The Path of Least Resistance
Interlude - Xander: For the Glory of Nohr
When his world collapsed yet again, Xander clutched at the rules for support. What else could he do, in this chaotic madness opening its dark maw widely like a ravenous beast intent on devouring anything it could, but hold onto the only source of order around? What else could he do but clutch at his sword like it was a crutch so he could be strong, appear strong?
What else?
AN: OCs will be mentioned, but don't worry - they all die.
The two treasures left by Anya Giausar, Founder of Nohr, were always passed down to her descendants. The tome Brynhildr, though it disappeared with her, eventually resurfaced and was returned to those of House Giausar, where it was fickle in choosing those that could read its pages.
The sword Siegfried, however, had been passed on to her first son, Rastaban Giausar, and served all the heirs apparent to the throne at least once. Not all kings, for Siegfried would not be held by the few that Brynhildr had laid claim to before unfortunate circumstances led her wielder to the throne, but all those given the circlet of black thorns and declared the next to sit in the dark throne, for the acceptance of Siegfried was vital to being named the heir.
Xander was seven when the divine sword accepted him. At that time, the sword had been taller than he was, and he could barely hold the sword with both arms, let alone one hand. His body shook with the effort to hold the heavy sword, and the only dark fires he could deliberately call from the center of the blade had been sparks. Enough to be seen, but nowhere near as impressive as the stories of fire-wreathed monarchs leading their soldiers in battle.
Siegfried shared a title with the kings of Nohr.
Protector of Nohr.
It was also his title, now, and it fell on his shoulders as heavy as the blade itself.
/ / /
Her slender fingers pressed his shoulder, one by one. There was no real strength behind them, not enough to cause him pain, and yet the cold fingers burned his skin.
"Here are the rules, my precious son, my dear prince," his mother whispered in his ear, dry breath tickling him, though he dared not squirm. Queen Katarina was his mother by blood, and a beautiful, beloved woman, but Xander feared her as much as he loved her.
She was never cruel, not in the way some of the concubines were to their child when they thought no one could see, but behind her frail health hid a powerful woman who justified the means by the end.
The braver of the twin decided to stand up to his half-sister, and was punished for his courage. Lobelia's shrieking increased to an entirely new level, and he had his hair grabbed by tiny, vicious fingers. His brother, though meeker, joined in the fight when he saw what their half-sister was doing to his other half, and everything started to fall apart then.
Xander heard his mother smile, stretching lips hiding their true, sickly pale tint behind rose-stained lips. "The last one standing becomes king."
Queen Katerina was frail. Nohr allowed women to fight – indeed, all women of royalty and nobility were expected to fight, because this was Nohr, and if they weren't strong they would die. Though beautiful and born into one of Nohr's oldest, richest noble families, Katerina of House Schedar was an oddity, for sure. She was not an apt fighter, with ax nor spear nor sword. She was no proficient practitioner of magic, both tome and stave. She lacked even the strength to properly pull back a bowstring, and the skill to accurately hit the target with an arrow.
And yet, against all odds, she had become Garon's wife in law in the Dusk Dragon's name, and taken her place as the head of all of Garon's women till the day she drew her last breath and took no more from the air around.
There are many kinds of strength. Strength lies in the power behind an ax, in the whispered words of magic bringing forth a small storm through enchanted runes weaving circles around the caster, in an arrow flying with deadly precision, in a dagger swung just enough to leave someone bleeding to death.
There is also strength in manipulating those around to keep oneself safe in a castle filled with thorns under rose petals.
Xander failed to realize the significance of that fact until she was buried in the ground, and left with nothing to protect him save for his title as Crown Prince. She had lasted until Siegfried claimed him as its wielder, but once she was gone he only held a sword in his frail arms, warm but metallically so, and rigid.
/ / /
What happens when you are in the dark, hunted by foes hiding in shadows seeking light, and you hold the source of light?
They can see you, but you can't see them.
The circlet of black metal burns like a crown of thorns on his brows, as do the eyes staring at him with greed and ambition and maybe even hate, for what he could become. For what his disappearance would bring them.
If you cannot hide in the shadows, his mother told him. Then be a light so strong the darkness cannot easily swallow you.
/ / /
Morning light began to break just as Xander finished his early training. One of the servants watching over the training fields silently offered him a towel and a canteen of water. Xander took both gratefully, and made good use of them.
"Xander!" a familiar voice called from behind, and he turned to see a boy near his age come jogging towards him. They shared similar curls of pale gold, and the same face shape, but unlike Xander, he had dark blue eyes, from his own mother.
Markus broke out into a sunny smile. "Up and training early as usual, huh?"
/ / /
Perhaps like his mother, Xander was not born with a natural talent in fighting. He was not a prodigy in any area of the body, Queen Katerina had judged objectively. He had the potential for greatness, certainly, but only when compared to those without the dragon's blood in their veins like dark fire. When compared to the standard set by other royals, he was above-average at best, but nothing worth praising about.
He had no unparalleled magic like Anastasia, no talent in healing like Damian. Wyverns obeyed, but he had no inherent charisma to make them bend to him like Camilla, or the ability to be one with the horse he rode like Mathilde. He did not show signs of being a young prodigy in strategy and academics.
Xander did not know what his mother was planning for his future before she looked at him one day and realized that he was, in fact, a genius – and one in an area she considered crucial to his survival.
"You are a genius of effort," she told him. Her pale golden hair – not at all uncommon for a Nohrian – was braided loosely and hung down one shoulder, resting over her nightgown. The bed she rested in was large, but she sat in it alone, a small figure made to look even smaller in comparison.
She had not shared her bed with her husband in a long time – but she did not let that stop her, or him.
Xander, in his youth, was disappointed by her declaration, but he did not let it show. He would have much preferred being a genius of the sword, like the legendary King Siegbert, or the other kings and queens of Nohr that had been chosen by Siegfried.
He thought he did not let it show, but his mother saw right through him.
"Come closer," she rasped in a low voice. "Do you know why your father does not wield the Siegfried?"
Xander, leaned in to better catch his mother's words, shook his head.
"He cannot," she breathed words of secrets into a young boy's ears, hot and sharp like venom. Xander flinched at the terrible truth she revealed. "Siegfried is the blade of Nohr's defender – but it will not give its power to those who it deems unworthy. Even when," she paused to cough. "Even when it has chosen a wielder, it will draw back its support the moment it deems him or her unworthy."
He remembered the first time he had held the blade, felt the dark fire pulse over his skin and pierce through him like a spear – and yet, though his sleeves burnt and shredded, there was no scar left from the harsh heat. The flames had flickered into sparks, and try as he might he could not raise the initial blaze again, but he remembered.
Harsh heat, but no ill intent. In the moment he had held Siegfried, the blade had felt to him more like a strict teacher. Strict but caring.
Caring, but so very strict.
"And for all their fighting acumen," Queen Katerina said. "Many Nohrian Kings found themselves unable to wield Siegfried as they once had."
He stared down at his hands, then not yet calloused and scarred. His mother traced a slender finger against his palms, as if marking the places where skin would suffer the most with a cool touch devoid of any affection.
"You must never stop trying," she declared, and like a curse her words branded themselves into his heart, his soul. "Until the day you die. For when you stop your struggles to improve, you will die."
He never did.
/ / /
It was foolish to trust, his mother had said, and yet when she died, it was her friend and a concubine of the king that reached out to him. A friend in a rival, what an odd bedfellow – not literal, of course – to have, but Katarina had been nothing if not practical.
A political move, Xander could guess. By taking him under her wing, so to speak, the Lady Fredericka of Sheratan could be doubly insured, with her influence over the Crown Prince as well as through her own son. By taking him as her ward, she had double the chance of becoming Queen Mother.
Markus, however, was nowhere near as politically inclined as his own mother. He stuck by Xander as a friend and a brother, eager for a spar or a race on horseback.
"Wyverns are weird," Markus said, making a face as the oldest princesses were being gifted with a baby wyvern each. Xander and Markus had already received theirs, as was customary for all children of House Giausar, and though Xander spent the necessary time with his own winged mount to train him, he preferred his horse to the wyvern. He found the wyverns too eager for blood, and preferred the comfort of the ground near his center of gravity to the aerial view the flying mounts offered.
"They are," Xander agreed. His lessons taught him that the wyverns were a type of a dragon descendent, except they were born when the magic-infused grounds of Nohr were met with the spilt blood of the Dusk Dragon. It was why they lacked the intelligence of true dragons, or the dragon-blooded royals like the royal family.
One of the princesses overheard them speaking, and she stuck her tongue out at their direction.
Markus stuck his out right back, and added a rude gesture of his hand. The princess – Camilla, her name was – flushed in anger, and she retaliated right back before the instructor noticed her distraction and scolded her for not paying attention. The princess at her side giggled.
"Let the girls be Wyvern Riders," Markus said. Many women joined the air troops – not just because Hoshidans filled their air troops with women, but because they were usually lighter than men, and allowed their mounts a greater flexibility in battle. Wyvern Riders usually served more as support for their beasts rather than fighters themselves.
It was why he and Markus dreamed of becoming Paladins. They wanted to be the ones fighting – Xander with Siegfried, and Markus with his lances. Together, they would be the paragon knights all soldiers in Nohr would look up to as they defended Nohr.
It was a dream he shared with someone, once upon a time.
/ / /
Anastasia, newly dubbed 'Crown Princess of Nohr', looked at him with dark eyes like the abyss.
She frowned lightly when he shifted, uncomfortable with her intense stare. The stare of a prodigy, as they called her. The one that had single-handedly put an end to a rebellion with such cruelty that no dissent dared to sound, in fear of bringing back the demon princess to their salted lands once more.
For this act, and for other accomplishments she had made in her short time at the court, she was rewarded with a circlet of black metal, like the one he wore on his brow.
"You," she said cryptically. "You're someone that would rather break than bend, wouldn't you?"
Brynhildr was clutched to her chest like the precious treasure it was, and her arms looked too frail to hold the tome properly, but Xander dared not ask if he could carry it for her. He dared not speak to his half-sister, who was half-royal and half-Nightwalker and a complete enigma, in fear that her eyes would see through his everything.
A slow smile spread over Anastasia's lips. "Then blessings, dear Prince Xander," she said. "Blessings upon you – here's to hoping you will never be challenged by something that will force you to choose, and rip your soul into pieces."
She was a paradox, as she stood there with the Brynhildr in her arms and the circlet upon her brows. She was both his greatest potential ally, and his greatest potential threat in one. She was nothing to him, and he was nothing to her – and yet that could all be changed in a heartbeat, beyond his or her control.
Anastasia tipped her head lightly, in elegant deference to him. The smooth action filled him with no joy.
"So long as there is a breath left in your body, and the tome Brynhildr in my hands," she promised him. "I shall never turn against you. Does that settle your worried mind?"
It was a mockery, and they both knew it. Anastasia never initiated a conversation like this with him again, other than words of politeness and pardon, and he, fearing what the Nightwalker-raised princess would tell him, never did so himself. He watched from afar, careful to never leave her in his blind spot, and knew she did not often interact with her other siblings, save for with gentle, unambitious Damian and a younger boy far from the claims to the crown named Leo. That she took on two retainers, both also not of noble families that could help her become Queen. That she took charge of the mage brigade, and restructured and taught the heads of its battalions herself to increase their efficiency in battle.
That as they grew older, she spent less time on the battlefield and more in her workshop, continuing her research in magic with Damian, focusing on improving stave quality and tome efficiency. After Damian was captured and killed by the Hoshidans, she withdrew further, experimenting with tomes and staves instead of participating in court or building up a base of support as a princess.
He never got to know her, and so he did not fully understand what she had been thinking when she decided to massacre most of the remaining royal children and concubines.
/ / /
He didn't notice Queen Arete's disappearance until it was announced, and his father slipped into further depression.
He didn't notice just how Azura was neglected and abused until she disappeared, and it took a week for anyone to notice.
He didn't notice Anastasia's deteriorating sanity until she murdered more of Father's concubines and children than any other in one bloody swoop.
He didn't notice Markus and his relationship with Lavinia until she was killed and he was cursed to rot slowly.
He didn't notice anything until it was too late, and the cost was too much.
He was not worthy of the title 'Defender of Nohr'.
/ / /
As if bored, Anastasia flicked her fingers, and another burst of magic put an end to a life, right before his eyes.
True to her words, Anastasia did not even head his way once. He was never on her kill list.
But not the others. Not the concubines.
Bound in their seats by magic, they could only watch with terror-filled hearts as she executed them, one by one, and there was no escaping that fate until an interruption disturbed her magic and allowed Markus to break free.
With a roar of fury and fear, he leapt at Anastasia, and the small princess didn't stand a chance as her half-brother's fingers closed around her throat.
But her nails dug into the skin of her attacker, and near-silent words of a spell managed to escape her lips before her life did.
She fell, and Markus fell, and the spell holding them all down broke – but Xander had done nothing.
/ / /
It was Siegfried that snapped him out of his depression. The dark blade burned warmly at his side as one of the survivors – a young boy who had inherited the same pale golden hair and brown eyes from Father like Xander – was given Brynhildr, in a far less ceremonious way than before. Former Crown Princess Anastasia had no more need of the divine tomb when her neck was broken and her soul departed, and the boy was chosen by the tome to read the words on its selective pages.
The sword whispered words he could not make out when Camilla made the arrangements for a mass funeral for all those that had passed, the black tiara of the Crown Princess on her lilac-colored head with eyes wide and glittering with unshed tears, including the sister closest to her and her own mother.
The sword still blazed in his hands, the torch of light in Nohr's darkest times, when a little baby girl was born and named 'Elise'.
Siegfried did not abandon him, and when the divine blade stayed by his side, he could not abandon others. Not as the Defender of Nohr.
/ / /
Leo came up to him one day, after a morning's training session. In his still-skinny arms, clutched tightly to his chest was Brynhildr, the tome so picky it would not let any but its chosen wielders read its contents.
"Yes, Leo?" Xander said, hoping his voice came out as gently as he hoped – as he needed it to be. Leo held the tome like its previous wielder did, but where she cradled the tome, carrying it as confidently as one would a satisfied, lazy cat, he clutched to it like a lifeline, desperate to hold onto something as he drowned in cold black water.
His retainers told him that Anastasia had seen something in the boy, and set him apart from the others, serving as a mentor of sorts in a way she hadn't with anyone, except perhaps the deceased Damian. Seraphina warned him to take caution, for who knew what Anastasia may have done to the impressionable mind of a young boy?
Leo wet his lips. "The wielders of Brynhildr almost never become king or queen," the young boy began, like he was reciting something. "Brynhildr never chooses a wielder that has ambitions of becoming king and sitting on the dark throne."
Xander's heart sank at the boy's voice – precocious, he wanted to say, but also tragic, forced to grow up so quickly. His mother had been one of those killed by Anastasia in her massacre, and though she had been one of the women seeking to use her child as leverage for favor from King Garon, Leo had still lost a mother that day.
But it wasn't just that, was it? This court had been twisted and evil before, for what else could he call a field where children were made to hold weapons in hands not fully grown and forced to use them against each other, when the same blood ran through their veins? What else would such an environment do but force quick growth, from children to child soldiers?
"Wielders of Brynhildr are always beneficial to the king, and to Nohr," Leo was continuing on, desperation driving his nervously collected plea for survival when Xander dropped to one knee so that Leo was taller than he was, and engulfed him in an embrace.
Leo stiffened in his arms, frightened, and the jewels and metals of Brynhildr's cover pressed against his chest, cold and hard as unearthed children of the ground were wont to be, but Xander did not let go. He held tight, hiding the hot tears threatening to spill from behind his eyes.
The eyes he shared with Leo. His brother.
"I promise," he said in a thick voice. "That you have nothing to fear. We are family, and family does not shed shared blood. I promise, Leo. I promise."
Xander felt Leo hesitate. Felt him unwrap one arm from his clutch on Brynhildr, felt it slip out from between their bodies, like he wanted to wrap it around Xander's back to return the embrace, but didn't know how.
"Promise?" the boy asked, voice breaking.
Trust no one, had been his mother's dying words but he couldn't keep them, not when Leo looked and sounded like he did. At that moment, Xander wouldn't have cared if Leo stabbed him in the heart with a dagger.
"I promise," Xander said hoarsely.
And Leo cried.
/ / /
Markus never regained his sanity before he died. Xander still visited every day, clinging to hope that at least once, his brother would break free from the curse Anastasia had placed on him before she died.
But Anastasia was too good at magic, and curses placed with dying breaths, Ezekiel informed him, especially the dying breaths of those who dallied with the darkest of the magical arts, were near-unbreakable.
Six months after the massacre, Xander arranged for another royal funeral, and bid his best friend goodbye.
/ / /
Camilla laughed. She laughed until she cried.
But really, Xander thought. Wasn't she crying and trying to hide her tears by making it sound like laughter until she could hide it no longer?
"I have no intention," his half-sister said at last, once she was calm. She wiped the tears from her face, and brushed her curls back into order. "Of going after the throne. Ever."
"I know." He did. He saw how she hated her mother's ambitious prodding, how she was happy and best when she was left to her own devices. Camilla, for all the court's gossip about her being a natural-born seductress just like her mother, was never one to seek the life of power plays and politics out of her own free will.
She eyed him speculatively, eyes violet and sparkling. "Do you now," she mused, more to herself than anything.
Xander thought for a moment. It was hard, fighting the habit of holding his tongue and his quiet nature, but practice had hardened his shyness and trauma had torn it away, leaving a raw, fresh thing that was easily malleable.
"You never killed any of our younger siblings."
Camilla's smile slipped, and she looked at his eyes for the longest time, searching for something. He let her, searching back. She was better at masking her feelings than he was, but he could observe.
"You kept track?" she asked briskly, breaking the silence all of a sudden.
Xander replied, thinking of all the faces and names that haunted his nightmares and clung heavily to Siegfried, to the circlet he wore, to him. "How could I not?"
Because for all the threat they were to him, potentially, they were also his siblings.
It was, objectively, not a good answer, but the way he said it apparently appealed to Camilla, because that was the point she began to open up to him. It took a few years – ingrained habit of wariness and the chilling fear crawling in their bones was no easy thing to shake off – but at some point in their new life as family, Xander realized that it no longer mattered which womb they had come from.
She was just his sister. They were just his younger siblings.
And he would protect them all, as Crown Prince of Nohr and wielder of Siegfried.
/ / /
"How many princes and princesses do you think Nohr once had?"
Laslow, taken aback at the abrupt change in topic, could not answer. But the man had not been here for that period in time, and Xander knew by now that his new retainer lacked knowledge deemed common and obvious in Nohr, sometimes. He was one filled with secrets.
"A long time ago," Xander said. "There were many. Much more than this. Castle Krackenberg used to be filled with royal concubines and children. My father had plenty of lovers, and they could only become concubines if they became pregnant with his child. What do you think happened to them?"
Laslow did not answer. Perhaps he could not, or perhaps he simply chose to keep his silence.
"All there is left is those that stand here today," he said. Battle took some. Execution took some as well. Hoshidans took others and the rest killed each other, desperate to live and to reach the top.
Death took them all. Death would always take them all, no matter what they did, but he would at least make sure their parting was late, far off in the distant future.
Back then, he had been young and weak. He was less so now, but aware of his mortal limits.
Still, he was willing to stand tall against Death and say, 'not today'.
"I will not fail to protect them again."
/ / /
He needed to see. He needed to be aware.
If he didn't, then it would be too late to react to any danger that came close to those he swore to protect.
He was done with watching those he cared about give their lives so he could live.
/ / /
"You take on too heavy a burden, milord."
Xander looked up from the towel at his solemn-eyed retainer. "Nonsense, Ezekiel," he said. "This is just the effort one needs to make in order to be worthy of the titles I hold."
The slim second son of a lesser noble house, chosen both for his talent in magic, and how different he was from Markus, shook his head.
"Many have not," Ezekiel said.
A gauntleted hand slapped Ezekiel's shoulder, making the Dark Knight wince in pain at the supposedly friendly blow.
"For once, I agree with him, my prince," said Seraphina. The Malig Knight made a face at the towel still in Xander's hand, and reached out to take it from him. Xander let her bend closer towards him, and caught the light scent of a flowery perfume from somewhere close to her neck. Behind the ears, maybe, or between her golden hair. Something soft and soothing, like lavender.
She looked him in the eyes, and he nearly flinched. "Your life," she said, green eyes firmly fixed to his. "Is far too important for you to pour it all away giving your all in everything."
"A good king would serve by example," Xander protested. "I still have far to go before I can be deemed worthy."
Of being Crown Prince. Of being Protector of Nohr. Of being the Dusk Dragon's descendent.
Ezekiel pointedly rolled his eyes towards the direction of the Central Hall, where the dark throne sat. Xander frowned, but his retainer showed no sign of repentance. "A good king also delegates well," he said. "Use us, milord. Let us do our duties as your retainers."
A smile spread across his lips, small and short but by no means false. For all his thorny words, Ezekiel meant well.
"Very well," Xander said.
/ / /
"I can have a retainer?" Corrin's eyes were wide with surprise.
"Yes," Xander told her. "Now that you may leave the fortress, you are a proper royal of Nohr, and eligible for retainers. It used to be the custom that nobles would serve as the retainers of princes and princesses, but that is a practice not always kept – especially in our generation."
Leo laughed. "I'll tell you the stories about my retainers later," he promised Corrin. "But our general rule is – anyone with the talent fitting the role gets the job, regardless of background or status."
That, Xander silently agreed, was certainly the case for his second pair of retainers. Peri was the daughter of a Count, though of a lesser House, but Laslow was a mercenary that had caught the eye of King Garon and been hired on the spot. Both were exceptional fighters, certainly. Peri had an enthusiasm for battle unparalleled by any he had seen, and Laslow's style of fighting – dance-like, fluid and unpredictable yet deadly efficient – was nothing Xander had ever seen.
Both were a credit to the title of royal retainer, regardless of their background or personal quirks.
/ / /
Ezekiel was not the genius in magic that Princess Anastasia had been. He was not as creative as she was in rearranging or writing the formulas in tomes, or the magic circulation pathways in staves. He lacked her genius in crafting curses, or designing barriers. He did not possess the massive magic reserves she had.
But Anastasia had been a genius amongst geniuses, and Ezekiel's talent lay in magic on the battlefield. He could have been the youngest to be the head of Nohr's Dark Knights had he not sworn loyalty and service to Xander.
Had he not died so early.
Seraphina, for a Malig Knight, had no great talent in magic. She could barely use a standard Thunder tome, let alone anything more advanced, and the magic she had was meager. When possible, she preferred using her axes and her mount to cut through her enemies in a vicious lunge, resorting to tomes in cases when there was absolutely no choice. When not in battle, she was a proper lady as befitting her status as the only daughter of Duke Pohl among three brothers.
Though Xander did not love her, he cared for and respected her. He could imagine a life with her at his side as the next Queen of Nohr. He would not have done as his father did, leaving his partner to waste away in loneliness and hurting everyone involved. He would have paid attention to her, and their child – or children – and spoken of small things in their lives. He would have told her what he told no one else, because though their marriage was arranged by those around them he trusted her. He would have listened to what she had to say, given her his support.
He could have grown to love her, given time.
Had she not died so early.
"He's concussed," Ezekiel's voice said. Xander's sight went black, but through gritted teeth and sheer force of will he pulled himself out of falling into unconsciousness.
It had been an ambush, a force hidden near the chasm. Somehow, word of his trip to the area had gotten out. One unlucky blow with a club to his leg during the ambush had distracted him from the spear headed his way, and though his steed had taken it in his stead, the falling horse had nearly crushed his already-broken leg, and delivered a hit to the back of his head.
And now – what was going on? Xander struggled against the overwhelming urge to sleep, washing over him like a merciless tie.
"Just a little more, my prince," Seraphina coaxed – but for what? "Mika, love, let Prince Xander on your back."
The wyvern whined, but bowed at her mistress's command. Somehow, despite his broken leg and full armor, Ezekiel, Seraphina and Mika got him onto the wyvern's back.
"This is where we part ways, my prince," Seraphina said. "The Hoshidans have us surrounded. Mika is young, but she's strong enough to get you to safety. Ezekiel and I will ensure your safe flight."
His safe flight. Not theirs. Through the haze the realization began to sink in.
"'Zeke," Xander slurred, knowing what they were about to do without his permission. "'Phina."
Ezekiel muttered a familiar incantation as he pressed his thumb into the center of his brow, forcibly straightening the crease that was beginning to find its permanent place there. Xander had never been good at magic, and he would not have been able to describe its origins and complete meaning like Leo would have.
But Ezekiel had served him for two years, and Xander knew what that spell was for. Swift flight. Luck. More of a prayer and a blessing than a spell, something that didn't seem like it belonged to a pragmatic Dark Knight.
"No," Xander managed. If only his sight would stop shaking so much and showing double of everything.
"This entire holding is filled with my magic already. The Hoshidans," Ezekiel paused and sneered as he always did when faced with foes who lacked magical talent and skill, "haven't even noticed. I'll saturate them in it one last time, and then Seraphina can be the trigger to the explosion. Any flying units they have will be forced to help care for their wounded, while you get away."
Seraphina tried to smile. "He wouldn't let me leave him alone here," she joked. "Insisted that he was too scared to go down by himself, and, well, what could I do but indulge him, my prince?"
Such words would have normally triggered a protest out of Ezekiel, but the mage had no acerbic reply, and despite his condition Xander immediately realized its significance.
This was a suicide mission.
He may not have been proficient in magic, but he knew enough to understand what they were planning. Ezekiel's magic would engulf the area, and Seraphina's own magic would be volatile enough to set a violent chain of reactions. It mattered not that Seraphina had little magic, and not much finesse. It was enough to start the spark.
But his retainers would be at the heart of it. Some of the Hoshidans would survive, most likely, but they stood no chance of survival whatsoever. It was why Ezekiel needed Seraphina – he planned on putting everything into this one attempt, so that he would not be able to even set off what he had created.
"Rationally, logically, pragmatically," Ezekiel said matter-of-factly, quoting the famed words of a Nohrian queen from generations past, but his fingers shook as they straightened his cape – a habit of his that came out when he was nervous. "This is the best course of action. If we lose this holding, the Hoshidans get a threat aimed at Macarath. And we cannot lose Macarath. And more importantly, we cannot lose you, milord."
Seraphina made no jokes about vacation homes or going to enjoy the warm weather down south. There were tears silently streaming down her face, cutting a clear path across the grime and blood staining her face, but she managed to smile prettily at him.
They were scared. They didn't want to die yet, and not like this. And yet, they would.
"Godspeed, my prince," she said. "May the Dusk Dragon destroy those that dare to get in your way. Mika, go!"
They would give their lives so that he would live another day.
"No." The word came out clear, this time, even if it was all he could manage.
But Mika did not listen to him. The young wyvern did as her mistress commanded, and spread her wings wide before taking off into the air, in the direction of Windmire. Siegfried burned as a cross at his side as he tried to turn and keep his eyes on his retainers, growing farther and farther away. There was still time to turn back, he thought, fighting his body's urge to fall unconscious and tugging at the reins with his mouth.
The holding they escaped was the size of a dollhouse when it suddenly bled dark fire – Ezekiel's signature spell, designed to thrive even when water was splashed on its flames. His retainer had been inspired by Siegfried's own fire, and spent a few months tinkering with Fire tomes and several gemstones to make his own. He was never fully satisfied with it, claiming that one day it would be a tome to rival grimoires of legendary witch queens.
He would never get the chance to perfect it now.
Moments later, sound, slower than light, caught up to Xander's ears, letting him hear the tremendous roar of several explosions merging into one massacre.
He heard no screams, but he imagined them, a hundred screams struggling to live and protesting against the pain of slipping into the abyss of death without choice. Two were voices he didn't want to ever hear screaming like that.
Mika began to cry. For all their vicious natures, wyverns were astute creatures, capable of forming deep bonds with their masters when treated with love. And though Mika was young, she loved her mistress dearly.
Though Siegfried's fire burned constantly at his side, Xander could draw no comfort from the divine blade this time around – not when he had failed those close to him.
Camilla and a squad of wyvern riders met him before any unfriendly forces could, and took him to be healed immediately. He saw through the dizziness and confusion Camilla crying, begging him to be alright. As he was carried into the castle, he saw Leo, staves awkward and large in his small arms, stare in horror before rushing to grab necessary medicines.
As soon as he was recovered, he led an army to the holding that had fallen into Hoshidan hands, and took it back mechanically, no jokes or dry comments at his side to keep his spirits from plummeting. There were no bodies he could recover – the holding itself was gone, and only the ruins remained, but he took it anyways, and built a memorial in his heart.
That was two more names for Siegfried's sheath to bear – two more names for him to carry.
/ / /
Some prayed for the future. Some prayed of things done in the past. Some prayed about the uncertain present.
Xander prayed for all three. He prayed he would be able to protect those near him. He prayed that those whose names he carried would find peace. He prayed for the strength to continue another day, as Nohr's protector.
He prayed with Siegfried as he practiced in the morning, and before he slept. They were his rituals to start and end his day.
/ / /
Elise wilted, smile quivering until it was no longer there. Leo, at his side, scowled at the nobles that whispered in words loud enough to be heard by young ears.
"So His Majesty will not show after all . . ."
". . . her mother's dead and gone. . ."
". . . waste of time, really . . ."
All this, because Father had not made an entrance, and Xander was late. He declined being announced by the servant and entered quietly.
Before Camilla could go after the speakers with an ax and a poisonously sweet smile, Xander stepped deliberately through them, brushing by without pardon or eye contact. His presence cut off their words, and were replaced in their lips with stuttered apologies he gave no attention to.
"Elise," he boomed, projecting his voice loud and clear through the hall. This was the announcement he wanted – for them to see who spoke to the girl who had been born this day, and then to the bearer of the name.
His youngest sister looked up, and her eyes widened at how forward he was being. "Big Brother?" she whispered, the lisp of a young tongue still in her words.
He knelt on one knee and opened his arms. "Happy birthday, little sister. Pardon my lateness – I hurried as much as I could. Forgive me?"
"Big Brother!" Elise ran into his arms, wrapping short arms around her neck to the best of her ability. "Oh, Big Brother!"
Ezekiel was not a social person, but he had his contacts, and Seraphina kept an ear open for gossip. Both reported that Elise's mother had died from sickness, and that King Garon had never visited either.
Knowing what he did of that woman, Xander could guess just how much attention she had diverted to her young daughter.
His grip on her tightened.
"Happy birthday," he whispered, knowing that seven days was too short of a period to recover from the passing of one's mother, and that the day could not possibly be 'happy' for her. It was a wish, a prayer for it to be, and for all the days to come to be one filled with joy.
/ / /
Anastasia was raised by her mother's people, the Nightwalkers, until she was ten and the dragon's blood in her veins discovered. Azura lived with her mother in Nestra, away from the Nohrian court, until Queen Katerina's death meant Arete could marry King Garon and both be brought to court. Damian lived with his mother, in Macarath where he could study medicines and staves under the best healers Nohr had to offer, until she passed away and he had to come to court to join the rest of his siblings in Castle Krackenburg.
So when Father pulled him aside to tell him there was another sibling, Xander did not find it a complete surprise. It came as a slight shock, but it wasn't new to him that he might have had a sibling he didn't know about before.
The news that she was cursed gave him pause, forcing him to remember a bloody feast that cut down so many, and cursed his best friend.
"A curse?" he heard himself repeat.
"Yes," Father said gruffly. "She is cursed, which is why she hasn't been at court with the rest of you."
Xander tried to ask more, but Father waved him off, telling him he would be further filled in on the details later on by someone who knew them well enough.
More about the princess was explained to him by Sir Gunter, the famous knight.
"I was told by His Majesty that her mother died, trying to protect her from the curse," the veteran knight said, as he led Xander down the halls of the Northern Fortress. "And her efforts lessened its effects."
"What does the curse do?" Xander asked, thinking about Markus, and how the court mages said that the rot of his soul was spreading through his body, and how there was nothing they could do against it except try to lessen his pain.
It was easy to destroy, and hard to fix. But perhaps if Anastasia had been still alive, she could have helped break this curse.
Gunter paused. "In its current state, it erratically erodes her memories," he said. "There is no particular order to it. In the four months I have watched over her, she has been afflicted by it three times. The first, a day after I met her, she forgot about her mother, and her past life. The second, two months after, she forgot her knowledge of the Nohrian language. And last week, she forgot her birthday."
"'Forgot her knowledge of the Nohrian language'?" Xander repeated, in partial disbelief. "Her birthday?"
"Indeed," Gunter said. "We would not have actually known that she forgot her birthday, except she heard a maid talking about her upcoming birthday, and found she could not remember it."
"So, she doesn't know if she lost her memories?"
"Sometimes. When she forgot how to read and speak Nohrian, she came up to me with a book in her hands and asked if I could teach her again. Other times it is subtler than that." Gunter paused. "I was told that I was the third to be her guardian. My predecessors left me some notes, and they have been somewhat helpful in my duty."
He wanted to see those notes himself, but Gunter insisted that he first familiarize himself with the young Corrin. The heir to the throne had duties, after all, and his time at the fortress would be limited.
Which was why he found himself entering a bedroom, with Gunter ahead of him.
"Princess Corrin," the older knight said. There was no one in the room, as far as Xander could see, but the man continued to speak like there was nothing wrong with the sight. "I have someone new for you to meet. This is Prince Xander – he is your older brother."
There was no movement, but Gunter gestured with his eyes.
Slowly, so as to not frighten her, Xander got onto one knee. "Hello, little princess," he said, remembering what Gunter had said about her not liking her name. "It's nice to finally meet you."
Slowly, as if curiosity was fighting against fright, Corrin peeked out from behind her bed. Warned in advance about her pointed ears, Xander gave no sign of surprise as he saw them in between the shortly chopped white hairs, and calmly waited.
When her eyes met his, a pink so dark it was almost blood-red, she flinched and ducked down behind the bed.
It stung, slightly, to see her react in such fear – already, he had grown used to the peace he had with Camilla and Leo, and the bond they had developed over Elise's presence – but more than that, his heart broke.
And, at the same time, hardened in resolve. Here was another sibling who had not yet fallen into the greedy claws of death. Here was a chance for him to do his duty as a Crown Prince of Nohr, as his kingdom's defender, as an older brother.
He would not fail again.
So, while Corrin hid behind her bed, out of his sight, he spoke in a soft voice about everything and nothing. He sat down on the stone floor, crossing his legs, introduced himself out loud to a seemingly empty room, and spoke about their other shared siblings. How Camilla liked her meat and sweets, but was grown-up enough to eat her vegetables. How Leo insisted on dressing himself, but sometimes wore his clothes inside-out. How Elise's first word was 'Mil', and to this day Camilla insisted she had been trying to speak her name while Leo thought it had been because she was hungry.
How he had a horse, a steady mare, and was training with her to be a knight. How he wanted to be the best knight in the whole kingdom, so he could protect Nohr, and everyone in it.
Like his siblings.
He started nervously, and while it was no doubt easier speaking to her than to his father, or the court, in a way it was also harder. What was there to talk about? He wasn't much of an interesting person, or a skilled conversationalist like Camilla or some of his other siblings had been. He could emulate them, certainly, and his efforts had allowed his skills in the field to improve, but there was a limitation to his ability.
All he could do was try. And so, for the rest of the week, he sat for hours in her room while she hid behind the bed. He didn't speak as much as he did before, but instead sat in silence, focused on some paperwork Ezekiel brought him. Homework, in a way.
He did this without looking at her, hoping to give her time to observe him, to come to the conclusion that he meant her no harm on her own.
/ / /
His efforts – and the efforts of his siblings – paid off. Slowly, Corrin grew closer to them, opening up like a blooming rose, until one day they found themselves family, comfortable around each other.
They were each other's homes.
/ / /
Finished with his morning practice, Xander placed his practice sword aside and began to go through his cooldown exercises.
A loud, clanging sound drew his attention to the rack where the other weapons were placed, and he found Corrin, tripped over knocked-over equipment.
"Corrin!" He rushed to her side, and was relieved to find that she was fine, just a little scratched up.
"I'm fine, Big Brother," she told him, smiling sheepishly. "I was just having so much fun watching you that I forgot to watch where I was going."
Despite her tripping, he smiled and ruffled her hair.
"One day," Corrin said, eyes firm as she gazed around the boundaries of the training yard on the roof of the fortress. "I'm going to become a great warrior and fight alongside all of you."
His hand hesitated.
/ / /
The curse didn't fade away, even with as much love as he – they – could shower on their sister. Xander thought of tales for bedtime, where true love solved even the foulest of curses, and tasted bitterness on his tongue, reminded once more of reality's austerity.
He was too old, too world-weary for love to be the solution to everything.
But the curse didn't fully wipe away everything, and for that he was thankful. Even as Corrin shook with nervousness as parts of her memories eroded away, she still looked at all of them with love and an innocence that he did not wish to see destroyed.
Innocence meant weakness and weakness did not survive long in Nohr, he knew. He knew, but . . .
The curse struck again, and they received word of it on way to the Northern Fortress.
Leo swore, softly exhaling the words through clenched teeth as he read the missive at Xander's side. Xander didn't bother to chastise him, because he was thinking something along the same lines as those expletives.
The timing was, well, they couldn't very well expect for a curse to have courtesy to anything or anyone, let alone plans made by siblings excited to show their sister the outside world, but it was atrocious, to say the least.
Gunter reported that it seemed to be serious.
Leo glanced at him, worry clear on his face. "What do we do, Brother?"
Xander took a deep breath, and thought of Corrin always looking outside her window with a wistful moue. How she had wished, once to the point of even sneaking out the fortress with Leo, to go outside. To see the world with her own eyes and feel it with her own hands and feet instead of reading about them in books and imagining what it was like, beyond the boundaries that were a gilded cage for her.
Innocence meant weakness and weakness did not survive long in Nohr, he knew. He knew, but he was also Protector of Nohr, and a Big Brother, and it was his duty to be the knight to shield innocence from harm. To face the darkness and defeat what monsters crouched in hiding in its folds, so that others could sleep safely through till morning light.
"Nothing changes," he decided. Lacking some memories or not, Corrin was still Corrin, who had wished on every occasion offered to leave the glorified prison she was held in. She had the best in the entire kingdom of Nohr willing to support her through this. A weakening curse, he assumed, was nothing.
/ / /
Later, he would think back and wonder if he made the right decision. If everything that followed afterwards was the consequence for his choice, and if it was all on his shoulders.
/ / /
"Is Corrin alright?" Xander asked, once Camilla left their sister's room. Knowing she wouldn't have left Corrin if she was awake, Xander assumed she was asleep.
"Yes, she's fine." Camilla smiled. "She just found it all to be a little overwhelming, but worry not – she was absolutely fascinated by everything she saw."
He sighed. "A relief," he said. "I was worried about how she would take in . . ." he gestured vaguely. Castle Krackenburg. Windmire. Nohr. The outside world.
"I know," Camilla said softly. "And, to be honest, I still do."
The nights in the castle were quiet and peaceful. They hadn't always been so in Xander and Camilla's childhoods, but they were now, and despite the memories that could not and would not be gone it was home to them.
She laughed suddenly, a soft, gentle giggle. A real laugh – one she now felt comfortable showing in front of him, and had been for years. "She told me that we're like her parents."
"Oh?"
Camilla pointed a finger at his chest. "You're the father, stern but loving." She turned the finger towards herself. "And I am the mother, doting and constantly, lovingly hugging, is what she said."
He laughed quietly, to not risk disturbing Corrin in her slumber. She was sleeping in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar, new environment. Slumber would likely be fragile for her. "Didn't Elise once say something like that?"
"Mm-hm," Camilla hummed, looking very pleased.
Xander offered her his arm, and she took it. They wandered, him 'escorting' her to the wing of the castle where their rooms were.
"Do you think I could be a mother someday, Xander?" Camilla asked suddenly, when her room was in sight. Her eyes stared far, into some distant memory that was painful, but also dear to her heart. "A good mother?"
He didn't even have to think about it. "Of course."
She smiled wistfully. "You're sweet. And you would be, too."
"A good mother?" He feigned confusion. "I'm not quite sure about that, dear Sister."
Camilla slapped his arm jovially. "You know what I mean."
Xander let the corners of his lips turn upwards in a smile. "You're too kind, Camilla. Sweet dreams, Sister."
"Sweet dreams, Dad." She winked and retreated into her room.
He couldn't pull down the upturned corner of his lips for a while.
/ / /
It was a memory he would remember with desperation and pain in the following months, as the world around him seemed to collapse and he pretended to be strong, clinging to everything he knew and held dear in the hopes they wouldn't leave him too.
/ / /
Corrin looked back at him, red eyes wide and desperate. Her pale hair was shorter than it had been, back when she still resided in a fortress and he could call her family with a smile on his face.
Xander missed those days. They were the time before this war officially erupted, and perhaps the only days of peace he had known in his entire life.
But halcyon days never came back once they were gone, and he had sworn to protect Nohr, no matter what fire he had to leap into to do so.
"You have to listen to me," Corrin said, gasping for breath. She was ragged and bleeding from wounds, but her eyes burned so bright that it made Xander pause. "I know you can't see them, but I swear, they're there, and they can see you!"
Over the devastated ruins of a neutral country that loved peace and music and arts, with more Shifters than he had ever thought to see in his life howling in pain of both the body and the heart as a battle song washed over them all like the blood running in the streets, Xander paused at those familiar words.
/ / /
"You win again, Brother," Xander said good-naturedly. He had long-since given up on trying to beat Leo in chess. All he could do was learn from his matches with his younger brother, so that when the opportunity to play against a different player ever came up, he could put to use some of the strategies that bested him and watch his frustration echo on the face of his opponent.
Leo nodded, and began to rearrange the pieces back to their rightful places. Pawns to the front of the lines, so they would protect the noble pieces and be the first to fall in the clash between black and white. Rooks to the outermost, knights at their side, with the bishops holding faith next to the king and queen, most well-protected.
"You play too defensively," his younger brother said in a low voice, but his words were clear. A chastisement.
Xander lowered his head by a minute angle, taking criticism where it was due and letting Leo know he appreciated it. "Perhaps."
He sighed. "Sometimes, Big Brother," Leo said, brown eyes fixed on the chessboard. The pieces were in their places, on squares of black and white, arranged so cleanly in a way that war never truly was. "You have to make sacrifices for the greater good."
He knew that. He really did. The king piece, after all, was the piece with the most restrictions and the heaviest penalties. All other pieces on the board could be taken, but when the king was put at the threat of a checkmate, it was over.
But he was no small piece on a monochrome board. He was the Defender of Nohr, the chosen wielder of Siegfried, and none would have to die to protect his life again.
He would not be a king needing protection from his queen, or from his pieces. He was never the best chess player, anyways – that honor went to Leo.
He would be a crown prince, and then a king, that would protect his people. This, he swore on Siegfried, on Nohr, and on the Dusk Dragon's name.
/ / /
Sometimes, in order to protect something, you need to hurt it.
When one answers to a calling and steps in the path to the position it requires, one must bear everything that comes with it – the responsibility of all the hate, the criticism, the lives fall onto one's shoulders after that point.
Even if the worst happens, even if you're hated for it, do it for their sake.
/ / /
"Milord," Laslow said. The mercenary always liked to keep a smile on his face, even when nobles looked upon him in disdain for his carefree ways. They dared not say anything to Xander in front of him, of course, but he knew of what they said. Laslow told him not to worry – that he was past the point where such words could even put a scratch on his self-esteem – but Xander worried.
There was no smile on the man's face now, and what the smile usually hid was all over his face. This was a man who had seen and lost things that could cripple a lesser person, and though he was able to continue functioning, there were some parts of him that would never fully heal from the experience.
Struck by the side of his retainer that he didn't see often, Xander listened to the man and the outlandish claims he made.
/ / /
Every choice comes with consequences, he was taught, and learned for himself through experience.
And as a prince, and as a future king, his choices came with very heavy consequences.
Knowing that, he threw his lot in.
/ / /
Always, for his family. Always, for Nohr.
Always the crown prince and Defender of Nohr, Xander offered to the gods his life and soul, and prayed it was enough.
What else could he do? What else?
Birthright
Siegfried's fire was flickering. The sign of the divine blade's dark flame dying would have once thrown Xander into despair, but he was already there.
It had been habit, reaching for the sword. If not for the habit of gripping his weapon with firm hands, he would have never reached for the blade when it still had Elise's blood dripping down it.
Protector of Nohr, you have failed.
Was the voice in his head his, or Siegfried's?
Did it matter?
His sister stared back with pleading eyes and a golden sword in her hands. Elise's words echoed in his head, and ingrained duty tightened his muscles.
Everything in and around him clashed, and Xander was so tired. All his life, he had fought to uphold Nohr's honor and values as a paragon of a knight, to protect its people and its history, to fight against all odds.
Perhaps it had been a losing battle, and Nohr was meant to fall. Look at what he had done, slaying with his own hand the light in this dark kingdom, destroying someone he loved and swore to protect no matter what.
But his life was one that was built on the blood and lives of too many others, and to end without a fight was not in his nature. All his life he had tried, worked hard to do what was impossible without effort.
He could not give up. He did not know how. And he had no right to do so, not when his life was not his.
It was not his to take, but he would give it for Nohr. For all those that had died.
And though his body failed to muster up the strength he knew it was capable of, he still raised Siegfried. Though he knew what would happen if he fought like this, he still raised the divine blade.
He could not keep Elise's last words, her plea to him. He only knew how to give strength. Care and love, he had given – and lost too many of its recipients to rely on it
His strength, raised and forged through the blood, sweat and tears he shed for all his efforts, was all he could rely on, even now.
What else could he do?
What else?