In the future, I fought Risen and added to my vast library of weapon names. Let me show you my finest weapon of all!
It didn't happen. It isn't happening. It won't happen. Owain repeated the same similar sentences time and time again as his eyes warily shot around the camp. Everyone was in the mess hall eating; something he couldn't do without most likely spontaneously vomiting all over everyone else. He slipped into the armoury, cramping himself behind a stack of weapon-filled crates and hugging his knees tightly to his chest. It almost happened. Every ounce of him was pulsating with an insatiable panic. It was beginning to get to the point where his chest felt constricted and prevented his lungs from moving.
She's alive, damn it, you can stop being so panicked over it now! She survived that Risen attack, idiot! Owain let out a shaky sigh as he repeated similar thoughts over and over again. It wasn't working, and even telling himself that he could walk right up to his mother's past self and just talk to her wasn't calming him the way it normally would. In fact, it scared him even more to know that he could, but that it could be stripped away years, months, even days from that moment. It was too much for even a self-proclaimed Hero like himself to bear.
Owain could feel something wet trailing down his face, and raised one of his shaking hands to brush his cheek. He cursed under his breath, wiping the tears away. Pathetic, he thought, She's still alive, and you're still crying like a baby. I bet if she saw you like this she'd think you're unfit to keep fighting in this war. Uncle Chrom'll disown you as a royal, too, I bet! He paused, then shook his head. Ridiculous. He released his hold on his knees, his hands continuously wiping at the continuously falling tears. Gods, Owain, stop crying! He leaned his head back against the wall, blinking back any other coming tears. His hand slid down into one of the pockets of his trousers, pulling out a small fragment of metal. The original colour had been golden in colour originally, but was dulled by bloodstains and misery. He fiddled with the metal with his fingers, taking note of the intricate carvings and details.
The piece of metal was often his comfort. It kept him calm before battle, and brought his nerves down after a battle. Its dullness still managed to be the light in his darkness. This tie, however, it didn't seem to help him at all. He still found himself shaking and unable to calm himself, and this realization only further increased his anxiety. "Damn it!" he hissed, before quickly going silent as he heard someone enter the armoury tent.
"Mother mentioned him coming into the armoury..." the voice was recognized instantly as Inigo, his philandering yet shy cousin. "Owain, are you in here?" Despite the calls, Owain stayed silent. He couldn't allow anyone—not even his own family—to see him in this state. He held his breath, curling up in hopes that Inigo wouldn't find him. As he curled up his grip around the piece of the staff tightened, the sharp bits digging into his palm and fingers. It wasn't uncommon for him to grip it hard enough to make himself bleed.
He could hear Inigo's footsteps, heavy from the thickness of his boots. The younger boy was heard musing to himself as he looked, and as he got closer Owain knew that he could only accept the fact that his cousin was going to find him. He sighed shakily, coming out of his ball and slowly standing up. "I'm here, Inigo."
"Oh, thank Naga, we've been looking everywhere for you–oh my gods, Owain, what the hell!?" Inigo took his cousin by the shoulders, a frantic worry crossing his face. "Your eyes are red and swollen and you're pale, are you ill!?"
Owain shook his head. "I'm... I'm fine, Inigo, don't worry about me," he offered a slight smile, "I'm just... a-a little bit stressed out from the last fight is all. I'll be fine, though. Promise."
Inigo eyed him suspiciously, but he soon offered a small smile in return. "I believe you'll be fine," he responded, "However if you don't mind my prying I think you'd be fine quicker if you got your stress off your chest."
The platinum blond boy nodded. "I think that might help me, too," he said.
Inigo smiled, and the cousins wrapped an arm around each other as they left the armoury tent. "Disclose your troubles, dear cousin. My ears are yours to use."
... it's actually just a piece of a staff. But I named it 'Lissa.' You were holding it when you... well, it's my greatest treasure.