Chapter 12: Loyalty

She was eight years old, and she dreamed of standing by the Exalt's side, just like her parents did.

"Strike high! Strike middle! Strike low!"

Her wooden sword beat out a steady rhythm against the straw dummy, in time with the shouts. It may have been windy and snowing outside, but the confines of the armory seemed swelteringly hot. She was already breathing hard and sweating profusely, but she continued doggedly on despite the growing stitch in her side. She refused to slack off—especially since Lucina was right beside her.

The older girl was holding a larger practice sword, weighted with lead to help harden her muscles, and attacking her target with the same single-minded determination. High. Middle. Low. High. Middle. Low. Even if it was just a training exercise, her face was serious.

"Stop!" At the call to end the drill, Severa was tempted to let her sword fall to the ground, but she'd been taught better. She lowered her sword and glanced to the side, seeing her father walking over to them.

"That will be all for today. You may return your weapons to the racks." Frederick nodded approvingly, folding his arms across his chest. "Well done. You're improving every day."

Lucina nodded gravely. She would turn eleven in a few months, but she already had the dignified air of a woman decades older. Quiet and serious, she barely ever smiled, and laughed even more rarely. Severa tried to imitate her mannerisms, but at two years younger, she was much less adept than Lucina at hiding her feelings. She couldn't stop herself from smiling proudly at her father's praise as she carefully put away her sword.

"Sir Frederick?" said Lucina, her tone polite. "This is a bit earlier than we usually stop, isn't it? It's barely past noon."

"Indeed it is, milady," said Frederick. "But today is special." He placed one hand on Severa's shoulder, a rare smile coming to his face as he looked down at his daughter. "Tomorrow is Severa's ninth birthday, but I had something special planned for tonight."

"Something special, daddy?" said Severa eagerly. "What do you mean?"

Frederick tousled her hair. "I think it's time that we made your first sword."

Hearing that made Severa squeal with delight. She bounced up and down, grabbing at her daddy's hand. "Really? Really?"

"Really really," said Frederick, squeezing her hand back.

Lucina spoke up somewhat uncertainly. "Umm… can I watch, too? I promise I won't get in the way…"

"Lucy can help, right?" said Severa, running over to her friend. "I bet she's the best at helping!"

Frederick smiled at the two girls. "Of course she can help. It will be good to have an extra pair of hands." He beckoned to them. "Here, follow me."

The forge was across the courtyard from the armory, and the three hurried across, trying to get out of the cold as quickly as possible. Severa nearly slipped on the ice-slick paving stones, but her father caught her arm before she could fall, keeping her on her feet. They entered the forge, faces flushing with the sudden heat.

There was already someone working inside: a burly man with reddish hair gradually going to white. His shirt's sleeves were rolled up past the elbow, and he wore a thick leather apron and gloves to protect him from the heat. Currently, he was bent over a grindstone, bending all of his concentration to sharpening a blade. Severa watched in mute fascination as sparks flew from the spinning stone, carefully working the blade to a razor's edge as the man's foot carefully pumped the pedal.

Frederick cleared his throat, making sure that he could be heard over the sounds of the forge. "Good afternoon, Gregor." He reached up to one of the hooks next to the door, pulling down a forge apron of his own.

The older man looked up, an easy smile coming to his face. "To you as well, good friend and cute children." He carefully set down the sword, holding out his arms, and Severa rushed forward for a hug.

"Hey, Gramps!" Out of all of the Shepherds, the former sellsword was one of her favorites. He always seemed ready with a joke and a smile, and he took her teasing about his "funny voice" in his stride.

Gregor held Severa out at arm's length, narrowing his eyes exaggeratedly. "Oy, why are you calling Gregor such things? He is not so old!"

Severa giggled. "Yes you are! Old like a grandpa!"

"Ah, good grieving… Gregor is not old like grandpa, he is young and strong like ox!" He lifted Severa into the air above his head as if to prove the point, and the little girl squealed with delight. She first reached up to tap one of the low-hanging beams of the ceiling with one small palm, then moved her hand back down to ruffle Gregor's hair.

"But you have all of that white in your hair!" she said.

Gregor scoffed. "Is very snowy season. Many snow-pieces stick to Gregor's head." He carefully lowered Severa back to the ground and looked over at Frederick, who had finished tying on the forge apron. "So, what is it bringing you to here on cold day? You want to feel warmth of fires?"

Frederick pulled on thick leather gloves of his own. "Actually, tomorrow is Severa's birthday, so we're going to make her first sword."

"Ah, a first weapon! Is good birthday present." He furrowed his brow. "But Gregor was thinking daughter of yours would use lance, not sword."

Severa's father shrugged. "There will be plenty of time for her to learn the lance, if she so chooses. In the meantime, however, she can train as she likes." He moved towards the back corner, where ingots of unshaped iron and steel were neatly stacked.

"Ah, I see," said the mercenary, his craggy face breaking into a wide grin. "You want to use sword to be more like Gregor, eh?"

Severa stuck out her tongue. "No, silly, I want to be like Lucy!" She pointed over at the princess, who had been standing quietly near the door since they walked in.

Lucina blinked in surprise. "Like me?"

"Yeah! I want to be able to fight like you do, so that we can train together… even if my sword won't be as cool as the Falchion!"

Gregor nodded in mock sorrow. "Alas, is sad but true. Gregor not have any dragon fangs lying around—and tiny wife have none to spare!" He let out a bellow of laughter at his own joke. Even Lucina managed a grin at that. Nowi might have been older than anyone in Ylisstol, but she was always enthusiastic about playing—both with her own daughter, Nah, and with the other children.

Frederick emerged from behind Gregor, several ingots in his hands. "Steel and iron will have to do, then. Gregor, would you like to help supervise?"

"Would be glad indeed," said Gregor. "Come, small children, Gregor show you how it is done."

Severa watched in fascination as Gregor showed her and Lucina how to work the bellows. "Is very important to have right kind of hot," he explained. "Sword must be hard, but also soft, yes?"

"That doesn't make sense," said Severa, puzzled.

Gregor tapped his forehead with one callused finger. "Ah, but think: if sword is too soft, will bend when hit. But if sword is too hard, will break like glass." He pointed over to Frederick, who was manipulating the hammer and tongs to carefully layer the iron and steel. "So soft metal and hard metal—both important."

Lucina nodded thoughtfully. "I think I understand."

Frederick hammered away at the metal, hammering the blade and the tang into shape, and carefully directing the heat from the bellows in order to keep the right temperature. Severa wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it seemed to go by in the blink of an eye to her, so absorbed was she in watching and doing her best to help. She and Lucina switched off on the bellows, carefully blowing more air into the forge at the direction of the two older men, until at last the blade was shaped.

"Here, Severa, stand out of the way," her father warned, picking up the blade with his tongs. The girl jumped out of the way with alacrity as her father stepped past to the quenching trough and smoothly slid the sword into the water. There was a hiss and a puff of steam as the red-hot blade struck the water. After a moment, Frederick pulled it from the water, shaking off errant droplets. He nodded to Gregor. "The oven?"

"Right," said Gregor. He waved a hand at Lucina. "Can stop with the air, now. Forge is done."

Lucina wiped sweat from her brow and smiled. "Thanks for letting me help."

Frederick inclined his head. "Your help was appreciated, milady."

"So what comes now, daddy?" said Severa, barely restraining herself from running forward.

"Now that the blade is shaped, it must be tempered," said Frederick, carefully carrying the sword over to the oven against the far wall.

"Temper? Like… an angry person?" Severa wrinkled her nose in confusion.

Her father chuckled. "Not really. It's sort of like… baking it, I guess. You know how a loaf of bread needs time to rise? It's kind of like that. You wouldn't eat bread dough by itself, after all. Once a sword has been tempered, it's ready to be finished." He slid the blade into the oven, adjusting its position slightly with the tongs, and carefully closed the door after it.

"But a sword isn't a loaf of bread," scoffed Severa, with all the superiority of her almost nine years.

"Indeed it is not," said Frederick, matching her serious tone. "Swords are not edible."

"Gregor know this!" called the sellsword, hanging up his apron. "He tried it once, and almost broke his teeth." He let out another guffaw.

"Speaking of eating…" Frederick knelt down next to his daughter, prodding at her stomach playfully. "It's pretty late, isn't it? We should get you some dinner."

Severa's stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, and she blushed. "Yeah, I guess." A thought occurred to her, and she continued on. "Lucy can come eat with us! You'd like that, right?"

The princess started at the mention of her name. "If it's not too much trouble for you, Sir Frederick…"

"Nothing would please me more than to host you, milady," said Frederick, pulling off his forge gloves. He hung his apron on the hook beside Gregor's and held out a hand for Severa to take. "Shall we be off, then?"

Severa took her father's hand with her right and Lucina's with her left, pulling both of them after her into the wintry evening. As she skipped between the two of them, her heart was light: tomorrow was her birthday, her father was making her first sword, and she was hand in hand with her best friend in all the world. Despite the cold and the wind, she was flushed with warmth. Today was perfect.

It was the height of summer, and the Shepherds that had marched to Plegia had been gone for far too long.

Her father had led them, setting forth with his wife at his side—as he had promised her that he would on that night almost three years ago. They had left promising to return within a matter of weeks, with the Fire Emblem and the Gemstones in their hands. But more than a month had passed since then, and still, no word came.

Severa and Lucina were training at their usual time, under the watchful eye of Sir Stahl. He and his wife Panne were the only two among the Shepherds who had stayed behind to guard Exalt Lissa—her husband, West-Khan Lon'qu, had been fighting a losing battle in Ferox for almost three years already, and the Shepherds had assured him that they would keep her safe. Frederick had assigned Stahl as captain of Lissa's personal guard: partially because of his own abilities as a knight, but also because his wife and their young son were the last of their kind. Were they to die, the entire race of taguel would perish with them.

There was the sound of horn-calls from the direction of the gate, and the messy-haired knight looked up, instantly alert. The girls stopped in the middle of their drill. "Sir Stahl?" said Lucina. "Is that—"

"The signal," said Stahl, voice tight with anticipation. "The group that went to Plegia… they're back."

Daddy! Severa hurried to put her sword back on the rack. "Can we go and see them?"

The green-clad knight nodded. "Of course." He was already on his way towards the gate, his long strides quickly out-pacing the two children. He didn't seem to notice that he was leaving them behind until Severa called for him to wait up: a sign of how distracted and anxious he was.

They reached the gate to find a crowd already gathered. The citizens quickly moved aside when they saw Stahl approaching with two children behind him. Lucina took Severa's hand, making sure that the two girls wouldn't be separated as they made their way through the crowds towards the gate. Panne was already present, with the children of the other Shepherds clustered around her, all looking out towards the returning soldiers. Even before she reached the front, however, Severa knew something was wrong. It was quiet: just as quiet as it had been three years ago.

The men and women who entered the gate were a far cry from the proud soldiers who had set out from Ylisstol to retrieve the Fire Emblem. Their mounts were exhausted, their clothes filthy with mud and dried blood. There were more than a few empty saddles: less than half of the soldiers who had set out for Plegia had returned. She looked frantically around, trying to find her parents, but could not spot either of them. Lucina, sensing her friend's fear, squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Don't worry, Severa, they're probably with the rearguard."

It was a hollow reassurance, but Severa held onto it as tightly as she held Lucina's hand. The Shepherds had begun to disperse, each going to their families, and she let her eyes scan the crowd, taking them in.

Tall, strapping Ricken, limping from a wound to the leg, bent down to hug Brady. He held his son as the boy cried into his broad chest, shoulders shaking. Though Ricken held steady, silent tears streamed from his eyes, leaving trails in the dust on his face.

Tharja, her head wrapped in a blood-stained bandage, her expression murderous, had precious little comfort to give her daughter. Of her husband, Henry, there was no sign.

Laurent, the oldest of the children apart from Lucina, stood rigidly straight. In his hands, he held his mother's battered hat. Gerome stood behind him, a hand on the young mage's shoulder in silent support: only his mother's wyvern had returned from Rosanne two years ago. He knew what it was to feel loss.

She didn't see Nah anywhere. Neither Gregor nor Nowi had returned. Perhaps the young manakete had left already, wanting to mourn her loss in private.

Inigo, Cynthia, and Kjelle all stayed near their parents, hugging them tightly enough to convince Severa that they would never let go.

And still, she stood hand in hand with Lucina, looking desperately for her parents.

At last, she spotted her mother, her red hair disheveled and her armor dented. She walked alongside her pegasus rather than riding it, leaning on her lance as if it were a crutch. Severa dropped Lucina's hand and ran forward to hug her mother around the waist. "Mommy!" she wailed.

Cordelia wrapped her free arm around her daughter's shoulders, swaying slightly on her feet. "Sevvy…"

"Mommy, I knew you'd be okay!" She looked up into her mother's face, her voice turning anxious. "Where's daddy? He was with you, right?"

"Daddy is…" began Cordelia. Her eyes were rimmed with red, sunken and bloodshot. "He…"

Severa's voice rose in pitch. "He's all right, isn't he? He has to be!"

"Darling, your daddy… he…" Cordelia closed her eyes tightly. "He's not coming back."

It was as if her heart had plummeted out of her chest. "No…"

"Darling—"

"NO! You're lying, I don't believe you, you're lying—"

"Sevvy—"

Severa shoved her way out of her mother's arms, screaming. "He promised he would come back, daddy promised, he wouldn't lie to me, not about this—"

She knew that people were staring at her. She didn't care. All that mattered was that her daddy wasn't coming home.

She felt Lucina's arms around her, the older girl pulling her into a comforting hug, and she cried helplessly into Lucina's shoulder until the princess's raiment was sodden with her tears.

She was nine years old, and there was an empty space at Lucina's side where her father had once stood.