"First wave, we'll fan out towards the bridges, minding the archers…" Xander's voice rang at the fringe of Takumi's attention.

Read as: glory-mongering mounts leaving slim pickings for the rest of us…

"The third wave will break into separate teams; healers, keep up towards the second wave, mages flank left towards the generals and armored units…" Corrin gestured across a broad map, carefully drawn using Kaze's field notes and Yukimura's miraculous cartographical experience.

Fine by me, arrows can hardly dent their armor anyway…

Ryoma strong baritone boomed next. "All other footmen in the second wave, fan out right for coverage and towards the bridges, following the first wave. Any questions?"

Takumi sat back in his chair, arms folded as he surveyed his comrades at the war meeting. Ryoma, Xander and Corrin sat at the head of a great table as they delivered the final plan for tomorrow's march. Each meeting was longer than the last, increasingly meticulous as the forces thickened and the terrain grew more erratic near the Vallite castle. The three of them, though paragons of strong and wise leaders, were weary beneath the surface. Xander's posture was unfailingly crisp as he held his head high, but the slope of his brow somber. The fire in Ryoma's gaze cooled to embers. Corrin leaned heavily upon the table as she gestured across charts and maps, and, when she believed to be unwatched, the optimistic smile that she wore for her comrades evaporated like morning mist.

The meeting adjourned quickly with few questions from the ranks. Everyone knew their role and played to the best of their abilities, wholeheartedly placing their lives on the tacticians' plans. The weight did not sit lightly upon the three of them.

Takumi lingered in his chair as his fellows dispersed to their nightly customs before bed. Saizo and Kaze departed for their rounds, Kaden's ears perked as he sought out belly rubs before a nap, Odin monologued theatrically with Elise, and Niles set off in the direction of his favorite haunt – the bathhouse. Some departed in twos, Takumi noted with a raised eyebrow; Selena's sharp bark was heard berating a nonplussed Subaki, and his own elder brother fell in step with Scarlet on her way out the back.

Chewing on his lower lip, his eyes roved in search of the middle Nohrian princess. For all of the grief he gave his family for mollycoddling her, he couldn't help but succumb as well; even a charismatic leader needs to be looked after, especially in such trying times.

Silas seemed to have the same idea. Corrin beamed as she was joined by the young Nohrian knight, thanking him as he took an armful of scrolls from her. A hard grimace set Takumi's jaw as the two ducked out the door into the central quad, chatting animatedly. He was only dimly cognizant of the impropriety as he rose from his chair and followed with long, silent strides.

He skirted the sides of buildings as he trailed the pair, capitalizing on the swatches of darkness between the buildings and remaining unnoticed. Only ending consonants and the occasional bubble of laughter reached Takumi's ears as they paused outside of the armory, but he didn't dare edge closer and risk discovery. Rooted against the wall of the nearby mess hall, the absurdity of his position struck him like a sword hilt to the gut.

What am I doing?

What right do I have, following her and her scummy Nohrian friends around like some kind of overbearing father? Just because he got to share her childhood that was taken from us, from me…

After all I put her through, what right do I have to begrudge her choice of company? Of friendship?

An unfamiliar emotion, guilt and regret and something else, gnawed at Takumi's belly as he slid to the grass along the wall of the mess hall. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, tuning out Corrin and Silas' chatter and listening beyond them, past the armory towards the brook, the wind rustling in the peach tree, the cackle of the forge in the smith. Sight eliminated, his other senses sharpened and he indulged in the cool grass beneath his fingertips, the smell of leather and polish from the armory, a chilled breeze erupting in gooseflesh across his forearms.

So absorbed in his distraction, Takumi completely missed the footsteps approaching from the armory.

"Lord Takumi?"

His eyes flew open and met those of the knight as he scrambled to his feet. Even caught by surprise Silas was respectful, brows knit in concern.

"Is something wrong?"

Takumi's mind blanked. No friendly excuse, explanation or lie came to him – only embarrassment and jealousy.

"No."

"Are you sure? You're not unwell, are you…?"

Silas trailed in his examination. An unsettling glare from the prince sent a shiver down his back, and he backpedaled hastily.

"I, uh… was just heading back. Long meeting, best be rested for tomorrow's march." He gestured lamely towards his bunk with a sheepish grin.

"Right." Takumi muscled his face back to neutrality. "We need the best from our first wave tomorrow, take care of yourself."

A knot in Silas' brow relaxed and his next smile reached his eyes. "Knowing that we have unflappable support close by should be enough to get us by. Good night, Lord Takumi."

Takumi watched his swirl of grey-blue hair meander towards the Nohrian side of camp, arms crossed. Unwilling to be left alone with his discomfiture, he padded to the armory and hefted the door open.

The groan of the heavy wooden door straining its hinges startled Corrin, who squeaked as she dropped an armful of bows to the ground in surprise. She cursed, cringing at the sharp clang of steel against the stone floor.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Takumi met her in quick strides, stooping to retrieve the fallen weaponry. "Hold on, where do you think you were going with these bows? Your hand hasn't healed yet."

"I know, don't worry – it's too dark to practice anyway." She grunted as she hefted an armload of bows onto a workbench. "Just running some inventory and checking the tension. Everything needs to be accounted before tomorrow's march…"

Even with her back to him, Takumi caught the desperate overtone and heavy slope of her shoulders sagging under responsibility. He reached forward, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"Corrin?"

When she turned, a trademark smile had been restored to her features. "And I'm getting restless, being unable to practice until my hand closes entirely." She held her palm up for him – although the welt across her palm was much shallower than before, the deepest sections had yet to heal over.

Takumi smirked. "You've really gotten into this, haven't you?"

"I really have! It's devastatingly hard, but you're a good teacher." She let her hand fall to her side with a sigh. "I hope I'm coming along fast enough and not wasting your time."

"Don't worry, you're not." Corrin's snort of disbelief made Takumi roll his eyes. "Really. You're actually very talented. And," he paused, sobering. "I should apologize. That you've gone through this training and hurt yourself at all was to prove your loyalty to Hoshido. Even I can see your dedication, and I hope you can forgive me for doubting you in the first place."

Corrin was transfigured. She drew herself to her fullest (diminutive) height, shoulders un-slumping and the spark underneath her expression re-igniting.

"Thank you, Takumi. I'm so glad you gave me the chance." Her radiant smile cooled a degree. "Will you still train with me? Even without the proof-of-loyalty shtick?"

"Of course, I'll gladly continue as soon as you're ready. Speaking of," Takumi paused, rummaging in his pockets. "Here. It's a salve that might help your hand heal faster."

He withdrew a small tin of ointment, ornately decorated with a beach glass top. Corrin took it gently, running her fingers across the smooth glass surface and the finely hammered inlay.

"Wow. Thank you," She exhaled, working the lid free of the tin. "This is great! I've been dying to get back to work with you."

"Me too, Corrin." Takumi smiled, rolling his sleeves back. "Let's get these calibrated quickly and get you to bed so you can fix that hand of yours."


The faint glow of a lantern threw only enough light to recover half of the room from shadow. Takumi paced the perimeter of the light, having relit the light for what felt like the hundredth time that evening as he rolled out of bed. The routine of rising, walking until he found relief or unbeatable exhaustion, had a new edge to it tonight.

Instead of Sumeragi or Mikoto's lifeless forms barring him from sleep, it was Corrin. This version was unharmed, strong, and the ring of her laughter and snippets of their idle chatter as they worked wound their way through his consciousness. The way her head cocked when she was deep in thought, her ferocity on the field perfectly complementing her drive for peace, the crippling naiveté and insightful wisdom produced by a childhood of captivity. Everything churned through his head, driving him in the same tiring circuit. Each time he passed his door he recited a mantra, willing himself to remain in his room.

Don't do it. Don't leave. Don't look for her.

Takumi longed for the bitter resentment he used to carry for Corrin. That was predictable, rooted in a tangible event, reliable. Friendship is easy enough too, albeit higher maintenance. Upkeep on friendship requires a lot more emotional vulnerability than he was used to, but he was willing to compromise.

Anything but this. Anything but needing to will himself away from the door, away from his longer circuit around the amber spring. Having to shoo the nagging worry that she might be awake, worrying alone on her balcony.

Having to quash the impulse to climb the ladder, pull her into her arms and hold her until her doubt and uncertainty abates. To stroke her hair and let her know that he's there for her.

To lean in and plant a kiss on her brow, and see that smile he'd grown dangerously fond of.

This can't be. This is wrong. She's my sister.

A heady high contended with a sickening rolling in his stomach, driving him back to the bed with a groan. Takumi hung his head in his hands and was struck by a sudden sense of déjà vu. He barked one humorless laugh to himself.

Progress from wishing death on her, I guess… But I can't let this happen.

What do I do?

He rolled onto his side and sighed, turning to extinguish the lamp for the hundredth time. As he reached for the lantern, his eyes fell over his writing desk. On it sat an old family portrait, commissioned after Corrin's kidnapping. Sakura couldn't have been more than six, kneeling stiffly in a ceremonial kimono that swallowed her tiny figure. Takumi came next, wrestled into a smart outfit and looking none too thrilled about it, followed by Hinoka and Ryoma, sitting maturely with their backs straight. On their shoulders lay the hands of Mikoto and Sumeragi, proud and joyful save for a nearly indistinguishable sadness in Mikoto's expression.

Mother, you always knew exactly what I needed to hear. What I would give for your advice…

Takumi sat bolt upright.

Of course.

He threw open the drawers of his desk, shaking out every paper and book until he found what he was looking for. Wedged between textbooks at the back of his desk lay an envelope, heavy and closed with a Hoshidan royal seal on the back. The front bore a simple inscription in long script – my dear Takumi.