Fortress for the capital city. In his wake he left an entire staff of frightened servants, a defeated knight, and a scared young princess who'd spend the remainder of the evening in the safety of her bedroom.
Unwittingly, Gunter let out a breath he'd not consciously been holding. To see Garon's wrath unleashed on yet another child... He wouldn't be able to bear it. He knew the princess' cries of pain would only echo in his mind as the cries of a young boy, of a woman he'd loved all his life. Garon had hurt and taken too many in Gunter's life, and oh how the knight – the victim left standing in the void their departed souls had left behind – wished the king would suffer.
The king, but not necessarily the princess.
Two days later, a black carriage arrived at the gates of the fortress. Its horses, clad in the fine black and gold armor of the royal capital, immediately indicated a summons from the king. As proof of this, the coachman delivered a white scroll to the doorstep, leaving it in Gunter's hands. It seemed he was to report to Castle Krakenburg. He had a feeling they would be discussing the princess, and he had an even stronger hunch that it would not mean good things for her.
He went dutifully, although a dark pit rested in his stomach through the entirety of the carriage ride. The last time he'd ridden to the capital palace like this, the king had had a very strange offer for him indeed. The last time, he'd been offered the blood of a dragon. The last time, he'd vowed never to return.
The knight reminded himself to keep his wits about him. With a slow inhale and exhale, he cleared his mind of anxieties and focused on the scenery passing by outside the window, the clopping of the horses' hooves on the dirt roads. The shadows that covered Nohr looked more foreboding that day.
"Gunter..." King Garon's voice scratched from his throat. He gazed down at the knight without amusement, his arms resting stiff and strong on the sides of his throne. Vines sprawled across the walls behind him, framing him in an ominous light. The vision of menacing: The Obsidian King.
Gunter stood before him at the foot of the steps to the throne, hands clasped at the base of his back, head bowed in respect. Although, was it truly out of respect, or was it out of a desperate will to avoid the gaze of that sinful statue in the ceiling?
Looking down from his perch, Garon spoke in slow, heavy words. "You, who lead my armies to victory. You, who turned away the blood of a dragon, as though you had any right to refuse the king who offered it to you. You, who I have given a second chance to redeem himself..."
His voice rose a decibel or two, more threatening than if he'd simply yelled. Yelling, Gunter was used to. Yelling, he could handle, but this cold, calculated tone betrayed schemes and plans unspoken. He half expected Garon to explode and reveal his intentions any moment, but the king remained controlled on his throne, eyes never leaving his subject and arms never leaving their stone armrests.
"You are failing."
Failing? Gunter's eyes finally rose in shock, quickly meeting the king's and awaiting an explanation. Failing in what? Failing how? He'd done everything asked of him thus far. Every menial task, every immoral command, he'd obeyed in the interest of holding the king's trust and his connection to the princess. How, exactly, had he failed? He wanted to shout in indignation, but bit his tongue and settled for a controlled, "My lord?"
Garon sat straighter, stronger in his throne. His eyes looked down at the knight, steadily growing more and more ablaze with a familiar anger. Gunter felt his stomach sink very slightly. Here came the explosion...
"I have entrusted you with the knowledge of Corrin's origins," he said. "And I have entrusted you with the task of making her into a Nohrian: proud, unflinching, and strong."
Gunter recoiled almost invisibly. Of course, he aimed to turn the young princess into a true Nohrian someday, for they were a people worth the pride they held in their hearts. Admirable and brave they were; this Gunter knew, for he'd fought as a Nohrian side by side with his people. He'd experienced their determination, their loyalty and their camaraderie firsthand.
But the fact of the matter was that Princess Corrin was no Nohrian. As it was – her hiding away in her room, her memories constantly being wiped by "healers" until nothing remained – it was hard enough to get her to function, let alone bend to the will of another. He could no more make her into a Nohrian than he could make the afternoon sky into a blanket of stars.
"And in your time with her," Garon continued to press. Slowly, he rose from his throne and made short steps towards Gunter as he spoke, his feet landing with unsettling thuds as they descended the steps to the knight's level below. His voice grew angrier as he closed in on his subject. "You've allowed her to remain a weakling who hides away from any and all contact! I already had one child who behaved as such; I don't need another!"
Gunter remembered, however vaguely, another of Garon's children who'd been much the same. The girl had slipped quite under the radar of the Nohrian people, not being of Garon's blood, but rather his stepdaughter by the late Queen Arete. Though perhaps it truly was her relative silence and tendency to hide away that had contributed to her being forgotten. Gunter knew not what had become of the girl, but based on Garon's treatment of Corrin in her shyness, he hated to imagine an answer.
He spoke up once more to the king, finding the courage in him to speak the idea that had been forming in his head for months. If – in the past – he couldn't speak up for Corrin, then at least he would now for the young stepdaughter, whose shyness caused her to be forgotten by all. He hated to think of the new princess befalling such a fate. What use would she be if she held no power?
"With all due respect, King Garon," he said, his voice growing less tame and regaining its usual confidence. "I believe the child would open up much more willingly if we were to perhaps improve her living situation. Were she not treated as a prisoner, she may grow more comfortable with us."
Garon's face didn't react at all. He now stood right before Gunter, so close that the knight could see the cold glaze in his eyes and the shade of his even colder gray skin. Before he'd even spoken, the king made it clear that he wouldn't entertain such an idea.
"Hardship builds character," declared Garon. His face remained hardened as his voice grew louder, rising with each syllable. "I don't need her coddled, I don't need her doted on. How will she survive the conditions of a ruthless battlefield if she never once learns to survive the trivial problems of a princess in private – what some might call sheltered – fortress?''
A pause in Gunter's breath. He couldn't give up so quickly, but...
Surely Corrin could still be strong without strife? He wanted to use the other princes and the princess as an example, though he realized before speaking that Princess Camilla and Prince Leo were living anything but pampered lives, and Prince Xander... Well, he received favored treatment from his father, and he was far softer than one would wish from the crown prince of a nation of warriors. The other siblings had either been banished with their mothers, disappeared, or – in the most unlucky of cases – killed.
Gunter thought quick and hard, but one look at Garon's displeased, threatening expression, and he knew there was no argument he could make. None that would land him anywhere but on the edge of the king's axe, at least. He was getting worked up again. To continue to argue could be fatal, and he wouldn't be able to help the princess at all from his grave.
Moreover, he'd fall without ever gaining his revenge – and to the very man he so desperately wanted it against. No... he needed to live, to stay close to Garon, and live to see the day he avenged his family.
Releasing his breath, he resigned, choosing to live to fight another day.
"You're right, King Garon."
The slightest softening of the king's brows followed, the creases of anger and age in his face becoming shallower.
"I know," he said with finality. His eyes still locked in on Gunter, he reached his hand to his side. From below the fur of his magnificent cape, he drew a thin, leather object, long and coiled around itself. On one end the light flashed off a solid handle.
Gunter felt his stomach seize within him.
The king held out the whip, a coiled leather snake, waiting for Gunter to take it from him. The knight's hands raised slowly, his concentration dedicated to keeping his eyes from widening in shock. Garon couldn't mean for him to strike the poor girl, could he? She was barely five years of age...
But, alas, this was the king: cold, violent, a murderer. Of course he could.
"Take this," commanded Garon, his voice unsettling Gunter's heart more and more with each word. "And with it, shape her into a child worthy of the Nohrian royal name. One day, she will be our weapon against those eastern heathens. She'll need to be strong enough to suit the role."
And yet, all he said had a ring of truth. She was the one who would be their key to Hoshido, who could get on the inside someday. She would need to be strong enough to bear that weight on her own.
That girl, the young princess, so shy and fearful would need to be a leader, and a powerful one. As much as Gunter hated it...
"You must teach Corrin to behave. If these are the measures we must take to reach that goal, then so be it." Sensing his knight's hesitation, seeing how pensively he stared at the weapon in his hands, Garon's voice had grown to border a yell.
Closing his eyes for only the briefest of moments, Gunter resigned himself mentally to the king's orders. Corrin needed to avoid her father's wrath, as did he. Live to fight another day.
He left Windmire that day, a whip in his hand, defeated once more.
Gunter arrived back at the Northern Fortress late that evening. The sun was setting as he entered the gates, the towers of the fortress casting long shadows across the ground and even the mountains to the east. Candlelight was already burning from within. In spite of himself, his heart warmed with comfort at the sight of his home (for all intents and purposes) after this long day.
Though the day was not yet over, it seemed. Not a moment passed after the wooden doors of the entryway fell closed behind him before Gunter heard his name being called.
Weary from both his travels and his conversation with the king, the knight looked up tiredly. One of the guards was making his way down the stairs at the end of the stone hallway, his sights set on the man whose name he was calling.
"Sir Gunter!" the young guard called, his light armor hanging loose on his slender form as he descended the stairs. A hard tapping came from the solid material of his boots and greaves as his feet hit the stone floors and approached their target.
Eyeing the boy with mild curiosity when at last he stood before Gunter, the older man replied, "Yes?"
A quick, deep breath and the guard replied carefully, "The princess has locked herself in her room again."
And so it began... The whip in Gunter's hands seemed to weigh a bit more in that moment.
"It's becoming a problem, sir," the knight continued delicately. The pinch in his eyebrows and worry in his eyes indicated a short time working in the castle – the rest of the staff had grown accustomed to the princess' self-confinement. This man, however, still seemed to hold a sensitivity which the others had already lost."She's refusing to come to her piano lessons, the maids can't get in to clean... The cooks say she hasn't accepted food since her last healing session."
'Since her last healing session'? This did manage to catch Gunter's attention.
On the first day of each month, the fortress was visited by sorcerers under the clever disguise of clerics. As far as the staff – ignorant to Princess Corrin's true heritage – knew, the healers came to treat the princess for her supposed "condition" which made her so physically frail as to need constant supervision, isolation, and a barrier around her fortress to make its inhabitants strong.
In reality, these "healers" came to wipe the girl of her memories. Each month, more and more would disappear from her mind until she remembered nothing of her life in Hoshido, of anything before Garon and Nohr. It was a necessary step in building her loyalty to Nohr; this, Gunter knew.
But her last healing session had been the day before Garon had come to check up on her. The day before last.
"She hasn't eaten in two days?" asked Gunter, appalled. A seed of worry grew in his stomach for the child's welfare, but also for the knowledge that Garon would be less than pleased to hear his new daughter was starving – be it by her own accord or otherwise.
"No, sir, she hasn't," the guard replied in a solemn voice. Seemingly as concerned as Gunter was, he asked with red, knitted brows, "What shall we do?"
"You've allowed her to remain weak." Garon's voice echoed in Gunter's mind, chilling his feet and heart alike.
His fingers gripped the whip, still curled in his hand, a bit harder. Whether out of determination or anger, resolve or simply the notion of steeling himself, he didn't know.
Following his short pause of contemplation, the knight firmly decided on his actions. He would heed King Garon's commands just as he always had, and he would find a way to deal with the repercussions on his own terms – just as he always had. It was better this way; he could go easier on the young girl than her father would. He could make her understand. Even if it went against the very fibers of his being...
"Leave it to me," declared Gunter, explaining thereafter his orders from the king.
The guard's eyes widened with concern as Gunter recounted to him the contents of his counsel with the king. His surprise at hearing the cruelties of the Northern Fortress left no doubt in Gunter's mind that this young man was a new recruit.
"Sir?" the boy choked out, his young voice cracking and rising yet an octave higher. His eyes shot an appalled glance at the weapon in his superior's hand. With a genuine worry, he whispered, "You aren't going to...?"
"The king's orders are final." Gunter could speak with nothing but finality. As far as anyone in the fortress was concerned, those words were and would remain the truth – absolute and undisputed. "It would do you well to learn that now, ehm..." He faltered upon realizing he didn't know the new recruit's name.
"Cecil, sir," the boy finished curtly. But it seemed he hadn't quite said his piece yet. Once again, he attempted to speak up in the princess' defense. "But do you really think-"
"It is not our place to think. It is not our place to judge orders," Gunter interrupted, lest the boy continue any further than he – as the head of the household – could allow. His heart was in the right place, but in this very moment, that would only cause him trouble. "Especially not where the king is involved."
Cecil clearly wanted to fight back, but he made the wise decision to heed Gunter's word. It wasn't the place of an underling – or of any citizen, for that matter – to judge the judgment of the king. A man didn't tell the gardener how to plant the food grown for him, just as he didn't tell the king how to rule the land that housed him.
Reluctantly stepping aside, the poor Cecil resigned and allowed his superior to ascend the staircase behind him. Gunter didn't hear him walk away as he climbed the stone staircase. He could almost see the young man standing behind him, following his ascension with guilt-laden brown eyes. A couple weeks more in the fortress, and the softheartedness would be stomped out of him, no doubt. The cold, stone walls – so full of secrets – always seemed to have that effect on a man.
Gunter pulled his set of keys from his armor. He could open any door in the castle, each key to each door – including the princess' – dangling from one metal ring. He searched out the right one, large and thick to fit the equally sizable lock, and slid it into place within the ornate, wooden door. He was met with resistance as he tried to turn the lock open, but eventually he heard a loud click that proceeded to faintly echo down the stairwell behind him. He had no doubt that if Cecil was still waiting down below, he'd flinched.
Gunter expected light to pour into the hallway from the princess' quarters, but as he pushed the door open wider, it became clearer this would not be the case. His eyes scanned the room, adjusting to the faint evening sun filtering through closed curtains, turning gray as it fought through the dark fabric and tried to stream into her room. Her bed stood in the center of her quarters, unmade and bathed in the shadows. He saw her bookshelf, her vanity, all of her few possessions collecting dust, all in desperate need of the maids their owner was locking out of her room.
And lastly, his eyes fell on her.
She was easy to oversee. Huddled at the foot of her bed before Gunter, her dark dress blended in with the bleakness of her bedroom and drowned her in too much fabric; had it truly only been two days since she'd eaten? It seemed she'd been standing at the door before he'd entered, trying to keep him out, for she now sat cowering away from the handle, pulling her little knees to her chest.
Princess Corrin looked up at Gunter with eyes that stopped him cold. They were red – a painful reminder of her heritage, but it was not their color that froze his feet where he stood. It was the fear in them, unlike any he'd seen in even in all his years on the battlefield. Brimming tears reflected the terror in her heart back at him, and her one frightened glance at the whip in his hand sent his heart sinking towards his stomach.
She looked so small, so pitiful as she cowered on the ground, wordless. Though she needn't say a thing; the look she gave Gunter said all that was needed. The sorcerers may have been able to wipe the violence and pain of her past from her mind, but her heart had to remember still. Her father had been killed before her, her new father had sent her to the fortress and deprived her of life's joys by locking her away, the sorcerers cast painful and draining spells on her to make her forget it all. And here stood a man before her, sent by her kidnapper, captor and father, and she knew he was here to harm her yet once more.
This was surely why she'd been hiding to start with. She wasn't just frightened by Garon; she was frightened by the world. She was miserable. What could striking her do to fix that? All that a lash of a whip would do was break her trust further. All that would do was validate her fear and push her further away. It would only hurt her more.
Looking at the princess' quivering lip, a feeling awakened in Gunter that he'd not felt in many, many years. His heart ached for her in sympathy; she was only a child. He felt the instinct to wipe her tears away, to protect her and assure her that everything would be all right. She was small and fragile, almost as old as his boy had been when he'd been taken by King Garon, though he'd not been fortunate enough to be sent to a fortress. Garon had sent him straight to the grave...
That final thought was enough to draw Gunter to his senses. He remembered why he'd taken this post at the Northern Fortress – to use Corrin and gain his revenge on the king who'd taken everything from him. But one thing had never truly been taken from Gunter, and that was the instinct to protect such small and innocent beings. To take them in your arms and allow them to feel safe, to forever shelter them from harm. To show them there was nothing to fear as long as they have you.
Garon may have taken everything from him, but he was still a father. He would always be a father, whether or not his child yet walked the earth. And a true father could never strike a child, duties be damned.
"Good evening, princess," he whispered, loosening his grip on the whip in his hand Corrin's eyes settled so very slightly, and her quivering lip stilled as she watched the knight cautiously. Using the first excuse he could think of, Gunter simply told the girl, "Your dinner will be brought to you shortly. I must beg you eat this evening."
Almost hesitantly, Gunter let his eyes break away from Corrin's. She watched him with a mouth slightly agape as he backed out of the room. Surely she'd noticed the moment he'd gone through his sudden change of conscience and had been confused, but Gunter noticed the relief flickering into her eyes just before he closed the door shut.
He felt as though he ought to scold himself for cowardice, backing away from the king's orders without so much as a good lie as he did so. The princess was young, but surely she wasn't so daft as to think he'd gone to her quarters to inform her it was her dinnertime like some common maid. Even she had probably seen through that transparent excuse.
However, as much as he wanted to, Gunter couldn't bring himself to feel guilty. In fact, for the first time since coming to the fortress, he felt he might have finally done the truly right thing. He felt a piece of.. himself, rather than the cold, perfect knight. Rather than the man focused solely on getting even.
At the foot of the stairs, he was met again by Cecil, who watched him with worried, expectant eyes. The boy shot a glance at the whip, noticing it was still rolled up and in Gunter's hand just as it had been before.
When he reached the final step, Gunter approached the young guard with authority, looking him straight in the eyes and making very clear, "If anyone asks you, I followed through. Understood?"
A few inches away from Gunter's face – close, serious and threatening – Cecil's eyes widened, a flurry of emotions running through them in a second as they met: worry, relief, happiness, and finally realization. Gunter had made clear before that following the king's orders was a must, and breaking them was entirely out of line. By leaving Corrin be, the knight had broken an order. Neither man wanted to see what would happen if word of this got out; Gunter could be dismissed, and it was without a doubt better that the princess keep her guard who would not harm her.
"Yes, Sir Gunter," replied Cecil. He nodded his red-haired head dutifully, total understanding on his soft face.
Just as they'd finished, a maid rushed by the two men with a bowl of soup in her hands. She sent a respectful greeting Gunter's way and quickly began to ascend the stairs to the princess' room. In the bowl, Gunter's eyes caught sight of an utterly bland broth, thick and brown – no doubt made from the leftover wheat in the kitchens that wasn't used on bread. There were hardly any vegetables, no meat at all in the bowl either... Was this all the princess was being given?
"A small wonder she doesn't eat," Cecil said, drawing Gunter back to his surroundings.
The knight replied with an affirmative "hm." The poor child... It really wasn't a mystery why she'd not eaten. Deprived of contact, deprived of family and love, and now deprived of a decent dinner. How else was a five year old child to react to being given soup made of mere leftovers?
A spark ignited in his mind, suddenly as a flash of lightning. It was a small idea, he thought, but perhaps if he were lucky it would help Corrin. Perhaps, if he were tactful...
That night, he went to his room, anxious for the morning. He fell asleep with his plan in mind and a course of action already worked out. All he needed to do was wait for breakfast.
When he retired to bed that night, he left the whip from Garon sitting on his dresser, and there he let it lay.
At breakfast the following morning, Gunter sat at a full length table alone, just as usual. He'd risen early, taken an omelet with vegetables and fresh baked bread, just as usual. Through the tall windows to his left, he could see the rays of the sun just beginning to rise. At this time, he'd normally be heading out to the barracks to train. Today, however, he sat patiently at the table once he'd finished his meal, and he waited.
A good few minutes passed as he sat before his empty plate. Usually, he simply left his dishes at the table to be collected by one of the maids, but today was the day he would set his plan of action into motion. It would all begin with one request...
Finally, the maid serving him that morning entered the dining hall on the far side. She scurried in on her way to the kitchens with a bowl of food she'd picked up from someone's room in her hands. Gunter recognized it as the cheap bowl filled with soup that had been brought to Corrin's quarters the night before. From the way the maid carried it, it seemed to be still full.
So she'd skipped another meal... All the more reason to ask:
"Esme," Gunter called, signaling the maid. The young woman halted in her tracks, her short hair swinging as she turned her head towards the knight. Eyes widened and bowl still in hand, she awaited his request. Politely and inconspicuously, he requested, "I'll have seconds."
Esme put on a lovely smile and nodded in understanding. "Yes, sir. Right away." She continued on to the kitchens, and Gunter let out a breath of air he hadn't known he'd been holding.
He never ordered seconds; the breakfast he was given was always enough to fill him up until lunch. But even today, he wouldn't be eating a second helping. Oh no. This extra serving was going to someone who surely was much more hungry than he...
Escaping Esme's good service had been no simple feat. True, she had only been doing her job, but when Gunter had told her he'd been taking his second serving of breakfast up to his private quarters, she'd been beside herself offering to carry it for him. A good maid on the whole, but a poor one when trying to sneak food away to a young princess.
He'd made sure no one had followed him on his way to Princess Corrin's bedroom. The only soul he'd passed at this early hour was Cecil at the foot of the stairs, still stationed as the princess' guard for the night. The young man had seen the plate of food in Gunter's hand and seemed to understand, saying nothing but smiling slightly nonetheless. No doubt he was glad to bear witness to the dutiful boss' seemingly sudden change of heart.
Upon reaching Corrin's bedroom, Gunter knocked as lightly as he could and still be heard. No response came. He decided to test the handle, unsurprisingly locked. Finally, he balance the plate of food in his left hand, fishing out his keys and unlocking the door with his right. Slowly, so as not to startle the poor girl, Gunter nudged the door open.
It was dark, as per usual. The only difference to the previous night was that the princess was now huddled in her bed under her covers. A plate of scrambled eggs was going cold alongside a glass of water on her bedside table; Gunter figured Esme had recently brought the girl's breakfast up when she'd taken away last night's dinner. Corrin, however, hadn't seemed to touch her food.
"Good morning, princess," Gunter greeted the young girl warmly but carefully. The last thing he wanted was to scare her further.
Quietly, he shut the door behind him, letting it click shut and close out the relative brightness of the hallway. The princess remained unresponsive, pretending to be asleep under her blanket.
"I noticed you haven't been eating recently," continued Gunter. Slowly, trying to keep his boots from making too scary of a clanking noise, he made for the princess' bedside. "I thought I'd bring you something special and see if I couldn't persuade you to try it."
Still no response. As he approached her bedside, Corrin opened her eyes from the briefest flash, only to squeeze them back shut when she realized the scary metal man could see her. Gunter almost smiled, realizing just how much a child she still was underneath all of the special circumstances.
How would he have handled this situation with his child?
Bittersweetly, Gunter remembered his boy. The little one could be convinced to do anything so long as he heard it would make him big and strong, just like the knights and warriors he looked up to. Though Gunter doubted "strength" was a word Corrin would be eager to hear. She heard it enough already from her father and the staff. But perhaps something else...
Gunter gingerly picked up a warm piece of bread from the plate – rich brown, soft, warm... When he held it out to her, its smell evidently wafted to her nose, for she sniffed ever so slightly and cracked her eyes open an inch.
"Why don't you try some bread?" Gunter offered kindly. "It's supposed to give you lots of energy. I eat it every morning so I'm ready to brave the day. Try some."
Perhaps in her fear, a promise of bravery was all she needed.
He pushed the piece of bread a bit closer to her, encouraging her to take it. For a long moment, he really thought she would still refuse. She sat unmoving, staring wide-eyed at the food before her for the longest time. However, she eventually gave into hunger or curiosity, pushed her covers back, and slowly moved to sit on her knees.
Gunter's heart beat a bit faster in excitement as Corrin carefully took the bread from his hands. He couldn't tear his eyes away as she tore off a tiny piece with her equally little hands, examining it curiously before lifting it into her mouth. Slowly, lightly, she chewed...
She smiled.
By the gods, she'd smiled!
It was a sight to bring a man to tears, this small, frightened young girl sitting before him, wasting away to nothing and finally taking joy in a meal. A soft 'mmm" hummed in her throat, and that smile seemed to involuntarily spread itself across her pale cheeks.
Gunter couldn't help but mirror her expression. He'd not seen her face so bright, not in the months since her father had arrived with her at the fortress and left her. She'd been solemn in all her activities, barely spoken a word. Who knew it would only take a piece of bread to bring out such a smile?
Again, Corrin ripped a piece of bread off and stuffed it in her mouth, eager for more. She chewed faster now, her hunger evidently catching up with her at the warm, delicious stimulus.
Once she'd swallowed, she looked up at Gunter with shy eyes and said in a tiny voice, "Thank you."
Gunter let out a chuckle and smiled at her. "You're very welcome, princess," he said softly. He now readily offered the rest of his plate to her in high hopes that she'd accept it. "I brought you an omelet and some fresh vegetables as well. Won't you try them as well?"
The princess' hands, still holding her bread, went still as her eyes stared at the plate. She looked longing, hungry, but her gaze soon fell upon Gunter instead.
"I've already eaten," the knight assured her, an amused tone in his voice. She seemed to have a kind heart, if nothing else. "You don't have to worry. Take it; it's yours."
After a beat of hesitation, Corrin took the plate from him, but not before quickly bowing at the neck in gratitude.
Gunter felt a sinking pit in his stomach for a moment thereafter. In Nohr, one nodded their head to show gratitude – and that was if any physical indication came at all. Bowing was a habit almost humorously distinctive of the eastern lands – of Hoshido. Thankfully, Corrin didn't seem to notice she'd done anything remarkable. She didn't seem to realize she'd done something out of the ordinary, meaning she likely couldn't attribute it to the land she'd come from. The sorcerers had wiped a lot from her memory, but it seemed they still had a ways to go... The poor soul.
Nonetheless, Gunter wiped the moment from his own mind and enjoyed the feeling of comfort that came at seeing the princess gobbling up the warm, fluffy omelet, chomping down on a bright orange carrot or crispy sweet pepper in between bites.
Patiently, he waited on her to finish her meal, making a kind comment or two here and there. When she was done, he took the plate back. He'd have to bring it back down to the kitchens as his own.
"So," he began as the princess sat quietly again on her bed. He looked her in the eyes and was glad to see she could make a bit more eye contact with him than before. "Do you feel ready to brave the day, milady?"
She seemed uncertain still, and Gunter half feared she'd dive back under her covers and hide. But when he held a hand out to her, she was able to take it very slowly. She nodded her head almost invisibly. Thanks to her special bread, she was ready to brave the day.
"Wonderful," said Gunter encouragingly. He held her hand as she crawled down from her bed, her short legs unable to reach the floor without a small leap down. Standing still, he nudged her lightly with his hand towards her dresser. "Why don't you get dressed? Your piano tutor will be here in about an hour, though you're welcome to come down earlier if you like."
He left her to get ready in her room, feeling a brilliant mixture of joy and unease. He knew that in pampering her, he was going directly against the king's orders. She was to focus on her studies, later on training. She was to live as a well-educated, cultured soldier, more or less. But Gunter had given her a luxury she had never been promised, and had even been indirectly denied to her by the king. Never would he have thought himself a man to ignore orders... But the memory of the smile on little Corrin's face, that alone was enough to provide him with solace for the time being.
Gunter began his training for the day after he'd dropped off the plate from "his seconds" with Esme in the dining hall. However, as he made to leave the fortress, he saw the young princess seated on the stairs next to Cecil, dressed for her lessons. Another smile was growing on her face as the young guard charmed her.
Perhaps there was some hope left in this situation yet... Yes, perhaps in her fear, a promise of bravery was all she needed.
As the seasons turned, Corrin grew ever more confident.
"Fortune smiles on the brave and frowns upon the coward," Gunter often told her. "Do you understand what that means? It means that if you find the strength in yourself to face the things you're most scared of, you'll be able to live a life free and bold. Cowardice will earn you nothing but the gods ensuring you never learn to make tough decisions or face the demons that haunt you."
So brave she became, and braver every day.
It began when Gunter turned the whip – that dreadful reminder of his orders from Garon – into a leather ball. He'd gone to her room and rolled it to her. She'd thrown it back with surprisingly good aim and a smile breaking her lips. She loved to play, he discovered, and he led her outside of her room for the first time in months to play catch in the garden. No one said a word against it; he'd finally gotten her out of her shell.
Through the months and through her healing sessions, Corrin did, however, still find herself plagued by spells of sleeplessness. Be it from pain or fear or memories that she couldn't explain, Gunter often could tell she was awake by the candlelight he'd see burning from up in her tower – she still had a lingering fear of darkness, likely due to her formative years spent in the sun.
He would read to her on such nights. While "on patrol of the castle" or "just going for a nightly stroll," he'd find his way to Corrin's room to read her one of the fairy tales she so loved from her bookshelf. However, this served a higher purpose than putting her to sleep.
As an older, wiser man, Gunter could often pick out a story's morals better than the young princess, and he'd weave them into a larger lesson to teach to her. Lessons of kindness, fairness, justice, honesty, or bravery. In doing so, he hoped...
Well, he wasn't sure what he hoped. As she continued to grow older, he became less and less sure of his purpose in the castle. Was he not there to gain revenge on King Garon? Did he not accept the position in hopes that he could use the new princess against her father?
Perhaps he did. Perhaps he taught her such kindheartedness in hopes of pulling her further away from the king, that one day she'd clash against his ideals and turn against him. Perhaps he did it to gain her trust, only to catch her off guard one day just as Garon had done to him.
But as he saw her age, growing into an ever stronger and more beautiful young woman, he could help but feel... proud. He couldn't help but be glad that he played a part in raising her, that she looked to him as one she trusted, and this joy came without ulterior motives. Most days, he couldn't help but feel that same feeling that had kept him from striking her that fateful day when she was barely five years old.
In spite of all that Garon had taken from him, beneath all the desperate desires for revenge and the feelings of loss and loathing, he wanted to protect Corrin. From the moment he saw her innocent smile, from the day she played catch with him in the garden, he wanted her to know things would be alright. He wanted to make sure she'd be alright.
He could've very well loved her as his own if only there weren't such an uncertainty in him. In the end, he knew who his true family was, and they were long gone. He would love her, yes, but in the end...
In the end, the memories of his son – so young, too young, a whole life lived with that full heart of his robbed from him at the age of four – and his wife, the beauty and his muse who had captured his heart and soul and made him the most blessed man in the realm... Those memories were simply too strong to forget. When he couldn't forget them, they hit him over and over, constant reminders to keep himself from becoming wholly attached to the princess. He had to remain loyal to his own family, and that meant avenging their deaths against the monster who caused them, no matter what the cost may be.
And so, he decided, it would be that he would continue to work in Lady Corrin's service. With his teachings, he would pull her away from Garon, that he may still be kind to her while accomplishing his personal mission. He would build her into a "strong" Nohrian, just as he'd been ordered, but he'd do it his way.
And he'd do it – every step of the way – in the hopes that she would turn against he man who'd kidnapped her and locked her up. In the hopes that Gunter himself, who disguised himself as a father figure to her, would never have to harm her on his own.
She would turn against the king, and with luck, she'd never know who had turned her.
It was a perfect lie.
A/N Well, there it is! A huge thanks to CallmeCrazylol for beta-ing for me.
For reference, my canon ages for the siblings at the start of the game are Xander 23, Camilla 21, Corrin 18, Leo 17, and Elise 12. You do the math from there ;) That's why there's no mention of Elise in this chapter - she's not even conceived yet.
Updates for this will be slow, but Camilla is up next. Please review T.T