12 Conversations About One Thing

Conversation 12 [The next generation]

From the beginning, Zena hadn't known where she would go after the wars ended and Grima was killed. Baby Lucina was in her crib, all was right with the world, and Zena was stuck in a time and place that wasn't hers. She had hoped to vanish from Ylisstol, perhaps to never be seen again. But, as she had been walking down the steps of the castle, Marc was there, sitting on the railing, fiddling with the hood of her Plegian cloak. She had clearly been waiting for her.

"Where ya going?" Marc had asked, a veneer of casualness over a very serious question.

"I...cannot say," Zena had answered, "I do not belong here. I—I do not know where I belong." This was more than she had meant to give voice to.

Marc had smiled. "You know, I pretend I know what's best for everyone a lot. I try my hardest, but it's a lot of guessing and misplaced self-confidence. So...I don't know where you belong." Here, Marc had walked in front of her, taken both of her hands, and met her eyes. "But I do know where I belong. And it's here...at your side." Marc's cheeks abruptly turned a violent red. "If—if you'll have me."

Zena had answered her. Now they had been together for seventeen years.

The pair had traveled together, across the two continents and well beyond. They had summered in Ferox, they had gone to one of Brady and Nah's concerts in Rosanne, and they had dueled in Chon'sin. They had braved the steamy jungles on the continent to the south and the mysterious crystal wastes in the Far West. They had even helped save the world once—although not their own world but one called Terca Lumeris, through the Outrealm Gate (Zena knew people there).

And yet it was a dreadful fact of existence that even time-displaced princesses, heroes of this realm and realms beyond, needed money to survive. Or, at least, it certainly helped. To avoid dinners of hunted and gathered food, the pair often took odd jobs.

Thus Zena and Marc were now separated. Marc was helping excavate a newly discovered ruin, one that, Marc had excitedly explained, seemed to be a temple dating before the dragons came to the world.

Zena had planned to simply wait for her, as she had many times before, but a job had dropped into her lap: the small Feroxi town she had made a temporary home in found itself menaced by some sort of predatory beast. The creature had ravaged a number of sheep over the course of a week, and then critically injured a young shepherd who had stayed up to protect her flock. The town council had posted a reward for hunters able to slay the creature, and Zena had taken up the task, refusing aid from the townsfolk. She had seen the size of the wounds on the shepherd's body, and desired to expose the other townspeople to no further danger.

So now Zena was wandering through a snowy forest by the light of dusk to find the sheep-devouring animal before it struck again. The air was still but chill. She was glad for her warm cloak as well as her normal quilted cloth under her armor. The armor was a leather brigandine and skirt—she had left her Marth disguise in her childhood. She still wore a mask, though; it was required. This mask, however, was white and only covered the area around the offending eye, her cheekbone, and the bridge of her nose. There were also several decorative protrusions crawling across her temple and forehead—the maskmaker, Marc's, little personal touches.

Marc's broad pool of talents needled at Zena a little, at times. Say, now. Marc was facing the multifarious challenges of archaeology, but Zena was limited to jabbing her sword into things. Combat had been all of Zena's life for so long it seemed she knew nothing else. Marc had half the memories Zena did, but four times the skills.

Zena was broken out of her thoughts and nearly lost her balance completely when her right foot found no ground where she expected and plunged down into a divot. She looked down and gasped, drawing her sword before she even truly registered the implications.

Her shoe was dwarfed by the massive footprint that surrounded it. She had assumed she was hunting a starving wolf or an aggressive bear. But the creature that had made the print in the snow and mud was clearly larger than any bear in any world she had been to.

Holding perfectly still, with Falchion in hand, Zena scanned her surroundings. She didn't see anything coming out of the trees, she could hear only slight birdsong and her own heartbeat, and no smell of fur or blood reached her nose. As far as she could tell, she was completely alone.

Without letting go of her blade, Zena stepped back and knelt to examine the print. The paw that had made the print was clearly bearlike, with five toes. But rather than being oblong, like most animals' palms, the main pad was almost circular, and nearly a foot long and foot wide. There were imprints of five enormous claws a full inch in front of the creature's toes.

Zena looked up from her analysis and now saw an auspicious path through the woods that the animal had made. Leaves and snow had been pushed away as it had moved, and it had broken twigs and branches eight feet above the ground. This enormous animal—this monster—that she tracked was nothing she had seen before. Zena took a nervous breath that transformed into one of determination. She adjusted her cloak and then tightened her grip on Falchion. She had a job to do and people to help. She had slain monsters before.

Darkness fell before she reached the end of the crude path. Zena lit a small lantern but was careful to hide the light as much as she could—the creature she hunted was almost certainly able to see in the dark, and she needed to be as subtle as possible.

The trees thinned and Zena came to a clearing alongside a small ridge. Tracking would be harder now. But perhaps she didn't need to track any further, for Zena heard something's quiet breathing and an unmistakable sound of rending meat. Now she could smell blood—blood and death. Was she catching the thing in a meal?

Lantern in one hand, blade ready in the other, Zena advanced, waving her weak light ahead of her. The noise grew closer and closer and finally the light of the lantern lit upon—

A blood-red cloak. Zena had approached someone from behind, someone who was wearing a cloak and hood and seemed to be paying Zena and her lantern no mind whatsoever. Whatever Zena had been expecting, it wasn't this. "Hello...?" Zena ventured, not letting go of her sword.

"You're not getting any," came a terse reply. The voice was feminine.

"Apologies?" asked Zena, lowering her sword a little.

"You are not getting any of my treasure," responded the cloaked figure. "I found it, so I get it all."

Zena shifted the lantern and felt her eyes expand as her light illuminated the eviscerated, headless body of the largest wolverine she had ever seen. While nowhere near large enough to have made the trail, this certainly could have been the creature menacing the town.

"I said you're not getting any," repeated the figure.

"I assure you there shall be no threat of me taking anything that is yours," said Zena. "But may I ask why you're out here?"

The figure sighed, tossed something to the ground—Zena was startled to see it was the wolverine's head—stood up, and sorted herself. When she turned, Zena saw a young woman, with a dour expression, in equal parts frills and leather. Her gloves were stained with blood, but she was otherwise clean. She seemed almost to retreat into her cloak, even just standing.

"I was hungry, and the butcher in town doesn't like me much, for some reason." The girl blew an exasperated breath into her bangs, which were white except one lock of bright crimson. "So I went hunting. But all I really found was that thing. The teeth are nice, but..."

"You killed that creature?" asked Zena.

"I mean, I wouldn't have, but it attacked me and all. Things are so unpleasant here."

Zena hesitated. "And you haven't seen anything...large around here?"

The young woman shrugged and replied, "Nothing bigger than me."

Zena thought for a moment. There still seemed to be something...off about this stranger, but she seemed friendly enough, and had prevented Zena from having to kill a large wolverine. Didn't Marc have a saying about not asking questions you didn't want answers to? Zena nodded. "Well, I thank you for killing it. You have done me, and the people of this town, a great service."

The young woman looked a little confused. "You're welcome, I guess? It was attacking me and all."

"Well, whatever your motive, it is appreciated. Shall we go back to town? I'm sure that they would give you something."

A bit uneasily, the girl said, "I don't know. I'm not great around...you know, people. And Mom says never go to second locations with strangers waving swords around."

"My apologies," said Zena, sheathing Falchion. "My name is Zena. The town aside, if you're still hungry, I'd be happy to purchase something for you."

The girl clapped eagerly. "Mom also says never pass up a free meal." She briefly curtsied. "I'm Velouria of the wolfskin, Miss Zena." The title meant nothing to Zena, but she nodded in assent anyway, and led her out of the forest.

While Zena explained to the villagers that it had been Velouria to slay the sheep-killer, Velouria seemed uninterested in whatever they offered, so Zena took the small amount of gold offered as reward instead. She then went to the local inn and promptly spent it on Velouria's dinner—the girl may not have been the massive creature that Zena had been following, but she certainly ate like she was.

As Velouria was digging into her third plate, she abruptly looked up from her food. Her nose twitched as she stared past Zena, towards the door. Zena turned in her seat, then smiled and rose. Her wife had just entered.

Marc saw Zena, waved, and walked towards her. They met and embraced. "Hey, Zeen," whispered Marc.

"Hello, love," responded Zena, "how was the dig?"

Marc shrugged. "Eh. A lot of rocks, disappointingly few ancient occult secrets." Her expression morphed into a grin. "So…" said Marc, "Guess who happened to be working security at the site?"

Before Zena could even hazard a guess, Velouria suddenly yelled "Mom!" and pitched herself into the midriff of a woman who had entered about the same time as Marc.

"Hey…" said the woman, clearly not minding the girl now tightly squeezing her. She rubbed Velouria's head. "I missed you too."

Only then did Zena get a good look at the woman and had to stop herself from gasping. It was Severa. She was a bit older, obviously, and a little more muscled, but unmistakable. She even still had her black hair in twintails, although now both were shot through with red highlights.

"I'm gonna find a waitress," said Marc, "I'm hungry. Catch up." With this final instruction, she walked away, leaving Zena with Severa.

Severa seemed to only now notice Zena standing nearby. Zena met her gaze and said, "It has been too long, Severa. It's good to see you."

Severa averted her eyes with a blush and said, "Hi, Lucina… It's, uh, it's good to see you too." She paused and then blurted, "Um, my name's Selena now?"

Zena smiled. "That is fine, Selena. My wife and I are known as Marc and Zena."

"Yeah, Mor—er, Marc told me." Selena leaned in. "Does she know that Marc's not a girl's name?"

"Marc's always done as she wishes," replied Zena. Selena rolled her eyes.

Zena looked at Velouria, who was still determinedly hugging her mother. "Shall we sit down?" asked Zena, "Velouria and I were sitting back there."

"Sure, I—wait, how do you know my daughter?!"

Even though Zena hadn't seen Selena for well over a decade, when Selena had apparently vanished off the face of the planet, the conversation came fast and easy. Marc and Zena caught Selena up on their adventures, and Selena talked about her time as a retainer for a princess she clearly adored, as well as her husband, Keaton, who was currently helping the Khans with a hunt. She was oddly evasive about where she had been all this time, but Zena knew she occasionally had issues with secrets. In the scheme of things, it didn't really matter.

Eventually the drinks were running low, the mood had gotten quieter, and the conversation had drifted to Velouria, who by now was curled up, sleeping with her head on her mother's lap.

"She clearly adores you," said Zena.

Selena softly stroked her daughter's hair as she responded, "Yeah. Like, I don't wanna sound a sappy and dumb, and it's not like I popped her out and it gave my life meaning or anything, I'd was perfectly fine before…before all of this, but…

"I remember looking at her for the first time...I looked at those big eyes and her little ears and all that and…everything made sense."

"Wow, everything?" asked Marc, with a raised eyebrow.

"Not like that, you idiot," Selena said wryly, "but everything that Mom did made sense. I'd—I'd give up absolutely everything for her, even…even if I'd never see her again. I get it, you know? I get why Mom left."

"Dame Cordelia never wanted to leave you—" started Zena, but Selena cut her off.

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before. But all the empathy and therapeutic blather in the world didn't help me a bit compared to Velouria. I…"

Selena looked down at her sleeping child, a sad smile on her face. "I- …We were separated, for a while. I thought it was the right thing to do at the time—Keaton did too, everyone did. But by the time I managed to see her again… it had been a long time for her. Too long. She had every reason to hate me. I hated me for doing it to her. But…it's just like you said, Zena, she still adores me. The hugs get to be a little much, to be brutally honest."

Selena twisted the end of one of her ponytails around her finger, "I thought I knew how the world worked. But Velouria proved me wrong just by loving me, by always loving me. I think about the stuff I've done—to Mom and Dad, to Velouria, hell, even to you two, and I get so angry at myself. I've done so…fucking much I regret.

"But then I look at her…and she hugs me…whether I want it or not! And it all goes away. I can't have messed up too bad, if I made her."

There was a slow, meaningful silence.

Selena shattered it by continuing, "Even if she is a little weird."

Smirking, Marc commented, "Ehh, we're all weird here. We like weird."

Zena nodded. "I think she was collecting...wolverine teeth when we met?"

Any tension broken, Selena stretched and put her head in one hand, "Okay, yeah," she said, "so Velouria has this thing…"

Zena stared up at the inn ceiling. She, Selena, and Marc had all said their good nights and gone up to their rooms, Selena carrying a still solidly asleep Velouria, well over an hour ago. But Zena was still awake, lying on the straw mattress, pondering...what?

She couldn't tell what was bothering her. She sighed, placing her hands underneath her head. Beside her, Marc turned over to face her. For a second, Zena was afraid she had awoken her wife. But Marc's eyes were open and had no drowsiness in them.

"Hey," said Marc softly, "is something wrong?"

"Yes...?" responded Zena. "No...not really. It's just...since we saw Sev—Selena, something's been...bothering me, somehow. I fear I do not know what it is."

"Yeah, I have some stinging insect in my bonnet too." Marc sat up in bed, letting the sheet fall off her chest. "Is it weird that Selena has a kid now?"

"I'll admit she didn't seem the type. And to hear that Inigo and Owain have daughters of their own..." Zena trailed off. "Of course," continued Zena, "Nah and Brady have had children. Laurent too. Even Cynthia." She didn't think the mere thought of Selena as a mother was what was bothering her.

"Of course, the chronology doesn't work out."

"What?" asked Zena, though she had a pretty good idea what Marc meant.

"Selena said she had worked for years keeping an eye on what's-their-name before meeting Keaton. But Velouria was sixteen at least..." Marc cast a lopsided smirk at Zena. "But it doesn't really matter. What's a few missing years between friends?"

Zena made a noise in agreement. Not everything added up about Selena's child, but...Selena's child had...Her child...

Zena blinked. "Marc...I think I want a child."

"Is that what this is?" Marc flopped back down on the bed and sighed in amusement. "Phew. That's a relief. Ha! I guess when your friends start being menaced by teenagers, you start realizing you're not getting any younger."

"Marc, I'm serious."

"Sure, so am I," said Marc, turning toward her. "We've talked about this before."

And, Marc didn't continue, they had always come to the conclusion that it wasn't a good time, or that they traveled too much for a baby, or that they weren't confident in their abilities to raise a child. The last one still burned hot in her mind. Zena said, "I apologize, you're right. I—"

"No-" interrupted Marc, "I didn't say that. I'm just asking if this is something you really want this time, and you didn't, like, see Velouria and say, 'Oh, hey, I should get me one of them.'"

Zena doubted she'd ever been so flighty, but she supposed that Marc may have been joking. It was difficult to tell sometimes.

Zena considered. In her mind's eye, she saw herself nursing a baby, running after a toddler, stroking the hair of a sleeping child. It seemed at once completely alien and utterly correct, as if she was looking at a self-portrait perfectly rendered that she did not remember painting.

"I want this," confirmed Zena. "Perhaps...perhaps it'll change by tomorrow, but yes. I want a baby—a child of my own."

"Awesome, me too," said Marc, once again hiding passion in casualness. Linking their fingers, Marc kissed Zena, and with a smile, said, "Let's have a child."

They continued to talk for a while, but Marc dropped off into sleep quickly. Zena, however, didn't get much sleep that night.

Things seemed to happen very quickly afterwards, although in reality everything took nearly a month. After the couple talked through all their options, Marc contacted an old acquaintance in Ylisstol, who got Marc in contact with a priest at an orphanage outside the capital that took adoptions. And now the two of them were walking down the path that would take them to that orphanage.

Zena hadn't returned to the heart of the country of her birth in years, and the fact that they were doing so for such a meaningful task...Zena felt as if she was marching into battle. She was suddenly aware of her hand on her sword, despite the fine day and lack of danger. Sighing, Zena forced her grip off the blade.

"-all right?" came Marc's voice breaking through Zena's pensive thoughts.

Zena turned to her. "Apologies. What did you need?"

Marc considered Zena for a second, then broke into that wide, mischievous grin. "Hey...what do you think we should name her?"

"Name her?" Zena asked.

"Yeah, the baby. No judgment, what do you want to name her?" The two of them had talked long about this, and decided together that they wanted a girl.

"Marc..." Zena sighed, unable to keep affection out of her voice, "we are not acquiring a newborn foal. They already have names."

"I mean, not always. Besides, she'll be a infant, she wouldn't know any name she had."

Zena considered things for a moment. This hadn't been a conversation she was expecting, but it seemed harmless. "Well...did you have opinions about her name?"

Marc got a look of triumph. "I'm glad you asked! So imagine we gave her a name from Nifl!"

"...The country from the those novels you read?"

"Yeah."

Flatly, Zena confirmed, "The ones where all the heroes of history and myth are in the same world and also friends."

"Of course!" said Marc. At Zena's continued look, she continued, "C'mon, they have the best names! Fjorm and Ylgr and Ljósálfheimr!" Zena suspected that she pronounced the names incorrectly on purpose. "Ljósálfheimr," especially, sounded less like its proper name and more like an aborted sneeze.

"You are not being serious," Zena stated lightly.

"What have I told you about accusing me of being serious?" laughed Marc. "Okay, so nothing from books. How about we name her after heroines of legend, but with a twist—like 'Kaeda' with a K or 'Eyryka' with two Y's." Marc was on a roll. "Or, I know! 'Melissa,' except it's an acronym for Marth, Ephraim, Leif-"

"Saorise," said Zena, seemingly unprompted.

"...Sigurd AND Seliph—what?"

"I have...considered the question before, even before we were together," Zena said, "All I want for my daughter is for her to be free of the deep responsibilities and pain I had to endure. I want her to not have to do anything except be herself. 'Saorise' is the word for freedom in one of the old languages. I thought it fitting."

Marc stared at her. "Well, that beats the heck out of my names."

Zena felt herself blush. "Well—I'm sure your names were just—I had thought—"

Marc grabbed her hand and held it tightly. "Zeen. You're fine. I'm glad you put real thought into this. I have too, even if I don't show it. I just thought you could use some silliness in your life. You looked...kinda serious."

Marc's perceptiveness never failed either of them. "I may be nervous about...the baby," Zena said.

"Ohhh," said Marc, "What, you think she won't like you?"

"It is...not just that. I am afraid I will...be unable to raise her...or teach her...or...do anything!" Desperation came unexpectedly into her voice, "All I know is survival and, what, swordplay? Nothing." She felt her eyes sting and throat close. "I thought I was ready, but...I don't know why I thought I could do this!"

At some point they had stopped walking. Marc switched to stroking Zena's knuckles. "Okay. First. Deep breaths, Zena. Deep breaths." Zena took a few breaths and did not feel on the verge of crying any more. Marc smiled at her. "Okay. Now," she continued, "You...are the most capable woman I've ever met. Including myself."

"Dear..." breathed Zena.

"I mean it. Unless you forgot, you're the one who figured out how to go back in time, you did it, and then you saved the world. Parenting's nothing. You could do it alone and blindfolded if you had to."

"Marc..."

"And...okay, I should have said this before." Marc sighed. "...I'm scared too."

"You are?" Zena asked, "Surely, with all your knowledge..."

"Believe it or not, I never found the "How to be a Mom" book in the royal library. And do you honestly think that my knowledge of how to counter the Zofian defense or every monarch from the first five hundred years of Archanean history will help me? At all? Probably not."

"Dear, I didn't mean to say you knew everything, but...surely, you must be more ready than I."

"I don't...I don't think anyone's really ready," Marc shrugged, "but are we really ready for anything that comes our way? Maybe, if we studied forever, but..." Marc shook her head. "All we can do is our best. And know that the invisible bonds we crafted are there for us."

Marc sounded unbelievably like her father, sometimes. Zena's worries were not quelled, but her heart was lightened. She stroked Marc's cheek. "I love you," she murmured.

Marc kissed her fingers and closed them around her palm. "Love you too. Forever."

And Marc stood aside as Zena took the first step forward.