It was never supposed to happen.
He was here, in the past. The past changed ever since he came, since they came. Chrom's injury. Struck down.
But then again there were other things that did not add up. The king's death. A new one replaced. Robin's memory. Gone like the swiftest of winds. Emmeryn's death. Only delayed.
So was it wrong to think that things would be different? That nothing would ever repeat? That all of his nightmares were chased away? Was it?
Guess it was….…
"Um..," Owain sputtered out, cheeks dashed a color brighter. "You're..not still upset….are you?"
In front of him as the leading guide his father Lon'qu was pushing his way through the forest. He only spared his future son a glance before grunting. "Of course I'm upset," his deep voiced grumbled out. Owain knew though that the grumble was not because he was trying to scare him away but to hide the embarrassment of speaking out so freely of his thoughts of things. "You started moaning and shouting out of the blue. Your mother and I were terrified."
Owain of course felt guilty about this. Whatever tale he was hoping to spin was forgotten as he heard the sigh of his father as he stopped to look back at him with a conflicted array of emotions on his face.
"Look," he started. "I am relieved you're all right." he said it in so much earnest that he didn't care about the uncomfortable look. "But what was all that about? S-some kind of scr-ripted stage actin-ng?"
Owain remembered how his mother always liked to act out parts of plays for his bedtime stories, even as to go as far as to sometimes act alongside Sumia and Olivia at times, stories that came from books in their library or tales in their imaginations. When he asked his father, he said that Lissa always use to play around and loved to act with characters in books that Robin would lend her. So it was no surprise that his father knew at least a few scripted plays.
But what his father doesn't know is that Lissa's passion for acting and reading out plays made his own passion of writing some of his own.
So to say that he took someone else's work as his own...well….
"I don't script anything!" He shot back as his father who continued to walk and scouting the area with him. "I'll have you know, it's entirely improv-"
Wait, he can't tell him that Mother also wrote plays for him to shout out. She hasn't even got through the stage of even sitting still on a chair!
"Er," he started again, trying to avoid his father staring at him. "I mean, it's authentic! I'm the chosen scion of warrior heroes across tide and time! After all, both my bloodlines could show proof of that!"
He almost crashed into his father when he stopped to a halt. Barely touching him he raised a hand to his nose, the first thing that would have crashed into his father, with the imaginary promise of pain if he was a second too late.
Flustered and a little bit annoyed that they paused everything only for him to have panic spread all over his body.
Did he spotted the enemy? Is there a beast right in front of them? Was there a horde of Risen waiting for them at the end of the woods?
Worried that his father didn't move from his spot Owian laid a hand on the hilt of his father's swords, his future father's, as he stepped around his father to look what was in front of them.
There was nothing. Nothing but the density of trees and bushes in their way.
Confused he looked over to his father, mouth half way open to ask what made him stop before abandoning the idea halfway.
His father's face was strange and terrifying to him. He had never seen his father look both saddened and shocked with bits frustration all over his face. Not when he had to leave mother and him for almost a year. Not when he heard that one of his comrades died. Not even when he died right in front of his eyes that only held hope and peace.
And that scared him.
"Father-"
"Are you not ashamed to say those things out loud."
"Huh?!" Owain recoiled back, his father snapped his face to look at him with an unreadable expression as one of mixed emotions disappeared. He was by any means not used to his father change of moods as quickly as they come but he is sure felt like something was a mist with the way he said it, the way he acted and the hidden meaning of his words.
When he still said nothing his father must have thought he hadn't heard him before repeating again. "Are you not ashamed Owain, to say those kinds of things out loud?"
His words while may seen that they are meant to hurt only made him see that his father really wanted to know the answer to something that he is thinking hard on.
"Ashamed," he tested the words on his tongue before letting out a snort to try to lighten up the mood of things. Ha! Far from it!" Still seeing that Father was still unmoved he tried to try a different approach. "Though I suppose I can't blame you for not understanding my bleeding-edge aesthetic. After all, you are the product of an earlier, simpler time…"
He trailed off. What is his father was ashamed by him! Is that what he was trying to understand here? Was his father trying to change the way his past self will be raised in order to change the future him?! Could he even do that!? Did he not like him as his son?!
His thoughts didn't linger before he felt a small brush of his hair being swept before it disappeared.
His breath hitched.
"Hmph," Lon'qu crossed his arms as he looked at his son with an affection that even he knew that his father was not even trying to hide. "Well, a future where everyone talks like you sounds-"
It happened to fast for him, he was trained to fight, to sense danger when it was trying to close in, to protect those that he vowed to never meet death's door.
Yet…
"OWAIN! DOWN! NOW!"
His vision was suddenly darken, his father's arms wrapped around his body as he hugged him tight, pressing him tightly to his chest. The action of his father made his hand jerk, twitching know that the surprised impulse of it made it shake uncontrollably as his grip on his swords lessen to nothing but air. His weight shifted. From standing tall to the force of things making them both fall backwards to the ground below them.
"Wha.."
"Grah!"
He didn't understand. Not the sound of pain from his father or the feeling of the wind taken from him or the sight of something shining from the trees above. It was when he felt the pressure of the earth on his back did he understand what he was looking at.
Deep in his father's flesh was an arrow. Long pine wood for the body with the feathers of a bird he could not remember. Crimson was spreading all over his coat, the blue of his outfit was replaced by a dark purple, not noticing that some of his blood splashed on his face and on his hair from the impact.
Father was shot. He was shot by an arrow. He was shot by a Risen. He was shot by the Risen and died. He died. He died. He's dead.
His father was dying.
"Your shoulder..," his voice shook with emotion. "Father your-"
"No time..," he panted. "Archers in… the trees… outnumbered…. Ugh!"
His father was in pain. What was he doing staring?!
"We have to get out of here…."
He was useless…
"Now! GO!"
His mind was blank, not knowing what to do. But his body reacted with instinct grabbing a hold of his father as they ran low near the ground, trying to stay near the shadows as the array of arrows tried to hit them.
He hardly noticed, both mind and body on autopilot as they retreated, nothing but the heavy breathing of his father and the sticky liquid on his hands that made him somewhat conscious of his surroundings.
He only snapped out of it when he saw the camp.
Joy spread in his chest, putting a burst of speed only to fall down when his father fell forward, dragging him down with him.
"We lost them… We should be safe here."
We should be safe.
We should be safe.
He should be safe.
He snapped.
"...gods," he whispered. "Not again… not again…"
"Hmm?"
His father's face, so earnest and kind and brave and courageous and-
A sacrifice.
"Why?!" He snapped, blood boiling and ears ringing. "Why did you take the arrow for me?! You could have died!" His voice was rising, almost loud enough for the camp to hear them. "This is how it happened you know! This is exactly-," flaten, realizing what he was about to say.
This is exactly how you died….
"This is how what happens?"
Exactly how you died…
"Owain?"
You died…
"Owain… are you crying? What's wrong? Did you get hit-"
"Gods, Lon'qu! Owain! Are you alright?!"
With the sight of Cherche coming her way he grabbed the chance to leave.
"I… I'll go get Mother. Stay here."
He could only run to the campsite, away from his Father, away from Cherche, and away from the guilt of failing all over again.
o~0~*~0~o
The Beast is a Human stuck inside a Monster. But I am a Monster stuck inside this Human body. I am the Beast that lives on inside.
-From my younger self
o~0~*~0~o
He was a fool.
He was never a Chosen Hero, never a main character. He was only that stupid fool that everyone wish would go away, to leave the main trops and never trun around or to be killed off quickly from the pages.
He is that fool.
After grabbing ahold of his Mother he only stayed to see if Mother could heal him enough to be deemed alive before staking away from the tent. He can't be in the same room as his Father, his brave strong dying Father.
Now at the edge of the forest his eyes could only stare blankly at the landscape in front of him, not doing anything but blaming himself what could have become a repeat of history.
So lost that he almost missed the familiar strains of olive colored locks being played with by the wind.
Severa was walk at the edge of the campsite, a relaxed poster of a person who had nothing to do but waste the time she has by going about to see who would need her.
Unfortunately someone did need her.
"Severa?" Owain whispered before it became a full on call. "Hey, Severa!'
The girl in question paused, almosted flinched by the voice of her name being called out.
As she sighed to herself she crossed her arms over her chest before sending over a bored look at the boy that was running to greet her. "Oh, bother. What is it now?"
Owain had a smile on his face, the same one that he always wore. But deep down, he was cringing from the heartless words. He was still too fragile from the attack, making every little deitle that any hated him seemed to be tenfold.
But still his outer persona did not failed him as he used his familiar routine of washing away the announced laced in her voiced by the memory of their last meeting. "I was going to help you name your-"
"No," she deadpanned. "I thought I made myself quite clear. My weapon doesn't need a name."
Unknown to both of them, Severa was gripping her weapon with white knuckles.
"Oh no, you were very clear on that point," Owain waved off, ignoring the growing pile of hurt inside of him. "That's not what I was going to say. I think you should name your special moves!"
Severa gagged. "Did you really just say "special moves?""
Owain was too caught up in the idea, in the idea of trying to forget, that he was waving his own sword from his waist. "Like.. "something-something SWORD!" or "whatever.. uh...THRUST!" and stuff." It took him one look to know that she did not approve. "Come on, it's easy. I'll even help you!"
She did not move. "I wasn't aware you had moves at all, let alone special ones."
"Of course!" His pain… it was…. "I'm at 45 and counting. Just a few more, and I'll hit an even 50! Pretty impressive, huh?"
Come…. Please…
"And you shout these names out loud while on the battlefield?" She raised an eyebrow, looking like she just found out that Naga was playing swords and darts with the Fell Dragon herself.
Owain was fast to pick up her hidden meaning of her words. "That's kinda the point. It strikes fear in the enemy's hearts!"
Yeah, kind of like how the sound of silence also strikes fear into his own. The sound of steel on flesh. The empty screams of soldiers. The roar of a dragon. The crying of his friends. The sound of heatered.
He hated this…
Severa scoffed. "Or," she tried to empathise. "It just makes them easier to kill when they're doubled over laughing…" She scoffed again, probably from the imagery of her own words.
Something about that made his heart stopped a bit. The sound of her voice? The words she said? No...that's not it ...what was it?
Slowly Owain who still had his smile fixed in place, his swords in the air, the breaking of his heart, dropped. "...Something tells me I'm not convincing you."
If she had listened to his voice, maybe even looked at him in the eyes, she would have seen that he was a hidden message. A plea. An offer. Even a confession.
But she is Svera. She is stubborn and prideful. She quick witted and sharped tongue. She is also blind as will as a fool.
They all are fools.
She sighed, at what who knows, before giving him a look that said all he needed to know.
She didn't believe him.
"Listen, Owain."
She didn't trust him.
"Ridiculous names and insane shouting is cute when you're six."
She saw him a child.
"But you're a grown man now!"
She saw him as a burden.
"It's gone from embarrassing…"
She doesn't want to be near him.
"...to just plain creepy."
She is disgusted by him.
She…
Owain, is he hurt? He could not tell, the weight on his chest had spread from his heart to his back to his shoulder and all over his body. He felt heavy. Too heavy. Everything was going to fast yet it all was so slow. Nothing was loud enough yet everything was shouting. Was it too hot or too cold in here?
He didn't know what he was doing but he wanted to defend himself. To show her that he was not all of those things.
"Oh yeah?"
Yet…
"Well I've got a name for the move you're pulling right now!"
Still he could not…
"Grumpy….. BLAST!"
He could not hurt her. Could not think right. Could not do anything. Everything was too much.
For some reason, for his poor excuse of an insult was met by anger.
"Yeah?" Her voice changed, something with insanity and cockiness. "What if a REAL man decides to stan you while you're shouting! Hmm!"
He could still see it. The was the plains would turn into the dry wasteland he once called home. The dry scent of rotten flesh and cooked meat everywhere you go. The lingering paranoia that everyone had to carry, to focused on what was to become of them if they made a single mistake.
He could still see it. How the arrow struck down his Father. How his Mother was cut right in front of him. Both of his parents telling him they were sorry. How the soldiers would all fall down. Swords on their chest, axes cutting off their heads, lances pinning down their bodies.
"You're left gurgling on your own blood while we find ourselves one fighter short!"
Everyday their numbers decreased. Sons of fathers were left behind. Brave fathers were all stripped of their weapons and armor. Lost daughters were wrapped up. Mothers were collected of their wedding rings.
"Go on! Ask anyone in camp!"
He could still see it all. Everywhere he went he could still see it all.
But now, with her voice telling this was too much. Far too much.
"They all think you're ridiculous."
If she ever saw his eyes maybe then she could have stopped. His smile was gone. His grip of the weapon was shaky, his swords hand was twitching again.
And his heart?
It was cracking from the pressure of it all.
"You think…. Do they really…?"
Could she have said no…
"Yes, hey really!"
Maybe he would not be this broken...
"So I'm sorry if I don't have time to indulge your weird little hobby!"
Maybe he would not be in tears over that day...
"Now drop it!"
Maybe…. he would have had the strength to tell her all of his pain.
But...
"...S-sorry."
She walked away.
o~0~*~0~o
Information given:- Lon'qu and Owain B Support- Severa and Owain B Support