Fall, 751:
(Five years before)

Eight years ago Reina had crept into her first council meeting in tears, too afraid to utter a single word. Now her attendance was so commonplace that the attendants outside didn't even comment beyond a 'Your Highness' and a bow before opening the door for her. Now she didn't need her father's steadying presence to walk across the room, she didn't duck her head and scurry around to him, and she didn't try to make herself as unobtrusive as possible. The fact was that they were going to notice her entering; the most graceful thing to do was apologize and let things continue.

"Apologies for the interruption," Reina said, calm, as she rounded the table to her father's side.

There were murmurs of greeting: 'Your Highness'es and 'Princess'es. The king met her gaze without a word; he didn't smile, but he didn't look displeased, either. What he did look was tired. Reina blinked, surprised by the thought. He had a great many things on his plate but he always had and she hadn't ever noticed that look on his face, before. Not since the night she had dreamed of Noctis' fate. Not just from everyday processes.

She took her seat at his side, tucking the thoughts away for later reference. She could have had a chair of her own at the table. There was space. In fact, she could have occupied the side opposite her father. But she preferred, after all those years, to sit with him. Though she hadn't grown much since twelve, she had taken to sitting on the arm of his chair, rather than in his lap. It seemed a little more dignified, for a sixteen year old.

Talk resumed as she sat. She leaned back, folding her hands in her lap and keeping careful balance; her father rested his arm over her legs, his hand on her knee. It was comfortable enough and it put her where she wanted to be. She would, truth be told, have preferred not to be listening to how poorly the defense of their borders was going, but it was important to hear, so she listened. For a time.

Most nights Reina was possessed of a determined sort of focus: a need to learn and to prove. Tonight her eyes drifted, more often than not, toward her father. She didn't doubt the exhaustion she had seen on his face, but it seemed extraordinary that they were all still there. If the king was tired it was surely better to adjourn until the following day. But discussion persisted. The longer they talked, the more she noticed: the king sat a little lower in his chair; his eyes hesitated a moment before following a change of speaker; his head tilted just a little farther forward, like it was too heavy to hold upright; and once or twice she saw him shut his eyes and hesitate to open them again.

And still they discussed.

There was concern twisting in her stomach, but above that was anger. Had none of them noticed? The king clearly needed to rest. He was the foundation that held up the Wall: the shield that protected hundreds of thousands of people and he never got to set it down. But they were dragging at his energy like parasites because there was still no decision regarding the deployment of the Kingsglaive to a new border sector. They could have argued for hours longer.

"Lords and ladies of the council, if I might interject," Reina sat forward, resting her hand over her father's.

Eyes turned toward her, the king's included. There was no particular surprise on the faces of the council members; she was a frequent participant in discussion these days. But there was surprise on her father's face because when she did participate it was always at his silent behest. This time he had given her no sign. She would deal with those consequences later. For now there were more important things to worry about.

"We could argue over this sector or that for hours, but the time grows late and His Majesty requires rest. I suggest that we adjourn this meeting until tomorrow when all our minds are fresher."

That did garner some surprise. It flashed on the king's face for a moment before settling into neutrality once more. He leaned back in his chair without comment or objection; if he took issue with her declaration he would save it for later, when they were alone.

"Surely His Majesty is capable of handling such affairs on his own. The King adjourns the council when it is complete—not his daughter when she wishes."

Reina's eyes settled on the speaker—Master Hamon Carina was an old man and once he must have been fair-haired, for his hair had turned flat and white while her father's once-black hair had silvered. His clean-shaven face left nowhere for the ever-growing creases in his skin to hide. As for his politics, she knew he liked rules for their own sake, but she had never thought him an unobservant fool before that moment.

Her feet touched the ground and she stood, never taking her eyes off him.

"His Majesty is the only thing that stands between you—between all of us—and Niflheim's army. If you would like him to continue to support the Wall, I suggest you let him have the energy he needs to do so." Reina leaned forward, resting her hands on the table. She didn't raise her voice, but her tone was acid.

"Your Highness—" Clarus leaned forward in his chair, evidently intent on intervening, but before he could say another word the king lifted a hand to silence him.

Reina glanced back at her father to see if he would comment, but he merely met her gaze, his face calm but unreadable. He wasn't going to step in; not to stop her and not to protect her. She would finish what she had started.

"Leave us," Reina said, straightening and turning back to face the council. "This meeting is finished."

After a moment's pause, Clarus rose without complaint. It was well that he knew her and her father well; the blatant dismissal from an unusual source might have gone much less smoothly without his agreeability. He stood, bowed to her and the king, and saw himself out. The others followed, one by one, some of them after exchanging bemused looks. Reina never wavered. Though her heart pounded and she was certain she would need to sit down once they were gone, she stood firm until the door shut behind the last of them.

Then she let out a breath, pressing her palms flat against the table and leaning forward on shaking arms. After a quiet moment, her father spoke.

"My daughter and my protector? I had not anticipated such venom in tonight's meeting."

Reina turned to face him, all trace of fire gone from her now that there was no target for it. She was relieved to find that little smile on his face; the expression was more in his eyes than his lips, but it was warm and amused.

"Are you very cross with me?"

She didn't apologize. It was bad form to apologize for something one wasn't sorry for.

"No, my dear," he reached out to take her shaking hands in his. "Surprised… and, if you permit me to be completely honest, the slightest bit impressed. But not cross."

Reina smiled, though she wasn't at all certain she deserved it. She held to his hands, putting it out of her mind for the moment.

"But you are tired."

"I am that," he agreed, slipping his fingers from hers and pushing himself upright with his hands on the arms of his chair. She took a step away so he could stand.

"Then I have no regret," said Reina.

"I thought not." His eyebrows arched, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Come, now. You have dismissed my council and all that remains for my fierce guardian to do is see me to bed."

He held out his arm and she took it without hesitation. In spite of knowing full well that he was teasing her by labelling her his 'protector' and his 'fierce guardian', Reina made up her mind that she was those things and she would continue to be. If no one else was going to do it, she would see to it herself.

They walked together with some little conversation. Though he made light of it, Reina couldn't help but notice that he was leaning on her arm every other step. She studied his gait and by the time they reached his rooms she was certain that he favored his right leg.

The Crownsguards outside opened the door to admit them and Reina held her tongue, not saying a word in front of them. Whatever Father might have claimed, he was too proud to openly admit anything that troubled him. It was, perhaps, the only reason why he hadn't called an end to the meeting. As it was, her choice to halt things prematurely was acceptable precisely because he had not openly condoned it. His council was then left to wonder if he was, in fact, tired or if his daughter was simply being unnecessarily picky. Reina didn't mind. If it set his mind at ease to let others believe this was entirely her doing then she had no objection to it. Once they were inside, however, with the door shut behind them, she could ask.

"Does your leg trouble you?"

He made a noncommittal sound as she helped him to sit on the edge of his bed. "Just the joint-ache of an old man. Nothing to warrant concern."

She remained unconvinced, but didn't press the subject further. She helped him shed his cape and collar without comment. When that was through she stood uncertainly. Would he ever confide in her if something was wrong, or would she be left picking up on clues and listening to excuses forever?

"Is there anything else you need?"

He looked up at her, undoubtedly worn but with a smile on his face nonetheless. "No, my dear. I will be quite alright."

It was a sort of dismissal; his indication that she should leave him to his own devices. So she bowed herself out and went to hang his cape before moving for the door. His voice stopped her before she reached the sitting room.

"Reina."

"Yes, Father?" She retraced her steps, coming to a halt in her previous spot just in front of him.

"Have you finished your homework?"

Reina blinked, taken aback. Then she smiled.

"Of course, Father."

"Good girl." He returned her smile. "Now, please, grace your old man with a goodnight and put yourself to bed."

She gave him a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek—pleased that, if nothing else, he was in good humor—before withdrawing once more.

"Goodnight, Father. I'll see you at breakfast."

"Goodnight, my dear."