She sat again in her "workshop" in deep contemplative thought. She thought about the conversation between her and the prisoner. "You wouldn't trust him training you in the ways of a sword…" She didn't want to ask her father… or Hogarth. She didn't want to go back to two years ago. She'd be facing the inevitability of her failure.
She still wanted to learn. She wanted to know. She wanted to prove she was worthy of her birthright. …What would Gascon say about it? She shook her head violently. No! She had to stop thinking about him. He wasn't the answer to her problems. Some of them, yes, but not all of them! He wasn't a god… now she wondered if he was even a legend. He had fallen so easily.
"Find your closure elsewhere, princess Lynnea," Amos- Areole- had advised her. Perhaps the felon was right, she realized, looking around at the room. She wouldn't find her closure talking to him nor among her late uncle's dusty old quarters. She needed to get out. She needed to breathe. She got up and walked to the door. When she exited, she was caught by surprise by her father.
"L-Lynnea," he stammered taking a step back reflexively. He flustered about, looking down then up at the ceiling. He finally focused on her again and seemed to straighten himself out. "I- er…" He cleared his throat when he noticed the confused raised eyebrow of his daughter. He straightened up to his normal, composed formal look. "Lynnea, I know you're busy drawing up new ideas and so forth, but I was wondering…" He held his hand towards her as if offering something. "Would you like to take a walk-through town?"
She blinked for a moment at his invitation. She smirked. "Funny. I was about to take a walk anyway." She shifted and started to walk past him. He seemed to hesitate and when she noticed he hadn't followed her to the end of the hall, she turned to look at the lone emperor of Hamelin. "Well, are you coming, father? Or shall I be forced to go alone" She tilted her head back and laughed, "Not that I'd be used to it." She tapped the toe of her left shoe on the metal floor. "Though some company would be nice."
He hadn't expected her to agree. Perhaps he was getting somewhere in rekindling their bond? He scoffed and turned around swiftly, easily catching up with her. "Of course," he shouted happily, grinning from ear to ear.
They walked through the city streets admiring the eagerly chatting townsfolk- some discussing plans for new scientific endeavors, some simply chatting about upcoming anniversaries or birthdays or even just dinner plans for the evening. The city was ever luminous with the lights of the buildings and street lamps reflecting on the hazy "sky" of steam, smoke, and ash.
It never ceased to amaze her how much machinery went into the main streets of Hamelin. Yet, for most of the city's integral infrastructure, stone was still the main material of choice. What would alone be jarring clanging as pistons moved to power various buildings fell into the background din of the city.
She imagined what it would be like to fall asleep to that din rather than the invasive quiet of her room in the palace or the miscellaneous shouts and howling wind of the desert communities of the southern Summerlands. It would definitely be something- it would definitely be hypnotic and lulling with the repetitive clanging and hissing of steam.
The two were quiet for the most part. They had walked to the end of the main plaza. Her father was staring up at the balcony. She could only imagine what he was thinking at that moment. Was he thinking of his brother? Was he thinking of what to say to her?
"I'm sorry, Lynnea," he began. He tore his gaze away from the area that peered out over the massive city. He looked at her, but mostly at her left shoulder. "I did this… Didn't I…?"
For a moment she couldn't tell what he was referring to. She followed his sight to the object in question. When she saw, she grabbed her left arm and suddenly leaned towards him. "I told you- stop blaming yourself! This wasn't your fault!"
"I pushed you away. I told you to stop chasing after my brother- after your dreams." He looked at her. "I blamed them for your lack of healing magic."
"But you were right!" She glared up at him. "God, you were completely right! I shouldn't have! Swaine would still be alive!" She looked down at her arm. "I lost a limb! I should have listened to you and mother." She rubbed her mechanical arm nervously and glanced down at it. "This wasn't your fault. It was mine. I did this to myself."
"But none of this would have happened if we had just been more understanding," he lectured, more to himself than his daughter. He shook his head, the memory of seeing his older brother so many many years ago from the future, looking so disheveled, returning to him. Perhaps this is what father felt when he saw Gascon's future form- sheer regret. Sheer unadulterated guilt and regret. He tore his gaze away from her when he found himself looking at the arm again. "Lynnea… I'm truly sorry for our actions…" He looked back at her, his pained frown replaced with a slightly feigned smile. "But you've grown up. You've become smarter- wiser." He placed a hand to his hip. "Perhaps there is some good in this disaster after all."
"Could you not call it a disaster, father," she sighed as she rolled her eyes. She sighed once more as she looked down at the brick laid street. "Then again, what else is there to call it?" She began to walk towards one of the side avenues available to them. He followed, walking alongside her. She jumped up on a rail and balanced as she strode along it. "I still need closure."
There was a moment of silence before a nervous chuckle emanated from the emperor. "Yes. I suppose there was the chance Areole wouldn't provide much." He looked down and paused for a moment. "I suppose I am the only one to do so, then." She stopped and hopped down, turning to face him once she regained her balance.
She paid close attention to him, studying the forty-seven-year-old. He had a small sad smile as he looked over his daughter. For once, in all the rare times they ever truly talked, he looked relaxed, an ordinary man rather than an emperor.
"He loved you, you know…," he stated as he looked over to a small balcony just above the slanted pathway. "He was probably more excited than I was when you were born." He gave a wry chuckle. "You would think he was the new father! He wouldn't leave your side during the following weeks before he went on his first errand for the empire." He looked up at the layer of smog overhead and she followed his gaze. "We cannot hope to know the universe in its entirety- for anyone soul to attempt so would be foolish and gluttonous. We can only hope to know a fraction of it and be content. Even so…" He paused and looked back at Lynnea. She blinked as she looked back at her father. "I sometimes wonder if the universe intended you to be his daughter- you're so alike." His smile widened as he tilted his head.
"Oh…," she muttered, looking down in disappointment. She was rubbing her left arm again- a nervous habit.
"I'm happy for that, you know. I had always hoped you'd take after him. I just didn't expect…," he trailed off as he looked at her right hand gripping the prosthetic. He shook his head. "But you're not just a stand-in for him- don't ever think that, Lynnea," he cautioned, reaching a hand out to her. "You are you- and as your father…" He approached her.
Sensing his proximity, she looked up at him. She backed away warily.
Marcassin swallowed, his gentle smile falling a little at her hesitancy. "Lynnea. It's alright," he softly reassured.
She looked down, gripping her arm tighter. "Sorry. I… I'm just sort of used to being in worse places." A small regretful smile twitched onto her face. "It's habit. It's not you," she whispered. She stiffened up when she felt his arms around her. Her paranoia and reflexes screamed to defend herself, but her instincts quelled it. Her father wouldn't hurt her- never.
"Just know I'll love you no matter what." He stroked her hair gently. "The same is true for your mother. The same would be true for Gascon if he were still here."
They were silent for a moment, both letting the sage's words sink in. She eventually relaxed She returned the embrace. "I miss him."
"I miss him, too."
She scoffed, smirking. "You think he misses us, wherever he is up there?"
"Absolutely." He glanced at the side of her head. "I'm certain of it."
She looked down below his shoulder. "I'm sorry I can't do healing magic, father." She felt her lips begin to tremble and tears begin to form. "I'm sorry I can't be a great sage like you want me to be." She gripped the back of his purple waistcoat.
He held her tighter. "Hush. None of that, now." He closed his eyes. "I just want you to be my daughter- which you already are." He sighed contemplatively. "I believe in you. You'll be quite the strong empress."
"Father," she whimpered. "I'm sorry for destroying his inventions."
He froze. He searched his memory, attempting to dredge up whether there were any actual keepsakes of value. No… He wouldn't have applied the parts he had if there were. The only invention, after all, was the broken hog tank in the corner of the room. "He wanted you to make something out of them. I hardly remember most of those, to begin with."
"R-really," she stammered.
"Truly." He slipped a hand to her prosthetic, idly tracing the sheets of metal that composed it as well as the rivets. "They really were taking up space, Lynnea." He sighed. "It's good to see them finally put to actual use." He pulled away. He held her chin, wiping a tear from her left eye. "So do not count yourself out quite yet. Continue to repurpose the old and broken into something new. That is how the world progresses."
She sniffed and raised a hand to wipe the tears from her right eye. "Thank you, father." She nodded.
They continued to walk. After a while, she began to balance on another iron wrought rail. "You think," she started as they turned down another street. "I could learn to use a sword?"
He stopped short. "I thought you knew how?"
"A little. I'm not that good, remember?"
He laughed. "To be like your elders, I see?"
"Well, I figured- huh!" She jumped down again from a rail. She clasped her hands behind her back as she spun around to face him again. "I have to be proficient in that in order to be an empress."
"If these were the old days, perhaps." He beamed up at her- they were standing on an inclined path. "You've much better skill in evasion and gunplay than a sword any day, dear daughter." He placed his hands on his hips. "I'm not going to force an ability that doesn't come naturally to you as I have in the past." He nodded affirmatively. "Your time to make your own decisions is now."
"But- I thought-! What about the sword," she stammered as he began to walk past her. "The sword of Hamelin- your sword? Aren't you suppose to pass it down to the next in line?"
He chuckled. "It is a mere steel sword, Lynnea. A symbol. Brother was more proficient in it than I." He spun around, continuing to walk, though backward. "It really matters not who has it." He stumbled, mid-prance and flailed his arms in brief panic. He caught himself and grinned back at her after looking down at the ground. "It was only a gift from your grandfather, to brother, then to me. It's not a crown. It's a memento."
She chortled at the near miss. "But the requirement for being a queen is-!" She stopped suddenly when she saw her father's face fall. "Father…?"
He continued to look down in thought. There was a chance that wouldn't be a reality, he had suddenly realized. If anyone had found out about what they had done- preserving and saving the convict- chaos would ensue. For her sake and the sake of the kingdom, he'd have to make sure that never happened.
"Father," he heard her squeak as she drew closer. "What is it," she continued to pry. His head snapped up with a smirk. "Nothing, Lynnea." He continued to smile. "I believe you'll be fine without further sword training. You've had the real-world experience to supplement it- especially given that arm of yours." He looked down at it. "Are those slots for claws I see on the fingertips?"
She nodded giddily. "Yes! Any fool who fancies their chances against me will have quite the surprise coming!" She swiped her left hand in front of her extending the claws as she did so. She held up her hand, grinning wildly at the brass razor-sharp tips.
"Hah! With the Cad's Cannon, you are already armed to the teeth! What do you need with a sword?"
She swayed closer to her father, humming slyly. "Oh, you know. Just in case." She looked over at the buildings. "It's a rough world out there." She retracted the claws.
They walked together in silence, the girl admiring the city and the great sage thinking heavily about future plans and dreaded possible outcomes. He even started working on a contingency plan for the worst possible outcome.
If only he had approached the situation more delicately. He looked up at the smog-covered ceiling. If only he had approached bringing her home more delicately. This whole ordeal could have been avoided and a life could have been spared. He shook his head subtly. No. Now. The present reality had to be faced. The past was the past. He had to focus on the eventuality of the future, the consequences of what he chose to do now.
He glanced over to her cheerful face and let a small smile cross his own. He also planned for the best possible future.
"Who needs the sword," she asked jeeringly. She shook her head. They stopped again. "I mean. I guess it would be nice to learn." She rolled her eyes with a tilt of the head, bowing nonchalantly towards him. "For my own safety that is."
"That it would, my dear," he answered. "I too learned for that reason."
She laughed. "Surely you lie. You did it because of Uncle."
The sage rubbed his head in thought. "You could say that was part of it…" They both seemed to pause. Finally, the sage turned away and looked at a building with a piston wheel sticking out of the side avenues. "I believe Areole would have been a worthy heir to the throne if my suspicions are correct."
At first, she just accepted the words. "Huh…" When she realized what he had said she flinched, leaning back. "Wait- what?!" She ran in front of her father with wide confused eyes. "What in the world are you getting at?!"
"I shall not pursue them. He already has enough trauma."
"But- you're implying- you're saying that he's," she stammered, gripping her hair.
Marcassin raised an eyebrow at her sudden flustered behavior. "They are but mere theories Lynnea," he said. He raised a hand and messed with her hair. "As such, I do not plan on telling him."
She froze then looked up at her father. It wasn't often he showed that sign of affection- a sign more suited to the man they had been mourning for almost a year. He had changed in that period of time- they all had. Once he had been shy of being so casual in public, even to her, but it appeared he had abandoned his insecurities.
He hummed quietly, happily. "Don't you agree, Lynnea, that I should not trouble him with half-truths?"
She smiled and nodded. They went back to their walk, the streets quieting down as night began to approach. Though most of the light was artificial in Hamelin most still abided by the time of day, turning in to rest after a hard day's inventing and labor- or both.
"I'd like Areole to teach me," she suggested.
"He is a risk," he warned. He sighed and looked down. "Why do you want him to teach you? What do you want him to teach you," he finally inquired.
"Swordplay and…," she hesitated. She tilted her head towards her father. "Whatever wisdom he has to offer of the world."
Silence fell on them as they continued their trek. The sage looked down pensively.
"I see," he answered. He nodded. "I shall assign him that duty." She began to grin happily, giddily. "On one condition."
"Oh," she wondered with a tilt of the head. "What?"
"He shall have a guard present during your sessions. I don't want you to get hurt." He smiled at her. "You're my only daughter and I haven't the slightest idea what I'd do if anything happened to you."
"You're taking my arm well," she jested.
"Well I've had time to adjust," he shot back.
They had circled back to the palace. "I'm worried about what kind of ruler I'd be in the future," she admitted, looking up at the spire they called home.
"You really shouldn't."
"But what if I make a horrible mistake…," she wondered worriedly.
"Hmm..." He put a hand on his chin in thought. "I once dreamed of my brother lighting a torch and setting Hamelin ablaze." He looked down at the brick floor. "At the time I was incredibly stressed about keeping Hamelin afloat, let alone improving the empire." He shared her view of the spire as they stalled to chat once more. "I just wanted to prove myself to him- to father. I wanted to make both of them proud." He chuckled as he looked down again, smiling sadly. "I've made so many mistakes along the way." He turned to face her.
She turned her attention to him in response.
"What matters is that those mistakes bred new opportunities." He nodded at her, glancing, for a brief second, at her arm. "Do not worry about the eventual mistakes. Avoid them if you can, but they will be made, whatever they may be. In that instance, Lynnea, face them, correct them, use them to your advantage even- but remember to move on."
She nodded firmly after him as they entered the palace. "I shall do my best, father."
She turned to face the main street, the lights beginning to dim in response to the time of day. She smiled at the memory of her uncle, the form he had prior to his demise. She imagined him standing in the middle of the street, returning a wide proud smile that crossed his face.
And for you, Uncle Gascon, I will do my best to forge my path… and to honor your way.
The imaginary ambassador nodded and she chuckled.
"Lynnea? Are you coming," she heard her father call. She turned her head to acknowledge him. "Yes, father." She ran after him.
…Farewell, until we meet again... She thought as she entered the palace.
...Swaine.
