19 October, 757:

Conversation was scarce the whole way back to Lestallum, with Cor still stubbornly refusing Reina's aid, even after Ignis had tied off a bandage around her shoulder. Did he think living with the pain was going to make him tougher? She just wanted to help; sitting idle was driving her mad.

By the time they pulled into Lestallum the sun was rising. The trucks unloaded refugees straight into the mainstreet; they would all need to be sorted out—housing needed to be shuffled, injuries needed to be tended, and rations needed to be distributed—but Reina also needed to make sure Cor was patched up. Even if he was intent on being stubborn, she was still going to do something.

He didn't give her the choice of staying with the refugees, anyway.

"Leville. Now." Cor said, as soon as they were both standing in the street.

"Then you're coming, too." She crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at him. Two could play at this game.

He met her gaze, his expression unreadable, but eventually he assented. "Very well."

"Ignis—" Reina turned as he climbed out of the truck behind her.

"I will handle matters, here, Your Highness. I shall meet you back in the Leville, after."

Reina leaned up to give him a kiss, squeezing his hand. "Thank you."

"Of course."

Perhaps she had been thrust into a position she had never wanted and never felt prepared for—but she didn't have to do it on her own.

She followed Cor down the street to the Leville. Others passed them, moving in the opposite direction and toward the growing chaos in the city square: a few hunters and Glaives, but mostly civilians—some carrying medical supplies and jugs of water.

Cor was moving more slowly than usual. Reina's shoulder still hurt; she didn't even want to know what he felt like. But other than that—a certain stiffness of motion—he gave no indication that he was in pain at all. He pushed on, climbing the steps to the Leville with single-minded determination and keeping one eye on her to make sure she was still with him. She didn't try to turn back.

"Will you let me help, now?" Even at this pace, Reina had to skip to catch up with him, but she managed to keep at his heel all the way down the hall toward the kitchen and conference room.

"Have you healed yourself, yet?"

"No—but I will; it won't take very long." Probably.

Weskham was the only person in the kitchen; Cor held the door open and ushered her inside.

"Then do it," he said.

"You both look like hell." Weskham glanced them over once. Reina hadn't seen a mirror, recently, but she was willing to bet it was a fair assessment.

"Put some water on, Wes." Cor dropped onto the bench on the far side of the kitchen table, pulled a knife from his boot, and began methodically cutting away at his ruined coat and shirt. Probably, by now, the fabric had stuck to his skin. If he had let her take care of it in the car, he wouldn't have that problem. The price of being a mule-headed ass, but… well. Perhaps they were alike in that regard.

Reina scoured the cupboards for something to turn into a potion or three—if her brief look at Cor's back was any indicator, he would need something a little stronger. Noct always used to use cans of soda, but soft drinks were more or less an extinct species in Lucis, these days. Anything they couldn't manufacture in Lestallum was bound to go the same way, unless they got the other outposts functioning as anything other than havens.

But, regardless of how long the night stretched, regardless of grim news coming from across the sea, people always found time to brew alcohol. Or they did it because of those things. Or both. The point was, the kitchen was well stocked with bottled beer.

It seemed more appropriate than water, somehow. Yes, it hadn't gone off as smoothly as she had intended, but the fact was that they had gotten all the survivors out before Ardyn arrived. And she had Dreamed it. On purpose.

She took two bottles and a few minutes to let her magic sink in; it was more or less the same way elemancy worked—pulling at the strings of magic and weaving them into something else, something physical so that they remained anchored. It was like an amplifier for power that was otherwise too thin to do any good on its own.

Weskham moved around her, putting a kettle of water on the stove to boil. She distantly registered him moving to sit with Cor, after. By the time she was through with the enchantment—more powerful healing meant more time to set it—Weskham was helping mop up blood and clean the gash that ran full across Cor's back.

Reina opened one bottle and drank as quickly as the carbonation would let her. If Cor wasn't going to let her help until she was healed, then she wanted it through with. The magic surged through her body, finding broken skin and knitting it back together by pieces. It felt like pins and needles in her shoulder, but she stayed put until she could no longer feel the sting and ache.

"I'm fine; are you happy, now?" Reina turned to show her back, tugging at her torn shirt—there was nothing but whole skin beneath the dried blood.

Cor looked up at her. She still couldn't tell what he was thinking, under that face—he always looked like he disapproved. Maybe he did.

"Am I happy?" He didn't leave her wondering for long. That tone, carefully sharpened and quivering beneath the control, was unmistakable.

"Am I happy that, after a year, you still haven't gotten it into your head that you can't be on the front lines just because you want to?"

"Am I happy that—apparently—in the face of danger you forget every single thing I have ever taught you?" He had never shouted at her before, but with every word he spoke, with every accusation he threw at her, his voice raised further

"What was the point of that debacle in the square last month if you can't even phase when it matters!?" He slammed his fist down on the table. His knife stuck in the wood.

"You are slow, you are clumsy, you are unobservant, and you can't even follow a simple instruction! What part of 'stay back' did you not understand? Should I speak more slowly, Your Highness?"

Reina stood—frozen and wide-eyed—as his usual lecture devolved into an outpouring of ire.

And to think she had been worried about him.

To think she had just wanted to help.

He hadn't even given her the chance to express her gratitude before he tore everything back down.

"Cor—" Weskham tried to get in the middle. Reina didn't let him.

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child."

"Then don't act like a child!"

Reina's jaw tightened.

"I believe—" Weskham tried again, but—

"Are you that impatient for Noctis to get back so you can watch one more king die? Well you can't fucking save him. Just like you couldn't save Father or Grandfather. Hell, you'll probably watch me die, too—but I guess you won't care, since I'm such a fucking disappointment to you!" Her vision blurred, her fists clenched—potions forgotten—and she shouted straight back at him. "That's me. Reina 'Fuck-Up' Caelum, the one who was never good enough, the one who is so stupid and clumsy that the Gods don't even want me to die for them."

"I'd probably fuck that up too." She backed toward the door—anything to get away from him.

"Reina—" Weskham was on his feet, but Reina had already jerked the door open.

"So yeah. Great. You want this kingdom? Have it! You could handle it better, because you're so good at listening when people tell you shit!" She ducked into the hallway and slammed the door behind her.

She didn't notice until halfway down the hall that her cheeks were wet. It was harder to hold onto the anger, after that, but she didn't give up the fight until she was upstairs with the door shut behind her.

She still had both bottles.

Fuck it. He could suffer, since he wanted to be so stoic. He could ask one of the Glaives; they were so much better at everything, anyway.

How dare he talk to her like that? How dare he call her a child? How dare he imply she was mentally deficient? How dare he—

Throw every insecurity she ever had in her face.

Remind her she was just a placeholder and that everyone was only waiting for Noctis.

Validate her fears that having no magic made her inferior.

Reina didn't even make it to her bed. She put her back against the wall and slid down to the ground with her knees tucked up under her chin.

She should have been able to phase through that.

She should have been paying attention.

She should have listened.

She should have been better.

She could complain that it was hard all she liked, but it wasn't going to make this go away. So this was what they had to look forward to: nine more years of fumbling around in the dark because the princess was inept. No matter how hard she tried, he was never going to think she was good enough. If she was Noctis—

Noctis was good enough.

The last time they had fought with Cor, he had nothing but praise—so far as that went, from Cor—for Noct. But of course. Had she really expected to live up to that?

She was still sitting on the floor when Ignis came in.

He didn't say a word, just got her cleaned and patched up. By that time she was almost ready to tell him what had happened.

Weskham didn't say anything. He didn't need to; he just had to sit back down and give Cor that look. It said enough.

Cor made a sound of frustration, wrung out the bloody rag he was holding, and went back to work. This time Wes didn't help. He sat there with his arms crossed, watching, until Cor looked back up at him.

Then: "Would it kill you to say the words: 'I am worried about you'?"

"She shouldn't have—"

"Just answer the question, Cor."

"She doesn't need someone to be worried about her. She needs someone to teach her how to pay attention."

"Does she also need someone to tell her how poorly she is measuring up?"

"That…" Cor sighed. "That was a mistake."

Shit.

"Indeed. Perhaps you would both be better off if you realized that she can make them, too."

"She can't afford to make mistakes." Cor rinsed the rag out once more and tried to reach across his back without twisting at the waist.

"But she will, regardless. She is only human."

"A mistake from her could cost the whole kingdom. Maybe if she would just admit—"

"You didn't exactly give her the opportunity."

That wasn't true. She had the whole car ride home—four hours of it—and she hadn't said a word but to complain that he wouldn't let her worry about him when she was still…

Worried about him. People didn't worry about people that they hated.

Shit.

Cor dropped the rag back into the basin of water and ran his hands over his face, leaving streaks of blood behind.

"I'm glad you've grasped the situation at last." Weskham stood up. "I would tell you to apologize but… I doubt it will help, anymore. So you'll have to patch yourself up on your own. Since you just shouted your magic potion out of the kitchen with tears streaming down her face."

He left. Cor eventually accepted that he couldn't reach his back and gave up; he probably deserved that, anyway.

By the time the sun set again, a few hours later, he was back in his room—showered, changed, and at least bandaged up—and debating whether or not it was worth it to try and find some painkillers. Eventually he decided against it. Maybe it was harder to fall asleep, this way, but he probably deserved that, too.

He was just dozing off—if he laid on his stomach and didn't move, it was possible—when someone knocked on the door.

Cor groaned. Much as he didn't want to stand up again, he forced himself to sit, ignoring the screaming pain across his back when he did so. It took him a moment to get to the door, though it was directly beside the bed. By the time he did, there was no one standing outside.

But there was a bottle on the floor.

It was the same one Reina had been holding in the kitchen.

21 October, 757:

Galahd. Empty.

That, by itself, was not overly perplexing. But it hadn't been empty two days ago and, amidst the charred remains of the hovel, there were no bodies.

Well.

There were no bodies that hadn't already blackened with scourge.

Ardyn turned a circle in the town square—if it could be called that. Peculiar. Perplexing and, in truth, a little bit disappointing. He had been intending to see how far along the little Dreamer had come. But it seemed—

He stopped. The night had eyes. Usually they were his, but tonight…

When he turned abruptly, he could just catch a glimmer of blue before it dissolved.

Of course.

He laughed.

So. He had seen how far along she was, after all.

"Are you watching, little Dreamer?" He turned again. Her magic flickered like a flash of lightning, always on the edge of his vision.

"Ahh… there you are."

It wasn't her physically, in any sense of the word, but it was a knot of energy—felt more than seen. And yet, if she had believed she was there, he had little doubt that she could have been.

If she'd had a face, he expected it would have looked surprised. Even without one, he could feel the emotion from her.

"Did you think you merely ghosted through space and time, some sort of incorporeal consciousness? Don't make me laugh. Of course you're here. It isn't memories you walk through; it's the heart of Eos."

He took a step forward. The knot of energy pulsed and solidified until he could almost see her.

"What do you mean?"

Her voice was not so much in his ears as it was in the world around him. Clever. She was growing stronger, even if she didn't realize it. Not strong enough, yet, but soon…

"Now, now, princess. You can't expect me to do all of your work for you. Where would be the fun in that?" Ardyn tipped his hat and gave her a mocking bow. "Now run along. I concede; this round is yours. Next time I won't make it so easy."

"This isn't a game, Gods damn it!"

"Isn't it?" He replaced his hat. "What do you think we are to your Gods, if not pawns? Think about it, little Dreamer. You are playing their game, whether you want to or not. If you'd like to win, you should learn the rules."

He turned, leaving her with that food for thought, as the darkness swallowed him whole.

Let us see how she fares with alternate futures.