Shards of the Past

If Roy had sent knights to follow them, Lucina and Frederick had lost them sometime during their travel through the southern hillsides of Altea. A miracle considering Frederick's condition. Although he would never voice complaints, the additional stress his wound put him under showed in the paleness of his face. Riding in particular pushed him to his limits, and he almost dropped from his horse more than once. Caught in the constant delirium of pain, Frederick offered little in terms of navigational support and nothing in case of a fight. So far, they had avoided this particular scenario.

Much to Lucina's relief.

She didn't count on her ability to raise her weapon against other Pheraen knights, those same knights who she had trusted as allies all her life. Even Klein would present her with an insurmountable challenge and not because of his flawless technique with bow and arrow.

Lucina directed her horse more out of routine than any real dedication. The mysteries surrounding her heritage, which might have enticed her most luxurious fantasies before, now produced a bitter taste on her tongue. At the age of six, she had imagined to visit the estate of her deceased father, and in those fantasies the flames had never touched the masonry. The mansion had changed in style and size each time, sometimes ivy climbed the front, sometimes archways led her to the front door. But the people cheered upon her arrival without fail. How often had she wandered through these sugar-coated halls, where her father had used to meet royalties and guests from countries so far away that they didn't have a name in their language.

Now that Lucina was nearing the home of her supposed father, she rather wanted to turn around. If she rode back to Terra and begged for forgiveness, Roy would have to see past her little error, right?

If, if, if – Lucina pinched her arm to stop herself from contemplating. This nasty habit of hers would get her nowhere. She needed to stick to her decision for once and ignore all the tempting alternatives, no matter how teasingly they promised her a reunion with Roy and a simple conversation that would eradicate all doubt and erase all the inconsistencies she thought to have seen in his stories.

She hated the admission, but Roy was human. As he had taught her, humans harbored a tendency to lie if it served their purpose. And Roy did have a reason to lie to her. After all, the play he had set up for Lucina had bought him her unwavering loyalty.

Until now.

Frederick, who was riding in front of her, shifted in his saddle further to the right to ease the pressure on his wounded left side. In the eye of any trained horseman, his form was disastrous and deserving of a ten-minute lecture on the symbiotic relationship a horse and its master ought to have. Unfortunately, in the case of Frederick's new horse, the animal had no patience to spare for his injuries. His trusted bay mare would have continued her steady trudge without fail, but both she and Lucina's sorrel stallion had remained behind in the stables of Terra's garrison.

The replacements they had 'borrowed' from a pair of drunk Pheraen soldiers on guard duty did not make up for the loss.

Frederick's horse buckled, and Lucina dashed forward to intervene. Her iron grip around the bridle convinced the unruly animal to fall back in line and trot alongside its companion. Nevertheless, Frederick wouldn't hold himself upright for much longer. His hand wandered to his side every other moment, and he only suppressed the urge when he noticed Lucina's glare.

"We should take a break," Lucina said and dismounted.

A flush returned a little life to Frederick's ashen cheeks. "It won't happen again, I promise. I won't slow you down."

"Fine, then let me rephrase: We take a break now. Otherwise, I will knock you from your horse, old man."

Frederick, although visibly unhappy with the order, obeyed. With a wince, he plopped to his feet and allowed Lucina to inspect the bandage. Her fingers met wetness. Blood had seeped through the fabric once again. A wonder that Frederick was still standing. Since departing from the palace, Lucina had done her best to kill him.

She pushed him into a sitting position and with a look forbid him to so much as think about moving a muscle. Then she rummaged through the saddlebacks of their horses. One of these moronic soldiers had to have possessed the brains to pack a first-aid kit, or at least a thread to knit together flesh wounds until he returned to the garrison and the medic there. Lucina's past reviews of the items she had acquired as a bonus alongside the horses had left a lot to be desired. Although, to be fair, the search had suffered from the fact that she had needed to focus on directing her horse at the same time. She hadn't expected to find an elixir, but a pinch of vulnerary could have at least hidden among the provisions. Alas, the horses' previous owners had been of the underprepared kind.

After several minutes, Lucina fished a piece of iron that could pose as a needle out of the saddlebag. As for a thread… well, her cape showed a few gashes already, and she didn't plan to step in front of a court anytime soon.

Lucina's untrained hands messed up the stitching more than once, but Frederick swallowed every word of complaint. He would rather bite his tongue if Lucina had to guess. The wound showed no signs of an infection so far, and with the thread in place, Frederick would hopefully hang in there until Lucina could drag him to a healer. And no matter what awaited them at the Glass Fortress, she would aim for one of these magic charlatans straight after.

"Thank you," Frederick said and threw her a guilt-ridden look.

Lucina sat down on the dry grass opposite of him. "I should have patched you up far sooner."

"My health shouldn't be your concern. I failed in my duty to protect you."

"Well, too late, you are my responsibility. And so that we're clear, I won't allow you to die on me, old man. Don't even think about it."

Frederick managed a weak smile. "I will do my best. If I had told you what I knew about your father earlier, we could have avoided this rash confrontation. I believe I needed this blow to remind me of my loyalties."

"Then you've given up on your life as a knight of Pherae? After all these years, you will just throw everything away and join the rebellion?"

"I never planned to align myself with the rebels. Altea is my home, naturally I want to see it prosper, and I want the people to say their prayers and remember their dead king without fear of punishment. But the methods the rebels use to reach their goal are unacceptable."

"What path do you plan to follow then?"

"Must I spell it out?" Frederick shook his head. "Excuse me my frankness. Do you remember the speech you gave in front of the rebels after the battle in Gran? You met their violence with forgiveness, and you reminded them of who they should be fighting for. That is the path I want to follow. If I can assist you a step of the way, I will gladly do so. And if either my life or my death serves you, I will offer them in a heartbeat."

Lucina averted her eyes. What he offered was too much, a gift too precious to use. And why should Frederick go this far for her of all people? She, who did not even know where to go next. Lucina's plan hinged on what other people had told her, first Roy and then later Gregor and Abel. The trip to the Glass Fortress had been Frederick's idea, not hers. Perhaps she would find a source of determination alongside the answers carved into the ruin walls. Perhaps Falchion, her father's sword, would awaken purpose in her. Until then, she played the role of a gray pawn, pushed around to serve either side at the whim of the great tacticians behind the conflict plaguing Pherae and Altea.

"And all of this because you found out I might be King Marth's daughter?" Lucina asked.

"No. I swore to fight alongside you long before this connection occurred to me. I only made the mistake not to entrust you with the truth to the same degree I entrust you with doing what's right. For that I apologize."

"There's nothing to apologize."

Although Frederick wasn't in the condition to continue the ride, he insisted on a slow walk in the direction of the Glass Fortress to avoid an ambush. Lucina led her horse by the reins and navigated through the uneven terrain obscured by grass blades with newfound energy. The westward breeze carried the fresh taste of water and reed, lighter than the salted squalls in Terra and a welcome change from the still air draped around the hillsides. No spectators bothered them on their way, only a group of songbirds bobbed past them on the easygoing waves of the sky.

Lucina admired the different bursts of colors amidst the grass, the poppies and daffodils and slender chamomiles. All of them dressed in the untamed beauty of the south. In Pherae, landscapes such as this had long made way for cultivated fields to grow crops and increase the wealth of the nation. Here however, nature was its own ruler and dotted the wilderness with colorful but worthless flowers to its liking.

Perhaps these hills stood as a reminder of the second credo. To live in harmony with the world around you.

With her feet light and her head for the moment free of worries, Lucina believed in the comfort of a gentle goddess watching over her.

But the blissful illusion fled her when the Glass Fortress emerged behind the crest of a hill. The ruins disfigured the picture of harmony like a nasty scar. The towers stretched their broken fingers towards the clouds, in many places scorched or destroyed beyond recognition. Sunlight reflected from the windows and myriads of glass shards embedded into the stone structures. But the shimmer of a diamond could not obscure the wounds that fire and brute force had torn into the fortress and the town at its feet. The waters of the river to the western side sloshed around the fortification walls. All bridges from the Glass Fortress to the other side had long vanished in the torrents.

Frederick threw the ruins a mournful look, and Lucina debated the idea of venturing further alone. Unlike her, Frederick did share memories with the Glass Fortress, and considering the devastating loss Altea had suffered here, not all of the suppressed images would evoke pleasant feelings. One whiff of an open fire, imagined or not, and Frederick might succumb to the aura of death and destruction clinging to every stone and every shard of the castle.

On the other hand, Lucina hated the thought of entering the dragon's den alone.

So, they climbed the alley snaking through the houses and towards the fortress side by side. The crumbling façades stared at them through empty windows.

Lucina had read about the destruction of the Glass Fortress, and a few books had even detailed how the Pheraen army had deported the residents to towns all across the Empire. To prevent a large-scale uprising of Altean war survivors, as the texts noted. But by the looks, no one had stepped into the ruins in the eighteen years since. Furniture and trinkets, valuables and painted pictures of relatives still awaited the return of their owners.

But the people of Altea shunned this place. As though a curse wafted through the abandoned streets.

The Glass Fortress itself offered no change to the format. A few spare claymores and helmets lay scattered across the yard in the castle's shadow. Other than that, the place gave no hint as to what had happened here eighteen years ago.

Lucina tied her horse to one of the wooden posts near the outer archway and looked around. "Any idea on where we might start our search?"

But Frederick stared into the distance without a sign to tell he had heard her. His empty gaze flipped through pictures of the childhood he had spent here, unfocused, lost.

"Frederick?"

He slowly resurfaced from his trance and blinked a few times. "I'm afraid my mind was wandering astray just now. A lot has happened since I've last been here. I used to feed the horses with a piece of sugar when no one was looking. Right here." He pointed to a corridor neighboring the yard and decorated by a row of slender arches. "And over there, I sometimes overheard the knights talk when they were off duty. All of this feels… foreign now. Emptier."

"We can always turn around if you want."

Frederick shook his head and straightened. The presence he commanded as a knight might lack the weight of Roy or even Klein, but he still oozed reassurance. A sense of security he didn't need to underpin with a gesture. "I have detained you for too long already. If you still want to know more about your father, there is no time to be wasted."

Lucina hesitated for a moment. The wall surrounding the yard leaned inward as though they wanted to starve her from sunlight.

"I do want to know more," she said. "I want to understand."

"Then may I suggest we start in the catacombs beneath the fortress? Abel mentioned that King Marth spent many hours there after the death of his wife. Perhaps he conducted his plans on how to thwart the Pheraen advances there and left behind clues. Furthermore, Falchion should rest alongside him in his tomb. I believe he would have wanted you to wield it."

Lucina swallowed her reply and nodded. Based on Abel's story, Marth had done very little in terms of planning. He had allowed the Pheraen army to not only walk straight to his final stronghold but to also violate the town under his protection; the grotesque reminders of which had stared at Lucina on her way here. Even if this man had been her father, she struggled to forgive such a lack of initiative.

Then again… didn't she refuse to take matters into her own hands just as much? Neither aligned with the Pheraen policy nor allied with the Altean rebels. And as a result, unwilling to commit.

Her breathing stumbled when Lucina placed a hand on her sword hilt. But of course, her inner turmoil didn't manifest into a band of armed robbers hidden in the shadows. Instead, the insides of the fortress presented themselves with a welcome as silent as the rest of the town. The fractured glass windows illuminated the halls and the ancient paintings. Sunlight, weather, and a lack of caring hands from a curator had left their marks on the canvases, and the respect the images of Naga and former kings used to invoke in those who walked by had vanished. Sorrowful monuments to keep the desolate corridors company.

Frederick needed time to remember the correct path to the catacombs, and they found themselves face to face with a dead end in the form of an armory or a sprawling balcony more than once. Nothing about these halls or the glass decorations sparked a sense of familiarity in Lucina. She was walking through a museum of someone else's childhood.

And from the once glamorous display rooms, she and Frederick soon moved into less glamorous vaults. Here, the exhibits consisted of tombs for the dead kings and queens of Altea. Statues in the images of the deceased skirted the walls, each with their eyes downcast and their hands folded in prayer. The line went on for several hundred feet, and although many of the names carved into the marble had become impossible to decipher, Lucina guessed that the oldest of these graves dated back to the foundation of Altea or even the world as a whole. A single blue orb rested on a rostrum in the center of the hall. Glass fragments in the wall reflected its glow a hundredfold and highlighted the stone faces without the need for torches.

"The people of Altea had an astounding knowledge on the uses of magic," Lucina said and ran her fingers across the orb's polished surface. "I've never seen lords in Pherae use light in such a fashion."

"Magic is granted to us by Naga, and her teachings reach more people in Altea. It is only natural that they understand the workings of magic better." Frederick picked up a lose glass shard and weighed the fine thing in his hand before letting it slide into his pockets. "Although in this case, the glass reflections seem to be the product of a more worldly ingenuity."

Lucina frowned. "Some knights in Roy's army can cast spells without believing in Naga altogether."

"You cannot call that real magic."

"It looks magical to me when they are throwing lightning bolts at each other. Besides, aren't some of the most revered monasteries of the magic arts supporters of Dualism?"

"Dualism is a lie. Naga represents life, and she gifted humans with kindness and understanding. The only thing Grima promises us is endless darkness. They cannot coexist. No, the false faith people put into Dualism only brought upon them the Black Knight, and his curse still haunts the forests of Tellius if the stories are to be believed." Frederick stopped his rant and looked around for someone who might have overheard him. "I hope I didn't speak too freely."

"I thought we've established that you can share with me anything that's on your mind. And I believe you are right. A book in Lycia's library said that through her Voice, Naga used to offer guidance to her followers. So she must have an interest in protecting the people in her care."

"The end of the war with Pherae dealt her a serious wound. If no one steps forward to defend her cause, I'm afraid she might never recover."

"And then darkness rules," Lucina cited the lecture of Frederick's mother she used to preach to them every evening.

A fate that needed to be averted at all costs.

But Lucina wasn't sure if she could shoulder this burden herself. As the daughter of the last king, the Altean people might see in her the destined warrior to lead the charge against Grima, the beacon of a nation who had lived in the glow of dying embers for the past eighteen years. If Lucina accepted this calling, she would have to confront Roy. Even her most desperate pleas would not convince him to swear allegiance to Naga. Tolerate her followers, yes, if they kept their heads low. But never become one of them.

Lucina twisted the bracelet around her wrist, the one from the boy at Terra's shrine. After everything that had happened, she had all but forgotten the talisman's existence. The stones clinked. Yes, how wonderful the world would be if she shepherded everyone into the warm embrace of some higher might, so that peace united the lands. But many individuals would resist. Either Lucina broke their defiance, or she accepted the impossibility of unity and let someone else fight this battle.

Maybe Marth could have done it.

But emotional weakness had bound his hand. The loss of his wife had crippled him; a walking dead man until his flaws had caught up with him to claim their toll.

Lucina crept along the line of royal stone images. Her shadow hurried before her, more eager to discover the truth than she was. One of the graves several hundred paces from the entrance of the catacomb bore Caeda's name. In the heart-shaped face and the slender brows, she saw a piece of herself.

Lucina shuddered.

In the neighboring alcove, the face of Marth himself looked down at her. The stonemasons had immortalized his image sometime before his death, and the statue had waited for its living and breathing twin to lie down in this final resting spot since then. In horrid contrast to the Pheraen tradition where the dead were given to the fire, the people of Altea preserved the bodies of their relatives and stored them in coffins such as the one in front of Lucina. According to Naga's teachings, once her followers unified the entire world, they and their fallen friends would walk together through Naga's eternal paradise.

A noble thought, but Lucina in no way looked forward to encounter Marth's corpse in her search for answers. The massive lid placed on his coffin seemed to jump towards her as soon as she looked at the small glass prisms set in the stone.

Frederick shared none of her hesitance, squeezed into the alcove, and placed his hands against the lid. But before he gave the slab a push, he looked at her in search for confirmation.

"Do you still want to go through with this?" he asked.

Lucina stared into the sorrowful eyes of Marth's statue. Then back at Frederick. "I've come too far to turn back now."

Together, they shoved the barrier aside. The slab met the floor tiles with an ear-shattering thud, and the glass prisms tinkled in their hollows in the wall. Lucina stepped forward.

In the dim, blue light, the insides of the coffin revealed… nothing.

The corpse Lucina had expected wasn't there. Falchion, the sword Abel had praised as the most beautiful weapon forged since the dawn of time, didn't accompany the grave of its wielder as tradition demanded. Only the empty scabbard rested in the coffin.

A dead end.

Lucina took a deep breath of the cool, wet air. She barely registered the staleness.

"We're too late." Her voice lacked any hint of disappointment. Not even her anger shone through. "The empty ruins probably made for an ideal target for grave robbers."

"A batch of grave robbers would have taken the scabbard with them," Frederick said. "The embroidery alone could have earned them a sizable fortune."

The fine details stitched into the leather with blue threads indeed hinted at the countless hours and the passion the maker had poured into the scabbard. Not to speak of the golden dragon head attached to the upper end.

"The value is symbolic and little else." Lucina lifted the poor prize of her detour from the coffin. "It certainly pales in comparison to the discovery of Falchion itself. We've wasted our time."

Frederick shifted, and if Lucina had to guess, his unease did not stem from his injury. "What do you plan to do now?"

Yes, what did she plan to do now?

Lucina had hoped to find answers, a clue, or a sign to tell her which path to follow next. But her search had come out empty. To think that Marth, her father, had constructed a plan and would reach out to her beyond the grave to offer his wisdom – how silly.

He was dead, and his ambitions had died even before Roy had confronted him in the upper halls of the Glass Fortress.

The useless scabbard mocked Lucina a fool. But no matter how much she fancied the idea of smacking the thankless object to the floor in a fit of rage, she needed to stay composed in front of Frederick. A leader, even if they only commanded a single person, could never allow themselves to give into emotions. They needed to offer a rock in the raging sea when no one else did; Roy's words.

Lucina's fingernails dug into the leather. But instead of tearing the scabbard in half, she gave it a shake. And out slid a letter.

The piece of paper sailed to the ground between Frederick and Lucina with the sound of a hurricane amidst a market district filled with porcelain. And although the rattling only echoed in her head, Lucina flinched when the letter touched the tiles.

When she made no move, Frederick bowed to pick up the letter and placed it in Lucina's frozen hands. The crest of Altea with its two crossed keys sealed off the content. She had come across the symbol countless times throughout her studies in Lycia's sun-bathed library. But never had the keys evoked such a feeling in her. A sting deep inside her chest that inhibited her ability to breathe and pulled her forward at the same time, crawling under her skin and filling up every last ounce of her body until she thought she would burst. This crest was that of a fallen house – but it was also hers.

Lucina could not tell how many seconds or hours passed, but in the end, she did break the seal.

Several lines of a curved handwriting greeted her, a slew of tiny letters as though the author had feared to run out of paper. Lucina trailed the winding Ls with her thumb. Each one looked like a love letter of its own.

Lucina,

When this letter finds its way to you, I will be dead. I would rather relate these things to you in person, but I'm afraid my time is running short. Forgive me. Eliwood's army is approaching, and he will not rest until he finds repayment for the death of his wife. Nothing I say will appease him, and I have little hope that Naga will intervene to make him see the suffering he inflicts upon my people. So, I will offer him what he wants. My life. I cannot risk that his anger grows further or that he takes out his revenge on you, Lucina. If I can, I will take Eliwood with me. Roy's heart is kinder than his father's, once he spills my blood, he might still offer you and the people who were foolish enough to place their faith in me a chance to live.

Lucina, there is so little I can tell you, and so much less I can give. I need to find solace in the hope that you will grow into a strong, beautiful woman without me. The quill in my hand trembles at the alternative. Perhaps if I had given up this path sooner, I could have spared you and Ceada the punishment for my mistakes. But I cannot waste the time to mourn the turnings of the clock. What I can give you, I will.

You, Lucina, are the heir of Altea, and with a heavy heart I place this burden in your hands. Falchion, the Divine Sword, shall offer you protection when I no longer can. I have hidden it in the ruins of Seliora, where the sword will wait for you until you are ready to take what is yours. Only you can take up Falchion, and once you do, the life you led before will be lost to you forever. A chill creeps through me at the thought of your lost innocence, when your round eyes harden, and your cheerful laughter fades. But I can task no one else but you with this. My people, our people will need a sword to fend off the approaching darkness. If they and the belief in Naga they garden vanish in Grima's shadows, then truly all will be lost.

Forgive me, Lucina, that I cannot go this path with you. So many words of advice and of love swirl in my head, but I cannot put them to paper. I hope this letter reaches you. I hope Falchion will serve you better than me. Forgive the shortcomings of your father, if you can.

With love. Forever.

Marth

Lucina realized she was crying when Frederick closed his hand around her trembling fingers. The paper shriveled where her tears dropped between the letters Marth had drawn with her in mind.

Her father.

For so many years, she had waited for a word, a sign to tell her that someone in this world had cared about the indigo-haired girl with the scraped knees that had ventured through the grand hallways of Lycia under Roy's watchful eyes. Now, finally, her father had reached out to her. The man she had learned to look down upon and call a traitor. The man she had learned to hate because he had robbed Roy of both his parents.

As Marth had feared, Eliwood had exacted his revenge, and Marth had died in hopes of protecting his people and his daughter through his sacrifice. But the revenge hadn't manifested through Eliwood's hands. Roy had wielded the sword.

And in twisting Lucina's mind into hating her father, he had perfected his ploy.

The letter slid out of Lucina's numb fingers as she buried her face into Frederick's shoulder and cried. She cried for Roy, for her parents, for Altea, and for herself, and the alcoves echoed her sobs to form a desperate choir until she had no more tears to give. All the while, the stone faces of her ancestors watched with merciless, unending silence.

Notes: Incredible, after reading through this three times, I still find grammatical errors. The bane of an editor...