Chains

"What did you whisper in my ear? What did you tell me that I wanted to hear? What was the answer you wanted me to find out?" -Shadows

It's hard to keep track of the days that follow Lucina's imprisonment. The dungeon is so dark. Its only lights are the torches that hang along the walls, and so Lucina never sees the sun rise or set. If it hadn't been for the daily meals that Lucina received, she would've lost track completely.

Lucina's meals consist of stale, moldy bread and soup. On good days, they give her meat scraps. Chrom gets the same food in the cell across from her. He gobbles it down with haste, as if he's afraid the servant will come back in and take it away if he doesn't eat it quick enough.

It takes longer for Lucina to appreciate her meals. She'd lived on a soldier's diet before, yes, but it had been better than this. Lucina can remember eating plenty of protein when she trained with the others; her mother made sure of it, claiming that Lucina needed to build more muscle if she wanted to get stronger.

Lucina frowns at the memory and picks up her bread, the chains weighing down on her wrists as she does so. It's gotten easier to move around with them. Lucina has had time to practice after all. She dips her bread in the soup easily, then takes a bite and grimaces.

"Potato soup today," she tells Chrom, voice echoing throughout the small room.

"My favorite." Lucina can't tell if the man is being sarcastic or not.

"I think I like carrot the best," Lucina offers. She stirs the soup with her bread and munches off another piece.

Morgan loved potato soup, Lucina remembers. He had refused to eat anything else when he was sick. He'd pushed away the chicken broth that Mother had tried to spoon feed him, whining about how he only wanted potato soup.

She wonders what Morgan is doing right now. She hopes that he's all right, that Grima hasn't taken any of her anger out on him. To be fair, though, that probably isn't possible. Morgan is Grima's pride and joy; she'd never do anything to hurt him.

She remembers Morgan as a young boy, his bright eyes shining like stars when she taught him how to fight with a sword, and recalls how his eyes had darkened as he'd gotten older, tainted by Grima's tutelage.

Lucina's bread slips from her fingers and falls into the cracked bowl with a plop. It takes her a few moments to compose herself.

"Do you ever miss the sun?" Lucina asks, voice catching in her throat.

"Every day," Chrom responds.

"I wish I didn't have these chains on," Lucina muses later, once their empty bowls have been taken away by some sort of magic. "I can't train at all. I've probably lost half of my muscle tone."

Chrom laughs, "What do you need to train for? The war is already won."

It's hard to see, but Lucina swears she catches a bitter grin splayed across her companion's face. Lucina leans her head back against her cell wall. She's gotten used to the grime and dust, and she is just as dirty now. It doesn't bother her anymore.

"I know it's stupid," Lucina starts off, "but sometimes I like to think that my comrades are coming for me."

Chrom loses his smile and gives her a nod. She thinks he looks rather serious now. "It was the same for me the first few weeks," Chrom says. "Then I found out that they were all dead."

"I'm sorry," Lucina offers, but she knows her condolences are empty. She doesn't know Chrom's former companions, and she barely knows Chrom himself.

Chrom isn't bothered by her words. He merely cocks his head to the side and asks, "What are your friends like?"

"They aren't really my friends," Lucina admits, chest hollow at the thought. She closes her eyes and tries to picture them in her mind.

Severa sneering one second and blushing the next. Gerome who constantly wore his mask and kept his distance from the others. Yarne trembling in fear even as he cut down his enemies, and Cynthia-

The memories are becoming more painful, even a little fuzzy now. Lucina frowns at the throbbing in her head.

Her comrades had been odd. But kind. They were definitely kind.

"They have...big personalities?" Lucina says hesitantly. It's hard to describe them, the people that changed her life, and she doesn't think she can sum them up in just a few words.

Chrom chuckles, nodding as if he understands. "How'd you meet them?"

"It's kind of a long story," Lucina warns.

Chrom gives her a look, and Lucina can tell that he is rolling his eyes. "Well, I've got plenty of time," he says dryly, chains rattling as he gestures for her to go on.

Lucina's mission was simple; go into the valley and exterminate the rebels' precious exalt, their figurehead that they've kept hidden for years. Her target was a crippled woman with blonde hair, skin pale and eyes murky. An easy kill.

"Of course she's not the real exalt," Grima had sneered. "She's not even of exalted blood; she bears no Brand. I don't know why they're using her as a tool."

Lucina had thought that Grima was just bitter because it took her this long to find the woman.

The village lay shadowed by mountains, run-down and in shambles. If Lucina hadn't been told the rebels were hiding there, then she wouldn't have thought it was possible for any human to live there.

When Lucina went on assassination missions, a few other soldiers would always accompany her. It was usually Noire or Morgan, people that she was familiar with. This time, though, Grima instructed her to go alone.

Lucina wasn't told the number of rebels that she would meet, so to say she was cautious would be an understatement. Once she found the village, she scanned the place for days with little activity. Movement was scarce, and Lucina could only pinpoint the positions of about three rebels. Her one success was that she found every escape route there was for her to flee to once her mission was done.

Eventually, Lucina decided to zero in on the place with the most activity; one of the huts on the northeast side. Lucina didn't want a messy job; she quickly knocked out the two guards at the entrance before she crept inside. Her only light was the moonlight that shined in from the windows and cracks of the house.

She'd hunted in conditions far worse before.

Her target was not hard to find, and she certainly wasn't heavily guarded. Lucina found the pale woman in the second room she looked in. She lay in a small, moth-eaten bed, propped up by pillows and covered up to her chin with a thin sheet. Her limp, blonde hair was spread out like a halo.

It would be a peaceful death. Lucina always made sure to make her kills quickly. This woman was lucky; she'd be asleep. Most of Lucina's victims were awake when she slit their throats.

Lucina drew her sword from its scabbard. She rose it up, both hands tight on the handle, and brought it down unflinchingly with precision.

CLANG.

The sound of steel on steel met Lucina's ears, and the princess felt a sudden force pushing her out of the way. It was unexpected, so Lucina grappled for a better hold of the sword that slipped from her grasp.

Lucina's eyes flitted up, and she sized up the opponent bearing down on her. It was a girl around her age with dark blue hair and brown eyes. She wore rusted armor and worn gloves. Her lance looked to be in bad condition. It was old and well-used, yet the girl in front of Lucina wielded it with skill.

Lucina silently commended the girl for being able to surprise her.

"Leave her alone, villain!" the girl shouted. "I, Cynthia, will smite you where you stand. Prepare yourself!"

What?

Lucina swept her sword forward in an arc, pushing Cynthia back, and jumped back a few feet. She leveled her sword and paused to observe the other girl. Cynthia had managed to catch herself along the wall, and she was already lurching forward again.

She had a good recovery time and plenty of energy-

Lucina caught Cynthia's lance with her own sword and knocked the weapon out of her opponent's hands with one swipe. The lance flew away, its sharp end catching on the cloth of Cynthia's neckline, tearing the material. A thin line of red was left behind.

-but her movements weren't controlled enough. Lucina could tell that this girl had seen the battlefield before. All Cynthia had was brute force and vigor, though, and she would need a few more years of experience before she caught up to Lucina, who had had a weapon shoved in her hands almost as soon as she left the womb.

Lucina had hoped to leave as many casualties as possible on this mission. She'd never enjoyed killing. It was messy and left a bad taste in her mouth. She didn't get any kind of gratification from stabbing people in the gut, seeing the light leave their eyes.

Now, though, she'd have to kill this girl. Cynthia had seen her.

"You're not bad," Lucina offered. The princess pointed her sword at Cynthia's throat, tilting up the other girl's chin with her blade. The sword had been a birthday present. Mother gave it to her when she had turned fifteen.

Something lit up in Cynthia's eyes. Was that hatred? Or something else? Lucina couldn't tell. The enemy made a sound that was akin to a gasp, and Lucina strained her ears to hear.

"W-what…"

"Huh?" Lucina asked, narrowing her eyes. The situation wasn't odd. She usually listened to the last words of her victims. "Speak up."

"What are you doing with my father's sword?" The girl's voice was more shocked than angry.

Lucina, despite her better judgement, faltered. She had killed hundreds of people without hesitation, and not once had this happened before. The princess never took what they said into consideration.

She was a soldier after all. The battlefield was kill or be killed, and if you showed sympathy to the enemy, then you would surely be struck down.

But this enemy's words made Lucina pause. That couldn't be. This sword belonged to Lucina's father. Mother had said so when she gifted it to her. Why was this girl saying such a thing?

"What madness are you spewing? Falchion is my-," Lucina trailed off, her eyes zeroing in on the other's neck.

There was a small mark peeking out from where Cynthia's lance had cut her collar and scratched her neck. Lucina frowned. Was that a bruise? Or perhaps a birthmark? Panic spiked through her body, and she reached down to grab Cynthia's collar roughly.

Cynthia squawked, starting to bubble out protests, but Lucina ignored her as she shoved the material out of the way. She felt her breath leave her, her lungs turn to ice. This was impossible. It had to be forged.

The Brand of the Exalt burned Lucina's eye as she gazed at it. The princess let go of the other girl slowly, sword falling to the floor. Her hand trembled as she raised it to cover her left eye, suddenly self-conscious.

"Ridiculous," Lucina scoffed, voice rough. She backed away from the girl until her back hit the wall with a thud.

The bloodline was almost dead. The last of those with exalted blood had died in disgrace during the first rebellion. That's what Mother said. There was no one else except Lucina, the true princess of Ylisse's fallen country, the princess of Grima's empire.

So why did Cynthia, a rebel, bear the Brand on her lower neck?

A large sound cut through Lucina's thoughts. The door to the room had been thrown open, hinges squeaking protest, and the dull sound of footsteps thundered. Lucina's hands shook. It wasn't the guards she knocked out, but other rebels?

The princess needed to get out of here. She'd failed in killing her target, and now she was going to be captured or killed. Lucina lurched forward to grab at her sword, but Cynthia's feet kicked it out of the way, and Lucina only grabbed at the crooked floorboards below.

This is bad, she thought, when she spotted the familiar crackle of magic coming her way. Lucina tried to dodge, but her reaction time was off, and the cloud of fire hit her in the shoulder, instantly burning away her shirt and eating away at the skin beneath.

Lucina hissed at the searing pain and stumbled. Her hand rose to rest on her injury in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain. She continued to clutch at her blackened flesh, eyes appraising the new enemies before her. There were three of them; a mage, a myrmidon, and a mercenary.

It sounded like the beginning of one of Henry's bad jokes.

Cynthia was picking up her fallen lance. It seemed like she was picking herself up as well, for the steely look in her eyes had returned. One of the rebels-the myrmidon- had rushed over to the target's bedside, checking on her with tears in his eyes. He looked relieved once he saw she was unharmed.

Normally, Lucina would be able to take on all of them, but her shoulder was injured and Falchion was on the other side of the room. She was at an obvious disadvantage.

So why hadn't the rebels attacked again? There was a long pause from the time the magic had been fired at her. It should've been their chance. Did they think she would surrender now, so there was no reason to fight?

The princess pushed the panic that welled within her aside. No. She was better than this. Remember Mother's lessons, she told herself. Never give up. Never surrender. Rather die in glory than shame. Never retreat. Never be captured. Kill yourself before you are taken hostage.

That's right. Lucina could still fight.

Lucina was sprawled on the floor so that the other hand that wasn't touching her shoulder was resting on her boot. If she moved her hand quickly and quietly, then they probably wouldn't notice. It didn't matter if they did notice, though. Lucina would be gone before they could do anything.

"Why aren't you attacking me?" Lucina snarled, glaring. Her enemies were silent, bodies stiff and eyes blank. The only one who showed emotion was the myrmidon as he wept over the target, gently tucking the blanket around her.

The general lack of response was frustrating. The princess felt herself grow even more agitated as the seconds of silence ticked by. Eventually, Lucina moved first, digging her fingernails into her burned flesh. She felt the sharp sparks shoot up her shoulder and made sure to twist her face into an expression of pain . These people seemed like the weak type, the kind that would pity her. Doing this should elicit some reaction from them.

It did.

"Stop that!" Cynthia exclaimed, face twisting into confusion. She made to move forward, but the mage motioned for her to stay where she was. "Why are you doing that?"

Lucina sneered and let her hand drop. There was blood on her fingers now, she noticed. It was alright, though. Lucina could handle any pain. Mother had taught her how. "Don't play innocent. I'm sure you have all sorts of torture planned for me. That's why you're not killing me, right? You think I'll give you information."

"You shouldn't talk as if you know us! We're not like you guys!" the red-haired mercenary scoffed, flicking one of her twintails.

The mage pushed his glasses up and clicked his teeth. "Severa," he warned.

While this was going on, Lucina's hand had slipped within her boot to withdraw the dagger that was strapped to her lower leg. She felt a thrill of victory go through her once she had it in her grasp, and she tried not to let it show on her face. The princess wanted to see how far her enemies would take this farce of concern.

"How old are you?" the mage asked. "You can't be any older than us."

Lucina frowned. "My age is none of your business."

"Yes, it is," the mage retorted. His eyes were stern, and Lucina felt like she was six years old again, being scolded by her mother. "We don't kill children."

So that was the reason they hadn't attacked her. How boring. Lucina tightened her grip on the dagger and smiled. "Don't worry, then," the princess said, voice dark. "You won't have to."

In a flash, Lucina drew her knife forward. It glinted in the moonlight, its seal shiny and purple. The seal was the symbol of Grima, the symbol of her mother. Beautiful, Lucina thought as she sank the dagger into her thigh.

The reaction was immediate. Steam rose from her thigh, a dark red cloud, and Lucina felt as though her leg had been doused in boiling water. The pain spread fast. From her thigh to her calf, then up to lower belly.

All she could see was red. The color of blood. The color of Grima. She hated that color so much. When she went on missions, it spilled on her skin and left her stinking for days. No matter how hard she scrubbed at night, it was still always there, lurking underneath and poisoning her from the inside out.

She was born with it, Grima's fellblood.

Lucina listened and found that someone was screaming. It was a familiar scream. Lucina had heard it on the battlefield and even during Mother's torture lessons.

Oh, that's right.

It was her. She was the one screaming.

Mother wouldn't want it any other way, she knew. And so Lucina thought that, too. That it wasn't a bad way to die. Even if it hurt. Lucina's lungs were becoming stuffy, as if they were being filled up with something, and it was so hard to breathe.

It's okay, she told herself. It's fine.

Because it is for Mother.

If it is for Mother, then…

...But she didn't want to die. Not really.

The red darkened, turning black, and Lucina thought no more.

A/N: this whole chapter was supposed to contain all of lucina's flashback scenes with the other future kids (a.k.a. the resistance) but it would've ended up being 10k+ words and taken forever to write, let alone post...so here ya go.

now i won't have the overwhelming guilt over not updating this...maybe i can start a new fic! lmao even tho i can barely handle one. again, sorry for the slow update

we have chrom!cynthia and chrom!morgan. this fic is gonna turn into an episode of Maury is swear