Note: The labyrinth of Roy's mind is inspired by the the Ch.24 map of FE6, "The Truth of the Legend," but more twisted.

Also: This is now posted on AO3! So please if you would like, you can follow there too.

Thank you to friends for beta reading!

The Neverending Dream

There was naught but darkness. Embraced by cold, Roy felt nothing but the bitter drift of the void—there was no sound, no life, nothing.

Surely, this was where he would find rest, right?

Though just as he felt himself letting go, a thread tugged at him.

"Roy," came an ethereal voice.

That empty abyss devoid of anything began to melt away into something far more tangible—though still, he could not see.

"Roy…"

There came that voice once more. It was gentle, soft… warm. Loving. For some reason, the beat of his heart—when did that begin to beat again, he wondered—quickened at the sound. His chest ached, but not from pain, only a distant longing.

"Roy… open your eyes."

Slowly, his eyes slipped open. Everything was a haze as his vision returned slowly, and his surroundings became more apparent.

He was slumped on the ground, against a wall. His arms were limp at his sides and his eyes shifted as he slowly glanced back and forth, surveying the room. It was a large hall, with pillars and statues of dragons lining each wall. Everything was timeworn—the walls were beginning to crumble, the tiled floors were cracked, and some tiles were misaligned. A soft, otherworldly glow seemed to emanate from everything around him, as if it was charged with some sort of magical energy- or as if it were not even real.

The air was cool as it met his nostrils and lungs with each inhale.

His gaze rose higher, and far in front of him was an empty throne. No one was there, and it seemed like no one had sat in it for a very long time.

"Roy…"

His head lifted as he looked upwards towards the ceiling. As his neck stretched and his head tilted back, he swallowed the lump in his throat. It was sore and dry, like he had not breathed or drank water in ages.

Slowly, he willed himself to stand. His legs were weak, and the world rocked as he shakily pulled himself up, the palms of his hands pressing wearily into the rough stone wall behind him to keep him from collapsing. His head was heavy and he could feel the blood pumping through his veins behind his eyes as he suffered through a horrible headache; one of his hands pulled from the wall to cover his mouth as he tried to keep himself from being sick.

After the initial wave of pressure and nausea subsided, he lowered his hand from his face and carefully looked forward once more towards the throne.

"Roy…"

He took one step. Though his footsteps were gentle, the sound echoed for what felt like eternity—as if he was still entrapped in an endless void. One step turned into a second, and then a third and a fourth; eventually, he had trudged his way to the throne that had been so far away. His eyes stayed trained on the ruby cloth of the seat.

"Keep going."

Without hesitation, he began wandering further into this place. Not knowing where he was, or where he was going, or even why he was there in the first place. That tiny thread continued to tug his soul along as he travelled further into the labyrinth's depths.

The silence was deafening. All he heard was the echoing of his own footsteps down the halls of this ethereal warren. If he had been more lucid, he would have been driven mad.

Slowly he stumbled down halls and halls of emptiness. Each new hall, each new room looked just the same as the last. Up staircases, down staircases—no matter which way he meandered, everything looked the same. Empty thrones upon empty thrones, decrepit halls upon decrepit halls.

The further he travelled, the less he felt of his physical self—the painful throbbing in his head, the searing burn of the hole in his chest, and the stiffness of his limbs were less and less apparent as he continued. Memories, muddled but still strangely clear, flitted in and out of his mind as the energy in the air thickened.

That glow grew brighter with each passing step. Upon rounding one more corner, Roy was met with a wide staircase that appeared endless.

"You're almost there…"

With those words coaxing him, he began his ascent. With each step, it became less and less daunting, and his soul felt lighter the higher he climbed. That light emanating was nearly pure white now.

Eventually, his surroundings were completely swallowed by the light, and he could not step further.

"You made it…" that gentle voice called again. It was as if the voice embraced him from both everywhere and nowhere at once; there was a warm, familiar feeling that the coldness of Roy's soul sorely lacked and longed for.

From that empty whiteness, the visage of a woman appeared—though Roy was unsure of when she came to be, or if she had actually been there the whole time.

He had never seen her before, and yet at the same time, he knew exactly who she was.

"… Mother…" came his hoarse voice, jarring yet quiet.

Ninian smiled. "Look at how you've grown…" she said, heartfelt pride evident in her eyes as she looked upon him. "Just like your father…"

As soon as her voice met his ears, it was as if that gentle thread that had been tugging him suddenly yanked his soul back into himself. No longer was he wandering in the light without consciousness. His eyes slowly grew from lidded to wide as the reality of who he was facing hit him.

"… You've struggled so much…" she said quietly. "I am sorry… that I have not been here for you…"

His heart was pounding in his chest and his body burned as adrenaline hit him. It was almost too much to handle.

"Y… You're… really her," Roy barely stammered.

A gentle smile eased his nerves, albeit only slightly. "I am… I am Ninian… and you are my son, Roy," she responded.

It was as if a bubble burst in his chest as his eyes grew moist with tears that threatened to spill over.

"You have suffered so much…" her expression grew saddened as she closed her red eyes and put a hand to her chest. "And yet you are still so strong… it has been… a blessing to be able to watch over you now, as I have been…"

He swallowed hard as one tear streaked down his cheek. "You've been… watching over me?"

She opened her eyes again and looked to him with a small nod. "… That stone," she said quietly.

He did not need to ask for clarification—immediately he reached to his satchel and searched its contents. After a moment of searching, he removed his hand, having procured that mysterious stone that had fallen from his shirt when he first woke in the ports of Galder. That once dull surface now glowed with a soft teal-white light, as if it had awakened from slumber.

"That… is my dragonstone," she said quietly, causing Roy's attention to snap to her once more. "My brother… your uncle, he gave this to you. I had put all the power I had into that stone… and even though I have died, what is left of me in that dragonstone has allowed my soul to keep watch over you."

The realization that Roy's mother had been watching over him through his journey in this foreign land caused more tears to bud and stream down his face. He had no words as his gaze shifted from his mother to the dragonstone in his hand.

"You… are not alone…" Ninian said quietly, her voice sounding farther away than before. "I am with you… I promise. And… so are all of your friends… that you have made along the way…"

Her voice grew quieter as she spoke, and Roy tilted his head upwards to look to her once more—only to be panicked by the sight of her fading into white.

"W… wait," he stuttered, realizing her vision was fading before him.

She smiled at him. "Roy. Be strong…"

His body shook as he reached out to her with his free hand. "Wait, wait—please… I want to talk with you more, I—"

His voice, body, and consciousness were sucked away into the light.

"Wake up, Roy."

The events of four days ago had been weighing heavily on Marth's mind.

His rapier had plunged cleanly into Roy's chest—thankfully, however, it had been far enough to the right that he missed anything vital. Though Marth was horrified by what he had to do, he was thankful that his comrade did not die by his own hands.

There was no way the prince could have forgiven himself for his actions if it had ended in death. Even now, he struggled to cope. That memory of Roy's eyes looking back into his, lifelessness overtaking them, plagued him like a nightmare.

He had hardly left his comrade's bedside in the infirmary since he had been taken in for healing. At first, there was always a cleric at Roy's side, working on his wounds. However, over the course of the last few days, they had come in less frequently as his condition grew fairer.

That should have eased Marth's fears. However, the prince still found himself wrought with worry over his friend's physical state.

Though the chirurgeons had assisted in the healing of his physical cuts, burns, and punctures, there was still an aspect of his condition that had Marth feeling cold: Roy's right arm, half of his chest, and part of his neck were covered in a crystalline growth. It looked just like the crystal that grew over him while he was a dragon, but instead of being spiked, it was like a rough sheet of glass or ice.

Marth had never seen anything quite like it before, and perhaps more worryingly, neither had any of their healers. Without thinking, he found himself slowly reaching out to his friend's arm to touch it.

His fingertips brushed against the crystalline limb, and a shudder ran up his spine. It felt unnatural to the touch—cold, yet hot with energy at the same time. His eyes stayed fixated on it as he got lost in the light blue glow.

Eventually, his gaze shifted up to his comrade's face. His hair had been cleaned of blood, yet it was still quite matted since he had been unconscious for so long now. Small beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and his eyebrows twitched every now and then.

Seeing Roy like this ripped at Marth's heart in a way he only felt once before, when his father died.

The prince let out the breath he had been holding and allowed his eyes to slip shut. His hand rested fully on Roy's forearm as he attempted to concentrate. His reaction had been so strong—to wail in agony as he had as he clutched at his comrade was wholly unlike him, and yet it was the first thing his heart yearned to do.

Perhaps…

With a slight shake of the head, Marth wished the idea away, and opened his eyes once more to look at Roy again.

His heart skipped a beat as he was met by a familiar ice blue gaze.