Title: Tales of a Hat
Game: Seima no Kouseki
Characters, pairings etc: Joshua, Keselda (Caellach), hinting Joshua/Natasha
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Fire Emblem: Seima no Kouseki belongs to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems.
Word Count: 1093
Notes: Spoilers for Chapters 14 and 15 Eirik, I guess.

Fic courtesy of a random plotbunny created by Rosa Aquafire.

He knows everyone thinks how ridiculous he looks wearing the hat. They've never seen him without it. They probably think that he sleeps with it on. The brim is pulled so closely over his eyes, they say that it really is a wonder he could see at all. But he likes to think it's part of his charm: Joshua's hat, a constant in an ever-changing world. It keeps his hair from his face, so it's not as if it's only there for decoration. And there's some sentimental value attached to it as well, he supposed. It's stuck with him through thick and thin, more tightly than any other partner has, a talisman protecting him against the harsh cutthroat realities of mercenary life.

A talisman. Yes, he did think of it that way, once upon a time. Its previous owner, a Carcino merchant, swore that it had protected him and his ship from the many storms that raged in the north. It was blessed by the gods, he said, a sacred holy item that protected its owner from ill fortune. Joshua was amused and intrigued that a hat could be called sacred and holy. Of all the things the gods could bless in the world, they bless a hat, he had thought. Naturally, he had to have it, and naturally, he planned to get it by means of a fair wager. A coin toss, good sir, he said. If you win, I'll give you the money I have, I win and I get that hat.

The merchant must have actually thought that he had half a chance of winning or was drunk, with the speed he agreed to the crazy deal. And when Joshua claimed his prize, the merchant looked like he would love nothing more than to throw him into the North Sea. Keselda had grumbled over how Joshua was wasting good money over a stupid hat when there was drink and women to be had, but laughed as Joshua cheated the merchant from right under his nose nevertheless. So in the end, Joshua had his hat, the merchant did not, and Keselda had his drink and his women.

It hurt a little to think of the man, he'll admit. He's seen the ruthlessness and brutality of war and he thought he understood. But it wasn't until his mother lay dead in his arms, until Keselda laughed when he asked if he had killed her, that it finally touched him. This is war. Then Keselda aimed an axe straight at his head, like he had seen him do countless times in the past, when they were partners terrorizing any who opposed them. It was slightly unnerving, the way they knew the techniques and tactics of their opponent like the back of their hand, just like in the days where their lives depended on the skill of the other. But Keselda was much quicker than Joshua had anticipated and as the battle wore on, there were times he thought he was finished.

When Keselda readied for another blow, the breeze picked up his hat from his head and dropped it somewhere in the sand. With the wind blowing his hair into his face, it left him on the defensive, dodging and weaving between lunges and throws. He felt something tug at his boots, and, for some reason that he can't fathom even now, bent down to see what it was. As he crouched down, he felt both the familiar combination of cloth, leather and cord against his fingers, and a swipe of an axe where his head had been earlier. He should be kicking himself for allowing that momentary distraction, but he can't help but ruefully think that either luck finally decided to treat him well, or that the hat must have some charm behind it after all. In any case, if it weren't for the hat, he would be missing a head.

He has no idea what to do with the thing, though, when the war is over and he finally returns home- if luck smiles on him. Perhaps he'll throw it away and be done with it. What need will a king have for some tattered old hat? It's not just a tear left by Keselda's axe that has been messily patched up. Some of the trim has been worn down, the edges are fraying, and the small splatters of blood and dirt are now beyond the powers of soap and water to remove. Honestly, it's not going to surprise him if it just crumbles on his head between now and the journey home. It was hardly something that would inspire a regal aura.

Perhaps he'll keep the hat, for old times' sake, as a reminder for the man he was. He might have been born to rule, his mother's son, but the world has shaped him just as much as the palace did. Perhaps he'll still wear it as king, so that his people will see that he's not a man out of touch with their hearts, that he's different from those before him who have never experienced life outside the hall. Or maybe when his children are old enough to talk back to him, he'll take it out from a dusty closet, blood and sweat and all, and show them that there was a time when Father was nothing like the stuffy, overly-concerned and worried old fart they know.

He's laughing a little now, at the thought of miniature versions of himself and of her running around in the palace of his youth, or rather, the one that will resemble his childhood home. She's looking at him strangely, startled that he would laugh at such an odd time, but when he winks at her with the eye left exposed by his hat, she can't help but smile. It always manages to lift his spirits, that smile. He's not quite sure what possessed her to agree to become his partner on the biggest gamble in his life, but he's glad she did place such faith in him. With so much at stake, he won't let himself fail.

For now, he'll keep wearing the hat, even if it looks like it'll fall apart any second. There's something comforting about having it on his head, as strange as it sounds. Who knows, perhaps it is a lucky talisman blessed by the gods. But having some faith in it is the least he could do for a partner that has stayed by his side, a constant in a life filled with partners old and new.