So this is where things get interesting. Also, I meant to post these almost exactly a week ago. Marching band is fun, but that's half my week down the drain.
Warning: Implications of adult stuff. Meaning someone's having a kid.
Disclaimer: FE:A belongs to Nintendo, the Rim belongs to me, and the discussion about paperwork was inspired by a scene from Tamora Pierce's Page.
Prologue Three: New Life
An account of the events of November 23rd, in a small house on the grounds of the Ylissean palace.
It is two weeks since the attempted Awakening of Grima, and the Shepherds are overloaded with work. Chrom does not want to deal with this until things quiet down. His head thunks to the table as his wife and tactician Selauma groans sympathetically. "As if I didn't have enough problems."
"Just go down there and deal with it. It shouldn't take that long."
"Come with me. We could both use the walk."
"No arguments here. Who was the idiot who invented paperwork, anyway?"
"When I die I'm going to find him and kill him a second time. Horribly."
"I'll help."
"Help with what?" Frederick, Chrom's guard, rounds the corner.
"We were discussing the evils of paperwork as we go to deal with Cyara's little midnight escapade," Selauma informs him.
"Ah, that." Frederick says nothing else, but follows them as they stroll to the small house in the shadow of the palace. As the trio enter, they are greeted by the sight of the woman they have come to find, obviously exhausted, with a steaming mug in front of her.
"Hello." Cyara stares into her tea. Selauma chokes at the inane greeting.
Chrom begins with his usual lack of subtlety. "What exactly did you think you were doing last night?"
"I visited a healer."
"The best ones in the halidom are in the palace," Frederick points out.
"I couldn't trust them not to run to you the second my suspicion was confirmed, and if it was, I wanted to tell you myself."
"What suspicion?" Chrom was confused now.
The foreign warrior took a deep breath.
"I'm pregnant."
There are at least ten seconds between the time Cyara finishes her statement and the three Ylisseans shout, "What?"
The slender woman nods. "I carry Eryne's child."
"…Eryne?" Selauma feels compelled to ask.
"My partner. The man who gave his life at the Dragon's Table."
"Ah."
"In any case," Chrom interrupts, "Preparations will need to be made."
"Don't you dare think of fostering the child," Cyara warns.
"They'd grow up in a stable family-"
"Don't joke with me. They'd grow up different, not knowing about their blood kin. Call me selfish if you want, but this child will be the last thing I have of Eryne. I need to raise it myself."
"A captive mother," Frederick comments incredulously. "Tied to the grounds of the palace, unable to truly find friends. That's what you want?"
"You remember this?" Cyara bares her left arm up to the elbow. There is a graceful, stylized mark in the shape of a tree, a scar running straight through it. "The child will have this, or another one. They won't grow up ignorant of what that means."
Chrom capitulates. "Have it your way. Anything that goes wrong is on your head."
"I want my child, Ylissean Exalt. Surely you of all people can understand that."
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