As she returned to her uncle's room, eager to continue building and modifying her new arm to her liking, a memory played out in her mind. She walked through the castle at a slow pace as she compared it with the discussion with Amos just moments before. Her father would treat her as the next in line, the future empress of Hamelin. There wasn't always time for simple bonding moments between running the empire and training, so deep conversations where she could just talk without being lectured were of limited supply.

Those kinds of conversations came from Gascon, oddly. Sometimes he didn't say a word until he had all the pieces. Sometimes he'd halt her in her tracks when something seemed amiss about the scenario and propose a different rationale. Other times, they would go back and forth, answering questions and simply talking about similar experiences. Often, she'd learn so much more than she ever did with her father.

She recalled a time, though, when he wasn't as lively- a sole night when something had troubled the ever-observant, ever secretive, and ever so clever ambassador. She was twelve at the time and had awoken from a nightmare. She remembered going to the very room she now used to prepare her new limb with tired eyes. She remembered the robot, wooden arms bolted on, dangling from her left hand and the other hand rubbing an eye.

She had opened the door to find him hunched over with both hands to his face. He groaned and ran his hands through his dark hair with his eyes shut tight. He gripped this head, unaware of the hall light entering the room or the now overtly concerned little girl staring at him.

"U-Uncle Gascon…," she nervously asked, unsure if she should bother the troubled man. She walked up to him and continued to watch him. He seemed unaware of her presence.

He shook his head, wincing. His breaths were quick and shallow and he gritted his teeth. "Damn it all...," he hissed. "I… Why this again," he complained as his hunch increased.

She remembered being worried for him. She had never seen him like this. She wondered if anyone, even her father, had seen him like this. She hopped onto the bed and sat next to him. She originally wanted him to comfort her, but the nightmare seemed so insignificant compared to the pain he was experiencing.

She just sat there and watched him. She wondered what she should do. "Are- are you okay," she inquired. She reached up and placed a hand on his back, close to his left shoulder blade. "Uncle Gascon?"

"Uncle Gascon," the words seemed to resonate in his mind. The flashes of all the times he and the others had nearly died seemed to fade. Her small comforting hand on his hunched back cut through the terror he felt. He relaxed a little, the attack over.

They happened every time he came home and, rarely, when he sat alone in a hotel room. It would start sometimes as a delayed response to reminiscing about old battles with Marcassin. Eventually, it would lead to recalling the fight with the Dark Djinn or even the Zodiarchs. It was hardly the guardians, Nightmares, or major threatening creatures that came to mind, though some were in there- especially the other corrupted rulers and that horrid pig tank. Sometimes it was just because something reminded him of those battles, be it his own gun or the dusty model hog tank that sat in the corner of his room.

His head lurched up and his hands let go but still remained near the top of his head. He peered past his arms at his niece. He looked at her desperate and confused face and felt a pang of guilt. She saw. She saw him break. He never wanted her to see this. This was an issue for the thief, not Gascon, not her uncle. "H-hey," he greeted, his voice still trembling, but soft.

"Uncle Gascon," she asked with a tilt of the head. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

He chuckled as he lowered his hands and straightened up a little. He smiled and cleared his throat as he reached out and placed a gentle hand on her head. "I'm… I'm fine… I just…" How could he put it in a way she wouldn't know? "You know how sometimes you have bad dreams or… disappointing thoughts?"

She nodded. "Mhmm," she answered. "They always make me kind of sad."

"Well… I sometimes have both." He looked down and rung his hands. "And… well… they really frighten me."

She looked down as she thought about it. She looked back up at her uncle and hugged him. "It's alright to be scared," she said, gripping his red tunic. "Swaine was always scared," she started to say, unaware of the secret life he bore. "But he still fought! He was brave!" She beamed at him. "If he can be brave, you can be brave!"

He stared down at her and blinked for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. She was cheering him on. He rubbed her head thoughtfully and smiled at her. "You're just like your mother, you: kind and sympathetic."

"What about father? Am I like father," she remembered asking him curiously.

He laughed again and wrapped his arms around her. "You're intelligent, I'll give you that!" She giggled and he looked up at the aunting of his old bed. "No, I take it back…" He smirked. "You're not like anyone else."

"Huh? But you just said-," she squeaked, her hair suddenly being messed with by the man.

"Well, you're a princess and my niece! Who else has that," he questioned her. "And a sweet one, too, being concerned like you were."

Concerned… concern was what that was then in the dungeon. Had she always been so selfless, so kind? Even when it seemed like someone could lash out suddenly, as her uncle seemed to possibly be capable of back then to her unknowing self, she reached out with a comforting hand.

Even to a man who had murdered a dear family member. Perhaps… she was truly like her mother.

She shook her head as she approached the door. That wasn't it… Her mother was also firm and knew what she wanted with her life when she was her age. Even now, even after accepting the inevitable position that she was a porcine princess, she still didn't have the slightest clue as to how to fill it. She walked into her uncle's former bedroom and looked inside. The memory flashed in her head of the episode. She could almost hear the sound of his panicked breaths as he tried to cope with whatever horrors that had temporarily plagued him.

He wasn't there. Instead, dismantled gadgets were strewn across the floor of the room and a skeleton of what would replace the old wooden arm laid on the work desk. Off to the side, the elder master thief's former familiars were sleeping in a pile. She had cast a sleeping spell on them, so they wouldn't follow her. Who knows what they could have done if they knew?

She smirked at the odd little group, both the jellyfish-like nymph and the lemur sleeping on the back of a giant furry snow creature. She sighed in amusement and walked over to the desk, sitting herself down to begin working on it once more.

She had begun to add features that even Swaine hadn't thought to incorporate in the original design. She tossed the idea of another hand attachment aside and made it so claws could retract and expose themselves if she needed from the tips of the fingers. She redrew and added to the design on a piece of thin paper, thin enough to see the original through it. She took out her pickpocketing gun and looked at it thoughtfully then back at the hand. Perhaps there was something that could be done with it.

She didn't need two pickpocketing guns anyway. Her version, as handy as it had been, would never match up to the Cad's Cannon bequeathed to her. She grinned as she set to work dismantling her gun, pulling piece by piece out and laying it out on the table. She looked at the parts and back at the hand. She drew another addition to the blueprints- her hand could also be used as a grappling hook. She inscribed a Fireball rune into the shaft of the arm as a simple means of firing her hand at an object. The hand itself would have a rod and spring mechanism installed to open and close when she needed to grab something far away.

Much of her gun's parts, including the internal mechanism for the claw, were cannibalized. She shrugged at that. She could build a new gun. Since her hand was essentially a metal claw, she added pads for comfort on the tips of her fingers and joints of her palm. On the back of the hand, Puppet String was inscribed into it so she could control it when launched. She would have to relinquish control of her arm and have to brace it with her left to individually control it. She could only focus so many spells at a time, after all.

She wondered if there were more spells she could incorporate- perhaps Vanish? Perhaps the spell Mimic would also be useful? There was also Spring Lock or even Fuse. She shook her head finally. The more spells she added to her invention, the harder it would be to control. She could always use it like a wand, anyway. Once all of the internal mechanisms for the arm were put in place and completely installed, she carefully picked it up to look at it.

She placed the arm down and rubbed her left shoulder She needed something snug and permanent to comfortably maneuver her limb. She stood and walked over to the wardrobe for supplies. On top of everything else, she'd need to make a new harness, one preferably not made out of the gold fancy belts she saw. She snapped her fingers in defeat, realizing the inevitability of needing help. She'd have to go to her father and request a vest for her invention.

She groaned and sat back down and ran her hands through her hair. She got back up and picked up the long ruined inventions and piled them on the table. She took any rubber pieces she found and put them in a separate pile. "Fuse," she called when she was sure she had all the gaskets and valves she needed. A singular black concaved rubber plate formed from under her left hand and the fading rune she had drawn. She fastened it to the end that would connect to her shoulder, using Fuse once again.

She sighed out of exhaustion as she slumped over the desk. She reached for the tools and began to manipulate the metal pieces into the main body of her arm. She fused and bolted parts together even creating a small compartment for small maintenance tools to be latched into and held if something went wrong. Finally, it was finished.

She raised her left hand and began to chant, infusing the last bit of magic to solidify her bond with her new limb, "Give me the strength to forge a better future and bring hope to my people, however that may be." She smiled as the words seared and engraved themselves into the metal plating. She looked at the original plans and nodded. "It's done, Uncle Gascon." She lifted the prosthetic. "Now to see how it works, hmm?"

All that remained was getting an old piece of armor to use as a more comfortable harness. She just needed the chest plate to manipulate- the rest could be scrapped. For now, she simply dismantled the old harness and reapplied it to the new arm. The belts were beginning to wear thin, but it would do for the time being.

She strapped it on and flexed her new arm. It seemed to move smoother and easier than the old wooden one. She thought again about using an armor chest plate and scrapped the idea entirely. There were still leftovers from the old devices she and the team of familiars had scrapped. As she set to work creating what would be a more secure harness, she realized: perhaps she was truly like her uncle, practical and inventive.

She chuckled at the lie. Never. There would never be another person like him- like Gascon, Ambassador of Hamelin, secretly the legendary master thief, Swaine: hero of the world. There would never be a soul like him. No one could ever be exactly alike, anyway. Similar? Yes. They had some similarities. As she laid the strips of metal out, now with curious alert familiars watching her from both behind and to the side, she felt a pang of pride in her work. As she cast Fuse on the pieces to form the front of the chest plate and set it aside to make the back, she found herself entranced by her own abilities, her improved skills.

She couldn't heal wounds but she could create life-changing devices, devices that could save lives. She would never be a sage- she didn't want to be- but she could use what magic she had to build fantastic, wonderful things! As she took an old shirt from the cabinet and cut what she needed, as she found bolts and used Burden enhanced pins to make holes in the metal, she finished her masterpiece- the modified arm based on a schematic given to her by her late uncle- the Arm of Gascon.

She unhooked the harness and removed her shirt, facing away from the familiars. Even if they were, at this point, just beasts, it didn't feel right with them watching. She grabbed the arm with her right hand and held it to her side.

She laid on the bed- again, facing away from the group- after wiping the dust away to pin her left arm to her side, allowing her to control it as she broke down the old harness. She used one of the fancy belts to replace the old worn out ones and used the metal clasps to make hoops using magic once again. She used the newly equipped claws to cut the belts to size since they didn't need to be as long.

She sat up and rotated her arm again, smiling at her handiwork. She leaned toward the group with a smile. "I'm going to show this off to father. Wish me luck," she told them. They nodded in unison after exchanged glances. Seeing this odd behavior she raised an eyebrow at them. "What?"

Then, one at a time, they returned to the pendant around her neck, Squishy being the last to leave. It looked up at her and whined. It approached her and rubbed her new arm. She petted the papa sasquash looked back at it. "You can't leave me alone, can you?" It grunted and grinned toothily. She giggled and continued to smile at the overprotective familiar. "Fine. You can be my familiar, Squishy."

It blinked as a slightly shocked look crossed its face. It grunted and lifted its arms and pinned her to the bed excitedly. It nuzzled her face before licking her. "Agh! Squishy! Stop!" At the word, it halted and stepped back the faint green aura replaced with a vibrant purple one. It looked up at her curiously. She giggled and continued to grin at her new partner. She looked down at the pendant around her neck then back at the yeti. "We'll find a home for them, later," she reassured it. She patted her chest. "For now, up you go, boy!" It complied. It backed away, shook its bottom and bounded toward her, turning into a ball of light. She straightened up as she felt the protective warmth of the new familiar radiate in her chest. Welcome home, Squishy. She thought as her right hand lightly hovered over her heart. She threw her shirt over the harness and picked up her coat. She looked over at the head of the bed where the pillows lay in thought.

Who was her father to take this man's life? Didn't he say he didn't want more blood to be spilled? She got up and walked out of the room. She wanted to ask her mother why. She would know.

Josephine sat in the throne room reading about new technology recently produced by one of the workshops. Marcassin had left to handle some urgent business to their daughter's luck. She looked up when she heard her child call her. "Yes, Lynnea?"

She stood in front of her. She seemed nervous as she idly rubbed the arm of her coat. "Why is he doing this? Why is he executing that man? It doesn't make any sense."

The empress gaped up at her. Her eyes shifted to the side and then back to her daughter. "He never said a word to me." She breathed heavily and looked down. "Though, it may be the only punishment he can prescribe, dear."

She leaned forward and threw her left hand out to the side. "He said no more blood had to be spilled! What happened to that," she contested.

Josephine stared again at Lynnea as she studied her. Suddenly, she seemed conflicted about the execution of a murderer. "Are you… are you defending him," she interrogated her, placing the documents aside to look closer at the teenager before her.

"I'm simply saying father's actions are suddenly contradicting his words!" She began to pace. "I know he's guilty, but isn't there something other than death? It doesn't matter if he's beheaded, hung, or electrocuted, it's still blood being spilled!" She stopped in the middle of the room and stood patiently to hear her mother's thoughts.

"Lynnea," she began. "That man's life would be forfeit. Either way, he's a dead man." She looked down sadly. "Even if it might just be so he can move on, that man in the dungeon would have no future. People would end his life and then it would be yet another execution- one after another!" She stood and held her hands out. "I can see why he made that decision. It would be kind to end him as a punishment. It's the only option that satisfies everyone."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her mother, known for her kindness in all of the empire, was condoning death. "But it was an accident-," she started to say. She stopped when she considered her next words. Either way, Amos had raised arms against the crown, even if she was under a false name. "There has to be another way, mother!" She stepped forward. "We can be so much better than this! Don't you agree?!"

She could only frown regretfully at her daughter. She was truly like her father. She was seeking a just, peaceful way to confront this. Unfortunately, the only option was the violent, sudden end of a perpetrator's life. "I'm sorry… There's nothing that can be done," she answered softly, shaking her head slowly.

Lynnea just stared blankly back at her mother. She bowed her head and began to leave. "Mother," she whispered. She looked over her shoulder and saw she still had the older woman's attention. "Tell father that I'm sorry if I've destroyed anything sentimental creating my arm." She raised her left hand as she glanced down at it. She smiled as she studied it. "Whatever it was, I'll make sure that it serves me well." She finally turned her head to face the door. She walked out and left.

She headed to her room in thought. There was a way to save this person. Her father couldn't let go of the deed he had done- he was blinded by grief. If her uncle could go from prince, to thief, to hero, and then to an ambassador, then surely there was a much better way for that former guard to atone for his crimes. If Cassiopeia, the ruler of Nazcaa, the former White Witch could turn a new leaf, then the man down in the dungeon deserved at least a second chance.

It was during these thoughts that an opposing argument presented itself to her: Why was she trying so hard to save this murderer? She had every right to agree with her father, but she found herself trying to save his life!

Her view of the former guard had changed while talking to him. She saw something familiar in this man. As she sat on her bed, she thought hard about it. He explained clearly, rationally what his motives were, as misguided as he was. It was strange, but she thought she sensed some of the same hopelessness her uncle had on that night when she was twelve. She saw a wise man and a former hero- though many wouldn't admit it- deemed a criminal. Paradoxically, the man she had looked up to all those years was a criminal turned a wise man and a hero.

He could teach her so many things- so many things that neither her mother or her father could. His life still had a purpose and they would throw it away with him just as ready to let them.

There was a way. It meant going against her father, her legitimacy, but there was a way. This was the only way she knew she could prove herself. She would be a hero- even if it was the least likely person anyone would want to save.


The day of the execution: it was a public affair. Surprisingly, the process was simple. He was to be hung. Near to the wooden gallows, his hand on the lever to open the trap door, was a man in an all black hog armor, effectively concealing his face. Standing next to him was the Great Sage of Hamelin with death rights written on a piece of parchment.

Marcassin read the charges and looked out to the rest of the plaza at all the citizens who scowled at the murderer from the stands of their homes and shops. He turned to face the former Al Mamoon soldier. "Do you have any last words?" He raised both eyebrows. "Wishes?"

Amos looked over at the emperor and back at the plaza. He closed his eyes. The princess lied to him. She wasn't there by his side as she had promised. He began to suspect a sick ploy. He sighed heavily and opened his eyes. A sympathetic soul? Who would sympathize with him? She must have taken great joy to build his hope up and watch it crumble there in the noose. He looked at the emperor. "I'm sorry… for your loss," he answered. He closed his eyes again and leaned his head back. He expected a sharp pain from his neck snapping and the sweet release of death.

The man in the hog armor tapped his fingers on the lever handle and looked at his superior for a signal. Marcassin seemed to hesitate for a moment at the convict's words before turning to the man and nodding.

Just before the executioner could end the former guard's life, a bullet shot the glove the soldier wore, causing him to suddenly release the lever. As the armored man hissed in pain and looked at his offended hand, another well-placed bullet darted through the rope and into the wood beam supporting the gallows. Wide-eyed, the prisoner looked up and noticed the burnt fibers where the rope had been cut in two.

"What," the sage snarled glaring at the incident and then the prisoner. Amos only shook his head in confusion. Before he could check the trajectory of the shot or the crowd, a brass mechanical hand suddenly latched itself to the top beam. A figure in a burgundy cloak followed suit, using the chords attached to the hand to propel her down. She held the arm to keep it steady the entire time and jerked it. The hand released its grip and shot back into the arm.

Tossing her hood down, she revealed herself, her short brown hair unmistakably worn by the only heir to the throne. She stared out at the crowd who now whispered in suspicion and awe. "I pardon this man," she declared as she held her left hand out to Amos.

The crowd went collectively silent then started to devolve into chaos. Some shouted obscenities, others cried for answers. Many, to her alarm, cried to end him anyway with magic. There were even a few who called for her execution as well.

"Silence yourselves," the great sage boomed, a rune for Mimic, of which the crowd seemed to distracted by their own protests to notice, fading. He turned to face his daughter with his teeth bared and his face red with anger. "What is the meaning of this, Lynnea?! This is treason!"

"Hang her," the several people in the crowd shouted. He ignored them- he had gone through all of that trouble just to bring her home. That was the last thing he wanted to do. She could make him absolutely furious, but he would never kill his own flesh and blood. Her and Josephine were all that remained and he'd cling to them with his dying breath.

She faced him, her determination unwavering. "We don't have to do this, father! This is senseless! What would your brother have to say about this," she argued. "There's good in him- we should try to give him a chance to right his wrongs alive!"

"Girl- don't," Amos intervened. "I- I can't live with the guilt. This is the only way."

She turned to the convict. She only found defeated, lost eyes. "No… No, you're wrong!" She looked around her at the angry crowd, at her father, at the former guard. "You're all wrong!" She looked out at the crowd. "The White Witch from the legends- Cassiopeia- got a second chance and she did so many unforgivable things! You all gave her a second chance." She turned to face her father. "What makes this man any different?!"

"What makes you think you can overrule me? Have you lost your mind," Marcassin shouted.

She looked him over. "Have you lost yours, father?! You used to be more understanding than this!" She stepped back. "I'm using my power, as your heir. I want him pardoned and in exchange, made one of our servants!" She held her fists in front of her and shook them. "He'll have another life! He can start over!"

Amos looked between the two of them. His mouth hung open. Was this girl giving him a chance to start a-new? He knew what argument the ruler would pose: he would be a security risk, a safety risk. He shook his head with a sad smirk. He'd never let go. He had to say, he admired her for trying. If only they had met under better circumstances.

"That is absurd!" He attempted to grab his daughter's arm, only for her to swiftly step back. He simply stood up straight and stared at her coldly. "Do you know what the difference is? Cassiopeia was unsound in mind- no matter her crimes, she was unaware of her actions. She was cursed!" He threw a hand towards the former guard. "This man could have stopped himself, but he didn't! He murdered Gascon! He tried to harm you!" His eyes widened and he pointed at Lynnea. "You wanted to kill him! Now you want to spare him," he interrogated incredulously. He stepped forward and held his hands out to either side with a large shrug. "What changed?!"

She looked up, her mouth set in a frown, her eyes focused. "I talked to him," she simply stated. "I just… talked to the man. All he seemed to want was to do what the sages have done for years, serve and protect." She shrugged. "He was just trying to protect himself in a fight against me- I drew my gun so he drew his sword. Then… Then Uncle Gascon stepped in the way to stop him." She looked down. "I'm just as responsible for his death, but this man took the fall." Her head snapped up to look at her father. "That's why I believe he should be given a second chance! He shouldn't have to die for my mistakes!" She stomped her foot. "No more blood! No one else should die because of me not taking responsibility!"

She threw off her cloak and coat and let it fall onto the ground, revealing the turquoise shirt underneath. "This is me- stepping out, taking on the role of the princess of Hamelin, using the power I have that's just been sitting there!" She raised her left hand and formed a fist. She stepped forward as she did so. "What good is it if I can't do anything to save a man from a needless death?! What good is this arm if I can't help one person see that they can turn themselves around and rebuild from their mistakes?!" Before her father could interrupt, she shot her left arm out towards Amos. "Pardon this man! Pardon this man, I say! I don't care if you have to have a guard on duty everywhere he goes, just do it!" She glared at Marcassin intently.

The sage looked down, frowning as he considered his daughter's words. He turned and looked out at the now silent crowd. "What do you say," he asked them. "Should I let him live," he gestured the former guard who simply observed the scene in front of him. He turned to his daughter. "Or should he be put to death," he spat, venomously eyeing her.

He raised his scepter. "Live," he stated, attempting to give her side a chance. Sadly, not many cheered. The life he had taken was too much. "Die," he said as he raised his wand again. The crowd went into an uproar and the sage turned to his daughter and the convict. He mouthed the words, "I'm sorry," to her and raised his wand.

"No," she whispered. Marcassin's head was low as he began to prepare a spell. He shook his head somberly.

She couldn't move… This was it, this was all she had. She was frozen in fear of the repercussions of pushing her father down. The spell could backfire on him and kill him instead. Even if it didn't, it would still probably hit the prisoner. There was nothing she could possibly do to save this man.

The convict glanced at her, a grateful smile on his lips. "You tried your best, your highness… Thank you," said Amos as he bowed his head with closed eyes, accepting his fate. She saw her father hesitate for a moment and look at the criminal. He sighed and continued to prepare his spell.

With a blast of light, it was over. The former guard of Al Mamoon slumped and then fell face first in front of the emperor, the princess, and the crowd. The citizens cheered, for a murderer of a legend had been vanquished. Not long after, they all began to return to their homes and businesses, the thirst for blood quenched and the balance seemingly restored. Swaine- or better put, Gascon- had been avenged.

Lynnea fell to her knees in front of Amos's body. She failed. She looked at her arm dejectedly. She couldn't do it. She couldn't even save one life. She was so wrapped up in her defeat that didn't see her father close in on the supposedly dead man.

The great sage reached for the man's turban and tore it off of his head, revealing the messy black hair underneath. "He won't be needing this anymore."

"What are you-," she began to protest, her focus shifting swiftly to her father.

Marcassin raised a solitary finger to his lips with a smirk. He raised his wand and drew the symbol for the spell, Shift Shape, changing most of the dead man's appearance to that of a Hamelin citizen's.

"W-why are you doing that," she wondered, looking up again at him. "What use does that have? You already executed him."

The sage placed his hands on his hips and looked up at the smog concealed ceiling of Hamelin. He sighed and chuckled. "You have much to learn if you want to continue being a porcine princess and eventual ruler of Hamelin, Lynnea." He knelt down to the "body" of the guard. "In a moment, he'll be waking up." He turned his head to look back at the executioner. "You know what to do, Hogarth."

"H-Hogarth? Your second in command?" She raised an eyebrow and looked incredulously at him. "You- you never intended to truly kill him, did you, father?" She stood and studied the kneeling sage. "This… How long has this act been going on? Did you ever intend to execute him?"

"I… I considered it," he answered after a long pause and standing up. "And knowing the people, they wanted him to die as well." He closed his eyes and shook his head again. "I honestly couldn't bring myself to do it…" He grabbed the severed noose and held it up to show her. "It's not even tied properly. At most he would have passed out with some minor bruising." He tossed the noose aside.

She crossed her arms and glared at him. "You were being so cold…," she pointed out. She heard Amos's body be dragged away but remained focused on her father. "And- and horrible!"

He smirked. "I'm a very good actor. Brother taught me well." He turned and watched as Hogarth and the now newly freed prisoner disappear from view. "I had to make it look real. I even held back telling your mother." He looked back up at the layer of smog. "I have to admit… I wasn't expecting you to defy me so adamantly. You've got your uncle's stubborn nature."

"What will happen to him, to Amos," she said, ignoring his compliment.

He blinked for a moment. So his name was 'Amos'? He shook his head, determining a different identity for him. "I'm granting your request…" He placed a hand on his chin in thought. When he saw her face brighten up, he added, "But with some strict regulation. He'll be given a new life and a new identity."

"You had a change of heart," she observed. "We both did…"

He sighed again and looked down. "Technically… I've never been a fan of raising my wand against anyone unless it was necessary, Lynnea." He paused for a moment in thought. "I struggled to find a suitable punishment for his crime that would sate my own moral scruples and the public's want for closure." He turned around and started to walk down the steps. As she followed suit, he held out his hand. She took it and allowed her father to help her down. They began to walk to the palace, the guards now coming out to dismantle the underused gallows. "I already accepted that Gascon had put himself in harm's way to protect you. I accepted the idea that the guard, Amos as you call him, couldn't stop his sword in time and struck him down accidentally- even if he intended to kill whoever got in his way." He stopped at the front gates and turned to her. He placed his hand on her shoulder and looked into his daughter's vibrant blue eyes. "I accept that it wasn't your fault- that it wasn't anyone's fault but Gascon's that he died." He cracked a smile and nodded. "And he died a hero saving you."

As the gates opened he looked ahead. "As such, I could not take his life," he admitted, taking his hand off of her shoulder. He stepped forward, his stride purposeful and proud. "Because I have moved on. It is time you moved on as well…"

She hummed thoughtfully at his words and followed him in. Move on she shall. She had failed to save him but in trying she had realized her own future. Now all that was left was to pursue it.

Perhaps… she was truly herself.